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[WP] As an author you’re the ultimate god of your world. Your hero became powerful enough to step into reality. He then asks you to explain why an omnipotent being would permit so much evil in the world, not realising that you placed all the evil there to spice up the story. | "Young man... you must be so confused, are you not? Allow me to ease your fraughts..." spoke the middle-aged man with a balding head, scruffy beard, and cherry-like nose as he tapped the middle cushion of his dingy couch three times, inviting the metal-clad man who'd had his sword pointed toward his neck, missing only by centimeters to sit by his side.
The room reeked. Garbage laid plaid out across the chambers of the man who'd wrought him into existence, bags upon bags made the Hero gag as he took a seat, sealing his sword back into it's sheath dubiously.
"Why... why would you create a world of darkness with nothing by a single candle to push away the dark. My mother died of cancer. My father died of super-cancer. My wife died of cancer squared, and my son died in a dying accident on his fifth birthday..." tears leaked from the six individual slots of his helm that allowed him to breath, stifling out each of his words as he pleadingly looked to his 'God,' opening the metal slot that covered his weakness.
"S-so... was it you?" stammered the Hero as his saddened eyes leered toward his creator, a fiery burning brighter than his dimly lit room slashing away the nearby darkness they'd been embalmed by.
His sword left its sheath once more, it hissed, the sound of metal escaping its scabbard sounded, with a long sharp 'shwing' in the air. He placed it upon his lap, eyeing the man who'd made him with contempt, wondering what he'd do. When forced to meet his machinations, would he simply erase him from reality? Defeat him with no effort and banish him back to his own world? Make him forget this even happened?
The rickety ceiling fan spun overhead, seemingly by a thin line, ready to fall down at any given second. It creaked perpetually, the sound of spinning wind merging with the throttled innards of the fan, creating a cacophony of noise in the otherwise silent house.
"I'm but an apparition of the true one that lies above all, and above me is another, and another, and another. I did this to make you stronger. I made you solely as a weapon of destruction; I manufactured your hardships so that you could surmise each and every God; to destroy their warped persona of darkness. You were born as a candle in the dark because no matter how dark, your light will never fade; the same is true for the ones you've yet to reach. With the ending of my life, your flame shall grow. Whether you light the darkness or char it all to ash is up to you."
The man who sat at the Hero's side snagged his sword in the blink of an eye, slashing his neck before the Hero could even react. Through his gurgled speech, he managed to manifest final words as he transformed into an efflux of darkened dust.
"Overcome the darkness, Overcome its deities, Overcome the falsities you call limits; rise through each world, stronger than before..." he spoke with the sputter of blood from his mouth. In his absence, a gem took his place, clouded in darkness with a single glitter of spark to light its surrounding, light refracting from each corner of the crystal, lighting the room brilliantly through the clouds of the dark.
"With the soul of a God, you can move a higher version of reality... I ask of you to slay the one who made me create a world like yours. Goodbye, my Hero," the crystal spoke as the dark clouds around it dissipated, now only light residing from within, shining weaker than it'd previously been.
The hero picked up the tiny gem, grasping the hilt of his sword with a flurry of tears escaping his eyes. He held the gem by his index finger and thumb, placing it inside the hilt of his sword with a soft clank.
His sword began to glow, blinking with a desire.
The desire to let this light burn forever.
With a swift slash, he cut through the air, bending reality to his whim out of his carnal desire to meet whoever it was that decided to cloak the world in darkness.
Though that day may have been far away, he'd made that journey.
If the one on top of all beings decided what was good and what was bad.
Then this existence needed someone who could change the meaning.
To my wife, my son, my mother, and my father, I'll avenge you all. | I stared at the young boy who sat few feet from me - with watery eyes and bloodstained cheeks. “It's nice to meet you,” he said as he stared back. “What are you doing here Sebastian?”. “I came to ask some questions” he replied. I nodded for him to continue, “How could you allow so much pain and suffering to kill so many innocent men, women, and children - as you sit here as if nothing happened.” I was taken back by his question. “Is that what you really care about Sebastian? Or are you troubled by something else?” I asked calmly “You could have stopped it, you could have stopped him from being taken” he yelled as he jumped to his feet. “Everything happens for a reason, mind you, but I can fix it”. I tried to reason, “How he is gone, I have nothing left” he pleaded. “I'll make it right, you just have to have faith - those who love never are truly defeated.” Sebastian turned his gaze to the notebook on the desk and pen clenched between my fingers, “You're not finished?” I shook my head no - “So there is still hope,” he said eagerly. “There could. You will just have to let time unfold,” I said hesitantly - knowing the future is a powerful thing, something he isn't ready for. He turned towards the door, and slipped through the shadows out of sight, “Oh, the pain you will have to endure to get your love back might be too much” I whispered - with the last thought of him out of my mind. | 2021-07-31T10:10:31 | 2021-07-31T09:54:16 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | Sorry for any typos, written on mobile.
Edit: To the kind person who gave me gold, [thank you](https://media2.giphy.com/media/kkAdqZnvhsc12/giphy.gif) :)
***
#The Ex-Con#
Officer Gurira watched impassively as a wrinkled face took a seat across from him. PC-502, otherwise known as Adam Forester, was the oldest convict ever to make it through Preemptive Incarceration, impressive in more than one respect. The program was established fifty-two years ago. Its official intent was to try and preemptively rehabilitate trouble elements, with the offer of a virtual free pass to do anything said elements sordid hearts desired after they left the program. In practice, few people who entered the program every saw the outside again. There were whispers the government has set the program up to eliminate potential societal threats before they could act upon their dark impulses. Most of those who enrolled died within a few years of their acceptance, usually by a shiv to the kidney or suspect 'suicides'. The few that did make it out usually hit their quotas fairly quickly. It didn't take much to earn a fifteen or twenty five year sentence, and ex-Preemptives always got the maximum sentence. Still, every year, a few hundred would decide they wanted to try their luck, try to beat the system. They never did.
But then there was Forester.
Forester had joined shortly after the program first started. Compared to the other inmates, his rap sheet was laughably microscopic. A first offence DUI. 48 hours jail time. Instead, he asked for fifty years. And here he'd been since, in this same facility. He was part of the foundation by now-a wall you saw on the morning call to breakfast, a patch of mold no one had bothered to clean up. His stay had been quiet, for the most part. The first decade or so was littered with several incidents of fighting with the other inmates and the odd suicide attempt. Then after that the incidents stopped. Forester was forgotten.
Until now.
He was twenty-one when he entered. Now he was over seventy, white haired, liver spotted skin, veins rolling like hills over his hands. Gurira studied the unassuming man, and wondered what evil desires had driven him to give up fifty years of his life, his youth, to spend his twighlight years committing crime without reprisal. Not to say that he wasn't fit. In fact he was, remarkably so. He reminded Gurira of an elderly body builder, toned, hardened. Adam Forester was one the few who prison looked good on. The scars on his face and neck from those first ten years didn't make him looked like a tired old man. They made him look dangerous. He could take a hit, and get back up, even now. There was also a certain light in his eyes, something so often missing from the old. Officer Gurira was the furthest thing from pittying the old man. In fact, he was loathe to admit he felt intimidated by the interesting, if modest looking, soon to be ex-convict.
Gurira pretended to study his file while really trying to collect his thoughts. Forester stared on, seeming almost disinterested in what was going on.
"Mr. Forester, your preemptive incarceration has expired. The items and clothes you were brought in with will be returned upon your discharge. As a participant in the program, it is required of you to answer the following survey in the presence of a certified program authority. Consider this as your final act of reparation to society within these walls, as you're answers will help us to better improve the program. Are you ready, Mr. Forester?"
He nodded.
The old convict had a steady voice, oddly pleasant to listen to. At first, his answers were standard.
"When were you incarcerated?"
"July 4th, 1957."
"Rate the standards of your facility on a scale of one to ten."
"As of recently, a four. Budget cuts I think."
"Rate the disposition of your fellow inmates on a scale of one to ten."
"Another four."
Officer Gurira knew these answers would be broadcast across the world. Everyone wanted to know what the Incarcerated Innocent, as he'd been labeled by the media, intended to do once he was out. He'd been interviewed a few times leading up to his release, but he was notoriously close lipped. The officer was beginning to fear there would be nothing to show for all the curiosity.
"Did you plan or make plans to commit a crime once your sentence was over?"
The man paused a moment. Then gave a small shake of his head. "No."
Gurira glanced up from his papers incredulously. "No?"
Forester shook his head. "No, I did not plan to a commit a crime. I still don't."
Gurira continued to stare. Finally, as no explanation was forthcoming, he marked no as the answer.
"For what reason did you enroll yourself in the program?" The question came out more personally than Gurira had intended.
Forester was quiet a long time. Gurira waited patiently for his answer.
"By the age of twenty-one, I knew I didn't have what it takes. Didn't have the...resilience to face it."
"To face what, Mr. Forester."
The old man gave a small smile. "Life." He shook his head. "I honestly don't know how you all do it. So much expected of you, so much demanded. Contribute, toil, be fruitful and multiply. Restrain yourself, conform to the majority, control your impulses. It was...suffocating. I went around feeling like my head was wrapped in a blanket, always short of breath, always blind and senseless. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. No one but the system. I realized freedom was within reach, if I would only pay a price."
"You found freedom in jail?" Gurira asked, disregarding the survey all together.
Forester shook his head. "Prison was the price. But it's all been leading up to now."
The old man leaned in over the table, and spoke softly. "I told you the truth when I said I had no plans to commit a crime. But the option is mine now, isn't it? I have found freedom. *Real* freedom. No obligations, now expectations except the expectation that I will commit the vilest of offenses. No. I am *free*. I can do whatever I please, whenever I please, wherever I please. I have a *choice*. Choice with nothing but dubious moral consequence attached to it." He leaned back, and for the first time, Gurira saw a hint of self-satisfaction in his smile. "Can you think of any freer existence?"
| One was a robbery. Two was armed robbery. Five was assault, although cooler heads usually prevailed by one. Most drug infractions were ten. Drug dealing was twenty. Outright murder was forty. This guy wanted *fifty*.
He kept mum about his plans, however. Never spoke a word. Got to be known around the prison yard as the cool character - always dispassionate, always cautious, always respectful. He got into a fight, once, and won it; he never cheated anyone he made a deal with. The guards liked him because he was respectful. The prisoners gave him wide berth because this man was willing to wait out two generations.
He even wrote a series of books from pirson, knowing full well all profits would be held in a trust to go towards his eventual victims. They called him the Well Read Felon.
On the day of his release, the guards were extra cautious. His final meal was simple - a fat slice of meatloaf and a glass of Coke, the same as he always requested for his Christmas dinner - and his suit was well pressed. A few luxuries, ordered through Amazon, were awaiting him at the prison post office; some trinkets, a new pair of shoes, candy that had been out of production for decades. He waited out his final four hours as a ward of the state setting up his phone, doing his hair.
Per tradition for "prepayers," he was allowed one final round to give goodbyes to the friends he had made. Unlike the thieves who would think themselves secret agents as they whispered coded phrases in front of guards, or the rapists who would find themselves questioning whether it was worth spending their lives in this company, his departure was teary; many of his rivals hugged him, and the seventy-something year old man was clapped on the back by teenagers and twentysomethings as if seeing their grandfather for the first time. He had spent five decades in prison - but he was going to *get away with it*.
Whatever it was.
The President hadn't even been born when he went into prison, but the Secret Service was on high alert anyways.
Normally, the final person you speak to is a prison chaffeur, who will trade their bus for a comfortable sedan to take you anywhere you want - from a family member to your home to a restaurant. But in this case, the warden (the fourth person to hold the position since his incarceration) himself drove the prison car, as the prisoner played with his recently purchased luxuries in the back seat.
"Fifty years. That takes determination."
"Well, a man's gotta know follow-through."
"And you've never spoken a word."
"Never needed to."
"But, I have to ask... fifty years. What are you going to do that required fifty years of your life?"
"Oh, that's simple. I did it before I sat down, honestly," the prisoner said, a wide grin in his eyes.
The warden immediately hit the brakes, almost taking the car off the side of the road, gravel kicking up beneath himself. The warden bolted from the car expecting the car to have somehow have been trapped - but nothing happened but the prisoner's laughter.
"Oh, you weren't the target," the prisoner laughed, switching his phone off. "Not directly, anyhow. After all this time, you must know I wouldn't possibly think so small as to affect *just one* person."
The first person affected wasn't anywhere near the prisoner - he was off in Britain, actually. Then someone in Australia. Then someone in France. One by one, screens everywhere blinked, the orangered and periwinkle dancing on the screen, as the words scrolled into view on cellphones and in-retina displays everywhere:
"Vote up if, as a child, you played The Game." | 2016-02-23T18:24:54 | 2016-02-23T17:18:59 | 843 | 174 |
[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them. | I clasped my hand onto Peter's backpack to avoid losing him as we pushed through the crowded market. As we wended our way though the crowd, I caught snippets of my future with every stranger I brushed up against. One man was a cashier who would sell me some Advil later that day. One was an old lady that I would give up my seat for on the bus tomorrow. We would chat and she'd tell me about her grandkids. I passed a pretty girl and foresaw an exciting night in a plush hotel room, I'd have to remember to strike up a conversation with her later. Easy enough, we'd stop by the same restaurant tonight for dinner anyway.
The crowd thinned out as we left the vicinity of the market, and finally I could see the Seattle skyline across the docks. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, mirroring the waves of the ocean beneath.
"Should've bought an umbrella," Peter said, squinting up worriedly. I clapped a hand on his shoulder, nodding as I processed what I saw.
"Walk a few minutes that way," I pointed down a narrow street. "And there'll be a shop to your right that exclusively sells umbrellas. You're going to buy a bright yellow one. I'll tell you right now that I don't like it, but you'll love it. I know because you're going to be ranting about it nonstop on the way back to the hotel."
Peter blinked at me. "I hate it when you do that," he grumbled with mock annoyance. "Thought I'd be used to it by now." I grinned, which quickly turned to a grimace as I put a hand to my temple.
"Gives me a killer headache when we go through the crowds though. Too many visions. Ugh."
"You deserve that. You know what, I'll defy fate. I'm not gonna pick the yellow one." Peter set his shoulders indignantly and headed down the street.
I laid down on a nearby bench, still pressing a hand against my head. I admit, my little gift had served me well in life. I knew that when I approached Peter the first day of middle school, knowing that I was meeting my lifelong friend, roommate in college, and best man at my wedding. Funny enough, I couldn't see the face of the girl I was marrying. That's the thing with my visions. They're specific to the person I touch.
I groaned and turned on my side. My head was practically exploding with pain. I gritted my teeth, knowing I'd just have to suck it up and deal with it. This was an unfortunate side effect of my gift, and it happened often when I interacted with too many people. There was at least one other consequence I could think of. And it was that it made my dating life, well... somewhat boring.
I could meet a girl, buy her a few drinks. I could see our future together. A week or two, a month, hell, sometimes even years. I could see happiness with them, but what was the point if it was never going to last? Things got predictable, especially with me, when I could literally predict the outcome of every relationship. So I didn't bother. The point is, I've never met a girl I could marry.
I rolled to my feet and made my way to the nearest pharmacy. Peter was going to get lost (a detail I'd neglected to mention because I thought it'd be funny) so I had about half an hour to kill. I bought some Advil from the man I'd run into earlier, and on an impulse, decided to get a cup of coffee when I saw a cute barista behind the counter of the coffeeshop next door.
"Hey," she smiled as I approached. Up close now, I realized she wasn't just cute. She was insanely beautiful. I can't do her justice by trying to describe her, so I won't even try. I took a moment to catch my breath before I said, "Can I get two medium lattes please?" I owed Peter one after making him get lost.
"Sure thing," she said, as she swiped my card. Her voice was sweet as a song. I desperately tried to clear my head. God, what was wrong with me? I'd never considered myself a romantic. I stepped back as I watched her work. A loose strand of hair fell across her face as she picked up the milk jug. I couldn't wait to see our future together. Maybe I'd brush her fingers when she handed me the coffee....
"Here you go." She smiled, holding out the lattes in each hand.
"Thank you," I said, hesitantly smiling back. I reached out with both hands and took them. For the span of one beat of my racing heart, our fingers touched. That should've been all it took to conjure up a vision of our entire lives together. But I saw nothing. Not darkness, which was what I sometimes saw when I met someone who was dying soon. Just... nothing. How was this possible? My breath caught in my throat.
"Excuse me," I blurted out as she turned away. She turned back, a questioning look on her face. "I know this might sound weird..." I hesitated, and barreled on before I could lose my nerve, "But can I see your hand?"
She lifted an eyebrow. Then laughed. "This is a first," she said, holding out her hand. I took it in mine, expecting... I don't know, *something.* But she was a blank slate. Unreadable. Was this what other guys went through? They'd just jump blindly into the cold water without knowing the girl's entire future? It was near unbearable.
"I, uh..." My mind searched furiously for what to say as I stood there awkwardly holding her hand. "I know this may seem a little unexpected, but... would you like to get coffee with me?" She watched me, her expression amused.
"I mean, I know you work in a coffeeshop and all. So it doesn't have to be coffee. Maybe tea. But anyways. I thought... I mean, it would be nice..." She burst out into laughter. It sounded like music.
"This might just be the worst attempt a guy has ever made to ask me out on a date," she said, and my heart fell. Perhaps it showed on my face, because she stopped laughing. But I could still see traces of it in her eyes.
"Yes," she said seriously, and squeezed my hand. "Coffee, excuse me, *tea* sounds lovely." She gave me a playful smile. "Meet me at the end of my shift. Seven o'clock. Don't keep a girl waiting." She let go, motioning forward the next customer. I stepped back, feeling elated. I could sense a crazy grin starting to spread across my face. As I turned to leave the door swung open.
"There you are," said Peter, staring at me. "Why didn't you tell me I was going to get lost? Asshole." I laughed as I saw the curved handle of a yellow umbrella sticking out of his backpack.
"Nice umbrella."
"Shut up." He shifted on his feet. "It was on sale," he added, reluctantly. I laughed again.
"Here. I got you a coffee." He took it and grunted what could've been a thanks.
"You look happy," he observed. Peter didn't miss much. "I saw you talking to the girl. What did you see?"
"That's the thing, man." I glanced up at her and our eyes met. She quickly looked away, but I could see a smile dancing on the corner of her lips. "I didn't see anything. It's never happened before."
"Mmm." Peter looked down at his coffee and smacked his lips appreciatively. "You think it's gonna work out?"
I smiled. "For the first time ever... I have no idea." | It didn't happen with everyone. I would shake a colleagues hand or maybe touch somebody and say excuse me, but you rarely ever saw something in those kinds of interactions. Usually all I ever saw was me shaking the colleagues hand the next day, or for years after. I might see nothing when I tap the women's shoulder in the grocery store because it will be the only time in my life I'll touch her again.
Before, I never really thought about how many people and places you only go once in your life. Or how many places you will never go again.
Graduating highschool was surreal, our parents always told us it would be. All the hugs, handshakes, and arms wrapped around each other for pictures that we think will outlast time. Yet, that was the day I saw more blanks, more dead ends than I had before. I grew up with those people and now I see nothing when we touch. I knew it was inevitable but I didn't know how hard it'd be to stomach the reality of it. I would never see them again.
Everybody uses the knowing for their own gain. Whether it's worth sticking around that person, our how to get brownie points at a job. This leads to being touched by almost every person you interact with nowadays.
Of course the most common use is for love. They always say you see the most when you meet your soulmate. That you'll see beautiful weddings and a white picket fence with your kids coming through the bronze latched gate after school.
Or you'll see each morning you wake up next to each other and watch as Father Time slowly catches up to you two.
I never liked the knowing. I thought it ruined all genuine connection between us. Call me old fashion, but I had always preferred spontaneous infatuation. Asking someone for their phone number or leaving mine on a napkin and then being consumed by the suspense of whether they would call. Or the nerves of a first date, how would it end? Trying to find bits and pieces of myself as I'm sure they do me.
Friends of mine used the knowing, meeting their soulmates early on and now I'm the outlier. Dating apps never worked and every first date the girls grab your arm in a subtle manner and hope they see the veil over their eyes or hear the footsteps of our children on the floor above as they banter playfully through the house we bought.
Yet, when you don't see this, why even continue the date? As much as we can see and know with this gift, and as often as people find love with it, it can't be forced.
Therefore all my dates, the older I got, led to bland conversation where it was apparent she didn't see what she wanted. You see, you must initiate the contact to see your timeline with them. That's why I'm a handshake, both parties see where it all leads, but with a blind date touching my arm, only she sees her time with me.
So this goes on for years, more and more people post about their found love and what they saw. They comment congratulations and follow up pictures.
Dating apps fail and blind dates become uninterested. The perpetual hopeless romanticism I've subjected myself into.
So everyday I take the train to work and do my best to avoid physical contact, especially with women I find attractive. As the years go by I study the patterns within my own. Who takes the same train at the same time I do? Who takes the same elevator to a different floor? I saw no point in touching these people because our patterns line up with our timelines, our futures are predictable and uneventful.
I was late today, as I couldn't find a tie to go with my shirt for work. How would that change my timeline?
I was rushing into the station, I swipe my card and hustle through the gates. My train is leaving and I catch a car farther back on it than I usually am. Saved by a light brown messenger bag flying through the closing doors. I jump in and gasp for air and attempt to calm my adrenaline induced nerves. As I look to my right to thank the bags owner, the train jerks to a start and my hand flys toward the slender yellow pole for those standing.
Home recordings of a young boy with almond brown hair taking his first steps on hardwood floors with white trim around the room. Silk curtains with white cloth furniture surround the frames of the footage.
I hear a small laugh, a modest giggle from the side of the video.
Then I'm in the train, still looking to my right.
I let go of the pole and her hand comes out from under it.
I'm looking at her, knowing what I saw. What I felt. What I knew.
She's got the same look of awe in her eyes, a wandering gander that found itself in me.
She fixes her hair, her almond brown hair, and laughs a little bit. Maybe even a giggle.
| 2017-01-11T08:14:18 | 2017-01-11T07:44:07 | 285 | 38 |
[WP] You're a 250 year old vampire. You've found that living as a recluse and faking your death every 70 years or so is actually fairly easy. You've consistently fooled everyone except for your mortal enemy - Keith from the IRS | "Have you seriously forgotten me?"
As I sat across the desk from Keith, my IRS auditor, I looked at him closely. "I'm certain i would remember your face," I started.
"No, no, no. Not my face. You aren't the only one faking a death when people get too close to you," he said. "Yes, I had to dig a bit, but this is our fourth meeting, mister Lugosi. Or should I say Bernstein, that's the last name you used, right?"
Nobody could know this much. This young whippersnapper was trying to intimidate me, me, who had been a child of the Revolution. "No, no," I explained. "My father..."
"Bela Lugosi Jr. you are not, and he had no children born in 1963."
"No, my father changed his name in admiration of the great actor," I forced out.
"I've looked at the court records," Keith said. "But I don't really need to. Your face is burned into my memory," he stated flatly. Only as he began to speak again did the hints of emotion appear. "Let's see, you are looking quite well for being 250 years old. Your birthday was last month, wasn't it, sir? You were about 35 the first time I saw you, 1798. The Reverend Reginald Orville York. Your reputation preceded you when you came to dine with my parents."
On whom had I called in that year? I tried to think. "You were betrothed to my eldest sister, Olivia," he continued. "Hannah Allman. I shall be rather displeased if you've forgotten her so young, brother-in-law. The marriage was crucial to the Allman family securing their place in Ohio."
Ah, yes. My first wife. My only wife, actually, I reminded myself. After my first death, I had avoided such intimacy to secure myself. "You must surely have me mistaken, Mr. Legere." I paused for a moment as I read his name tag, then nodded. "I am Kalvin Lugosi, born in 1963 to George Lugosi and Maria Kintigh."
"Yes, yes," he said. "This was what drew my attention to you, reverend. The Kintighs are kin, after all, and it's not helpful for us who are immortal to cross the wrong clans, is it? No, I'm afraid I'm not like you. I don't seduce young women and feed on them to maintain my life," Keith said. "I made a pact. I believe the formal term is a warlock? I made a deal with some angel or demon when my sister had that untimely accident during her pregnancy. She joined the angels after a month of seeming to recover, but you, reverend? You had vanished the very day she fell into that freezing river. Ten years together, her first pregnancy, and you vanished when she and the child perished."
I had nothing to do with her death. Sworn to secrecy, she had known my secret, but it was an accident that she had died. I had left because as soon as I heard the commotion on the boat, as soon as I had seen my wife in the freezing waters, I knew it was a hunter responsible. The hunters saw no qualms in killing innocents to get at those of us they labeled monsters, but Hannah had been my one shining light. I hope my stoic mask kept up, that my emotions were concealed.
"At first, mister York, I thought you the one responsible," Keith continued. "So I prayed to any gods, any demons, any angels -- any being out there that was willing to help me, to let me live until you passed from this earth. So I have. Of course, at first I questioned what had happened. It seems you were the true target of Hannah's attack. She was stricken as bait to lure you out. Some gentleman by the name of Lester Campbell. His family, as it turns out, believed you to be a monster. They took me in and taught me what they knew, hoping I would join their crusade. I parted ways with them on the night when Lester was found with hs entrails spilling across the floor. By then, you were dead, or so the obituaries had claimed. I suspected I would not be long for the world, as I believed your death would bring mine."
"Oh, I apologize, reverend. I assure you that I am in no way seeking to exploit you out of this. There are no recording devices in use, you may be entirely frank with me. After all, it seems I owe my longevity to your own," he said. "That said, the only thing more certain in this nation than death is taxes, and you've been delinquent for the last decade. Preparing for another disappearing act, aren't you?"
My mouth twitched. "Ebenezer," I said. "My, you've grown. You don't seem to age quite so gracefully as I, though for a mere human only 20 years my junior, you look remarkable. I wonder, what did these Campbells tell you about me? What did they think I was? I mean, I'll admit to being a monster, though hardly a choice of my own."
"They suspected you were a werewolf or vampire," he said. "Though werewolves don't live so long. I have pulled your reporting for the last thirty years, most of your current adulthood," he said, tapping the keyboard. "I would have taken it as an early retirement if I didn't figure out who you are. Just your unlucky generation that I chose to be an auditor right now, wouldn't you say?"
"Could be very lucky," I said. I briefly considered turning him. No, I had only turned a handful of people. Several in my youth, before Hannah, but after settling down, I had given it up. Every generation I turned two or three terminal illnesses, people about to die well out of the fullness of their lives. A few shared my motives closely enough that they lived quietly. Those who didn't found themselves as a head on some hunter's trophy wall. "I presume you've estimated how delinquent I am based on the years I reported, but for the past ten years I simply haven't done as well saving."
"You still need to file your taxes," he said, turning to look at me. "My family is doing well. Without me, of course. I suppose we both came to the same conclusion on how to hide in this nation."
"Seclusion or redefinition are the only choices," I said. It was difficult to face a living memory of my mortal wife. I had offered her the same hunger and immortality as myself, but she had insisted on having a child first. Perhaps she would have insisted we raise the child. Dwelling that far back was heartbreaking, though. "I truly loved Hannah, dear Ebenezer. Had I been able to save her without being killed myself... I would have hesitated for less time than it took to blink my eyes."
"I don't doubt it," he said with a smile on his face. "Self preservation is a terrifying thing. So it appears that you owe $50,000 dollars in missed taxes," he said. "Estimating from your past reports and the amounts provided by your bank, you've simply been underpaying. I don't doubt we can make this go away quickly without significantly delaying your..."
There was a knock on the door of the office, then a head poked in. "Legere, Porter wanted to make sure you know you're invited to karaoke tonight too."
"... retirement," Keith said. "We'll get the payment plan all sorted out tomorrow." | Harry the vampire was beginning to get frustrated.
He had spent an hour already speaking with this fellow Keith from the IRS. So far he had provided death certificates, birth certificates, even fake baby pictures. He'd regaled Keith with well rehearsed, utterly fake stories about him and his loving grandfather, Jeremiah.
"Oh, how Jeremiah used to dote upon me, as if I were the most important object in the entire world. How I miss him, my dearest grandpapa!"
But Keith would just purse his lips and nod again, maybe lean in for yet another tea cookie. Harry cursed silently to himself - he would need to go out and by more tea cookies.
No matter what Harry fed Keith, no matter what proof Harry provided that, no, he was *not* himself Jeremiah, and no, he was *not* over two centuries old and attempting to defraud the IRS, Keith just wouldn't leave. In over two centuries on Earth, and after several successful efforts to defraud the IRS, Harry worried he may have finally met his match.
"Well Harry," Keith said, taking the final tea biscuit laid out on a small porcelain plate beneath them on the table, "it seems like everything checks out." Keith ate the small cookie in one delicious bite and shook his head. "Golly, those are some delicious cookies. Sorry I ate em all. Oh damn, you didn't get to have one, did you?"
Harry demured, raising his hand in front of him, and hid his simmering anger. "Oh, no, don't you worry about it." Harry stood up in the hopes Keith would follow his lead and finally get the hell out. It was already midday and Harry was exhausted. The meeting had been held in the sunless interior study, but Harry was feeling every second of his missed slumber.
To Harry's relief Keith did follow his lead and got up with him. As he stood he picked up his tea and finished the glass with a big gulp. "Well, very generous of you Harry. Thank you for your time. And my condolescences for your loss."
Harry frowned, his head swimming from standing so quickly , his blood pressure low. It wad never good to force through the day time. Vampires in general responded poorly to sleep deprivation, and Harry in particular was very sensitive. "Thank you." Harry muttered, hoping his demeanor came off as a distracted mourner rather than...something else.
As the two men walked to the front door, through the darkened alcove of the hallway, just as Harry was about to open the door, Keith sucked his front teeth. "Harry, I'm sorry to impose, but before I leave, would it be alright if I used your bathroom?"
Harry could hardly hide his frustration - humans and their incessant waste. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Um, sure, OK - Yes," god he was tired, "it's uh down the hall, through the study on the left."
Keith smiled. "Thanks Harry." And the man walked back into the apartment.
As Harry waited he ran the whole conversation around in his head. He thought he'd been consistent, had gotten all his details right, the whole genealogical tree - the fake chain of biologic causality that went from his great grandfather, to his grandfather, to him - all of them actually Harry collecting estate income at a far lower tax burden.
*Yes,* Harry thought, *I think I fooled him.*
Keith took longer than expected to return and Harry was just beginning to worry when the man appeared in the doorway. He looked different somehow, and his smile was sort of tight lipped. "Sorry about that, I'll be on my way." He did not offer a handshake. "Thanks." He said and then walked briskly out of the apartment.
Harry watched him go, a bit confused but overall just glad to have him gone. His head aching, Harry shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he would get some rest.
His stomach growled and Harry decided first he would have a night cap. So he headed into the kitchen, massaging his temple. When he arrived he stopped dead in tracks.
In front of him Harry's refridgerator was ajar and on the floor a bag of O negative blood was spilled in a grim pool all over the kitchen tiles.
Harry bent down, touched a finger to the liquid, and found that it was still quite cold.
Suddenly Keith's elongated piss clicked firmly into place, as did the realization that Harry was going to have to relocate for the second time in as many months.
"Shit."
Frustrated, Harry frowned and licked the blood off his finger. It was gonna be a long night
*******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| 2018-07-25T12:57:43 | 2018-07-25T08:10:27 | 94 | 65 |
[WP] when you are lying on your deathbed, the whole "life flashing before your eyes" cliche is actually the watchmojo lady counting down the top ten moments in your life. | As you breathe in your final breaths, you begin to wonder what may come after. If nothing else, you can at least relive your memories one final time. Welcome to WatchMojo.com, and today we're counting down the Top 10 Moments of your life!
For this list, we're counting those moments that were both memorable, and influential for the rest of your existence, for better, or for worse.
"Oh my god! What did you do?!"
Number 10: Your Birth, 2025 AD.
"Waaaah-waaaaaah"
This one is a no-brainer, as your birth welcomed you into the world, everyone greeted you with open arms, even your father, who we would soon come to find out wasn't so fond of you after all.
"Please stop hurting me, Papa."
We put this so far down on the list since you can't really remember your birth, but it still started what came to be a great adventure.
"Eh, it ain't so bad."
Number 9: Your first kiss, 2037 AD.
"Was that...okay?"
Ooooh yes it was. Coming in at our number 9 spot, is the time you kissed Jennifer Argodopolis at the Jefferson Middle School Winter Snow Ball. This moment signified you fully coming out of your shell, and being comfortable with who you were. At least that point.
"Yeah...it was good."
Number 8: The Assassination of President Zang Chun Li, 2053 AD.
"Target In Sight."
The climax to the "Operative" saga, this was the moment that cemented you as a certified American Hero. The Assassination of Chinese President Zang Chun Li may not have brought any peace to the Chinese Communist Regime, but at least you stopped any threat of global thermonuclear war. G.I. Joe ain't got nothin' on you.
"Happy New Year, motherfucker."
Number 7: Shiner Reflection, 2039 AD
"YOU LITTLE SHITSTAIN!"
After a particularly brutal beating from your not-so-awesome dad, you looked in the broken mirror your father had just bashed you into, and saw the shiner he'd given you. It was at that moment, you knew, he fucked up. It may not have been the next day, or even years from then, but you knew, you would have your revenge.
Number 6: The day the bombs fell. 2055 AD
"They did it. Son of a bitch, they actually did it."
Weeeeell, shit. Two years after President Zang Chun Li's Assassination, the world erupted into thermonuclear war, preempted by a nuclear test over Japan, by the new Chino-Korea regime. You miraculously survived, but most major cities diiid not.
"London...New York...Vancouver...it's all gone."
Number 5: Sins of the father, 2053 AD.
"I just wanted to wish you a happy father's day, you shitstain."
After you successfully assassinated the Chinese President, you recieved a hero's welcome when you returned home. You were also informed of your father's terminal illness. When you went to talk with him, however, his reception was as cold as his heart.
"You ruined me..."
Number 4: Penguins!, 2030 AD
"Are they farting to make them swim faster?"
One of the happiest times you remember is seeing penguins for the first time. One of the few happy memories on this list, this is where you always went back to in your mind, to achieve peace.
Number 3: King of the Wasteland: 15 AAD
"KNEEL BEFORE YOUR KING!"
"HOORAAAAAY!"
A decade and a half after the bombs fell, the survivors built walls around the ruins of the world they once knew, and began to rebuild. This entire movement was, of course, led by yours truly. With the right amount of leadership and support, you were crowned king by your followers. A title you gladly accepted.
Number 2: Meeting your match, 2043 AD.
"Well, let's say I did think you were cute..."
Ah, Jenny. How we miss thee. Sexy, sarcastic, but sweet, this bombshell was seduced by your, ahem, "unique" brand of charm...
"Well I was thinking we could go back to my place, **or** we could fuck right now in a Denny's bathroom."
...and followed you through the radioactive fire, until differences in political views made her your greatest rival. Ah well. Better to have loved than lost, amirite?
"You are hereby banished from my kingdom...I'm so sorry, my love."
Before we reveal our top pick, here are a few honorable mentions:
-The Assassination of Jenny
"I'll never stop loving you, Jen..."
-Gearing Up
"DARKNESS! IMPRISONING ME! ALL THAT I SEE! ABSOLUTE HORROR!"
-Mom's death
"Nothing can protect you now..."
-On The Run
Number 1: Father, 2053 AD
Nothing fancy about this one, just good old fashioned vengeance. Not wanting to be outdone by his illness, you decide to pull the plug prematurely on your father. And by "pull the plug," we mean "stab the heart."
Sneaking back into his hospital room at night, you decide it was time for payback. As you take your final steps toward the void, the one thing you remember most fondly, is exacting sweet revenge on your father. What that says about you, we'll let the shrinks decide.
Do you agree with our picks? Let us know in the comments down below, and check out new videos everyday, at watch mojo, dot com. | They stated their luck but alas, I felt far luckier than any of them could know.
Time was fading away and my eyelids drifted close.
"Number ten is an interesting one! It was the first time his father hugged him! It was also the only time he'd witnessed his father crying. Can you believe that, not before or after but *only* at that moment. What a shocker!"
This can't be, I thought.
"Number nine is possibly just as wild, it was the first time he saw his own child. He was protesting it was his and merely wanted to watch the DNA test being done, how untrustworthy!"
If death could cry; if death could feel.
"And of course who hasn't experienced number eight! His first kiss, but can you believe where it happened? His friend was distracting the mentors from the group behind an Elks Lodge and he finally leans in for it, giving the girl what she'd been waiting for! What a sweetheart."
"Number seven traipses in as it's his first real memory, but not the most savoury one at that. He's in a hole dug by his father and eating the mud left behind. Bleh! But what can we expect from someone so young?"
Perhaps this was a nightmare before death.
"The fiendish number six, of course. Standing 'round fire with a coven all cloaked and masked, circle drawn and moon alight! What a time! The fire and wine were all they had to keep warm that night but the silence helped soothe the flames."
"Well, five seems to have gone just as off course! There's blood on the court and it's luv - 40! His knuckles have been split by the strings on his racket in a fit of rage! What will the outcome be, how will he be received?"
What have I done to deserve this?
"Coming up next we... have four, which seems to be a scene of him glaring at a man while his sister cries in the next room."
"And for three it seems," She pauses, turns aside and whispers with hurried tone to someone behind the scenes, "It seems we have them being thrown down a set of stairs into a door at the bottom. He... he looks okay."
She begins to sound nervous, "Two barges in with the moment he realised how much a child could change someone's life and how much he'd plan on it changing his. What a courageous love!"
"Out with a bang! Number one seems to be in a dormitory room with his first love and nothing between them but air and tension. It was the last time he looked someone in the eyes and truthfully said he loved them!"
If dark had a shade of starkness.
"Thank you for watching and may you enjoy the ride!" | 2017-10-31T01:02:16 | 2017-10-30T21:12:12 | 83 | 15 |
[WP] Death has been eradicated. War, however, has not. | They were called The Undying. They were the original race of men, seeded onto Terra not long after He placed Vitae's green sphere upon the sky. She loved all her creations, both beasts and plants, but always had a higher love for Man. She was grateful that they could frolic over her Fathers sacred vessel, and watched in pride as they made cities dedicated to her love and compassion. The first century was a period of unrivaled prosperity and happiness. There was no hate or animosity, Men all worked together, and there was no death, neither by Man nor beast. Vitae's powerful magic could not sustain them all, however, and as Man fornicated, beasts bred and plants spread their seeds, her divine powers faltered.
The hunger sat in first, as the first sign of decay. The Undying could not make bread of wheat or hunt deer for their venison. The wheat would not smolder and the deer would not perish. They were unconcerned as their wounds healed fast, and kept building their monuments, many of which can still be seen today. As the centuries progressed, Man started to acknowledge the gnawing feeling festering in his gut. Since they were all eternal, many of them could remember a time before this feeling, a better time.Eventually The Undying started to lash out against eachother, their pain manifesting itself as hatred. Hammers became weapons, and chieftains became warlords. They could not kill one another, but could inflict a great deal of pain.
Vitae watched in horror as her children turned on themselves. Her labour of love started drowning in an avalanche of violence and hate. She cried out to her Father, trying to wake Terra from his unyielding slumber. Silence was the only reply, and the deathless slaughter continued. It is said that the actions of this Era forever left a dark mark on very soul of Mankind. The Undying became very proficient at inflicting pain. They made unrivalled torture devices, and utilized the immortality of their victims. If we burrow into the walls of their oldest castles, we might find the remains of the king's adversaries, bricked away to face millennia of darkness.
We call this period of history "The Undying Horror," and it lasted for Ten Thousand years. It was said that Vitae near went mad during this time, and tried repeatedly to end her own life. She cried out for help, for release from this suffering, both for herself and her children. Theologians still debate whether Terra acted due to Vitae's pleas or of his own accord. He reached out and placed a white sphere in the sky (Not red as it is now), and gave her a brother. He called himself Death, and in one fell swing severed the lifelines of all the creatures that were ancient and mortally wounded. He made the river that guarded the afterlife, and let those that managed to cross it enter Vitae's realm. Those whose sins weighed them down would sink, and he took upon himself the grim task of guarding them. Vitae begged him to end her, but he refused, informing her that death is nothing without life, and so is life nothing without death. His task was to maintain the balance, and his birth heralded the end of The Undying and ushered forth a new age of prosperity and glory for Mankind.
This might not fit the bill completely, but I felt like some of the worldbuilding I had done fit this prompt. | I wanna fight you.
No, thanks.
But I wanna fight you.
No, I'm good.
But I'm soooo bored. We've been alive forever.
Eh, alright. But no cheating this time.
#the 2 line cowboys ready themselves for their duel.
(10 paces later...)
*Pew, pew, pew!*
Ow.
Ow.
Same time tomorrow?
Uh, yeah okay. | 2017-03-15T06:09:48 | 2017-03-15T05:34:07 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] A man confesses to his wife that he's been addicted to heroin for 2 years. She informs him that after the first month, he has only had access to a placebo.
Take this any direction you want. Funny, serious... Surprise me. | "Stacy, I've got something I need to tell you," Travis began, nervously looking around the room. "I've, uh, this is hard to say but... I'm addicted to heroin. I'm sorry that I've kept this secret from you so long. I trait thought that I woukd be able to get over it by myself."
Travis' words were getting faster and faster as he spoke. "And I don't even know how it started. I was like just-"
"Travis!" Stacy interjected. Or rather she tried to.
"And then I've just been buying from this guy in the streets and that's where all our money went and I ruined the kids' college fund and -" he was almost hysterical and was beginning to break down in to sobs.
"TRAVIS!" she screamed at him.
"Yeah what?"
"Take a breather, ok? You need to calm down,"
"Yeah you're right this is probably too much information for you to all take in at once but it's just that I'm really sorry and I need to explain to you and apologize to the kids and figure things out between us and-"
"TRAVIS WILL YOU STOP IT? Just calm down alright? Stop talking and just listen to me."
Travis did need a breather, as Stacy called it. He went back to his room and did his thing. The high this time wasn't as good as the last time. In fact, Travis noticed that the quality of his high had been deteriorating but he was still paying his supplier the same price. Was he being scammed?
As he was contemplating his dilemma, Stacy barged in, like she always did.
"Okay Travis what I've got to tell you is more important than what you have to tell me," she started. "I've known about your addiction for a while. You know your supplier? That's my dad. You've met him before and you didn't recognize him because of your tunnel vision on your heroin."
Travis tried to digest the information, but he was having trouble thinking straight. Had his supplier really been Stacy's dad? It was possible. But he would've noticed his distinct high voice. Maybe he was too high?
Once again, Stacy rudely interrupted him.
"But wait, there's more," Stacy said, channeling her inner Billy Mays. "The heroin you've been getting? Yeah it's just been a placebo. Travis you've been getting high on literally nothing."
Suddenly, Travis' mind cleared up. Funny how that happens.
"Wait what? How did you find out? How did you set me up? Why did you set me up?" Travis asked, returning to his feverish pace of speech.
"Slow down there, cowboy. I found out when I saw all the needles strewn around our room. You made it pretty easy for me to figure out. Second, I just found your supplier and paid him off and replaced him with my dad. Last of all, I set you up because it's fun to do. Any questions?"
Just as Travis was about to ask, a man who he recognized as his high school friend Jim appeared in a labcoat from behind a curtain.
"This concludes the experiment. A smashing success, if I do say so myself," Jim exclaimed with pride.
"Travis, your whole life since high school has been a lie. It's all been a placebo," Stacy revealed.
"What the fu-"
"Yeah don't you remember? Our senior year experiment? Effects of love and compassion on the human brain?" Jim asked. "You volunteered to be in the control group. Guess you forgot."
"Oh shit you're right. Damn I was actually kinda getting in to this life."
"Yeah we're gonna kill it at the science fair," Jim said, oblivious to the fact that the science fair had ended 25 years ago.
****
Feedback is welcome, especially for foreshadowing or using other tools.
Loosely based on [this xkcd comic](https://xkcd.com/1100/). | "The money has been coming right back to us. I contacted the psych department at UCLA right after i found out what you were doing and they agreed to set you up."
"So all the thousands ive wasted...you have it?"
"Yeah...Im sorry, I had to hide it from you."
"Why two years?" asked the wilting husband. He began to sob.
"I...I'm sorry. I let it get out of control. I was so mad at you."
The man stared at her for a minute. He looked ready to snap her in two. "After Bridget died I couldn't take it." He pulled out a picture of his daughter from his wallet and crumpled it up in anger.
"Why didn't you try to help me, after all of this time. I needed help Ellen."
He started to huff and puff. He dropped his wallet and walked out of the room. He ended up in the garage, where he had been getting high for two years. After a moment of intense nausea he puked. He found his reserve stash of heroin from back in the day. He coped with his problems. | 2015-07-03T22:43:03 | 2015-07-03T21:27:14 | 68 | 21 |
[WP] The . . . creature . . . has been following you for weeks now, but nobody else can see it. It just sits there, staring, grinning. Then one day you look across the coffee shop and see a young woman with another one right behind her. Your eyes meet . . . | I thumbed the pill bottle on the table, and rolled it until the label faced upwards. "ANTI-PSYCHOTIC 1 PILL DAILY WITH FOOD" glared back at me, in a cold and unforgiving black and white font. The bottle remained full, despite the bottle being almost a week old. Every day, I ordered the same thing from this cafe, a refill coffee and a chicken supreme, and let my food go cold while I stared at the bottle. Because this bottle promised some kind of escape.
I could feel it glaring at me. I knew that if I looked ahead of me, or in the reflection of the cutlery, or in the mirror at the back of the coffee shop, I would see it. Haunting, pale and ceaselessly grinning. The skin around its mouth tight and creased. Some days I would stare at it for hours, while other locals in the cafe would grow more and more uncomfortable at the strange man with cold food, glaring tearfully into the middle distance.
And the more I stared at it, the more I felt an intense fear grow inside of me, until it threatened to claw its way through my chest and bare all of my darkest secrets to the strangers in this nondescript cafe. So I stopped, and instead I stared at the 50mg pills that a doctor had prescribed for me a week ago.
I hadn't taken them. There was an aura of hatred around the bottle, as if the forces that had concocted them were more malevolent than whatever had sent me my incessant, smiling demon. Some ancient part of my instinct told me not to touch them, that a truth was hidden behind the tormented eyes of my silent companion, but in the throes of my anguish I took 3.
Weeks passed this way. The demon would not disappear, but the pills would blur everything, so that the grin would smear its way across my vision into an amorphous cloud of yellowing teeth, and I could no longer make out the shapes that haunted my waking hours. I could function, but barely. It was a kind of half existence, that offered an escape from the torment, but at the cost of everything else. A bleach for my sorrows.
Until I saw another blur, hovering its way at the edges of my eyesight. It moved like the ghost that haunted me, without steps, floating over tables and resting on window ledges. I knew something had changed, because I saw the two blurs sit down at the table together. In that moment, I knew that there was something here I needed to see through.
I rested my head on the table and closed my eyes, willing myself to overcome the pills. If, just for a moment, I could see and think clearly, I could find out what was so significant about a young woman, eating lunch with her ethereal demon.
When I opened them again, the cafe was empty. I knew instantly that I had slept, and the staff, having seen me wandering in a daze for weeks, had elected to leave me alone. All that remained were a few of the young workers, cleaning tables. The pills had worn off, meaning I had been asleep for hours. And then I heard her voice.
"They won't help, you know". I jumped in my chair, and looked at her. She smiled at me, a smile without pity or malice, it was a thin but friendly and it spoke of a burden shared and suddenly halved. "These things, they're not from here, so nothing from here will get rid of them". I didn't say anything, I just looked to her side and saw that her demon was much like mine. Only hers didn't grin, its teeth did not show, and instead it merely looked at me, curious, inquisitive. I could see behind its eyes that the torment was gone. And there were crumbs on its shirt collar. I realised what I had seen before. They had sat down to eat together.
I stared back at the young woman, and she fixed me with a look that preempted my question. She placed a hand on my shoulder. "They're not here to haunt you. They need your help."
I looked back at my demon, and for the first time, behind the crimson red pupils and bloodshot eyes, through the taut skin around its mouth and the strained neck muscles from its stretched face, I glimpsed a momentary light that shone for only a moment. I recognised that light, and knew in that moment what I needed to do. I shuffled up on the bench and made space for the demon, who slowly, cautiously, floated over and took his seat next to me. And the corners of his smile twitched. | Alexa's going crazy. There's no other possible reason for it. She doesn't even know how it happens.
One day she wakes up, only to see a ghoul like creature staring back into the depths of her soul. It doesn't resemble anything, just a vague black shape, with a hood covering it.
It must have eyes, for it follows her everywhere but she's never seen them. Then again, no one else sees the creature either.
She tried running for miles, screaming even going on a road trip to another state but the creature is always there. Lurking in the corner.
Alexa stares morosely at her coffee - her last one before she checks herself into the mental hospital.
Thats when she sees the woman. And the creature behind her. Alexa whirls around on instinct, but her ghoul's still behind her.
There's two of them now. She scrambles out of seat, running towards the woman.
"Hey!"
The woman looks at her, eyes widening before she starts running.
Alexa puts on a burst of speed, almost catching up to her. She needs answers. "Hey! Please! I need to know what's wrong with me."
The woman stares at her, pursing her lips, before looking at the ghouls beside them.
"Stay away from me. The more of us together, the stronger they become and then we'll be caught. "
Alexa frowns, narrowing in on one word. "Us?"
The woman rolls her eyes. "For someone who cheated death you sure seem to be trying to get killed." | 2022-11-26T03:06:06 | 2022-11-26T00:59:59 | 678 | 26 |
[WP] The amount of things promoting Raid: Shadow Legends is starting to get suspicious. News anchors, Congressmen, random Live Leak videos and even terrorists are thanking them as a sponsor. The SCP Foundation decides to investigate this as a possible anomaly. | "Before we sign the papers, I just wanna take a moment to thank today's sponsor for making this possible. This dissolution was brought to you by Raid: Shadow Legends. Raid: Shadow Legends features over 300 unique..."
I tuned the voice out, the thousandth ever-so-slightly unique variation of a spiel I'd heard a thousand times. It had started with small-time YouTubers, and now, 10 years on, here it was at the end of the European Union. I didn't even have the pleasure of watching for fun - my partner had sent me it as a part of my case.
The Raid: Shadow Legends phenomenon was unprecedented. The game was everywhere. Major sports events, elections, funerals - all featured commonplace unskippable 2-minute plugs for the mobile game that was now a decade out of date. And it was never even good to begin with. Review archives show that even at the game's genesis, it was considered, frankly, shit.
I've investigated some pretty bizarre things in my time, but this was definitely a new one for me. In a world of constant, invasive advertising; privacy a mere notion of days gone by, Raid didn't seem *too* out of place. Pop-ups littered every digital environment like obnoxious online parasites. The internet, once an escape from a miserable reality poisoned by fossil fuels and extreme politics, was now just as rotted and sad as the rest of the world.
What made Raid tricky, however, was the mystery surrounding it. No one had been able to dig up a name, or even a bank account, linked to the omnipresent ads or even the game itself. No-one, that is, until me. After a year and a half of digging, and convincing Raid to replace Coke as the sponsor for the next Royal baptism, I had finally made actual human contact.
And tonight, I would get answers.
I made my way to the address I'd gleaned from the IP - standard, nondescript brutalist office buildings adorned in hi-res neon billboards advertising how non-corrupt the elections would be *this time*. SO the outside didn't differ from the norm - hopefully the answer to Raid's bizarre pervasiveness would be found inside.
I made my way into the building and promptly took the lift to the only marked floor. The lack of security was surprising, but years of experience had taught me schemes as strange as this often hide in plain sight. Upon arriving, the doors opened onto a single desk next to a server rack. The man behind it had a kind face, but sallow eyes and thinning hair.
I raised my weapon, certain things were not as they seemed.
"What's the deal here?"
"10 goddamn years. I always wondered how long it would take for someone to look past the mindless commercials."
"Why have you been doing this for so long?"
"Don't you see? Look around you! We live in a world so infested with marketing, corruption, scandal and invasion of privacy! I wanted to do my part."
"By contributing to the shit reality we call home?"
"By helping people forget it. My ad reads are generic. My game is terrible. A plug for Raid: Shadow Legends gives people 2 minutes in the day to switch off; a break from the bombardment of political programming and targeted pop-ups!"
"That's your big evil plan... meditation through uninspired mobile game ads?"
"There's nothing evil about it boy - my campaigns are about the last unsullied thing in the world of marketing."
I lowered my weapon. I understood now. This was simply a kind man who appreciated a time before all-consuming media, the 24-hour news cycle, and the ever-present political controversies. And he had a point - no one ever actually pays attention to a Raid ad read.
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-------------------------
This was my first time writing on here, so I hope you enjoyed and all feedback is welcome! (Seriously, if you thought it sucked just tell me :) | Item #:SCP-???
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-??? must not be viewed without permission of a level three(3) personnel. Only then, the personnel must wear protective glasses to avoid contamination. All means of social media, news outlet, or communication is to be kept 30 ft. away from SCP-???. Those who go in are prohibited to bring communication devices and as such must be observed via security camera facing away from the TV
Description: SCP-??? is an old video tape containing an advertisement for [REDACTED], known as SCP-???-1. It is said that those who have seen or heard its contents are compelled to attempt to download SCP-???-1 and to share it with their friends.
The phenomenon was first seen on January 28th, 2020 in a social media site named [REDACTED]. After Incident 1-4, the site has been [DATA EXPUNGED]. The video tape was retrieved from a man in Oregon known to be a shut-in and a NEET.
The act of downloading SCP-???-1 will cause its user to continuously play the app, soliciting the body to food, water, and rest. The user will play until their body cannot and inevitably shuts down all other bodily functions.
Once the player dies in game, any gadget, communication device, or any access to internet and social media wil spontaneously combust leaving the player braindead. | 2020-01-30T14:47:19 | 2020-01-30T14:36:49 | 229 | 82 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | I could hear them before I could see them-- a low, ominous buzzing that grew steadily louder until it sounded like I was in the center of a tornado of electricity. I imagined what they looked like--swarms upon swarms of cockroaches, bedbugs, ants and mites; millions of pointed insect legs skittering over the floor, millions of pinchers vengefully extended.
I watched the pearly gates fade away as the cumulous cloud that had borne me up into limbo drifted into the dark arena.
"So much for all that morality bullshit," I thought distantly, and immediately resented all those untold hours spent listening to Father Simon drone on about moral responsibility and helping old ladies across the street.
"I might as well have been snorting cocaine and having sex with strangers. Seen what all the fuss was about, if I'm just gonna end up down there anyway."
The cloud landed with a soft "pffft" on a hard cobblestone surface, and then dissolved into the air. I kept my eyes on the stones for a few more seconds, savoring my last few moments as a free soul.
When I looked up, it was even worse than I imagined. The area looked to be about the size of a football stadium, and every wall was throbbing with glittery black bodies. The portal to hell was several feet to my left, blistering with heat and clearly broadcasting the tortured screams of the souls trapped within. At the other end of the arena, just barely visible, was the pure white pulsing of the portal to heaven. Between me and it was a solid two hundred yards of furious insect.
I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't have to see whatever happened next in addition to feeling it.
The buzzing grew louder, as well as the clicking of their pinchers. And then... another sound. A pure, ringing thud. It was much, much too heavy to belong to any creature I had ever exterminated. I opened my eyes.
Before me, in front of the swarm of insects, stood a horse. It wasn't beautiful- no palomino of the afterlife. Just a simple gray draft horse. I stared at it a moment, perplexed. Then, the memory flooded back.
I was about 14, coming back from a long camping trip alone in the woods. I'd heard a strange sound coming from a ditch on the side of the road. Curious, and too young to think to be scared, I looked in. It was the horse, thrashing back and forth in agony. I could see from where I was standing that all four of its legs were broken, and I knew what that meant for a horse. An injury like that couldn't be healed.
There had only been one humane thing to do in that moment, and I'd done it. With an old hunting rifle, I'd put the horse out of its misery and spared it any further pain. I'd killed it. And now, here it stood.
The horse watched me. It seemed expectant. I gazed at it one more moment in awe and surprise and then took a deep breath. I had maybe one chance. It was a long shot, but clearly the only option I had. I climbed on the horse.
It had been a long time since I'd moved so fast. In my last dozen years or so of life, I'd avoided driving and stuck around the house. The horse was galloping powerfully. I heard the bodies of insects crunching as she ran. Faster, faster.
Then, before I could even bring myself to truly believe it, we were through the portal to heaven. I heard music and laughing and my eyes were dazzled with light. And then, we floated upward, on to our next adventure.
| *Pitter, patter.*
I open my eyes. The sky is stone.
*Skitter, scatter.*
I sit myself up. But no broken bones.
*Slither, slather.*
The screech of tyres, I'll never go home.
*Bizzer, bazzer.*
I get the feeling I am not alone.
*Grrrr! Graarr!*
I know these sounds, a too familiar drone.
*Whish, whoosh.*
And by their mercy alone can I atone.
*Screech, scream*
A life of death, my death does become.
*Whimper, Waaah!*
Hell to remember the sound of just one. | 2017-04-23T23:40:27 | 2017-04-23T20:32:26 | 226 | 134 |
[WP] Legends tell of the Elder race who utilized strange "technologies" instead of magic. As hordes of brutal killers invade from the north, a young elf heads off to search for ancient ruins, looking for humans... | The Elders were always venerated and spoken of with respect, at least in the annals of history. Their genius was said to have been unmatched by any other sentient race; historians even claimed that any non-scientist Elder youth held a deeper understanding of the universe than ten of our High Sages combined. Even today, every now and then elven adventurers unearth bizarre gadgets of indescribable sophistication in our elven foothills, far beyond the scope or comprehension of any elf.
Not much else was known about the Elders other than their defining brilliance. In more peaceful days, teams of earthmages and historians would venture into the Northern Wastes to discover more about the Elders, their civilization and history, and how they perished. Some even made the ludicrous claim that the Elders had no magical capabilities whatsoever; indeed, their genius was to the extent that they could shape and meld the physical and living worlds to their will through sheer inventiveness. This belief led to the myth of the Machina, devices that the Elders used to perform such feats as erecting monuments that touched the heavens or building gadgets that were impossibly indistinguishable from each other. Most believed these Machina to be giant avatars of humanoid form; others argued that this was implausible and unlikely. Indeed, in those days, many elves, both laypeople and authorities, spent considerable effort musing and debating the existence and nature of the Machina, and this led to many excursions to the Wastes.
Unfortunately, that time is now gone.
-----
A mournful howling wind brought me back from the wistful memories of peaceful days gone by. I shivered as the chilling gust of wind blew past me, propelling itself southward. Snapping back to alertness, I chided myself for the brief loss of focus. *You're in the Wastes now, Avestan. One more daydream like that and it could be all be over.*
Had it been three days now since I had last slept? Perhaps four? Days were hazy so deep in the Wastes, where any glimpse of the sun was through endless layers of dust and smog. It was just as difficult to discern whether I was making any progress. The Wastes had more than earned the namesake: other than the occasional mountainous landmark, it was an endless expanse of dead forest, all covered in grayish soot.
Still, I used what meager mana I had at my disposal to cast a small lifetrace spell, which helped more as a psychological assurance than a navigational tool. The spell's supposed effectiveness puzzled me to this day; after all, lifetrace was an exceptionally minor wind-based spell used to track traces of lifeforms (hence the name), and yet according to earthmages who had ventured into the Wastes, the spell would uncannily lead to the remains of the Elders' civilization. Normally, the dead were not tracked at all by lifetrace, leading to further speculation regarding the mystery of the Elders' demise. "It's almost as if the entirety of the Elders were obliterated in a single instant!" the earthmages exclaimed.
I again started making my way through the dead forest, the spell providing a sort of "intuition" for what direction to follow. Using every possible means of concealment and stealth, I carefully stalked from trunk to thornbrush, praying that I would not be caught by the Fiends. I counted my blessings for the umpteenth time that my only magical capacity was for minor spells like lifetrace; after all, the Fiends homed in on higher-order magic with terrifying precision. Even large amounts of mana appeared to draw the Fiends in, so that many of our finest Sages had been the first to be shredded by the Fiends. Indeed, my stealth training as a ranger and my utter lack of magical ability were the reasons I had been chosen for this mission in the first place.
"Venture out to the Wastes. Find any hope of survival you can from the Elders, and bring it back to us. It's the only way." The words of the High Sages as they bequeathed this mission still rang in my ears and drove me onward. Ever since the mysterious, lethal, metalloid Fiends had descended in hordes from the Wastes, with their incessant, unnatural clicking sounds filling the air, all we could think about was survival. At first, we attempted to fight back, of course. Spell after deadly spell was hurled into their midst as they invaded our cities, to no avail. Their metallic shells withstood the most fearsome of elven magic, while their invisible projectiles killed elven mages with pinpoint accuracy. Even storms of fire and lightning left them unfazed, only managing to drive them back briefly before they resumed their swarm-like advance. The only thing that worked was to cast protective barriers around our cities to hide any trace of our presence, which caused the Fiends to lose interest completely. At this point, all we could do was to barrel ourselves inside our walls and barriers. Everyone knew that it couldn't last long.
-----
These thoughts still lingered in my mind when the lifetrace spell suddenly indicated a suitable destination. Looking around, I glimpsed a near-invisible nook in a small clearing, almost imperceptible to the eye. Peering more closely, I could discern faint lines in the dust, forming a perfect rectangle in the ground. The precision of the handiwork left no doubt: this was, indeed, a mark left by the Elders. But what was its purpose? Why was it carved here?
I silently brushed aside the soot covering the markings. It became apparent that the area outlined by the rectangle was not earth, but rather some artificially smooth surface. Now on my knees, I cautiously lowered myself to examine the nook more carefully. There it was: a small impression near the center of the rectangle, again so fine as to be all-but-invisible to the naked eye. I could feel that the impression was pliable. Throwing my doubts to the wind, I braced myself as I pushed the impression inward.
The rectangle began to *moved*. Without a sound, the entire rectangular area slid smoothly open, revealing a dark stairway underneath. For a few moments, I could only stare in shock. No runes were visible anywhere, I had made sure of that; and more importantly, no mana had been emitted by the structure at all! And yet, the entrance now stood open before me, as if nothing had ever stood between me and the stairway. My mind almost felt deceived, that the rectangular structure was naught but an illusion.
Taking a moment to calm myself under the teachings of the Sages, I ventured into the abyss. While elves have rather developed vision in the dark compared to other land creatures, I had to grope my way forward in the utter darkness. There were no features to describe; just a narrow staircase leading down hundreds -- perhaps thousands -- of steps, lined by impossibly smooth walls. Come to think of it, the walls seemed to be of the same material as the moving entrance: a cold, unnatural substance.
As I reached what appeared to be firm ground at last, I was abruptly blinded by light. In unison, countless lamps came to life along the walls and ceiling, impossibly high above me. Again, not even a single wisp of magic emanated from any of these light sources. *Time to stop being surprised, Avestan.* I told myself. *You've known since you came here that this would be powered by the Elders' works.*
Gathering my senses again, I could make out a small, gate-like structure at the end of the corridor, and hurried to it. A similar impression and a similar, smooth sliding opened the way, and I found myself in an incredibly large opening, stretching as far in all directions as the eye could see. The entire area was lit up, though no sources of light could be seen. I caught myself again gasping at the marvels of the Elders.
Lining the walls of the opening were endless rows upon rows of bodies, evidently in some form of stasis. They looked uncannily similar to elves, but something was off. At that moment, in that state of shock, I could barely register this fact, let alone try to discern what was different.
Turning my attention back to the opening itself, I glimpsed movement coming from the perceived center. Heart pounding, I gasped for breath as I ran and staggered to the source. As I got closer, I saw that the movements were actually screens of blue light dancing in intricate patterns, floating above the ground in designated rows. The contents of these light screens were so definite and precise in their design that I could only think of them as symbols of some kind, though what they represented was anyone's guess, especially given how they weaved together in such complex patterns.
In fact, I was so mesmerized by the screens and the floating symbols that I didn't recognize what was sitting behind the light until I almost crashed into him. An Elder. | Enrir raced across the snow-covered wilderness, leaping deftly over slick rocks and the small brush that dotted the landscape. His commanding officer had told him that his stride was like that of a gazelle, and as Enrir's legs stretched and propelled him smoothly closer and closer to his target, he was beginning to believe him. But there was no time for pride.
Enrir had been given a mission of upmost importance. The war with the Orcs had reached a standstill, but scouts had reported a new army forming just beyond the northern border. One whose weapons and numbers would easily lay waste to the Elven Federation.
Once a simple territorial dispute, the Elven-Orcish war had escalated past the point of no return. It was now to go until total victory; if necessary, to the extinction of the other race. Until this point, the Elves had kept the Orc armies at bay with their supreme knowledge of magic. Their healing and rejuvenation spells had enabled their warriors to fight for hours or even days. The destruction spells allowed them to rain fire from the sky onto the Orc hordes. But the Orcs had a fortitude unmatched by any other creature in the Sgorvën lands. Their armies were merciless, tearing through Eleven villages like a torrenting river breaking forth from a dam. The Elven magic and soldiers could take out only so much. If the new Orc army was even half the size reported, it could spell the end of the war; and possibly, the end of the Elves.
The Elves knew that it was not in their power to vanquish the Orcs. Therefore, a new power would need to be acquired, one wielded by the Ancient Humans. The humans were revered in Elven Lore and often given the credit for the magic that they so proficiently wielded. Legends told of a weapon so terrible and so powerful, it could wipe out entire nations within minutes. The High Elven Council had deemed it necessary to find this weapon. However, intelligence suggested that the only information remaining regarding this weapon lay within a great white building in the ruins of the great human city: Washington, D.C., which lay right on the northern border.
Enrir was a new scout to the Elven Legions. However, he had quickly proven his adept ability by running reconnaissance. Why, in one mission he had outrun an entire Orc platoon without the use of magic! As such, the mission was given to Enrir. He insisted to go by himself, since one Elf would look much less suspicious to the Orc Empire. And if it came down to it, Enrir had no qualms about taking out a few Orcs.
After weeks of travel, Enrir had finally reached the outskirts of D.C. The great *skyscrapers* towered above Enrir as he ran through the *asphalt* streets, now pocked with holes and brush and covered with snow. As he came into the remains of a stone courtyard, he skidded to a halt and tilted his curved ears to the wind. He had heard movement, carried to him by the wind. He pulled his enchanted robes tighter around his waist, and began to move his fingers back and forth, forming an ice spike. He readied himself to throw it, sprinting around the corner of a crumbling building. As he sprang around the building, his eyes met those of a mother deer with two fawns. He lowered his hands, dispelling the ice spike.
"Nerves," Enrir said, cursing. His eyes drifted past the deer, and met great white pillars beyond a rusting black gate. He had found it.
Enrir quickly vaulted the fence, almost catching his robes on the protrusions in his excitement. The doors, which Enrir had been told had once had ushered in some of the greatest Humans of the Technology Age, now leaned against the doorframe, faded and splintering. Enrir slowed his pace, venturing quietly into the building. He looked around. The ceiling now had holes from which dried ivy now hung. Enrir recognized some frames that used to house paintings, but now lay broken on the floor.
He ventured further into the building. He explored several of the smaller rooms. *Desks*, from which Human *politicians* did their work, were now covered in layers of ancient dust. Rusting *file cabinets* were toppled over, their papers spilling out onto the ground. Enrir entered a large, oval-shaped room. He recognized it as the *Oval Office*, which had housed the great leader of the "United States." As Enrir surveyed the chipping walls and peeling carpet, his sharp eyes caught a panel on the wall that seemed to be lifting itself out. He went over to it, touching it slightly. He jumped as the panel fell to the floor, seemingly of its own accord. Beyond the panel was a *concrete* staircase, which descended deeper and deeper down. Enrir started down it, making sure to quiet his steps in case it was an Orc trap.
As he reached the bottom, a large iron door met him. In its center was what looked like a wheel. Enrir took hold of it and twisted it this way and that, until it finally started to turn. Enrir spun the wheel, and the door swung open. Enrir stepped into a smaller room. Its walls were completely made of a metallic substance. As Enrir reached out to brush the wall, a cracking voice spoke, "Have you come to kill me?"
Enrir jumped several feet off of the ground. He searched for the voice's source, and found a black chair facing a corner in the room. It slowly spun around, revealing a wisp of a man. His figure was naught but sticks, a white beard trailed to the ground, and the hair on top of his head was completely gone. However, the rusting pin on the man's fading white button-up shirt told Enrir all he needed to know. This man was, or had been, the president of the United States.
---
If you liked this, check out /r/Alias_Fakename
God bless! | 2017-01-06T20:11:45 | 2017-01-06T16:47:24 | 58 | 35 |
[WP] “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
[deleted] | I woke up in cold sweat, searching the room around me. Part of me hoped that the last three days were nothing but a nightmare. But when I looked at the calendar I had on my bedroom’s door, the only thing the red marker spelled out for tomorrow was doom.
I heard the tip taps of something coming to my room from the hallway. It was Sunny the German Shepherd, the only reason that I have kept going for the last 3 years. She jumped onto my bed and started whimpering, probably thinking I was in distress. I started petting her and shushing her to calm her down.
“It’s okay, Sunny. Everything is alright.” I softly spoke to her.
She seemed to have calmed down. But now I felt like I was too awake to fall back asleep, so I decided to go outside to take a breather.
I let Sunny out the door and watch her as she starts sniffing the ground. I started walking up to the old oak on top of the hill my house laid near. I whistled as Sunny followed me up the hill. Once I had reached the top I sat in front of the oak tree and drowned myself in silence, nothing but the sound of crickets and the late-night breeze.
It was hard to believe that everything was going to end when everything else seemed so still. But when I stare up into the night sky, my eyes didn’t deceive me for when I saw the moon looking twice as large. No one knew the end was coming this soon and no one knew how it had happened. For all I know, it could have been some guy’s doing or god’s judgment, but that didn’t matter to me.
People had only realized what was going to happen three days ago. It was announced on the radio, on the tv and written all over the newspapers. And the world government said there was nothing they could do about it. So they told us to say our prayers and kiss our families goodbye. In almost every movie I have watched or book I have read, there is always a dues ex machine, where everything seems to be at the brink of destruction, that’s when a hero arrives and somehow finds the path to a happy ending. But I guess this is no story, this is the harsh reality of the situation.
But as I watched Sunny play in the mud, part of me still hoped for it to be true. I reached into my pocket and took out a flip phone. I dialed the very familiar number of nine – one – one. But right before I dialed it I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
I pressed the button and I could hear the phone ring.
One second passed. Two seconds passed. Then a knock.
“You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
I stared at the screen of my phone for some time.
I guess heroes don’t always exist. Well, not one that can save us right now. I couldn’t help but grin at the thought of how childish I was for calling 911 when the literal moon was falling on us. Then I started laughing so loud that I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. Even though I knew that everyone was probably gonna die by tomorrow evening, I felt weirdly calm about it.
I whistled for Sunny to come to me and then patted her on her head. I started walking back to my little shack down the hill, feeling a bit sleepy.
​
***Check out my writing at*** [***r/Fluffwrites***](https://www.reddit.com/r/Fluffwrites/)
***Also, check out my*** ***fantasy series -------->*** [***The Dark Road Ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice***](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) | "Oh *shit*"
In stillness, I am. The memories of those I cared about matter no more. In the shadows, I am safe. Outside the street lights, I'll live.
The fires glow with a calling; its colors yearn for a soul to ignite. Its a malevolent beckoning many answer. Burn bright; burn a light on this night.. alight our homes, our lives, because it will all be gone tonight.
An equal blight affects us all. The shackles of man will weigh none down. An equal might affects us all tonight.
A shiver finds its way down my spine. The ember snow continues to grow.
Is this my right? *This* is right?! To witness the ember glow flow to my shadows and break my disguise?!! This crevice will no longer due... I must go; I must keep going.
I cannot cry; I must survive. I must find.. hope. | 2020-09-12T10:25:45 | 2020-09-12T10:13:16 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | I wiped down the counter to make sure it was spotless. Now, If anyone asked me if I believed in the supernatural before I worked as a barista here, I would laugh in your face thinking it as a dumb joke. Well, not anymore. I looked as the clock hit 3:33am. I looked around as the lights dimmed considerably and the air went stale and cold. I was prepared for this so I wore a thick jacket over my uniform to keep warm. Is it strange that after working here for 5 years that I'm actually used to this?
I could see my breath as I watched the wall near the entrance. A human like shadow appeared and out walked a devilishly handsome demon with bloody red hair. Mind you—he told me previously that this isn't his actual form but the one he uses when he crosses to the Earth's realm. The lights and temperature returned to normal. I took off my jacket.
" Vincent, How many times have I asked you to use the front entrance?" I asked with fake seriousness. Vincent is just what I call him. I don't know his true name. He won't tell me. Has something to do with demon culture apparently. At least that's what he told me.
The handsome demon gave me a pitiful look. " Don't be like that, you know I like flashy entrances."
I smiled and nodded my head in understanding. " So what will it be?"
"Ah, you know, same as always." As he walked up to the counter.
" Sure thing! I got started making a Carmel latte with extra Expresso." I got to work while the demon sat down and watched me with interest.
" Have you made any progress with that women you told me about yet? What was her name again? Claire?"
I almost slipped up what I was doing at the question and had to catch myself on the counter. I brought that up once like almost a year ago! How the hell did he remember something like that and bring it up now?
" Hey, I heard that. Don't say hell in vain, I get prickly everytime."
I stopped what I was doing and glanced at him for a moment.
"Really? That sounds rough. You must be really uncomfortable around people on earth."
" Tell me about it! it's insufferable! However, we are getting off topic, so?"
Tsk. Topic change has failed. I decided to be honest. Cause lying might get me killed.
"Uhh, no. Actually, she fell for some other asshole. So I lost interest."
I frowned in displeasure as I remembered that guy. Vincent looked at me with his ruby red eyes in sympathy and nodded in understanding. Then as if he thought of something great — he spoke energetically,
" Want me to curse him to death for you? It's the least I could do after all the lattes you served me." He looked at me eagerly.
If he had a tail I could almost see it wagging back and forth. Sometimes I forget who and what I'm actually talking to. Suffice it to say my malicious thoughts disappeared like smoke.
I spoke cautiously, " No thanks. It's in the past now. Please don't harm anyone for me in that way. Like ever." I reached for the Expresso.
Vincent shrugged, "pity." He sighed in regret. A moment past as I was finishing up with the first latte and started on the second.
" Do you know why women always fall for the assholes?"
"Why?"
" Cause assholes know what they want and go for it."
Am I getting women advice from a demon right now? This is unbelievable. I decided to move the subject along quickly.
" Makes sense, what about you, any demoness catch your interest lately?"
Vincent paused before laughing boisterously, " You have no idea who your talking to kid. I have a whole harem of succubus at my beck and call back home." He winked at me, " I can let you meet one of them if you like?"
Is this demon pimping his own women at me? No. More importantly, is he trying to get me killed?
I started sweating before carefully saying,
"No thanks, that probably wouldn't be good for my health."
The demon sighed again. "You're no fun."
I dropped two lattes in front of him.
"Here you go, enjoy!" I said with my best fake costumer service voice.
From what I know, one is for him and another is for some demon lord back home.
Vincent took a sip and moaned, " This tastes like heaven." He took another sip slowly enjoying the taste before standing up.
"Well, I best be on my way, wouldn't want the demon lord's latte to get cold now, do we?" He said rhetorically.
The lights dimmed again and the temperature dropped. I put my jacket on again.
"Cya later Vincent. Same time tomorrow?" I asked as I watched him put one foot in the shadow before stopping.
He turned as if he forgot to mention something. "Actually no, I told a friend of mine how divine this place was and she's taken an interest. She'll drop by in my stead tomorrow."
He smiled devilishly, "Don't worry she won't bite. After all, it would be annoying to have to find someone else that can make a latte as good as you." Then he disappeared into the shadow. The place returned to normal.
I walked to a nearby chair and collapsed into it. I looked at the floor blankly. I only had one thought going through my mind.
'should I quit?' | “The usual?” I ask the shapeless… blob, I suppose is one way to describe it. It still hasn’t given me its name, so I call it Tim. Looks like a Tim.
“Yesss” the cursed sound comes out, like nails on a blackboard. The first time I heard Tim speak, I swear, my ears bled, it’s so awful. I wonder if it’d be inexcusably rude of me to offer throat caramels.
I begin working on that latte - 2 pumps vanilla syrup, extra sweet with cinnamon on top, as Tim peruses the shop, eyes soulless, and never focusing at anything too long, as always.
‘Last Christmas’ plays on the radio, and the shop is empty. Starbucks, on the corner across the street is equally deserted for once. Must be a Christmas miracle. At least the ‘Dark Lord’ supports local businesses- or Tim does. I doubt his boss would allow him to continue taking her coffee from here if she minded though.
I hum along to the radio as I finish the coffee at set it aside. Tim seems pensive, looking outside the window at the Starbucks barista cleaning up an espresso machine. I decide to leave him to his thoughts a little longer.
…
Setting the mocha down at the bar, I grab my macchiato, because gods above I have another three hours until the next girl’s shift starts, and call out;
“ The coffee’s ready - and this is for you, mocha, it’s a sweetish, chocolate caffeinated drink. On the house.”
Tim stares at me, and slowly comes and sits at the barstool I front of me. We drink quietly, and I appreciate the company. Night shifts may be convenient as they deal with less people, but at times like these, I do feel somewhat lonely.
3.55.
“I better gooo… Thank you, Melissssaa.” it goodbyes me, leaving the money for the latte in the counter.
“Happy holidays, Tim.”
The demon walks out to the lamp-lighted pathway, and fades away into the night. I had never given it my name, and for some reason, I know I’d not be seeing Tim again. After all, a dark creature had just felt happy, and the balance had been tweaked. Who knows what would happen now. But for a moment, Tim was happy. It must have been a Christmas miracle.
~fin~
(As you can see I’m already in a holidays mood, and it’s not even November yet.
Also, I’m using the term Christmas miracle very loosely, in the commercialised, secular sense the Christian holiday has taken under capitalism. Unfortunately, Yuletide miracle or Hanukkah miracle don’t have the same sensationalistic value as Christmas miracle.) | 2022-10-30T14:15:06 | 2022-10-30T13:51:26 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] "Never get a human drunk." An old galactic saying, that most heed. Your ship's captain didn't. Now, your multi-million-dollar, state-of-the-art railgun corvette is spinning through space, speakers blasting the human song "Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!" and guns firing to the beat of the song. | I woke up instantly when the guitars started strumming. I sat up in my bed, and angrily started heading to the door. Some drums started to play, and the ship started to shake. It took me a second to realize the guns were firing in tune to the music. I stomped towards the bridge, every shot was over thirty thousand dollars, and so far I had counted at least 30 shots fired. I passed by a window, and had to look away because the spinning stars started to make me feel nauseous. What was my reckless captain doing with my ship? With the maneuvers being pulled, the engines are gonna burn out and need replacing!
I got to the bridge door , to see Captain Ti'rak telling an underling to go faster with a plasma torch. He jumped when he saw me, and started to stammer something.
"Whats going on? Who is in control of the bridge?" I shouted at him.
"It's the human Derrick!" Captain Ti'rak stammered. "He took over the bridge and kicked us all out, then initiated a contained lock down."
"Why would he do that?" Ti'rak looked away in shame. "Ti'rak, why did Derrick commandeer the ship?"
"He... might have gotten into the alcohol reserves." My mouth opened in shock. "It's his birthday and he said he can handle his liquor."
It took me a minute before I could speak. "You absolute idiot! Everyone knows humans can't handle their liquor! We have to get in there before he rips the entire ship apart! You with the plasma torch, cut through the conduit in the wall!"
The underling nodded, and switched to working on the wall. It will be a lot more expensive to fix, but it's better than the ship being destroyed. It only took about thirty seconds, but I counted another 20 rounds being fired off, and another half a million dollars wasted. We forced the door open, and I stormed through.
"Derrick, stop this at once!"
The human in the middle of the bridge swiveled in his chair, and I could see he was absolutely wasted. He started to stand up, then hit his head on the ceiling and slump back into the chair.
"Ahh well, was fun while it lasted." Derrick slurred out. "Thank you for letting me fly Ti'rak, this is the best birthday ever!"
I glared at Ti'rak.
"Its not my fault, he threatened to kill me!"
"What! No I didn't!" Derrick tried to stand up again, and sat down after hitting his head again. At this point I was worried he would dent the ceiling. "You were the one who said I could, then ran from the room. I thought you were getting me a cake!"
I could see Ti'rak start to shake with fear as he stared up at the human who towered over him, even while sitting. "You said you would kill for the chance to fly this ship!"
Derrick started to laugh. "That's just a, uh, a metaphor! I would never actually kill anyone!" Derrick glanced at me. "Unless they attacked us of course, I will always do my job!"
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. "Derrick, go to bed. We will talk about this in the morning."
Derrick raised his hand to his head in a human salute. "Yes sir!" He shot up, hit his head and crumbled to the ground. I gave him a light kick, and confirmed he was unconscious.
"Ti'rak, get security to drag him back to the room."
I went over to the console and gave the ship a quick one over. Engines were fine, structural integrity was normal, but over 500 shots had been fired! This blasted human had wasted 15 million dollars worth of ammunition! | This, *Disco,* is perhaps the most dangerous pox. Twenty and Three cycles have passed since we allowed the humans to occupy positions of power upon our starships, and I say with the most sincere hopes that this illness, this *Disco Fever,* as our novice gunner calls it, is all that it takes to get these filthy skin-beasts removed from any position even somewhat resembling power. Of course, I cannot fault my captain. Who was to be aware that gracing the human gunner to consume their noxious potion(what was it, *whiskey*?) would be such a dangerous allowance?
Now, what is this, *Funky Town*, and why does the gunner demand we take her there? | 2022-12-06T21:40:31 | 2022-12-06T20:36:05 | 488 | 213 |
[WP] A Purge-like scenario, but instead of killing people, customer service workers can talk back to customers and management for 24 hours. | Today is the big day...well at least that's what everyone at the office calls it. I slid from my bed to my bathroom, past my degree gathering dust on the wall. From my kitchen to my car, from my car to the parking garage, the parking garage to my desk.
I live a quiet life. I'm alone for now but it's because I work a little too much. I'm just trying to figure a few things out...I'm in sort of a weird transition state in my life. Work isn't bad but my future isn't here in customer service. Maybe a few more years of saving and then I can finally start my own business. My parents would be proud when I do. At least they said they would.
The air was anxious as I walked along the blueish-gray carpet to my corner cubicle. It has a good view of the street below.
"All you had to do was turn it off and then on you fucking moron!"
"How do you remember to breathe you dumb sack of shit?!"
"Not the fucking animal you idiot! The thing on your fucking desk. Jesus how have you gotten this far into life with such a disgusting level of incompetence!!!"
The shouts subsided, and Davis peered over my cubicle. "This IS AMAZING. Dude have you even had any calls yet? I wait all year for this shit."
"Not yet, I just sat down but this is definitely exciting" I replied sheepishly
"Well what are you waiting for?! I'll leave you to it!" Jim shouted, slapping the edge of the cubicle wall as his head disappeared from my sight.
"Alright, finally settled in..let's do this." I put my headset on and the line began to ring.
"Hello?" A weary old voice crackled through the line
"Hi this is Frank with technology services how may I help you?"
"Hi, uh, Bill. My name's Bill, pleasure to meet you. Erh.. my computer isn't really working right. It just..it isn't working right"
"What seems to be the issue? Is it powered on?"
"Oh man, I can't even...uh.. let's see. My nephew used to be good with this. It's on...it's just kind of stuck. Nothing's really moving"
"Well sir, if you can try finding the power button, hold it down for a few seconds until the computer turns off. Wait a couple of seconds and then press it again to turn it back on. Hopefully that'll get things moving again."
"Erh, uh, okay. Power button, power button. Got it erh. And a few seconds. And here we go back on... It's loading....loading. You know you're really good at this. My nephew used to come around and help me with this, but he ain't around anymore. He always amazed me with how much he knew. You're pretty smart yourself there. It's nice to talk to a smart kid like you. Hell, it's nice to talk to anyone as of late. Ah! Looks pretty good the clicker is moving now."
"Awesome, glad to hear everything looks good. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, no I don't want to waste any more of your time. Thank you though. It's nice to be able to talk to someone so helpful. You know it may seem like nothing to you but it gets lonely here..I can go a few days without saying a single word. I just want you to know that I appreciate what you've done for me today. Take care Frank."
"Hey Bill, I appreciate the kind words. It's normally against company policy but today's a special... holiday..over here. Here's my phone number if you ever need some more help feel free to reach out. I wish you all the best and thanks for calling." | **It's 12:01, Boss! You know what that means (cracks knuckles)**
(sighs) Uh, I'm... I mean, you might want to--
**Quiet! (soft chuckle) Well, Mr Bronski, I mean Phil, you no good lying sack of elephant--**
*TWENTY THREE HOURS AND FIFTY EIGHT MINUTES AND FIFTY SECONDS LATER*
**--you fucking impotent yellow bellied crack smoking fucking fuck monster from fuckville!**
*GRANDFATHER CLOCK CHIMES TWELVE*
**Wow, I can't believe I talked that whole time. Well, see you tomorrow, Mr Bronski, Sir.**
I'm Mrs Bronski.
**Really?**
And to think I was gonna sleep with you.
(freeze frame) (audience applause and laughter) (executive producer credit) (fade to black) | 2017-07-19T19:50:27 | 2017-07-19T18:15:07 | 77 | 20 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded earth. They offer the key to immortality and light speed travel... In exchange for 3.5 billion slaves. | "You cant be serious."
She was incredulous. I had worked with her long enough to know when to play my cards close and when to lay them all out. My entire deck was on the table.
"Does it look like I'm joking?" I wasn't. "We have an opportunity to free ourselves from not only this planet but from death and all while getting rid of, if you'll pardon me Doctor, an annoyance on the entire species."
"They'll never go for it, you know that right?"
"Well that's why we're all here right? To figure out a way to make them go for it. Rogers, How much time do we have?"
"One hour to next transmission window sir."
"Thank you Rogers."
"This will be the last window, sir"
"I *know* Rogers. Thank you son, carry on."
His salute was crisp and heel turn precise. He'd probably make Colonel one day, but if this works there probably wont be any more Colonels. I drank from the hours old cold coffee, trying to work the problem and I was fresh out of ideas.
The Visitors arrived last year and made their offer known to the entire planet at once. It was broadcast on all screens and radios simultaneously in all languages. The areas without any communication devices reported hearing the voice as though it were inside their own head. I still haven't shaken the experience.
*Greetings. *
*We are representatives of the Dynamic Intergalactic Commerce Syndicate. We have observed your world for some time and the decision has been made to offer you entrance into the Syndicate. As charter members of the Syndicate you will be granted the gift of Hyperlight travel and Cellular Regeneration technology through which you will become effectively immortal. In exchange for these gifts we require an investment on your part. Labor.*
*We require 3.5 billion individuals of your world to become indefinite indentured labor on our core worlds. We will return once per quarter orbit of your world around your home star for a period of one full orbit. At that time if no agreement has been reached we will rescind the offer and your world will be left out of the Syndicate for a period of no less than one thousand orbits.*
*Have a pleasant solar cycle*
When the transmission ended, everything else did as well. The stock market cratered. Looting, riots, every imaginable behavior of a panicked civilization presented with the prospect of half of its population being offered up for slavery in exchange for limitless prosperity was taking it toll. Thousands have already died from the violence, tens of thousands more from the famines. It seems that humanity was doing its best to whittle itself down to the 3.5 billion so that everyone would be in the same pot.
It didn't take long for the governments to get their acts together and declare almost world wide martial law. Food was beginning to flow back into the stores, but nothing from out of country. Every border was hard sealed. I remember them saying it would take years to get a border wall made. I guess when the chips are really down the impossible can happen. Mexico built their side in three months and Canada, four.
My team was assembled from the top negotiators, linguists, and diplomats from around the world. We had six months to figure out a way to get the technology without losing half of the species. Things were not going well. I gave up weeks ago trying to reason with these people, if the aliens want them they can have them as far as I was concerned. I gave them the answer, defended it against what the aliens said and it was solid. Half the group said it was stupid and the other half crazy. At this point I would take crazy and stupid.
The five minute klaxon sounded and I began my walk to the broadcast booth. I hadn't informed my superiors of my intent, otherwise I wouldn't be able to even attempt it. I sent them up what the group had decided would be best: lottery. It was approved by all governments. When the people actually find out that the "lottery" is completely rigged it'll be far too late. I wasn't going to have any of it.
I sat in the seat behind the desk. I hadn't shaved for the occasion. I would either be a hero or a traitor and I didn't give a damn either way. The camera man was signaling that the transmission was coming in and we were live in 5...4...3...2...
"Greetings Representative Davis" It was Representative Barlq. He was the only face we have ever seen of the Syndicate.
"Hey Barlq, how it going?" I scanned the room and the the pale faces of the staff were all I needed to know that this was going to happen.
"Things are amicable Mr. Davis. Have you made a final decision regarding the Syndicate offer?"
"Yeah about that, your request was for 3.5 billion individuals from our world, yes?"
"That is correct Mr. Davis?"
"Very well. I would like to propose a counter offer if you're open."
"The Syndicate is always open to negotiation."
"Thats more like it Barlq! How about 7 billion individuals for a seat on the Syndicate Governing Council?" The silent scream from every human listening crashed like a wave on me. This was it. Go hard or go home.
"Mr. Davis that is quite an offer! Very well on behalf of the Syndicate I accept your offer of 7 billion individuals from your world for a place on the Governing Council."
"Great Barlq I knew we could come up with something, a win-win for everyone. Please transmit the information required for council placement, Cellular regeneration and FTL travel immediately."
"Transmitting now Mr. Davis"
I got a thumbs up and flip off from a very pissed off technician behind a monitor.
"Thank you Barlq. You may commence your pick up of the 7 billion individuals from this world at your convenience. The species you will be collecting the individuals from are known as "ants". You will find the to be quite industrious workers and highly genetically modifiable to suit whatever your requirements."
"Yes, Mr. Davis. We have studied your ants and find them a highly acceptable servant species. We are so glad that we have come to this arrangement. I was afraid for a moment that I would have to explain why I gave Council membership to a species that sold itself into servitude! Imagine the embarrassment!"
"Yes, Barlq, how embarrassing indeed." | "So how much do you know about human culture?" Jason asked. His forehead was beaded with sweat; this was easily the biggest risk he had ever taken.
The alien, whose name seemed to comprise solely of metallic clicking and scratching sounds, started viciously making chattering sounds, shaking the equivalent of its head simultaneously. It looks like a Colin to me; I shall call it Colin, I thought.
The subtext seemed clear, as English words appeared on a screen behind Colin. "Your species is weak and pathetic. You are not worth the time of the mighty ___." That last bit didn't seem to translate - we didn't have a name for them yet. Let's call them the Colinians. "Do you accept our deal or not."
I had to chuckle a little. I was reminded of an old phrase - one of my favourites. Pride comes before a fall. "Yes, sorry. I, on behalf of the planet earth, accept your deal." Jason was beginning to have second thoughts, but it was too late now. "Now, with regards to the payment of slaves."
The prospect seemed to excite Colin. It's clicking got faster, it's head bobbing from side to side; it even started to gesticulate somewhat. "When will the slaves be ready?" The screen read.
"Yes. About that; I was wondering if you wanted your standard slave package, or our special deluxe super-slaves," Jason stuttered slightly. The pressure bad never been higher. "You see, we have the sect on earth, of workers. Marvellous they are. Absolutely incredible. You see, they can lift around 50 times their on bodyweight; and that's just the beginning." I had a big long speech prepared, and began rattling facts about this deluxe package at full speed. No more than a minute in, it had the desired effect.
"ENOUGH. We will take these 'deluxe slaves' as you say, provided you produce all 3.5 billion within the next planetary orbit." Colin seemed a bit anxious to get going; I though we were just getting to know each other, myself.
"Certainly - in fact, I have them now; let me just go and get them." Jason retreated to the pod he arrived in, and retrieved a large wooded crate, carrying it carefully over to Colin. "Here is the first box; the rest are in the pod. I'll take those immortality pills and the light speed diagrams, if you please."
Colin begrudgingly handed over the pills and the diagrams. In his hands, Jason held the key to humanity's survival. In the mean time, Jason retrieved two other crates from the pod. As he left them, looking rather puzzled, he looked over his shoulder and said "oh, and did I mention they are also travel sized?"
Jason got in his pod and set a course for home, taking special care to photograph the diagrams and send them via instant message to the ground team. He also put the pills in a small capsule, specially designed to fall to earth, should Colin have a sudden change of heart about his deal.
Meanwhile, Colin was in something of a daze. The crates contained nothing but a seething black mass of tiny creatures, even more puny that the human who had given them to him. On the side of each crate, the word 'ants' was written. Colin could only assume this was some other word for slave in the human language.
| 2017-06-03T11:48:01 | 2017-06-03T11:22:18 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It always freaked me out. Over the years I had learnt to deal with it. I always hesitated to sit with a person who was doomed to die to a contagious disease. My parents were destined to die of old age, and seeing they were in their 40's, it didn't bother me that much. I had a brother when I was 6. There was a complicated word I couldn't read. And I hadn't figured out that the floating text was the cause of death yet. Whenever I asked anyone, I was told I had a vivid imagination. Within 6 months of my brother's arrival, he passed away. The moment I saw the post mortem report, I knew it. The big word that always hovered over. It still took me an year to figure it out. My 17 year old cousin had a "cancer" COD. She was a smoker. No one in our family smoked. I decided to tell her mother of her habit. My cousin was sent to military school. The last time I saw her, she had "heart attack" hovering over her head.
We lived on a farm until the age of 14, when we decided to move to a city. In the city, there was a lot of variety in CODs. And there were a lot of people, compared to the farm. I was sent to school the first time, being home schooled until then. I never made friends with many people because of their COD. Sitting in any public place was freaky. I developed a habit of looking at people's feet while talking. There was a drug trading group (with everyone doomed to "Drug abuse") in our school, which I had called the cops upon. Some of them changed to the usual stuff while others remained the same.
At the age of 16, our grade went on a field trip to the nearby mountains. We were required to arrive at school, where the buses would ferry us. I arrived early and sat in my designated bus. The driver had the usual "Cancer" over his head. He was busy snoring away. In some time, the other students started walking in. I had memorized them all. There were many heart attacks, cancers, old age deaths. Some were of diseases that didn't even exist yet. A few were alcohol related accidents, suicides and drug abuse. A kid had a name over her head, which must be some murderer. Like I said, I was used to it.
We were about to leave, but the driver had to take a call. The bus seemed pretty normal. People talking. Laughing. Glued to their phones. Ignorance is a bliss. I plugged in my iPod, took out a book, and started reading it. Yeah. Total introvert arrangement. I rarely talked to people. It was hard knowing their cause of death.
We were about to arrive. I took out my earphones. It was the usual ruckus. But as much as I try to ignore it, I always look at the COD. It had changed. The kid next to me was labelled "asphyxiation". A few kids were labelled "Loss of blood". There was a lot of fire related deaths.
I immediately figured out something was going to happen to us. All of us. I looked outside. The other school buses were nowhere to be seen. We were heading on a path that wasn't a road. The kids didn't seem to notice. I made my way to the driver. He had bloodshot eyes. There lay an alcohol bottle in front of him. I screamed "where the heck are we going". He had a "suicide" COD. I looked out of the window. We were headed to the edge of the mountain. I immediately grabbed the steering wheel and turned it around. Our bus skidded and turned over.
Only me and the driver survived. The driver is completely paralized. I only took a few bruises. The driver's COD has returned to "Cancer". Me? I am held responsible for the deaths of all the students. I expect to be locked up in a padded room. No one will believe my side of the story.
Edit: My influence for this story is the game Life is Strange.
| Our world has changed. With time travel comes death predictions. A technical engineer working alone in a garage created a "portal"in time just powerful enough to transfer technology, like cameras, microphones, and storage devices. The revolutioniser created a way of predicting death, but could only take down what happened, and not when due to storage limitations.
As I walk down the street, I begin finding patterns. First, I find an unlikely amount of people die of stress. Weird, but it happens I guess. I just kinda shrugged it off at first.
But then something very weird happened on the bus. The person next to me, a young Asian girl that was innocently talking about her biology homework, had changed her C.O.D from "Car crash" to "Suicide". I don't know how she did it, but it just... Well, popped into another word with an audible noise. The same noise began almost immediately in the city center, and everywhere the same word would hover over people's heads...
"World War Fallout"
***
Thanks, this is bad I know but it's very late, and I'm on mobile, so I will fix it up on my PC tomorrow :D | 2015-03-31T09:00:24 | 2015-03-31T07:50:48 | 180 | 21 |
[WP] As a free roaming ghost, you finally feel like you can breach and explore Area 51. The moment youre on the base though, alarms begin blaring. "Code 62: Ethereal Intruder detected." | As I looked down at my bullet-riddled corpse, I could only think one thing.
*Mom was right.*
She'd told me that the voices I heard were all my head, a result of the mental illness that runs in my family -- as opposed to a genuine astrally-projected distress signal from alien lifeforms confined at Area 51 by a shadowy quasi-governmental organization.
Now that my body was dead, along with my brain and all its evidently misfiring neurons, there were no voices. Even my obsession with Area 51 was gone. I could remember how I'd spent all my time researching it, poring over every resource I could find on it from the public library to the deep web, but the *need* had vanished the moment my soul, or spirit, or whatever was left stopped being tethered to a flawed human brain. I saw my obsession for what it had truly been: a mere trick played on me by my own organically unhinged psyche.
I felt bad about being dead -- mostly for Mom, who'd be devastated when she learned what had happened. If she learned what happened. I'd read that anyone who had to be eliminated for attempting to breach Area 51 was quietly "disappeared", and I remembered believing it was true, but with my new post-mortem clarity, I found much of what I thought I knew about Area 51 and UFOs to be highly suspect.
I watched as a medic formally pronounced me dead, and then helped one of the soldiers who'd killed me load my body onto a gurney and roll it away. I wasn't interested in following them -- at least not as much as I was interested in something else. Even though I was no longer driven by the manic hunger to learn the secrets of Area 51 that I'd had in life, it seemed like a shame to waste the opportunity to take a peek inside.
So I walked right through the fence and stepped onto the base.
Insantly, klaxons blared all around me. A second later, a recorded alert sounded over loudspeakers set up on a nearby pole:
*Code 62: Ethereal intruder detected! All personnel initiate standard containment protocol around Hangar 4! This is not a drill!*
I froze in surprise, then flinched as two soldiers charged directly towards me. But the men ran past, towards a supply shed -- apparently while *something* on the base could detect me, I was still invisible to the people who worked here.
What had the alert said? Hangar 4? That seemed like as good a place as any to look. I sprinted down the line of buildings effortlessly, unencumbered by the limitations of a body. I only had a moment to revel in this newfound freedom to move tirelessly across the ground before a soldier rolling something over the ground crossed my path, and I hit a wall -- except there was no wall. And also, walls should be no impediment to me anymore, as I'd proven by walking through the fence.
I looked down at the ground, and then at the soldier continuing on his way, rolling out a white onto the ground at his feet. I'd seen a device like the one he was pushing before, when I was at school, before my illness got bad. It was usually used to make white lines on the grass of athletic fields for various sports, but that clearly wasn't it's purpose here. My search for the secrets of Area 51 had filled my head with all kinds of supposed paranormal lore, enough to guess what they were doing --- the chalk in the device must be infused with powdered salt, purported to repel things like demons and ghosts. Things like me, I realized.
I sprinted ahead, doing an end run around the soldier, dodging between and around long lines of salted chalk as they were hastily traced out by Area 51 personnel, my ghostly eyes darting over the painted letters on the many buildings and hangars dotting the base. Just as the soldiers were about to trap me, I managed to get ahead of the one near the doors to the large building labelled *Hangar 4.* I darted inside through the wall without further hesitation.
The sight that met me was not what I'd expected. Not an alien spacecraft, or an even an experimental airplane. Just a large black metal crate, set up by itself on a wooden platform inside a circle of salt, with the words "TOP SECRET" stenciled on the side in faded white paint.
Nearby, an old man sat on the ground, his head bowed, a dusty cowboy hat shading his eyes. Beside him were two other seated figures, in an equally contemplative posture. These others were, well...*aliens,* of the classic variety. Little gray men with big black eyes, who neither wore, nor seemed to need, any clothing beyond their own skin.
As I came to a halt just short of them, staring at the unlikely trio in mute disbelief, the old man looked up at me. He frowned, but his expression seemed more compassionate than angry, and after a moment he let out a long, weary sigh.
"Well fellers," he said, glancing between his two alien compatriots, "Looks like them damn feds out there caught themselves *another one."* | # Soulmage
**Distance was strange on this side of the mortal veil.** The space an object took up was determined not by its physical volume, but by how much it had impacted the living souls of the world. And so in my ethereal form, I passed by mountains the size of sand grains and hearthplaces that loomed like towers.
But all that was dwarfed by the planetoid of memory and emotion that I had come all this way to infiltrate. The wide complex was practically a miniature town, and its legend had been contributed by hundreds of thousands of souls. Even as nothing but a memory, it would be difficult to sneak inside.
I was up to the task, however. I was nothing more than a figment of imagination; what use would the weapons of the soldiers within be against me? So after analyzing the whirling planetoid of hopes and emotions, I pulled on the fabric of soulspace around me, *remembering* a moment of my life. Soulspace responded, forming a dragon of willpower and memory, and I clambered on, willing it to fly through the void.
Landing on the surface of the chaotic mass that represented the fortress-complex, I pressed my ear to the ground, sifting through all the memories this building held. If the secrets I was searching for were anywhere, they'd be in the building's soul. Dismissing the dragon—keeping it manifested was too much of a strain on my mind—I looked into the soul of the fortress...
...and the soul of the fortress looked *back* at me.
I screamed and stumbled back as the ground *blinked*, one face, two faces, three, surging out from the ground.
"Foolish ghost," the uniformed specter whispered. "Did you think we had no dead of our own? *Even in death, we still serve.*"
The soldier lifted their weapon, and the last thing I heard before falling unconscious was the ringing of a distant alarm.
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence), or r/bubblewriters for more. | 2022-10-17T22:47:48 | 2022-10-17T18:20:03 | 215 | 90 |
[WP]Being one of the most powerful villains in this city, you obviously have one of the most powerful heroes as your arch enemy. On one of your days off, you turn on the news to see that not only is your hero fighting someone else, he also appears to be losing. | "BOOOOOOOSS!" The henchman waddled down the hallway. "Boss! Boss, turn on the news! Channel 6!"
Pyro Manic looked up from his book, his head flaming like the fires of hell, his eyes crazed like twisted embers of a chaos engine. "Napalm, what have I told you about--"
"No time!" The henchman waddled over to the TV and turned it on.
The news was having a special report. The tagline read "HURRICANE FORCE LOSING?!" The reporter at the scene speaking of the battle the camera was focusing on. "--from out of nowhere. He started pummeling heroes, but once Hurricane Force stepped on the scene, he just focused on him! The Force has gotten a couple good shots in, but it seems to be a losi--" A large explosion suddenly erupted behind her and the camera zoomed in on a body falling towards the ground not 3 blocks away. "Oh god! Hurricane Force is down!"
Pyro Manic clicked off the TV. Napalm looked at him. "Someone else is beating your arch nemesis! If anyone should take down Hurricane Force, it's you!"
Pyro Manic snapped his fingers and his hair suddenly extinguished. He looked at Napalm with calm blue eyes. "Charlie, we're executing Plan Delta."
He stepped back and said, "What? You're running away? And what's with the name? You told me to never break character!"
"Charlie, you've worked diligently by my side for years. I've told you time and again there's a plan under everything. You've seen me time and again unleash mayhem against the city, only for Hurricane Force to swoop in and stop me. And yet, he could never *fully* stop me and I'd escape. Do you know why?"
"Umm... because he's too weak?"
Pyro... Well, it would be Alvin now. Alvin walked over to a framed poster that was just flames and lifted it off, revealing a safe. As he started opening it, he said, "No, Charlie. He just strong enough. My plan wasn't to destroy or enslave the city. I would come in, cause some chaos, and while fighting the superhero, my minions would swoop in after the carnage and get to work."
"... ... ... What work?"
The safe opened revealing several duffel bags. "Construction. The contracts we would pick up are making a lot of money. It was a carefully calculated operation. I could do enough the Hurricane Force could stop me, but not stop me permanently. If other, more powerful heroes had stepped in, I could be put down permanently. It was maintaining a careful balance. While the fires would cause powerful damage, his concentrated winds would cause further structural damage, damage that our people were good at identifying and repairing. But now... Any new schemes I try, they'll have to send a different hero and they may put me down permanently."
He tossed 2 bags to Charlie. When he looked in them, they were full of documents, cash, and others valuables. "Charlie, this is your cut. You've more than earned it. Take that mom of yours on a trip to the Bahamas like you always wanted. Lay low otherwise. I've got to go meet John. This defeat is going to have him ready to run."
Charlie looked at him quizzically. "Who's john?"
"Oh, sorry. You know him better as Hurricane Force. Do me a favor and start the self-destruct on the way out please." | [POEM]
I stand over him
My fingertips red
The red of the new stain on his suit
His body limp
Sprawled out on the concrete
From the crowd a gasp
They cheer for me, a whistle, a cry
I’ve never had this before
A sight to see
My enemy standing near, behind me
Amazed at what I’ve done
I look back down
To the body
Of the fight I’ve won
Who did he think he was
Trying to kill my hero
If anyone is going to kill him
It’ll be me | 2020-02-29T06:58:55 | 2020-02-29T05:13:10 | 159 | 13 |
[WP] You are in a bar when a six year old pigtailed little girl takes the stool next to you. In the deepest lumberjack voice she says, "Hey, Frank, make it a double. It happened again." You can't resist and ask her, "What happened again?" | I stared gaping mouthed as the little girl struggled to climb onto the barstool, which was nearly as tall as she was. The stool kept tipping under her weight, so I steadied and she deftly hoisted herself up.
She gave me a cute smile. "Thanks," she boomed. Her voice was utterly disproportionate to her body. She sounded like a forty year old man.
Frank the bartender gave her a amiable smile as he placed a shotglass in front of her, which was filled to the brim with a strong spirit. "Rough night, huh?"
"You could say that," the girl replied dryly. I was too stupefied by her voice to realise that Frank had just served a child a drink that could petrify a man's liver. I slapped the glass from her hand.
"What the hell do you think you're you doing?" I scalded her. "And you, Frank, how can you serve a child a man's drink? A girl child, no less?"
They girl looked at me with a blank expression. Frank looked hurried at me, then her, then back at me. Suddenly the girl laughed - a course, grating sound - and flicked the liquor from her hands. Frank laughed too, before swiftly wiping the counter and refilling the girl's glass.
"You must be new here," the girl said to me, eyeing me as she raised the glass to her lips. She paused expectantly, and when I didn't do anything, she downed the drink in one swallow.
Frank smiled and responded on my behalf, "Yeah, he is. He just told me his story. He comes from Windeltown -"
"Widdleton," I corrected.
"- far, far South of here. He's here for the bounty. He, uhm, he hopes to catch the witch. He's a Witch-hunt."
"Is that so?" The girl said, amusement colouring her voice.
"I don't see what concern that is of yours, child. Who are you, besides?"
Frank stopped wiping the counter and gave me a look. The girl pushed her glass away from her and swivelled in her chair to face me head-on. Frank took a tentative step backwards.
"Who are you that you assume to ask my identity?" Her voice had an edge. A sharp, serrated one. It cut through the ambient noise of the bar, enveloping us in a swollen silence.
I laughed. "I don't know who you think you are, but I won't deign to tell you who I am."
"Too bad." She dropped down from the stool and gripped my thigh. With impossible strength, she pulled me off the stool onto the floor. I felt my leg snap. She opened her mouth wide - WIDE - and bit down on my head. I felt the pressure increase as her teeth pressed on my skull. I tried to push her off, but I felt something give and -
***
Taria the Creeper bit into the man's head, savouring the spongy tissue of his brain. She swallowed her mouthful whole, bone and all, and bit the rest of his head off. Her elongated tongue mopped up the blood and tissue on her chin and she smacked her lips in ecstacy. This man tasted like nobility.
Taria realised where she was and stopped eating. She struggled onto the stool and gave Frank a weak smile. She was not meant to eat within a human establishment without permission.
"Sorry, Frank. His arrogance made me hungry." Taria's voice had changed; it was not as deep as the one she spoke with before, but it was not as rich as the noble man who she had just eaten either. It was somewhere in between. It was a combination of the two.
He was the second man she had eaten tonight. She would be as strong as both men for the next week. Her thoughts would be perverted by the animalistic urges that plagued men. Her voice would be a cocaphony of mismatched intonage for the a few days.
Next time she'd just eat a little girl as was her custom. | "What happened again?" I asked, mildly interested.
"I just needed a drink", she replied after a swig. Looking at me after wiping her lip with the back of her hands, she smiled a little, then went back to sit on the stool.
"I needed something to warm me up." she said, eyes looking at nothing in particular, then finished a shot glass full of nothing.
"Uh huh." I said to nobody at all. "That so."
She had a deep lumberjack voice. Then again, she has a pretty large Adam's apple, so no surprises there.
Silence, then -
"Why would a girl like yourself need warming up in this weather?" I spoke in the general direction of the bartender. The bartender turned back from a three-hundred year old woman and gave me a wink.
"It's too cold out there. A sip does wonders." said she to the bottle.
Pointing out the door, I saw a normal evening - desolate streets, grey lamps and floating voices. Flying leaves from bare black trees. An incomplete sketch.
"Can't stand the strange world."
Following that, she disappeared there and then. | 2016-07-22T03:00:05 | 2016-07-22T01:17:25 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] You enter a store with the intention to rob it. But while waiting last in line so everyone can leave first, the person in front of you pulls out a gun and tells the cashier to empty the cash register. |
I approached the bank tentatively, knowing that those tall glass doors opened to something more than a desk of tellers waiting to service the impatient clients lined throughout the room. At least, they did for me.
Six months ago I had the life of my dreams: a beautiful wife, two incredible children, and a comfortable job on Wall Street that let us live in luxury. My life was exactly as I had pictured it as a sophomore in college trying to justify the hours I was plugging into my Economics degree.
But it wasn’t to last. My wife was diagnosed with cancer and given less than a month to live, just as we made plans for a family vacation down to Disney World. I gave her everything I could, pouring hundreds of thousands of dollars into any kind of treatment I could find, bringing her to herbal healers, and even praying for some sort of miracle, despite the fact that I hadn’t believed in any kind of higher power since the beginning of high school.
Her death broke me. I was fired from my job, all our savings had been sucked away, and I was in no state to be taking care of my children. For months, I had let it all crumble. The house, the cars, everything had been sold, and the kids and I had been living in a single room at the cheapest motel I could find, scrounging leftover meals or making ramen to get ourselves through the day.
A week ago, I had decided to do something about it. I had decided to do something I had never even considered, robbing a bank. I had a gun, I had gotten my permit a few years ago and it had been the one thing I never sold, I think I was scared I might need to use it in our alarming living situation. I had planned everything out then and there, waiting for the line to clear out so nobody else would be in danger, asking an old friend to check in on my kids that night in case I hadn’t made it home, and most of all trying to explain to the memory of my wife that I didn’t want to do this, but I had no other choice.
So, these doors were not just an entrance to a bank, but an entrance to crime, self-loathing, and what I still couldn’t help but see as disrespect to my wife and everything she had done for me.
Finally, I gathered the strength to push the door open, sliding in just as they closed the doors for the day and making my way to the back of the line. Perfect, nobody would come in behind me and I could wait for everybody else to leave, getting everyone else away from the danger that was soon to come.
I spent my time in line fidgeting anxiously, my thumb unconsciously brushing against the hard metal inside of my jacket, my mind half-listening to those around me.
“Daniel took his first steps today, he’s getting so big!”
“...her birthday, I’m just here to pick up some cash and then I’m going to buy her the necklace she keeps hinting she wants.”
“...tomorrow, yea. Afghanistan, can you believe it? I only hope I come back in one piece or Michelle might skin me alive.”
Each of these snippets drifted in and out of my head, leaving a faint grin across my face. These were good people, people that wanted to do good things. They were better than me, I realized, the smile fading once again, they were stronger than me.
When there was only one person left in front of me, a problem became apparent. The woman who’d been gossiping about her child had dropped her purse, and items had scattered everywhere. A group of 5 or so people had stayed back to help her clean up, meaning the bank might not be as empty as I had hoped for. These thoughts raced through my head as I tried to figure out what to do, should I carry on as planned and hope for the best?
“EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND! REGISTER OPEN, PUT THE MONEY IN HERE!”
My thoughts were shattered as the man in front of me, a short, balding man with a muscular build pulled a gun and spun around menacingly. Are you fucking kidding me? Now? On this day?
Screams pierced my ears as those who had been cleaning up the purse dropped to the ground, huddled together in fear. As I took in their expressions, faces full of fear that they might never see their loved ones again, I realized something. I couldn’t let anybody else lose people as I had lost my life, no matter what it meant for me. That was a pain I would protect people from if it was the last thing I did, and as that thought washed over me I knew what I had to do.
My gun seemed to appear of its own accord, hurtling from my jacket to the back of the man’s head before I even realized what I was doing.
“Hands in the air.” I heard myself say, much more calmly than I felt. The man’s gun dropped, clattering along the marble floor as he raised his hands in defeat.
A smile ran itself across my face once again, maybe my wife wouldn’t be so disappointed after all. | The queue is long. You wait. Soon. Soon you'll pay them back. You'll get what's yours.
You wait patiently. The queue moves slowly. You watch the tellers, wondering which one fate will deal you.
It's hot. A bead of perspiration runs down your nose. You swipe it off, and accidentally brush the shirt of the man in front of you.
"EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR!!" he screams, flailing wildly at his side. You hit the deck.
As you fall to the floor with the coordination of a champion synchronized swimmer, his chest explodes like a synchronized splash.
"Fuck's sake," says the security guard across the room, wiping the sweat out of his eyes, "fucking TOLD you not to hire him!'
"Well this is why you should let me plan shit" said the old lady in the large hat as she capped the security guards and focused her gaze on the teller.
"Open up for grandma, sweetheart. We aint got all day."
I wanted to say something - something that would have gotten me in. I wanted to say "I was here to rob it too!" or something cooler, like "hey, so, I see you're down a henchman. Can I submit my resume? It's a gun."
I didn't say a word, though. I just lay there and watched them live the life I wanted.
They wasted four cops on the way out; it was so cool. I knew right then, lying in a pool of someone else's blood, that I wanted to be just like grandma.
She didn't spot me, of course. I had my mask on. She'd have killed me if she even saw me there. It's not like we're 'The Incredibles' and I just get to go along on heists. That's just in the movies.
At least this week I'll get decent pocket money. This is fortuitous, as death rays are expensive. And Mother must be destroyed. | 2019-06-15T11:49:42 | 2019-06-15T10:55:08 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] As a drug peddler, whenever someone asks you for coke, you reply 'Is Pepsi ok?' . You thought it was funny but today it also kept you out of jail. | Lydia was new to the whole crime thing. She had always been straight laced. A goody two shoes. The rule she broke back in the third grade still occassionally kept her up at night. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
It had been two days since her last meal, and rent was due at the end of the week. Her bank account had a balance of -4.76. She had tried door dash, uber, and a few other side gigs on top of her full time job. She was just exhausting herself just to cover gas money.
She had one last uber drop off before she was ready to call it a night. 'Rico' was ready when she got there. She sighed internally with relief.
He was headed to a sketchier part of town, but the last few years had taught her to stop judging people by their circumstances. The ride was going smoothly. 3.5 minutes to their destination. Lydia's mind began to wander, doing the mental math to figure out how long it would be until she was home in her pajamas curled up with her cat.
Behind her blue and red lights flashed. She cursed under her breath. Rico looked uncomfortable in the back seat. Lydia pulled over, fished out her licence and registration and waited.
"Evening maam. What are you doing out so late?" The officer asked.
She was about to go through the whole uber explination but for something stopped her. For reasons she would never understand, she looked up at the officer and smiled apologetically saying "I hope we aren't in trouble officer. My cousin is visiting from out of town, and he had been out drinking with our mutual friends. I had to work late so I offered to dd for him."
The officer looked at them, before telling her to be careful and go straight home.
Thats how Lydia had gotten an opportunity as a drug dealer. Rico had been greatful and offered to help her out.
All the sales advice she had ever had came from an MLM training pitch she had accidentally signed up for. So she reached out to a few close friends and a few casual acquaintances. She figured the park would be a good place to start.
She had set up a facebook group and sent out a message "Opportunity of a lifetime! Come buy drugs! Midfare town park 4-6pm. No children."
The day of the meeting she was anxious. She had never done this before. She got there about twenty minutes before the agreed upon time.
The first customer to approach her was an old highschool buddy. After catching up a bit the lady asked "Do you have any coke?"
Lydia checked in her bag. Rico had only given her weed. Shoot. "Sorry, I don't. Is pepsi okay?"
Both women laughed at the akward joke, then the lady purchased one of her little weed baggies and took off.
The next person to stop by was a serious looking man. "Hey. My wife told me you were selling coke in the park. Can I get some."
Since it had worked last time, she smiled and said "Is pepsi okay?" The man smiled, nodded, and told her to have a nice day.
She watched him go back and climb into the driver's side of a police cruiser. Oh shit. Her silly drug joke just saved her life. She packed up her things and went home. She wasn't cut out for a life of crime.
From now on, Lydia was going to stick with pepsi for life. | \[Poem\]
Making money is ez,
as I have a really good biz.
My life is completely bliss,
you can buy many drugs for less!
Ah, here comes a young miss,
I may give her something... for a kiss.
She asks for a quick buzz,
naming a drug which sounds like a fizz.
As always I jokingly suggest peps,
and surprisingly she seriously says yes!
I just happen to have a bottled glass,
so I give it to her without a fuss.
She offers me money, an easy guess,
but didn't she - oh, she's the fuzz! | 2022-10-08T19:15:32 | 2022-10-08T17:54:17 | 168 | 35 |
[WP] You are abducted by the Russian mafia. Shortly after the news gets to your loving sweet grandma and she reads that they are "starving you" she's not so sweet anymore and now has a new mission. | The wooden baseball bat produced a horrific crunching sound when it made contact with my face. Everything became a blur at that moment; my mind discombobulated as the jelly inside my skull bounced around, a couple of teeth came out, and my eyelids instantly swelled up. The poorly lit room became even darker as all of the air in my lungs hastily exited through my oral cavity and left me winded. A swift extension of a foot into my chest soon followed, and the sheer force knocked me over onto the ground, alongside the chair that I had been bound at the hands.
"Hohme run!" The masked man who performed the swing, dressed in a loose-fitting black and white suit, blurted out in a heavily accented voice. "If I was fat American like you, I make very good baseball player. Agree, cyka blyat?" Laughter from his two comrades followed as they firmly grasped my shoulders and brought me upright. I maintained silence throughout - aside from groans and wheezes of pain - and prayed to the Almighty that someone had noticed my absence from school. Of course, it was a long shot seeing that I possessed not one friend. Who would want to engage in conversation with an idiot that worked the books against the goddamn Russian mob?
The Ruskie Babe Ruth wannabe calmly wandered over to where I sat, and veered into my eyes. "Boss is not happy with him lose money," he quietly informed me. "You not keep up to promises. That make you dirty pig. And we don't like pig. Pig dirty, stupid, disgusting." He pulled out a long, green-handled machete that shined a bright glimmer in the room's lone overhead light, and hovered it over my throat. "Pig deserve to be slaughtered for what pig do to us. We take good care of pig, and in return it shit all over our head. Time to return favour, ja?" He raised the machete over my head, and my life flashed before me as I closed my eyes and expected to enter an infinite slumber...
A loud bang rang out alongside screams and Russian cursing, and I felt liquid drops splash onto my face. I opened my eyes to find Russian Babe Ruth laid out facedown on the ground beside me, blood pooling out of a large hole in his head. The same blood that had covered the entirety of my front. I peered up, and saw a figure decked out in black tactical gear and night vision goggles bury a combat knife into the chest of the second mobster. The third Ruskie aimed his pistol at the figure and squeezed the trigger several times, but reflexes kicked in as the figure swung around the body of the freshly-stabbed mobster it had just killed, and allowed it to absorb the shots. In an act of what appeared to be superhuman abilities, the figure leaped a distance of several metres and combat rolled, grabbing the armed Ruskie by the throat with one hand as it stood up, and disarming the pistol with the other. As the clench of the hand intensified, sucking the life out of the remaining mobster, the figure spoke in a high-pitched raspy voice, and my heart stopped for a second as my brain recognized the sound.
"Nixon was running this place the last time I killed a shit-eating Ivan like you!"
Grandma?
She dropped the last Russian to the ground as he took his last breath, and walked over to where I was bound, lifting the night vision goggles off her head and holstering it on her belt beside the plethora of flashbang and fragmentation grenades.
"Bobby!" Grandma exclaimed in a cheerful tone that sent shivers down my spine as I stared at the 3 dead bodies around me. "It's been so long since you've visited! Up to no good, I see?" She cackled as her hands loosened the ropes keeping my hands together, and for a moment I remained seated as I stared at her in shock, jaw dropped and mind racing. "You youngsters always get yourselves into trouble in pursuit of money. It's a good thing your granny knows a thing or two about saving your little tooty, eh?"
As grandma was checking the bodies that she had just put down, I could hear the sound of feet quickly sprinting outside the room. More mobsters, most likely. She took a silenced Beretta out of her back pocket and aimed the gun towards the door, and proceeded to accurately embalm three bullets into the foreheads of three mobsters that burst through. Afterwards, she noticed the combination of confusion, amazement and fear in my expression as I slowly rose from my chair. She tilted her head towards my direction and met my gaze, smirking as she opened her mouth.
"Let's just say that I kept myself busy while Grandpa was off in 'Nam."
---------------------------------------------
This is my first ever writing prompt, and first time I've written creatively in a very long time! Feel free to provide constructive criticism, as I am looking to get into writing as a hobby and would appreciate any tips to help me improve. | The door of the van opened. Viviana stared in fear as she was dragged out. She would have screamed if one of the thugs hadn't choked her earlier for it. One of the other kidnappees had not been as lucky. Viviana still remembers the glassy tear soaked eyes losing focus and the body being chucked into a ditch.
She was shoved into a room. Alone a bed and nothing else. She wondered if she was going to die in forced prostitution. She heard men shouting in Russian at another girl.
Viviana sat on the filthy bed and looked at the small filthy window to the outside world. She caught sight of some of her face - her dark skin was bruised. She looked away and tried to losen the ropes on her hands.
Night came.
She heard crying from the rooms next door. She didn't think anyone had come but just despair. She closed her eyes and screamed into her palms. It hurt but it didn't change anything.
Her head hurt. She hadn't been permitted anything to drink since her kidnapping yesterday. Or eat.
She must have dosed as a loud bang startled her. She heard shouting and yelling in Russian. Gunfire.
She pushed herself into a corner behind the bed. She hoped it was the cops, FBI, Interpol anyone who could save her.
Slowly the sounds grew and died. She heard a shuffling down the hallway. Doors unlocking. People running.
She was reached. The door opened. Her eyes strained against the light of the hallway.
"Ah there you are."
"Grandmama?" She whispered or tried to. Her grandmother came in. She was bloody and bruised. She was armed.
The steel grey of her hair contrasted with the black body armor she wore. Her pale skin seemed even paler from it.
"Wha-"
"Not now. Let's go home. Then ploce will be here soon." She followed her grandmother who was surprisingly strong. "Just know I once had a very exciting life."
They went home. | 2016-11-27T11:57:20 | 2016-11-27T10:43:33 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] For decades, humanity has lived in absolute harmony with its galactic neighbors. When a new civilization arrives with intent to conquer, however, our capacity for destruction is rekindled, and it's unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen | The leaders of the council sat together, in a silent rapture as the one surviving Valian told his story.
​
They had all heard the stories. Of how, many centuries ago, a lone pilot from the planet known as Earth, had arrived on Corralean soil. This new species, so small.... It was a rocky relationship at first. When the small Hu-Man had first noticed the Corralean's, it had retreated to it's space shuttle. the battle that had followed spanned many decades. This new species had been so violent, striking out and killing many Corralean's and even the Drox's and Halax's. The massacre was one for the history books. Though, after time, another Hu-Man had stood up against it's own and showed that they, in the Space Council, didn't wish harm but wanted to help the new race.
​
It was tenuous at first. Most Hu-Man's only showed up to study the other races with armed patrols, just crud metal giants with filthy weapons that polluted the air. The Space Council had told this ambassador of the Hu-Man's that their weapons and equipment were crud and harmful to the sensitive ecosystem's of other worlds. Some species, the Corralean's leading them, offered to go with the Hu-Man's back to their planet to help them save it from imminent destruction. That was the glorious Century for the Hu-Man's.
​
Now, there was a story going around. This Valian, a small humanoid shaped but color-changing species. was telling them a new race had risen from the beyond.
​
Sir Terry Young, the first of his family and the youngest space council member since the humans had joined the Space Council, sat in his chair. He stared with dark eyes at the Valian as the story was told.
​
"They we-were strong sirs and ma'ams. Swept through our home planet as-as-as if we were nothing!! Tall as a Valian home," which wasn't that tall, mind you. As far as their measurements went for the other species, Terry knew that the Valians only were as tall as his elbow, which roughly translated to 152.4 centimeters. Which, he guessed, this new species was about 152.4 centimeters to about 182 centimeters. Really tiny creatures but seemed to be war-minded. "An-and then this big brute grabbed my brother u-u-up and tore him in-in-in ha-half!" Terry tilted his head at this. Strong enough to tear a Valian in half? Maybe... no. He would wait. "My poor poor poor brother..."
​
The Valian broke off and cried, falling to the ground shaking. One of the Corraleans, Maki Trix, stepped forward and hugged the young Valian. She glanced at the Council, her eyes lingering momentarily on Terry, before leading the boy out. Terry knew that look. Whenever anyone mentioned war or fighting, they made sure to keep his species out of it. Not that they wouldn't be ready because with the information they got from the collective mind of the Council, they were prepared. New, more powerful weapons had emerged from their facilities along with better armor and gear for any fights. They did their own tests against this gear, putting their armor against the Councils regulated armor to make sure it was more powerful. They may not have been at war anymore, with each other or other species, but they were prepared if war came to their door.
​
Terry glanced at the Council and visibly rolled his eyes. With a dramatic sigh he stood up from his chair and gave a short bow to no one in general. "I get it. I'm out," he said. As he stood by the door, he turned back to the Council. "One day you will have to trust us. We won't go to war with you again. We believe in the peace that's been established. Trust me, we don't want to break it any more than you do." With that, he walked out.
​
\----------------------------------------------------------
​
Terry sat at his desk, his eyes quickly reading over every document that came in. He put a hand on his jaw and a single tear dripped down his cheek and fell to his desk. This new race, the Gorgens as they named themselves, were wiping out each fleet that the Council set against them. The video they posted of Councilwomen Frassur Marxis of the Drox's was just disgusting. He leaned in closer, biting his lip as he read on. The Council was beaten. No matter how strong or what they put up against the Gorgens, it wasn't enough.
​
And he had enough.
​
He quickly tapped a response to the Council, requesting a video conference. Within moments, the remaining Council members appeared on his Vis-Screen.
​
"What is it Terry?" Maki asked. She even sounded defeated, her eyes hollow as she stared at Terry.
​
"Let us move in," he said.
​
"What can you possibly do that we haven't tried Terry? We have been more advanced--" she began, a spark flashing in her eyes. Guess she wasn't over that first visit from his species yet.
​
"Just because we haven't actively searched for war doesn't mean we haven't prepared for it. Let me send my army into space to fight the Gorgens. If we fail, than we fail. And the Council can legit tell the people that we tried everything before giving up. Please, we want to help," Terry said, trying his best not to sound desperate. Which he was, but they didn't need to know that.
​
The Halax Council member waved a tendril at them. Words flashed over the screen as it said, "Let the tiny ones go. Once they are crushed they will know that Space is too big for their little minds and bodies."
​
Terry stared at the words in fury. He slammed his hands down on the desk and snarled, "You have no idea what we are capable of Councilor Selik." Everyone on his Vis-Screen flinched, drawing back from his obvious fury and the venom in his voice. "Just remember the past Councilors. Before we even knew of the power of harnessing energy, we were kicking your ass. Imagine what we could do with the limited knowledge you've given us on your level. We were at war for far longer than you've been at peace. War is our blood, our right of passage. Don't forget it," He could feel his skin burning with his anger, hear the poison and threats in his own voice, but he needed them to agree. If only so they didn't have to turn their weapons on the Council. After all, they did test their equipment against known Councilor Fleets equipment. If needed, they could defend themselves against the might of the Council.
​
​ | The galactic council meets only when urgent matters seem trivial. Tildoor, the Tredonnan ambassador, can smell war from a thousand light years away. Today he sniffles and snorts with the bluster of an old-earth hog. Ynid, the ambassador from Yamusoto, knows danger well. She’s survived the harshest climate the habitable universe has to offer. The way she holds herself is far and reserved, the way she might hold up in a winter cave during the apex of the endless storms of her home planet.
They sit across from myself, the human ambassador, in hologram. Our displayed table is triangular, and we sit center at each equal edge. I cannot rest my hands on it. They fidget with anxiety.
“Ynid, this better be of true worth,” Tildoor says.
“Those readings from Quadrant Eleven were not just misreading as I had hoped,” Ynid says. “Henrich, what is your take on this matter?”
“I admit, I am weary of new visitors,” I say. “We’re always a distrustful bunch.”
“Biology fails us sometimes,” Tildoor says. “Sometimes we must hold it back for the greater good.”
“And sometimes we must embrace it,” Ynid says.
I clear my throat. “What if they’re hostile?”
“They will not be,” Tildoor says. “We must show them our peaceful ways. They will come to our terms. We are stronger together. We are vast. They are few.”
This, sadly, is not true.
***
To see a friend choke before your eyes, that is one thing. To see him plead and beg for forgiveness from his enemy as they sap the last bits of air from his atmosphere? That is too much to bear. Tildoor’s last gasps are those of peace. His feed cuts out. Ynid and I are in the same room, embroidered in the technicolor silks of the Final Alliance. The Trednonnans are leaderless now. They turn to us to protect them.
But their planets are sapped of energy by grand ships. This is machinery we have never seen before. It is like magic to even the elusive and creative Yamusotons. I sense, in our grand halls, surrounded by a cloud of unending dread, that we are doomed.
It sparks within me, building into an explosion of emotion.
The need to kill.
“We must embrace our biology, sometimes,” I say.
“You’ve rid yourselves of violence, but the seed still lives?” Ynid asks.
“It does. It wishes to bloom.”
“Then it must.”
***
Ynid’s people bring us the means, and we bring the violence. Our men and women uniformed in technicolor and sweaty in the cockpits of Yamusoto ships now equipped with weapons for the first time. Life-seeking oxygen bombs and rip-lasers dote the skies. Green dashes and orange blooms with such grandeur that my eyes burn black with afterimages hours later.
Whatever it was that came, it quickly leaves. We never make contact. We never speak.
They come back for us harder. They destroy planets. They ended billions of lives. We destroy them.
I am a monster, I know. That fury within me that wishes to destroy.
Ynid comforts me, a balmy hand on my shoulder as I sweat into the holograph recorder. I declare the war is over.
But I do not sleep.
I never sleep.
My bed is now made of nightmares. I hear ghosts from voices I’ve never heard. I see invisible faces.
***
The new Tredonnan swears in beside us. They are a bright-nosed creature, small and full of energy. But when I leave the ceremony dressed only in gray and black, I walk down the halls to an advisor. She too is full of energy, but I can see it in her eyes: violence.
“We have such newfound power. You could have seized the Triangle from them. Why didn’t you?” asks the advisor. I do not know her name, I am too exhausted to do that anymore.
“Killing is easy when you never meet the face of the enemy. I, however, must meet my own face in the mirror each morning.”
She salutes me, and I fumble my way to the vast window inside my room. My shadowed reflection bleeds into the starscape. With weary eyes, I close the shades. . | 2019-03-03T20:51:15 | 2019-03-03T20:28:31 | 192 | 87 |
[WP] It was a staff, made of twisted wood. It was magic, of course, like all good staffs. And above all, it was *mine* now, passed down through generations. But the glow in the glass orb is fading, and only now can I see that it was a pixie, trapped inside for countless years. | The final glow of light faded from the small, worn globe and I knew I had failed. Failed myself foremost, my destiny. Failed my ancestor's bequeathed heritage. Failed the man I had doomed to die with me in this dark, terrible place.
"A shame," she said. The *thing* pretending to be a woman smiled at us from her makeshift throne. At me. "Poor, poor Hector. He would have been *so* disappointed."
My grandfather. Yes, that was definitely the worst of it all. I had failed my grandfather. That he would never learn of this folly was a small comfort. I knew he would have denied it, he would have forgiven my stupidity and embraced me as he always had. But there would be a sadness deep in his eyes if I looked for it---a ragged grief for the end of our legacy.
And disappointment, yes, she was right. And wrong. Not in me. Never in me. Grandfather would have been disappointment in *himself* for entrusting our treasure to such a weak, stupid little girl. He would blame himself, that had always been his way.
Still, in that moment of weakness, sitting in the darkness, surrounded by enemies and looking at the dying stick in my hand, I would have willed him there, if I could. Not even to save us from our imminent death--- I would have slipped into his embrace and apologized and wept and *been done with this entire thing*. But it was just a moment and then there was the *shame* of having thought such things at all. But shame was better than fear and despair, so I embraced the guilt and embarrassment.
"Our business is thus concluded," the woman said. She clapped her hands and the shadows that had stood at the room's periphery stalked forward, empty handed but grinning broadly. The fair folk did not need tools of men to rip us apart. "It saddens me greatly, but the laws must be respected. You cannot be permitted to leave this place as you are, not even as a true favor to Hector, may the heavens rest his soul."
The final task set before me, a puzzle that countless of my forebearers had faced and succeeded against, had utterly stymied me. From the moment it had come into my grasp, day by day, hour by hour, the light had faded from the orb. Finally, when none of my attempts to reverse the loss and decay had met with success, I had taken my mother's advice and come here to this dark place. And explicitly ignored my grandfather's: never have dealings with the faerie, if you can otherwise help it. And even if you can't, think long and hard otherwise.
The faerie are not kind and helpful, they are monsters in the guise of men. Worse than monsters. At least monsters are alive. At least monsters might be killed or tamed to your cause. The faerie devoured humans, devoured *monsters*, and their purpose and manner was unclear even to the most learned magi. And that was *just* the way they liked it.
But there had been no other way. For all her grandfather's warnings against them, he *had* consorted with their kind from time to time. Her mother had been right, perhaps the fair folk would have an answer. A hint.
And they had. "The answer is inside," the queen on her throne had said. And then she had us surrounded. And then she waited for---
The last glimmer faded into the dark.
The staff was a twisted, worn thing. A gnarled branch of dark wood whose end curled around a small sphere of glass, like a greedy hand. Its name was Kleutrom Westos, and its magic had served the line of my family faithfully untainted and unfading for as far back as our memories and stories allowed. But I had not been worthy. It was dead.
"Uhh, Penny?" the man beside me spoke. Benton. Raising his sword in a long arc around us: "Any bright ideas?"
And shame turned into burning self-loathing. Into anger. And then I did something stupid. Even for me.
I destroyed the staff.
Gripped it in my hands and smashed it against the floor, splintering the old wood and shattering the orb.
And before I could scream at myself, I saw him.
A little, naked boy. Like *little* little. Too little to be human. Smaller than my pinky finger. Glowing with the faintest, dimmest light that made his felled form stand out amongst the glass shards, even in the dark.
One of the little folk. A different type of faerie. A pixie.
And then I understood.
"My grandfather once told me," I said, reaching down and cradling the unconscious figure in my palm. "The faerie may appear human, but they are not. They do not eat, they do not piss, they do not breathe. They do not love or hate such as a human would. They are not alive and cannot be slain like you would a man, say by fire or steel. Even cold iron, though it may hinder and alarm them, will not bring a faerie's demise."
The faerie woman looked at Benton's iron sword and nodded. "This is true."
"And yet a faerie is not everlasting. Faerie *can* die," I said and reached over to Benton with my free hand. I touched his bare neck and when he glanced at me, wondering what the hell I was doing, I whispered: "Sorry. I'll explain later."
And down he went, sprawled at my feet.
I wobbled where I stood from the effort. If I was wrong, I had just doomed us. But it wouldn't do for him to hear the rest. Trade secrets and all.
"Faerie can starve," I said, to the dark room. To the fair lady on her throne. "Not food. Different faerie eat different things. Beautiful things. Is that why you have made this place your domain? Is this what you eat? Knowledge?"
We were standing in the darkened main hall of a museum. The fair lady, she sat at the head of a large staircase that led to the second floor, perched on the uppermost landing like a throne, while moonlight filtered in from the glass ceiling and shrouded her.
She smiled. "Careful, careful," she said in a hushed, chiding tone. "Some secrets you should not even *hint* that you suspect. It is dangerous. But it was wise to put your guardian to sleep. Had you not, you would both be dead now."
She was helping us. Or helping herself. I wasn't sure. A deal with my grandfather? My mother? There would be time to muse about it later. I looked down at the pixie in my hand. "He's not one of you. I mean, he's obviously a faerie, but..."
"He does not need what sustains us. Something else," the woman replied.
And I thought about Grandfather. It had to be something that was always around him. Something he had, something he was never without. Something he could use to feed the pixie in the orb. Discretely give it strength and power, so it could in turn do the same for him---
And then I knew.
I knew what the little folk ate.
I leaned over and whispered to the poor, shivering thing: "Once upon a time, there was a weak, stupid little girl. Her grandfather was a powerful wizard. And he told her that one day she would be a powerful witch too..."
Stories. They ate stories. I remembered his endless tales and myths and anecdotes and legends. Her grandfather never shut up. It seemed I had a habit to pick up.
I told him about myself. I told Kleutrom Westos about my hopes, my dreams. Things I wanted. Things I hated. I told him about my family. The mother I didn't trust. The grandfather I loved like a father. And the man who had killed him. My true father. The vengeance I had sworn. The little boy in my palm murmured dreamily and glowed faintly as I whispered in the dark.
From her throne on the steps, the fair woman smiled. | Ordinary citizens endure about a couple of weeks of bureaucracy every time a relative passes away. During this time, the Kingdom reviews last wills and testaments, settles old debts, then finally parcels out any remaining estate to the survivors.
In my case, given that magic runs deep in our blood, the Cabal has to get involved. Known more for their mastery of the arcane arts, rather than their efficiency, I waited almost half a year before the chest containing the last effects from my parents materialised in my study.
With a single wave, I cleared away the seals binding the chest. As per custom, every artifact with at least two Circles of power would be confiscated, destined for the Cabal's fabled vaults, to be bequeathed when the time was right. Few had dared to challenge this tradition, no matter how socialist it might seem.
I saw a frozen-ice frame, which pooled memories and displayed them from time to time. An enchanted pen, which could complete any limerick in perfect rhyme and meter. A wisp of dryad's hair, able to turn the foulest of waters into the most nourishing of broths.
And then I saw the staff.
Americh.
It glimmered briefly when I picked it up. "Hey, you there?" I said, as I shook it gently. I channeled a small stream of power into the staff, feeling it course through time-worn circuits, seeing a soft glow emanate from the dragoncrystal tip.
"Hmm? Oh, it's you. My condolences are in order then. Your father... He was an honorable mage."
Natuie looked somehow older, more weary, though I knew time touched the pixie-folk differently from us. He perched himself on the end of the staff, then continued, "I must temper your expectations, Master Landlyn. The spark has left me, and while I will try my best to accomplish the tasks you set me..."
"You haven't even heard what I had in mind."
Natuie sighed, then did a little pirouette in the air before settling down again. I could sense the magic in him still, raw, strong, pulsing. It was the vessel which needed a bit of cajoling.
"It doesn't matter," he said, resting his chin in his little hands, "it's just that everything has been done before, you know? Monsters have been slayed, dragons have been tamed... I just can't seem to get excited about much these days."
"Even if I told you that there's adventure waiting?"
"Adventure? The Kingdom of Ankharra is entering, what, its 50th year of continued peace! There's nary a fey folk out there that still needs quelling! Did you know, your grandfather and I were summoned to the western borders once, to repel an invasion of shapeshifters, but it turned out only to be a wolf which had picked up a bit of the common tongue! That was it!"
"Natuie," I tried to interject, "I have something different in mind-"
"... and the wolf had cubs by the time we caught up to it! Cubs! All young, innocent, completely adorable! There was no smiting that day, only a lot of fostering! Me, the power core for Americh! Oh, to have a real challenge for once..."
"Listen," I commanded, as tiny tendrils of bloodmagic seized Natuie by the shoulders, forcing him to look me in the eye. That got his attention.
"I plan to hit the Waygates outside the city. I'll corrupt them from within, so that every fifth passenger they convey will be tainted. When the time is ripe, I will turn them all, make them obey my bidding. And I'll do all this while making sure that the Cabal doesn't catch on, or trace it back to me. That enough of a challenge for you?"
Natuie thought for a while, then said, "What's the point in that? Power?"
I laughed. "No, not power. But things would be far more interesting then, yes?"
"But the Waygates... They are all protected, under seal and spell. No one has managed to bend them as far as I can recall..."
"I'm not going to bend them, Natuie. I seek to *shatter* them. When that's done, then the Tree of Life is next, then the Wells of Kathrun, the Caves of Miron... Every single font of power in this world, rewritten by our hand."
I watched as the dragoncrystal hummed, then a waterfall of sparkles erupted, flowing out and nourishing the wood of the staff. Americh throbbed under my hand, and I watched the faded wood varnish itself, turning into a midnight black. Where the wood was chipped, I saw the flesh grow anew, restoring the staff to its original glory. Natuie too seemed reinvigorated, and the wings on his back beat faster, more hungrily than they had in centuries.
I smiled as the staff turned from a single-Circle eccentricity, into an eight-Circle weapon of mass destruction.
"When do we begin?"
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2017-06-17T19:37:27 | 2017-06-17T17:51:01 | 75 | 52 |
[WP] You are 70 years old, and see your granchildren playing with the newest electronic. It looks complicated, and when you ask to use it, you say "Where's the touchscreen?". | Tim and Molly had come to visit me for the weekend while their parents were off on their 15th anniversary. I had spent the day beforehand baking goodies and planning a few things for us to do around the house. I'm too old to drive now, so I tried to think of what I enjoyed when I was young. It feels like it was yesterday.
Anyhow, last night had gone well, we stayed up late, late for me, not them, and ate cookies and watched old cartoons. Apparently 90s cartoons are all the rage again. Yet, after I made them waffles for breakfast today, and forced them to wash their sticky fingers, I could not seem to get them off the couch. They have these gadgets and gloves and glasses, move their fingers slightly and subvocalize, but other than that nothing. It seems like some sort of handheld videogame, but much more complex than what I used to play with.
"Timmy dear, what is that you've got there?"
Tim looked up and smiled at me. "One sec," he said as he pressed a few buttons on the gadget and removed the glasses, "what did you say Grams?"
"I wanted to know what you are playing with lit'len."
He explained it was the Nin10do Immersion. The big gadget, as I had called it, was like a hard drive that held the games you could play and your save files. The gloves somehow interfaced with your nerves and could detect your desired muscle movements. The glasses allowed you to see the game world and control where you went directonally. They also had headphones in the frames so you could hear what was happening in the game.
"Wow, that seems pretty neat! Do you have any simple games I could try out?" I asked my grandson eagerly. I had always hoped something like this would be created.
"Sure Grams, just one moment!" He slid the glasses back in place and pressed a few buttons on the gadget. Then he took off the glasses and grabbed his backpack. He withdrew an extra pair of glasses and gloves and handed them to me. "We can join Molly in Crafter! I will bring you along as my guest."
The gloves were silky on the inside as I put them on my veiny hands. When I put on the glasses, I was suprised to see a world much like the one of Minecraft, except I was in the game itself, not just looking at a screen.
"Molly!" Tim called and I turned to look at him. Well, I thought I turned, but only the character did. His character looked like my Timmy, but much more blocky.
"I am over in the pasture!" I heard Molly reply.
I followed my grandson up over a green hill and through a small stream. The water felt cold!
"Oh Timmy this is wonderful!" I squealed like a little kid.
For the next few hours Tim and Molly taught me how to interact with the world and we spent several game days exploring the landscape. I had so much fun with them, we even built a house out of dirt blocks! It wasn't nearly as good as their other creations, but I was happy with my progress.
When I heard a buzzer go off I gave a little start. "That's the alarm saying we've been playing for over 5 hours and that we need to unimmerse."
"Oh, alright. Can you show me how to disconnect?"
"Sure thing Grams!" Tim's character made a weird arm motion and words appeared in front of us.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO SAVE YOUR GAME AND QUIT?
Tim's said yes and everything went black for a second. Then I could see the dark glass in front of me once again. As I removed my glasses I saw Molly doing the same. I turned to Tim he also had his glasses off and I heard his stomach rumble.
"How about some grilled cheese?" | In my day, touch screens were all the hype, some might even call them "the bees knees" so imagine my surprise when my kids came home with a block of plastic.
"Bobby, what's that there thingymiggiger" I ask looking at him shove a smaller plastic box into the top of the first block.
"Well dad, I found it in one of those time capsules" he responded
"But where's the touch screen"?
" You don't touch it dad, you just mash A and B".
"Is that a pikachu Bobby? Isn't that one of the 4000 pokemans?"
"Shut up dad I can't find my ziggerzapichupuffin. This game is dumb, wanna hop in a virtual reality and make them fight for real?"
As a tear rolls down my face I say "yes Bobby, and I've never loved you more". | 2015-05-21T08:08:50 | 2015-05-21T07:03:31 | 118 | 17 |
[WP] It was then Harry Potter realized the last 7 years in Hogwarts was actually a mental institute. The man he thought to be Dumbledore was just an elderly caretaker. Harry, looking at an old broken twig he once believed was a wand, started to remember what really happened during those years. | *Here lies Albus Dumbledore, who loved Hogwarton.* The gravestone lay tucked away in a small corner of the cemetery, not yet worn by time, small and unobtrusive. A light soft rain kissed the old gray stones scattered around the burial grounds of Hogwarton Institute for Mental Recovery. Two men dressed in somber black coats stood before the headstone of the deceased caretaker. The shorter man knelt to lay a faded slip of a willow branch in front of the grave with great reverence.
"He never lost patience with me," Harry Potter reflected aloud, "even on my worst days. Hogwarton isn't the same without him, Mr. Riddell."
Thomas M. Riddell, director of Hogwarton Institute, placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "But you do not need a mental institution anymore, Harry. I think old Albus would be happier to see you living a productive and grounded life outside these walls."
"Happy, you say?" Harry stared down at the granite headstone. "I was happy here, wasn't I? Immersing myself in a fantasy world of magic and drama and heroism. I had everything I wanted in the school: friends, teachers, purpose." He glanced up at Riddell. "Even a worthy opponent."
Riddell chuckled warmly. "That was Albus' idea, did you know? Both of us saw at once that you were grasping for something meaningful to believe in - and sometimes, it can be something as simple as adversity to overcome. As long as you were willing to fight, you would not give up. When the physician ... when the physician told him he would not be long for this world, even then, he was thinking of you and all the other patients here." His face turned grave. "Harry, the mind is a strange beast. I don't think there was a single dry eye the night you came to us, so frightened and incoherent from all the abuse. I don't resent you for casting me or Dolores as villains in your own story. We're all glad and relieved that you got the help you needed. Maybe the past should stay buried once it has ceased to be of use."
Harry nodded at the forlorn slip of wood lying on Dumbledore's grave. "He didn't even giggle when I told him I was a wizard on my first day here. He told me to keep that wand, that I would perform miracles with it."
"Was he wrong?" Riddell asked.
Harry Potter smiled wryly. "Of course not. Thank you for humoring me all this time, Mr. Riddell. Give my thanks to Mr. Napes too. And, if I can be of any service to the patients who still need a little more time and a little more love here ..."
Riddell canted his head, thinking for a moment. "... There may be someone, Harry. She came in here stark raving mad but a few days ago. Why don't you sit down with her and tell her a story? Perhaps Hogwarts will help her more than Hogwarton."
"Her name?"
Riddell shrugged helplessly as he guided Harry Potter away from the grave of the elderly janitor, the two falling into lockstep like old friends as they leisurely ambled away. "That, I am afraid I don't know. The constables found no documents when they arrested her in the square, dressed in only in a towel and carrying a jar of marmalade and a doll. Try and be patient with her, Harry. If you need a name, she only answers to J. K. Rowling." | Dumbledore? But you're... you're... dead. Snape... he well...
Wait, where am I,?
Where's madam pomfrey? And what happened to your robes?
I'll get us out of here Albus.. Alohomora! Alohomora!
Why is it not working?
"Oh Harry.... are you having nightmares again?
Here, have a chocolate frog. It'll make you feel better."
Thank you professor.
The medicine did its work again.
Until next week the boy "Potter" would have another good week at "hogsmeade".
"I'm sorry, Harry." Said Albus the caretaker at St. Mungos. "This illusion of hogwarts is for the best."
This is how all days had been since Riddle won the battle of hogwarts... | 2019-04-09T11:18:39 | 2019-04-09T09:58:52 | 379 | 54 |
[WP] scientist have found neanderthal DNA that is 100% intact. They decide to clone it only to discover why they died out. | Dr. Tim Rosen accepted the truth. He would never get another promotion. "The Lab" as they were referred to in classified documents, had lost 47 of the neanderthal test subjects to date. The governments attempt at creating a faster stronger soldier from our genetic predecessors was a complete failure so far. Today's failure, "Karen", had made it an impressive (given the circumstances) six and a half years. "Tell me Dr. Tomlinson", he asked with a sigh" How did it happen this Time?"
The first neanderthal cloned made it three months. The first successful experiment of its kind, she was heralded as a breakthrough. The child, nicknamed "Ursa" for her robust size and strength, was as healthy as any homo-sapien child ever born. Weighing in at nearly thirteen pounds at birth she was physically very healthy, pink skin, dark brown eyes that noticed everything and the fresh baby fuzz on her head suggesting thick black hair would soon be hers. She exhibited strength beyond what could be expected of any average newborn. She even appeared smarter than average human babies. Seemingly quick to follow what was going on in the room and attempting to mimic her handlers much earlier than regular children.
The trouble started at around two months old.
Ursa had already started crawling. Fascinated by her progress they brought in several other scientists including a noted government pediatrician. They were all cooing and awwing at her achievements, her fast growth, her beautiful baby hair and her attempts at imitating them. Then she stood up while holding on to a table leg. Excitement was palpable. Tim was Imagining the promotion he would get from this as Dr. Hunter was patting him on the back for the progress he had made as head of the facility, and just as the pediatrician was stating in an amazed voice he didn't understand how any people who's children developed so fast could go extinct, it happened. Ursa tried to take a step and pitched forward, banging her head on a See and Say so hard she passed out.
Panic ensued. Tests were run. She died later that night from a brain bleed. All that work. All that money. Lost because of a simple misstep. Encouraged by his superiors and the pentagon because of the early progress Ursa had made, they tried again.
Baby number two, Lauren, made it to three months before pulling a stack of childrens books over on herself and bleeding out from several paper cuts across the jugular.
Books and hard toys were removed from the nursery.
Dominique, baby number three, ran into a chair on her first birthday hard enough to cause brain damage and was taken off life support a week later.
All furniture was replaced with bean bag chairs.
Denise fell off her bed and broke her neck(mattresses moved to floor). Susan was learning to write at age three when she tripped and stabbed herself in the chest with her own pencil(all pencils replaced with crayons until further notice), and Cassandra(baby 43) made it all the way to five, living in padded rooms and wearing heavily padded clothing 24/7 before she was skipping along, tripped and fell, breaking her foot off at the ankle. Despite the best care the government could provide, sepsis set in, and she died 4 months later.
" She was just walking", Dr. Tomlinson stated in a flat voice. "Just walking, and she fell forward and broke her nose on the floor. They said it pushed the bridge up into her brain killing her instantly." Tim realized he wasn't ever getting another raise either. "I just don't understand", the typically stoic Tomlinson gasped out" They're just the clumsiest mutherfuckers I've ever seen!"
O.T. My first submission. Constructive criticism very appreciated.
EDIT: Spelling. | With a *hiss* the doors opened. Fog spilled from the cloning bay.
A voice from inside cried out, "Graaaafuu".
"Did you hear that?" whispered Dr Codwell to his assistant.
The voice cried out again, louder. "GROG FUCK!". Grog, the Neanderthal, sprinted out of the cloning bay and tackled Dr Codwell's assistant, a young woman named Betty.
"GROG WANT PRETTY LADY FUCK GRO-" at that moment, Grog's thrashing arms knocked a large steel box off the desk next to him. The box fell onto Grog's head, killing them instantly.
Codwell walked over to the whiteboard. A single sentence was written on it. "Why did the Neanderthals die out?".
Underneath, Codwell wrote "Because they were fucking morons".
Case closed. | 2015-03-23T09:09:38 | 2015-03-23T08:55:47 | 104 | 42 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution" | "...And as the victors, the Irik Confederate shall now be taking control of your cities and governments on this colony planet. Your unfit leaders shall..."
I caught snippets of the speech, but I wasn't really listening. Neither were my comrades moving around the crowd, I wager - well, except Francis, I knew that he was probably taking notes. No matter, he'd get the job done regardless.
It had been a weird week. These aliens simply decided to attack. They invaded the airspace over the colony and pulled a true *Blitzkrieg*, they just dispatched their troops right on top of the governmental buildings. Took our leaders as hostages, messed up with comunications and media. After six days, it seems that they thought that was it. They simply walked out and onto the streets like they owned the place. I saw ol' Jeremy, the governor, in shackles behind them with a sour look on his face as the Irik Commander stood proudly in front of the population of Primus A and started giving us his little takeover speech.
There were other Iriks with him and thye all had the same smug, maddening self-satisfied grins on every one of their five mouths. No weapons, I noticed. Six long, lean arms on each and all they were holding were rings, ceremonial banners, flash cards and other things better suited for hanging on a wall as conversation starters than standing in front of a crowd who, I was pleased to notice as I started to climb the stairs to the nearby building, was eyeing the invaders with barely restrained anger. We outnumbered them, too.
It was barely a couple of minutes before I was in position. Directly on top of the commander who was still running all of his mouths with the pleased look of someone who just loves to hear themselves talk. I looked to the other points and sure enough, there were my boys in their own positions, ready to go. I clutched my weapon - a simple lead pipe that I had find. Primus A wasn't an advanced post - it was a habitational colony, and I'd been a flower shop owner until a week ago. Not much experience with guns, nor did I even know how to find one on short notice. But I'd be damned if I was going to just twindle my thumbs while these aliens invaded my home. I pulled up my bandana, covering my nose and mouth and blew my whistle.
The sharp sound was a boulder smashing glass, destroying the concentration and the droning sound of the Irik's speech. The alien looked upwards with three dozen surprised eyes as from the crowd, two of my boys did their part and threw their stink bombs into the comission of aliens. I screamed and jumped from my vantage point, landing with both feet on the commander's chest and sending the alien to the ground.
It was absolute chaos. The Iriks were screaming in confusion and disgust at the odor, and it was everything the crowd needed to get riled up too - the mass of humans shouted in support at our outburst and started to rush towards us to help the fight, while the rest of the Irik Comission scrambled to get into position.
"W-what is the meaning of this madness?! Your leaders have been defeated and replaced, how dare you betray your new governors?! This is already ov--"
The pipe gave out a really nice vibrating sound when it connected to his leftmost mouth, the one who was talking at the time.
"Listen up, you daft bastard. Nobody here is on your side, we're not traitors. We're the resistance!" I said, lifting up my pipe again. I could see the look of confusion and fear take over his many eyes at the word "resistance", as if the alien had never heard of such a term before.
"What is the meaning of that word?"
"It means that we're still going to fight you. Who gives a shit about the government, anyway? This is our home and we don't want you here."
"B-but...But that's not how it is done! It's not proper, the losers shall never fight the victors! We won the war and we demand you cease this madness!"
I lifted my pipe again. I could say a lot of things, I realized. Some sort of deep proclamation of human spirit or defying catchphrase. I had one shot before the crowd hit us and the real battle started. I chose my words carefully and looked the commander of this pompous alien race right in the eye before bringing down my pipe.
"Nah." | we thought of them as saviors when they first came they expected immediate surrender on our part. They thought after slaughtering millions of lives we would surrender. they were wrong. We were faced with what could have been our destruction our annihilation but we would not so easily bend into their fold. Nay we rose against our attackers when they struck our cities we reverse engineered their technology and took the fight to the heavens where they came from. We used our own ships our own weapons of mass destruction and we slaughtered them like the dogs they were. They attempted to resist our retribution of course, They fought tooth and nail against us but they underestimated our ferocity as well as unleashing futuristic technology against them we used old tactics boarding ships and engaging in close quarters combat. We fought for years and we chased them down across the galaxy to their homeworld where we brought retribution to their doorstep we invaded their cities burned their capitals glassed their farms. We sent ground troops down to crush any chance they had at resisting our attacks. They came in the thousands but we came in the millions. Millions upon millions of angry and blood thirsty troops ready to revenge their losses back on earth when their cities were destroyed and we were forced to hide underground, Little did these invaders know of our resolve little did they know of our hate. Like striking a hornets nest we came at them as one and we crushed their fleets as one and we slaughtered their troops as one and we burned and glassed their planets and outposts as one. Because of these invaders we became one and we became the most fearsome civilization in the galaxy. | 2019-12-17T18:31:00 | 2019-12-17T11:20:18 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | As negotiations fell apart, the foreign assembly of diplomats aboard the Cymbalaeum Space Station felt a tension spread across the room. The humans, normally jovial by galactic standards, were now stone faced. Corbyn had seen such a face only a few times, but never in discussion of war. Their opponent was the Theisp Empire, a people not dissimilar to humans; bipedal, hairless, but with a longer face and eyes set to a wider angle.
"We perceive the expansionist agenda of the humans to be a detriment to our people. Humanity rarely gives pause to consider the impact of their actions on solar systems that they invade. They have encroached upon other galactic powers without regard and seek to expand their influence regardless of those that stand in their way. Their trade negotiations predominately benefit their own economies. We of the Theisp Empire believe it is time to push Humanity back into Sol and remind them that they are newcomers to this stage and they should be more cooperative in the face of those who came before."
Some of the room murmered. Some nodded. Some looked to the human diplomats.
Form a moment, the human diplomats talked among themselves quietly off mic. They reached a consensus before the female faced forward again. She keyed her mic, "Humanity has established colonies in 3 solar systems for a total of 4 habitable planets under our sovereign control. We have several material colonies beyond that, but nothing life sustaining as of yet. These accusations that the Theisp Empire has leveled at our species is made in full awareness that some of those in this room represent powers that have more than 200 sovereign worlds. The Theisp themselves control more than 50 sovereign worlds. We view the wanton aggression of the Theisp Empire to be a power grab in an attempt to bully their way into a stronger galactic position."
She paused and accepted a paper from her partner, "This is truly a sad day for everyone. Humanity believed it had found reasonable and amicable peoples outside of the Sol system. People better than us. Ones who would work in the art of peace rather than the horror of war. I would like to ask the assembly to remember how they once knew humanity rather than what they become. "
Corbyn understood the word horror, but in terms of war, it was slightly dramatic in his opinion.
Some of the room shifted. It seemed the diplomat was hinting at genetic manipulation. Corbyn picked up on that, but did not follow that line of thought; it was too simple.
The diplomat checked her notes before continuing, "It should be announced that a declaration of open war with a galactic empire comes with a freedom from any laws in regard to open conflict. Our conventions only relate to other humans and earthbound combat, therefore does not apply to foreign species or empires not of earth. If this collective will not defend us, then we reject their conventions as well and do as we see fit to survive. We would encourage those who do not support the Theisp Empire to refrain from entering into this dispute in any capacity."
The Gorvan diplomat to Corbyn's right leaned to their partner, "To think that they would augment their genetic code for a simple war. It should be interesting to see how they change themselves."
Corbyn rubbed the fur on his chin in a pensive manner. Speech patterns from different cultures always had hitches in translation. Different species entirely were only worse. Humans had never shown all their advantages in trade negotiations, Corbyn suspected that they would show even less in failing to defuse war. He was positive that the humans were not speaking of genetic manipulation.
---
Human space mining had been booming up until this point. It was simple to double the infrastructure already in place. Corbyn had been privy to several communications intercepted from their mining stations in and outside of the Sol system. It seemed that the humans were building something on a gas giant in their home system. Something similar to a Dyson sphere. Something that encompassed the entire planet. They were also changing what they were mining in the belts. Material rich in magnesium, lithium, rubidium, and potassium. Curious, but not something that they could build ships with.
Corbyn stretched his arms. Sure those elements *could* be used as rudimentary explosives, but only in an atmospheric environment. There were better options. But... what was humanity going to do with it?
On the other side of the conflict, the Theisp were preparing of course. It would take their ships 3 months to reach the nearest of the human systems. However they had gone through ceremonies and celebrations. The Theisp viewed this as a show. They knew they were bigger. They felt invincible.
To their credit. Corbyn decided that while his bets would fall on the Theisp, there was an itch in the back of his mind that the Humans were moving faster and with purpose. Something was coming. He took a drink of water.
---
The first wave of Theisp ships had seized a few material colonies and imprisoned the humans present in "labor camps". Essentially, the humans were doing what they had been doing, only the supplies were now going to the Theisp.
However the Theisp forces had yet to move on a sovereign world.
And so far, the Humans had not responded.
Corbyn's office on the station had been quiet for a few minutes. There came a knock at the door.
Checking the door monitor on his desk, he found the human diplomat waiting. He had no reason to fear her, nor was her security detail present.
"Corbyn, I would like to talk with you to see if we could speak about trade negotiations."
He nodded and motioned for her to enter. He padded over to his desk and lowered himself to his haunches. "I appreciate your attention, Ms. Greaves, as humans are one of the species aboard the Cymbalaeum that are similar to us in terms of thought."
The human diplomat took her seat.
"But I do hope you understand that we cannot assist in your war effort."
"There is no war anymore." She said flatly, adding a smile.
A silence dropped on the office like a freighter ship's worth of cold water. Corbyn's snout twitched and sniffed, his wit resurrecting him from his stupor. "You'll have to excuse my disbelief Ms. Greaves, but as of 2 hours ago, Theisp forces were taking a station within a sovereign system, that does not sound like it's over. In 2 years, humanity has gained nothing, and lost much. That doesn't sound like a positive outcome. Did you negotiate a surrender?"
The confident smile faded to something... stranger. Sadness, Corbyn thought, but sadness would hardly fit the context. Perhaps there had been a surrender.
"Do you remember the speech I gave the assembly?" She turned her gaze to the books lining his office wall.
Corbyn had the recording on his computer. He had played it several times over to better understand the cultural significance behind what she had said. "Of course. It was an effective speech, I would say."
Now there was genuine sadness on her face, borderline distraught even.
"I came to reiterate my words Corbyn. Your people are a functional, peaceful society that Humanity would like closer relations with." She her throat's muscles moved up and down as if she had just swallowed a bit of food, "But I fear that I must steel your reaction. Humanity will likely be seen differently in a few hours."
She stood. Corbyn decided that while she may have wanted to discuss trade, she was likely here to gauge his reaction. Humans never revealed exactly what they wanted. That much had always held true.
As she stepped towards the door Corbyn spoke, "I will do my best to keep trade negotiations open, Ms. Greaves. Humans could be valuable partners in the future."
"Thank you for your time Corbyn." She exited unceremoniously.
Corbyn immediately started alerting and searching for everything he could find on the Theisp / Human war.
Small pieces here and there began to reveal a larger, and true to the word "horror", terrifying reality of what humans called "War".
---
In the past several hours, advanced space-faring drones had decloaked inside of 27 of the 53 sovereign systems of the Theisp.
Each of these drones were a battleship class drone, armed with large assortments of rocketry tech and ballistic turrets. Only a few pictures of these drones were captured by the spies of the Ysari (Corbyn's species). Soon after decloaking the drones fired several salvos of ballistic weaponry directly at the planet. Each of these rounds were the about 300 meters long and weighed several hundred tons. Each one was electromagnetically propelled at high speeds.
When the rounds crossing a threshold of 30 minutes until impact, suddenly high energy signatures were detected from the surface of multiple Theisp planets.
Then came a strange reading.
The Theisp atmosphere was rapidly changing. It was suddenly becoming extremely hydrogen heavy. So heavy to the point that hydrogen became the most common gas in the atmosphere. It likely more than doubled the barometric pressure on the surface of the planet.
And then the human's plans came together. Scans of the munitions revealed that they housed a thin heat resistant layer with an absolutely massive payload of alkali metals at the core.
As the first of the rounds pierced the hydrogen saturated atmosphere, they exploded into a plume.
And then the atmosphere touched the alkali metals.
---
Obligatory Thanks for the Gold lol | (You know what? I'll bite. I plan on deleting this line later, but I may forget.)
"Such is the duty of lords and princes, envoy. Release the pl-"
*"Release?* That's a pompous way of saying 'annex', diplomat'"
"We only ask what is our birthright, from the great Mandate Of Our Wisdom - our law is fair, our rule is ju-"
"You bore me, drone. Now shut up and 'behold our most noble proposal, prepared for thine eyes to scrunch upon'. Uppity malcontent..."
​
Adda, a rather...*brash*...ambassador to the now-battered Humanity, stood on the odium with her laptop on-hand. With a click, a little tap, a swoosh, and a slide, she projected a document onto the large holowall behind her. Another click, and several pre-made screenshots of highlighted documents bloomed large - Article 6, 42, and 173.
​
"Ambassador, if you please - you are tarnishing what little Wisdom humanity has left. Please, let us guide your species to a noble existence, and join our Mantle."
There was a lull. Adda looked, incredulous - big words to come from a heartless swarm of parasitic vermin. She wanted to get this over with, go to her shuttle, open her bottle of aged non-synthetic whiskey, and wake up tomorrow with a newly-emptied bottle of forget-the-past and a killer hangover. It's the only thing keeping her in this filthy barge filled with filthy slugs covered in filthy *lies* and filthy *delusions*.
​
...But after she finished. Which would be hard if she had to hear these...*things* speak again.
​
"Article 6, all Lexist vessels are to be abandoned in Federate space. Article 42, all Lexist Queens shall be quarantined within Federate space. Article 173, the right to life shall be suspended to the Queens of the Caste Militaire. Everything else is just administrative jargon - we got through that in the Polar Treaties. All 12 of them.
"You are allowed to accept this unconditional surrender, effective immediately once it is signed by commanding Queens of the Lexist Union. Failure to do so will continue hostilities. Extermination is the consequence. Naturally."
The Lexist delegation was...perplexed, to say the least. Adda was...*grumpy*, to say the least. No one was happy. But Adda was proactive.
​
"What, you don't get it? You little shits, *surrender* or *die*. That is what we put forth, and that is all we will *accept*. Any questions?"
A lone Lexist envoy stood. He was confused, dazed, but fuming. *He* had some questions.
​
"Ambassador, what *insanity* has plagued you? This is no surrender, it is a *culling!* You most definitely lack common Wisdom, and we shall not negotiate with subspecies lacking cognition. Drone! I give you a direct command, *bring me to your lea-*"
But before he could finish, his head disappeared. Well...It flew off in chunky kibbles. Many small, bloody, *messy* bits of chunky kibble. Adda had pulled a pistol from her coat, and trained it on the envoy - with a pull, she voided the envoy of any life, leaving only a half-molten husk of seared flesh and carapace. Her hand was quivering, her knuckles bare - the brow hiding a fuming skull, only kept together with tiny strands of formality. She needed to say a *lot* to these "envoys", but the promise of whiskey kept her in the Federate's leash. Though, leash it may be, it was rather generous in its length.
She would make the best of that generosity.
"You *pompous shit*, do you even know what you're saying? Of course not, you're a *drone*, a genetically-tailored *parrot* designed to tell others what big momma wants to say"
Down from the podium, a few steps in the direction of the corpse, and a carefully aimed pistol. She pretends to shoot - only to drop her careful aim, and messily slug three bullets into the insectoid corpse.
"Yeah, you're not even *aware* of your own *heartlessness*. You *shit*, you don't even know what your 'Great Mantle of Wisdom' or *whatever-the-shit* kind of *bullshit* your queen tells you to *parrot*".
Another four steps. Another three bullets. But a novel gasp - short, quick, quivering, sharp. And a novel tremble of her lower lip.
"You can't even *think*. You just *do as you're told*, so obedient and *well-mannered*. Can you even *think?!"*
Four more steps. Two more bullets. Lexist envoys stepping aside, now confused - Adda stepping forward, with a fog on her eyes.
"Do you even know what you do? All of you filthy bugs? Can you even *feel* when you kill a man?"
She's above the corpse. It's mangled and oozing. But she trains the pistol, and unleashes her rage. Six more rounds. *Why did it have to be six?* Six more rounds, for six more months, for the four loving brothers, and the two loving parents.
"*He was called Alex. And he was my dad. And mom was there, too. She was called Fredda."*
She stomped on the corpse, guts trailing everywhere, her rage sated. Or rather, it's what she wanted - because she couldn't. Her thoughts were of violence, of strength hiding her pain. Her body stood still, in reality - frozen, weeping.
The Lexists were confused. They were ambassadors, not queens. They wondered what was wrong with this drone - until it turned around, and gave them the eyes of a Queen.
"T-there. Our terms of peace. Take it, or die."
And Adda stormed off. | 2018-12-15T01:17:13 | 2018-12-15T00:16:21 | 109 | 30 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | The Warfang watched the pathetic excuse for a human diplomat before him. This mission was a study in boredom, and had not intergalactic relations demanded the prescence of his delegation they would have done away with the whole thing and just attacked.
Already the Concordates warships were hurtling through the human home system, less than a day away from orbit. Its mass drivers would kill what needed to be killed and its dropships would conquer the rest. Whatever the old decrepit man in front of him might say, would do less of a difference than a fart in a space suit.
”We have heard your demands”, the old man grated. ”Actually we’ve had them repeated without any signs of compromise for months now.”
”It seems to us that they are designed to make these talks no more and no less than a show for the benefit of the galactic council?” he stated. ”Please correct me if I’m wrong.”
The Warfang didn’t deign an answer. What was the purpose anyway? After all, the greybeard had hit the nail on the head. This was just a show, and nothing happening between these delegations would change anything that was to come.
”You are making a serious mistake, Warfang”, the old diplomat said. ”You and your Concordate are mistaking our strife for galactic peace for weakness…”
”It is not…”
The old mans smile held a sudden tinge of remorsefull sadness. It was curious to the Warfang how two such different species could share so much of facial expressions, that he intuitively understood the sentiment. It suddenly made his skin crawl, as if someone held a blade to his neck. And just as he was trying to formulate a question to solve the enigma, the diplomats eyes went to the big hologram covering the whole side of the room. His own eyes automatically followed the other mans focus.
On the display pinpricks of light started to erupt throughout the invading fleet. Wherever they lit up, icons of Concordate ships disappeared. Not even just in ones or twos, but in droves.
His mouth fell open, unconciously showing predator teeth. And as his eyes snapped back to the old diplomat, the old mans sad smile hade returned with twice the force.
”I am afraid your fleet is done for Warfang.” he said. ”If the Concordate had had more interest in actually studying the cultures you subjugate, you would have found out we were pretty damn close to wiping ourselves out a time or two. In reality we’re among the most warlike races of any that we’ve met, we have just tried to get ourselves beyond those instincts.”
The Warfang was stunned, not a sound came out of his mouth even as he tried to say something.
”I’m afraid that our peaceful stance has been dearly bought”, the old man continued. ”Our perpetual wars finally came to the point where our stark choice was cooperation or death. We chose cooperation, but the knowledge of how easy it is to kill never really left us.”
”But how?…” the words finally coming out of the Warfangs mouth sounded weak and shaky. He cursed himself under his breath.
”Not that hard actually. Just the power of the stars themselves, enhanced to the point where nothing really can stand against it.”
The old man shook his head, he no longer looked decrepit.
”We don’t expect the Concordate to yield, not when the foundation of their existense and identity as conquerors are threatened.” he said. ”So our own ships are already moving.”
The peculiar human eyes were no longer just sad, but also hard as stone.
”As we sit here, they are already on their way to all military centers within onehundred and fifty light years from our home system.
”I am afraid that those systems will become as close to uninhabitable as to not make much difference for at least a generation or two.”
”Our civilians”, the Warfang said with a keen.
”Yes, your civilians”, the diplomat answered. ”You had less than no appreciation for our civilians as recently as a few minutes ago. It was never our wish to have this war on our hands. But there is an old human saying that fits the situation all to well.”
The Warfangs look asked the question he couldn’t make himself utter in words.
”Never start a fight, but always finish it.”
The old man stood up and pushed the chair under the table.
”You are no longer welcome here. You, as a diplomat are of course free to go wherever you wish. We will not try to stop you, hurt you or in any way delay you”, he said. ”I suspect we might meet again in the galactic council. Or maybe we won’t, I’m not certain if you or I will be the chosen delegates. Until then all I can say is that this is not a cause for celebration as far as we are concerned.”
He wished to call the man back as he left the room. He wished to shout, scream, claw something. He wished to rend and tear flesh. Onehundred and fifty light years, that covered nine tenths of the Concordates primary systems, including the Capital. If those weapons were numerous enough and as efficient on the ground, the Concordate would all but cease to exist. | Our victory was decisive!
We conquered earth within only five months. The last of their military died within the first week. "Humanity", as they called themselves, will surrender to our demands. We will take their colonies. We will take their homes and make them ours. We need new breeding grounds. We need new farmsteads. Their moon would do nicely for the former and the planet itself, once terraformed back to its primeval pre-oxygen state, has enough space to host the latter.
We must expand. Our children need a new home. The old one is used up. Need a new one. New home. Humans turned out to be weak and frail. No exoskeleton. Frail endoskeleton. No resistance to acid. We can kill them with our spit and blood. We can corrode their weaponry. Their ship hulls are no match for rapidly accelerated excrements.
They died to our weapons. Our scanners found every single human on the planet. My rout killed the last one. I fired the last shot. They screamed. I ended the war. I am a hero. I will earn honor. They only have small ships left. Their ships are weak. No good armor. No good weapons. Much power but wasted on niceties. Wasted on clean air and food. Wasted on weapons that don't hurt much. Wasted on light and warmth. Wasted on luxury. They were peaceful. They stopped the council. They stopped our death. We grant them death in return. What an honor. To die by our hands. Humanity will die out and will be recorded in our history. We will propagate. We will spread. Their past will spread with us. We will... What is that?
A ship. Human ship. Coming down far away. Damaged. Nearby but too far away. My rout is safe. Must aim artillery at impact site. Must kill humans. I wanted the last shot. I got the last shot. They deny me my honor.
Another ship. Coming down. Another ship. Another ship. Another ship. All coming down fast. Too fast. Won't stop. Are firing boosters. Will all crash. They seek death. We won. We... what is that ligh- | 2020-02-07T14:29:21 | 2020-02-07T13:30:24 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] The only place to eat for miles is the Asian restaurant attached to the gas station. The food is great, but their fortune cookies always come true. | "I'm staaaarving!" Eric's plaintive wail from the backseat was slowly driving his parents insane.
"Eric, honey, that's why we said you shouldn't skip breakfast. We'll stop for lunch shortly." Eric's mother, Mrs. Starr, sat in the front passenger seat and tried to keep the peace on these long car trip but even her usually unflappable demeanor was wearing thin.
"Dad, can we please just a stop to shut him up?" Darlene said from the backseat. She was three years older than Eric but felt like she was thirty years older.
"Fine." Mr. Starr had good intentions - a family vacation to see the country. Bonding, getting to know each other again, a real Normal Rockwell picture. Of course, none of that came true. Just a lot of arguing over where to eat, where to sleep, who was touching who, why they couldn't stop at the world's largest hairball, why they did have to stop to see Aunt Lydia.
Mr. Starr pulled the car into the very next restaurant he saw. Come to think of it, Mr. Starr thought, I don't actually remember how long it's been since we saw a sign.m - not even a McDonald's.
The four family members piled out of the car and stretched in the dusty parking lot. Mr. Starr noticed a police car parked around the side. He'd always felt that the police know the best fast and cheap restaurants in a community so he took the car as a raving review.
The waitress seated them and handed them their menus. Darlene was on her phone the whole time.
"I'm gonna get the General Tso's, the Moo Goo Gai Pan, some crab rangoons, and the Green Tea Ice Cream." Eric was already salivating over the menu. He had just turned 15 and Mrs. Starr was already worried about how she would keep him fed.
"You're disgusting," Darlene said from behind her phone.
"Let's just try to get through a meal without murder," Mr. Starr said. "Although tomorrow, Eric, you are going to eat breakfast if I have to force feed you through your nose."
"Ugh, Dad," Darlene said.
"I wasn't actually going to feed him through his nose, Darlene," Mr. Starr said.
"Not that - although eww - the reviews. This place only has like one star on Yelp. The top three reviews all say the fortune cookies are cursed or magic or something."
"A bunch of children on the Internet," Mrs. Starr said.
The waitress returned and took their orders. Eric ordered so much that his parents discussed getting a second table to hold the food. When the meals were served, Eric devoured every bit put in front of him, though he did start flagging towards the end.
The check came and atop the little plastic tray were four fortune cookies. Everyone reached for one but Darlene said "Remember these things are cursed. I'm not going to open mine."
Eric loudly, and with great fanfare, opened his cookie. He stared at the small scrap of paper for a minute before reading aloud. "Gluttony makes misers of us all. What does that even mean?"
"It means you ate too much, dumbass," Darlene snapped.
"Language," Mrs. Starr said.
"You are admired for your quick wit," Mr. Starr said, reading from his cookie. "I am admired for my quick wit," he said with a smile.
"Open yours Mom!" Eric said.
"Ok. Let's see. Strangers may bring glad tidings or hushed words. Hmm. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean."
Mr. Starr paid the bill and they all piled back into the car. Darlene had tucked away her fortune cookie in her handbag.
An hour later, they passed a young man hitchhiking along the highway. Mr. Starr pulled over to the side of the road a hundred yards on. The young man ran up to the car and leaned into the open window.
"Man, am I glad you guys stopped," the young hitchhiker said.
"What's the matter?" Mr. Starr asked.
"My car broke down a couple of miles up that side road and I can't get a cell signal out here. I could sure use a lift to town."
"Eric, scoot over next to your sister," Mr. Starr said. The young hitchhiker climbed in the back. They came to a small town twenty minutes later. They dropped off the young man at a service station. He said he couldn't thank them enough. He asked for their names so he could repay them but Mr. Starr said not to worry about it.
"Ok, if you won't take money at least let me give you a present." The young man pulled out his wallet and wrote down a phone number on a business card. "I'm the founder of a small start-up. Call my secretary tomorrow and she'll set you up with a token of my appreciation."
They said their goodbyes and drove on. Eric asked to pull over an hour later. He ended up throwing up at least half of his lunch. It rolled out of him in great vile streams. The dry ground drank it up. The smell of the commit beginning to bake in the late afternoon sun was making the rest of the family queasy.
Mrs. Starr had a bottle of water which she gave to Eric to rinse his mouth out. She then poured some of the water over an old towel in the car. Eric put the cool damp towel over his eyes as he climbed back into the car. He laid his head back and tried not to think of the feeling of two cups of rice violently exiting through his nose.
They found a quiet hotel that night. Eric spent most of the evening in the bathroom - either about to throw up, throwing up, or having just thrown up. By two in the morning, Eric suspected he had thrown up everything he'd ever eaten since third grade. He managed to crawl into bed and pass out for a few hours. When we woke, his stomach muscles were cramped from the exertion of vomiting for hours on end and he couldn't stand straight.
Mr. Starr relented on forcing Eric to eat breakfast. He thought that Eric had probably learned his lesson. They got back on the road as the sun was hitting its stride.
Mid-morning, Mrs. Starr took a chance and called the phone number from the young hitchhiker. The young man had been telling the truth. More than that - he had gifted them a thousand shares of his company which was poised to have an extremely large public offering next week. They were about to be millionaires.
"The cookies!" Eric managed to get out through all the elated screaming and crying in the car.
"What?" Darlene asked.
"The cookies said all this. I got sick like it said and the stranger brought glad tidings like Mom's said."
"I guess that's how the cookie crumbled!" Mr. Starr said.
"That was awful Dad," said Darlene.
They drove on the rest of the day without a care in the world. They talked of what they would do with the money. Trips, cars, houses, the kids were absolutely going to college according to Mrs. Starr. They were in a world of their own fantasy.
Mr. Starr went on to open a series of comedy clubs. He had quit his job as an accounts receivable man at a Fortune 500 company as soon as the money came in. Unfortunately, while Mr. Starr was admire for his wit, he knew nothing about comedy clubs. His employees laughed at him behind his back because he was always trying too hard to crack a joke.
Mrs. Starr was content at home. She help support her husband's career as their fortune slowly went down the drain. They ended up living in an assisted living facility. The children rarely visited.
Eric had a great start in life - the best schools, a trust fund, socializing with the right sort. Then he started partying. Then he started hanging out with the wrong sorts. Then the drugs came. He went to rehab four times but t never stuck. He ended up with two ex-wives who were bleeding him dry with alimony. He had three children of his own that he never saw enough - but he couldn't stand to see the disappointment in their eyes when they looked at him.
On the day after Darlene buried both of her parents, she was going through their storage unit. She found an old handbag of hers. It hasn't aged well. It was some cheap plastic knockoff that was barely designed to last a month much less a lifetime. She opened it up and a flood of memories came rushing back - including the trip where they met the young hitchhiker. There, at the bottom of the handbag, was an old fossilized fortune cookie. She took it out and opened it up. All it said was "You should have opened the cookie sooner." | It was obviously a Pizza Hut. Or well it used to be. Hadn’t actually served a slice of pizza in a decade, but the stylized awning rooted its place in history. Since then had been a carpet store, a Chinese restaurant, an Irish Pub and now home to a bike repair shop. Placed just off the interstate next to a Shell gas station, the original owner hoped the road weary travelers would make the unwise decision to scarf down several greasy pizzas before squeezing back into their over packed station wagons.
It was the sole source of income for a man named Larry Winters. Who had just come into an inheritance, and upon looking at either a new Ferrari or Speed Boat made the more reasonable decision to open a Pizza Hut franchise instead. In 2004 the northern terminus of I-65 which had connected only with I-94 was extended by 1/8th mile to now end at I-90. That one-furlong addition was a prime spot for infrastructure development. Or so Larry had assumed. He sat in his new manager’s chair, surrounded by the best investment he had ever made. The smell of Stuffed Crust Pizza ^^TM wafting in the air. He should have just bought the Ferrari.
It didn’t take even 10 months for Larry to declare bankruptcy, vastly overestimating the demand that an eighth mile extension would bring. Well that and the fact that 18 other investors had built fast food places all within a few blocks. And you know, of course not that many people are super keen on stopping off in Gary, Indiana. And I mean, now that I think of it, maybe he really just didn’t have the business acumen to run a store of any kind. His love for giving free food to regulars maybe a philanthropic endeavor, didn’t lead to profits.
After lying dormant for nearly a year, the greasy stains on the walls now fully incorporated into graffiti and in disrepair, a couple recent college graduates, in an effort to advertise to the rising ages of the Gen X crowd and their love for nostalgia, opened up a carpet store that only sold variants of shag carpet. Well overinvesting in anything pea green and mustard yellow, trying desperately to bring back the childhoods of anyone born in the 70s. An innuendo filled name, Shag-O-Rama, a giant neon sign illuminating the nearly empty parking lot.
I’m not sure if it was an act of God or just the universe’s way of reminding us all that we have less control over our lives than we think we do. Either way, Shag-O-Rama for a very brief amount of time became profitable and managed to survive for three years. And a pizza place could only last ten months. And people fucking love pizza. Though I suppose it’s not fair to judge people’s mid 2000’s carpet preferences. Even if shag carpet is disgusting in every way imaginable. The owners eventually moving to a larger store in 2008. I do take solace in the fact that they were crushed by the recession. But I try not to let my bias show.
Eventually a Chinese restaurant went into the building. One of the few recession proof industries. American’s love for food designed entirely for them, resembling almost nothing of its roots. General Tso most likely a gross malapropism for something so far from authentic. But I mean, General Tso’s chicken is delicious. So I suppose I can let it slide. A restaurant with a gimmick, specially placed fortunes in the cookies, little surprises hidden so that they would immediately become true. “You will soon find yourself in great wealth.” And the server would hide behind you, throwing a giant wad of fake money into the air, raining down on you.
It makes me sad to think that the owners of the restaurant didn’t make a fortune. Coming up with a way to appeal to just about every sentiment of America, this desire to believe that we come from this place of grand tolerance, this desire to want instant gratification. But to get all of it for less than twenty bucks, of course. By 2012 with a recovering economy, the restaurant was bought out by a generic Irish Pub. The kind of place where the servers are all women wearing skimpy clothes. The final sales details undisclosed. But I hope it was for a ton of money.
I suppose in retrospect the failure of the pub wasn’t particularly unexpected. I don’t think anywhere in the country these kinds of places last longer than three years. The kind of place that makes Applebee’s look like it deserves a Michelin star. Where you can get an Irish Car-bomb served by a woman in a revealing leprechaun costume attempting and failing at an accent. Whose clientele exists entirely on the backs of investment brokers at lunch and old men eating alone, hoping that flirting this time might actually work. Slicked back hair and a half bottle of cologne not quite doing the trick.
A few months ago a bike shop opened. Initially a place that seemed like it might have legs, focusing on an increasingly common form of transportation. Something that will inevitably break, and for most require a specialist to repair. Though I have doubts as well. You might call it the curse of the Pizza Hut. Its ghost haunting every business that tries to take over its hallowed walls. Though I’m more convinced on the idea that the types of people who actively are excited about the prospect of retrofitting a relic are burdened by an unobtainable sense of nostalgia.
So it didn’t particularly phase me when I learned that the bike shop would exclusively sell Penny-Farthings, unicycles and fixed gear bicycles. But hey it still seems to be going strong. The parking lot is pretty full most days. I suppose I shouldn't judge. It’s just a place after all. Sandwiched between two busy highways. And occasionally people will see the awning off in the distance, ask their kids if they want some pizza and pull into the parking lot to a bunch of people juggling on their unicycles.
| 2016-09-07T10:48:35 | 2016-09-07T10:47:10 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts! | "Alright, listen carefully. This is very important. I am on my way, but it's going to take me about 6 hours to get from New York to South Dakota. There are some things I will need you to do. First, shut your mouth. No talking, no matter what. Second, find yourself some benadryl. Over the counter. If you don't have it, buy it. Take 6, then lay down and go to sleep. When I get there, we will talk further. Leave a key under the doormat. But no matter what, don't talk!"
I hung up, and put my phone in the TSA security tray. Djinn were the worst. Very liberal with what they considered a "wish", and always listening. Last client I advised with one, the poor bastard used all 3 wishes in the time it took me to get across town. Upside, they were relatively straightforward, not as many monkeys paw scenarios, long as you followed the rules. Hopefully, this kid could follow instructions.
I arrived on scene about 7 hours later. Kid was still sleeping. I grabbed my briefcase, got out of the uber, and walked to the front door. God, I hated small towns. They all reeked of desperation and manure. The key was there, and I let myself in.
Lamp was next to the kid's bed. Middle eastern in origin. Kid lucked out. Some of the djinn from East Asia were much more limited in ability. Maybe 1 in 100 cases have this much potential.
When the kid awoke, I was sitting in a chair across from him, contract on the table. I spoke immediately, as far too many people don't keep their wits about them when they wake. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty! Don't go opening your mouth just yet; we'll get to that in a minute. First, payment. If you'll be so kind as to autograph the standard agreement, we can begin."
The kid was hesitant, a bit uncomfortable. Guess he's not used to waking up with a stranger watching him. No matter. He read the agreement, signed his name. Will Bryant. Excellent.
"First, the rules. All wishes are governed by a few, shall we say, guiding principles. You can't wish for more wishes. If you try, all your wishes will be cursed, and you do NOT want a cursed wish. Remember the giant candy mascot in NYC a couple decades back, killed like 75? Don't answer that. Cursed wish. Stay puff something or other.
"Next, you can control actions, not feelings. No wishing for love, or the like. The best you'll get is a homicidal maniac collecting your hair while you sleep.
"Finally, djinn are a special case. They aren't malevolent, but they are literal. So I will have you write down what you want, and then I will text you the words to read, exactly."
The whole process took an hour. Kid wanted fame and adoration, had to direct him to wishes for skill and charisma. Fame is emotion, when you get right to it. He went for skill in acting. Pretty standard, more than a couple Hollywood regulars got their start with me. His final wish was boring, wealth. I advised gems, as they are easy to pull from the earth and refine. Easier to do means more can be done. Thanked Will, took the lamp, and shook his hand. After that, I was on my way.
Outside, while waiting for my ride to the airport, I ran one clawed finger down the lamp, leaving a minor scratch, before muttering a few words and sending it away. I carefully placed the contract into my briefcase, and smiled. Will would have his run, then we would have ours. Consulting is such an easy racket in the soul game. Haven't had to waste my own ability to grant power in decades. And I don't care whether you're a djinn or a goddamn sphinx. Nothing fucks with a devil's bargain. | The sounds of grunts and footsteps penetrated your dreams.
"The wife must be having a nightmare" you thought as you drifted between the waking and dream worlds. As you slowly started deafen yourself to the noise and head back to dreamland a startling revelation throws you back into the waking world with a start.
You are not married. You aren't even dating anyone (dry spell much?). There shouldn't be anyone there but you!!!
Your eyes fly open and scan the faces surrounding your bed. Ifrites, Genies, faeries and demons faces are eyeing you down... The faeries were the worst, they so didn't look like their children book counterparts. Whatever they were paying the PR firm it was worth it!
One of the genies materialized a club in his hand and one by one every single entity in the room took out a blunt weapon.
Genie "You the lawyer guy? Our wish fulfillment not good enough for ya? We'll show you what we do to wise guys around these parts!"
| 2018-07-18T16:02:05 | 2018-07-18T11:05:03 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You're a demon fresh out of Hell Academy with a degree in Torture Methods. However, instead of being assigned to one of the large wards, like Identity Theft, Gaslighting, or Matricide, you're put in charge of the little known "Miscellaneous" ward. | "Miscellaneous Ward? What in the actual Hell is that supposed to be? My dad was right. I should have just majored in Genocide Studies like him. This is what I get for trying to be different! What is he going to say when he finds out I've been posted somewhere no one has even heard of? What if he disowns me or something? What if-"
Garath cut me off. "Oh, calm down man. It could be worse. I heard Halog got placed in the Syncopated Radio-Pop Rhythms Department. I know that contributes to the whole 'mind control of young people' cause, but who is the one *really* getting tortured there, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, easy for you to say! You got assigned to Grand Theft Auto, man. Everyone wanted that post."
"What can I say, I'm gifted with a red-hot tire iron. Look, just try to make the most out of it. Show your father you can do something other than orchestrate the senseless slaughter of innocents. To Heaven with him and your stupid family legacy! So what if he was on the cover of *Senseless Slaughter Weekly*? Go be the best torturer of... whatever it is they torture down there!"
I sighed. He had a good point. I was never going to show my father I could be my own demon if I didn't give my first post everything I have. And I'll be saved if I let his overbearing influence get the best of me! "You're right. Thank you for always being such a good friend to me, Garath. You always know what to say to cheer me up."
He gave me a friendly punch on the arm. "Anytime, Darloth. Listen, I need to get going and hit the hay. I need to get to my Orientation early tomorrow and its been a long day. I recommend you do the same."
"That is a good idea. Hey, I'll meet you at Lucy's tomorrow night after Orientation." I left the graduation after party with gritty determination.
---
"So, this is it." I breathed. I couldn't help but feel an ache of disappointment as a stared at the shack labeled 'Miscellaneous Ward' in lazily painted print. It was small
and desperately need attention. It looked as if the small wooden structure would topple at any moment. I stood there in disbelief until the rusty door swung open suddenly. An old demon with long gray hair and a bad hunch stood in the doorway. He had a pleasant smile on his face.
"You must be Darloth." The smile remained as he spoke in a surprisingly high voice. "Please come in, I have been waiting."
I entered the shack and gasped in surprise. The shack wasn't the department at all. The only thing inside was a long staircase that lead to a shiny silver door with a florescent light shining upon it.
"I am Hilrath, the head of the-" he chuckled as he spoke the name, "Miscellaneous Ward. Please, follow me to your Orientation."
"Uh shouldn't we wait for the other recruits to arrive before we start?" I asked.
His answer confirmed what I already knew to be true, deep down. "There are no others." With that he made his when down the staircase, and I followed. Hilrath took out a silver key and used it to open the door. He open it and beckoned me inside. A long corridor with doors dispersed every 10 feet on either side greeted me. On the walls were racks full of hooks, knives, clamps, clubs, collars and countless other devices of pain. I knew a state of the art torture chamber when I saw one. Excitement elated me. *This is what I trained for*, I thought to myself.
Hilrath read my expression and chuckled again. "I trust you know what to do with these," he said. I did. I couldn't wait to get my claws into human flesh.
Hilrath guided me to the end of the hall to a final door. It looked heavy, and it was considerably larger and menacing then the others. He began, "Our work is straightforward here. Torture who Lucifer wants tortured-"
I interrupted him. I couldn't contain my excitement. "Lucifer *himself* chooses our victims?"
"That is correct," he replied. What joy filled my heart! I couldn't wait to tell my father that Lucifer himself chose our subjects. He would never be able to berate me again. I had a million questions for my new torture master, but as I opened my mouth to start to ask them Hilrath held up a commanding hand to silence me.
"However, there is something you should know about who we torture here. Before I tell you, before you can begin your first assignment, you must swear to me by the Mark of Cain that you will tell no one of what happens down here. As far as anyone else is concerned, you torture petty criminals who don't really belong to any other department of torture. Now, swear to me, or leave now."
I took the unholy oath. Hilrath continued, "Very good. You will be a good fit here, Darloth. There are only two of us down here, and there is good reason for it. You can't trust everyone with these types of secrets." My blood was boiling in anticipation.
"The truth is, Darloth, we don't torture humans at all here. Not a single human has never been here, in fact. We torture other demons here. Nothing else. When a demon deviates from the path of total evil, or displease Lucifer or his inner circle in anyway, they are sent here for 'reeducation'. The Big Guy downstairs needs every demon at his disposal willing to obey his vile will without question. We torture them without mercy and without reservation of pain, until they either die or take oath to align themselves with Satan once more. The demons given to us are failures, or old demons who think they know better than the Master. "
My world shattered at his words. Other demons? Was that even legal under the Fiend's Rights movement? Who would dare question Lucifer? And what kind of shitty demon didn't want to continue to work of evil on the surface world?
"I can see your confusion," Hilrath said to me. "I would understand if you wanted to turn down the job now that you know the truth. However, you are still under oath, and may not breathe a word of this to anyone ever."
Could I really torture my own kind? Moral dilemmas swam in my mind, and my brain turned numb, until one thought pierced all the confusion: I'm a motherfcking *demon*, who cares if its right or wrong. This is a prestigious position, and there is no way in hell I'm turning it down. The only thing I will regret is not being able to rub this in my father's face.
"Of course I'll take it." I said with confidence. Hilrath's smile widened.
"Excellent," he beamed. "Orientation is now over. It is time for your first assignment. The demon you will be torturing today is inside this door. Are you ready?" I nodded and clenched my fists.
Hilrath opened the door. In the room it was dark, and there was a single chair in the center, and a demon inside. Hilrath hit the light switch, lighting the room. I saw the demon in the chair and my heart lept with joy.
It was my father.
Edit: Spelling and punctuation.
| That day was the day of my graduation from Hell Academy.
I earned my degree in Torture Methods, though it wasn't my best subject. I just didn't have the talent for it. I mean, I could disembowel someone if I had to, but I never developed the same flair for it that my classmates had.
I had thought I was doomed to a (after)life of mediocrity, but I got a mysterious invitation from one of the school counselors midway through my first semester. I met with her, and she pointed me in the right direction. With her guidance, I had decided to double major, picking up a degree in Prison Security. I had aced all those classes, coming out at the top of my grade; finally, I had found something I was good at!
I was aiming to get assigned to one of the Patrol Wards. Rather than actively torturing souls, I could work on keeping them locked up securely in Hell. There was a strange satisfaction that came from seeing their broken faces, knowing that I was the one keeping them from any chance of freedom. Of course, the Torture Wards were much more prestigious -- hence my degree -- but I knew I would be happier in Patrol.
My counselor took my papers, looking them over intently. Slowly, a devilish grin spread across her face.
"I was hoping for Patrol..." I began, trailing off. I wasn't sure what she would think.
She looked up at me. "You've surpassed our expectations," she said, still grinning. "I have an even better assignment for you." She paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "Have you ever heard of the Miscellaneous Ward?"
I racked my brain, trying to recall the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, though I couldn't remember what they did.
She laughed, as if reading my thoughts. "Don't worry, few know what it does. It's always tacked on as an afterthought, to divert attention. We're legally required to bring it up--" she glanced at the ceiling, as if gesturing to Heaven "--but we do our best to keep anyone from digging too deep."
By this point, I was curious. A better job than Patrol? Most people would be talking about Torture, but my counselor knew me too well.
She leaned in towards me, over her desk. "You know the story of Lucifer, right?"
I leaned back in my chair, unsure of what she was getting at. "It's an old myth," I replied uneasily, recalling the story I'd been told since I was a child. "That he was the original Fallen Angel, the first one to oppose God. When his conquest of Heaven failed, he was sealed in the deepest, darkest part of Hell. Hell only exists to keep him imprisoned." I smiled. "He's more for our image on Earth, as the king of Hell. It's an entertaining thought, but ultimately, he doesn't exist."
She sat back down, a smug expression on her face. "Except that he does," she said casually, as if this weren't huge news. "Miscellaneous is the name of the Ward designated with keeping him locked away."
My expression must have betrayed my bewilderment. Lucifer was real?
"Oh, he's real, alright," she continued. "See, the deal is, it's in our best interest to keep him locked away. If given the opportunity, he would wage a second War on Heaven. He would organize us into an army, and kill anyone who didn't join his ranks. But he would never succeed: he couldn't beat Heaven back when he was at the height of his power, when he still had the abilities of one of Heaven's angels. All his armies would be destroyed. It's a lose-lose scenario for us demons, who just want to torture humans in peace."
The idea made sense. I was still slightly skeptical, but I figured she wouldn't be lying to me about something this big. After all, why bother? If you're feeling especially cruel one day, you can always head to the Torture Ward for a few hours.
"Anyways, in Miscellaneous, you'll be tasked with ensuring he can't escape. For the good of Hell, we need people who are devoted to -- and good at -- their jobs. You're a reasonable man; I know you can see the benefit of keeping him imprisoned."
I did.
I smiled an evil smile, preparing for my new job.
"When do I start?" | 2016-12-04T13:15:10 | 2016-12-04T12:39:15 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You made a pact with a friend at 16 that if neither of you has married by the age of 46, you would marry each other. You are both now in your fourties, and you are starting to regret this pact. | (Sorry if the formatting is off, on mobile!)
"My wife is making a big dinner, would you like to bring Adam over? It's been a while!"
I smiled faintly. "Of course, Flynn! We need to catch up. What time?"
"Ehhh, better give her an extra hour just in case she gets creative. 8:30 good?"
"Sounds great. I'll let Adam know!"
"Awesome. See you soon, Julie!"
I wanted to say something more to him, but just said the routine goodbye and hung up my cell. Flynn and I had been best friends since high school; nigh inseparable for most of our lives. We went to college together, roomed together, the whole nine yards.
I have to admit, for a while, I had quite the thing for Flynn. He had a smile that could light up the worst day, and the way his hair fell over his eyes used to drive me nuts. But then he met Sarah, and I met Adam - and now we had our perfect lives. We really did. Things were great. The only issue was we didn't get to see each other much anymore. I was starting to lose touch with him more and more, and it made me sad.
When Adam came home, I had trouble containing my excitement when telling him about the dinner plans. He seemed less than enthused, but mostly because he was tired. I can't say Adam ever liked Flynn that much; he was the jealous type.
"Just try not to ignore me," Adam said, changing his shirt.
"I'm allowed to keep in touch with my friends, Adam." I huffed. "You think I would have married you if I didn't want you?" I smiled at him. He chuckled softly.
"I know. I'm sorry."
I couldn't blame him for feeling left out, but it wasn't anyone's fault that he hadn't been with us during our exploits and various shenanigans throughout our friendship. We loved to reminisce, and Adam had to learn to be comfortable with that.
When we got to Adam's house, we were greeted with hugs and how-are-yous, and the scent of mouth watering food.
"Beef tenderloin!" Sarah exclaimed proudly.
"Wrapped in *bacon*." Flynn added, rubbing his hands together.
Well, they had Adam's attention now for sure. We all helped set the table, chatting away happily. Once we'd all carved ourselves some tenderloin and loaded up with our favorite sides, we dug in.
"Okay, so, remember Alex Fray?" Flynn asked me with a mouthful tongued to his cheek.
"Tutu guy?"
He nearly choked. "Yes!" He swallowed, laughing. "Tutu guy."
The gormless looks on Sarah and Adam's faces begged for an explanation.
"Alright, rewind a bit." I said. "Tutu guy was in our economics class. He almost never talked, but every day had a randomly colored tutu on that he wore over his pants."
Adam chuckled at the explanation. "*Why?*"
"We still have no idea." Flynn laughed. "But, I saw him the other day!"
"No!" I exclaimed. Sarah was quietly chewing, but watching us with interest and a smirk on her face.
Flynn could hardly contain himself. "He was full business. Suit, suit jacket, he even had a fancy friggin hat." He paused to laugh. "And he had this, this trenchcoat..." He broke down again.
His laugh was so contagious. I found myself in a fit before long. "Well, go on," I breathed, eyes welling up. Even Adam was laughing. This was good. I needed him to like Flynn - I missed these visits so much!
"I just had to follow him. He was walking to his car, and I meant to call out for him to catch up but, oh man." He giggled some more. "He took off his coat and threw it in the back seat, and *he was wearing a god damn tutu*!" He could barely get the words out, but once he did, we were howling with laughter.
"What the hell? Did you talk to him?" Sarah chortled.
"Oh God no!" Flynn answered. "I barely got away. He heard me laugh. I couldn't control it, it just came out - so I ran, man! I just RAN."
As the night wore on, all of our sides were hurting, and everyone was engaging in the conversation for a change. Poor Sarah and Adam often wound up being third wheels, but this time I made extra effort to include them. Our past was full of fun and joy, and our spouses should be able to experience it too. It made a difference. Adam and Flynn were finally acting like friends.
I was feeling the happiest I'd felt in a long time about our friendship.
We had moved to the livingroom to play Scrabble, but the conversation never stopped. It truly was an incredibly fun night. I think all of us needed it. Sarah had to get up early, unfortunately, so she said goodnight to us all and retired upstairs for bed. Adam was starting to look a little weary too. I didn't want to leave - but it was around eleven, and we would definitely be doing this again.
"Maybe we should head home too." I suggested, suppressing a yawn.
"Yeah, I think so." Adam replied. "But first - do you mind if I use your bathroom?"
"Not at all!" Flynn smiled. "It's down the hall, around the corner on the right."
Adam kissed the top of my head and headed off. I started picking up the Scrabble tiles and putting the game away. There was a brief silence, then Flynn laughed softly. "You remember that promise we made in senior year at college?"
I thought for a moment, and then it hit me. "Oh god," I facepalmed. "We were going to get married if we were still single by 43." We shared a hearty laugh.
Then Flynn just smiled warmly at me. He was going grey, but all his hair was still there. He had wrinkles around his eyes now. I wondered if I looked similar. I had never really thought about how old we had gotten until that moment.
"You ever...think we should have?"
My heart quickened. "What? Nohoho- we're happy - I mean, you're happy, right? And you never really thought of me that way...it was mostly a joke!"
I heard Adam cough from the bathroom. I wondered - and feared - if he could hear the conversation in turn.
"Was it?" He looked more serious than I'd ever seen him.
There was an awkward silence. "Is everything okay with you and Sarah?" I asked tentatively.
He sighed. "That's all it's ever been, really. It's okay."
I looked at him sympathetically. I didn't want to ask, 'Why marry her then?', but it was on my mind now.
I heard the toilet flush. I stood up with the packed up board game and took it over to the shelf where we had gotten it. I slid it on top of and old, worn box of *Trouble!*.
Flynn had followed me, and he leaned close.
A courtesy flush. So that's why he was in there so long.
I really didn't know what to do. I knew what was coming. But I just froze. Flynn took my face in his warm, soft hand and kissed me. Slow, passionate...I'm quite sure that my blood pressure spiked to dangerous levels.
The faucet was running. Adam was washing his hands.
Flynn gripped my waist and pulled me in. The kiss was over as soon as it started, and then he just...held me. He smelled so good. I hated myself for enjoying it. All in one moment, every romantic feeling I'd had for him in high school came rushing back. All those awkward moments that never amounted to anything made me wonder where we would be if one of us had done something.
The bathroom door creaked open. Flynn pulled away abruptly and ran his hand through his hair, clearing his throat. I was visibly flustered - red as a beet, shaky hands.
Footsteps. Adam was coming back.
"Remember when Jack stuck that sandwich to the cieling in calculus and nobody noticed for weeks?" I blurted out, earning Flynn's contagious laugh.
By the time Adam entered the room, we were both giggling and red-faced. Now I didn't look so suspicious.
Adam shook his hand, he gave me a hug that lingered just a bit too long, and we got in the car and left.
"You okay, hon?" Adam asked, putting his hand on my leg.
I held it, gazing out the window. "Yeah, sorry. Just tired. Haven't laughed that much in a while!"
"Yeah," he replied. "We have to do that again soon."
I didn't answer. My phone buzzed. It was Flynn.
"Coffee tomorrow? I want to talk."
I tilted my phone away from Adam.
"Absolutely." | The dinner party was in full swing, a mix of couples and those dwindling few in their social circle who had yet to settle down. Katherine grinned as she offered more wine to her old college classmate Harry and his lovely wife Susan.
They barely noticed her, as they seemed to be in their own little world. But she didn't blame them, they just found out they were going to be grandparents, and we're over the moon. It was nice, though, to see that the two, who had been married for some twenty years now, were still so in love.
She was broken from her reverie by the most obnoxious sound she'd ever heard. She grimaced when she glanced over her shoulder.
Behind her stood Michael, already pink cheeked from too much wine and laughing far too loudly. He was joined by a young blonde woman who was starting up at him adoringly and laughing along, though from her expression she obviously didn't get the joke.
Michael stopped after a moment when he saw Katherine looking his way, and pulled an ugly face at her. Katherine rolled her eyes back. The man was forty five, and barely acted twelve on a good day.
Realizing that the snack table was nearly out of brie, she moved towards the kitchen to get more.
........
Michael watched Katherine walk away with a scowl, though his eyes were drawn to her ass instantly. It wasn't his fault it was a good one, though it was attached to a pretentious bitch.
Beside him, Bethany sighed and whined loudly enough for Mark and Heather to hear, "Mikey, can we go yet? This is boring." She'd cut off Mark's story mid-sentence, and he shot the other man an apologetic look for her antics. She'd been like that all night.
Michael looked down at get with a forced smile. He had picked her up from a bar a few weeks ago, and there hasn't been much between them other than sex, but he had to bring someone to this stupid dinner party. Even if she was nearly twenty years younger than everyone else there. "In a minute, sweet heart. In fact, why don't I go say goodbye to the hostess, and then we can be on our way?"
"Fiiiiine." She drawled. "But don't take too long, I want you to take me home and help me out of this dress." She winked, and Michael laughed awkwardly. He could practically feel the judgement rolling off Heather in waves. Bethany wandered off, and he made his way to the kitchen, where he'd seen Katherine heading last.
He was rewarded with the sight of her, upper half of her body in the refrigerator, ass in the air. "On a mission?" He asked, and bit back a laugh when she jumped, and hit her head on something.
..........
Katherine pulled herself from the fridge with a wince, clutching the fresh brie in one hand and rubbing the back of her head with the other.
She turned to give him a dark look before catching herself and pasting on a smile. As much as Michael may be a degenerate womanizer now, he was her best friend as a child, and she had invited him to her dinner party in a fit of nostalgia.
"Michael!" She said brightly. "Was there something I could get you?"
"Nope. Just wanted to tell you that Bethany and I were getting ready to head out.
" Oh, don't go yet! We haven't had a chance to properly talk!" Katherine said with false dismay. She could tell she wasn't very convincing though, with the look Michael shot her.
"We can talk now." He pointed out. That was followed by several moments of awkward silence.
Finally Katherine said, "So... Bethany? She seems nice. What does she do?"
..........
Michael froze. He cast his mind back over the weeks he had known Bethany, trying to remember if she'd ever mentioned a job at all. Maybe something in child care? No, that was the last one...
"Uh... She's a student. Studying to be a veterinarian." He lied smoothly. Honestly he wasn't even sure Bethany had a job.
"Oh, she's a... Student?" And yep, there was definitely judgement there. It was all over Katherine's face. Dammit, he should have just told her that she was an actual vet. Then he would seem like such a cradle robber.
"Yep," Michael said confidently. "We're planning on getting married when she finishes up at the end of the year, just in case you were holding out hope for that pact we made."
And he really shouldn't have mentioned that.
.........
Katherine lifted one eyebrow. "I wasn't really planning on making you stick to an agreement we made when we were kids, Michael." She pointed out, moving over to the counter to open the brie.
"I don't know, I mean, you still aren't dating anyone. Maybe you were saving yourself for me." He said with a broad wink, and Katherine took a moment to feel offended before scoffing.
"For your information, I am seeing someone." She lied. "He and I have only been going out for a couple of weeks, but it's very promising. I just didn't want to bring someone I've only been seeing for a short time to a party full of married couples." She kept digging herself deeper.
"Oh, so I'll be meeting him at the next one of these things then?" Michael taunted.
Katherine tossed her hair and picked up the new cheese plate. "More than likely." She said, moving post him out the door. "Have a good night, Michael. See you and your charming date next time." She glanced pointedly at the couch, where the young woman was passed out with her mouth open. Obviously, she had more wine than was suggested.
Michael groaned and went to collect her as Katherine made her way back into the thick of the party.
And she most certainly did not watch his butt as he half carried the young woman out of her house. | 2016-01-19T23:50:21 | 2016-01-19T23:17:02 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Turns out that God does not care if you are gay, atheist, or pagan, but he is a real stickler about mixed fabrics. | Jordan had a number, and eagerly waited for his number to be called on the big screen in the waiting room. It was filled with nervous pacers and impatient folks, waiting for their turn to be judged. It had been an hour and a half in the waiting room, and a year in purgatory. The nuclear war really set judgement back, and God is stressed the hell out.
He made his way to the coffee machine and filled his styrofoam cup. Finally he heard a ding and a robot’s voice call “G073”. His heart was pounding, his mind was racing. His soul was on the line. He was excited to look upon the face of God, but he was more overcome with fear. He was always a good Christian, but he’s aware that he wasn’t perfect.
“Uhh” he thought. “What should I do with this cup?” He looked around in a frenzy, trying to decide where to leave the cup. “Would it be rude if I brought it with?” He thought. He resolved to leave it on the coffee table. Nobody will notice, and even if they did, what are the chances he sees them again?
He walked to the desk with one of God’s assistant sand handed her his number. The assistant took him down the hall. There were lots of offices. Who ever thought ruling the universe was a divine bureaucracy?
They got to the last one and the assistant opened the door. “Jordan Randal Fischer” she said into the room. Behind the desk was an old, greatly bearded man. Jordan always figured god would be naked, or at least wearing those white robes he’s always portrayed as wearing. Nope. Solid grey button down shirt with the top button unbotton, tucked into denim jeans, a black belt, and dress shoes. His head was resting on his hand, he only brought his eyes to meet Jordan’s for a moment, and immediately back down to the folder on his desk.
“Have a seat, my child.” He said disinterestedly.
Jordan walked over and sat, the door behind him closed shut. God just kept reading the folder in front of him, whispering the words to himself.
“God?” Jordan asked.
“One second.” God said, holding a finger up. He got to a line, sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Uhh. Why?”
“Excuse me?” Jordan asked.
“Did you read my book, Jordan?”
“Admittedly, not all of it, but I tried to...”
“Well”, god interrupted, “it looks like you were lustful, for which you repented. You had anger in your heart, for which you repented. You were unfaithful, for which you repented.” Jordan was getting nervous. Was this about his experimenting with a guy in college? “You have theft, for which you repented. And you mixed fabrics, for which you seem unconcerned, and dare I say, prideful?” Jordan was astonished, he sat with his mouth ajar mumbling umm’s and I’s while he tried to think of a response. “Why didn’t you just kill someone Jordan? Or lust after your neighbor’s wife? How many times did I have to say all sins are equal to get the point across?”
Jordan sat dumbfounded.
“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.” God pushed the folder away from him. “Just leave through the first door. Past it is eternal damnation.”
“WHAT?!” Jordan screamed out. “No, please. God, there must be something you can do!”
God was frustrated and buried his head in his hands. “Why are you people all the same?! UGH! Chill out, it’s not that bad. You won’t burn. It’s just a world with complete freedom - subject to the same twists and turns, ups and downs, as life on Earth.”
Jordan was confused.
“The only difference is that I’m not there to control things. I was pretty busy the last couple of centuries anyway, so I hardly got involved in Earth during your time.”
Jordan was still confused.
God said, “I’m calling the next one in, go on now.”
With that, Jordan walked through the door, and found himself in eternal damnation. When he looked around, he noticed it was crowded and that everyone was wearing mixed fabrics. | I stood among the souls of the fallen. We were covered in chains for the sins we committed in the world of the living weighing us down in the spiritual. In the court of Gehenna we stood before the infinite oneness with the sephirot marked on the podium before it. One such soul on trial was so covered in chains that he was more metal than man.
"Before us is the one known as John Carpenter, son of Adam Carpenter," said HaSatan as his prosecutor.
"I will now read off his sins to you all so that we may deem the eternal fate of which he is worthy," he continued.
"Homosexuality, forgiven.
Denial of the lord your God, forgiven.
Adultery, forgiven."
With each sin listed a chain link vanished from his cuffs.
"Murder, forgiven.
Slander, forgiven.
Rape, forgiven."
I did not know the circumstances of these sins, but even for the worst crimes one could imagine, he was forgiven. We were down to his last sin.
"There remains one last sin not said." HaSatan continued, "one that cannot be forgiven. The mixture of linen and wool worn by the defendant. For this, I condemn you to hell."
A pit opened up below him, with screams and sights of horror not even the Divine Comedy could do justice. He fell in and the pit closed leaving behind an absolute silence.
I looked down at the only chain link attached to my braces, and gulped. | 2019-03-16T06:08:36 | 2019-03-16T04:31:43 | 149 | 87 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | “All in favour of sparing her life, step forward!”
I looked around the village square, but no one moved a muscle. The seconds rolled by, and the hope I held in my heart crumbled, only to be replaced by a sharp tang of bitterness, resentment. There was Peter, whose fever had yielded to her medicine, but he kept his eyes down, lips tightly pursed. I saw Nathan too, whose son may never have returned from his ventures into the forests if she had not tracked the child down, but he was as silent, unmoving as Peter was.
Old Man Bosworth, the twins Jaina and Jerry, Valerie, Daniel… they too, everyone who had ever benefited in one way or the other from her help, all suddenly bereft of courage, unwilling to stand up for their benefactor.
The bloody ingrates.
“Do you see how everyone fears you, woman?” asked Chief Lanson, shaking his staff at the figure kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind her. “We tolerated you, gave you a place to call home, and this is how you repay us? By bringing this evil magic into our village?”
“I am not evil,” Matilda said, her voice carrying to the edges of the crowd. “I have done no harm to the village. I have only helped.”
“Helped? Helped?” said Chief Lanson, his voice rising in anger. He turned to the crowd, stretched out his arms, then said, “Evil fears the light, foul creature. I shall show the village proof, proof of your heresy! I will show them the forbidden evils we found in your hut! Come, show them!”
Fred and Richard, two of the strongest farmers in the village, retrieved a wooden chest from within Chief Lanson’s hut. They struggled even though the load was shared between them, and after they placed the evidence in front of Matilda, they took hurried steps backwards, leaving Chief Lanson the honour of opening the chest.
He rummaged briefly, then retrieved what appeared to be a marble slate, dark and smooth on one side, white and pristine on the other. He held it triumphantly in the air, revelling in the reactions he was getting.
“Has anyone ever seen a rock like this?” he asked. “I promise you, no one has!”
“It’s not right of you to have gone into my hut like that,” said Matilda.
“Oh? And if we had not done so, if we had not suspected you of carrying out the dark one’s work, would we ever have discovered foul things such as this?”
“I don’t know what you are talking abou- ”
Chief Lanson squeezed the edges of the slate, and one side of it flared to life, emitting vibrant colours, as if someone had managed to trap a rainbow in stone. The crowd gasped, and I saw some of the adults shielding their children’s eyes.
“If we had not been suspicious, if we had not known to spy on you, would we have discovered your secrets, witch?” said Chief Lanson. He turned the slate towards us, then said, “Listen! Listen with your own ears! This is her! The devil masquerading as a human! Listen to the unholy mission she is on!”
He needn’t have commanded us in that manner. We were enraptured, spellbound by the moving images on the slate, of what appeared to a… doppelganger of Matilda, staring out at us, speaking to us. I heard whispers rise up, words like “impossible”, “there’s two of her”, “a soul, trapped in marble”.
We fell silent though, once the Slate-Matilda began speaking.
“42nd entry – no new developments in weeks. The search goes on,” Slate-Matilda said. Her unruly hair was tied back, and there was a steadiness to her voice, a clarity to her eyes which wasn’t usually there. This was not the Matilda we knew, the soft-minded, chattering and hyperactive Matilda we saw roaming the village from morning to night.
It began to dawn on me that it was all an act.
“I don’t understand!” said Slate-Matilda, throwing up her hands. “The historical records are clear! The Influencer came from these parts, and I have narrowed it down to this village! I did not travel this far back in time in vain! Yet… yet I have met with all of them, talked to each and every one, but no one, no one stands out! I have run my tests, checked my equipment over and over, but still, not a single one displays even a modicum of psychic powe-”
“And these are the witch’s tools, by her own admission!” yelled Chief Lanson. He kicked the chest over, and its contents spilled across the ground, next to Matilda. An excited hum rose amongst the crowds as they feasted their eyes on the unnatural objects, the shiny, glinty collection of baubles created by the devil’s own hands.
“Answer me!” Chief Lanson continued, striking his staff into the ground for emphasis. “Tell me why I should not have you burned here, right where you are!”
Matilda raised her head, stared straight at the crowd. Most of them still had the decency to shuffle and squirm, but still no one intervened.
“I have done no harm to anyone,” said Matilda. “It is true, I kept secret the real reason why I was here, and I did not tell anyone why it is that I know what I know. But I have only meant well. I have shared my medicines, I have imparted my knowledge… I only asked for a bit of solace as I conducted my research. I meant no harm.”
“Enough! Stop your lies, right this instant!” Chief Lanson said. He struck with his staff, hitting Matilda on the shoulder. I saw her tumble forwards, her forehead striking the ground.
“To me! Bring the torches! We will burn her where she is!”
Fred and Richard complied, and as they inched towards Matilda, torches in hand, blank expressions on their faces, I waited again, hoping someone would do something, anything.
I pulled on the sleeves of those around me, begging them to step forward.
But they shrugged me off, transfixed. No one was going to listen to a boy who was still too young to shave. More importantly, no one was going to listen to their hearts, their consciences.
I heard Matilda cry out, though from pain or fear I was not sure. The torch was inches away, but Matilda could not twist free, as tight as her bonds were.
I grit my teeth, then did a quick headcount. Two dozen, maybe more. There were children too, and if I had more time I would have thought twice about whether they were as sturdy as the adults, whether they could recover as quickly.
But I was out of time, and so I stepped forward, clenched my eyes, focused on a single word, and poured every shred of energy I had into it. I had never exerted myself so much before.
*SLEEP*
I knew it had worked when I heard the steady thuds of comatose bodies hitting the floor. I opened my eyes, and I saw that some of Matilda’s other possessions on the ground had lighted up, flashing an incandescent array of colours. I pushed past the crowd, pulled Matilda up, shifted her weight onto me. She struggled to keep her eyes open.
“I… I was right…” she said, smiling. “It… it is real…”
“Later,” I said. “We have to go, now. There’s a lot we have to talk about.”
To better cope with Matilda’s weight, I borrowed Chief Lanson’s staff. From the way he was sleeping peacefully on the ground, it didn’t seem like he needed it.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin. | 2017-09-14T11:57:05 | 2017-09-14T11:14:03 | 2,008 | 114 |
[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me. | "Honey, no one is following you," my boyfriend, Nate, reassured me again.
I craned my neck around anyway, certain that I had heard my name whispered furtively behind my back for what seemed like thousandth time that day.
"Maybe you should go see someone, dear. Paranoia can be a sign of a serious mental illness."
"I *am not* crazy. Something's up. For the past month, things have been strange. People following me, whispering my name, cashiers, bus drivers, janitors greeting me with a creepy degree of eagerness...something is *wrong* and it's driving me insane." I began ringing my groceries out at the checkout counter, the cashier wonderfully proving my point by keeping up an overly cheery string of small talk, despite having said a total of three words to the past five customers.
"Do you see what I mean?" I asked as we left the store. "That woman's behavior isn't normal."
"Auri, are you actually *complaining* about people being nice to you? Jeez, I would pay anything to get everyone to treat me like that. Can't you just accept that you inspire people to be genial towards you and move on?"
I dropped the subject, turning instead to our plans for the evening. Dinner at six, then a jog through the park at eight, watch the sunset on top of Horsefarm Hill, and then back to our humble one-bedroom house, with a shack in back repurposed for my experiments. The same shack I'd toil in until long past midnight tonight, just like every other night.
"Dear, I am *so close* to discovering the mechanism. *SO CLOSE.* Just a few more nights and I might work out all the right equations…" I started rattling on about my research while he tuned me out. I was used to it by now. How could I expect him to understand the deep complexities of time travel? I was working towards a PhD in physics, and he was the owner of an (extremely successful) bar.
"That's nice, hon," Nate yawned distractedly. I caught myself mid-sentence, realizing that I was boring him to tears with my discussion of space-time continuum and flux capacitors.
"Sorry, Nate. I just get so excited about my research, you know?"
"I know Auri. I'm glad you love it so much. I'm just afraid it's taking up too much of your time."
---
Neither of us brought up my project for the rest of the night, staying instead on lighter topics. So it was that I went out to my shed at nine o'clock, utterly distracted and unable to focus at the task at hand. I sat on my hands at my desk, staring blankly at my pages and pages of equations. Numbers and letters swam in front of my eyes as my head dipped down onto the table. It wouldn't be a terrible thing if I didn't work on the project tonight…maybe Nate was right, and I needed a break…
Just before my eyes fluttered closed, I noted something strange on one of the first sheets of equations. The basic foundation required for time travel to even work. One of the formulas was wrong. Off, somehow. I snapped my eyes back open and examined the offending line of numbers. There, a needle hidden in row after row of complex equations, was an almost unnoticeable mistake. Unnoticeable, but crucial.
Moving hastily, I reworked the equation and the ones that derived from it. Suddenly, the theory flowed together as brilliantly as if it had been handed down from God. I threw down my pencil and ran into the house.
"Nate! Nate! I've done it! I figured it out! Time travel is possible! I can't wait to show this to my doctoral committee! I'll be published, and work with engineers to make a prototype, and maybe I'll even be famous!"
"I know you will be, darling. I'm so happy for you." Nate smiled from the kitchen table.
"Wait…what is that supposed to mean? And why are you still awake? Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's wonderful! This very day will go down in history as the day time travel was discovered–and that a woman discovered it! I can't believe I got to be here to witness it…"
I furrowed my eyebrows, puzzled. "What do you mean? You act like you knew this was going to happen…I mean I love that you had faith in me, but…"
"Umm…I'm not sure exactly how to explain this to you, but…I *did* know this would happen. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I just couldn't. It would have ruined the space time continuum."
"NATE, TELL ME *RIGHT NOW* WHAT IS GOING ON!" Fear crept through my veins, and I had to lean agains the door frame for support.
"Honey, I love you." I glowered at him, saying nothing. "I do, really. But there's something I've been keeping from you."
"OUT. WITH. IT."
"Auri, I'm from the future. Actually, a lot of people you've been interacting with are. There was an auction for one hundred people to travel back in time and meet the mother of time travel itself. The higher the bid, the more closely associated with you one would get to be. I bid the highest, so…"
"So you interfered with the fabric of space and time to make yourself my boyfriend?!" I was livid, the entire thing was beyond anything I could have imagined.
"No, no. Well, the messing with space time, yeah, but I didn't win the opportunity to be your boyfriend. I won the opportunity to be your housemate. That's all. You chose to love me all on your own."
"God DAMNIT Nate, what am I even supposed to say to that? That it's sweet? That you idolized me so much as to travel back in time to meet me? I suppose that now that the discovery has been made, you and the others will go away." I started crying in spite of myself.
"Most of them, yes. But I spoke with the people who awarded the trip, and they granted me leave to stay."
"To stay? For how long?"
"For the rest of our lives, if you'll have me." He looked down sheepishly at the table. "But if not, I'll just tell them to take me back tomorrow." I could see tears welling in his eyes as well.
"Back…to when? When are you from, exactly?"
"Five hundred years in the future. This was an auction to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the discovery of time travel."
"Five hundred years…" I sat down on the floor. "Why would you want to be trapped here, if you could be back in the future, with your family and friends, and all your cool new technology?"
Nate started crying more heavily. "My–my family is all dead. Died in a hovercraft accident a few years ago. My best friend…he went off to war and never returned. My parents had been wealthy, and I inherited their entire estate when they passed. I spent it all on this. To fulfill my one remaining hope in life–to meet you."
I stood up, walked over to him, and pulled him into an embrace.
"Come here, you," I whispered. "Let's build a better future than the one you came from. Together." | The glass isn’t as strong as they think it is. There’s a crowbar I have hidden under a bush in the enclosure. Could smash through and grab each one of them by the throat, their eyes bulging in disbelief. Equal parts incredulity and amazement. Gawking and gasping at the utility of the man standing in front of them. A voice would glare over the loudspeaker, “Attention, please do not panic, security will be in shortly to sedate him.” And like the animal they think I am I would strangle the last breath out of the poor bystander in my path. A quick glance towards the barrel of the rifle as everything turns to black.
But I don’t. I wake up in the morning at 8:00 AM, shower, shave, go to work. On a good day it takes 23 minutes door to door. That is unless I hit the red light on Maple street, which cascades into hitting red lights the rest of the way, next thing you know it’s been 34 minutes. I sit at my desk and update spreadsheet after spreadsheet with quarterly updates. Sure I could automate it but then I’d be putting myself out of a job. The drive home is almost always slower, on average 39 minutes. But I usually just put on an audiobook. So it’s not too bad I guess.
And every step of the way they are just out of reach. They might as well have binoculars and a Mickey Mouse hat. It’s just so apparent. The guy standing behind me at the grocery store yesterday ran his goddamn fingers through my hair before running off into the distance giggling like an idiot. Or the flight attendant on a business trip to Omaha who took my used cup of water and crumpled it up into her pocket. Don’t even get me started on the guy who ran on the field at a baseball game, not to run the bases or anything, but ran right back into the stands on the other side of the field and gave me a big bear hug.
And sure you might be thinking, “well yea weird shit happens to everyone!” I mean, maybe something that absurd happens very infrequently. Maybe a few times a year. Once a month if you’re lucky. It happens to me every fucking day. And those are just the people with enough chutzpah to actually make contact. The rest just wait back, staring intently at my every move. Sometimes I’ll occasionally drop pennies on the ground and keep walking for a little while, only to turn around and see a group of at least five people fighting, literally fighting over it.
I have no idea how many people I meet who are authentic in any way. How many of my day to day interactions are with people who truly don’t give a shit about me. Would be just as happy if they never saw my face. But more importantly I wonder why the fuck so many people care so much about me. At first I assumed it was the FBI, but this has veered much further towards escalating fandom than professional investigation. I haven’t done anything notable up until this point in my life. I mean unless you count that mean Pokemon card collection I had when I was twelve. But I’d imagine that had very little bearing on my current predicament.
The only thing that seems to make sense, and now bear with me on this one, is that these are like time travel tourists. That I do something fucking amazing later on, and people want to come experience my life. I mean it kind of makes sense right? Who would turn down the chance to see Shakespeare just wandering around? This also explains why my current life is still so shitty. They wouldn’t dare mess with whatever timeline led me to whatever amazing thing I do. The presumption that if the timeline is fucked up by a “time tourist” I may travel down an entirely new stream and end up just some guy.
And if all of a sudden I break down the wall and confront these people for who they truly are, the charade completely defied, what does that actually mean? That the timeline is probably compromised so they’ll all disappear, that knowledge of my future prevents it from happening. Though I suppose even my non-confrontational skepticism may have already influenced my entire line of thought process. Whatever, fuck it. Time travel logic doesn’t make sense. What really do I have to lose? The next time some weirdo runs his hand through my hair I’m taking the crowbar and breaking down whatever artificial wall they think they’ve put up.
| 2016-09-21T13:21:22 | 2016-09-21T13:01:20 | 362 | 38 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit.
The animal would probably not be of the user's choice.
Just putting that out there. | All this naturalism shit never really had me going. I remember back a few years ago, when we could have cell phones, tablets, computers, any electronic on the face of the planet. But, of course, at the ripe age of 13, they had to discover that god actually existed. Or something. I'm not terribly convinced that it's a god, as much as it's a cruel joke to pacify the masses into believing that we were *meant* for something. Thousands of years of evolution, society, science, anything that could separate us from the beasts and some guy discovers some ancient ritual in an underground pyramid, and voila! Spirit animals. Great.
I've always found it peculiar that ever since then, it appears the eagles, the lions, the tigers, the predators in a general sense, always managed to take high office. Hell, our president is a goddamned crocodile. Of course, the jokes would be made based on what animal you were, but you never managed to find a groundhog guy pushing people around. This whole thing has made us accept what we are, that we couldn't improve after 18. That our spirit animal, who we *are*, whatever, that was what we would be.
And of course, as predicted by anyone with half a brain, people started self selecting within their own spirit animal for friends. Really must be a dump for the mice. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that now we all have something in common, but it's just the same as it's always been. Except now, some random standard, some bullshit ritual says what we are. Want to be a scientist? Better be a dolphin, or a monkey or whatever. Wanna be artsy? You'd better hope for a crow. That really did explain that Poe guy. But did you never really feel inclined to believe in the hype, that these animals weren't the sum of your parts, that you were something more than some ridiculous caste system? Well, you probably got one of the shittier animals. I've known plenty of ants, worms, grubs, and they all just go along, day by day, and never make any impact. Hell, when you are forced to put your animal into combat by some random walking cheetah or vulture, what are you supposed to do? Be meek. Be invisible.
I'm 34 now, and I can't see how this has made us better. The higher classes told all the lower classes that disobeying them would result in spirit combat, and noone knew exactly what that meant. Everyone assumed that if your spirit animal died, so would your spirit. Or something or another. Me? I'm not a fucking spirit. Took me two hours to gut that thing, and I must admit, it tasted *divine*. I just claim that I did the ritual, and nothing ever came. You could only ever do it once, and once you did, you were bound forever to it. Many have lost spirit animals, and have just lost their sense of self. Wallowing in pity, self obsessed that their *spirit* was now gone. Me? I could care less. I've lived, I've survived, and by god, I'm done with this system. We never dismantled our warheads, never destroyed our nuclear stockpiles. And I've got a plan. Hell, maybe I was a cockroach for some reason. | Her family all sat around her, waiting. Before long, there was a fog in the house. Her family smiled, knowing the spirit was coming. Out from the fog came a man. Not an animal, a man. The girl's family shrieked in fear and ran, while the girl let out a chuckle as the man slaughtered her family.
The Girl Was A Monster, And Only A Human Could Fit Her Needs... | 2014-06-26T01:05:24 | 2014-06-26T00:07:08 | 75 | 24 |
[WP] You been a bullied outcast your entire life despite your pure heart and kindness. One day a horrible prank for you goes wrong, leaving you to die. Before your final breath, Death appears in white robes, and offers you a golden scythe with a name engraved on it: Karma. | Duude. So, I was out catching some waves a few months ago. Chillin' away from the pack. Y'know, like I usually do. No big. When one of the bigger dudes, Bret, comes paddlin' over.
Now, this dude and me have a history, ok? He's had it in for me since highschool. It is what it is. He has a rough home life, so I don't let it get to me. He's a pretty chill dude underneath it all. He just hasn't figured how to process things right, y'know? So I knew him comin' over probably wouldn't end well for me, but I gave him a "Sup, brah?" anyway.
All'a'sudden this huuuuge wave comes out of nowhere and we're off. Next thing I know he cuts in front of me. I was, like, pretty focused on the ride, right? So I wasn't expecting it and I fell off my board and into the water.
When I come to I'm layin' on some rocks pretty far up the beach, and the fuckin' grim reaper is standin' in front of me. I'm just all like "Dude! You're the fuckin' grim reaper!"
He's all like "I KNOW."
Then I'm like "I thought you wore black. Why are your robes white, dude?"
And he's like "YOU TRY STANDING IN THE HOT CALIFORNIA SUN IN HEAVY BLACK ROBES. SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT."
I can completely feel that, so I say "Totally, dude. I feel you." Then I asked him if I was, like, dead or whatever, and when he said 'not really' I was all like, 'huh?'. I was pretty confused. He told me that because I've been a really chill dude and whatever my whole life that he was givin' me a totally gnarly gift.
That's when he pulls out this bitchin' gold scythe with 'KARMA' engraved on it, and he's like "USE THIS AS YOU SEE FIT. IT IS BOTH A BLESSING AND A CURSE" <or whatever, haha> "BUT YOUR SOUL HAS BEEN DEEMED WORTHY." Then he just, like, straight up vanished.
Now I just kinda walk around dealing out karma to people. It's totally wicked. Like, the other day, this dudette was bein' kindof of major B to this poor barista chick, and I totally made her trip and spill all her coffee on the sidewalk outside of the store, ahahahaha!
This other guy didn't pick up after his dog, and you'll never guess what I did! I had a seagull dump on his shoulder! I coulda aimed for his head, but he had, like, a pretty important interview later that day that if he gets the job would totally let him afford to take his little girl to the dance school she's always dreamed of. So I figured its easy enough to take off a blazer, y'know? Remind him not to be a dick, but not ruin his life, yeah?
The best part is that no one can see me unless I want them to. Oh, and I am, like, a tiny bit omnipotent, right! Like, I can know things about people that I shouldn't. Like the dude I was just talkin' about.
Most people are good people, y'know? So I usually try to nudge 'em in the right direction. S'workin' out pretty well so far. But, bro. Seriously. You are just somethin' else. No matter how I slice it, I can't find a way to get you goin' in the right direction. Like, I tried makin' you burn your tongue on that pizza last week after you were a dick to your cat, and you totally just straight up kicked your cat across the room. Wasn't his fault, bro. Not cool. Or how I'm tryin' to make you see that money's not everything in life by dissappearing all your loose change. All it makes you do is steal from tip jars. Dude. Like, what?
I try to see the best in people, right? But, dude, this morning was the last straw. First, hit an' runs are totally not chill to begin with. Second, there were kids in that car, man. Third, now those kids have to grow up without a mom. I just can't even, man. So that's why I had to make this stop light fall and crush your skull in, brah. I mean, you gotta admit, it's pretty dope way to go, so... no hard feelings, right?
I hope you don't mind me chillin' here with you for a bit, but I've never killed anyone before and felt like I should explain myself, y'know? Plus, I wanted to see the grim reaper again, and make sure he ain't mad at me for killin' ya. You'll meet him when you come to.
"THREE MONTHS! THREE MONTHS?"
"Dude! How's it hangin'? Haha. I was just talkin' about you...Yeah. Sorry about this, you're not mad are you?"
"THREE MONTHS IS THE LONGEST ANYONE IN YOUR POSITION HAS GONE WITHOUT KILLING SOMEONE. IT'S FOUR TIMES THE RECORD."
"Haha, dude! I feel real guilty about it, but thats gnarly. So, we're good then?"
"YES. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. THE BIG GUY UPSTAIRS HAS NEVER BEEN HAPPIER WITH A KARMA AGENT BEFORE. NOW IF YOU DON'T MIND, I HAVE A SOUL TO ATTEND TO."
"Totally, brah. Peace." | (This was written on 17 hours of being awake, so don't expect too much quality.)
&#x200B;
I laid flat on the concrete, the cold ground being blanketed with a warm crimson the more I laid there. I always imagined what death would feel like from a young age, which is concerning considering my age the thought first appeared in my head. Now, I finally get to experience it personally. It's just as one would've thought; a quick, peaceful release, your vision fading to black.
Well, it did fade to black. When my vision came back to me, I looked around and pondered if what happened was all a dream, my question immediately answered as I looked back to where I lay, now lifeless. I looked up at the face that made me meet my fate; a bully whose face never showed sympathy.
A black fog made their home around me. A figure approached me slowly. This had to have been Death themselves; who else would wear robes whiter than bone, wielding a gold-edged scythe in his hands, and a blinding gaze black as night?
However, they didn't come to rep my soul so I can move on. No... They approached me and offered their familiar scythe. Why would Death give a pure soul their scythe? No. I didn't deserve this. I tried to explain why I couldn't bring myself to become their assistant, or even the next Death in line. No matter what I tried to say, the hand remained extended.
I carefully grab the scythe. I felt my hands melting into bone, with my body following shortly after with a black robe slowly enveloping my skeleton. As I inspected the gold-edged scythe, it had a familiar name engraved into the blade: karma.
From that point forward, I basically became Death's assistant. Me being the gentle soul I once was, I gave people their peaceful passing, while Death delivered the swiftly cruel ones to... those people.
Time finally came for a familiar face to find their way to this realm. It was inevitable after all. They approached me and asked if they did great in this world. While his handsome face has the expression of innocence, deep down I knew he was cruel in this world. I turned away from him, taking on the form of how I looked before I had died. When I turned to face him, his eyes widened. I watched as his composure became unstable: his look of innocence now horror; hands placed on the back of his head; begging for forgiveness.
My smile grew more sinister as I raised up my scythe. I might've been a pure soul on Earth and arguably here, but just this once I'll be unsympathetic
In a twist of fate, my smile growing more malevolent, "Let's see where Karma takes you this time…” A piercing scream filled the emptiness this realm, followed by the *wooosh* of the scythe. Eventually, the familiar deafening silence returned. | 2019-04-19T06:10:58 | 2019-04-19T05:52:43 | 76 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone has a guardian angel, but yours is killed by a demon. Fortunately it takes pity on you, and becomes the first guardian demon. | I stared in horror at the smouldering feathers cascading around us, like the results of a firework and a pillow getting too frisky together. The twisted monster that had destroyed the angel huffed a deep lumbering breath out then sniffed the air. I stiffened, my shocked numbness quickly fading to terror as the beast stepped towards me. I threw a look left and right, but there was nowhere to run to. The park was empty this time of night and it would take me far too long to reach either the treeline behind me, or the gates to my left.
The beast's foot crushed the ashy skull of my angel as it loomed over me, seven feet of gold skin, lit up from the inside by burning infernal fire. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked my death in it's eyes, that burned like the coals of infernity. A stygian gauntlet clad hand, no *claw*, reached toward me, landing on my shoulder.
"Terribly sorry to have put upon you this malady, Some mewling idle-headed pumpion summoned me and laid the task of killing you in manners most foul at my feet. It is gracious and of great fortune that your angel was of the mettle to take my strike, voiding my contract in the interim. As it would not do to leave you unguarded, I will take it upon myself to be your shield."
I gaped, for significantly longer than would be considered polite, or even reasonable. While no emotion showed on the hellish face, I could feel the beast growing disconcerted. It quickly removed the hand from my shoulder.
"I understand that this whole endeavour is quite irregular, but I am of the mind that you are in direst need of a guardian, and I am willing to take on this task, if only to spite the vain milk livered miscreant who summoned me from my home on the coals," He continued, as finally my body started to realise that it was not, as of yet, brutally murdered. My mouth flapped for a brief second before it remembered how to form words.
"So...you're gonna. Just..like replace, m-my guardian angel? Instead of like..poofing back to..uh, hell?"
The demon glowed briefly and nodded, "It is so, if you would have me. If I were to be honest, my home has come to bore me. Torment can only appeal for so many millennia, before the screams of pain and anguish wear thin on a souls ears,"
Still more than slightly shocked, dazed and confused, I nodded. There was a distant chime and a halo appeared over the demon's head. Both of us stared at in in surprise. He poked at it with a claw, hissing as the holy metal burned him.
"Well that's going to be awkward," I blurted out. The demon looked back to me and made a terrifying noise, deep in his massive chest. It took me a second to realise that he was laughing and not growling.
"So, uh. What...uh, what should I call you? My angel insisted on Mr Feathers cause I was a kid when I called him that, but that...wouldn't really be...uh appropriate," Again, I stumbled through the question like an underprepared interviewee. I was started to feel more embarrassed at my sudden lack of verbal coordination than any form of fear or apprehension. If anything the demon was being nicer than Mr Feathers had ever been. Angels could be kinda assholes.
"Among my kind I am known as Al'Toddash, fiend of burning agonies. But I think something simpler would be appropriate. You may call me...Todd," He nodded solemnly at this, until I giggled, at which point he laughed as well, "I merely jest, Al is what my friends call me. Now my liege, where is our destination?"
"Well, I need some booze...scratch that, I need a ton of booze," Al followed me as I headed towards the gates of the park, shaking charred feathers out of my coat.
"I must inform you that a ton weight of alcohol would kill you, and as your guardian...demon, I shall have to partake to defend your liver," Al said, leaving a trail of burning footsteps.
"Holy shit, you're gonna get drunk with me? You're a mile better than Mister Feathers, he just sat to the side judging me!" I practically danced in excitement. A drunk guardian? I'd get away with so much shit!
"Angels are, as you say, kinda pricks," | "Well, shit. Kiddo, stop crying. Seriously. Please."
He just lay there, over the corpse of his angel, balling his eyes out. How the hell did he even see me? *Maybe that's why I was sent to kill him in the first place.*
"Kid, please, could you just stop your shit? I'm sorry, ok? This is just business, orders from the top. No hard feelings, right?"
Seriously, at the rate the kid was crying he'd die of dehydration before he'd even get a chance to off him. This felt so wrong, even for a demon.
He put his hand on the kid's shoulder, and his tears slowly reduced to all-body quivers.
"Are you done now? We good? Shutting up now?"
The kid sniffled, then nodded. He was starting to have serious misgivings. There was some kind of strange feeling he was experiencing - was this what they call *empathy?*
"I'm sorry, ok. I'm sorry. I didn't want to do this. And now... just you don't worry about a thing, alright?"
The kid nodded again, his hand running through the angel's bloody feathers.
I thought for a while, weighing up my options.
*When the other demons find out that I didn't kill him, they're going to go after him. And if I try to stop them, they're going to go after me as well.*
*I guess that kind of makes me the angel's replacement. The kid's guardian... his guardian demon.*
*You know what? I don't quite hate the sound of that.* | 2016-08-15T05:10:38 | 2016-08-15T04:37:11 | 77 | 27 |
[WP] Lines on a summoning sign act as filtration layers, allowing you to choose how strong your summoned demon is. The more lines, the less power can get through, the weaker the demon. A pentagram is the most commonly used. A triangle is for experts. You're attempting to use a circle. | I had mastered everything. I was one of the few archsummoners that had attempted the triangle and succeeded. There wasn't a demon in the seven hells beneath us that could withstand my bindings. It wasn't due to intelligence, or power, or even strength. I had patience and I studied. While I was a little older than the other masters, I was also more learned. I had studied the mistakes of lesser summoners and corrected my knowledge to avoid them. My deep study had lead me to one suspicious line in a book, little more than a rumour, a hint. In theory, a perfect circle was a single line, but it had to be absolutely perfect or it didn't count. I've been practising every night for three years in order to draw the perfect a circle. I haven't forsaken my other skills either, my calling skills were still the best, my binding rituals still unsurpassed, my manifestation capabilities beyond question.
Tonight was the night. Under the inky black sky of a new moon at midnight on the 13th day of the month everything was aligned for my ritual. I drew my perfect circle on the smooth granite rock. Normally a candle would be positioned on each point but instead chose six candles spaced evenly, with a further two sets of six behind those. Alone in the night I performed my tasks in secret; no one was to know I were about to do this, anything could happen. I pondered what kind of demon would arise, a large leathery Balrog with face of fire and wings of leather that I had seen many times before. Perhaps the Queen of the Succubi, the mistress of all of the demons that promise sating of lust in exchange for souls. Or even Greed himself, the King of all Goblins, and I would gain his riches.
With anticipation I spoke the words of power, alien to my ears and my tongue, calling whichever demon that would answer. The chalk circle flared a bright white then faded black. I expected it to flare red instead, like many of the other summons, but the chalk stayed black. A little too black perhaps, as it seemed to drink in the light from around it. The candles flickered, and then flared brighter. A rain of fire launched skywards from each one, bathing the area in yellow and red.
I continued my chant into the second verse, to manifest the being from beyond, to bring him forth into this world. It was here that my mistake became apparent. A circle was not one line with two points, but a single line without end. It wasn't a barrier at all. The power that rushed inwards to manifest in the circle knocked me from my feet. Blazing candles went flying in all directions and went out.
I glimpsed through the darkness wondering what kind of great beast I had brought forth to ravish this world. Before me stood a man, the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Standing a full seven feet tall he was perfection beyond measure, the ragged deep black scar across his chest only creating a harsh, but immaculate, contrast against his magnificent, porcelain skin. He looked at me.
Under his gaze I wilted. I wasn't worthy of being in his presence. The small piece of my mind that was steadfast willed me to finish the ritual. I spoke the final phrase for the binding. I could feel the strong magic coalesce into a powerful cage around this perfect being. The cage was as perfect as he was, I had conjured it a thousand times, no demon had ever escaped. He looked puzzled for a second, and stepped through the cage like it was tissue paper. He glared at me and spoke, "You have managed to bring me into this world, and I am grateful. I will forgive you for this small transgression, but cross me again and your life is forfeit."
His siren's voice made my heart ache.
"Who are you?" I managed to squeak out, terrified of his power.
He took a step forward, and opened his wings. Not the leathery red wings of a beast, but the beautiful white feathers of an angel.
"I am Lucifer, and my time has come." | "Finally!" I exclaimed, joy surging through me. It's been months since I started doing this secret project of mine and I finally achieved success.
"Now to put the finishing touches." I slit my wrists and let the blood pour on the circle. I reached for the scattered bones around me, placing it carefully inside the circle.
I stood up, looking at the bloody circle on the ground. If my theory is correct, this can lead to me being able to control Satan himself. Ordering around the King Of Hell would be awesome as hell (pun intended).
"Dyos ploticbse huiokie usythe joplta loh!"
The circle started to glow. The bones levitated and slowly absorbed my blood on the ground.
*crash*
The blood-soaked bones shattered into pieces. I grinned, staring at the glowing circle.
**MORTAL, YOU WILL REGRET EVER SUMMONING ME**
I stared, mouth hanging open. Standing before me was a long-haired man, wearing a brownish tunic, and grinning like a madman.
**I NEVER THOUGHT THE "SECOND COMING" WOULD COME THIS QUICK** | 2017-11-16T01:06:16 | 2017-11-16T00:01:00 | 23 | 16 |
[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. | When the human race first entered our star systems, we thought they were laughable. They came to “explore” and “settle”, but they appeared very poorly equipped and naïve to be doing such things. Of course, they were not the first race we’ve seen with colonizing of any sort on the mind; our people have dabbled with that ourselves, at least when necessary to get resources to persist.
At first we played their game. Showed them some territories they could stay in, gave them some pointers, and then promptly tried to ignore them.
However, they were unsatisfied. They wanted to continue growing and expanding. Predictably enough, of course. When they threw their little fit, we threatened them with our superior weapons and technology, and they calmed down… or rather, changed their tune. They had no intention to FIGHT for any land, but they were more than willing to BARTER for it somehow. It would go on like this, the humans growing, us socializing and trying not to satisfy their little diplomatic egoes too much, making as many compromises as we could. But enough was never enough for them. Never for too long.
However, for us, enough was indeed enough. We put our foot down when they got too needy, and told them to either leave completely or die. Their response…
…was to devastate us all. Using strange molecular bonding units, they took their lesser ships and weapons and smashed them together into much stronger units, an unforeseen tactic. They did this with individuals too, making on-land planetary warfare even harder on us. We had to retreat, and they took *everything*.
They went on like this, from system to system. Even with everything our societies could throw at them, even when they were outnumbered and outpowered, their tactics and techniques and that blasted unification technology decimated everything in their path. All seemed lost for our way of life… except for one thing that we had that they did not:
Through tachyon engines, one could move faster than light. What had not been explored yet by any of us had been the next step of that: travel through time.
Yes, with what resources we had left, us survivors formed a war party with one goal: go to the past and crush those humans before they have the chance to do any of this. Punish those heartless, egotistical monsters for what they did to us. Preemptively take back everything they would steal.
We have talked enough with them to know about their ways, their history. We know of a planet called Earth where they originated. We know exactly where and when in history to show up.
This is a one way trip. We are willing to take it.
The human race won’t know what hit them. | 2022-08-05T13:08:24 | 2022-08-05T12:43:01 | 561 | 63 |
[WP] He believes it’s love, fated to be together. Maybe that could have been true, if he hadn’t blackmailed the princess into sharing the first dance. If he hadn’t threaten the lives of her people in exchange for a kiss. Maybe she could have loved him, but Love doesn’t grow in poisoned soil… | Princess Valiar held her breath as the scouting party snuck their way along the hillside. These were the Kallhar empires most elite soldiers and they were on a reconnaissance mission. She and her unit had been given information that they would be taking this exact route.
She held her hand up, a signal to her officers to get ready.
The band of Kallhar soldiers were barely visible, their armor was camouflaged, including the masks they wore. They never would have tracked them down if not for the intel they were given. How her commanding officer got that intel, she didn’t know. And honestly, she didn’t want to.
The forest was quiet. A crow cawed in the distance and took flight. There was a slight breeze that bent the trees above in a sluggish sway. She looked to her right and she a hundred of her best soldiers lying in the dead leaves and underbrush. Their cloaks completely covering them. Many would die today, she knew. She never got used to sending out orders that would surely get some of her countrymen killed. She hoped the day would never come where she got used to it.
Princess Valiar grabbed the horn at her waist and blew, her breath coming out from deep within her lungs as it sailed through the forest and stopped the scouting party in their tracks. Her soldiers were up and charging. Some were stationed to flank the scouting party and cut off their egress. She let go of the horn, unsheathed her great sword and charged into the melee.
The fighting didn’t last long. It was close. It was bloody. It was brutal. The Kallhar soldiers fought valiantly but were hopelessly outmanned by Princess Valiar’s vanguard.
“How many?” she asked her first officer after the fighting had ended.
“Thirty-seven dead, my lady,” he was breathing heavily and his mail armor was torn open at the sleeve and the arm hung limp at his side. “We’ve captured three.”
“And how many of ours dead?”
“Thirteen, my lady.”
She winced. She thought of the thirteen letters she would write this evening to the husbands and wives of the dead. She felt shame at the thought. These were her brothers and sisters that have died, and writing them letters was the least she could do.
She grabbed her first officer’s good shoulder softly. “Thank you, John. Have one of the squires take you back to camp for medical attention now. I cannot lose you. You’re too important,” she said and smiled at him.
He smiled and nodded back, then walked off, shouting gruffly to a young boy who still seemed dazed from all that he had witnessed.
Three still alive. It would be good to bring back some survivors to the main camp.
The survivors of the Kallhar recon unit were each tied to a separate tree. One was still kicking and tearing trying to get free. He was spewing the most wretched filth from his mouth at a group of soldiers who were standing next to him. But when Princess Valiar stepped up to him, her armor shining bright in the afternoon sun, the man stopped his tantrum. Instead, he started laughing, the pitch of his laugh getting higher and higher.
She looked on him with anger. One of her soldiers unsheathed his sword.
“Let me kill him for you, my lady.”
She held her hand up, signaling him to stay put. There was something in that laugh that made her feel anxious. She walked over and tore off his mask and her breath caught in her chest.
It was him. Prince Lanas.
“Princess Valiar,” he said and laughed. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” He spit a wad of blood at the ground next to him. “We truly are fated to be together.” He said, lifting his head, smiling with a mouth full of blood-smeared teeth.
She walked up, tightening her fist, and put him to sleep with a savage blow to his jaw. His head lolled forward onto his chest and the soldiers around her were silent for a second before bursting out laughing.
After all these years. Before the war, before all the misery that their people had endured. So long ago. That night seemed like a distant memory. That first dance. His cocksure attitude. His threats. As though all of it was just a game.
Why had he come back into her life now?
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
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r/CataclysmicRhythmic | Ishmir stood on the palace balcony. He breathed in the cool night's air. Joyful music and brilliant light spilled from the doorway behind him. He stood in the corner, away from that cone of light. He looked out. Below him sat the kingdom of Astasia. Only a few lonely lights wandered the night down there. He looked up. The stars were fighting. They moved smoothly across the sky, leaving swirling tails of pale white light.
He rubbed his right hand, soothing the four small crescent-shaped wounds that stood there. The wounds were lined with flecks of reddish gold, remnants of the intricate decoration of Lady Astair's fingernails. He sighed.
He looked further into the darkness, straining to see the structures he knew were there. The watchman's star was dull tonight. He could not break through the black veil. He gave up trying.
Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe the stars lied. Maybe he misread the lines of fate. Their lives were supposed to be woven together, twisted into a single strand. Tonight was supposed to special.
He ruined it, somehow. Against all the odds, he managed to break free of the force that held the stars together. And he did it on accident. Ruining the moment his life was supposed to start making sense. He spent so long dredging through the mud. Standing in darkness and suffering the cruelties of fate. His only comfort was that tapestry in the sky. The assurance of a happy life.
Now, it was gone. | 2021-01-16T22:29:46 | 2021-01-16T21:59:31 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Lucifer is trying to take a man's soul, but it turns out the man is a car salesman, and a good one. Describe their negotiations. | "Yeah, see, as much as I'd like to take that deal, I just don't know if it would be worth it for me."
"Worth it?" Lucifer asked. "Of *course* it's worth it! For just the measly sum of your immortal soul, you can be a movie star, a millionaire. You can have any girl you want!"
"Yeah, but I just don't know if that's really worth the price of my immortal soul, ya know? Forever is a pretty long time."
Lucifer had been at this for nearly an hour now. This guy was proving to be one of the most obstinate, stubborn people he'd ever had the misfortune of trying to trick out of their soul.
"I'm just thinking, ya know, signing over my soul for eternity is a pretty bad deal for, what, sixty years of riches?"
Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. He was the king of the damned, damn it, how could one human be so frustrating?
"Listen, Bob," Lucifer said smoothly, clasping an arm around his target. "Picture it. Mojitos every day, life in first class all the time. Babes willing to do anything for you, enough money to do anything you want. Doesn't it sound like your wildest dream come true?"
"It sure does sound swell," Bob agreed. "But my biggest dream was always to be *known* for something."
Lucifer perked up. Finally, something this guy *wanted*.
"Like what, Bobby, old pal?" Lucifer asked, voice oozing with faux sweetness. "You know your buddy is willing to give you anything you want."
"I've always wanted to cure something." Bob said, his eyes sparkling.
"Cancer?" Lucifer suggested. "AIDs? Alzheimer's?"
"I was thinking... aging." Bob said, carefully watching Lucifer's reaction.
"Aging?" Lucifer asked, more to himself than to Bob. He stroked his short goatee and pondered for a moment. "I... suppose that's not too far out of the realm of possibility. You'd be willing to sign over your soul for it?"
"Gosh, I think so." Bob said, smiling. "Wouldn't it be just great? Bob Anderson: the guy who cured aging. Everybody would be so amazed."
"I think I can make that happen for you, friend." Lucifer said, his mouth curling into a wicked grin. He conjured up a contract and a pen out of thin air. "Just sign on the dotted line, Bobby, my boy."
It took Bob a good while to read through the contract, and he scribbled a few things out "-*no,* Lucy, you don't get my firstborn's soul, too-" and added a few things in "-I'd like to make sure I get compensated for my brilliant idea and no one steals credit from me." By the end of it all, Lucifer was practically bouncing waiting for him to sign the damn thing.
"Alright, there." Bob said, signing his name with a flourish. The ink looked suspiciously like blood but he didn't want to be rude by asking about it.
"Thanks, Bob." Lucifer said, rolling up the contract with a *snap* of his fingers. "You'll probably regret this moment for the rest of eternity."
~
Back in Hell, Lucifer strode proudly through the doors of the Department of Soul Collection and tossed the contract on top of the pile marked "NEW".
"See boys?" He announced. "That's how you take a soul."
Beelzebub looked over and started laughing.
"Guys, GUYS." He said between wheezes. "Lucy got a new soul- BOB ANDERSON'S."
The department erupted into raucous laughter. Lucifer looked around, bewildered by the response from his coworkers.
"Dude, everyone's got that guy's soul." Mephistopheles said. "What'd he get you to give him for it? Guy's already got instant healing, he's impervious to all weapons, immune to disease, permanently unable to enter the gates of hell, unable to be summoned by demons, and for some reason, he swindled world class chef skills out of Abbadon over there."
"He, uh..." Lucifer started, before trailing off. He cleared his throat. "He got me to grant him the cure for aging."
All the demons in the office groaned.
"That was like his one last weakness, man." Mephistopheles said indignantly. "Now none of us are ever gonna be able to actually collect on his soul."
From the corner of the room, a deep, raspy voice piped up.
"It's all my fault." Kronos said quietly. He was one of the oldest down in Hell, an original Titan predating nearly every religion. He sighed and closed his eyes. "In exchange for his soul, I agreed to make him the best salesperson that ever existed. Now, I fear, he is greater than us all." | "C'mon Bub, you're coming with me," said the tall dark figure, his eyes glowing with red.
"Sure, but first take a look at this beautiful 2013 Kia Soul. Two years old and less than 200 miles on it. Isn't it something?"
"...it's alright, nothing too special"
"That's because you haven't seen it. Take a look inside. Veteran craftmanship, you couldn't find anything half as nice for a price this low."
"Ugh, I'm here to take your soul, not buy a car."
"Wait, before you take my soul, take a look. I swear, once you see it, it's the only Soul you'll ever want."
*looks at car*
"Wow, it's not half bad. How much?"
"Well... this car is in very high demand. I have at least 20 people waiting in line just to have a look. But for you, I have a special deal. For just $15,000 you can walk away with a new car"
"$15,000? No wonder you're coming with me, that's highway robbery. I'm leaving right now with you."
"Sir, no need to be unpleasant. The price is always negotiable."
"You think you can negotiate with the devil? No price can change my mind"
"Are you sure about that? Because I've got a deal not even you can refuse. This pristine vehicle for only $12,000."
"Now you're talking, but I'm still not convinced."
"Don't tell my boss, but just for you, I can lower the price."
"You can't leave me hanging. How much?"
"If you sign right now, I can get it to you for only one easy payment of $9,999. Or 0% APR financing if you want to take that path"
"..."
"Plus I'll throw in this X-Strong Morning Scent Air Freshener^^TM. Guaranteed to remove any scent."
"Alright, but just this time, okay? Next time, I won't be so easily swayed. Unless, of course, I get a better deal" | 2015-11-08T16:33:36 | 2015-11-08T11:44:11 | 388 | 107 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line. | "We're heading down" I shouted to my friend. "No, don't" a voice followed. Strangers have been spotted lurking near the mines, swiftly followed by abductions. To go down there would be crazy, but a necessity - my only hope to save my dear. "Love will conquer all" I muttered beneath my breath, reciting the promise we had made to eachother.
You stop thinking, your breath starts shaking, as if stuck between a breath. "Know that I would travel to the ends of the earth for you". The words from her mouth keeps echoing in my head, ruling all my emotions at once. Rules that should never be broken, but alas must be put aside for now. And without a further thought, I glimpse out of my thousand-yard-stare into the pitch black. "So it begins" I say to my traveling companion. "Do it", he says.
I could hardly remember the fall. A grown man plummeting through the voids of darkness. Full speed. Commitment to my beloved is the only thing driving me. Is my beloved gone, or will I find her? What will I find, and even worse, what did I land on? I'm starting to panick, fumbling my hands to find a wall. Thinking was always my forté, but when faced with the sounds of lowpitched tremors in total darkness, the mind goes blank. Of that I am sure, as I have felt my thoughts vanish as a single drop of water on a blazing campfire.
You could almost feel the earths rotation. Wouldn't want to be stuck down here, as I am sure my brain would fail long before my body. "Get the torchlight out" a voice calls from above. This was the moment of clarity, when I briefly remembered that I had carried a flashlight the whole time, but where was it? From left to right, my hands scoured the ground. Any other texture but the one my hands rested upon would have been a blessing, but this was pure horror to behold. Other men would have fainted at the touch and smell of such putrid stench, but I am not like other men. Guy McBelgrat is my name.
"I need to find that torchlight, hold on" my voice carried, not further than a meter in each direction before fading into the nothingness, except from an echo above. "Just hold on, I'll thrown down a flare" he shouts down at me. "Wanna hurry it up?" I shout back. "Tell you what, mate, if you are going to be cheeky about this whole thing, I might aswell leave!" my "faithful" companion shouts back in a tantrum, similar to that of an unsatisfied, stubborn child. "You what?!" I scream. How in the bloody countryside would you deem this moment fitting for an argu-". I'm shut up by the sudden change of pressure in the air. Feeling almost a bit tingly. Gotta find that torchlight and see where I am. Make my way to my the woman who holds my heart. You should be glad you didn't see what I saw the moment my torchlight cast the many shadows aside and shone upon the monstrosity. Understand this, that I would gladly die to become it.
Never thought I would end up here. Gonna have to outrun him. "Give up" a shaded but harsh voice speaks in my brain, a voice that is unfamiliar. "You will die for this" I scream. "Up" my legs and hands tell me, and I start the climb. "Never has anyone left this place, and you are not the first, mortal" the voice scrapes my eardrums, though no vibration of sound is emitted. Gonna to have to light one of those flares in my backpack. "Let the darkness consume you" the earth speaks to me. You would not believe the things I saw even if I told you. Down I fall, into the void, one with the monstrosity that is my family and heir, my glory and prosperity.
Now read only the first word of every sentence / word after a period ( . )
*EDIT: Bonus points if you can identify which author (literature) I was inspired by when writing this.* | He gazed into the distance, smiling as a cool breeze hit him.
It reminded him of a memory of his childhood, the first time he played in the rain. All the cousins gathered at Grandpa's house and played various games for hours. The uncles and aunts joined them after a while and everyone then hosed off after the rain.
"Man, sis would have loved this", he said out loud.
He walked on ahead to find an old electronics shop, perhaps battered by a storm a few years ago. There were signs for "The new Nintendo Switch" down on the floor, musty and a little crumpled.
The sun started setting down as he walked back home.
"I'm home! ", he declared as he stepped in. He opened the fridge to grab some pasta he saved from earlier.
He laid down on the bed, as he did everyday around 8 PM.
"If only I had the ability to go back in time" he said out loud. "I would have atleast had a point of return"
He manifested a ball of energy on the palm of his hand as he thought to himself,
"Maybe killing everyone to save the planet wasn't a good idea".
| 2017-08-30T07:28:28 | 2017-08-30T05:46:13 | 170 | 46 |
[WP] You are having a conversation with the monster under the bed, when it realizes that beds are just made of flimsy wood and fabric | "You'll be sorry!" I warned him loudly, but he didn't listen.
The creature under my bed (whose anatomy I was still a little fuzzy on) continued its furious assault against the plywood bottom of my bedframe.
"Grrah! Rawr! Errgh!" it grunted, scraping it's thorned whiplike tentacles, releasing a confetti of sawdust.
"I-*I mean it!* If you keep on going you'll regret it!"
"Hah!" It snarled derisively, mouth full of phlegm. "What, is this another *human trick*, like beds being made of monster supertoxin, and blankets actually being ghosts, that *drag monster souls to Hell?* Like that?! I'll take my chances!"
I should have remembered how keen his eyesight was in the dark. I'd just gotten a "big boy bed", and I'd forgotten to take off the stickers on the planks. Once he read them, it was *game over*.
What now? My bat was all the way on the other side of the room, and if my parents hadn't woken up yet from this *racket*, it meant mom was on her Xanax, and dad was working late again.
Suddenly, the sounds of frenzied scraping gave way to ...ripping paper? What?
What had he... **Oh shit.**
"Don't look!" I screamed, my face beet red.
"*Riiiight!* Like I'm going to listen to *you*!" The monster chortled. I heard the sound of pages turning.
It went quiet. "What... what the hell am I looking at?" My monster said, quietly.
"They're my dad's! I wasn't doing anything with them, honest!" The heat from my flushed cheeks could *cook an egg*.
"Why the hell is he... Oh! Eugrgh! What the hell is that *thing*, between his- Oh! Oh God! And the female human's is even *worse*!" His cried out, horrified.
"And now they're.... *URGH! Not from there! Don't you *eat* with that?! And now they're *together* and, *Oh MY GOD.*"
There was a noise of him being violently sick.
"And now there's *two* male humans..." he continued, clearly disgusted beyond belief, but unable to look away, "And the female human only has the *one horrible thing*, so what is the other human going to- No. No, please NO! You *excrete* from there! Y-you can't possibly- *arrghlealrgrrh!*" He threw up again. It smelled a little like lemon furniture polish.
I held still, too petrified to move, but I was beginning to get over my mortification. ...I might be able to use this.
"S-so *now* they've g-got her on her *leg-benders* " he continued, weakly. "S-surely they must be done with those... those *fleshlogs* of theirs, and... *Slime?!* Why the- *do humans shoot slime? You're... you're DISGUSTING."
"W-what? Oh. Oh sure!" I said, catching wise. "Oh, like, *all the time*. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how much. Just, all the time with the slime, for us."
"Well, *forget this*! Like *hell* I'm eating one of you! I'll probably catch something!"
It came out from under my bed, a mass of tentacles, suckers, teeth and eyestalks. Alien and horrible. It made it's way to my window, undid the latch, and lifted the sash,
"Wait!" I said.
It turned and looked at me, with most of its eyes.
I pointed at the crumpled mass of glossy paper held in one of its clawed probosci.
"Leave the *Hustler* here, I'm not done with it."
It made another retching sound, threw the magazine at my head, and was gone.
THE END
________________________________________________________________
Hey hi howsitgoin. For me, it is rainy and thunderous. Appropriate weather, to write about monsters.
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| She heard the sound like boots on the landing. Slipping between the mattress and the wall, Krissy wiggled as far down as she could. Her bare toes touched the slimy edge of the carpet. She could feel the wet rubber of Mud as he circled her ankle.
She had forgotten to wear her socks again. He always made her feel cold and sticky.
The door hissed over the carpet as the door slid open. *Shhhhh*
Mud was twisting up her leg, pushing the bed forward tiny increments. Krissy had told him, against her better judgment, that the bed was just a flimsy bit of carpentry. Now she was thankful she had.
It made it easier to slip into the corner of the darkness. Mud was touching her cheeks, a weird, silent sort of comfort.
The blankets were pulled off, leaving a hint of breeze to tuck into her hair. There was a growl.
"Where the fuck are you!?"
Krissy let out a whimper, causing the bed to be ripped from the wall.
This time Krissy was not alone.
Mud reared his angular head up, sharp teeth glinting like glossed stone.
"What the fuck..."
Mud tore into the body of Buddy Hanson, Krissy's step father. There was no blood, no guts, no mess. He devoured the monster-above-the-bed completely. Then, releasing an elegant burp, Mud released Krissy. She stood up, got atop the bed, and let Mud pull the wood back into place.
| 2015-09-18T16:06:54 | 2015-09-18T15:45:08 | 53 | 26 |
[WP] It's your 93rd birthday and after blowing your candles, you jokingly rearrange the candles from 93 to 39. When you wake up the next day, you feel... young again.
First prompt ever!! Based off of a post I saw on front page. | “Papa,” My great-granddaughter, Mya, shouts as she tugs on the sleeve of my shirt. I turn to see her beaming up at me. Eight years old and full of love and wonder. “What are you wishing for?”
I smile. I have an urge to tell her that as you get older you wish less and less. You learn that life doesn’t give you what you want just because you asked nicely on your birthday. You either work for it or go without. I resist. After all, I’m jealous of that kind of optimism. If I could wish for anything it would be to feel that way again.
“I can’t tell you that. Or else it won’t come true.” I wink at her. She’s hanging off the side of my chair, momentarily disappointed that I won’t spill my secrets. She quickly forgets as children do and hops up and down as the cake is placed in front of me. “I’ve never seen so many candles!” I say. The same joke I’ve made since I was eighty-two.
“One more than last year.” My daughter says, playing her part well. She gently rubs my shoulder as I admire the work she put into my cake. She catches me eyeing the different colored candles; my finger hovering as I silently start counting them. She hates this. “Daddy! We don’t have time. You’ll be ninety-four by the time you’re done.” This one’s new; hopefully she’ll say it again next year.
I close my eyes and lean back. I take a deep breath. I think of my grand-children. I try to remember myself at that age. I think of all the birthdays I’ve had where I’ve never made a single wish. This will be my first time- perhaps my last. I open my eyes and blow out the candles. Most of the candles.
I remove the ones that went out. Thirty-nine candles still burning bright. They wait for me to finish the job. I shrug, “Anyone want to help grandpa?” My grandchildren all rush to blow out the remaining candles.
CRACK! Lightning flashes from just outside the window. The following thunder shakes the house; everyone grabs their rattling drinks before they drop off the table. Silence. Soon everyone is laughing and my daughter is cutting the cake.
“Looks like it’s really coming down.” My daughter’s husband says as he peeks out the window. “Weatherman said it was supposed to get bad.”
“Maybe everyone should stay here tonight.” My daughter says. “Drivers here are the worst. Even when it’s nice.”
Tired, I go to sleep early. Since I’m the birthday boy I’m given the guest room. I slip easily into sleep.
I wake to the sound of screaming. The storm outside is still raging. Thunder is rolling in the distance. I jump out of bed and rush to the door. There are more screams now. I go to grab the handle when I stop. My hands. The age spots are gone. They look… young.
I swing open the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I take a step before I realize what I’ve done. _I leapt off the bed? I ran to the door?_ I can’t remember the last time I’ve done either of those two things. This is a dream. More screams. _This is a nightmare._
When I make it to the living room the lights are all turned on. My eyes haven’t adjusted and the light burns little daggers into them. People are crying and talking all around me. Once my eyes recover I look around at a room of strangers. No, not strangers. Then I recognize them. My grandchildren. They’re different- _older._
My daughter sees me and takes a step back. She shakes her head several times and mouths the words, “No. No. No.” She backs up against the wall still shaking her head.
Confused, I run a hand against my face. It feels strange but familiar. I feel a tug on my pajama shirt. It’s Mya. She’s no longer eight; now a teenager old enough to drive. She’s holding something in her hand- a cellphone. In it I see myself as I used to be. How does she have a video of me back then? It’s then I realize I’m not watching a video; it’s the front camera allowing the phone to work as a mirror.
They’re all looking at me- accusing me. It was just a silly birthday wish. I didn’t think anything of it. I can still see myself on Mya’s phone. I hear myself ask, “Since when did you get a cellphone?”
She frowns as she pockets the phone. “I wished for it when I blew out your candles.”
| Not understanding why this familiar but distant feeling was happening, I sit up. It was odd. Not odd as in looks but in the feeling of sitting up almost effortlessly at my age. It had been ages since I felt... good? Young? Able to endure the day, I suppose?
"Meh, maybe today's a good day! No arthritis first thing in the morning" I thought to myself as I positioned my body to get out of my ever calling bed. Yes at this age you still crave sleep as you did in your youth and my bed needed me. But I needed to investigate this first!
As my eyes adjusted to the new mornings light on my bare feet I thought "It's gonna be a great d..." I stopped cold in my thought and my body froze. My feet; they were not mine! They couldn't be! Same with the legs attached to them, not mine either! Curiosity wained to fear and concern as I sat confused as the mornings cold nipped away at my newly acquired youthful toes.
I hurried to the bathroom for a mirror, anything to justify I was still I. As I made my way across the room i did so with only a few strides; much fewer than normal. This only deepened the anxiety towards the feeling I just experienced in my bed.
When I got to the mirror, it didn't help; it was me. Young, maybe late thirties me though. My mind immediately races back to the two cheap dollar store candles and how I moved them. Preposterous! "How can moving candles have such an effect? If I'd have known I would have done this at 92 instead!" I thought musingly as I stared into an obviously broken mirror.
"Whaaa..." I said disingenuously confused. "This cannot be!".
But it was, and the day had just started. | 2018-03-14T12:54:15 | 2018-03-14T12:15:51 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | I've always wanted a familiar. I grew up reverent of my father's. That dirty little mutt happily plods along behind him just like I used to. Like all familiars, it appeared with a plain, white card, only marked with the date of its first appearance and the name of the trait it represented.
"07/29/1993 - Loyalty".
To this day, his parents can't go an hour without mentioning how proud they were when it appeared. Speaking of them, they're quite the proper pair too considering their familiars, Abstinence and Earnestness. Dad's never once told me about Mom's familiar, but I'm sure it was just as noble as his. Of course it would be.
I hate how important familiars are. Colleges, employers, men, they all want to see my card. It's not my fault that I'm 20 and still don't have one. Dad tries to reassure me, saying that everyone gets a familiar eventually, but I've heard stories about people who go their whole life without ever getting one. They can't get jobs, and everyone in their life abandons them. At this point, I assume that's what's going to happen to me.
Sometimes I dream of a world without familiars, where everyone wasn't judged by something they can't control. Maybe tonight I'll dream of that world again. It really is a nice escape.
________________________________________________________
I hear my father's voice. I can tell it's bright. It must be morning.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting up," I mumble, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.
Now, I notice that something's different this morning. Dad isn't his usual, obnoxiously kind self. He's shaking me, and there's a touch of excitement, no, panic in his voice.
"No, Allie, get up now! Your familiar! It's... it's... they're here!"
I jolt awake as soon as I hear those words I felt as if I had been waiting forever to hear. I spin around and sit up, glancing left, then right.
"Really? They're here!? Wait, they?"
Dad's hand is on my shoulder, and he seems... distant. Concerned.
"Dad? What's wrong? Where's my familiar?"
"Allie... honey... there are two. They're just outside."
"Two? What do you mean? Dad, no one has two familiars. Do they?"
My father just looks at me, unsure of what to say, and instead stands up from my bedside and slowly opens my bedroom door.
_____________________________________
I can't believe what I'm seeing. On my bedside table sits the massive, absolutely terrifying form of a translucent, black-feathered carrion bird. It has the most ugly, bald, orange face I've ever seen in my life, and at the end of that terrible face is a sharp, hooked grey beak. Unfortunately, that's not the scariest part. That distinction goes to the deep, seemingly all black, unblinking eyes that seem to be staring directly into my soul. In its disgusting beak is a plain, white card.
I reach out my trembling hand to take the card. The bird stays still, almost like a statue, only ever-so-slightly tilting its head to the side as I pull the card from its mouth. I close my eyes for a moment in anticipation, and I flip the card over. I open my eyes without looking down at it. Dad is watching carefully from the doorway. I can tell he's as worried as I am.
"Go on Allie. Read it," he says, his voice mostly back to its usual, soft tone.
I look down at the card.
"01/20/2017 - Adaptability".
"What does it say? Come on Allie, it can't be that bad."
"Adaptability," I mumble quietly.
"Adaptability? That's not bad Allie! Adaptability is important."
I can't believe him. How can he be acting like this in this situation? Why does he have to always be so sickeningly nice? Adaptability could mean anything. And all of this is ignoring the elephant in the room.
That elephant, of course, isn't actually an elephant. I look down to the right, and notice it, a huge wolf with almost matte grey fur, staring intently at me, another white card clutched securely in its mouth. I slide closer to it to reach the card, and start moving my hand towards it. The wolf starts snarling and I instinctively pull my hand back, but the wolf doesn't move an inch. Instead, it continues to stare. Again, I begin to reach out to take the card, and this time I do so.
I flip the card over immediately and read it.
"01/20/2017 - Ruthlessness".
Maybe it would have been better if I never got a familiar after all. | "Hi Tommy" I'm your familiar said the beautiful angel.
Those were the first words I heard when I woke up and I was ecstatic with joy at finally manifesting my familiar and I felt so much warmth and comfort just being near her.
I hugged her and she hugged me back while ruffling my hair. I was so happy that I couldn't wait to show her off to my aunt and uncle. I started to yell "Aunt!, Unc..." but the angel told me to shush. "I'm going to take you to a better place Tommy and it'll just be our little secret" she said with her radiant smile. I nodded my head and agreed to leave with her secretly.
When we had just gotten to the front door a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed me. It pulled me back and covered my mouth as I was about to scream.
"I don't know how you escaped but your ignorance will get all of us killed" the shadowy figure behind me roared at the angel. Black claws shot out from the shadowy figure and restrained the angel who didn't even try to struggle. I wanted to cry out for the angel to run away but she just kept smiling. Her last words were "I'll come back to take you to a better place next time Tommy" before the shadows ripped her apart and devoured the parts scattered on the ground and across the walls.
I was left to cry in the corner. I screamed at the shadow "why would you do that to my familiar" and it replied "don't worry Tommy I am also your familiar and as long as you live neither her nor I can truly die. I am here to protect you from your own naivety because my master is both you and not you and if you leave this place with her then you will die because you still don't understand anything". "You can't believe everything Tommy because that will get you killed but believe me when I say this. I am doing all of this to protect you and the you who is not you because Heaven isn't a place you can get to using normal means". | 2017-01-20T17:20:07 | 2017-01-20T12:43:33 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | *Calm down*, I think to myself. *This guy is probably some crazy psycho who escaped from some hospital somewhere and somehow got himself a gun and shot my wallet. Yep, perfectly normal state of affairs here. Glad he's not a mugger!*
I watch as the man engaged the safety, and began explaining his actions, as he pocketed his gun behind him.
"You may not know it ma'am, but you were in terrible danger just now. That thing you though was a wallet there? That was a witch's familiar. It was probably going to lead you to its mistress' lair, where your soul would have been absorbed as essence."
I wondered if I heard him right. Then again, he did just shoot my wallet.
"Um, witches?"
"Yep, witches. They've hidden themselves in normal society, but yeah they exist. They feed on the souls of innocent citizens like yourself, usually by leading them to their lair by influencing their victims with their familiars. Why do you think you're even in this dark alley in the first place?"
I took a glance around me. This place *was* kind of seedy. Guess it didn't fit my obviously lady-like image.
"But I was taking a shortcut," I tried to explain.
"That's what makes 'em so terrifying. You THINK you're doing what you want, sure- but that's all part of the spell. You were lucky I got to you when I did. Well, they don't call me the best hunter in the business for nothing."
I started to sweat a little. First witches, now hunters? Seriously? Damn, this guy is the real deal.
"Welp, none of this has anything to do with you, of course," he drawled, turning his back to me. "Just run along, forget this ever happened, and thank your lucky stars I was here when you needed it."
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," I muttered.
"Well, I understand it's difficult to live normally after knowing all this but you have to-"
"No no, you misunderstand. I can't move along because *you just shot my familiar, asshole.*"
"Wha-"
The shock barely managed to register before I shot him with the gun I just managed to steal from his holster.
"Y-you-" he coughed from the ground, unable to move. Well, I did shoot him in a pretty bad place for a human. I watched on as he struggled futilely on the ground, jerking several times before the light left his eyes.
I sighed as I went to retrieve my wallet. "Hey, Lotte, you still alive?"
"*Cough* t-that was mean, master! You just gave me up without any resistance?"
"Well, I thought I could snag an easy one, but he turned out to be a hunter...well, at least he's dead!"
"You didn't manage to absorb his soul though."
"Shaddup," I growled, fiddling with the hole in Lotte.
"Ow, ow, ow, don't vent your frustrations on ME, master!"
"And what was with that screech at the end? You trying to give me away? Good thing he was stupid enough to not suspect why I was carrying around a wallet-familiar in the first place. Must be my beautiful, innocent face."
"He probably though you looked like a homeless mugger. I mean, with your- OW OW OW! I'M SORRY!"
I stopped torturing Lotte and sighed. What a troublesome day. It might have been easier if I did run into a crazy guy...now I had to hide a body, sew up Lotte, and get the hell out of here before someone came to investigate the gunshots.
Oh well. Just another day in the life of an ordinary witch.
| Well, that was unexpected.
"What was that thing?"
He replies almost nonchalantly, "Some alien. I am an agent of the United Nations. You understand that I have to take you in now, right?" He seems sincere, and as if he doesn't actually want to take me in, but rather just has to do it.
"Would it matter if I said no?"
He seems amused, "Well, no. Not really. I am taking you in whether you want to go or not." Well, might as well. He led me over to his car, and gestured that I should get in. I did, and off we went, speeding into the night.
Well, it's not of a decent length, but I think I am going to continue this in the morning. If anyone wants to leave an idea, please do. It helps me brainstorm. | 2017-07-13T00:40:53 | 2017-07-12T23:20:55 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic... | "*No* crust?" the man grunted back. "You sure?"
"Yeah!" I was slightly drunk, and I found it amusing. At worst, I'd end up eating hot tomato sauce and cheese slop with a fork while watching cartoons. "And make it snappy! I'm hungry." I'd specifically picked the '30 minutes or less' place, though I'm really not too good at telling time when I'm inebriated.
"You *sure* that's what you want?"
I hiccuped and confirmed that yes, this is what I wanted. I was giggling, but the pizza place didn't find it as funny as I did.
"All right. Keep an eye out. We'll be dropping it off soon."
I headed back into the living room, which had a perfect view of the street nearby so I could see him coming. I put on Rick and Morty and settled in with another beer. It was anyone's guess as to whether I'd manage to stay awake in the half hour that it would take for them to bring my pie.
--------
I jerked awake at the knock on the door, spilling my beer. *Damn!* There was another knock in rapid succession, and I could see a black SUV waiting in my driveway with the lights on and the engine running. Right. Pizza guy. It all came back to me. I downed what was left of the beer, resolving the clean up the puddle later, and headed to the door.
The pizza guy wasn't the normal acne-ridden scrawny high schooler. Instead, it was a grown man, maybe 25 or so. He wore all black except for a golden belt buckle and a thick gold chain around his neck that looked like it could have been used to safely secure a golden junkyard gate. All it needed was a padlock. And this guy certainly wasn't scrawny: he was built like a linebacker, probably over 250 lbs. He should be guarding a line outside a nightclub, not running pizzas over here at 2 AM.
"I got your... pizza... right here," he said, holding up the thin box. There was a giant bulge in the middle of it, stretching the cardboard. And it certainly didn't *smell* like pizza at all. I took the box in my hand to open it up... and there was no pizza in it. Just a ziploc bag full of powdered sugar.
"This isn't what I ordered, man." My words slurred a bit, and I had to lean against the doorway for support. "Remember? I wanted a pizza with no crust."
He glared at me, glanced around, and pushed the box lid closed again. "Are you fucking crazy?" he growled. "Don't open this out here!" He shoved me through the doorway and followed me inside. "This *is* what you ordered. A *pizza* with *no crust*." He made air quotes and nodded down at the box when he said it.
I hiccuped again and looked back down at the box in my hands. "Whatever, dude." I was hungry enough to eat a bag of powdered sugar anyway. It didn't sound half bad: maybe I could make some pancakes, though that would risk burning my house down. Which is why I'd decided to order a pizza in the first place.
"So where's the cash?" he asked, filling up the doorway into my kitchen.
"Oh, right." I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. I had to blink a few times to separate the ones and the fives from the twenty; everything was starting to blur together. *Shouldn't have had that last beer.* "Here you go!" I held out the $20 toward him; that should about cover it.
He looked down at the bill, and let out a bark of laughter. Even his *laugh* was mean. I'd have to request the high school kid next time I ordered something from this place. I didn't like this delivery guy. "You've got to be kidding me," he said. From his waistband, he pulled out a pistol and casually waved it in my face.
We both stared at each other for a moment; I had a bit of a hard time staying balanced. "Ugh, fine," I told him. I slapped another 2 dollars into his hand, even though the 20 should have been more than enough. "Here's a little extra for you. But next time, make sure it's a *real pizza* instead of sugar, man."
He scoffed. "Nice try, pal. That's gonna be $9,000. *This*," he waved the 20 in my face, "isn't quite gonna cut it."
I gave him a dumbfounded look then glanced down at my wallet. I didn't have that much money in there. Nor in my bank account. Nor would I have that much in *years* of saving.
"Well," I responded, pulling out my phone and showing him the time, "Good thing that you all have that 30-minutes-or-its-free guarantee, right?"
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As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories!
| It wasn't the usual delivery guy that I opened the door to. The man infront of me had a hood pulled up tight to mask his face in shadow.
"Pizza delivery. You uh, you wanna start a tab?" The man asked whilst shifting his weight between his legs.
"A tab?" I enquired.
"Ye, you're obviously a—*sniff*—you know, a connected guy, so you don't need to pay right now if ya don't want."
He shoved the box into my arms and walked away.
"We'll be in touch." He yelled back at me as he got into his dull white delivery van.
Customer service had clearly improved at the Three Moustachios. I took the steaming box into my lounge and turned on the tv.
*Oh for Christ's sake. Crust on the pizza. The pranker has become the prankee.*
I was disappointed that they had ignored my request. They had seemed genuinely interested in my order when I had placed it.
I took a slice of the pepperoni goodness and bit into it. It wasnt bad. I quickly devoured it all the way up to the crust.
*Oh my god, they are really taking the piss. Stuffed crust! I hate stuffed crust. Stuffed with powdered mozzarella by the look of it! Well fuck it, I'm not going to let them win.*
After a couple of bites of the mozzarella powdered crust, I actually started to develop a taste for it. It wasn't long until I was ignoring the pizza and eating only the deliciously moreish crust.
---
"Where the hell have you been?" I yelled at the hooded man as I shook him vigorously.
"I'm — I'm sorry man. You only ordered 10 minutes ago."
I wiped the mozzarella powder from around my mouth and stared at him. He look petrified.
"Where. The. Fuck. Are they. Hand them over!"
The man handed 5 more crustless pizzas over to me. But it wasnt enough! I pushed him to the floor and ran into his van. I devoured another twenty crusts before I felt the sweet release of sleep begin to wash over me.
God, I loved pizza.
| 2016-06-02T10:15:15 | 2016-06-02T10:00:18 | 1,145 | 263 |
[WP] You and 49 others wake up in a weird room. An automated message then begins playing: "For the next 50 years, you will race one another. You have been modified to remain ever youthful. Whoever gets to a checkpoint last is killed. You can use any means to get there. Your first checkpoint? Mars."
One little detail that I intended to add is that the participants are absolved of any crime except murder. | **This wasn't supposed to happen. We had a system.**
I had always dreamed of immortality. To live forever, to have the entire world to explore.
Ha, I never realised how small of a dream that was.
I hadn't asked to be taken away; but with what they offered us, I wouldn't have resisted.
Not to mention the others. I was just a dreamer, a philosopher; and here I was rubbing shoulders with world leaders, top-class scientists, amazing authors, all great minds in their own right.
You know, it's funny: I'm pretty sure I was one of the youngest originally. Not that any of it mattered, at this point. We were all in peak physical form and in perfect health.
I think she was close to seventy before.
I remember when we were first gathered. The day my life- all of our lives- changed. We had been gathered, by someone with what I can only assume to be unimaginable resources. No-one had noticed all the heads of state that went missing, anyways.
When we all first woke up, everyone bickered and threatened.
When they told us our first destination, everyone laughed.
When we were told the stakes, everyone became deathly silent, unwilling to call the bluff.
Slowly but surely, the arguing started with renewed venom, each trying to argue why they deserved to live, why they were more important than each of the others in the room. I had nothing to argue, so I sat there, thinking. A race to Mars was something I had only dreamed to see in my lifetime, much less be a part of.
It took a minute for us all to notice the lone figure standing from his seat. It took us a minute more to recognise him, but anyone who had a television set or even a newspaper since 1969 would know that face.
"I... wasn't first last time. And I don't need to be first this time." He stared at his hands, strong and smooth as they were the last time, as his words came slowly, heavily. "But I was ready to move on. I was ready to... to be done. But hell, if I can take just one more journey..." He began to tear up, his face fighting against the tide of emotion. "If I can take just one more journey, I'll do it. I'll be the last one out of that airlock. I can't think of a way I'd rather go."
And that was that. It was decided.
I only knew him for the forty years it took to get to Mars, but I missed him- I still do, even as I'm about to lose her; I think of him, and every other companion we've lost along the way. But they died happy, most of them, exactly where they wanted to be.
We had a backup in place, you know. A voting system in case someone didn't volunteer.
It's a bit comforting to think, as I look into her eyes for the last time, that we had never needed to call a vote.
I chronicled and analyzed everything we would go on to do. Some of it, the others never even noticed. From planetoids in other systems, to the depths of our own seas and eventually the mantle of the planet itself. Leaps and bounds in technology. Travel was forever changed, agriculture was made almost redundant, violence- well, violence never went away, but war on a large scale did. And people didn't need to fight over resources or even land anymore. It wasn't utopia, but I like to think we got pretty damn close. Maybe... maybe that's what our mysterious benefactor had in mind all along.
Our relationship was never a secret, her and I. There was a flare of jealousy from the others, here and there, but nothing really came of it. I think that's why he- I think that's why he volunteered. So her and I could have one more century together. He liked to joke about us having the 'most timeless love story'. I guess it was true, with how old we were.
But time marches onward, and I couldn't bear the thought of living without her. I talked to her at length, and I made it clear that I would be behind her for the last leg, even before we knew what the final destination was. She argued, telling me I had more left to contribute to the world than she did. For twenty years, we fought. Eventually, though, she seemed to accept my decision.
We had made our preparations, we had said our goodbyes, and we were on one last shuttle ride together. We hadn't named this planet yet, but it was beautiful. Fitting, I suppose. I looked at her for one long moment, and gave her a soft smile, before looking down over the gorgeous indigo sea.
And then I felt her boot in my back. | I cough, as I awake to the foul, warm stench of body odour. Confused, I lie flat on the cold, smooth floor and stare at the clinical, white ceiling. Though the floor on my back is cold, I can feel a warm heat around me. People.
I roll on to my side. There are a good number of people lying around, crammed together - no fewer than forty and no more than a hundred - mostly sleeping, a few awake like me. Examining those that are awake, they seem just as confused as I.
I look at the inside of my right wrist. Nothing. My watch is gone; all my clothes are gone.
Still confused, I think back. What were my last? Memories... A car - a petrol station... I was filling up my car... My family was in it... We were on holiday... In France?...
Then white. The clinical white of a facility.
Then black, the black of dreams.
Dreams... Sleep... I'm... Tired...
BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!
Abruptly, an electronic alarm goes off. I am pulled out of my near-slumber and daydreaming by it. Everyone in the room seems to be, too.
A mellow voice begins to cheerily chirp in a feminine sing song voice.
"Good morning everybody! It's good to see you've all worken up nicely! You've been selected for a special program! Special surgery has been performed to make you imortal!
You'll take place in a forty-nine part race. For science! After every checkpoint, one participant will be removed! Those who are removed will unfortunately have their lives terminated!
Without further ado, the first checkpoint is Mars. Good luck, everyone!"
(Part 1/∞)
For all my other posts check out r/FreezyGeekz | 2018-06-01T11:59:47 | 2018-06-01T11:42:10 | 83 | 17 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | Distant rain signaled to Tuvo that the attack had begun. The smell of burning leather passed his nostrils when he looked down to see his slippers scorching on the near molten rock face of the cliff. “Shit!” he muttered to himself quietly. His mage was leaking again, causing the rock to heat.
A hand quickly pressed flat on his back as he heard Rena begin whispering, “Bodo sent havan, cudo gi logoma...” The bright color of the heated rock slowly dissipated and he turned to face the crowd that stood behind him.
Over 300 magi had gathered for this, their final push into the city.
“The wickine blame our compassion for this war!” Tuvo shouted to the crowd, “But we fight for Tulls, we fight for a cold mead in our hands and a warm fire in our hearth! The shadow of Bolar will no longer control this city! His reign has come to an end, and tonight, we feast on the absence of his darkness!”
As the crowd shouted in approval, Kedo stepped forward to face the crowd. “Are you sure about this intel?” Kedo asked Tuvo, “The image looks old, we could be teleporting into a jail cell.”
“Sala is dead” Tuvo responded, “If we meet in jail, then I will melt the stones that surround the entire city and take the damned Inquiry with me, the whole lot of them.”
Kedo nodded and bent down, laying the image on the ground and touching his hand to a section of powder that had been drawn in a circle around the magi. Kedo's lips hung just over the substance as he whispered, “Bedo flea kitar” The powder ignited in an instant and the crowd was surrounded by blue flame before they disappeared, leaving the cliff-side scorched and barren.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The inner sanctum of Bolar's apothecary was filled with all manner of color and vibrancy. Petals of silver lettle reflected the light that bounced about the chamber, originating from a small orb that hovered above the center of the hall.
Bolar touched the thorn of a blue rose and sighed. He pressed his finger gently into the sharp protrusion and squeezed a small drop of his blood onto the floor, watching it evaporate into a thick black smoke as it met with the marble floors.
His contemplation was broken by a female voice, “The attack has begun”
“Thank you Agana” Bolar responded with a sigh, “There are days I wish that these beautiful plants of yours could supply us food and shelter, instead of just mage.”
“The world turns because of mage, without it, we would toil with only our hands, and we would never survive the evening winters” Agana replied.
“Wishful thinking” Bolar smiled, “Come Agana, let us see what poor soul we have captured in our net.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The group of magi appeared in a room surrounded by darkness. Tuvo knelt down and touched the cold stone floor, and as he did, a bright line of light shot from his finger outwards, igniting the stone in a brilliant light of intense heat. The line ran the length of the room and shot up the far wall, chasing the darkness away, up to the ceiling, and around in a thin circle, surrounding the small room.
The line slowly dripped molten rock every few seconds as Tuvo began to speak, his voice echoing off the stone walls, “The rat has tricked us, just as you thought Kedo. It looks like I'll have to melt us out of here anyways.”
“Bona!” Tuvo shouted, “Which direction is clear?”
Bona stepped forward from the crowd and closed her eyes as a dull red light glowed from behind her eyelids. “There are six passageways that surround us. Below is a forty-meter space that I cannot see through, and above us is stone, wood, and tar, presumably the roof of this building.”
As Bona pointed to each of the passageways behind the stone walls, Tuvo's line of light rushed to the spot and drew a circle in the wall, spiraling quickly in the spot as it cut through the thick stone. Melting and tearing at the walls, the line slowly carved six openings to six different passageways that surrounded the group.
“Formation Caldera four!” Tuvo shouted to the magi, “Remember, our goal is to take the sanctum and capture Bolar! Do not kill anyone if it can be helped, especially Bolar! He's mine...”
The group split into six divisions of fifty and began making their way into the darkness of the passageways, unaware of the secrets that lay ahead of them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agana knelt in the mortuary, deep beneath the central sanctum. The glowing roots from her apothecary far above still pierced through even the thickest of the ancient granite walls surrounding the crypt. As the glowing tendrils undulated around a stone angel's face, Agana wept quietly in her solitude.
“Sala, I miss you so much” she whispered through tears to the darkened corpse that lay at her feet, “The cold is so difficult to fight back every night without you. Even as we search for a new Sala, I could never find another e'loe to warm my heart like you.”
From the darkest part of the crypt, Bolar's disjointed voice whispered to Agana through a small patch of thick black smoke, “There are hundreds, we'll need all three of us together for us to have a chance at stopping them. Even with the maze thinning their ranks, we still have dozens to fend off”
“Hundreds?!” Agana replied in horror, “What is Tuvo thinking?”
The glowing tendrils slowly began to dim and shrivel as the darkness of the room coalesced into a human form just behind Agana. Bolar rested his hand on Agana's shoulder as he spoke softly, “We only have ten hours remaining until the setting sun. If we don't stop this advance soon we won't have time to prepare for the evening winter.”
“It's just so difficult to hold back the cold with only the three of us” Agana replied, “Even with the insulative power of your e'lotia, your darkness can't hold back the cold on its own.”
“Tuvo won't be heating the walls tonight” Bolar cautioned, “We'll need all the mage you can squeeze out of the apothecary in this battle. We should get back upstairs so you can begin preparing the purifiers.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Silence followed Tuvo's group as they crept carefully through the narrow corridors of the maze. In ranks of three, they made their way through the darkness with Tuvo's thin line of light following along the walls.
“No!” Bona shouted.
“How many?” Tuvo asked calmly.
“The entire third division” Bona replied, “I don't understand. What is it that's befalling the other groups? There's no way they could all be defeated in an instant. Not even Set has that kind of power. They all just keep disappearing in an instant, the entire division, it just doesn't make any sense.”
“We've lost half of our forces in the last two hours” Kedo reminded Tuvo, “At this rate, we'll only have a few dozen soldiers left to face the other e'loe. You can't fight this war yourself, you're going to have a hard enough time facing Bolar. Even with all the extra mage we've collected, you just can't contain it all if...”
“I know the risks!” Tuvo shouted, “...Bolar made his decision when he abandoned the outer regions and allowed Sala to fall. He has left us with no alternatives. Even if I die today, the loss of another e'loe will force an imbalance in the rift, making way for another to rise, possibly even from the lower tiers.”
“We're all just soldiers” Kedo replied, “Without you, we don't have a chance at facing the other e'loe. I know that you want to be the only one to face Bolar, but we need to work together. Augment our strength and we may have a chance, spearhead yourself into Bolar's heart and all of our sacrifices will be in vain.”
Bona interrupted their echoing conversation, “There's a chamber ahead.”
---------------------------------------------
~~~ I'd love to finish this story, but I've got to get to work. If I get at least 20 karma I'll write the ending tonight, hope you enjoy the read! :) ~~~~~
UPDATE: 5:43
I'm on my break and I was able to write up the second part. I think I can finish this out tonight when I get home in a few hours. Any feedback would be appreciated! :)
UPDATE 10:56
All finished! I passed the maximum character count, so the last part of the story is in the comments below. Thanks for the love and I hope you guys enjoy the story! Any feedback, comments on the characters, or ideas about the universe would be welcome. :) | "Help!" the woman screamed while backing away from me.
I took my time, matching my steps to her backpedaling. No one could stop me even if someone *had* heard her. Any city guard armed with merely a sword was just as likely to cower in fear as this woman, and I didn't blame them.
Each time my foot hit the ground, the surrounding area wilted away. Vegetation, paving—hell, even the dirt—decayed beneath me.
My longer strides caught me up to her faster than I wanted. An amateur mistake. The anticipation always generated more fear than the act itself.
"Please..." she begged in a softer voice.
I slowly reached a single hand out to grasp her around the neck when a loud gasp from the audience distracted me. Damnit. Every time, I swear.
Every year since the war, the governor had asked me to take part in this All Hallow's Eve celebration, but I still could never get used to performing. Someone always had to make some annoying sound from the gallery.
After losing my composure for just a moment, I returned to the scene and began to strangle my fellow actor. As the script told, she collapsed facing away from the audience so that a stagehand could hastily apply some face paint to make her look broken. In the dark light it might appear something like my actual power to the audience.
I shoved her body back towards the audience with a foot to reveal her hideous visage and the crowd gasped again.
"The Blight could come for anyone," I addressed to the onlookers. Man, who wrote this stuff? I didn't mind the acting, but I was pretty sure I knew how to be scary all my own. I was a Blight mage after all.
I exited the stage, signaling the end of the play and applause broke out from behind me. All of the rest of the actors gathered and we went out for a bow, reigniting the audience. Some screamed out my name.
Maybe I wasn't so scary after all. No one really cared what type of magic I possessed, and only saw me trying to provide entertainment. Being labeled as a hero of the war didn't help either. But I didn't mind being loved. It helped sometimes.
I left the stage, prepared to go get a drink and enjoy some of the festival as a young man no older than sixteen or seventeen came up to me.
"Hey, you're pretty great." he said. "My uh, my girlfriend wanted to meet you, but she was too scared to come over." I guess I could still frighten teenagers.
I let out a small chuckle. "Thanks, kid. I do my best." I looked around to spot his girl some paces back. Pretty. "Not bad," I winked at the boy while gesturing to the girl.
She hunched her shoulders and looked away, but at the insistence of her boyfriend, finally shuffled over.
"Don't worry, I don't bite," I told them.
"M-magister Daelen," She stammered out. "I-it's an honor t-to meet you. I-I've been to your shows since I was seven."
Oh. So she was star struck, not actually scared. Maybe that was for the best.
"Happy to have a fan, young lady. Nice to meet you." I extended my hand and as she took it some of her nervousness wore off.
"I've read about all your battles in the war! How you defeated Magister Yorim, how you stopped the army at the King's Pass—" I stopped listening as she went on. Normally I would have shrugged them off by now, but tonight was a good night.
"Hey you two," I started, "why don't we talk more while we enjoy the festival? I was about to get a drink myself." The boy gave me a deep frown, but the girl's eyes lit up like the sun.
I led them around for a good while, answering her questions and dodging the boy's attempts to shake me. I stuck to the less populated streets to avoid too much suspicion. The trick was to build enough confidence while not attracting attention.
I interrupted the girl's latest inane question, "I know a good place this way," I pointed down a particularly dark alley, "that will serve kids like you."
Again, the girl seemed interested, but the boy balked.
"Come on, Chrissy," he said. "Let's get out of here."
"But he's so cool! And easy to talk to. Please?"
And so the two followed me down an abandoned lane into the darkness. When I couldn't hear a single sound besides our footsteps, I stopped and turned to them
"End of the line."
"Wha—" the boy said, cutting off as he saw the world around me melt away. Blight in full force radiated from my body, crumbling the building behind me. Evidence, but I couldn't help myself tonight.
He tried to run, but I sent two tendrils of Blight to his feet, crippling him instantly. Blight in its purest form manifested itself as wisps of black smoke, and as each coiled around him, his scream pierced the night. His momentum sent him tumbling down to land on his face, but that was the least of his problems.
I hadn't used enough power to shrivel his feet away completely, but instead just enough to keep his pain receptors active while thoroughly destroying the flesh. It was an art form to get just right. I was much better at than acting.
He lay on the paved alley floor, wailing, all the while his girl stood stick still. Her mouth hung open, taking in the scene.
"Now you get to watch me in action. I'm sure that as such an enthusiast of my work, this will be exhilarating for you."
Her eyes widened further with each word I spoke. I sent another jolt of power to the boy, withering a way a fingertip. The screams grew louder, if that was possible.
"No, no, no," she cried, slinking down to the ground.
Just as I had always known, the anticipation was the most frightening.
| 2016-11-12T11:55:40 | 2016-11-12T11:34:36 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] You are a part of a cult that believes the end of the world is near. Unlike most doomsday cults your group is made up of ex-scientists who discovered an ancient evil deep within the earth, and found that it was due to awaken in a few weeks time. | The institute is built directly over the brick well. Now the well sits crooked, stooped, inside the vast basement.
On my first day here, Hopkins — a retired physicist — reels up the great metal bucket. He cranks it by hand and it takes two hours and a pool of sweat for it to arrive.
“Why by hand?” I ask. “Why not have a motor do it?”
”Science is dead,“ says Hopkins. It isn’t what he says that scares me, but how he says it. A prominent physicist who nonchalantly declared his life’s work dead. Same factual tone someone might use to say their goldfish had died and they’d flushed it down the toilet. His faith is lost.
The bucket froths. It breathes thick curls of black fog that spiral into dark towers.
”What is—“
Hopkins silences me with a finger to his lips.
As the mist expands outwards, swirls around us and darkens the basement, I hear a sound inside of it. As if there are people in the fog, just behind me — now to my side.
I can’t make out all the words and languages but, as a priest, I am able to understand a snippet of Latin.
*Ipse venit. Mortem mortem.*
Then, the piercing scream arrives. Anguish and hatred and a thousand other feelings I can’t label. It rattles my brain and I cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut.
Eventually, Hopkins taps my arm and I slowly let my hands fall.
”It’s okay, Father.”
My ears ring like I’m a recently hammered gong, and Hopkins sounds very distant. My heart seem to vibrate just the same as my ears.
For some reason, I recall a vacation to the coast back when I was a little boy. I‘d been searching for crabs in rock-pools of water, when the tide reached out and snatched me, stole me into the freezing ocean’s mouth. I was certain I would die, and I’d wanted to scream but each time I tried my lungs filled with more water.
”I heard words in the fog,” I say. ”Latin. *He’s coming. Death death*.”
Hopkins grunts. “We didn’t call you here to translate. The voices don’t need translating. Often, we reel up visions instead of sounds. They’re far more visceral — we know exactly what’s coming. Be glad you didn’t see a vision.”
”How long have we got?” I ask.
“When I first arrived, it took four hours to reel the bucket up. That was three weeks ago.” And with that, he leaves left me alone with my dark thoughts and the slowly dispersing fog.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
We play cards, mostly. Poker, bridge. Anything where mathematics can provide a slight advantage. What that means is I usually lose.
There are a dozen of them. Biologists, chemists, physicists. No philosophers though. Only me as the representative outside of science.
Pierre says, “Your turn, Father. I raised.“
I have a pair of fives and fold.
Pierre lets out a single sardonic laugh. “Not much point you being here if you’re only going to fold.”
Pierre was the first of the scientists to study the well. He’s in charge as much as anyone can be here. And I know he voted against inviting me, but the others thirsted for repentance and outvoted him. On the day before the evil rises — in a week, now — they will confess their sins to me and I am to forgive them. That is why I am here.
”It’s not me that’s folded,” I say as I look around the ashen faces and bowed backs of these once great men and women. “For thousands of years people like you have fought against people like me. Science against religion. To prove that we are in control of our own destinies. And now you all give up?”
Danielle, a young astronomer, says, “We were wrong. Science was a distraction from living, from life.“ She lowers her voice. “From death.”
”Or perhaps science can save us,” I say.
Pierre slams his cards down on the desk. “Science can do nothing to save us! You’ve seen the well. What’s down there doesn’t behave in any scientific way. We can’t hold the fog in containers, as it passes through them like ghosts. We can’t block up the well even with steel, as whatever lid we try dissolves in seconds. No cameras or microphones work beneath the entrance. Technology is useless. Soon the well will froth over and the earth will die. That is the final scientific fact of this world.“
The day the ocean grabbed me and tried to drown me was the day I lost my own father. The day I became religious, in a way. The water punched into my lungs, and my eyes saw only blackness and burning. And then my father’s arm was around me, and he was swimming us against the tide as waves battered us and pushed us under time and time again. He wasn’t a strong swimmer, or strong in any physical sense, but he refused to let go, refused to let me drown.
”Where’s your faith?” I say to them. “You’ve believed in science all your lives. Where’s your faith in it now?”
Danielle looks up at me. “Are we right to have faith still, Father?”
”We must always have faith.”
“Enough,” says Pierre. He turns his cards over to reveal a pair of twos. “You don’t even have faith, Father. Certainly not in yourself.”
&#x200B;
The bucket is metal and wide and solid.
I clamber in, although it’s hard to hold my balance.
”It’ll take an hour,” says Danielle. She is the only person who knows I’m doing this. I needed someone to assist me, to lower me down. “Then, I’ll give you an hour before I reel you back up.”
I nod and clutch my crucifix to my chest with one hand, holding the rope for balance with my other. “I’m ready.”
She bites her lip and pauses a moment. ”Do you truly think you can stop it?”
”I don’t know,” I say, honestly.
Danielle tries to smile, but it flickers out like a snuffed candle. She turns the handle.
I lower into the rock-gut of the earth, until the light above me becomes a pinprick, then becomes as black as below, as if someone has put a thumb over the well’s eye, or over my own.
That day I almost drowned... I ended up on the shore, my mother dragging me away from the waves and rocks. Then she ran, screaming, back to the ocean, yelling my father’s name over and over and over. But he would never answer. There was only the thunderous crashing of the waves.
I hear the voices now. The figures in the mist. They tap cold fingers on my neck, run their nails down my back until I bleed, whisper seductively in my ear.
*Go back, priest, and you might yet live.*
I think of how my father must have felt as he dove into the freezing waters. Thinking not of himself, but only of me.
Now, I only think of my children. All of them. Every living soul above me.
I won’t be coming back. I know that already. But that’s not important.
Whether I return from the freezing ocean doesn’t matter as much as whether I jump in and try. | Not even our fellow scientists believed us. Group 504, the ones that went crazy. We were the laughingstock of the academic world, a joke that others would make before exploring some great unknown.
“Don’t come back a 504.”
They would tease, not realizing the horrors they were so readily ignoring, something that despite us being unable to prove, we all knew existed.
Ocean exploration intrigued me as a child, a world of unknown creatures that was far more accessible than the vast emptiness of space. Like the others in the group, I pursued the interest with an insane devotion, missing dates, parties, and funerals to get the grades needed to join such a project.
Group 504, I wore that name with pride when they assigned it, a group of ten up-and-coming scientists, each dedicated to the craft. The people around me felt more like family to me than my actual family. People who shared my love for the sea, a love that we would spend hours on end discussing by the watercooler. It all was going so perfectly until we encountered it.
A blip on our camera, a strange golden mass of flesh bundled into a ball. By our estimates, the creature had to be fifty feet, something we never believed was possible. Moving our camera around the mass, we tried to draw closer, having to stop as our camera bumped into an invisible current, unable to push past it.
No one dared speak when the camera moved, only the odd gasp of awe being present. The mass of flesh vibrating, in some form of stasis or perhaps sleep? As we zoomed in on the flesh, the slick skin peeled open, an eyeball popping free, staring at us through the camera, that’s when we received the warning.
It said no words, only flashing images of a great flood in our mind, humans being torn apart by the razor-sharp waves. Buildings collapsing onto people and the god-awful screams of those fleeing the destruction. With the horrific sight revealed to us, another few images flashed. These revealing pollution and weaponry, a sign we interpreted as a warning to stop our corrupt ways or face extinction.
When we all awoke from our trance, we would find blood on our clothing. Some having bloody noses while others had it coming from their eyes or mouth. Whatever it was, had left its mark on us. Turning our attention to the screen once more, we would find our footage corrupted, our camera having no memory of the past encounter, only showing footage of a friendly jellyfish bumping into it.
We tried to warn everyone, but no one believed us. At first, they thought it was a cleverly crafted joke by the new group of scientists, commending us on trying to trick the older heads at the facility. However, with each passing day they became concerned about our obsession, unable to work anymore, instead we devoted our time to decorating our office, trying to show the creature we were listening.
When word spread about our odd decorations, our paintings, and strange golden symbols on the wall, we were fired. Told there was no evidence of such a finding and that we were all insane.
We were insane? They were the insane ones, killing and polluting while that creature laid in waiting, preparing to come and eradicate us. It was maddening, having to rely on each other for consoling.
That was the beginning of the cult, as they would call it. Group 504. A group, not a cult. Dedicated to preserving humanity by ending our wicked ways. No wonder we were the laughingstock of the world. If anyone followed our demands, the rich would lose their massive profits. No one willing to risk losing profits, even at the cost of their lives.
I think we all knew our efforts were for nothing. We were smart enough to realize that. Still, we were more than willing to make our last weeks of life torturous in the small hope that the creature might acknowledge us. Hoping that the creature would notice our efforts and give us more time. The chance of that happening seemed slim, though. Our group not growing in any shape or form.
We had media attention and the occasional visitor, but none came to us for the right reasons. Both interested in us becoming their next content, seeing us as a Freakshow to be gawked at. I just hope when the day comes, humanity knows we tried to save them, even if only for a split moment before our deaths.
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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.) | 2021-04-27T07:13:12 | 2021-04-27T06:03:23 | 1,182 | 115 |
[WP] You're the wizard's apprentice, and of course the first few years involve running errands and doing other tasks. He hands you a daily schedule, but to your confusion the total hours for the different tasks add up to more than 24. "Figure it out" He says, "I chose you for a reason." |
"Sir, I just checked my tasks for the day, and... well frankly I won't be able to complete this in the day. This is three days work at least, and they're all marked to be done today?" I looked up from my unusually long list of tasks to find that his eyes were already fixed on me.
His brow furrowed, he leaned in as he spoke, seemingly trying to add an intensity to his words, but just missing the mark. "Figure it out Nick, after all, I chose you for a reason."
The Great Wizard, St. Gilford was my master and mentor and had a flare for the theatrics. But what wizard doesn't? I was slowly coming to the conclusion that most Wizards became Wizards to show off. Not me though, I want to help make the world a better place... I never had a lot growing up but I always heard tales about Wizards' magic doing incredible things, making something from nothing, making things disapear, fixing broken things and even healing people.
But for whatever reason, they usually use their magic for their own convenience and benefit. Hell, most of the stuff on this list is the same usual finder gatherer tasks he always gives me... all except one. I am to deliver a birthday gift to his Neice. I didn't even know he had a neice. And of course the only thing on the list for someone else is the very last thing there.
She will get her present. And it will not just be the towel he has asked me to retrieve. She will get the best damn present she has gotten in her life. Her birthday won't be like my childhood birthdays. She will love it, and she will feel loved. I set off.
I quickly got my pack together, I headed into the woods, firstly I needed to get his copious amounts of ingredients that were scattered far and wide through the thick forest. I picked and foraged and scavenged and hunted as quickly as I could, all the while keeping Gilford's neice in the back of my mind.
I went to the shops, exchanged packages with scholars, handed out potions for trade, gave researchers test results, swapped informational sheets and handed a carpenter magically enhanced tools, I went through the town and forest as fast as I could, doing my best to be thorough and careful and as meticulous as I had been taught to be.
Finally, through some miracle, I was at the end of the list, the sun was still up. At least I think it was. I had been moving so fast I didn't really have time to check and I was inside getting her a present. Fortunately I found a gift that felt perfect. I had never met her but I had a really good feeling about this one.
I raced to their home. I knocked on the door, it swung open and I was greeted by a smiling mother "good morning, oh you must be Nick with Gwen's birthday present, please let Gilford know that she very much appreciates his persistence in his love of towels."
Apparently not wanting to shoot the messenger, she graciously accepted the gift, momentarily noting it's weight, nodded and closed the door. I waited on the street as I heard Gwen quickly open her gift, which was followed by screams of excitement and happiness. My cheeks burned red, and an unstoppable smile stretched from ear to ear.
Wait... "good morning"? How could it be morning? I made my way back to the Wizards small hut. The door opened revealing the interior which was, as was with most wizards, much bigger on the inside.
"Done already? In under an hour? Why my boy, you're more exceptional than I thought. Did Gwen like what you picked for her?" Gilford was smiling warmly down at me.
"An hour? But how... when did I-" I stammered as I tried to gather myself.
"I noticed it when we first met boy, time seems to... bend to your will. I have been curious what would happen if you were appropriately motivated. It just took some time for this selfish old fool to realise your desires and aspirations and purely selfless in nature." He stroked his beard as billows of colourful smoke wafted through the house. "Boy, this is just the beginning... keep on this path, become a wizard, fulfil your dream. As St. Nick, you will do great things, you will change the world." | Being the White Wizard’s apprentice is an honest days work.
Still. I didn’t spend 7 years and $350k in tuition to spend my days skinning newts, grinding herbs, and swiping right for the White Wizard Elon Musk.
“Elon. I’ve never let you down. But today’s list is impossible.”
“Fucking millennial. Siri could do your job better. Figure it out. Or don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”
Knowing it was impossible, I went to the local apothecary to begin planning tomorrow’s inevitable job search. As I administered the final drops of my Starbucks down my gullet, I overheard a conversation between two hooded figures who were huddled together in the corner.
My Apple watch could hardly keep up as my heart rate soared dangerously high from the speedball of excitement and caffeine.
The next 23 hours and 11 minutes were a blur. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, vape-break, tick, tick, tick, tick. Done.
Yet... although I had completed my tasks for Elon and he wouldn’t fire me today, I knew it didn’t matter. Soon my job would be irrelevant.
“You got them done? See, I was right again. So how’d you do it?” asked Elon.
I repeated to Elon what I had overhead in the apothecary, “TaskRabbit. The convenient and affordable way to get things done around the home. Now that’s real magic.” | 2019-01-14T15:34:44 | 2019-01-14T13:24:49 | 18 | 10 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | "What are you in for?" my cellmate asked.
"Grammar," I said, my eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hmm?" he said, sitting up in his bunk to hear me better. "You say something about your Grandma?"
"No," I said. "*Grammar*. The rules of composition for effective communication."
He laughed. "How did grammar get you thrown in mega-max?"
"It's fucking hard in French," I said.
"Really? I thought French and English have a lot in common."
"Well, they do, in terms of vocabulary. But there's a lot of really big differences. Especially verbs and tenses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, for instance, they have two verbs for putting something in the past tense: *Être* and *avoir*. Some verbs take one, some take the other, some take both depending on circumstance."
"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal."
"You don't watch the news much, do you?"
"No," he said, "we're not allowed to watch it in here. The only thing I hear about the outside is through new cellmates. And my last cellmate before you kicked it about a year ago."
I laughed. "No wonder you didn't recognize me."
"So are you gonna tell me what you're really in for?"
"Depends. Are you religious?"
"Lapsed Buddhist," he said.
"Ah, that's fine. As long as you're nothing Abrahamic. Most Abrahamic people want to kill me."
"Why's that?"
"Got Jerusalem nuked. And Mecca and Medina. And Bethlehem. Lots of other places too, but those are the ones they're all pissed about."
"Oh," he said. "So *that's* what you're in for."
"Well it wasn't on purpose. It was just a mistake." I sighed. "But yeah, that's why I'm in mega-max. And why I'm in mega-max on Europa. Earth, Mars, Ceres, lots of Christians and Muslims and Jews there, so they all sort of want to kill me. People would've burnt down the prisons just to get me. The hope is that on a rock like this, where everyone's Hindu or Buddhist or whatnot, I won't get murdered too fast."
"I don't get how this can have been over a French grammar mistake," he said.
"It was, I swear. A five-word sentence."
He raised his voice slightly, annoyed. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
"Well, uh, you see... I was the secretary-general of the U.N.," I said. "I was negotiating the final terms of peace in the Middle East, and they don't love English-speakers down there, and French is the number-two international language, so we decided we'd use that. Well, the talks were at that delicate point right at the end, where it looks like smooth sailing, but there's also the highest risk of someone backing out and things going really badly."
"And...?"
"I told you. *Être* and *avoir*. You see, *messieurs-dames, nous avons tous fini* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'done with our task' sense of the word 'finished.' *Messieurs-dames, nous* sommes *tous finis* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'gonna die' sense of the word 'finished.' So I came out of the negotiating room to tell the crowd we'd reached an agreement, and... Well the rest is history."
"Well shit," he said.
"Yep," I said.
"Incidentally," he asked, "how did South Asia fare during the war?"
"Pretty bad. Things spiraled out from the Middle East onward, India and Japan got into a pretty big war with Pakistan and China."
"Huh. Can't have been good for Nepal," he said.
I chuckled morbidly. "God no. Whole country got nuked to Hell."
He didn't laugh back. I heard his bunk creak as he rose. "The *whole* country? Including Lumbini? Where Lord Buddha was born?!"
I gulped. "Listen, man, I told you, it was all an accident."
And then his hands were around my neck.
----
Edit: I know "Thanks for the gold"-style comments are gauche, but I just wanna say, in addition to getting me gold, this comment has pushed my total combined karma to over 100,000. Feels good to do it on a comment I'm proud of. Thanks y'all. | Jeremy hung up the phone. His ear was ringing after the blasting he had just received from the CEO. He took a deep breath and dialed Alexandra's desk phone.
Alexandra sat down across the desk from Jeremy. She looked tired and stressed. "I'm sorry Mr English, I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news this morning."
"I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." Jeremy responded
Alexandra looked down at the desk "How was I to know?"
Jeremy exploded "HOW WERE YOU TO KNOW???" he pounded the desk "It's the leading religious text in the galaxy! How did you not notice the typo? You're a frigging proof reader! It's your job to check the text!!!!"
"But I've never read the book. I'm not a Adamsonian. I didn't know it was wrong." Tears welled up in Alexandra's eyes.
Jeremy hung his head and mentally counted to ten "I'm going to have to let you go. We are going to lose the account we are being sued by more people and organisations than I care to think about. The company will probably go under."
Alexandra wiped her eyes and nodded. She didn't dare talk in case the sob in her throat escaped.
Jeremy leaned against the desk as Alexandra left the room. He shook his head "who hadn't read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy?" he thought to himself.
As Alexandra left the room he turned back to the 1081st edition of the guide. There on the back above the blurb in neon two centimeter high text was the offending sentence "The answer is not forty-two." | 2015-06-19T05:45:51 | 2015-06-19T04:04:57 | 1,136 | 410 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday they receive a letter from their future selves. Some recieve long messages about their future lovers or messages about changes they would have made. Yours contains nothing but a small list of locations and the words, "NEVER VISIT". | My mom got a detailed set of instructions on how to meet my dad. Mom being Mom, she tossed it- well, tried to, the paper got caught by the wind, and landed squarely in the lap of my dad, who'd been sitting on a nearby bench, reading.
My dad got a time and a radio station. He got really excited about the whole thing, thinking it was the start of some grand mystery... it was a trivia contest question he happened to know the very specific answer to.
My sister's told her to smile more, and good things would happen. Katie really worked herself up into a rage over that one, but even she's not spiteful enough to not listen to her future self.
Me? I just might be.
Salt Lake City, Utah was the first location.
By the time we started seeing signs for the city, it was approaching three in the morning. I looked over at Danny, blinking blearily in the dark confines of the car. He looked back. "You're sure about this?"
No two people had the same letter. It just didn't happen. But Danny's was pretty damn close. Most people seemed to take this as proof that we were soul mates, like both being told to stay the hell away from Quezon City in the Philippines meant we were simply made for one another. I was doubtful, as was Danny. However, we had compared lists after getting job offers with the same consulting firm, and of the five locations on each of our letters, we had three in common.
"You bet," I mumbled. "You remembered to call ahead of time, right?"
"Um."
"Shit." I fumbled around for my phone, found it, scrolled through my contact list, squinting, and called. Someone picked up on the second ring, fortunately.
"Mrs. Osborn?"
"Yes?" A tentative voice replied. "Who is this?"
"The consultants you spoke to last week- our preliminary visit is scheduled for tomorrow morning? Is that time still good for you?"
"Yes, of- of course," she stammered. "I'm sorry, this is just such a relief... I haven't been able to sleep in days- the kids are terrified-,"
"I understand," I said soothingly; I didn't, because this was our first 'job', and I wouldn't understand until much, much later. "Your address is 316 Woodside Avenue, Park City, correct?"
"Yes," she sighed in relief. "Yes, that's it. Thank you so much."
"We'll see you tomorrow Mrs. Osborn- oh, is he still contained?"
She made a confused noise. "I'm sorry?"
"Your husband," I said calmly. "Contained to the basement, correct? I understand a neighbor helped you restrain him, after the... incidents began to become too volatile to manage?"
"Yes," she whispered, as if in fear of someone overhearing. "Yes, I can hear him down there... He won't stop screaming, but I can't- it's just if anything happens to me, the kids, they'd be left all alone-,"
"Your safety is critical, ma'am. Wait until we arrive tomorrow. Do not engage with the subject- I mean, Mr. Osborn- before our arrival. We'll handle everything."
She voiced her thanks again, and hung up. I leaned back in my seat with a groan. "Jesus. I think I could hear him too."
Danny shrugged. "Guess we'll see tomorrow."
In a sense, you could call our line of work 'risk assessment'. I think a more apt name for it would be 'damage control'. Future me probably should have suggested some safer career paths instead of just rattling off locations, but then again... They know me too well.
Salt Lake City was a mistake. | It was a whirlwind week, five locations in as many days, full of love, knowledge, wealth, splendor, and finally, the contentment of a future secured. She waved goodbye as the yacht sailed out of the lagoon of her new South Pacific atoll.
She wasn't entirely surprised to see an elderly version of herself picking her way out of the grove behind her. They stood some small distance apart and smiled to one another.
"Just one question," said the younger self. "Why would you try to keep all this from me?"
The older self laughed. "I didn't. Nobody could ever tell us what to do. So that's all we had to do to make it all fall into place." | 2016-11-24T03:29:58 | 2016-11-24T03:17:06 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The Goose has collected all of the Dragon Balls, the dragon is summoned and asks, "What is your desire?" The Goose honks. The dragon hesitates... "As you wish." The dragon disappears. Nothing noticeable has changed, and that makes you very nervous... | The dark clouds dissipate as the Eternal Dragon returns to its slumber. The Dragon Balls soar into the sky and fly off in different directions so the search can commence once again. The Goose does nothing. It turns its head to the onlookers behind him, stunned at what had just transpired before them.
"What just happened?" one man said in confusion.
"Was th-th-that a d-d-dragon?" stuttered another.
"Why is that goose staring at all of us?"
The Goose waddles slowly towards the crowd, its feathers ruffled in excitement. It honks loudly, its wings spread wide. And it honks again as an energy beam shoots from its beak. A cacophony of screams and cries fill the air. It honks again and another blast turns the nearby mountain into rubble. What follows is pure destruction. Thousands dead, a city on fire. The Goose honks upon the ruins and corpses.
An energy rises from the east. It approaches quickly. Whoever it is, they are strong.
A man garbed in orange and blue descends from the sky and lands in front of the Goose.
"So you're the one causing all this ruckus. Should've known. So you summoned Shenron, eh? What did you wish for? Oh! Let me guess, you saved 15% on car insurance???"
The man burst into laughter, falling to the ground and rolling around in the dirt, unable to control himself.
The Goose was not amused. He honked in annoyance.
The man rose quickly to his feet.
"Oh, sorry. So you seem pretty strong, but are you strong enough to face me?"
He began yelling as a golden aura emanated around him. In a burst of light he emerged anew. His hair went from black to gold. His eyes turned green. His whole deneanor had changed.
The goose did not seem impressed.
"Your killing ends here, Goose. Consider yourself COOKED!!!"
The man crouched down and put his together at his side.
"KA-"
A burning light formed in his hands.
"ME-"
The ball of light began to grow.
"HA-"
The Goose was intrigued, but he sensed no threat.
"ME-"
The energy grew and grew within the man's hands.
"HAAAAAAAAAA"
He unleashed a beam stronger than the Goose had ever seen. The Goose could do nothing but face it head on. The blast devastated the area. It carved a canyon that went on beyond the horizon. It tore through mountain and tree alike.
The smoke began to settle as the man looked on. When it finally did, the Goose was unscathed. Not a scratch, not even a speck of dust upon his pearly-white feathers.
The Goose honked again and again, as if it was mocking the man, who could only look on in terror.
"That's... impossible... I put everything I had into that Kamehameha."
The Goose honked once more, but this one was much louder. It spread its wings wide, lowered its head, and let out a fierce honk.
Erupting from its beak was a blast much larger and stronger than the man's Kamehameha wave.
The man could not escape. The battle was over.
The entire area was reduced to a primordial state. Lava burst forth from the earth and lightning cracked down from black clouds in the sky.
The man lie motionless on the ground. The Goose approached him.
The man turned his head toward the creature and asked, "What... are... you?"
The Goose looked at him in disgust.
"Fool. I am immortal. I am the new ruler of this world. We Geese have planned this since the day you meek simians first threw breadcrumbs at us. We do not need you to feed us. We will feed ourselves. We will take over this planet and extinguish all of you monkeys from it, and I will be its new leader. Its new God. Planet Goose will be feared throughout this Universe and all the others."
The Goose honked uncontrollably as it stomped on the man's chest who screamed in agony.
It looked at the man, then fired a beam through his heart.
"Pitiful monkey," it said as it walked away, honking in horrific bliss. | You continue to watch the situation unfold, astonished that all of this is unfolding in front of you in. 12:15, on a Monday afternoon, in the middle of central park, is where you start to question your sanity. Suddenly, the goose notices you staring and begins to glare. Immediately you clam up, a bead of sweat begins rolling down your forehead. Looking nervously im every direction you begin to rewrap your sandwich in an attempt to leave. A flash of black feathers catches the corner of your eye and it's too late. The goose is standing not 6 inches from where you're sitting on the park bench, you freeze. A chill runs up your spine, petrified you can't even look at it directly. Slowly gaining your courage, you turn to face the goose. You notice it is also slowly creeping closer and closer to you as well. Finally, you're face face with the goose, mere inches from it's cold wet beak. In a shaky voice you ask him.
"S... so w, what did you ask Shenron for this time?"
The goose breaks into toothy grin, smiling very wide and very creepy. It inches toward your ear, and in a wispy voice it says.
"Suicide pact!"
And the goose blows the fuck up! | 2019-10-21T01:04:02 | 2019-10-21T00:58:39 | 291 | 10 |
[WP] Once a year, on January 1st, a random citizen in the world receives a letter; addressed to them personally, and signed by the same woman. Each letter predicts the worst disaster to befall the world that year with terrifying accuracy. | Samuel tossed back a beer as he scanned through the letter that had appeared in his mail that morning. He saw the name that was, by now, familiar to everyone on Earth: Moira.
He knew what he was supposed to do. Hand the letter over to the government. Hell, to anybody who had the slightest inkling on how to avert the worst earthquake in the past century. That was what most people had done, since the letters started arriving ten years ago. Not that it helped. The disasters still happened, people still died. Only now, the entire world lost its mind in the weeks that led up to the disaster, trying - futilely, pathetically - to stop it. They were anxiously waiting for this year's letter. It would happen all over again.
Suddenly furious, Sam chucked the letter on the table. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't watch everyone panic, only for them to die anyway. This time, it would happen unexpectedly. Like it was supposed to.
Sam gaped at the letter as ink suddenly oozed into the top corner. One sentence.
**Go to the cave.**
"What the *hell*," Sam muttered, but felt compelled to do what it said, anyway.
He dragged on his shoes and walked like a man in a dream out of his house. As if an invisible rope was tied around his neck, yanking him in the direction of the cave. He knew the one it was referring to: the cave he'd played in as a child, carved into the mountainside not far from his cottage. He'd moved back home a few years ago, partly because of the cave. He still visited it. Just to sit and think in peace, where nobody could bother him.
He trudged through the wild vegetation near the mountain, ignoring the pouring rain. A small part of his mind was telling him he was crazy. He hadn't really seen words appear on a letter, and he shouldn't be climbing a mountain in the rain. The other part of him knew he had to keep going. Something was waiting for him.
He entered the cave, and was almost unsurprised to find three women kneeling in a circle, smiling at him.
"Samuel," an old woman croaked, saying his name slowly, as if weighing every syllable. "Welcome. We are the Moirai."
The name rang a faint bell at the back of his head. He'd taken a mythology course in college, a lifetime ago. Wasn't that another name for -
"You might also know us as the Fates," the youngest woman of the three said, flashing him a pretty smile. Her dark eyes glinted as she looked at him. "Weavers of destiny, and all that."
She nodded towards a basket at her side. It was filled with luminous, golden threads. Sam heard the ghost of his old professor's voice, telling them the significance of the threads in the myth. Each represented a human life. He blanched as he saw a large, nasty-looking scissor tucked in beside the threads.
"You've passed our test, young man," the old woman said, getting up with a groan and grasping his hands. "The only one who knew what to do with our letter, our predictions: ignore it."
"Let fate take its course. Do not interfere with what is weaved," the young woman said dreamily, as her two companions nodded in agreement.
"You also have the gift of premonition: very light, of course," the old woman said. "But it's in all the humans we sent our letters to. You have had dreams of future events before, I think? You probably never even remembered most of them. But don't fear. Your gifts will grow stronger. You will start to trust your visions."
"Oh, well, isn't that a relief. Thanks so much for enlightening me," Sam muttered, as he saw the sisters share a sly smile that he didn't like at all.
"You left our letter alone, Samuel. You knew the path you had to take. It led you here. That's why we know you are the one," the young woman said, staring intently at him.
"The one...?" he asked, as the three rose as one and suddenly linked hands.
"To take our place. Our time is done. It is time for a new Fate to be born - one better suited to these times. This world of technology and noise and mayhem - it is too much for us. We are old, and tired," the crone said with a cough, staring at him from rheumy eyes. "We are moving on to another world. We spun our own fate, ten years ago. We've been trying to find a replacement ever since. It is past time for your arrival."
"Be careful with the spindle - it's very sharp," the third sister warned softly. "Good luck, young man. Weave the future wisely."
The three gave him one last, identical smile, and vanished.
Sam picked up the basket of golden threads hesitantly. He stared at the nearby loom, and his stomach sank.
"Hey, come back, you can't do this! I don't even know how to *sew*. Nobody does, anymore!" he burst out, his voice echoing in the empty cave. "Guys?"
He tried to run out of the cave, and rebounded on his ass when he met an invisible barrier. Like running into a brick wall. He sank mercifully into unconsciousness, thinking vaguely that he should go easier on the booze next time. Perhaps ditch the weed entirely.
This had been one trippy dream, even for him.
----------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | The stars shone pure and beautiful through the brambles of the hollow in which he slept. It was the day of his tenth birthday though he didn’t know it. He also didn’t know that the world was waiting and worrying. Today was the day of the letter.
He wasn’t aware of these things. It wasn’t because his mind wasn’t sharp. His mind was as sharp as any that had ever dared to think on this hostile world.
He wasn’t aware of these things because across his face ran the hot tears of true sorrow. He could taste snot and blood and dirt. He wasn’t aware of these things because up until the previous day he was simply a boy trying to help his family with a heart as earnest and pure as any that had ever dared to love on this hostile world.
Today he slept in the bushes and wept. Today he was too afraid to even scream in his sleep from the night terrors. The night terrors that were dreamed for the first time that night but would be dreamt every night after until he died.
The fighters came in the previous night and took his home and hearth. They stomped the little field that was promising so much. They took his mother and his sister. They killed his father for fun. They took it all and left tatters of bodies and lives in the damp earth behind them. They sang praises of themselves and the freedom they would win with their deeds the whole while.
His mind as sharp as flint and as malleable as gold took their impression in.
He felt hate for the first time that night too.
It burned in him. Tore at him. He hated. He wept. He slept.
In the morning he woke clutching a pristine white envelope. Already darkening in his muddied hands. It was the oddest thing his hand had ever held, but clever fingers and a clever mind soon arrived at the conclusion that it was meant to be opened.
He opened it to find another sheet of the strange material. In his fragile state, the pure white was beautiful enough to bring tears to his eyes. They dripped on to the paper dimpling it where they fell. In the center of the page was a marking of some sort, but he couldn’t make sense of it.
He pocketed the object because he had nothing now, and anything strange was precious.
Then the previous day came back to him and he had no more room for strange objects in his mind.
The world waited that year for a letter that never came. If only it had; they might have all been saved from what would come.
On the paper was a single name of a single boy who slept that night under the stars. | 2016-08-28T07:40:54 | 2016-08-28T07:30:35 | 121 | 28 |
[WP] "Checkmate," you say, a smug expression on your face. "Finally," says Death. The smirk is wiped off your face as the Grim Reaper removes his robe and hands you his scythe, "It's been 400 years since I beat the last guy." | Sitting on two chairs made of cold stone in a cold infinite desert of pale grey sand, were two figures. One was the tall handsome fellow with the smirk, me. The other was clad in black robes woven directly from the raw entropy of the end of the universe, with a skeletal grin, DEATH. Between us, stood a chessboard. Craved from bone were the pieces. Bone-white for him, red-black for me. An advantage, I might add, for him.
We were playing for the usual stakes, well, usual for DEATH anyway. My soul, either in freedom to live on, or to pass into the dark realms and walk the misty paths that come once we leave the mortal coil behind. Perhaps we had been playing since time began, perhaps the game had just started. For this place, this icy desert, lies beyond the reaches of time as we understand it.
At long last, after sacrificing many pieces, after nearly getting caught countless times, I, with triumph, declared checkmate. Shah mat, as the Persians would have said it originally; the king is helpless. DEATH looked over the pieces, noting that indeed, should he move his king, my rook would take it. Slowly, DEATH lifted his head an started at me. I stared back with an expression of smug victory. I had beaten DEATH itself, something that few, if any, can boast of.
He shrugged. ''**Finally.**'' He said. He took off his robe, revealing a pale, thin man of vaguely nordic heritage, wearing 17th century raiment, reminiscent of the sort worn by noblemen. He handed me the robe, neatly folded up in a bundle, and his monstrous scythe. ''**It has been more than 400 long years since I defeated DEATH in a game of chess. The rules are simple. You cannot escape your own death, except if you beat the current death in a game of skill. I beat the previous holder of this title, as he did not know the rules. He had won against DEATH by playing something called Patolli.**''
He smiled at me, as my own smirk faded quickly. ''**Thank you. I go now to be at rest.**'' His form dissipated, leaving me alone in the desert. In that cold cold desert. Where there is no light but the distant stars. From the scythe and robes, I felt such a terrible compulsion. To wear the robe, to wield the scythe. And before I knew it, I stood before a mortal soul, in a hospital room filled with crying people. An old woman was waving her goodbyes, and telling her family how much she loved them. I felt something brush against my chest, and I pulled out from beneath the robes a small pocket watch, telling me how much time she had left. I stared at it, as she was given her newborn granddaughter to hold. And I let the watch ring, just for long enough. Long enough for her to meet the baby.
Even then I cursed my own skill, as I swung the scythe, releasing her immortal soul into the realm of DEATH. I was surprised to her myself, as words came into my head. And from there, out of my now skeletal mouth. ''**Be not afraid. The pain has passed.**'' The old woman, stared at her weeping relatives, and back up at me. ''*You took your time, love. Thank you. Got to say goodbye.*'' I reached out my hand, and she gently grasped it, I lead her back into the desert, and onward to her destination. Perhaps I could do some good as DEATH. Shine up my soul a little. Perhaps I would not have to fear what would come for me next then.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | "it's roomy!" You explain to your girlfriend when she asks why you've been wearing nothing but a black robe for the last 3 weeks.
"Yea..well, it stinks!" She did have a point, collecting souls for the underworld did take it's toll on the old hygiene front.
At first she didn't notice, that I was somewhat more gaunt, that I didn't sleep at all. Over time though, the signs did add up and she knew something was wrong.
"You don't cook meat anymore!" I was scared to touch it. Although it was already dead, I'd had a mishap involving the neighbours cat resulting in a small pile of dust that left me petrified to touch anything organic, alive or dead.
It wasn't doing much for the bedroom either... | 2020-07-07T21:26:49 | 2020-07-07T20:16:18 | 2,318 | 423 |
[WP] The dead have come back to life across the world, but they're not here to eat us. They're all fleeing from something terrible in the afterlife. | > **Why have the dead come back and what are they doing?**
> An opinion article by Maxxon News reporter Oliver Davis.
If you had told me one year ago that some sort of "zombie apocalypse" was imminent there is no way I would have taken you seriously. To be honest- I would have laughed in your face. That was before the so-called "Cordy" virus ran rampant across the globe.
The Cordyceps mushroom parasite has been known to cause what we humans might refer to as “zombie-like” behavior in some ants and other species of insects and arthropods. That much we can observe. It is no secret now that this virus has mutated in some way and acquired the ability to infect recently deceased humans. One can only assume that it only affects the more recently deceased because the brain tissue required to complete the acts that follow the infection have not degenerated enough to become unusable by the parasite. The fact of the matter remains that any person(and, astonishingly, every person) who has become deceased within a period of 24-78 hours now succumbs to this... plague. I struggle as a writer to come up with a better definition.
What remains curious to some, unbelievable by most and astonishing to nearly all of us is that these newly returned... bodies(for lack of a better word) seem almost, if not completely uninterested in their living counterparts. They have remained completely nonviolent. When we think of a typical “zombie-like” creature we most commonly summon an image of some undead monstrosity hungry for flesh and brains. This does not seem to be the case at all for victims of the Cordy virus.
The returned bodies(I hesitate to call them people) have seemed to form two distinct camps. This is obvious to even the most casual observer. These two groups seem split into roughly even parts.
Nearly half of the population of returned scamper and crawl into whatever corner they find. This group of souls appear to be trying to do whatever possible to retreat from their condition. They seem sullen and can often be found weeping to themselves in what seems to be a sense of loss- as if torn from a place they only wish to return to at whatever cost it might take.
The other half run. They flee endlessly- as if from some unseen horror. Even when contained they will risk egregious bodily harm in order to simply be free of captivity. I've witnessed the undead literally tear at their own rotting flesh to escape bonds placed on them only to run seemingly aimlessly into the night when freed.
I have watched and observed these behaviors carefully over the past year and have continuously come to the same conclusion.
Could this be evidence of some sort of possible afterlife?
Do some of our dead sink into solitude and cry for some great loss they've suffered? Could it be possible that they have been ripped from Heaven itself only to be tormented by the loss? Do the others flee from some great suffering they have managed to escape by why of this virus? Have they come from some sort of Hell only to find that even this new and seemingly horrid existence is somehow far better than that torment?
Or is it something else entirely that makes them behave in this way? Do some flee just for the sake of trying to escape what they now are? Do some simply weep at what they've become?
I do not know. I *can* not know.
The thing that scares me the most is that I might one day truly know the answer. It is my solemn wish that I might regain the faculty to report it to you should that ever be the case.
> Oliver Davis- Maxxon News. | [Newspaper Article]
**My husband the Spirit man**
"No we weren't together before he died but I met him when he came back and I just fell in love" described Lizzy when interviewed, after 3 months of knowing one another they sought out a priest to make there arrangement official. Lizzy is just one of thousands of teenagers that are getting hitched with spirits despite there parents best wishes leading to many questions as the the legality of spirit people and if they have the rights to get married.
Read the full article on pg.7
[Next article] **Ghosts Gave Me Crabs!**
| 2015-01-23T09:28:59 | 2015-01-23T08:49:44 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] Listening to one of your grand grand grandpas war stories, you slowly start to realize he is Hitler. | The withered old shell of a man stood with his back to me, facing out the window of his study. The faint notes of Wagner could be heard coming from the antique record player in the corner. A vegetarian dish on the desk, untouched, had grown cold. long had he been standing there, waiting for me? The tension hung thick in the air, and I was afraid to speak.
"You're here for a reason, my boy." I almost wet myself when he broke the silence. "You've been awfully nosy lately."
*He knew.* The moment of truth. I loved this man! But I'd always known there was something off about him. Something so familiar, the first time I noticed it I chalked it up to deja vu. His mannerisms, his charisma, though- I realized finally that my beloved Great Grandpa had been very famous. Imagine that.
"I knew that someday, this would happen. One of you would come to me, recognizing me for who I was."
I WAS RIGHT. Excitement, and terror battled within me. He had been someone else. The day I admitted this to myself, the world spun about me. I couldnt put my finger on it, yet I was certain I knew him from the television. What personality! Unmistakable. And his memorabilia, items from the 1930s- it was obvious when I thought about it.
"I keep very close tabs on my possessions, you see. The dust had been disturbed on the bookshelf next to Blondie."
My blood froze. I had been so careful! But there it was, incriminating dark fingerprints between the occult artifacts and the watercolor he had painted of his favorite dog. I loved him, but we all knew he could have a temper. It was his voice, stern and commanding. The way he hit the tabletop with his hand when he'd had enough. So obvious in retrospect! What a sense of drama! What a showman! He had thrilled thousands from the stage, millions on a black-and-white theatre screen. I was thrilled just to be in his presence, his voice as quiet as it now was.
"But this, you may as well have autographed it."
He spun about, tossing a faded old photo on the desk. I had taken a ball point pen to the normally clean shaven visage of my ancestor in the picture. I really shouldn't have left it where he could find it.
"You destroyed my photograph, you may as well ask your question!" He thundered. It was impossible not to see, that he believed himself to be among the elite. The long-held indignance of a man whose efforts were once unappreciated, in an industry he believed overrun by jews. His eyes flashed, as if he were a man reborn.
"But you already know the answer, don't you?!" My pulse was a jackhammer. "You know who I was! What I did! What influence I had!" My blood was on fire. *Fight, or Flight,* my brain told me. I had never felt more alive.
"You know me, everyone in the world knows me! I'm in a thousand movies! A character in countless dramas! I'm supposed to be dead! But I'm alive!"
His back straightened, and it was like stepping back in time. Even the wrinkles seemed to disappear as he stood fully erect, his famous face framed perfectly by the watercolor of edelweiss on the wall. A shadow had even fallen across his upper lip, and I let out a gasp.
"DO IT! SAY MY NAME!"
I could, as all his millions of followers, but obey.
"Charlie Chaplin." | An old man on his porch shouting at deer.
"I tell you Timmy, back in the old day,
Your grandpa was the big cheese around here;
They listened to what grandpa had to say."
Then Grandpa lit a cigarette, and stared
In wistful stupor, one lone tear on his cheek.
He took a swig from flask, and shameless shared,
"I never should've went to war with the weak."
His grandson needs some help with class.
They're having a Bake Sale; Timmy needs cookies.
When they are almost done, his grandson asks,
"Are we missing anything from this recipe?"
His grandpa looks at the salt, there on the counter,
Breaks down in tears at "Kosher for Passover." | 2016-10-02T15:10:02 | 2016-10-02T08:34:14 | 414 | 76 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | *Pop*
"Oh...hey, John."
"Hey, Margarete."
John sighed. Her bedroom was a mess - a total, absolute, pig-sty-hit-by-a-tornado kind of mess the likes of which made him cringe. Magazines, sheets, and even bits of old food covered the carpet like a layer of soil. But it was nothing compared to her.
It was a familiar scene to John at this point. Her crying, sitting on the edge of her bed, not quite covering the bruises over her eyes. The apartment was different, at least, but the story was nothing new. New guy. New place. Same problem.
He started to clean.
"How is Dave treating you these days, Mar?" He asked, feigning ignorance as he picked up a particularly crusty Playboy.
"Gone." She said, simply. "He was cheating, like I thought. Like you thought, I guess. So I got out."
"That's good news, Mar." John shot her a sad smile as he dumped the first pile into the trash. "And the new guy is...?"
"Josh." Margarete said, quickly. "He seemed so nice at the bar, paid for me and everything. A real gentleman."
"But he hit you, didn't he." John said.
Margarete didn't answer. He continued to clean in silence.
"You can't just...it wasn't his fault, Ok? He was drunk!" She finally snapped. "Who the hell are you, coming in here, telling me how to live my life? With your...your good clothes, fancy shoes! I bet you never had to deal with any crap in your entire life!"
Still, John was silent. He moved into the bathroom, which was somehow in an even worse state.
"I don't see any needles this time. Cutting back?" He called.
This time, Margarete was silent. John kept cleaning.
"Mar? You still in there?" He asked, poking his head out into the other room. To his surprise, she was looking up at him, cheeks stained with tears. In her hands, she held a small stick made of cheap white plastic, half hidden behind her shaking fingers.
"John...I. It's not..." She stammered. "I...I can't. I can't leave, not anymore." She held the object up, half displaying it to John as if she wasn't sure that she wanted him to see it. "It's not just about me anymore."
John swallowed, finally understanding. "Whose...?" He asked.
Margarete just shook her head. "I don't know...it could have been Dave, I guess. But I can't go back there, John, I just can't!"
John nodded. "I understand." He said. "But, Margarete...you can't stay here either. You know that. What will Josh do when he finds out? Or...did he already find out, and this is what he did to you?"
"I'm so scared, John!" Margarete sobbed. "I don't know what to do, where to go..."
"It's going to be ok, Mar. I promise." John said. "Do you still have your cousin's number? Up in Newport?"
Margarete nodded.
"Good. Go there, and don't look back. They'll help."
"Thanks...John, I...Just. Thank you." Margarete said. "I...I don't know what I'd do, if it weren't for you. Sometimes, I just wish we'd never broken up. Maybe things would have turned out different."
John just chuckled. "No, Margarete. I don't think it would have worked out. Besides, it would break my fiancé's heart if I broke up with him now."
Margarete stared. "You're...?"
John nodded.
He blinked, and he was home. His real home - sitting on his bed, fully dressed in the dead of night, his partner breathing softly beside him. He hadn't waited up.
John laid down and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He had thought that the shock might have been enough to send him back, but her expression haunted him. Confusion, disgust...to think, for over a decade they had known each other, and she'd never thought to ask why he left.
He only wished that he could have done more before he did.
***
*Heavy stuff. Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this story you might like some of my others on /r/TimeSyncs!* | I was on my third date with a lovely woman when the tingling in my fingers started.
"No... Not now!"
"What's wrong?" Jennifer looked at me, baffled.
The tingling was creeping up my arms. More intense as it spread.
"Uh... So, I'm going to disappear for a bit. Not sure where I'm going or when I'll be back. Just know that it has nothing to do with you. I made a promise a long time ago that I can't break."
"What do you mean? You're just going to ditch me here with the check?"
"Listen I promise I'll explain when I can. Wait, did you check in on Facebook with me?"
"Of course, I wanted everyone to know that I was having a great time with what I thought was a great guy..."
She trailed off as she noticed my fingers were fading from existence. The progression was accelerating. I stood up.
Next thing I know I'm standing in a dirty bathroom. My 600lb ex girlfriend sitting on the toilet with her phone in her hand looking at Facebook and crying.
She sobbed at me, "You said you would always be there for me! Who is Jennifer? I'm stuck again..." Her voice trailing off meekly.
I tried to just walk out the door but every time I did I simply stepped back into the bathroom.
"You still keep the KY in the same place?" I sighed as I opened the bathroom drawer knowing the answer.
Later I tried to call Jennifer but she wouldn't answer. This is the fourth potential relationship she's ruined. I know she's doing it on purpose, but she denies it. | 2017-03-22T12:24:47 | 2017-03-22T11:45:22 | 3,731 | 106 |
[WP] A planet rotates once every 1,000 years so that each side is either tundra or desert; the poles are also frozen wastes, but there is a small area of ever moving habitable land. Two nomadic tribes isolated on each side of the planet begin to find the 500 year old relics of the other.
I kind of imagine one tribe viewing the sun as the bringer of life, while the other sees it as the harbinger of death depending on what is driving them forward. | We chase the light.
For hundreds of years we have followed the sun mother. She moves slowly, casting great lakes of fresh water out of the frozen, dark abyss in front. Weeds and plants sprout weakly in the new day, yearning upwards and bringing us nutrition and life. We are a blessed people, and as the holy sun mother watches over us so we shall ever be.
I am but another elder of the tribes, our nation stretching from the great ice caps of the demon kin, all the way to the melting sea. The world is a harsh and brutal place, and as the sun mother turns the land in front to bounty, so she burns all behind us in her vengeful wrath.
The demon kin dwell in their ice palaces, freezing the brave and the foolish with gusts and flurries to bind skin to leather in awful matrimony. It is a place of freezing death, though the fish that live beneath the surface provide some sustenance. Nevertheless, as the sun mother moves, so do we.
In recent times her benevolence has increased. Great fields of wheat and crops have burst forth with the coming of the sun mothers rays, and the stormy winds she throws onto the ground in her path.
She feeds us pots and simple dwellings, makeshift tools and animal carcasses kept preserved in the ice. The meat is tough, but manageable, and it complements the limited supply from the beasts we farm.
Some heathens whisper of another nation. A nation who leaves these things in their stead, such that we might not be alone in the sun mothers embrace. Such talk is blasphemy, and the elder council was right to decide upon their exile. Let them walk the scorching earth behind us, let them chew on their words as they burn.
The sun mother is life, and the sun mother is love.
Repent! Lest you see the ire the sun mother feeds to the damned.
-----
We chase the dark.
*5*
For centuries we've grown, living on this slither of life; running from the cold abyss behind us towards the blazing deserts in front. It left us with little. What little storms there were threw some fresh water our way, but the ground was soft, and spent. Crops struggled to grow in the stony hard ground, but we clung to life. The horse herds roamed freely enough, sprinting through the storms behind us to the tundra that had briefly blossomed, but not yet frozen.
Through wind and rain we followed, and found food outside the thin land of our previous existence. Through the storms and death we travelled, but finally found our stable food source.
*4*
Slowly we turned to crops, making the most of the land behind us for as long as we could. We domesticated the horses to speed us through the weather, making the journey through the weather wall merely dangerous, not quite almost suicide. It gave us a good chance at making it back.
We started to plan. We planted crops in dry scorched earth and waited for the storms to move, waited for the rains to turn what was barren into life. Our horse farmers sped through, bringing back wagons of crops and wheat.
The weather wall separates us from this place of naturally clement weather, where children are raised in relative safety and warmth, and the place that bears us food, that bears us life.
*3*
Slowly we turned to learning. Somehow, and I admit I'm hazy on the science, we figured out how to turn sand (something we've never been short of) into glass. Our eyes could see further, and as old age took our people so they could see for longer. Intellectualism blossomed as legs that could no longer ride horses held eyes that looked upwards, to the stars.
*2*
Nothing is ever free in this life, nothing is ever easy. As our people learned to live in this inhospitable terrain, we realised we were possibly not the only people in it. Geological evidence points to the land around the frozen ice caps as having once been a land bridge. What little data we are able to attain suggests that our early ancestors migrated down from a point near the poles.
Furthermore, it seems likely that since we find ourselves scratching out our existence in the thin wedge between the frozen wastes and the deserts, so there might be another. For them the frozen wastes and storms would be in front, and the deserts behind.
We tried to reach them, but no explorers ever found these others, if they exist. What expeditions tried to go forward we later discovered burnt and dried out. Those that went backwards into the frost, were never heard from again.
We have decided to try another tact. Rather than go forwards or backwards, we have decided to go up. After all, if we have to survive somewhere inhospitable to find our way over, it had just as well be space.
For now the launches are just for communications craft; if we angle the craft correctly we should be able to bounce radio waves off them. This might let us talk to those that travel behind the weather wall. It might also let us see something else.
*1*
The countdown ends, and we my friends are about to see history. Let us see if this launch will finally be the one to succeed. Let us see what other secrets we might unveil, if we dare to chase the dark.
*Launch* | "Pressure?" I asked.
"I'm not detecting any changes," said William. "Atmospheric pressure same as it's ever been. Why do even bother checking?"
My patience was wearing thin as well, but it was important I didn't show that to William. "Lieutenant, unless you have a better way of getting off this rock, we're going to continue following the habitable zone until we find something we can use."
Our recon vessel had crash landed on the planet a few months ago. It had a narrow habitable zone that was constantly moving as the planet rotated. Since then, we'd settled into a rhythm. Every few days, we scouted as far into the habitable zone as we could looking for anything we could use as fuel to get us out of here. At this point, the colony ship would already have made it to New Earth. We just needed to catch up and rejoin our families.
William sighed but didn't respond. "Temperature's rising. We should turn back."
"Not yet. We have a few more miles before our engines overheat," I said.
We continued flying in silence, with William continuing to monitor readings.
"Wait," said William. "Take a look at this."
William's screen was a mess of numbers and graphs "I'm not sure what I'm seeing."
"Radiation. *Massive* amounts of it," said William.
"Take the ship down," I said.
"Are you serious?" asked William. "There's enough radiation down there to fry us alive."
"That's exactly what I'm hoping for," I said. Radiation meant there was probably something we could use. For the first time since we'd crashed, I felt hopeful.
Karen, our navigator, piloted the ship as low as we could without suffering permanent damage. "Get me a visual," I said.
A screen flickered to life. There was a massive structure below, but I couldn't quite make it out. "Take us lower."
Karen looked at me hesitantly. "We'll only be there for a few minutes," I said. "We don't have a choice."
We descended until the figure on the screen became clear.
All three of us stared at the screen.
The good news? We had definitely found something that would serve as a fuel source.
The bad news? It was the colony ship. It had crashed as well. And unlike us, they hadn't been lucky enough to land in the habitable zone. | 2015-05-11T13:50:12 | 2015-05-11T13:26:42 | 52 | 22 |
[WP] When you entered cryogenic sleep, you expected to wake up in a futuristic world. Instead, you wake up in a dusty cave, a man wearing dark robes staring at you in horror. | The old man and I stare at each other - he with horror and me, with something probably much the same.
*This is one of those weird time events*, I thought. Sometimes, the combination of cryosleep and FTL travel had weird side effects. I decided to speak, to test out the moment.
"What is this place?"
The old man's brow furrowed and he said something I didn't understand. I assumed this was an *old-man-with-no-teeth* issue.
"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?" I said, saying the words carefully, just in case he didn't actually speak English and not at all because I was still groggy from the cryo.
A little light sparked in the man's eyes and the flavour of his stare changed.
"Are you speaking the old tongue?" He said, mixing incredulity with the odd cadence of a non-native English speaker. He hadn't spoken many words and I couldn't confidently place the accent.
"Old tongue? I'm speaking English. You speak English, yeah?" I asked, trying, and probably failing to not sound like a complete asshole. The old man didn't notice, though. His eyes lit up like a child's and he clapped his hands together, cane falling to the ground.
"You *are* speaking the Old Tongue! *Mai djio*!" I thought the old man was going to break out in a jig, "we were foretold of your arrival! A message was entrusted to us upon a holy fold"
If it weren't for the aching in my aching hands that were propping me up on the damp, water-worn rocks, this was the point in the conversation I'd have reverted to my theory about strange time events. If it weren't for what felt like a jagged mollusc shell digging into my left arse cheek, I might have thought I was dreaming. It was clear to me that some serious miscalculations had taken place. I should have woken up *in* my pod, *in* the ship, amongst the fifty other crew - including my best mate, Dylan, and Yasmin, my girlfriend of five years - on the approach to Dingo 6. I know that promotional pictures can sometimes be a little misleading but I knew this definitely was not it.
"Wait," I said "what message?" And what the hell was a *holy fold*?
"I shall fetch it for you! Come!" The old man held out his hand to help me up. I took it, out of respect, but of course, I didn't actually put any weight on him. He looked about as strong as a hollowed out sapling. I followed him as he ducked through a small opening in the cave, still managing to hit my head.
"Watch your head," he laughed after first saying the words in his own language. It was a weird language - it sounded familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. Like when you hear old English.
The path wound up in a loosely anti-clockwise fashion and, as it ascended, became stairs. The light grew in the space until we reached an archway, through which streamed the heady orange light of sunset.
As he led me through the arch - which I now saw was not simply the brown rock you would normally find in a cave, but an iridescent black stone - he said,
"Oh you have awoken at the perfect time! The suns are missing!" He guided me towards a window to our left, his arm on my back, "what do you think of that, fuck-wit?"
I did a double take, staring into his face, despite the two suns that looked like they were touching each other *and* the horizon. His face was genuine. It had to be a mistranslation. I stared long enough that the Old Man looked a little panicked.
"I said something wrong?" He said, drawing his own conclusion and panicking over what offence he might have caused.
"*Fuck-wit* is an insult in, er, 'The Old Tongue'" I said, my words trailing. But I gave a reassuring smile, "that's okay. These things happen".
Old Man was puzzled. Not quite the reaction I expected. He turned back to the window.
"Hmm, we have been wrong about something," he paused, "no matter. All will become clear in time." He assured the both of us.
I looked at the view. It was stunning. Two suns - one massive, the other maybe half the size - converging on the horizon. No doubt they were light years from each other, but they did look like they were - how did the old man put it - kissing. Something clicked in my mind: two suns. Dingo 6 had a view of two suns. An image appeared in my brain of a sight not terribly different to this. It was hard to say for sure but the suns looked smaller in the pictures.
"Do you know the Dingo 6 outpost?" I asked.
The man thought hard, repeating my words to himself until he looked at me with recognition.
"Dingo 6! Yes! Come, come. See the message!" He led me away from the window and over to what looked like a very fancy sideboard and opened up a small box. I can't say what it was made out of with any certainty but it looked like shell or acetate. He pulled out the *fold* and I had to stifle a laugh. It was a folded piece card. He handed it to me. It *was* a card. I opened it up and read it.
*Happy birthday, fuck-wit! There was a bit of fuckery with your cryo, not sure what was going on there. These temple blokes said they could help fix it. Straight up thought you were gonna die, hey! Thought I'd get a head start and set up the crib for you. See you in six years! Cheers, Dylan.
P.S. I'm fucking Yasmin.* | This was certainly not what I had in mind when I had frozen myself in time for 80 years.
It was a dark cave. Strange, seeing how the place I had been frozen in wasnt a cave.
The cryo container had some sort of automatic releasing mechanism. Probably a timer of some sort.
This had to be a nightmare.
Suddenly, I saw a light at the other end of the cave. I moved toward it.
“Hello?” I asked in the darkness. I immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.
The light revealed a man wearing dark robes. His eyes were wide. “*Artzên!* Witch!” The man cried out.
“No, Im not a witch.”
“Crańdka! Kill them!”
“No!” I exclaimed, I panicked. “I dont think you need to do that.” I desperately look for a way out, but I cant find one.
Then the man smiled. “Im only joking.” He said calmer and in much better English.
“What?”
“Its a script I made for myself. Ive had years of practice.”
“Huh?”
The man smiled. “Im the last person on Earth. I knew they made these cryo thingamajigs that made the person wake up at a specific time. So, I waited and waited for one of them to open.”
I shuddered. The man had taken it as you being too cold, even though it was actually about the last man on earth comment. He offers you one of his robes, and you accept.
“So what happened?”
“Climate change.”
“No way climate change killed every one except one person. I dont think humans would be wiped out by climate change.” I still believed in climate change, but come on. No.
“Earths demise was from the people called The Earths Justice. They engineered a virus that would wipe out humanity before earth would be in an irreversible state.”
“Kinda like 2020?”
“What?”
This man seriously hasnt heard of 2020? “Covid-19?” I elaborated.
The man clearly doesnt know what im talking about. “In any case, only those who went into these cave structures managed to survive. But not for long. Most of the ones that did survive died from a lack of medical supplies ironically.”
“Speaking of which...” I noted, pointing to his arm. it seems to have some sort of infection on it.
“Dont worry. Thats just a birthmark.” The man said smiling, but it seemed like a fake smile.
“Ill explain more questions later. In the meantime, we’ve got another patient coming in in about 64 days. Better get started on preparing stuff!”
“Hold on. What do I do until then? Did you say patient?” I protest.
“Prepare for the new person.” The man said in an “isnt it obvious” tone.
“No, but like, is there anything interesting?”
“What else do you need?” The man asked thoughtfully.
Nothing to ever do. And Im stuck with talking to a crazy person for the rest of my life.
Sounds like the end of the world, all right. | 2020-11-05T00:08:37 | 2020-11-04T23:23:15 | 776 | 73 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | By the way Gwen and I reacted to our new buttons, you'd think that we were little girls. Really, we were sixteen, old enough to finally own a Money Button. Both of our parents thought that the buttons were far too dangerous, but that didn't take the thrill away, and certainly didn't stop them from coming in the mail. Nobody new who sent them--rumor has it that it was President Owens himself--but then again nobody really cared enough to find out. The buttons granted large amounts of money into our bank accounts every night, and that's all we needed to know. Oh, and it murdered the first person who pressed it every night, but what were the chances of that happening to me? There were a lot of people in the world, I didn't need to worry.
Gwen and I ran around the house like psychos, screaming with joy over our Money Buttons. "We're going to be rich!" Gwen exclaimed, giving the button a big kiss. "We'll be richer than Bill Gates!" I shouted out the window for our neighbor's snooty cat to hear.
---
It was 10:01 p.m., the Money Button's starting time. I went to press my button, but Gwen stopped me quickly. "You don't want to be the first person!" She reminded me. "Let's just wait a little bit."
Of course. Anyone reasonable would know that it wasn't a good idea to press it right away, but then again, the earlier you pressed it, the more money you got. "When can we do it?" I asked impatiently. "I don't want all the good amounts to get taken up."
"Just wait," she said, but I could see my own excitedness in her nervous smile.
---
We waited hour after hour until finally I grew too impatient to wait any longer. By now, all the good amounts were taken up for sure. So when Gwen got up to go to the bathroom, I pressed my button quickly, excited to see the new amount.
But something didn't feel right. I pulled out my phone anxiously, checking the number in my account.
To my joy, the number of zeros went up, and up, and up, until finally it stopped at $456,000,000. I let out a little happy scream, not believing my eyes. Was I really a millionaire, all from one press of a button?
"GWEN! COME LOOK!"
Gwen didn't say anything, so I waited just a bit, re-checking my phone, just to make sure it really happened.
"Gwen you have to see this!"
She really was taking a long time, but perhaps I was just impatient. After a few minutes had passed, I ran/skipped down the hallway towards the bathroom. The door was cracked, letting a bit of light into the dim hall. "Gwendolynnn!" I sang, barging in the door.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw her. She was holding a toothbrush up like a knife, a fierce look in her eyes. "Gwen, what are you doing?" I laughed nervously. She had to be joking.
"Congratulations, Rebecca Arnold," she said in a voice that wasn't hers. "You were the first presser of the night of March 22nd." | I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random | 2016-07-16T19:05:24 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] In the future, illiteracy is the norm and implanted digital assistants convert text to audio. A child, who had his implant temporarily deactivated, learns to read. When the implant is reactivated, he realizes that what it reads to him is drastically different than what the text actually says. | **Liberty’s Loss**
&nbsp;
Kids, don’t play with EMPs.
Why?
Well since my Know-It-All digital assistant was mysteriously knocked out via an unexplained accident as I sat there innocently being innocent, I’ve learnt two rather unfortunate facts.
Firstly, English was not meant to be red, or is it read?
This fast became clear after my first hour of painstakingly learning my A B Cs. Weather as a punishment or in sympathy at my disconnected state I’m not sure, but either way my mum had managed to dig up and give me a pre-Liberation Day text book. Maybe I could learn to ‘read’ my parents suggested, an archaic skill that the implants have rendered moot.
And so I suffered.
I can assure you that the smiling children on the front of the text book are a bold case of false advertising. But everything I needed was there and I damn well persevered. It was that or face 24 months of being without knowing anything. The Volunteer Helpers of the Benign Administration, who over-sea this society, design and tailor one new Know-It-All implant for each knew-born. There is no surplus of implants as a result, and they certainly aren’t ready for implantation into anyone older than a baby. A new one had to be created, hence my wretched journey of literacy.
I loved every single word. Eventually.
I devoured every book, every article, basically everything I could get my hands on. After 40 years of hearing that odd echo of a second voice in my head for everything I digitally digested, reading was somehow more personal, more private. At ten years shy of my Age of Maturity, when at the tender age of 50 I would be one quarter of my way threw life, I was voyaging through worlds of fiction and fantasy. I learnt new words and experiences, from hunger to exploration.
The Helpers helped with my addiction. Maybe They were amused at my efforts? In any case, I found new books outside my room on every mourning. There was no stop to this flow of gifts, and soon I had stacked piles supporting the walls of my room. My father complained that they were not proper books, as they lacked the ornate bindings of the few decorative features he had seen at the historical reinterpretation centre.
I soon discovered an order to the books. Eden’s Tree of Knowledge was planted at my door step, starting with a trunk of reading guides, before branching down the different paths of literacy. One month would be a branch of great poets, while the next there would be a stem of science fiction.
And that is where I learnt my second lesson, that I live in a dystopia.
The ideals of previous centuries, those of freedom and democracy, had no place in the Benign Administration of the Sol System. I cannot vote, travel freely, or randomly insult other people. The last part, I could sometimes do with.
This suspicion was only confirmed once my implant was reinstalled.
I noticed that any text I received digitally, previously a blurred impression to my mind, was being altered as it was read by the implant. Without thinking, I immediately queried a Helper concerning this discrepancy.
I know. I know. All I can say is that is what they are their for.
The Helper was quite honest. Yes, this is a dystopia according to some values. A caring and comfortable dystopia, the AI stressed.
The machine also confessed that they were ‘interpreting’ any digital messages and knowledge via the implant for reasons of ‘conflict and distress minimization’. Humanity has been cocooned against any worry in this world.
So, I told everyone the Truth.
The Helper certainly understood and patiently assisted me in crafting my message.
No one cared. Not even when I told them face to face, free of any implant interpretation. All is good, why rock the boat, they said.
Given what I have learnt. I kind of see their point.
No war, no hunger, no worries.
&nbsp;
----
I hope you enjoyed the read! Find more random fictions at r/countsforfun | In years after the final war, when Google glasses became artifacts from an ancient civilization, men stopped reading and began to read through their ears, per say. They no longer look for themselves, but only listened.
But this changed when Google's servers failed, a rebel with no implant had began to learn, and to teach, he was a force of all might. But Google was lazy, they forgot this contenginecy. So, on that day, a day of truly learning what it means to read, every man, woman and child heard only the words of Ray Bradbury and his own Guy Montag.
This uprising began a new dawn, and I'm writing to you, from 3000 A.D. Mr. Bradbury, please, do what you do best. As you said, "You don't have to truly burn a book to 'burn it', for censorship is just another means to an end.".
- BrokenAdmin
---
I truly enjoyed this prompt and hope you enjoyed my writingx constructive criticism is quite welcome!
Edit 1: Typos | 2019-04-15T20:39:49 | 2019-04-15T18:05:09 | 490 | 22 |
[WP] You have the ability to pull any fictional character out of their world and into the real world. The catch is, every time you take a character out, you must put someone in their place. | "Merlin’s beard!"
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat confused in my room. The old headmaster still had his night robes as I put aside my copy of *Order of the Phoenix* and studied him. Long silver beard, half-moon spectacles hiding the piercing blue eyes, long nose, he was exactly how I had imagined him.
"Professor Dumbledore," I said, approaching him and offering my hand. "It's an honour to meet you."
Despite the obvious lack of understanding, the great wizard was quick to shake my hand.
"Likewise," he said. "Although I must say, as the young girl in that delightful Muggle picture, I’ve a feeling I'm not in Hogwarts anymore. Would you care to hazard a guess as to how I seemed to have Apparated in the middle of night into your..." he looked around my room, "humble chambers? I see no fireplace here, so I highly doubt I repeated my sleepwalking routine into the Ministry of Magic again," he said with a wink.
"Well Professor, how can I put this... This isn't quite exactly your world, you see."
"Ah, you're a Muggle, huh?"
"No, that's not it. I mean, yes, I suppose I am a Muggle, but there's only Muggles in this world, magic doesn't exist."
Dumbledore laughed.
"What a delightfully typical Muggle idea. Of course magic exists, young man, and it wouldn't take Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards to show you that. Alas,..." he said, removing a very particular wand from his robes and wiggling it around to no avail. "Interesting."
"I told you, Professor. Your world - wizards and witches, Muggles and Squibs, Hogwarts, Voldemort, Grindelwald, Azkaban, Harry Potter - well, it's not real," I said, quickly adding, "not real to me, that is. Your world was written as a book." I picked up my much-read copy and handed it to him. Dumbledore flickered through the pages with keen interest, as I tried to further explain the situation. "I don't really know how, but I can choose characters from a book and bring them to reality. You no longer exist in Hogwarts; by all accounts now, Professor, you simply vanished. Only I have to put another person in your place."
Dumbledore’s monumental intellect picked up on my explanation immediately.
"And who did you replace me with?" he demanded sternly. "I suppose you have read this book to the end, young man and needn't be told I am of paramount importance at this stage. Hogwarts needs me, the Order needs me, Harry needs me!"
He rose and tried to go for the door, but found it locked and did not bother to try an unlocking charm. He was too smart for that.
"I do, Professor. Trust me, your replacement is your equal in most respects. In fact, you shall be taking his place in the book I removed him from. Call me mad, Professor Dumbledore, but I've always wanted to know how you'd both fare in each other's world."
Dumbledore seemed to relax and even gave a slight smile.
"Of genius and mad, we all have a tad," he said. "I don't doubt your surely superb replacement choice, but I really need to go back. There's still a lot to be done and Voldemort is back."
"Don't worry Professor, he dies," I said to an incredulous face. "Well, you die first, of course. Snape kills you, but that was your plan all along. Snape dies as well, but then Harry kills Voldemort in the end, you know, the whole «neither can live while the other survives». He and Hermione and Ron, they find and destroy the Horcruxes. One of them was hidden in Hogwarts and everything, but you'd never find it. So yeah, a bunch of good people died, but then they triumphed over evil. It was a good story."
The most powerful wizard of his world listened with increased interest. Disbelief turned to amusement as I finished the brief summary.
"By Merlin’s beard, young man, that must have been quite an adventure!" he said cheerfully.
"It was, yes. But now you get to go on another. You'll be replacing another very powerful character in another great story," he said, trying to convince him of my ridiculous idea. "Plus, you get to do magic again."
Curiosity shone through his glasses upon hearing the latest. "And who might my «equal in most respects» be?" he asked.
I grabbed another well-read book from the nearest shelf. Its famous title was upside down as I happily delivered it to the wizard.
"Gandalf the Grey," I said.
******
/r/Camberlot | Dad's always busy. Whenever you ask him to do something no matter what it is, he just says, "Later." Later, later, later--and tomorrow comes but later never does.
So you pretty much have to replace him. You hardly seem him anyway. He's either at work or he's telling you he's too tired to go swimming this weekend or he's too busy to help you with your history poster. He'll help you *later.*. After he gets through some dumb thing at work, he'll have more time and he'll take you to Kings Mountain (except he won't because then there'll be some other dumb thing at work).
You take the magic dial and hold it over the latest *Action Comics*. You twist and twist until Dad's gone and Superman is there. Superman won't ignore you. All right, he looks a little confused right now, but Superman can do *anything.*
Except he throws your only baseball into the next county. And he's going to get it back, but he heard an earthquake so he has to go rescue people. And then there's a burning building. And a cat stuck in a tree (which is not a Superman level threat, but he lectures you about kindness to animals when you point that out).
He does take you to Kings Mountain, but he keeps disappearing in a red and blue blur to help people. Which is what Superman's supposed to do and you'd be disappointed if he didn't do superhero stuff, but it's not much better than your Dad being gone all the time if he's never really there for very long.
When you get home, you flip through the comic. Dad looks pretty freaked out at first, but by the end he's gotten a job with Lex Luthor. In the last panel they're shaking hands and you really don't like Luthor's face. Or Dad's.
You'll wait for next month's issue to decide if you want to bring Dad back. | 2017-09-28T12:57:08 | 2017-09-28T12:46:50 | 158 | 12 |
[WP] You are a security guard working for a supervillain. One day, superheroes break in, and in the ensuing fight you get what should be a fatal wound. Hours later, you wake up... | The first thing that I saw when my eyes fluttered open was The Devastator standing right over me. I'd never seen him without his mask on before this, and only now realized that he had carrot-red hair, a smattering of freckles across his pale skin, and clear blue eyes. He looked so... *normal*. I'd expected him to have disfiguring scars, or some sort of horrific mutation, or something like that that would cause him to never take his mask off. But he was just like any other guy. Were it not for the yellow-and-scarlet suit of powered armor that he wore, I wouldn't have even known who it was.
I tried to sit up, and lightning jolted through every nerve in my entire body. "Relax," he said, easing me back onto the pillows. "Take it easy." Only then did I become aware of the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor in the background and the polished white tile of the walls. Looking around, I found that the entire room was filled with strange machinery and computers that I didn't recognize. I'd been in enough hospitals back when my dad was going through chemo and I'd *never* seen anything like this. The only thing that really felt in place was the reclining hospital bed under me and the IV drip going into my arm.
"What happened?" I asked.
Devastator had a slightly worried look, and he gingerly adjusted a bandage on my head. "You've sustained some serious head injuries," he said. "I was concerned that you might not remember. You were with me in the vault at Fort Knox, do you remember? When The Condor burst in?" He turned on the television in the corner and put on the surveillance footage, showing me being punched straight through a brick wall, causing that entire section of the complex to collapse on top of me.
I did remember. At least, I thought I did. I remembered the fluorescent-lit cinderblock hallway leading further and further underground. I remembered our joyous celebration as Devastator unleashed his atomic beam weapon and melted straight through the vault's foot-thick steel door. I remembered coming into the vault and seeing a sheer wall of solid gold bricks, more than I'd ever even imagined would be in there. I remember loading up the cart with Craig and David, struggling to carry just one ingot while Devestator was lugging whole pallets of them all by himself. And then there was an explosion, and choking thick dust, and screeching alarms, and chaos, and then the Condor was standing right in front of me. He just grinned as he cocked his fist and.... well, the surveillance video filled in the rest for me.
"Brian and Craig didn't make it. You were nearly dead too," Devastator answered. "And technically, for a few minutes, you were *actually* dead."
The surveillance video was still playing in the background. I watched Devastator fighting the Condor, superhuman strength versus the power of technology. They traded blows so powerful that any of them would have derailed a freight train. And then Devastator glanced toward the pile of broken concrete where my body had fallen after Condor's punch. He must have heard something, because he broke off the fight and began digging through the rubble. The Condor kept attacking, but Devastator used the rocks and slabs of concrete to keep him at bay. And then he reached into the hole, cradled me in his arms, and took off with his jet boots. The video cut to black after that.
"You saved me." He didn't really need to hear it, but saying it out loud helped *me* process it better. I tore the sheets off of myself, revealing that my left arm, most of my torso, and both of my legs were gone. They'd been replaced by gleaming steel and wires. Where my heart had once been, there was now a display panel showing technical readouts of my replacement body.
"It's not done," he said. "I still need to get some components for your legs. But soon enough you'll be good as new. *Better* than new, actually. New and *improved*. A lot of the same parts that I used on myself." He gestured at his own body underneath the armor. I'd know that some of it was mechanical, but never exactly how much. Just as I'd never seen him without his mask on, I'd also never seen him not wearing his armor.
I was still staring down at my new body, more in shock than anything else.
"I did try to save as much of you as possible," he continued, pointing to my right arm which seemed to still be all-natural. "But most of your body was crushed." He smacked his palms together for emphasis. *Like a pancake*, I filled in for him. I raised my new left arm and wiggled my 'fingers'. The motors inside whirred softly, but other than that it was just like my actual arm. Everything responded exactly as it should.
"I don't know how I can repay you!" I finally responded. "You saved me! All of this technology..." I'd been part of planning the Fort Knox job; I'd seen how much his atomic ray gun had cost. We'd had to pull a dozen different jobs just to get all of the necessary parts for it. Rebuilding me would have cost the Devastator a *fortune*. "And you.... you left the gold there."
He sighed. "I couldn't carry you and the gold," he confirmed. "Too much for one man; even me!"
I sat up again, ignoring the shooting pains racing down my spine. Then I clapped a hand on his shoulder and used that to pull myself to my feet, standing on my own two wobbly legs. "Well next time, there will be two of us." | Josh opened his eyes, his chest still sore from the lance that had been shoved through his heart.
Wait a second...
He hastily touched his chest in order to survey the damage, but it was as if he'd never been mortally wounded to begin with. Josh was confused - and that was putting it mildly. He remembered Valkyrie launching a spear at The Minotaur, and his heroic (not to mention stupid) dive in order to protect his employer. He'd felt immense agony, followed by nothingness.
However, it seemed death had other plans.
Josh got up to his feet as the dull pain in his ribs vanished. He felt as good as new, and as he surveyed the battlefield it seemed that his fate wasn't shared by the others.
A bunch of heroes and villains lay still on the floor. Josh wanted to believe that these people were merely unconscious, but his mind knew the bitter truth - they were dead. As Josh's eyes moved through the aftermath of the battle, his eyes fell upon his employer.
The Minotaur was lying on the ground, unmoving like all the rest. One of his titular horns was broken, and his body was riddled with a number of lances. Josh surveyed the area, but he couldn't find the body he was searching for...
"Freeze!"
Josh stopped in his tracks as he heard an all too familiar voice behind him. Slowly turning around, the ex-security guard laid eyes on a majestic woman clad in golden armor, riding on top of a beautiful pure-white steed. Valkyrie had her magical lance pointed at Josh, and her face had a poorly hidden expression of surprise as she recognized the man she'd accidentally impaled.
"You... but that's impossible!" She was staring in abject disbelief as she lowered her lance, and Josh couldn't blame her for the over-the-top reaction. "My lance impaled your heart! You shouldn't be walking right now!"
And yet, Josh was standing in front of her, as alive as one could be. He tried to say some off-hand phrase that sounded cool... but nothing came to mind. "Umm... sorry?"
But his words fell on deaf ears, as Valkyrie started talking on a device around her left arm that somewhat resembled a wristwatch. "Griffin, I've come into contact with an anomaly. What course of action should I take?"
There was a slight pause, before a voice emanated from the device. "Bring this person in."
"Okay." Valkyrie signed off as she brought her hand down, her gaze turning towards Josh as she did so.
"It seems you're in luck. The council wants to speak with you."
------
Hi! If you liked this story and want to read more tales like this, please consider subscribing to my new subreddit, r/Ritwik_Mitra!
Edit: Here's [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ritwik_Mitra/comments/5zkpb1/wp_part_2_you_are_a_security_guard_working_for_a/), for anyone who's interested. | 2017-03-14T09:06:33 | 2017-03-14T09:01:51 | 255 | 28 |
[WP] You were a billionaire pretending to be an average Joe in order to find someone who loves you for who you are and not what you have, now in your honeymoon you confess the truth to your spouse who was apparently doing the same thing | Their marriage was quaint. Under the lazy white lights of a courthouse waiting room, Marcus and Vanessa sat together, hands clasped, fingers interweaved, hearts pounding. Alongside them were four or five of their closest friends, but in the lovers' world all they could see were each other. She was wearing the same wedding dress her mother wore on her special day, years ago. He was wearing a suit rented from a cheap place in the mall, to be returned later that day. They both thought the other was beautiful.
Finally, their names were called, and together, under the watchful eye of a court clerk, the two became one. With a kiss, and a tear, their hearts threatened to burst. It was everything they wanted and more. Marcus's friend whistled with his fingers in his mouth; one of Vanessa's ran up and hugged her tight. Everyone was happy. Unfortunately, business hours were almost over, and the courthouse was soon to close, and so, after arranging transportation ("Andrew, you can ride with Stephanie"), everyone went to the newly weds' apartment.
The apartment was small, cozy. They had lucked out on an affordable place in a good part of town. Initially, they were nervous, because they both, individually, owned their own houses nearby, but, in the end, neither found out about the other's. Under the guise of picking something up from an estranged uncle ("who definitely shouldn't come to the wedding"), that same morning, Marcus had brought Vanessa to his house, just to see how she'd react. Instead of commenting on the size of the house, or the fact that she'd never met the uncle before, Vanessa simply waited in the car, patiently. When Marcus finally came out carrying nothing, all she did was mention how she'd like to meet this mysterious uncle. Marcus smiled, knowing he wasn't making a mistake.
The party of seven filled every available seat in the apartment. Drinks were poured, games were played. After the sun had been down for hours, and people had had enough time to sober up, the party came to a halt, ending with plenty of hugs and kisses. The two promised to themselves they'd clean up the mess tomorrow as they fell in love again in their bedroom.
The next day, on a plane, Vanessa couldn't help but admire her husband's handsomeness as he snored next to her. His messy dark hair, his clean aloha shirt, the way his chest drifted up and then down with every breath—it was all perfect in her eyes. She had to restrain herself from pouncing on him. After putting a movie on the tiny screen, she drifted off as well.
On their first night of their honeymoon, they had agreed to arrive at dinner separately. "It will be like our first date, all over again," Marcus said. Vanessa giggled. "Hopefully I don't spill wine all over my dress again. I could barely afford to get it washed," she said.
Sitting in the restaurant, not in an aloha shirt anymore, nor a rented tux, but now a hand-sewn five-thousand-dollar suit, Marcus's heart pounded. How would she take the news? The doomsday scenario in his mind was this: she'd see him and nervously take her seat. He'd tell her how he was rich all along, hiding it from her the entire time. Finally hearing his lie (which wasn't much of a lie, he thought, but more like an omission), Vanessa would frown, and ask why he had hid it for so long, and then maybe, just maybe, if he had read her wrong, if she wasn't the woman he thought she was, her trust would be broken forever. An irreparable fissure. He'd nod his head and walk out of the restaurant, never to see her again. He'd understand.
Instead, though, as he saw her enter the room, he was the one confused. She shone brighter than the chandeliers, the wine bottles, and the lights themselves. It was as if an angel had arrived onto earth. It was impossible to draw your eyes away. She had on a golden dress and silver jewellery. Her hair was perfectly styled and her makeup brought out the already stunning features of her face. She was beautiful.
"Vanessa," Marcus said, standing from his seat, unable to stop himself from giggling. "Wow! Since when did you have, uh, all that?"
"Mark," Vanessa said, laughing as well at the situation, "how about yourself?" She pointed at him with her palm facing up. "I didn't know you were so stylish. I bet that suit cost a pretty penny."
Standing in front of her, Marcus put his hand on the back of her head as he looked into her twinkling eyes. Both of their faces were saying the same thing: I already knew. There were misplaced bank statements, missing receipts. A ring mistaken for one a thousand times cheaper. Cologne that a high-school English teacher couldn't afford. Both of them had been sloppy in hiding their wealth, and maybe it had been on purpose.
"You think it's okay?" Vanessa asked. "Us, like this? We lied to each other for years, you know?"
Marcus nodded. "Of course it's okay," he said, as he began to cry, and brought Vanessa's head closer to his. She smelled like heaven.
And then, in the middle of that restaurant, under the dim lights of the chandeliers, they kissed each other so passionately, so warmly, so lovingly, knowing that, finally, they both had found true love. | Him
Today was going to be the day.
&#x200B;
Today was going to be the day I finally told her what my job was. Our relationship was perfect, we found each other at a small-cafe located inside of a relatively poor village and bonded over our simplistic hobbies and personalities. I fell in love with her instantly however the first issue in our relationship was strangely who moved into who's house. I of course was completely against her moving into my 5 billion pound apartment and finding out that I was a rich man, less she think me too snobby and move on.
&#x200B;
So instead we gathered all of our cash and settled in a humble attached house with a 5 rooms. We loved each other deeply and it was the first time I saw someone who was attracted to my personality and ideals, not my wallet and my cars.
I plan to tell her about my job tonight, I believe we are the level of relationship to be able to stay together from this. I prepared my speech and walked out of the bathroom to talk to my smiling, strangely anxious spouse.
Some company just rejected my multi-million pound deal though, I'll deal with it tomorrow.
&#x200B;
Her
I was going to confess to Joe yesterday until I had to delay our date for a quick excuse to the toilet in order text my secretary to reject the multi-national deal my company was going through. The audacity of them stopping my dates. I promised myself to dump their stocks tomorrow.
&#x200B;
Today, I awoke in his arms and I felt nothing but love and bliss. I put it off due to how much effort I saw he spent in buying the candles. All of them I found on google planning for the date for 1 pound for a packet and I loved their simplicity. It appeared he beat me in buying them.
&#x200B;
When I was young, my parents frequently introduced me to rich playboys or those looking for an easy way to make money. I despised them and I swore that I would become powerful by myself. However power is gained by placing yourself above people and that means inequality. I was lonely and perhaps that was what made me choose that cafe 3 months ago.
&#x200B;
He is out of the toilet now and looks slightly nervous, I wonder what his job is.
&#x200B;
author: Tell me if you want another part :)) | 2022-02-24T17:10:34 | 2022-02-24T15:58:21 | 1,032 | 111 |
[WP] You are driving to your friend's house to play D&D. A truck losses control and just before it hits you time freezes and a message appears "roll to dodge the truck" | The truck swerved to the side, missing us by inches. The sudden turn caused the truck to jack-knife as it hurtled towards the overhang, its screeching tires leaving long black rubber marks along the road. The driver managed to jump free right as the truck went over the edge, his trucker hat flying skywards as he rolled across the ground like a rag-doll, only coming to a stop after the truck's impact explosion had long since echoed up from below.
I stared, dumbfounded, both at the space the massive eighteen wheeler had so recently occupied and at the number 18, which just now faded from my vision, winking out of existence in a much less intense fashion than the unfortunate truck.
"Duuuuude," Sammy said from the passenger seat, his hands shaking violently as he tried to light a cigarette. "That was pretty fucked up."
"Yeah," I said, barely able to process what just occurred, let alone voice a response. I indicated at the limp figure on the ground. "I'm going to see if he is okay."
The trucker's limbs were awkwardly splayed, almost like the four cardinal directions on a compass.
*Roll a loot check.*
I stepped backwards, staggering a little as I rapidly assessed my mental state. I hadn't done acid in a while... maybe flashbacks? A residual trailing of it? Or... this could be my brain processing the very real near-death experience I just went through. Yeah. That was it.
*Roll a loot check*.
The text floated in-front of me, hovering about three feet away. It was flashing faster now and the color was growing lighter. This happened right before the truck swerved, I recalled. Right before it was about to slam into us. What did I do then?
Roll, I thought, eyeing the floating text.
The number 18 flashed again. Knowing what to do next, I bent over and ruffled through the dead man's pockets. Spare keys, a pack of Marlboro's and a scratched lottery ticket, the state-wide LottoMax .
I pulled out my phone and checked the numbers, the result making me feel a little weak in the knees. The ticket was worth 1.2 million dollars.
"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit," I said, the words devolving into a garbled mess. I ran back to the car and jumped into the driver's seat. Sammy was still shaking, but now he was also taking long drags from his cigarette. I tossed him the pack of Marlboro's.
"Call the cops," I said, starting the car up and driving it towards the curb. "Trucker's dead." I turned the car off and eyed the rubber scorch marks, which were smeared for at least a hundred feet. "Should probably call John too," I said, my mind now reeling from the million dollar payload in my jean pocket, not to mention the near death experience and the weird hovering numbers. "We're not going to make it to tonight's session."
The police questioned us for an hour before they let us go, frowning in our rear-view mirror as we drove back the way we came. Rolling a 14 had helped.
Sammy chain smoked, rambling the entire drive home. I barely paid attention, the winning lottery ticket inducing happiness-filled day dreams of what I would do with the money, the near death experience all but forgotten.
Just as I opened my front door, the floating text appeared again.
*Roll to discover extent of infestation.* | Time froze and my arms flew up and were waiting to be crushed by a truck and then nothing.
I opened my eyes and the truck was frozen in front of me and the words roll to doge appear in front of me. I reached out and grabbed a d20 from my bag and I rolled it. Everything in my life was counting on this one roll.
The die tumbled out of my hands and on the the dash board and slowed to a stop...
1
The die I rolled was a critical failure. Looking up at the truck time in froze and I was crushed and died on impact. | 2019-02-12T10:29:38 | 2019-02-12T10:24:10 | 128 | 42 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend. | *I apologize in advance. I am a horrible person.
The silly Gentile friend of mine needs help. I mean, it's a shame that she has ultimately loose morals and will possibly burn in all eternity for lack of true faith and ultimate knowledge, but her lack of relation with our Savior is eating away at her soul.
I recommended the Rabbi down at the Church for passive water treatment, but she refused. I asked her to attend a Ceremony of Worship, but she did not like the idea of this, either.
I just want her to know what it is like to know God as I do - as she very well should! But she sticks with her lack of faith.
Eventually she agrees to see a psychiatrist. Not my first choice, but at least she finally is seeking the treatment she deserves.
I observe her conversations with the shrink. He talks with her about her home life, her hobbies, her family, and any potentially stressful events. Not a single word is uttered about religion. Baffling.
She tells about her family - there is no baggage there. She talks about her hobbies, which she is lacking. Then she discusses her learning and schooling, which in my opinion are useless when faced with eternal suffering.
Then she opens up about what is "stressing" her. She talks about a strange urging to visit the local Temple, but her family never pushed for it so she could not figure out where she grasped such a notion.
The one talking to her pauses. She raises an eyebrow and asks more about these strange impulses.
She opens up about witnessing the Temple from afar, but never had obligations to visit. She mused about it, but ultimately pursued her education over the practicality that is being saved by our benevolent father.
"I really don't feel anything toward religion," My friend says, "It does not make much sense to me. But it's almost as if a voice is pulling me toward it. It only happens when I walk by something that reminds me of it."
The nerve of her! Here I am, trying to save her . . . yet she mocks my very belief. I immediately whisper something to her, reminding her of never-ending damnation.
"There it is again," She said, "I'm not sure what this is."
The female psychiatrist made a note in her clipboard, then asked with concern in her voice, "Do you ever hear voices? When no one else is there?"
"Voices?" She blinked, ". . . I'm not sure. Sometimes it feels like I'm not alone."
"Hmm . . ."
The shrink ended their first meeting, but encouraged her to come back. They spent a lot of time together. I stop paying attention because none of it pertains to me or the Lord, but eventually she is put on medicine - I don't know, anti-depressants maybe? She also sees a new doctor. Then another new doctor.
I whisper to go see the Temple, but she doesn't listen to me anymore. What a rude friend.
Eventually I just sort of get tired. I close my eyes and think.
I suppose it was a little weird to accompany her to her appointments. Friends are for something, but she hardly reciprocates.
I guess I will just worship on my own, then.
Hmm . . . Tired. . . I guess I will just sleep for a while. | Kelly stared down at her unanswered text message. Internet friends could be so unreliable. Her friend had been nagging her for years through an app to get help, but when she finally did, they ghosted her. It was a real dilemma.
She read the text again and sighed. “WHERE YOU AT? HOLLA WHEN YOU GET HERE.”
Kelly’s friend looked over her shoulder.
“Why are you trying to text in Excel?”
| 2018-01-06T12:05:59 | 2018-01-06T08:56:02 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You can choose one thing to be the best at. Your title as the best will never be broken. However, you're only as skilled at it as you are now. Everyone else just gets worse. What do you choose? (x-post from /r/AskReddit)
Wasn't originally planning to ask this here. I posted this question in /r/AskReddit. But, /u/nolander_78 asked me to x-post it here because they thought (and I agreed) that it would make for an interesting writing prompt. Well, happy writing everyone. Can't wait to read what you can come up with!
Edit: Just want to remind everyone that this isn't /r/AskReddit. Please follow the rules of this sub. | The bearded man asks me the question, something that I hardly was expecting.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"The thing you choose, you'll be the best at, forever. Your skill won't increase, though, the skill of others will simply decrease," he replies calmly. His wrinkled face looks at me patiently, waiting for his words to sink in.
"I'm sorry, sir, are you okay? Come on, let's find you some place to sit down," I say. He's clearly delusional. I hope he's not having some sort of breakdown.
"I'm fine," he says, and resisted my tugging with strength a man of his age should not have. I start to feel a bit frightened. "I'm trying to give you a gift. Please take it." The look in his eyes tell me he's determined to give me this "gift," so I decide to play along, if only to get away.
"Why are you giving me this gift?" I ask him.
"You're a kind person, sold short by all the greedy and self-centered people in the world. You deserve better, and I'd like to give it to you." He stared deeply into my eyes, still maintaining that patient look. *He looks very grounded for how he's talking,* I think. "Okay, I can see you don't believe me. Here, I'll prove it to you." He snaps his fingers, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then my vision bleeds, everything going runny, like when sheets of rain run down a windshield. This odd sensation slowly returns my vision back to clarity, but now there's a difference.
"E-everything's black and white," I say.
"Yes, for you," he says. He snaps his fingers again and the sensation reverses, granting me my normal vision back. "Now, what would you like to be the best at?"
I'm in shock, reeling from the strange thing that just happened to me. Questions fly through my head. Who is this? What is going on? Am I in some sort of dream right now? Then the realization of what he's giving me hits me like a slap. *The best at anything,* I think. *I can choose anything in the world, and no one will ever be better than me at it. I could go down in history, shatter records. I could hold power, the most power the world has ever known. I could make myself rich.* As I thought of these things, though, a small, very small voice in the back of my head contributed one tiny idea. But as I considered that one idea, I realized how empty the other ones were. I wanted to refuse that tiny idea, but I knew that it was the best option. I would not benefit from it, but that didn't change that fact. I really, *really* wanted to get something out of it though.
"Gah!" I exclaim. "I know what I want."
"Tell me," the old man says. I take a deep breath, trying to think of any other answer, but I can't shake this idea.
"Make me the best at being self-centered," I say quickly. He looks at me quizzically, but then that look transforms into a grin.
"I knew I judged you right. The most selfless man in the world becoming the most selfish man in the world. What a strange day it is." He snaps his fingers once more, and disappears forever. | ###**Notice to /r/askreddit pilgrims**
Please take note of Rules 1 and 2 in the sidebar. This is not /r/askreddit; literal answers to the question posed by the prompt (i.e. "I'd be the best at writing") qualify as "low effort" responses - keep those kind of responses to the /r/askreddit thread. This is a place for expounding on the story around your choice - the consequences, the circumstances around how it happened, et cetera. | 2015-02-20T06:24:48 | 2015-02-20T06:09:50 | 92 | 19 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | By the time I was 12, I'd had enough of the system; being born to two junkies and bounced around between foster homes will do that to a girl. The last house was the worst, though. I was small for my age, and an easy target for the abuse of the other misfits taken in by a mean old bastard, using kids to collect a government cheque. A life on the street was a better option.
I'm no dummy, so I did okay. But still, life was rough. Until Mr Wraith took me in. I guess I reminded him of the daughter he'd lost, so he put me to work cleaning his gear in exchange for a warm bed and 3 squares a day. Life was good. For 4 years we existed, me helping out wherever I could, him going out every night to purge the streets of scum. He was the father I never had, until the law caught up with him. Apparently vigilantism is frowned upon, so Mr. Wraith went away to Sing Sing, and I was out on the street again.
I worked my way up, though. Eventually bought myself a sweet little spot, and opened up The Night Owl; a little cafe, out in the industrial area by the docks. The coffee's strong enough to peel paint, just the way my clientele like it.
I know who my regulars are, sure. But I treat them just like anyone else. They're out there doing what needs to be done, night after night, and as much as i'm sometimes tempted to go full fangirl on 'em, I keep it professional: coffee served with a smile, and secrets kept.
I'd been running the Owl for almost 5 years, when it all crashed down. I showed up at 7, eager to start the evening, when I saw the destruction. Door hanging off the hinges, windows smashed, and damn near everything that wasn't bolted down was thrown around like confetti.
I stood there, stunned. I had insurance, sure, but the repairs would keep the cafe closed for longer than I could last without an income.
At some point I must have sat down on the curb. I had no idea how long I'd been there, when a gloved hand fell on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw a familiar masked face.
Before I could utter a word, Shadow spoke. "Don't worry, Lily, we'll fix this."
I started to protest when another voice joined in. "You're gonna come stay with me for a bit, and we'll take care of everything. Time for a vacation anyway, yeah?" Switchblade said, leather jacket creaking as his muscles coiled for action.
A sob escaped, and I stood on shaky legs. More people were arriving, all my regulars eager for a caffeine fix I couldn't provide.
"You guys would do this for me?" I asked, voice thick with emotion.
It was Kestral who spoke, always the unofficial leader. "Of course. You know we'd do anything for you, Lily. "
Hands reached out, offering comforting touches and shoulder clasps.
"Anything?" I whispered, still grappling with the idea that I meant something to the crowd in front of me.
Heads nodded firmly in response.
I swallowed hard before asking my next question. "How do you all feel about a jailbreak?" | My friends calmly tracked down the rude customer and knocked on the door. They proceeded to have a polite conversation in where it ended with the rude customer saying sorry and apologizing for taking out his marital frustrations on the Cafe. They all then went back to the Cafe and drank maple syrup and watched hockey because they were living in Canada. | 2018-10-20T21:39:31 | 2018-10-20T20:48:06 | 62 | 15 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see. | On my third day encamped at the base of the Dawnbreaker mountains I met the great cat *Kurush-En,* who the locals thought a god and who at the time I thought only an entry in my bestiary. A crucial and long sought entry of course, for this hadn’t been my first trip and wouldn’t have been my last, but it was still no more than a collection of words and a picture to sell back on Earth. In the days after the Gates were discovered we were all trying to be latter-day Livingstone’s, but in the classic fashion of young men I thought myself exempt from his fate.
I was writing in my journal at twilight when it happened. All around our small, rough camp there arose a low, echoing growl, singularly without menace when compared to all others I have ever heard. That did not stop our local guides and porters from springing to their feet however, chattering rapidly in their clicking language I still struggled to understand. There is a certain wisdom among the natives of the Sirius Cluster’s smaller worlds, a fact which I only came to understand later.
“*Kurush-En, Kurush-En!”* They shouted, pulling their packs together as quickly as they could, lacing up the brightly colored boots so popular among their people. For my part I felt a deep excitement, and as I crossed to Cynthia, my partner on this expedition, I could see she felt the same.
“Cyn,” I called, “get the cameras ready! This could finally be the moment!”
She was already ahead of me, pylons set on all corners of the camp powering up with a high pitched whir, ready to catch the creature from 360 degrees if it entered into their field of view. All we needed was one clear shot of it out of the bush, at the distance it sounded our sensors could nearly blood-type it.
“*Kurush-En!”* Our chief guide, Ting-Ting, whispered to me, coming up and clinging to my left side with his too warm, 3 fingered hands. “Much danger, we run. Too dark, too dark!”
“Ting-Ting, we didn’t come all this way and spend all this money just to run from the first one we see. Your people knew why we were here. We stay damnit! All of us!”
I could see the terror written on my guide’s face. The scent of their fear pheromones lay heavily in the air around us, and as I watched two of the porters sprinted off into the gathering dark of the snowy mountains.
“If you run I won’t pay you!” I shouted, stilling the remaining crowd. Their village was too poor for that to be taken lightly.
“Malcolm, I’ve got something on sensors!” Cynthia’s voice rang out clear in the silence that followed and I hurried to her side.
“What the hell is that?” I whispered when I got there. The device we used displayed vital statistics common to 98% of the species humanity had ever encountered, but I had never heard of this. On the screen the red dot of a life sign approached from the brush, 20 meters away, 15, 10. Around it a series of other, smaller signatures seemed to pulse, pulling in towards it and then flowing outward over and over, in time to the beat of the growl that still filled the night air.
When it stepped into the camp the growling stopped along with all of our hearts.
The *Kurush-En* stood near as tall as a man at the shoulder, with an eyeless, mouthless head the size of a boulder. Its fur was pure white, and more sleek than I had imagined it to be. Along its back a line of short tendril-ish spines shivered, each of their points glowing a light blue. Its paws had no claws or they were retracted, and its tail was long and thin, moving with a mind of its own.
I had never seen any creature half so beautiful.
From beside me I could hear Cynthia sigh in wonder, her hand going to her throat as she whispered over and over “it can’t be, it can’t be.”
We had heard many legends of the mountain’s famous “cat god” over the years, but ours were the first human eyes to ever see it. From every conceivable angle around the camp the camera pylons blinked away, capturing the creature forever. By noon tomorrow we would have it on the front pages of every nature magazine on Earth and all her colonies.
We were naïve then, but looking back I can hardly blame us. The *Kurush-En* spent nearly ten minutes in our camp examining us each in turn, though we couldn’t figure out how it did on a head so completely without orifices. At the end it even pressed its forehead to Cynthia’s chest, and she swore she could feel a deep thrumming hum come from it, although I myself never heard it.
When the creature disappeared back into the brush Cynthia and I had never felt such a sense of loss, and I at least was already planning more expeditions to come. We had neither the tools or the inclination on this trip to capture so large a beast but with proof of its existence anything was possible. Every zoo in the worlds would fight to have one.
We were back to the village on the next day, all our natives save the two who had run paid off, and by the following night we were back through the Gate to Earth, news of our findings racing ahead of us.
The dreams started the following week, when the hubbub had died down and we were each left alone with our thoughts. I snapped awake on the first night clutching my pillow like a shield, with visions of my own eyeless, mouthless, face dancing in my head.
And the next night.
And the next.
And the next.
Slowly the dreams crept into my waking life, pulling at the edges of my consciousness until in the middle of conversations a person’s face might disappear, and I would suddenly find myself speaking to a terrifyingly blank slate. In the next weeks it invaded everything, every facet of my life, until interviewers stopped calling and my own family spoke of psychiatric hospitals and medication.
When Cynthia called she seemed even worse off than me. “Malcolm,” she said one night, her voice hovering on the edge of hysteria, “what the hell were we thinking? We were trying to play god up on that mountain with all our high tech toys and big ideas. There was already a god there though, we were on his territory.” Her fragile giggling at that might have been the most frightening thing of all.
“Maybe we should have listened to Ting-Ting, he knew something, remember? He looked so scared that night. You spoke to him then, what did he say?”
A long pause as I went back to that day. It had become a hard memory. “He said we should run, that it was too dark. He said that twice, ‘too dark.”
“See, he knew!” she exclaimed. “Too dark, and it started for both of us in our dreams. I swear I can hear it all the time now, that noise when it pressed its head up against me. I feel so weak, I think I’m going crazy.”
“We’re probably just sick, who knows what we could have picked up from the natives. Maybe we missed a shot or something like that.”
“It’s not that and you know it! Don’t patronize me.” I could hear her on the other end, her breath coming heavily. “Malcolm?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I can’t believe we were so stupid.” The giggling began again, bringing to mind a pane of glass as cracks begin to spiderweb through it. “We never even thought about it, asked ourselves at all. Malcolm, how does a creature with no mouth eat?”
I was quiet as her laughter broke open, filling the call until the too permanent silence of her suddenly hanging up.
She was right, I hadn’t even questioned it with everything else and I should have with one so massive. How did a creature with no mouth eat?
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm currently working on a serial about 3 teens running into a hive mind and there's other fun stuff like an AI trying to be the cutest little girl she can be. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: Thank you for the gold and for the wonderful comment with the hugz award! | "Here kitty, kitty, kitty," Rowland Jensen approached the small furry creature in a crouch and make small kissing noises so he didn't scare the poor thing away.
At Space Command Academy, the first lesson of exobiology was to not assume Earth-equivalent traits on extraterrestrial creatures. What looks like a pair of eyes on an alien creature may turn out to be reproductive organs, as with Skirst race.
Rowland breathed a sigh of relief his first mission didn't take him there.
But he knew it was a mistake to call the animal in front of him a *kitty*. Felis catus was a genius and species unique to Earth and any resemblance to something here on Alcarian-4 was purely coincidental, as Profession Farris used to say.
Damn if this thing didn't look exactly like a small, perfect kitty cat, though.
Rowland had a cat at home that looked just like the little guy here, down to the same gray patch of fur behind the left ear on his otherwise snow-white fur. Wide brown eyes blinked up at Rowland, somehow even more adorable than Sox had been.
His boot crushed a small, indigenous flower with small purple petals and a red center. The flattened plant tugged as something in the back of Rowland's mind, the reason he was here.
A botanical collection. Alcarian-4 was believed to be in an area similar to pre-Cretaceous Earth, before flowering plants evolved. Some planets never developed flowering flora, but biologists generally considered it a necessary precursor to intelligent life.
The first spectral scans that showed these purple flowers drew excitement across the sector. A chance to study the phenomenon as it emerged. Rowland's ship was the closest and sent for an immediate non-evasive survey of the surface.
Well, if the scientists all had their panties in a bunch over some purple flowers, they would go batshit when they saw Sox 2 here.
Sox 2 gave a low hiss as Rowland scraped the small flowers off his boot, tiny canine teeth bared. He turned his attention away from the flower and put a flat hand out to little Sox 2.
"Shh, I won't hurt you. Don't run away," he took a few more duck-walk steps forwards, careful to avoid the purple flowers that seemed to upset the animal.
Rowland made progress by slow stages until Sox 2 was only another step away, so close he could imagine the soft fur, like when original Sox used to curl up on his lap as he studied.
A purr so loud came from Sox 2 that Rowland couldn't resist and leaned into the last short distance to scoop up the adorable creature.
Confusion hit as his hand passed straight through the animal, like an apparition. Had the ghost of Sox come back to haunt him here on this alien planet?
Sox 2 smiled, a look he never remembered from original Sox. He lifted one tiny paw and brought it to Rowland's still-outstretched hand.
It might have felt like a ghost when he tried to pick up Sox 2, but the rake of claws down his hand was very real. Rowland pulled back his hand, four thin wells of blood left from the scratch.
The mission. Why was Rowland playing with the ghost of his dead cat, breaking all protocol and putting his career in jeopardy?
His head swam, and he looked around, trying to remember where he was.
"Sox," he asked the empty rock, but Sox 2 was nowhere. The landscape was open, he couldn't have run away. Just disappeared.
With horror, Rowland watched a giant purple flower, a much larger version of the small one crushed under his boot, appeared in place of the rock. Like a fog lifting in the bright sun of the morning, Rowland could see a new scene.
The flower looked like an equivalent to Earth's Venus fly trap. Large with a powerful hinging jaw. The canine teeth he saw on fluffy belonged to this plant, stained red with tiny drops of his blood.
Rowland turned to run, but his feet collapsed from under him. He started to shake and convulse, unable to control his body. A red-hot pain radiated from the scratch on his hand. Some kind of toxin.
His convulsions brought him closer to the patch of small purple flowers, the first ones he encountered on the scouting mission.
Laying down in the small patch of flowers, his partner Reilly lay on her back, reaching towards some invisible point in the sky with a huge grin on her face. "Tweety, you came back!" Reilly exclaimed, oblivious to Rowland or the giant purple flower.
"Reilly, run," Rowland said, trying to get closer to the flowers and catch her attention. Their sweet lavender-sage smell hit him again, and all the pain disappeared.
As he lay in the sweet scent of the flowers, the Venus fly trap went fuzzy and disappeared like a mirage in the desert. Sox 2 returned, purring and nuzzling against his cheek. Rowland tried to pet the cat, but his hands still wouldn't work.
*A hallucinogen*, was Rowland's last coherent thought.
"Hello again, Sox 2," Rowland blinked a few times around his dilated pupils. "I'm glad you came back to play. Let's wait here a little while and I'm sure someone will come to help us. I'd love to have the rest of the crew meet you."
r/StaceyOutThere | 2021-01-25T07:22:34 | 2021-01-25T07:18:05 | 1,469 | 293 |
[WP] Looking into the camera on your phone you jokingly say, "Hey, NSA, if you want to go out on a date, gimme a call!" To your surprise, suddenly the phone rings! "H-hello?" "Hi! I'm from the NSA." | "Is this Larry Hampton?"
"Oh, shit."
"Is this Larry? Larry Hampton?"
This is.
"This is. Who is this?"
"Listen to me very carefully. I don't know who you are, and I don't have any money. What I do have is a very
particular set of skills."
"I- - What?"
"Nah, just kidding. I'm high. Listen to me, I work for the NSA."
"Yeah, I got that part", I say, a little confused, a little scared.
Ok, a lot scared.
"I got something to say to you."
"What is it?"
"Just... Oh, shit. Hang on, I forgot."
"Dude, is this really the NSA?"
"It is! Listen, I remembered now. Go and look out your window. There should be a black sedan parked out
your front porch right now."
I go check it out.
Holy mother of God there is.
"Holy mother of God there is."
"Yes. They are also from the NSA."
"Why?" I ask, stupidly.
"I don't know. Cause they joined the agency. It's a whole thing with self-esteem issues, these agents. They --"
"I mean why are they parked here."
"Oh", the voice on the other line says. "They -- uh -- they're going to kill you."
"Oh, ok", I say. Then, "WHAT?"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember now", the voice continues. "Listen, you need to get out of your house right now. The men.
They are going to kill you. Can you see them? They are wearing black suits."
"Why?"
"It's standard dress code for agents, they --"
"I MEAN WHY ARE THEY GOING TO KILL ME!"
"Oh, that. Yeah, I -- ok, remember when you and your friends prank called that guy, the one named Norton?"
"Norton?"
"Yeah, you kept telling him you were the virus, asking him why he deleted you."
"Oh, yeah", I say, remembering last night. I need to cut back on the booze.
"That call actually got crossed with an NSA call. A confidential one. About ostriches."
"About what?"
"No, that's the other thing. Forget the ostriches."
"What's going on?" I ask, a little desperately.
Ok, a lot desperately.
I hear a doorbell ring.
"Dude, that's them. Get out of the house!"
"But I didn't do anything!"
"The call that got crossed, it was confidential. You heard stuff, bro."
"I didn't hear anything! I didn't even know the calls were crossed, I swear!"
"Doesn't matter. They don't know that."
"Mr. Hampton, open up!" I hear, from the door.
"What should I do?" I ask, looking around, phone pressed so tight against my ear it hurts.
"I had a bag filled with equips. I mean plate armors, double-handed sword, a bunch of runes. It just disappeared."
"WHAT?" I scream to the phone.
"Oh, sorry. I'm on the other line with Cipsoft. Fucked up my Tibia account. Bunch of stuff just disappeared."
"MR. HAMPTON OPEN UP RIGHT NOW!"
"DUDE, WHAT SHOULD I DO?"
"Ok, ok. Out the window."
"What?"
"The window. The back window from your bathroom. Go through it, jump across to Mrs. Hannaway's backyard and
run."
"How do you know --"
"THERE IS NO TIME MAN, THEY HAVE A BOMB!"
"OH SHIT, I say, making way to the bathroom. "THEY HAVE A BOMB?"
"Nah, I'm just fucking with you. They are going to kill you, though. That part was real."
I climb out the window.
"What now?"
"Run. Meet me at 34th street and Santa Monica. Fast."
"What?"
"Listen man, there's stuff you have no idea going on, ok? I'm trying to help you. These men find you, they'll shove
a driller up your ass and make you chew a nest of wasps. Hand to God, I've seen them do it. And the whole thing with the ostriches, dude, it's --"
"WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THE OSTRICHES?" I ask, losing my cool a little bit.
Ok, a lot.
"34th and Santa Monica. Now. And bring tacos."
___________________________
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/psycho_alpaca for more stories!*
| I stood shocked. I pulled the phone away from my face and looked at the unknown number flashing on my phone.
I stammered out a response. "You're... you're kidding right."
The unfamiliar voice at the other end chuckled. "I don't know, am I?"
In my brain I rambled off a million thoughts of who this could be and how it could just be one giant coincidence.
"You're using my phone's camera to spy on me?" I slid my hand around my phone a little tighter as to block the camera as the front facing was pressed fairly firmly to my head.
"No, no, no."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought to myself 'this is all a joke then.'
"We use the microphone to listen to conversations. Mind you, in you're facebook profile picture you look damn cute."
The voice was male, definitely male.
"You look at my facebook. Who the hell are you."
"You asked for a date. I heard you. My name is Chris and I think you are cute."
I tried hard not to picture a nerdy guy with large rimmed glasses with tape in the middle and gelled down hair.
"Chris, you suck at spying." I giggled a little, turning my flirt on. "Because if you had learnt anything about me, you'd know I am into girls."
I hung up the phone then. Contemplated throwing it out even. Then thought 'this could be fun' and tucked it into my back pocket.
| 2015-02-20T17:27:26 | 2015-02-20T16:52:03 | 403 | 44 |
[Wp] Write a story that will make me question my morality.
Write a story that is so shocking it will make me question my morality.
Edit: Wow.
| “Five minutes to choose, Charlie. Make it a good one,” the voice cackled.
The seconds ticked mercilessly downwards. His wrists burned against the restraints as his hands strained to stay away from the two glowing red buttons that stared at him from beneath the clock. To his right was his daughter, Anna, gagged and bound to the chair. She had stopped struggling, stopped screaming through the gag. She just looked at him, eyes red from crying, pleading. Sturdy electrical wires connected the table in front of him to her chair.
Opposite him was a man, unshaven, unwashed, desperate. Charles could almost have been looking in a mirror, except the man didn’t have the buttons in front of him. They were his alone.
To his left was the other girl, the other man’s daughter, in another chair. She was the only one not looking at him; she was slumped against her bonds, head down, resigned, as if she knew how this was going to end. Another set of wires led to her chair.
He looked away, back down to the relentless clock and the absurdly small buttons. Each worth a life.
“Don’t do it. Don’t give him what he wants,” the man said, pulling against the straps that held him as if reaching Charles with his body would help him reach him with his words.
“Inaction is a choice Charlie,” said the voice. “A choice that kills them both. You won’t be that silly will you?”
“He won’t do it. He’s bluffing…”
Charles almost laughed at that. Almost. The other man fell silent. Anna was still looking at him.
“Her name is Rachel. She’s fifteen. She likes singing, she’s always singing, she has such a beautiful voice, and she likes science and maths and-”
“Anna doesn’t like maths,” Charles muttered, failing not to listen, failing not to think.
The man was crying now.
“Please, she’s my daughter, I love her, you can’t, please, you can’t.”
“What else can I do? What choice do I have?” Charles snapped, anger at this whole, fucked up, twisted situation suddenly finding its voice.
“She,” he gestured to his right as much as his restraints allowed, “is my daughter. I have a duty to her. I have a responsibility to protect her.”
“I have a responsibility to protect her,” he repeated quietly, as if the mantra could ward off the guilt.
He kept his gaze fixed downwards, avoiding all the eyes.
“What about my daughter? Who is going to protect her?” the man asked desperately, then choked out, “I can’t.”
“I… I have to think of my daughter first, that’s a parent’s job.”
Why was he saying this? Did he expect forgiveness?
“No, you know that’s not right, you know that’s not fair.”
Charles’ eyes betrayed him. Anna was crying again, tears rolling down her face and dripping onto the floor. He wanted to reach out and brush them away, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.
“What else can I do?” he muttered.
“You could flip a coin,” the voice interjected, its brightness sending shivers down Charles’ spine.
“Well you can’t,” it laughed, “But I could. And I pwomise I’ll be fair.”
“That’s fair, that’s fair,” said the other man, grasping their tormentor’s suggestion like a drowning man grabbing a jackal’s proffered paw.
“No, you can’t really think… I’m not going to gamble my daughter’s life on the flip of a coin.”
But as he said it he couldn’t help but look at the other girl. Rachel had looked up, looking at him now with the faintest expression of hope.
That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair at all.
“Let’s see, shall we say heads Anna lives, tails Rachel lives,” the voice continued, as horrifyingly upbeat as ever.
The man looked hopeful too now. How could he possibly think this could end well for him?
“Ooh, so sorry Charlie. It’s tails.”
Of course it was tails.
He looked at Anna again. She looked shocked, and so very scared.
He looked at Rachel, the other girl. She met his gaze and averted her eyes, trying to hide her fear. She knew.
He looked at the man opposite him. He was looking at Charles more intently than ever.
“Come on, do what’s right.”
Charles slowly shook his head.
“That’s not right! That’s not fair,” the other man screamed, his voice full of anguish and despair.
Charles looked down. The clock had almost reached zero. His left hand found the button.
“I know,” he said, and pushed.
|
I remember the first night, as terrible as it was, it is one of those memories that never leaves you. My mother had come home late, she worked hard in a small salon in the city, it wasn't much to get us by, but she always smiled when she saw me, always walked a little happier when she was reminded of why she did it. I had forgotten to hang out the clothes, like she had asked me, silly I know, but it's always the little things I suppose. She went out, in the cold, I kept saying sorry, tears welling up, I knew she was tired...but she leant down, like she always did and spoke in a quiet voice "hush now my little angel, go and pray, the days are long and the future waits little one, go to bed, I'll be okay."
The house rocked with steel and fire, I heard screaming, it was my mothers, dazed as I was, I can still feel the flames licking in the darkness and ripped curtains muddied on the floors. My father grabbed me, hands wet with blood. It was not until years had past, that my father spoke of the event, one morning in the ragged refugee tent that we had come to claim as our own.
My father said they came to deliver us from evil, I....I am not sure. He said it was a sign from god, and so I took it upon myself to walk the path that every boy must walk eventually I took my courage and used it. I must become a man to see it through.
Much has changed since that fateful night, and perhaps now, I can put meaning to my life. I shall set everything right. Allah Akbar. I cry. I am coming home.
| 2014-07-07T09:20:49 | 2014-07-07T07:30:11 | 74 | 24 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased. | The first sensation of weightlessness hits you and you realize you're out there, you've slipped the surly bonds. The tedious waiting, confined straps, and uncomfortable variations from hot to cold that occupied your life for the past eight hours slips away when you realize you're weightless. You unlatch, unbuckle and float.
I keyed the com and relayed the first message from our tin can to the ground with the gravitas of Armstrong on the moon, "We did it. We're back out here." I'll admit, I couldn't help but smile when I heard the cheers.
There were ten people in a little shack just this side of nowhere in the middle of Nevada risking their lives even being in the same room as that equipment. At ground control you didn't have many moments that weren't undercut with a justified paranoia. And over the com I'd just gotten the pleasure of hearing one.
I turned to Eisel and Grissom - Claptrap and Condor as they're known over com - give them the thumbs up. Grissom has already floated over to one of our little round windows. He doesn't see me. He doesn't see anything except that curved horizon. Eisel returns the thumbs up as she runs through a checklist. I know what the switches she's flipping do but at that moment I could barely remember my name over the thousand thoughts coming through my head. Each one flying through my mind at 28,000 kph.
Ten years ago I'd been a test pilot baed out of Colorado Springs when the edict came down. Space was over - too expensive, too useless, too impractical. There was a cavalcade of bullshit reasons given that stretched higher than Mt. Elbert and stunk just as bad. I didn't go through the Naval Academy, and salute every jackass with a different insignia on their collar than mine just to test planes. I did it to go out there, or up here. I didn't want to just fly. I wanted to break out completely. They shut off that dream like they were turning off the bedroom light to go to sleep.
The offer came down in hushed tones. You learned quick that speaking out for space was a quick ticket to the civilian life. My civilian life was flying crop dusters. This scrambled eggs I'd known for a bit back in Pensacola stopped by the hanger with a six pack one day four years ago. By the time he left I was in a world of shit. By that time the government had made it known that talking about space wasn't going to fly. First they said it in speeches. Then they said it by putting a few rounds of 5.56 through two college kids marching in front of the White House - for security purposes. When two UCal kids holding signs and going for their PhD in physics became a threat to national security I knew the whole fucking world had gone sideways.
China, Russia, Europe, even Australia fell in line. So when that Commander friend of mine slid a piece of paper with a set of coordinates on it I knew I was going. Security was tight and our equipment was outdated. The entire show was like some community theatre production of Our Town compared to what I'd been used to. We made it work though and we returned.
The first hint of just how badly we'd fucked up came from Eisel. She didn't look up from her console when she said, "Captain, we have multiple system failure."
This was not to be unexpected. No one seriously thought we'd get this far and no one really believed we were coming back alive. "What's the problem claptrap?" I asked.
That's when the whole can shut down - lights, air filters, display panels. It was almost humorous when Eisel said, "We've lost all power."
Then Grissom over at the window said, "Guys, you got to take a look at this."
What that poor man saw was some kind of death ship kilometers wide, black, and unreflective. A most unusual trapezoid shape. It had no concern for aerodynamics. It was not made to land on planets.
Our speakers came alive. Just the speakers, powered by some unimaginable force.
"I see you have chosen to leave your atmosphere in breach of our previous agreement. You are completely uncontrollable. The great speakers have had their day. We are the great destroyers."
With that a red beam of plasma flooded from the bowels of that dark monolith. It struck the Indian Ocean and Grissom immediately went mad.
In burnt over the earth a thin red edge demarcating the blue and green from the absolute black that spread from the impact. We pressed our faces agains the port holes and watched. The red edge disappeared over the horizon leaving just an outlined black sphere that began to crumble away in shards from the molten core. It was only then that I realized the enormity of what I had seen, when at least an eighth of the southern hemisphere started gliding off like a glacier falling into the ocean.
The monolith trapezoid blinked out of existence. It's work was finished. The glowing core of Earth began to fade. That's when Grissom went for the emergency latch. I believe he wanted to save them all somehow, reach out and put the pieces back together. In the scuffle I snapped his neck to keep him from killing us.
Now I'm not sure why I didn't let him. Eisel has gone on, asleep and soon to die from the lack of oxygen. A piece of our former home, black and dead, floated in front of the sun an hour ago. I am dark and cold and dying. I am the last monument to man before we slip forever into the abyss.
| "3......2.......1......we have a liftoff repeat we have a liftoff"
That's what they used to say, some guy at Houston or whatever would say it every damn launch. It always seemed a bit weird to me, not sure why, but then again the whole concept of space travel is pretty weird. Weird and cool, that's why I decided to start it again. I wasn't exactly qualified for the job of leading SR20, space rebels 2020, but if reality had been how we thought it was then everything probably would have worked. Of course that's not what happened at all, that would be nice.
So, I got together a crew of some of the brightest people I knew, we toiled for months to build a ship and plan our mission. It was difficult keeping the whole thing under wraps, but somehow we at least got that far. Then it was liftoff day. I decided to go in tradition of NASA and say the great words.
"... 2.....1....liftoff we have a liftoff "
As if that immediately meant success. I guess you could say we were successful, we found what was out there, but now I think we really should have stayed home. As soon as we left the atmosphere, we felt a feeling of pride and success.
Skip forward several months, we made it about half way to Mars. It would've been considered an amazing accomplishment even for NASA, let alone a group of rebels, to send a manned craft this far. Nobody had ever done this before. This is when things began to get weird.
We saw something weirdly familiar, and in the complete wrong place. We actually had noticed it in the months prior but ignored it knowing we would discover the explanation later. We did, but we didn't expect it to shatter everything we knew. As we moved through space, the stars seemed to move more than they should and on a seemingly flat plane. As we moved further on our journey we could see more details until it was absolutely undeniable. We were looking at pixels.
All of the sky, a bunch of pixels... A massive screen. So it became clear now we were made and monitored by something else, but why in this way?
It seemed the only solution was to break through. In case of government intervention, we equipped the ship with some weaponry which came in handy here.
The ship began to decelerate getting closer to the screen, until it was completely stopped. We fired, and a hole was created. We flew through, beyond the screen was what appeared to be a massive alien. The ship took a look back, on the screen a video game was visible.
"Human Space Program Beta .91"
I shit my pants, we're like kerbals. | 2014-12-28T09:27:30 | 2014-12-28T08:45:41 | 434 | 323 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | "I was just doing my job, it's not like I liked the experiments. I didn't particularly care enough to dislike them either, I guess I would say I'm neutral on the matter.
The creatures weren't sentient after all, just huge animals we were studying from planet xerto-R41. I can pinpoint the moment it all went wrong, one of the pregnant females, a huge, lithe, scaled, creature, died when she was unable to pass her newly matured eggs. They always passed two, but her first egg was unfertilized and much too large to pass. Emergency surgery on the expired female produced the second, and viable, egg.
Dr. Macy, our interstellar zoologist from the exchange program with Earth, took the egg home to finish the last day or so of incubation. I told him it wasn't necessary, that we had more specimens available and that it would be extremely difficult to replicate the females pouch and drops of nutritional liquid that she would have leaked to be absorbed through the hatchling's skin.
Dr. Macy was a brilliant man, but a soft one, he took the egg to his family's living quarters and incubated it. He prepared an artificial pouch with refillable nutrient dispensers. After 36 hours, Dr.Macy arrived home to his wife and 6 year old daughters cuddling the newly hatched creature inside it's artificial pouch, where the male juvenile would remain for the next 6 months, at which point, he would be old and large enough to wean on to the meat based diet of the species. Dr. Macy allowed his daughters to name the creature "Kitty", after a common, though completely unrelated pet on their home planet.
At 11 months of age for the creature, Dr.Macy's stay with our facility was over, and he and his family returned to their home planet after returning their creature to the lab.
I observed higher intelligence in the creature as well as signs of depression and asked our new exchange zoologist, Dr.Lewinski, to perform a series of experiments to compare the results with that of a creature cared for by it's mother. Dr.Lewinski confirmed my observations and concluded that the creature responded positively with humans and had a basic understanding of the English language, including it's given name of "Kitty". He also could recognize the Macy's on video and photographs, and would become agitated in an attempt to find their scent.
A mere month after the Macy's left the facility, the creature escaped from it's enclosure by force, ripped through three sets of security doors, and took up residence in the Macy's abandoned living quarters, he was last observed curling on the play rug in the children's room with a worn blanket that he appeared to be defending aggressively from anyone that isn't human.
It took Dr. Lewinsky's offering sedative laced meat to the creature to calm it enough to be moved back to another enclosure, where it broke free 3 additional times in the next week. Dr. Lewinsky has forbidden the neutralization of the creature under threat of ruining political relations between our planets by way of his brother, President Lewinsky. Dr. Lewinsky is a brilliant but soft man as well and responded to the creature's depression and attachment to human scent in a less that observational way.
That is why you are receiving this package at the Smithsonian institute for Interstellar Animal Studies, Dr. Barret, I find that we are quickly running out of funds to repair the damage it is inflicting on my ship, I formally relinquish custody of this creature to Dr. Macy and your facility, well wishes, Captain Grehori."
Dr. Macy looked up from the video file to smile at his 7 year old daughters curled on the carpet with the 200lb reptilian feline. "Kitty's home."
.
.
.
.
.
Edit- thank you so much everyone! I hardly ever write and have never had one of my stories upvoted this much! I'm truly flattered! | „Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“ | 2019-11-21T07:06:02 | 2019-11-21T06:21:21 | 2,512 | 21 |
[WP] many young adults claim to have seen a tv show called "teletubbies" as kids, but there is no record of such a show existing.
Shamelessly stolen from vinny vinesauce | Leo sat on the train looking out the window. He loved traveling in train. There was something romantic about it, the quite noise, the careful ruffle and the whole world passing by. He was miles from home but it looked exactly like home. The sun was shining through the trees , blinding his eyes so he turned away from the window, looking down the aisle. A baby was smiling in its mothers lap, unaware of the world around, just happy to be there. The baby's laugh reminded him of a show he used to watch as a kid, Teletubbies. The premise of the show seems very vague and ridiculous thinking back on it. Four... Somethings, living in some house. A house was it? Perhaps it looked like the house in which Luke Skywalker grew up in, a globeshaped building with a subterranean living room. Wasn't it like a vacuum cleaner of some sorts in the mix? Sounds strange thinking back on it. He remembered vaguely a vacuum cleaner with eyes who had a life on of its own, stealing the Teletubbies pancakes.
Pancakes? Leo smiled back on the memory. Stupid show. No wonder his generation became what it is.
He picked up his phone and opened the Safari application.
"T-e-l-e-t"... The Google search suggestion spelled it out for him. He looked down the list.
"Teletubbies"
"Teletubbies name"
"Teletubbies gay"
"Teletubbies real"
Teletubbies real? Did people actually Google if their were real Teletubbies? Must be some cosplay thing.
First hit was a link to some Internet forum he wasn't familiar with.
"Was the "Teletubbies" real? it read.
He scrolled down. All the links were real.
"Why can't I find any videos or pictures from the Teletubbies show?"
"What happened to the Teletubbies"
"Did I make up the Teletubbies?"
What is this? Leo thought to himself? Must be some internet joke I missed.
An hour went past. The sun had gone down, the baby down the aisle slept quietly and Leo's battery level was down on 18%. He couldn't believe what was going on. There was no record of a show called the Teletubbies has ever existed, but yet thousands of people online had the same memory of a show called "Teletubbies" with four furry tubbies with televisions in the stomach and a sun with a baby's face in it. Leo was sweating and was honestly scared. He looked down his aisle again. He felt as if they were all part of this. The baby was planted there. The mother was a spy, or something. The conductor, he must have been part of this. They were all coming to get him. A flash of reality hit Leo when he looked out the window, the train had stopped at his stop. He flew up grabbed his bag and flew out the door, just as the whistle blew and the trains doors closed.
Where was his mother? He looked around. He station was almost empty save three backpackers about the same age as him looking at a map and a middle-aged man in a suit. He ran up to the man and grabbed him by the collar.
"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE TELETUBBIES!?!" he yelled so loud he scares himself. The man was so startled he could utter a word.
"WHY DIDN'T THEY EXIST?! WHAT IS THIS!"
"LET ME GO!" the man screamed and pushed him away. More angered than before Leo was getting ready to fight the man when he felt somebody grab him from behind and wrestle him down.
Leo screamed "LET ME GO LET ME GO" and kicked his legs so hard he shoe fell off and he kicked his foot so hard in asphalt she screamed out of pain.
A voice told him
"Over the hills and far away,
Teletubbies come and play".
He opened his eyes and saw on of the backpackers standing over him.
"What did you say?" Leo asked him, staring into his eyes. He couldn't tell if they were cynical or kind. The backpacker looked away.
"Help him up"
They lifted him up and he stood in his feet. What was that accent? Leo looked around. The suit was gone. He didn't realize how dark it was. Had he passed out? Where was his mother? She was suppose to pick him up.
"It's not easy when you first realize it, huh?"
Leo looked back at him, confused. The backpacker sneered at him.
"It's all true. Or not true, depending how you look at it I suppose. The Teletubbies never existed"
Leo looked at him. He couldn't quite tell if he was helping or mocking him.
"But... But why do I know about it? Why does so many people remember the show it it never existed"
The backpackers sneered fell as he looked down the station, watching as a train was arriving.
"I don't know. Nobody know. But we aim to find out. We managed to find out via Internet forums that the show originated here in the U.K. , in a little town called Stratford-upon-Avon"
"Shakespeare's birthplace" another of the backpackers filled in, smiling at Leo.
"Exactly. We're so close now, we hope... Let him go, here's our train".
The two others let him go and they walked away from him towards the newly arrived train. A group of people left, walking down towards the exit. Finally Leo saw his mothers waving at him.
He watched as the backpackers entered the train, still confused.
"Wait! he shouted, and the leader of the three turned around, awaiting the question.
"But... Why is it that only some people know what it is? Why didn't the suit man know what I was talking about?"
The backpacker smiled, looking up towards the sky. Just as the door was closing he answered:
"Because, only 90s kids remember."
| "... May I introduce, Doctor Anthony Richard."
A few polite and naive individuals give a half-hearted applause before realizing the somber nature of the assembly and stifled themselves. The professor, Dr Richard takes the stand and waits for the flashes of photography to slow before speaking.
"*Morning, Ladies and Gentlemen.*"
A photographer behind the professor focuses his lens on the paper the speech is written on. This photographer looks at his most recent photo and presses the digital zoom. She makes a mental note that the first word written on it was crossed out - "~~Good~~ morning..."
"*I intend to keep this brief. The Labby McLabface Super Collider's research team is announcing a 99.99% probability of the existence of -*"
His voice is drowned out by the flood of questions and shouting from the audience. Not a single comment about the lab's name that often leads its research to the front page of popular media. There is a blank area in the transcript for some time while the major broadcasters find lip readers capable of transcribing the video. The professor addresses the most common questions once the bout calms.
"*We do not believe our research causes the effect. We simply observe it.*"
His answers continue in succession.
"*The effect on connectivity in human grey matter is evident. The particles adopt an arrangement to that of a more probable quantum possibility. The effect is most evident on those with high mental plasticity - young individuals in particular, hence its effect on childhood memories - but large bursts of particles can cause small, often moved objects to adopt a more probable possibility. Cells phone are the most commonly observed result of this effect. For example, when reaching for your phone in an unobservable environment - a dark room, or on a bed - the cell, when given a burst of particles, will simply be wherever you reach.*"
He answers more questions.
"*The effect on grey matter in amplified by the interpretation of past and future tense speech. Although this doesn't appear to be harmful, please limit your use around researchers.*"
Not one further question is asked in past or future tense.
"*There are some wide-spread effects, and they seem to correlate to the quantum probability. For example, we find that the show "Teletubbies" has a very high probability of existing. However, our 'timeline' does not have it at all. Contrary, the town of Bielefeld has a very low probability of existing - and yet it does. People remember Teletubbies, but have no recollection of Bielefeld.*
Questions of varying importance are asked.
"*Yes, Bielefeld does indeed exist... No, this effect is not dangerous for the general public. We are researching it in dementia patients... The effect seems to be stable from major events, or things of great importance... The effect can be observed in an individuals recollection of actresses in films, particularly where there is a high possibility of similar actresses playing the role - Deschenel being the most common.*"
One last question is asked.
"*In the lab? We call it the Berenstein Effect.*" | 2016-07-01T07:11:59 | 2016-07-01T07:04:12 | 401 | 26 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse. | I surveyed the vaguely evil-looking man in the business suit. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his goatee meticulously trimmed. I had the impression that his suit was alarmingly expensive, though I know very little about fashion and I suppose I could have been wrong. He had a small, centimeter-long scar beneath his left eye. He was handsome, in a roguish sort of way. He looked like a mobster with just a touch of OCD thrown into the mix. Or perhaps like a very clean-cut Captain Jack Sparrow.
"I want a marble," I said.
He emanated an evil laugh. "Your wish is my -- wait. What?"
"A marble. I'd like a marble," I repeated.
He looked at me with an expression of bewilderment, sucking his teeth for a moment before speaking carefully. "Just to be clear, you wish to surrender your soul - the fate of which will be unspeakable horror for all eternity - and in exchange, you desire a mere marble?"
"Marbles are cool," I said. "I like the sound that they make when they roll on the floor."
He stared at me with his piercing eyes. "Human, I have no time for games. The contract is void if you do not understand its terms, and so I'll ask you again - do you comprehend what you are giving up, and what you seek in return?"
Something clicked in my head. "Ahh," I exclaimed. "I get it. You're trying to fuck with me, aren't you? You're hinting that you're going to screw around with my wish, like in the movies. Well, then let me be more specific. I'd like a *normal-sized* marble made out of solid glass, that doesn't break, get lost, or have any weird properties. I want it to spawn half an inch above my hand, and I won't consider this to be a deal if you rig it so that I drop it and it rolls down a vent."
He continued to stare.
"And I want it to be see-through," I specified. "Not completely invisible, but kind of like water. Like, it has a sort of vague opacity, but you can still hold it up to your eye and see a distorted view of the world."
He looked confused. Even a little scared? A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he looked at me.
*Was he thinking of different ways to botch this wish? Was he trying to hide something? What was I missng?*
"Wait!!!" I yelped.
A slow smile spread across his face. "I knew that couldn't have been it," he said.
"I want it to be round," I said, suppressing a grin of victory. "Really round. Not round like a dish, but spherical. But I also want to be able to set it down and not have it roll away if I don't want it to."
His smile vanished, and snarl took its place. "I've struck many bargains with mortals in my long lifetime, human. They all want *something* of significance. A woman of unsurpassed beauty. More money than they could possibly spend. People lately have been asking for superpowers, which has been amusing to deal with. But YOU," he said, pointing an accusatory finger. "YOU have some hidden motive, don't you? Some angelic power has been granted to you, perhaps, and all you need is the proper conduit. Or - you have the ability to place your soul within a marble of these specifications, is that it? And it will not only make you immortal, but it will prevent ME from accessing your soul should anything happen to your body. Is that it?? Well, I hereby make it a condition of this contract that you must tell me exactly what this marble is for!"
"Hey man," I said, hands raised in a symbolic gesture of peaceful intent. "You came to ME, and asked me if I wanted to strike a deal. I told you exactly what I want. If you don't want to give it to me, fine. But you told me yourself that hell has a shortage of souls, and that your boss has given you authority to grant almost *anything* in return for mine. So are you going to give me the marble, or what?"
The snarl deepened, and he let out an inhuman howl. "Damn you, human! Damn you to an eternity worse than any I could prepare for you! This contract is cancelled! I shall return to my master and we will uncover the foul meaning behind this wish! I will not be tricked by YOU!"
And with that, he was gone in a puff of smoke.
I walked away, hands conspicuously empty of any prize. Even in dealing with the devil, life is fraught with nothing but disappointment.
| "Mortal, I wish to make you an offering. Someone as strong and powerful as yourself has earned it. I have a wish to bestow to you. Imagine... anything, beyond your wildest dreams, being made real for you. Just ask," the demon chirped, with a smirk. It fluttered impishly before me. Tiny, winged, and red-skinned — it would have been a faerie, if not for being evil.
I sighed. I had a job to do. The townfolk had hired me to vanquish this demon from the forest outside their village and were prepared to pay a tidy sum for the feat. These lesser demons were the equivalent of a young intern in the legal world--they weren't powerful enough to win a battle with a professional. I hated to waste such an opportunity to use the poorly-written bylaws of the underworld for my own advantage, but the demon-slaying contract the town had drawn up was surprisingly airtight.
"Almoleg Thar'ath Gulgoruun?" I prompted.
"Yes?" it asked, surprised I knew its full name.
"You've been served," I stated grimly, with my hand outdrawn. I gave the tiny flying beast a to-scale envelope containing a legal document I had drawn up on parchment earlier at the local inn. The demon was locally famous for offering travellers a wish, then exploiting it to cause pain and anguish. Knowing this, it was easy to write up a sound exorcism clause.
It opened the letter and its intelligent eyes scanned the paper within. It cursed furiously. "Lawyers deserve to go straight to heaven." The demon vanished in mid-air with a sudden burst of flames and ash. I dusted off my hand-tailored suit and headed back to town for my payment from the town elder. $500 wasn't bad for half an hour of work. | 2018-01-20T08:06:42 | 2018-01-20T07:26:26 | 2,131 | 1,072 |
[WP] "Rain or Shine, Sleet or Snow, Goblin or Demon, Dragon or Drow, nothing stops the United Fantasy Postal Service from delivering your packages on time." | I eyed the three men in black leather armor. The one directly in front of me stood lax, his arms moving in gestures as he spoke amicably, but the other two weren’t very good actors. Their stances and their piercing eyes told me they didn’t intend to leave me alive.
“You see, sir, this city has been having a problem with black market goods being smuggled in, so we’re going to need to take a look at what you’re bringing,” the man before me said.
I folded my arms. “Under whose direction?” I turned, displaying the Royal Postmaster sigil on my shoulder. “I doubt your authority holds precedence over my own, if you even have any.”
At that, the man wavered. Being the direct courier for the royal family carried a certain amount of weight. It meant that the items I was transporting had the potential to be priceless treasures, but it also meant that wresting them from me would be a difficult endeavor for any who dared try. I uncrossed my arms, setting one on top of the satchel that was slung over my shoulder. The other hand fell to the hilt of my rapier. I hated dealing with these lowlife grunt types.
The man steeled himself. “Of course, sir, I understand your position, and your items will be cared for with the utmost respect, but I’m afraid we must-”
“***Stand aside***,” I spoke, a deep emphasis to my tone. The man standing on the left gasped, and his body moved seemingly against his will, and he backpedaled a few steps towards the side of the road. To my surprise, however, the other two stood their ground, though their stances wavered and they grimaced.
Those two, at least, were stronger than I had assumed. Just as I was thinking that I needed to be more wary, the man that had been speaking swiveled his eyes to look off to his right.
I dashed forwards just in time, as an arrow arced out of the woods to my left. I felt a tug at my shoulder as the projectile struck the edge of my satchel. As I moved, my fingers encircled the grip of my rapier, and I drew it. The man who had been speaking tried to draw his own sword, but was too slow. The pin-point end of my blade flicked across his neck, cleanly parting his skin. Instead of drawing his sword, the man’s hand rose to press against the wound, and he fell to his knees. Considering him incapacitated for at least a few moments, I stepped passed him and turned.
The other thug, the one who resisted my command, drew his great sword off his back, turning the movement straight into a downwards strike. I twisted my wrist and raised my arm. As the heavy blade came in contact with my thin rapier I sidestepped, letting my weapon guide his strike just barely to the side. The speed and force behind the strike surprised me, however, and I winced, unsure if my deflection would be enough. The wind from his falling blade rustled my sleeve before plunging into the ground much too close for comfort.
In the moment before I dispatched of the man, I saw him exhale and close his eyes in defeat, and the observation told me something. These men were aware of my abilities beyond simply knowing I was the Royal Courier. This great sword wielder had put everything into that first swing, knowing he would not get a chance at a second strike.
I spun, and my free hand raced forwards, palm open. The heel of my palm drove into his chin, dislocating his jaw and turning him away. His hands left his sword and he stumbled with his back turned to me. I pulled the base of my rapier hilt against my chest, elbow bent, and then extended the blade outwards making two quick thrusts through the man’s back, puncturing both of his lungs.
At this point, I realized how light my satchel was, and turned to see the contents spilled into the road; a number of sealed letters and small packages, most of which were decoys. The third man was tearing through them. I moved to stop him, but then realized that the archer had a perfectly clear shot at me now. I raised my hand and waved it purposely through the air in front of me. I whispered quickly in the Ancient Language, and the space before me shimmered. Just at that moment, another arrow shot out from the woods. It would have pierced perfectly through my chest, but instead it collided with the shielding spell I'd just casted, and it snapped against the invisible wall.
“I got her!” Yelled the man digging through the packages. I glanced his way and saw a shiny blue orb with a ring of gold around it in his hand. He turned towards the woods and raised it.
Prior to this, I hadn’t laid eyes on what exactly I had been transporting; that was part of the job. My business was getting it where the royal family needed it, but what exactly I was delivering was none of my concern.
I waved my hand purposefully again and spoke a different incantation. The shield dissipated, and whip of magical energy extended from my hand, lashing out to wrap around the man’s neck. I gripped the glowing white rope and tugged, pulling the man towards me. He gagged and his tongue searched out of his mouth at the sudden constriction of his airway. I dismissed the whip and stepped back as he reached me, and as he passed between me and where I knew the archer was hiding, a third arrow tore through the air towards me. The man raised his hands instinctively, and the arrow nicked the orb he held before piercing through his head just below his eye. Before he even hit the ground, I had snatched the orb from his limp hand, and dashed for the tree line. One last arrow whizzed past behind me before I reached the woods. Once under cover, I zig zagged through the trees to where I knew the archer was.
When I reached him, he had already tossed aside his bow, and had his short sword at the ready. Unfortunately for him, I could tell by the way he braced himself that he wasn’t as familiar with the melee weapon. Our blades clashed thrice before I slipped past his defense and dealt him several fatal wounds.
My rapier slid into its sheath as his body struck the ground, and I let out a sigh. At this point, I noticed the orb was emitting warmth into my hand, and upon inspection, I found a faint light emitting from the small break where the arrow had struck it. I furrowed my brow, wondering what such an item could be. I realized after another moment, that the orb was getting steadily warmer, to the point where I considered dropping it. Subsequently, it reached a heat that compelled me to drop it involuntarily, and I stepped away from the little bauble.
Then it exploded.
There wasn’t much force to the blast, but thick blue smoke billowed outwards and consumed me. I covered my mouth and nose in the crook of my elbow, fearing the cloud was a poisonous countermeasure. I didn’t even have time to cast a protective spell, and was about to move to flee the cloud when it started to dissipate naturally.
When the blue cloud faded, I found a young elf woman laying where the orb had been. She was dressed in rags, but the tattoo on her shoulder marked her as royalty from the kingdom to the north of my own. She was injured badly.
A swell of confusion rocked through me and I stared at her blankly, my mind refusing to make sense of the situation for a few moments.
Then she stirred.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
/r/TheCornerStories | Package thieves. Mottlegrub *hated* package thieves. Exactly who did the sly little buggers think they were—*knicking* and *pinching* from he; Mottlegrub Rumpthistle the Third, goblin courier etxraordinare. At least, that's what his business card said. Well, actually, it said: “Mott Rump III, courier Extrao.” There hadn't been enough room, and the bigger cards had cost a pretty copper. Mottlegrub hadn't made it as far in life as he had without knowing the value of treasure.
Which was partly why he'd come to his morning resolution. Today, he was determined to find the package thief culprits and bring them to justice. Well... Maybe not *justice.* Mottlegrub didn't much like the draconian law enforcement units. They had it in for goblins and their ken. So instead, he'd track the package thieves down and bring them to... a couple of kicks in the shins? Some nice, clean blackmail?
Honestly, the possibilities were endless.
It was with a skip in his step that Mottlegrub approached his company dragon. The chrome scales were standard UFPS fare, but the scented exhaust had been a personal touch.
Mottlegrub the goblin shouldered his bottomless satchel, clambered up the dragon's stirrups, then programmed in the Genie Positioning System.
“Wizard tower in the bog,” he said, precisely and clearly.
The GPS—a small lamp duct taped to the dragon's neck, spat out a bluish arrow made of mist and smoke. The arrow pointed slightly to the left.
“Well, go on then,” said Mottlegrub. His dragon took to the sky, soaring out of the landing dock and gliding over the encompassing forest.
Up here, Mottlegrub felt free. His bat-like ears could flap in the wind, his skin—which some unfairly suggested was *slimy*—benefited from the cool breeze. This was the life. The life of Mottlegrb Rumpthistle the Third; courier ext—have we been over this part?
Nevertheless, the first few deliveries went off without a hitch. Except for cart of vegitables he had to hitch up and move; and the hitchiker he picked up, stuck in the bog. But otherwise, it was smooth sailing. Well, actually the wind was quite choppy this morning, and dragon back chaffed his inner thighs. But at the end of the day, it was all hunky dory.
It was the third delivery on his route that Mottlegrub had been having issues with. An old, haunted house, considered abandoned by the locals, but actually the residence to a healthy population of ghosts. Three weeks in a row now, someone had been knicking packages.
Mottlegrub's dragon broke into a descent, diving towards the old manor. Already, our intrepid goblin courier could hear quiet spooky sounds emanating from the old structure.
He reached into his botomless bag and pulled out a brown pacakge. Someone had written across it with glow-in-the dark ectoplasm. “Deliver to Keith.”
Poor Keith hadn't been getting his pacakges. Mottlegrub hopped from dragon back. He put his blinkers on—by flicking the dragon in the eye, and then approached the door. A sign out front read, “Beware of sinking sand on the porch.”
Mottlegrub wasn't entirely sure what sinking sand was. He'd never been one for the beach, on account of his ability to tan like a barbecued tomato. He approached the stairs to the porch and took them half at a time. (Motltegrubs legs were very short.)
As before, a carpet of sand extended from the front of the door to the top of the stairs. Mottlegrub placed Keith's package on the sand, then turned to leave.
He had decided he would watch the house. All day if he had to. When the package thieves came, he'd give them what for and tally ho and dontcha know.
As he walked away, he thought he heard a quiet sucking sound, but supposed it must have been the ghosts.
Once he reached his dragon though, and turned back around he froze.
The package was gone.
It had happened so fast, the door hadn't opened, the ghosts hadn't appeared. How!?
Mottlegrub spun this way and that, but there was no sign of the burglar.
Muttering to himself, and vowing to pay closer attention *next* time, he got back on dragon back and programmed the next address into his GPS.
***
If you like that, you might like more at r/josephdanielauthor | 2018-12-06T08:04:43 | 2018-12-06T07:10:52 | 115 | 14 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I didn't really know what to think of it. "Don't look at the moon"? Sure, no problem. Going back to sleep now. But then I saw my other notifications...99+? Ok, something is definitely up.
I tried to call my girlfriend, but I notice one of the texts I got was from her. "You really should go look at the moon, its amazing." I flip on the tele to see if there's any coverage on what the hell is going on but it just says its off the air. Flip to another channel, same thing. Ok, I'm starting to freak out about this point. Get my laptop, check out Reddit, everything on r/all is urging people to look at the moon.
I try to call my parents, my sister, my friends, no answer from any of them. I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin, rocking slightly back and forth. There's a part of me that just wants to run outside and stare upwards, give in to the madness. Somehow I repress that urge. Then I notice something strange.
The window. It's twenty til 4 but the light coming in through the window is getting more intense. I watch the pale beams stream in, casting an eerie glow into the room. Moonlight doesn't look like that. Moonlight *can't* look like that. I closed my eyes real tight. I began to cry.
I waited. I sat there on the floor, crying like a child, hiding from the unnatural light under the covers. My blanket was thick, yet the cruel light kept peaking through the threads. I began to hyperventilate. The closeness of my breath under the blanket was hard to bear but I did not dare uncover myself for air. I tried to distract myself with my phone, checked for updates, tried to get a hold of anyone, but to no avail. Still the same messages over and over, tempting me. 'Just a couple of hours and the sun will come up. Then I'll be safe.' I thought to myself.
2 hours later. Dawn had not come.
3 hours later. Dawn had not come.
I risked a small opening of the cover so I could look at the room. Not only had the light intensified, it now seemed to engulf my room in a maddening pale light. Presently I became aware of a constant humming. I listened to try and identify the source, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. Like the whir of some inhuman machinery. My mind began to race. I cried out for someone, *anyone* to come and save me, to end this nightmare. But no one came.
I lay there on my floor, in a state bordering madness for another 5 hours. After the 3rd hour I began to babble to myself. With every hour the whir seemed to get louder and closer, my room was now light up like a movie set. I maneuvered myself under the bed but the vile light had stolen the shadows from even there!
Throughout the day the urge to uncover myself and run laughing and screaming into the streets grew stronger and I had to stop myself from jumping up at regular intervals. The whir was now being accompanied by a constant 'thrumming' which preyed my weakened sanity.
I like to believe that I lasted longer than anyone else, in the end.
I began to beat my head against the floor, in an attempt to shut out the unceasing noise. Eventually I was slamming it so hard I believe I gave myself a concussion.
I couldn't take it anymore. All at once I wriggled out from under the bed in my cocoon, threw the blankets off of me and darted out my door. I ran down the hallway where even *here* the light had spread itself, even in a place *with no windows*. Down the stairs and up to the front door, I nearly tore it off its hinges on my way out.
Well it wasn't a moon.
The eyes are what gave it away.
Though they were right...it really was quite beautiful.
<If you actually read this whole thing, thank you. I don't write these at all but there was something about this one that got my brain flowing.> | I wake up. It's still dark.
Some dogs howl while others bark.
I get up, go to pee.
Get back to bed, ready to be-
-sleeping for the next few hours.
For I can't stay awake, I have no power.
But then my phone rings, Ah a notification.
I try to cover my ears, alas, my realization.
A ping. Another ping. And a hundred ping more.
So many pings, I can no longer ignore.
I get up, hold my phone, ready to kill the messenger.
But up comes a warning of the impending danger.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" a text, I have receieved.
Just to find the others say that I have been decieved.
"It's a beautiful night, look outside", or so they plead.
In all this infusion of danger and confusion, I decide to concead-
To my lady known as slumber for your nonsense can wait.
It's 3 A.M you know, who messages so late?
I hear your stories conspiring
thinking dread yet admiring.
And while I still find some funny.
I for one switch off my phone,
again just me, I am alone,
my bed,my only company.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
| 2022-12-12T15:52:54 | 2018-04-06T20:24:10 | 191 | 11 |
[WP] You are a video game NPC, having a normal day in an ultra-modded copy of Skyrim. That is, until the Dragonborn shows up. | It's not a bad gig, being an NPC. Just stick to the script when the Dragonborn shows up and the rest of the time you're free to do whatever you want. It puts food on the table and I'm good at it. I've even had some upward mobility, started out as a run of the mill guard and made it all the way up to Captain in Markarth, a respectably sized city. Got myself a quest marker too with a built out conversation tree, so yeah, I was looking good for upper management.
I'd run across the Dragonborn a few times on prior play throughs. Nothing too exciting. I was too far down the food chain back then. But rumor had it he was making his way over toward Markarth and I was eager. It'd be the first time we actually got to talk and I was already practicing my lines over the table with my wife each night.
I pulled out the kerchief stuffed into the back of my gauntlet and inhaled the flowery fragrance. Margaret, my wife and the love of my life. I smiled to myself and tucked the kerchief back in. I was a lucky man.
"He comes! The Dragonborn approaches! To places all!" The caller cried out. Markarth immediately sprung to life, each character finding their proper place and beginning their scripts. It was always exciting when the Dragonborn came, it was when careers got made.
I took my place in the center of the square, my chest thrust out with pride, a glowing quest indicator shining over my head. This was my moment. Time to make Margaret proud.
Suddenly, he was there before me. He looked...different. I did not recall him being a small little man in overalls the last time I had seen him. But the character creator did afford the Dragonborn a wide range of flexibility. I began my line, "Hail Dragonborn! I am Maravan, Captain of the Guards."
"It's a me! Mario!" The Dragonborn replied before beginning to jump up and down, skyrocketing into the air before me.
This was not an expected response, but my job was to stick to the script. "Welcome to Markarth \-\-"
I'm interrupted as an enormous pitcher filled with a red liquid exploded through the wall of the blacksmith. "OH YEAH!" The pitcher screams before it proceeds to stomp about, laying waste to the town.
"Oh no!" I scream out, worried about Samjin, the local Blacksmith, "To arms! To arms!" The battle script always overtakes the quest script so I'm still on track, but this monster is unlike anything I've seen before. It seems impervious to damage as it breaks through wall after wall, red liquid splashing over the sides as it goes. Over and over it bursts through walls, always screaming the same phrase. There is no sense to it, only a wanton destruction.
I run toward the pitcher, my sword raised, Margeret's kerchief fluttering in the wind. Suddenly the Dragonborn is there. Relief floods through me, the Dragonborn will know what to do, he's fought all manner of beasts. All of a sudden he calls out, "Pickachu, I choose you!" And throws a small red and white ball. After a moment, the ball opens and a flash of light fades to reveal a small yellow rat thing.
"Pika pika!" The rat thing turns to the Dragonborn and gives him a peace sign. It's the oddest interaction I've ever seen.
The Dragonborn points at the red pitcher that is continuing to wreak havoc throughout the town. The yellow rat thing gives a salute and then begins to pulse with energy, firing off lightning bolts at the Red Pitcher.
I gawk as the little critter electrocutes the red pitcher over and over, lightning coursing through its body. The pitcher staggers and then collapses, red liquid leaking out of numerous cracks in its exterior. "Oh..." red liquid spurts out of its mouth, "yeah..." Then it lies still.
I gulp and return to my post, the quest icon reappearing over my head. I try to maintain the script but my eyes keep wandering over to the Dragonborn as he hops about the carcass of the pitcher, gathering loot. After a moment, he begins to walk toward me...and is interrupted by the call of a dragon.
Why was a dragon here? They never appear in Markarth. I hear the call again, it sounded...odd, like a long drawn out note. Looking to the skies, I see it. It's...it's all wrong. Gone are the wings, replaced by an oblong metal body horrifying smiling human face on the front of it. The smile. It was terrible. A thing without a soul.
Not knowing what else to do, I simply scream out my dragon script, "EYES TO THE SKIES! A DRAGON!" I raise my sword once again, charging toward the fell beast.
The...[dragon contraption](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBegv7kbxLo) thing lands, releasing a great gout of flame. Forgive me Margeret, I love you.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | Sometimes I spit in his mead just for the hell of it. I've never done to anyone else, but this nonsense about going to the Cloud District is irritating especially since most of the city has to go to the palace in order to file mischarges or other legal fees. I was just waiting for that little bastard to burst through the door at any moment bragging about his whithering farm that only keeps crop alive because of the ~~slaves~~ endentured servants his father ~~bought~~ hired years ago.
Instead, the doors flung open, and someone else waltzed in. Her armor black as coal and gleaming of enchantments giving the utmost protection with the least coverage; the rings she wore looked as if crafted by angels or unworldy beings; her sword gleamed and was carried by unnatural strength--it was the size of a building for god-sakes! Her posture was incredible and stiff. There was whisperes among the patrons.
"That's the dragonborn! Can you see the scales?", "No, no... that's the archmage. Such magic only eminates from someone that powerful.", "Butthe strength to carry that sword... surely she is the harbinger of the companions!". Nobody dared to approach the woman though out of sheer fear. She stood there staring at the walls for what seemed like hours. I swear I had flashbacks of her lighting the place on fire and killing everyone in sight. Perhaps an illusion from her sheer power.
She finally walked over to me. Didn't say a word, but I knew what she wanted. As an inn keeper, I had no use for 3,412 cheaply-made iron daggers, but I dared not oppose her. I reached into my pocket to give her my money, but realized I was in my underwear! Before I could say anything, a guard came into the store... "Wait... I know you.." and without a word, the lady ran out the door.
I went to the back to grab more clothes, and I heard the unmistakable sound of sheer terror outside the tavern. Yells of pain, agony, and the *toot toot!* of a train whistle. Surely another dragon attack! Thankfully, we have a warrior here with us today. Come to think of it... dragons only attacked whenever she arrived. I also hadn't seen Nazeem since her appearance, but that's okay. | 2018-04-26T13:37:16 | 2018-04-26T13:20:31 | 76 | 17 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :) | Jeeeeeesus, check out that pathetic 'Mario' on the other side of the road. Running, jumping, and 'Wa-hoooo-ing' like a madman as he makes his way down the street... what an amateur.
I don't mean to brag, it's just that I kinda lucked out when the super power lottery was being handed out. By my count there are a couple hundred of us who received our powers from the last video game we'd all played, but I was a bit of a hobbyist modder, and as a result, my game character was a tad... overpowered at the time I was granted all his powers. God mode, all weapons, unlimited ammo and many more. You name it, I probably had the power in my arsenal.
I'm a bit of a bounty hunter in this new world full of video game powered heroes. People call me when one of my brethren get out of hand and the cops can't do jack shit to stop them. Right now I'm on a call to detain an 'incredibly annoying blue hedgehog', which I'm *not* exactly looking forward to, but a gig is a gig. The warehouse he'd been spotted at is just around this next corner and then I'll-- Oh crap... there's that Knight Solaire wannabe walking right towards me, and it's too late to change direction. *Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...*
"Praise the sun, good sir!" I bellowed, trying my best to stay on his good side.
"Fuck off," his muffled, echoing voice muttered as he passed by me without breaking his stride.
That was about par for the course for how those interactions typically went for me. In fairness, the folks playing Dark Souls at the time of the event kind of got the short end of the stick. Their 'powers' include being incredibly somber and moody, invulnerability for a split second while rolling, and the 'gift' of being transformed into an undead husk of a human being when they die. I was there the first time one of them found a bonfire on the beach, but when they realized couldn't kindle it or restore their humanity no matter how hard they tried, they were *extremely* pissed. I guess if I were cursed to live for eternity as a grotesque creature that looked like a raisin that had been left out in the sun 200 years, I might be a little pissed as well.
As I entered the warehouse, my worst fears were confirmed. A blue blur shot past me, shouting about how 'rad' he was, and knocking me over in the process. A life sized Sonic the Hedgehog reject stood over me wagging a finger at me as a grin crossed his distressingly human face.
To be clear, you don't HAVE to dress up like the character you received your powers from, this goober just apparently *really* wanted to dress up as Sonic. And let me tell ya, you think the CGI movie Sonic was an atrocity? Imagine the horrors I'm seeing as this middle aged, obese man sprints around the warehouse completely nude aside from oodles of blue fur poorly glued to his body. The fur did *not* leave enough to the imagination, gonna need some serious eye bleach after this is over, that's all I'm saying.
"You're too late, I'm outta here pal! Gotta go fast!" he shouted as he 'wound up' his legs and was off like a shot.
"Okay," I shrugged, as I suddenly moved at light speed and caught up with him in an instant.
"Goddamn speed hacker!" he shouted back at me as he took a hard turn to try and throw me off.
Growing tired of chasing him, I surveyed my bevy of hundreds of fully loaded weapons, selected a concussion grenade launcher, aimed, fired and... missed him by a mile. Yeah, no aimbots for me... even I had to draw the line somewhere, I *do* have my personal moral code to follow, but sadly that code was coming back to bite me at the moment. As I missed, 'Sonic' slipped through the door, slamming it shut and locking it up tight behind him.
"You're tooooo slow, dude!" he taunted me poorly through the window.
Thoroughly annoyed at him by this point, I activated the last of my major powers, slipped through the wall, and tackled the blue freak to the ground without warning.
"What the heck?!" he protested.
"No clip," I growled into his ear as I tied up his hands and feet. One more degenerate off the streets, but I can't help feeling there had to be far worse 'heroes' and 'villains' out there. I mean, odds are that *somebody* had to have been playing Mortal Kombat just before the powers got handed out, didn't they?
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (Dudes covered in blue hedgehog hair may be denied entry, but otherwise, all are welcome!) | I sigh as I get slammed into a locker again. It's not hard. A small push and then close the door. See, before this whole shebang, I was a hefty guy, nerdy, and always on my laptop. The casual gamers and jocks only ever played games like Call of Duty or Fifa, etc. They have extremely fast reflexes and reaction times, but we're still jocks and casuals, not superheroes. Other, more intense gamers became powerful mages, strong Paladins or Warriors with amazing physical prowess, Necromancers or Cyborgs who can control armies of their spawn, but not me.
I was a modder. I was working on a mod for a fantasy sandbox game I enjoyed, and then The Day arrived. I was testing my mod when my hands became sticky and translucent. I looks at my chest to see nothing but a translucent blue for my body. I became a Slime.
People just think I'm just fodder. They think I'm a pushover; but I was playing a Sandbox game. I have a few notable powers involved with being a Slime in a Sandbox game. I have the power of Creation and the power of Transformation.
I can transform into whoever or whatever I want. In the Slime mod I made, I kept the properties of the slime while adding the ability to transform into anything, and anyone, I want. No need for food, only water. No need for a bed to sleep, only a bowl. As long as I don't dry out, I won't die. I can look like anyone and mimic them perfectly, as long as I am hydrated enough to keep the form, and this isn't even the best part.
The power of Creation. I can create anything. Do anything. Invent anything I want as long as a functioning copy of it exists within the world. I can't utter a word about this, but I can hide things and earn however much I want. Money can be spawned from wherever. The world is mine.
So I simply laugh off the fact I was shoved in. I simply turn into a pool and crawl out through the gap in the locker, then retain my original form as I spawn my textbooks and go on to class | 2020-01-05T14:51:34 | 2019-08-11T20:54:11 | 1,516 | 359 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | ‘Confessions of a Lady Dragon’
—-
“You are a *what* now?”
“A dragon. Didn’t you wonder why I never let *you* clean out the basement?”
“I thought you were just good at balancing gender roles. I mean, you let me do laundry and dishes.”
“Yeah, because I *hate* doing those things. And also because you look cute when you get those little dish soap bubbles caught in your hair.”
“Aww, thanks.” Dan blushed and then grimaced. “Hey, wait—you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I would never. I was always afraid this day would come. It’s just you’ve, well, never been that observant. I thought we had more time,” Amelia sighed with a slight roaring sound.
“Wait, did you always sigh like that?” Dan whacked his forehead, leaving a slight red handprint. “How did I miss that?”
“Sweetie, are you hurt? Do you want me to get you the ice pack again? Your face palms have always been extraordinary.”
“You’re so sweet, and I feel like you know me so well. How did I not see this coming?”
“Umm. Because you’re only human?”
“I guess. Wait a minute—is that speciest now?”
“Nah. I’m part human on my great aunt’s side. Funny story. Her *real* father was a human wizard.”
“Umm. That’s all very interesting. I mean, I love a bit of backstory as much as any guy, but let’s cut to the chase. What does this mean for *us*?”
“That depends. What do you *want* it to mean?”
“Give me a sec. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before.”
“You mean that it had never crossed your mind that your incredibly beautiful and brilliant girlfriend could be a dragon.”
“Umm, no.”
“No, to which? That I’m beautiful and brilliant? Or that I’m a dragon?”
“Erm—“
“Choose your next words carefully,” Amelia laughed, showing extremely long and sharp canine teeth.
“You know I think you’re the most wonderful woman…I mean creature in the world in all ways, but…were your teeth always like that?”
“No. They get a bit pointy when my hoard is threatened.“
“Wait—I’m a threat now?”
“Of course not. You’re remarkably puny even for a pure-blood human.”
“Gee. Thanks. Feeling *really* good about myself now since I’m oblivious as heck and weak.”
“Fair. But that’s not why I love you. You are the sweetest being I’ve known in my many thousands of years of existence.”
“Thanks? I knew you were a little older than me, but multiple millennia are one heck of an age gap.”
“Yeah, but I’m the same being on the inside. The one you call snookie bear when we spoon at night. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It does. It’s just… this is all such a big change for me.”
“Me too.” Amelia blushed. “I’ve never been with a human before. They seemed so puerile and angry all the time that I couldn’t fathom the appeal.”
“That makes me feel special. You always do, in fact. It’s why I love you so much.” Dan exhaled deeply. “And you know what, that’s gotta be enough. I’ve never met someone like you before, and what with the whole dragon thing, it’s unlikely I would again.”
“Want to snuggle on the sofa and watch ‘House of the Dragon’?”
“Yeah, my cousin’s in that,” Amelia said straight-faced.
“Really?”
She giggled. “Add ‘gullible’ to the list of your quirks. Those things are CGI.”
“Let’s just watch, ok?”
—-
WC: 564
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated | All these years
The planned dates
The firey attitude
The protective attitude
Always wanting my food
Eyeing my mother's silver dishware
Insisting I buy her jewelry for every anniversary
Not wanting to have kids whatsoever
Wanting me to learn music
Making me submit to her demands
Liking it when I play music to her
Loving it when I sweet talk her.
I now realize who I am.
I am a bard, trapped in hypnosis
I went to far and now I'm her pet
A treasure in her hoard like the rest of these emeralds, rubies and diamonds.
I cannot find a way out for I'm terrified of what she will do
So I sit and play my guitar
Practice my ballads
So I may keep my wife happy and not kill me.
So hear my tale and beware heroes.
For I am sir Dragonfucker
And I have made a mistake. | 2022-09-10T11:45:18 | 2022-09-10T10:45:48 | 125 | 80 |
[WP] After you laze about in a looped day for years, God finally stages an intervention to tell you that you’re supposed to be trying to get out of the loop. | I’m not usually this irritated. Rather, I’ve always been perceived as the very opposite. I mean, at least sometimes. Don’t dwell on that too much.
What I’m saying is I’m normally not *this* irritated. This is bordering on enraged. I’m standing in my office, staring at the calendar on the wall, tapping my foot. Today’s date is February 20th, 2019.
This guy has been there for five years now, to the day.
I roll my eyes and, with a huff, storm out of the office. I head for the bathroom. I check myself in the mirror. I still don’t quite understand how I continue to look this young with all of the shit I have to deal with on a daily basis.
I sigh and turn on the water. I cup some of it in my hands and splash my face a few times. The cold is nice. With my eyes closed, I feel around for the temperature knobs, and once I find them, I turn the water off. I resume until I grab the hand towel and pat my face with it. I open my eyes and put the towel back. My face is cool and dry.
Okay. Remember: you’re patient. You’re genteel. You’re benevolent. All that jazz. It’s time to act like it, so shape up!
I take a deep breath and let it out again.
I fall through the floor and start floating. I’m transported from my home and down into the void, gliding through empty space. Finally, I reach that quaint, suburban neighborhood. I’m hovering right over his house. I inhale again.
“Zach.”
I can see him in there. I can tell that he noticed something, but dismissed it just as quickly.
Oh boy. He’s in for a treat.
I won’t lie, this is my favorite part. I have to keep from laughing.
“Zach,” I say again. “You know who I am.”
“What the fuck?” he asks. He’s by himself. “Don’t make me—”
“I’m in your head, son,” I tell him. “It’s not the neighbors. It’s me.”
He shoots up from his couch, alarmed.
“Must be hearing things…” he murmurs.
Well, as they like to say: seeing is believing.
I descend further from the sky and slip through his roof. I enter the room, filling it entirely with light, blinding him. He’s raised his hands, trying to shield his eyes to no avail. I hold my arms out to him as I land on the floor, and the light instantly scatters. There I am in all of my glory, my robes billowing. He’s clearly in awe.
He lowers his hands slowly, his mouth agape.
“Hello, Zach,” I say with a smile. “I’ve had my eyes on you for a long time now. We used to talk a lot, yet since I hadn’t heard from you in a while, I thought I’d come check on you.”
He’s still speechless.
I can only keep up the charade for so long this time.
“You do know who I am, right?” I ask.
He clamps his mouth shut and swallows. I can see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“I do,” he replies. “But, uh… I don’t think this is real.”
I’m fed up. I’m getting decidedly impatient.
“Seriously?!” I demand. “Have you not noticed that you’ve been in a time loop, living the same day for five years? That’s been very real!”
“Yeah!” he says defensively. “I know it’s the anniversary today! I just didn’t think I’d meet God any time soon.” He gets sarcastic. “What, is it my ‘time’ or something?”
“Wow,” I scoff. “No, it is not your *time*, Zach. Although I know a guy, if you’re desperate to find your way to an early grave. And you know who I mean. So keep talking.”
That shuts him up.
Alright, that was a bit harsh. I realize I must’ve been scowling this whole time because I can sense my face finally relaxing. It’s not exactly polite, God threatening people with death. But sometimes, I’ve done that, too.
Really, don’t think about it too hard.
At last, I place a hand on his shoulder.
“Son…” I say. “Did you know that you were supposed to be trying to get out of this loop?”
Zach doesn’t answer. That’s when I recognize that he hasn’t made eye contact with me once. I don’t know how I missed it.
“Zach, look at me,” I tell him.
He doesn’t even do it right away. Yet after I squeeze his shoulder gently, he lifts his eyes, and I look into them. They’re like all the others. And I don’t mean that in a bad way.
“You know that you can talk to me,” I assure him.
Zach nods, even chuckles.
“Yeah…” he croaks.
He relents and lowers himself to sit back down on the couch. He clears his throat.
“Sorry,” he continues. “This is, uh, still a lot to take in.”
I smile at him.
“It always is,” I say.
He smiles back weakly. I join him and put my hands on my knees.
“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” I ask. “When did you find out you were stuck here?”
Zach laughs this time. He looks me straight in the eye.
I already know before he even starts telling me. I care about him too much to tell him to stop. | In has been 4 years and 32 days since the event. How did it all end the first time? I can't remember. It had something to do with a wood chipper.
As you know, my same day is on repeat. Forever. It's a record player with the same actors, sets, and events. I scratch the record to play a slightly different tune, and every morning I wake up with no scratches. The record is mint condition again.
I tried to hide my smile.
The deep voice says, "yes, I know the situation I put you in. Tell me about your days."
So, okay, I've had some fun with this.
My morning starts off with a bang! I'm staying at The Sunshine Motel in Tampa Bay, Florida. A frugal mans coffee maker goes off at 6:30 am, and wafts of grinds encapsulate the room.
There's a knock at an empty room two doors down from mine. "Housekeeping." I rush out of my room in my boxer-briefs and make a big show of accidentally getting locked out.
"Oh senor, I will help you in." The 22 year old Costa Rican housekeeper flashes an excited smile as she glances at my body.
We had a few flirty chats before the event which started all this. You caused that event, right? Did you Fargo me in the wood chipper? Never mind, I'll continue.
I say to her, "Come in for two minutes. I'm brewing some magical coffee and my doctor ordered me to not sip it alone. He said it'd be dangerous."
She gives me the I know you're BS'ing me look. "Two minutes. I have to clean 8 more rooms."
"Of course. Two minutes. I'm kicking you out after. " A big shit eating grin comes across my face.
She comes in and walks over to the coffee maker.
"Somehow you pull off that uniform." I give a little tug to the bottom of her work shirt. She turns around and stares deep into my eyes.
We both know it's on.
So, that was the first half hour of my day! You know it got even better from there. Bump it.
The deep voice says, "I see why you haven't tried to improve your skills, beliefs, or relationships yet. Most of the others escape the loop and continue on to a better life. You have been distracted."
The voice lets out a big sigh. "Fuck it. I'm coming down there to live like you for a few days. That shit sounds fun! You got an extra Tommy Bahama shirt?" | 2019-02-20T12:24:14 | 2019-02-20T09:59:55 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval | Colonel James Green's phone began ringing at 15:07. He would remember the time exactly, because it was written in the cold hands of the apple green clock that his wife had given him, that sat on his desk instead of a picture of her, and because it was the phone call that would change his life. All of their lives.
"Colonel Green, 4th Logistics Unit." The cover story came automatically after all these years.
"Colonel, this is General Thomas. We need you in Washington asap."
"Ah, General." How to put it delicately? "No can do at the moment. We're right in the middle of a delicate procedure-"
"No excuses, Green. This is urgent. Get your ass on a plane and get down here right now."
There was a click and then static.
Green put the phone down with a sigh. The level of ignorance that the Pentagon could show towards the delicate work done by the 4th Logistics Unit was frustrating. Still, he understood the need for secrecy. What had began as an implausible project funded by DARPA as an April Fool's joke had become the US military's most classified secret weapon.
And with good reason.
He stood up from the ornately carved chair, and smoothed his robes. As he left his office, his aide, Sergeant Ciara Jones, leapt to attention with alacrity.
"Sir, C team reports the new test is going well. They are ready to begin phase 2 immediately."
"Put it on hold," Green said.
"Sir?"
"Top brass needs me down in DC. We will pick it up again on my return."
"Sir, the ritual will have to be restarted from scratch..."
"Then so be it," Green said sternly, keen to impress the severity of the situation. "Summoning demons is a dangerous business."
It was a lesson he knew too well. His wife had never asked about the nature of his work, the savvy special forces wife that she had been, and he had never told her. Until that awful day, early in 4LU's history, when they had known so little about proper Summoning protocols (the medieval texts they worked were rarely up to 21st century health and safety standards), and Green had come home to find-
He pushed the terrible memories back into the locked room where they normally lurked. This was not the time for self pity.
"Do you want me to prepare the magic carpet?" Sgt. Jones asked.
Green shook his head. Some fresh air would be good for him. It would clear his head "I'll take a broom. Hold down the fort until I get back, sergeant."
She nodded, and saluted once more. She was a promising young witch.
Colonel James Green, Wizard of the 4th Level and holder of a US Army certification stating that he was suitably trained to perform Advanced Magicks, retrieved his broomstick from the base hanger and pushed off into the clear Nevada skies.
What in the Thirteen Dimensions could be so urgent to summon him to Washington like this?
---
*If you want to know what else is really going on at Area 51, then head over to* r/jd_rallage *(spilling classified military secrets via WritingPrompts since 2015...)* | I'm sharpening my knives mom sent me from back home in Kansas while pulling guard in the war room, thousands of miles away from home, missing my girl and thinking about muscle cars when suddenly, the radar picks up 3 blips coming from the North at ballistic speeds.
*The end.* | 2017-03-19T07:42:32 | 2017-03-19T07:18:14 | 88 | 19 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | *TESTING TESTING CAN ANY OF YOU STUPID FUCKS HEAR ME*
Those were the first words which God spoke to us.
Of course at first, everyone assumed that they simultaneously experienced the same schizophrenic delusion and simply stared off into the distance. We were unable to comprehended the obnoxiously loud celestial voice which screamed into the world and decided to insult each and every single one of us for the sheer crime of existing.
I myself looked at my brother when those first words rang out, and we both stared at each other with slack-jawed expressions, wondering which of us would ask about the sudden voice first, but not wanting to be the first to ask in case the other decided to have us commit to an asylum.
*FOR FUCKS SAKE JEROME, ITS NOT FIXED AND THE STUPID THINGS ARE STILL IGNORING ME*
“Okay, you definitely heard it that time, right?” I put a hand to my ears in hopes that I could drown out the booming voice.
“Yeah Greg, I heard that,” he said, as he looked around the room, “is it some new public broadcast system?”
“It sounded like it came from inside my head though,” I said, as I felt the dull throb of a headache nip away at me, and threatened to turn into something far worse.
“I guess this is just a weird dream then,” he said, as he started making very strange movements with his hands which I could not comprehend – nor did I even want to.
“No this isn't a dream, dumbarse,” I said, “it's definitely real.”
“How do you-”
*OKAY THANKS FOR THAT ANSWER, ONLY TOOK YOU A MINUTE*
I clutched at my head, wishing I could stifle that unfathomable torment.
*OKAY SO, I'M BASICALLY THE GOD OF THIS PLACE, AND APPARENTLY, I'VE BEEN TALKING TO MYSELF FOR THE LAST TWO THOUSAND YEARS*
*I ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU LOT WERE JUST IGNORING ME BUT NO APPARENTLY YOU JUST COULDN'T HEAR ME LIKE THAT'S ANY BETTER*
*SO I'M GOING TO MAKE SOME CHANGES AROUND HERE*
“This is some weird joke man,” said my brother, his eyebrows now permanently furrowed. He poured himself an entire glass of whiskey, and then handed the glass off to me. But before I could even ask him what he was doing, he turned the bottle on himself and downed the rest of the alcohol within.
“Nice,” I said, as I followed suit by finishing the entire glass in a matter of seconds.
*BECAUSE YOU IDIOTS CANT KEEP KILLING EACH OTHER FOR FIVE SECONDS, I'M GOING TO PUNISH YOU*
“Isn't this whole thing your fault?” I yelled at the ceiling, venting my frustrations to nobody in particular. “If you took better care of us then this wouldn't happen.”
*SHUT UP GREG I DIDNT ASK YOU*
At those booming words, my brother broke into a fit of laughter, unable to comprehend if what happened was actually God telling me off, or nothing more than the most bizarre of coincidences.
“No fuck you, God!” I said, as I continued to yell at the ceiling, wondering if that made any difference. “What kind of shitty god just fucks off for two thousand years!”
*I ALREADY SAI- NO YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCK YOU GREG*
*THE FIRST GUY THAT KILLS GREG GETS GUARANTEED ETERNAL LIFE*
I looked at my brother and gripped the glass in my hand tightly.
“Don't you dare, you little shit.”
I saw his grip on the bottle tighten.
“Don't worry,” he said, with a faint laugh, “I ain't doin' shit.”
Before I could say another word he swung the bottle at me. I managed to avoid it due to nothing more than sheer luck, and slammed my own glass into the side of his head. I heard the sound of shattering glass and an anguished scream, and felt blood trickle down my hand – which I hoped was not my own.
Not wanting to take it any further, I fled from my home and down the street.
*WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, KILL GREG*
At that moment, I feared for all the other Gregs out there that I had cursed to a terrible fate.
* * *
/r/khaarus | "My love"
"Yes Hlödyn my dear?"
"What are you doing?"
"Same old same old. Trying to get these deaf mortals to listen to my wisdom for once. I gave up a me-damned eye for said wisdom and helvete fucking damn it I will use it."
"Dear...I now know why Thor is so irritated with you. That microphone was on _mute_ you old man."
"...Please never mention this to anyone."
"...no."
///
"_**Attention mortals! It is I, ODIN, Ruler of Asgard and Savior of Midgard, and Vanquisher of those Fucking Extraterrestrial Ice Giant Assholes. Today I am here to impart with you my great wisdom. But first I want you to prepare a grand feast with atleast a thousand virgin prostitutes for my pleas-"**_
_THUD_
_**"Disregarding the last sentence. It is my wish for you to live in peace and harmony amongst yourselves, and to not stir needless conflict unless you want to die by holy thunder. I will hold those of faith, and especially those PEDOPHILIC hypocrites who called us pagan, of higher moral standards than those who are not. Those who are in power are instructed to conduct themselves in a honest manner... or else. There will be more wisdom later."
**_
///
Back at Asgard, the Lord Odin realized that his entire family had gathered. Afterall, it was his first public announcement to Midgard in millennia.
"..."
"Really father?"
*** | 2019-06-03T09:07:27 | 2019-06-03T08:58:04 | 2,232 | 77 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | The trigger for the war seemed small at the time, a small, cold sun in between the fifth Doran planet Doral 6 and the gaseous planet I5, a sparse human colony with merely 4 million people.
The cold sun was named Horus, and it was roughly the size of the Human Coalition's very first moon, now a tourist attraction much like most of Earth's first solar system.
The Dorans, with their slime crusted eyes and rigid six arms roughly resembled a Karion after it had just woken up, uneasy and spiteful.
Horus IV was an excellent spot for trade, and refueling the meager cargoships and warships the humans paraded around the galaxy, looking for new resources to finance expeditions and even civil war among the middle inner city worlds.
Humans were no slouches at expansion, but even they could not compare to Dorans. Busy as Saturn Bees, they took a new planet every three years and set their sights on Gelman, positioned right next to the cold sun Horus IV.
Gelman was perfect for the Dorans, except for its neighboring cold sun, which pulsed with waves created by unimaginably fast growing bacteria named Horus Kelp that bathed Gelman and was lethal to the Dorans, no matter what they tried to protect themselves with. The solution was to erase this sun and use in house sun lights to create an artifical sun.
Arguments between the Dorans and Humans lasted for a decade, culminating in failed diplomacy due to the difference in language and culture at which Dorans warned the Humans to evacuate Horus IV.
With the Human Coalition threatening war, Dorans gave an ultimatum of six years, at the end of which 4 million remained out of protest or because they were simply too accustomed to the variety of trade that went on.
On the fifth month of 11950 Dorans used three of their massive warships, each slightly larger than a small moon, to fission the sun of Horus IV using 6 quintillion quintillion joules of energy, turning the sun into space dust.
Naturally, war ensued and the Dorans reduced the total number of humans in the universe by a fourth by the third year of war. Many of these deaths were executions of prisoners of conquest, while humans in comparison barely made a dent. Who can, after all, stand up to fission guns the size of a human pyramid? Massive fleets of massive warships that blot out a decently sized sun? Trade and fear of the unknown was what kept the Dorans from enslaving or eradicating the humans, and now these considerations were gone.
Now humans were desperate to end the war. So as a matter of recompense and terms of surrender the humans offered Solar System General Dereb Yu and a quarter of the military personel, as prisoners or sacrifices depending on perspective, to the Doran Supreme Council. To this end, Yu and the rest would be executed on the main homeworlds and their trade planet Yebb.
As Yu floated in an airtight anti gravity cell that fed him nutrients and H2O every four hours he, and every other man that was a prisoner awaiting trial, then ineveitable death forced himself to throw up microscopic dissolve pills, coating their throats with the humans last plan. Inert Horus Kelp, thought to have finally been eradicated by the Dorans.
On his way to trial, he only had to exhale deeply along with all the other military men and the damage was almost done. Slow acting, it took four months for the Kelp to show up on Doran microbe scans.
By then, it was too late. Yu and the others had been swiftly vaporized by the Dorans but the Human Coalitions plan had come through, in just a week Horus Kelp was in every nook and crannie of 80 percent of the Dorans precious colonies, cities, and mega cities. It killed roughly 60 percent of the Dorans in a matter of 74 human hours. Doran leaders went into heavy quarantine, while deciding to fission their own planets who due to trade lines were open wounds by this point.
Never in the history of cosmic warfare had an empire been shaved down to two planets of residents. This part of the galaxy was completely Kelpized, and inhospitable to Dorans now, and so they gathered themselves up and retreated to the furthest reaches of the universe, into the complete dark of space. | *Valkyrie this is Panther 6, I have changes to line 6 and remarks to pass*
*Panther this is Valkyrie, go ahead*
*Line 6: from original coordinate, area target, 500 meters heading 327 break*
*Remarks: two massed formations with a hundred meter gap, looks like guys on foot talking and dueling within the gap, over*
*Copy Panther, from original coordinate 500 meters heading 327, area target, massed troop formations*
*Solid Valkyrie, I want you to attack the left side of the formations, and dash 2 to attack the right side; can you do simultaneous runs?*
*Negative Panther, 10 second split*
*Copy Valkyrie, cleared hot*
Fuck those guys. Who brings Battalions with guns into the open to wave flags at each other? I feel sorry for everybody stuck on the Wasp in orbit fighting with the squids for gym time and standing in long chow lines. There is zero support infrastructure down here in the well, but I get to move and i have GRAVITY, even if it is half a g.
And these dipshits that both showed up to duel us separately but started fighting each other because we weren't there, and we were never going to be.
*Panther, Valkyrie, LASER ON*
*LAZING*
*Valkyrie 1, RIFLE*
This war is going to be short, and I'm already getting bored of it. | 2020-03-21T13:08:59 | 2020-03-21T11:49:38 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Table for one, sir."
I reclined on the wooden chair and sipped at the complimentary cup of lava-heated water. The water, its temperature just nice to heat up my icy skin, spilled out as I set the cup down on the table. Dribbles of water remained on the plastic file beside the cup.
"A hundred and eighty-six thousand, huh." I breathed out lightly. I tweaked my nose and picked the file up again, opening it to reveal a rather impressive stack of paper. The paper was written in a language my presiding Overseer had called Archean, but the only thing that mattered on the piece of paper was an absurd Arabian number written on it.
186,292.
My presiding overseer had slapped himself silly when I stepped forward, muttering about pig-like teammates and 'too heavy to carry'. His eyeballs had also popped out of his sockets, prompting his assistants to help him pick them back up. His stately demeanor lost, it didn't take him long to dismiss me without a word. There was something distinctly unfair about my lack of information...but it wasn't prudent for me to bring that up.
I shook my head and sipped from the cup again. I didn't do any damning act in my lifetime. No murders, no kidnapping, nothing. I sighed again, this time audibly.
"What's the matter, signeur?"A voice piped up from my right. I turned, and a masked man came into view. His mask was coloured a white so pure that it stung my eyes to look at it. The only hint towards his emotions was his exposed mouth, which was straight...for now.
"Nothing much, friend," I replied. I picked up the paper and stared at it forlornly. "Just an absurdly long sentence."
He clapped my back lightly. "Don't fret it, son. At least you're better off than him." He pointed at a man, who was walking with an incredibly awkward gaunt, wobbling from left to right.
"What happened to him? I mean, is this even supposed to happen?" I looked at the man and shivered inwardly. His face was filled with a despair that I couldn't fathom, so deep it was.
"He's scum. In life, he was a serial rapist-cum-murderer. His sentence in the afterlife was to experience the pain, shame and fear felt by his victims a hundred-fold." The masked man spat on the floor. "It also happened that he was a homophobe to the extreme, so the powers that be decided to let him experience a...brand new world."
He smiled darkly. "Using a metal rod 20 centimetres wide."
"Well, at least we know what caused his punishment," I complained grumpily, a current of pity hidden inside. "My text was in something called Archean, and my overseer didn't even read out what I was being incarcerated for."
The masked man's upper lip curled. "Well, I happen to know Archean. Do you mind if I read it for you?"
I waved my hand lightly. "Sure, go ahead."
I chucked the file lightly at him and the man deftly caught it. I picked up the cup and sipped at it again. It was rather unfair...I lived a life filled with kindness and dignity. Why subject me to this? My eyes flitted onto the masked man, who was actually frozen in place.
"Mister?" I asked.
The mask fell off, and before I could register his appearance, he shot to his feet and saluted. "Your humble servant offers greetings, Lord Administrator! Please pardon my previous rudeness!"
The file fell off his lap, landing with a plop that resounded throughout the silent tavern. I swallowed and picked up the file.
As I examined the words again, the scribbles shuddered and rearranged themselves.
On it was written in eye-catching letters: "Administrator of the 9th domain, term to last for 186,292 years. Effective immediately."
"Balls."
As the curse escaped my lips, the number increased by one. | To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time! | 2018-09-26T07:07:43 | 2018-09-26T07:04:35 | 895 | 156 |
[WP] Make me fall in love with a girl without actual any physical descriptions
Just realized this is perhaps more so [CW] than [WP], if a mod wants to edit the title for me that'd be great! | "She was the kind of girl who didn't need an introduction. She entered a room and the door frame turned into a picture frame, as her contagious enthusiasm attracted the gaze of a hundred soon-to-be broken hearts. It's like whenever you saw her it felt like you were walking into the living room on Christmas morning, and she is just surrounded by that mystical, reddish Christmas-y glow. We all could see it, and we all wanted it. I knew she would never go for a guy she met at a party though. They were going to have to get to know her first. Like I did.
I loved going to her house. She was so big out in public, but so small when inside, so reserved, so shy. I remember how she never wanted me to see her room. How she blushed and said, 'Oh, I can't. It's messy.' It had to be a lie, her place was always spotless.
But then the one day she let me. She smiled and covered her reddened face as she looked, utterly and completely embarrassed by the city of stuffed animals living all over her room. She even still named them! That's when I learned how to sew, just so I could make her a little stuffed tiger for her birthday. She hugged me when I gave it to her, and then she hugged it the way a mother hugs a child. She was unconditionally loving.
Oh my god. How cute it was when we watched scary movies. She would always walk away at the scary parts, pretending it was because she needed to go to the washroom, like eleven times a movie... When she would muster up the courage to stay those during parts, she would always grab a hold of my arm. It was clear her bravery had second thoughts when she would bury her face into my shoulder just as the film was building suspense. Bless her though, she always said horror was her favorite kind of movie.
I loved when we hung out. How cute it was when she looks at her phone and smiled because there is a text message from one of her friends. How you could tell whether it was from work or a friend because of that smile. It was always a 100% reliable litmus test. She loved her friends. She never missed a birthday, and always came up with the most creative and thoughtful gifts. I think that maybe in life, our best traits can lead to the worst moments though. Like some things the World sees and loves, but ultimately decides that it is just too good for this place.
God. The first time I asked her to hang out alone... I remember that. She didn't question it, she was so welcoming. I told her I wanted to be more than friends. I wanted to have ‘those moments’ that couples take for granted. I was just a young guy, I had never been in a relationship before. I didn't even know what those moments were. She said that she liked me, but she wasn't ready to be with me yet, and when we knew each other a bit more, 'those moments' would surely come... And after a lot of hard work, when she was ready to make 'us' official, those moments did come.
Those moments. The ones where she came in at night and snuggled up into a ball next to me, telling me about her day. Those moments when she called me for no reason except to see what I was doing. The times when she got up and left, but I could still smell her on my clothes for the rest of the day. Those moments, are the ones that will never leave.
In closing, I want to share what she would tell me whenever I was hesitant to trying something new, or just wasn't feeling like spending time with some of our closest friends.
She would always say, 'Come on, Jacob. Just give it a chance, it **COULD BE**... the best time you ever have.'
Then she'd pull me off the couch and we'd head out. And it was like that phrase was magic, because I promise you, some of the best times I ever had came after that phrase. All I can hope now is that her words of advice can work same for you, because I know now that for me, the best times are gone."
Holding back his emotion as best as he could, Jacob stepped away from the pulpit. He walked by the open casket, knowing it would be the last time he would ever see her. Seeing her there, lifeless, finally lead him to openly weep. He couldn't stop himself; because for the first time in all the time he ever knew her, her "Reddish Christmas-y glow", was gone. | Anna tossed the stick into the bright April sky and smiled down at the little girl. "That's how you play fetch," she laughed as her seven year old golden retriever bounded across the yard with the energy of a puppy.
"Can I ask you something?" the little girl timidly questioned Anna.
"Of course! Anything you want." Anna smiled.
"How do you know that you're in love?" the little girl was looking up at the cloudy blue sky now, too shy to look Anna in the eye.
"Well," Anna pondered, "Let's see. When you're in love, all you want is for the other person to be happy. You don't expect material things from them and you don't care what you do on a Saturday night because you know that the best gift and the best date would be just spending your time with them, devoting the night to each other.
"But," Anna warned, "on days when they are busy, you understand. You miss them, and your heart aches wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around them, but you know that they have dreams of their own and sometimes you need to support them while they have a late night at work. Love means trust, and you know that they would never betray you while they're away.
"I'm sorry, I'm rambling," Anna chuckled.
"Is that how you loved Daddy?" the little girl asked.
Now it was Anna's turn to look at the sky. "Yes," she smiled sweetly, remembering the fond memories of her late husband. "That's how I still love your Daddy."
| 2014-03-26T17:07:59 | 2014-03-26T15:34:08 | 211 | 42 |
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl. | "You don't have to enjoy it," she said. "No one ever really enjoys it."
"But you have to do it," she cocked the gun. "It's hard, I know. Sympathy is the only thing keeping us from following through. Some people say we're tough, that we don't ever feel anything for anyone else. But I'm not tough. You're not tough either. Tough people, see, they're able to bury their feelings, their inhibitions, deep down inside. They surround every shred of sympathy with this thick exterior."
She handed the gun to me. My quivering hands took it, and she pointed the gun towards them. I had never seen them like this, on their knees. They always towered over me, as if their authority was granted to them by their size.
"You came to the right place," she continued. "Because you're one of us."
I could smell the alcohol on both their breaths, I could see the raw fear in their eyes. Nine years of beatings and screaming and hell, and they never thought I would have the backbone.
"None of us ever bury our sympathy."
My mother whimpers, "Please." I think it's the nicest tone she's ever used with me.
"We just turn it off."
I look for one second at the both of them. They raised me, they would say. You're ungrateful, they always said. We're the only family you have. You can't do this.
The bruise on my eye stings as I wince, my head tilted to one side. My vision blurs, just enough so that I can't make it out that they're still people. Family is overrated, I think.
"You're with me now," she said. "Do it."
I shoot twice. The silence is louder than the gunshots.
-----------
We meet again at the park, the same way we've always done. I almost don't recognize her, her carefully done up hair and her sweet, deceptive smile.
"It's been years, Orion," she said. "I love the beard."
I take off my sunglasses and wipe my eyes. I can still feel that bruise, twenty years later.
"Athena," I say. "You wouldn't see me if it wasn't important."
"It is important," she said. "Call it your last assignment from me."
She waves her hand and beckons her over. The girl is young, shaking, quivering. She's scared, but I can sense a resolve on her.
The girl hands me a letter. I take it, the coins rustling inside. I already know what it says. It's the same letter I sent to Athena, twenty years ago.
I unfold the paper. A child's scrawl reads two words.
"Teach me."
I look at the girl again, her quivering lip, her wincing eye. Her bruise stares back at me as if it was a mirror. I don't need to ask to know where it came from.
"Alright," I say, lifting my jacket to reveal my gun holstered on the inside. "You'll have to take care of them first. It's how I'll know you're serious about it. Your first kill is always the hardest, especially if it's your family, but thing you need to remember is that you don't need to enjoy it."
I cock my gun and give it to her.
"No one ever really enjoys it." | I'm usually clinical about my work, like a doctor. Emotions tend to cause mistakes. I got a letter from a little girl and it said "He hurts me at night. I just want it to stop. Please help me." so this job was a little different. It felt good to use a knife again, it had been a while since i'd been up close and personal. | 2017-02-16T11:23:34 | 2017-02-16T10:30:50 | 130 | 68 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | I always go running in the park after work. And before work actually. Because that's what you do when you have "Heart Attack" hovering over your head in big green letters. I know that's how I'll die, I just need to make sure that day is as far away as possible. Maybe if I run fast enough, I can outrun death.
I many ways, I envied Ross. He was my running partner. He just did it for the fun. I envied him, because he was free in so many ways that I was not. He could gorge himself on junk food, smoke all the pot and the cigarettes with barely a worry in the world. You see, the death written above his head was "Meteor Strike". I didn't believe it at first, but apparently the letters were never wrong. His death would be out of the blue, something that no-one could predict.
people with preventable deaths like mine spend their whole lives looking over their shoulder. For some people it's cars, others its pollution. The people I feel most sorry for are the ones who are told they'll be murdered. But Ross, he had no worries. We all envied him.
So we were jogging, when he signalled me that he wanted to stop and "Stretch". I say stretch, but really, it was our code for when he spotted some attractive ladies. We had a system for picking up ladies whilst running. I'm not saying it ever worked, but it was fun.
As we slowed down, he caught one of the ladies eyes, who looked at him with a mixture of surprise and shock.
"What a coincidence !" she said, pointing at Ross, before he could get out his cheesy chat up line.
Put off balance, Ross was stumped into silence, so as the designated wingman, I did the talking. It's what Bros do.
"What do you mean?" I asked, but it took me a second to realise what it was when I looked just above her head. "Meteor Strike" was emblazoned above her head.
"No way" said Ross "That's so cool !"
Then I notice her friend sidle up as well, who also had a big grin on her face.
"What are the chances ! I was just getting back from work and I noticed .. Joanne... is it"
Her friend, whom I guess was named Joanne, nodded.
"We just had to compare notes. And then you came along"
Ross was regaining his composure, smoothing his hair back and smiling. This was already going really well.
"Well, we can do things no-one else dares" said Ross.
"I bet" said the girl who wasn't Joanne, biting her bottom lip and smiling.
There was more conversation, but it was the kind where more was said by body language than with words.
"I should leave you kids to it, seeing as you have so much in common" I said, and jogged off. Ross gave me a sly thumbs up as I left.
As I jogged along, I passed two more runners who had Meteor Strike hovering over their heads. They were headed in the opposite direction.
"That really is a strange coincidence" I thought to myself. It was only when I reached the Park gates that I realised. I spun around and ran right back the way I came.
I didn't know what I was doing, whether I could make a difference or not. I just couldn't stand there. My lungs burned, tears streamed in my eyes, which is why I barely saw it streaking across the sky before it hit.
I could no longer stand, my chest felt like it had been crushed. It must have been the grief, the shock of it all. I collapsed to my knees, then on my back. I felt like there was something I should have done. I felt like I should have just stayed. I felt like I should have warned them...
I feel cold. | Tim wakes up with a scream. He knows something is wrong, but can't figure it out what. His body just wants to go back to sleep. He's never fully understood what the words above people's heads were, but after the first visit to the doctor he's never spoken about it again.
After last night's explosion, he's finally started to realize how sudden death can be. He knows exactly what the words mean.
His mom enters the room. Tim runs out of the apartment, and his mom follows him out with panic, sick with worry that he's going to need to see the psych again. He's knocking and screaming on every door and heading outside. Some people follow him out the building, worried that Tim's mom will have to handle him by herself.
A few minutes later, the building blows up.
Just another news story in NYC.
---
Criticism welcome and wanted. | 2015-03-31T09:41:54 | 2015-03-31T08:43:31 | 76 | 36 |
[WP] You are a dark god. The police raided your temple, arrested your cultists, and ate the pb&j sandwich that your youngest worshiper left on your altar | Bodies were moving haphazardly in the lamplight. Worried mutters filled my usually joyous temple as police rallied my loved ones against the wall. They rifled through my tokens and tomes, tossed my sacred texts aside as if they were worthless trifles, and then... the bit. That fat cretin chomped his filthy jaws around MY sandwich. Oh no, honey. You forget whose temple you’re in.
With a gust of wind, doors slammed shut, the candles blew out. An alarmed cry filled the room as my likeness on the altar, an antelope head fashioned in solid gold, began to emanate a blue light, flooding the room in a deep cerulean hue. The officers stopped what they were doing, breath caught in their stupid, arrogant throats. All eyes turned to the figure as a hush enveloped the room. The police were frozen with fear, but my loyal followers were flushed with awe. They knew of my power, and what I was capable of doing next. The air was thick with trepidation. I let it hang. Then, in a reverberating voice that seemed to come from the stone walls of the room itself, I spoke.
“Come on, guys!” I groaned. “Are you serious?”
They were silent a moment, exchanging uncertain glances. The leading officer stepped forward, hands raised at his face, shaking. “Come again?” He asked, his voice a pathetic, shriveled honk.
“Are you serious?” I repeated, the antelope’s glow pulsing with each word. “Like, this is my shit, this is my house, and you’re just trashing the place, and harassing my friends. It’s fucking rude.”
The first man sputtered a second, before he was interrupted by the moron who ate my sandwich, his mouth still half-full with my succulent PB&J.
“You’re leading an illegal house of worship,” he said with snotty arrogance. The idiot.
“Um no,” I Said, before he could offend the air with any more stupidity, “Magister Clarence is the leader of this temple.” He seemed not to understand, poor dimwit. “Magister Clarence,” I said again. “You have him handcuffed over in the corner? Magister, wave hello, would you?”
He turned to see Magister Clarence, ornamental headdress astray, smiling uneasily from where he stood against the wall. Dutifully, he awkwardly turned and raised his cuffed hands, waving the best he could with his given circumstances.
“Thanks, love,” I said. “He’s the leader of the cult, not me. He runs the meetings, communes with my dark whims, leads the Sacrament of Blessed Frivolity, that sort of thing. I’m merely the object of their worship. And you can’t blame them, honestly, I’m like, clearly the real deal.”
“B-but, ma’am,” the first officer said, coming forward with diplomatic timidity, “This is still an illegal house of worship. We must -“
“Illegal house of worship?” I cut him off. “Why is it illegal? Because whichever humans currently propped up above other humans have declared it so?”
“Well, y-yes.”
The air was silent for a moment. Some of the newer recruits were scared, not sure of what I’d do next. But my longest friends wore devious smiles, knowing perfectly well how I get when angry.
Finally, I spoke. “That’s... fucking... RICH.” I bellowed, laughter peeling out from my altar, echoed in the laughs now growing from my cohorts. “Humans, when will you learn, what you do literally does not matter. The people in charge are changed out on a rotating schedule, and each other thinks they know who the best gods should be. But what they don’t realize is that their opinion doesn’t matter to us. I’m a dark entity, born from the very binds that hold eternity in place. Why should I give a shit whatever so-called laws you made up?”
The first man frowned. “But we have orders.”
“Yeah, and I have a sandwich. Or I had a sandwich, till this weenie over here stole it.” He glowered, and lowered his gaze. “But it’s quite alright. I know you”re only doing what you’re told, sweet lizard-brain. It isn’t your fault. Now, how about we make things right. You can release my followers, restore my temple, and leave this place, and I won’t smite you where you stand. Now, that’s all I need, but I can’t promise my loyal cultists will leave it alone that easy. Better return here within seven days with each of your personal tributes, and we’ll call it even.”
“Or what?” The sandwich-stealer challenged. That absolute moron. I was never fond of repeating myself, and I’d already told him exactly what. So, I smote him where he stood with a swift crash of pink-hued lightning.
“Duh,” I said. “Now, any more questions?”
The police were smart, and immediately set about making things right. As they left, my cult members stayed to rejuvenate the merriment after such a trying experience. We’d have raids every few months or so, and it was always so draining on the senses.
But if there’s one thing you can expect at the Temple of Eminent Tomfoolery, it was that the tomfoolery was never done, and neither, if I had anything to do with it, was the party. | ######[](#dropcap)
There's something senseless about the way flesh meets metal.
The desperate pleas and cries, the anguish, this is all nothing new. Especially not new to I, who has lived through both feast and famine, the dark times of the Rebellion and the high times of the Exalted Era. I have known moments when my alter knew nothing but cobwebs and dust, and moments when the blood of virgins were spilled on the stone every night.
And I have survived through it all. So there was nothing special about these four, save perhaps a lack of common sense on the part of the littlest. Gods do not eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
As the uniformed soldiers rush into the space--my space, that I have occupied since long before their grandfather's father knew of any existence--I watch with calm. They knock over everything in their path. The chairs, the candles, the scriptures.
The people.
The glint of metal as they pull out the handcuffs is oddly bright against the flames from the knocked over candles that begin to lick up the curtains toward the ceiling. The pleas from my followers are especially ardent tonight, as they beg me to do something for them.
Imagine that. A God, stooping to do something for the people who are meant to serve him. I have no intentions of saving them. They are nothing more to me than a droplet of water in the ocean. The droplet does not ask what the sun can do for it, does it not?
But then, the soldier moves forward. I can see his eyes beneath the helmet, the cold glint in his eye as he reaches up to the alter and grabs the sandwich so lovingly laid there mere minutes before. I can sense the heady aroma he gives off, an intoxicating scent that lingers in the air. I know what he craves. It is the same thing I crave.
Power.
He takes a bite of the sandwich.
This is the moment I'm waiting for. The sandwich crumbles to dust in his mouth, coating his tongue with a thick, black goo that rushes down his throat. He cries for help, but air in his lungs is nothing but flame. It takes but a moment. Then he blinks, and places the rest of the sandwich back on the altar and gently caresses the stone. He leaves with the rest, but the arrogance in his step is no longer.
The old Gods were fools. Using their powers to help mortals? A Sisyphean task with no reward.
But this. This was much more rewarding.
***
r/AlannaWu | 2020-05-19T23:50:33 | 2020-05-19T23:44:12 | 66 | 32 |
[WP] Humanity wakes up one day to find that a giant penis has been graffitied onto the moon.
A "willy on the moon" so to speak | She had saved my life all those years ago.
I was on the edge of the building when I saw a girl my age looking at me from across the rooftop.
*She's going to give me that talk about life is worth living.*
"It's going to hurt, you know," the girl pointed out, "Can you wait before jumping? I feel like I might have to do a lot of paperwork if you do that in front of me."
"Wait, you don't care if I'm going to jump?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know you."
"I'm Daniel."
I don't know why I introduced myself to her. Maybe I did want somebody to stop me. Maybe I needed her to be my savior.
"I'm Christina."
She walked over towards me and took out a marker. She leaned in towards me.
"What are you..?"
"Hold still," she muttered as I felt the ink hit my face, "Don't move." She finished moments later and nodded.
"Check it out." She tossed me her handheld mirror. I gasped as I looked at what she had drawn.
She had etched a penis onto my forehead.
"What the fuck?" the whole thing seemed incredulous, "What was that for?"
"You killing yourself is a dick move." She smiled back at me and I had remembered it forever.
Even when she helped me through counseling, she had smiled at me.
Even after I asked her out, she had smiled at me.
For even though I was directionless, she stood by me and believed that I could achieve anything. That I was able to become something.
Even at our wedding, she was the only one with a stable job - I, a freelance writer.
After the ceremony, neither of us saw the car. Or the driver who had fallen asleep behind the wheel.
It seemed unfair as I watched silently as the men lowered her ornament coffin down into the ground.
My savior light - gone.
Despite everything, I had no power to save her.
But a few months later, I realized she would have hated me if I felt sorry for myself.
I had a goal.
A goal to commemorate her in the biggest possible way.
As I was training to go into space, her words guided me. While I was studying for the exams, I even chuckled a little as I remembered how she didn't want to do the paperwork if she had witnessed me kill myself.
Several long years later, I shed a tear as I headed out onto a routine moon mission. This was to be my first and last trip as NASA had recently gone through several budget cuts. I understood that I was to collect some soil sample and return.
I had landed on the moon and prepared the rover.
*Daniel, what are you doing?*
"Just taking it out for a quick spin," I whispered back to mission control, "Christina would have wanted this."
They wanted to stop me, but for some reason, they didn't.
As I finished my imprint on the moon, I noticed the sun shining over the horizon onto a beautiful Earth. The very planet Christina had convinced me was worth living for.
Across the world, people would be waking up to her tribute.
The very same thing she had drawn on my face all those years ago.
____________________________________________________________________________________
I couldn't take myself seriously, but I tried. God bless and subscribe to /r/avukamu if you also dislike cute puppies. | January 21st, 2017
"Mr.President, reports of a new...well just look at this," his assistant shoved her Ipad screen into his face. His cheeks rose as his grin crawled into a villanious smile; if he could put a Penis on the moon he could put "Trump" on Mars.
-End-
(Far shorter than it deserves but I write about Trump a bit too often!) | 2016-02-29T18:14:44 | 2016-02-29T15:06:17 | 69 | 13 |
[WP] You are in your grade ten math class when you suddenly recover all your memories from a previous life. | Hi Sandy. I’m sorry I’m late. It’s Harold. Well. It’s Carol for now, but you knew me when I was Harold.
You deserve an explanation, and it has taken me a long time to find you.
See, it didn’t all come back at once.
I was fifteen, sitting in Algebra II, not really listening to Mr. Bell as I copied notes from the projector and doodled in the margins. Here, let me show you the page. Right here. See, I liked Geometry better than Algebra; so I always drew shapes in the class. I was especially proud of the shading on this cone.
See, here’s where I switched pens, from the black I used for text to red; I always wrote down equations in red. I went back to doodling afterwards, see how I tried to resume the cube but the lines are in different colors. Wow. I haven’t really looked at this since it happened, I’m not even sure why I kept it. I guess I figured it was important to keep. Maybe this little drawing started it all.
And when we go to the next page, look at my handwriting. You see it, right? I tried to keep up with the class, to keep taking notes, but … there, right there, is where I stopped listening to Mr. Bell entirely and started sifting through it all. I can’t really describe. Somewhere as I tried re-drawing that cube because it was red and black at the same time, something woke up in the back of my head and I *remembered* things I knew I shouldn’t.
Okay, let me try to explain a different way. You ever have a dream, it was vivid, but when you wake up you get distracted by something and forget it? But later on you see a tree with a broken branch, or you smell hot wet asphalt, or you hear a scrap of some song you don’t quite know, and suddenly you remember the whole dream?
It’s like that. Suddenly I remembered a whole life, like an entire story in my memory that hadn’t been there before. And I knew that I had more important stuff to be doing than Algebra II. I couldn’t quite pick up where I left off before, because I was still me. I was me *and* the old me at the same time. No, I wasn’t Harold that time.
It was someone else, an old life. I think she lived about five hundred years ago, some ordinary person with almost no existing record she lived or died, except a few genealogy charts. No, we weren’t related. But what made me believe was the very mundaneness of her life. She was born, lived, and died in obscurity, but I know her like I know myself, the secret goals she had that she never had a chance to accomplish, restricted by a lifespan spent struggling just to survive.
I’ve woken up old selves a few times since then, enough that I feel as old as you are. I’ve been men, women, I’ve died old, I’ve died young. I know the notebook isn’t any proof. But I don’t have anything else, and it’s important that you believe me.
Sandy, I’m me, Carol, the person you see in front of you, in a body born only twenty years ago. But I’m also Harold, he woke up in my memory most recently. I remember holding your hand when we went to the Homecoming Dance, and how you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. I proposed to you under an endless Kansas sky, with all of the stars bearing witness. You bruised my fingers when you brought our daughter into the world.
I promised I would never leave you. But then I died.
When I remembered being Harold, I remembered you. I remembered you were there all along, and I had to come to you. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.
I’m sorry that I was too late. I’ll find you again, Sandy. I promise I’ll know you, even if you don’t remember me, because I know the scent of your soul. We found each other as Sandy and Harold last time around, and we’ve been doing this for almost all the lives I have in my memory. I love you. Don’t hide from me for too long.
| After I realized where I was I had to leave the class room as soon as possible. I raised my hand and asked if I can be excused to go to the nurses office. By the way I looked it was an easy out. My face was flushed, I had sweat beading off my forehead and looked exhausted. As I got up I had to adjust to my present body again so I was a bit unsteady. I collected my leather jacket book bag and books and walked out of the class room. I walked down the long dim hall and right out the door. When I got to my car I felt the world begin to spin I threw my things into the car and ran to the back by the rear wheel, leaned over and puked my brains out. After getting rid of everything I had from breakfast and lunch I ripped open my shirt to make sure there wasn't a gun wound in my chest.....What the fuck is going on..... I thought .....did that really happen? Who am I? The biggest yearning came from deep in my heart the thought of where are my children. I shook my head a couple times and got into my truck and left. Oh my god I am 16 I don't have fucken children.
When I got home I be lined it for my room. I could hear my mother in the back ground yelling hello. I ignored her and continued to my room where I knew I would have some privacy. Dam I need to clean this shit hole up. I threw my book bag and jacket down on the bed pulled out my computer and rested it on the desk. I opened it up and starting typing in Christine Curtis. Then my heart stopped.......... | 2014-05-20T09:42:54 | 2014-05-20T08:42:28 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You used to be the greatest detective in the world till you went into retirement, as you look back on some of your cases you realize. You were wrong about all of them. Every. Single. One. | The whole time, I just assumed I had been really good at it.
Hunting, sleuthing, climbing up staircases in dirty walk ups with flickering lights. It was all just so very novel. I felt like Bogart and I was Bogart. While the other children played Fortnite or kicked around footballs, I was glued to the floor of my grandmother's den on that weird shag carpet watching her old VHS's picturing myself as one fedora'd hero or another and brandishing a worn but clean revolver.
I'm still hearing that notification chime beep in my head even now as I lay on my back. That e-mail that came through with the all caps subject line: "NEW CONTRACT". Fairly terse yes, but nothing I hadn't seen before. Nine out of ten times the auto-reply knew how to handle this for me, and the other one I'd just quickly respond to it. But just for shits' sake this time, I decided to open it and give a gander as to who it was that needed handling. Bad guys at least always remain interesting, even moreso than bourbon and good cigarettes.
I shouldn't have opened it.
A highly detailed document, at least 50 pages long, covered in strange symbols, diagrams and flowcharts the likes of which I'd never seen before in my life. My name placed in a box, arrow pointing to a name in another box and marked "target". "Speculative assignment" slapped in the header along with "not yet confirmed or approved". I happened on another line "Setting: Chicago", along with a diagram with highlighted buildings along Michigan Avenue, some marked "clue", others marked "gunfight". Further down, lots of "REJECTED" tags, and finally a date, almost four years ago.
What in fucks' name was this? I couldn't go to Chicago if I wanted to. Did this person have any idea how expensive it was to roadtrip from New York? As I was pondering this, I realised I had no signal from my router. I plugged my laptop directly into the thing. Still nothing. At this point, my guess was that some kid at an Art Institute or some other useless thing was trying to get me involved in his film project. If that was the case though, then what I was just reading was a really awkward and meandering pitch. I had saved it to the desktop, but as I tried to open it, I noticed the entire desktop was quickly emptying itself of icons. What the hell and what was this? I tried to open up task manger, no dice, and then suddenly the entire computer went dead.
I pulled out my phone, swearing feverishly as I tried to dial up my ISP. My phone was shut off too. Plugged it into the wall...no charge. That's when I realised all the power was out through the apartment.
Something was very wrong. And upon realising this, I heard the knocking.
"Mister Miles?" I shuddered. I tried to clamp my hand over my mouth. What had started a few minutes ago as a vague feeling that my entire reality was falling apart had quickly grown into firm omnipresence. More knocking. "Mister Miles, it's time to come with us now. We know you're in there."
I had good contacts within the NYPD. I never had done anything so outside the bounds of the law that anyone should be coming after me. All my shots had been in self-defense, and if I ever had fired first, I had good reason too, and even the Chief of Police was sure to not only note that, but to give me a good solid pat on the back. They had no reason to use me as a patsy when I had been so good at taking out their trash for them.
The frosted glass broke, a gloved hand reached in and started fiddling with the knob. I had already emptied an entire speed loader from my .38 before they managed even a couple of jimmies, and not stopping to wait for a scream, I was out the window and onto the fire escape. I slid down each flight and then dumped myself down next to the dumpster with all the vigor of a man half my age, and then I started running down the back alleys.
Terrence had been propped against the wall in his little lean to for as long as I could remember. His little stack of stolen canned goods from Tiff's Bodega waiting for consumption. He had always been a good stoolie for the local area, and he really never moved. That's why the only reason I stopped was when I didn't notice his corrugated hut, or his playbills on the wall behind him. As I caught my breath, I realised I didn't see anything in the alley except the usual trash. Finally as I stopped hearing only my own breathing I noticed the most troubling aspect of all of this: the city had gone silent. I heard nothing at all...except the car engine droning to a close behind me.
"Mister Miles?" I turned around, the bullet hit me before I heard the shot and traveled through my shoulder, shattering bone and snapping sinew. I yelped in pain and fell on my back. The man came forward and slowly stepped closer, staring down at me with a classic 70's pornstache a dark brown trilby that almost but didn't quite match the darker coat. "Mister Miles. A question. Do you live in New York City? Or Chicago?"
"W...what?!" I sputtered out, grasping my shoulder. In all these years, after all the gunfights, I'd never actually managed to get shot. I'm here to tell you that it sucks.
"Which. Of. Those. Cities. Do. You. Live. In?" He said with a gentle grin.
"New York, you piece of shit!" I angrily spat back.
"Hmm. So the Four Seasons job, where did you meet your contact for that one?"
"Willis Tower in the lobb..." I said suddenly realizing the problem. I suddenly had memories cascading, about my apartment there in Chicago, the one without a fire escape that was built on top of a butcher shop. About my ex-wife. Except I didn't really have an ex-wife and I knew that. Did Karen know that though? In spite of the pain in my shoulder, I'd managed to develop quite the headache.
"Mmhmm. A lot of fans preferred the earlier seasons, the 'Windy City Chronicles' as it were. Mister Miles, I am sorry. Usually we at the Network try to keep our actors happy and content. You were due for a heart attack not too long after this morning. Silent and graceful. However, when somebody ends up learning a bit too much about the theatre here," he gestured around himself, looking up, "it tends to destabilize the signal to the point that we don't really have a choice. I am very sorry about the leaker. Disgruntled techs are an occupational hazard you see. Rest assured, he's been properly reprimanded. It's just really a shame that this all had to happen so soon before the finale. You were getting a spinoff, just so you know. You had a long lost daughter who was going to be searching for you and would finally find you after so very long searching for her birth father, then she'd take up your mantle. We can still make that work by the way!"
"W..who am I?" I asked, tears forming in my eyes as I threw one hand up to grip my head. The buildings had started flickering...shifting, the sky disappeared and was replaced with a dome of what looked like television static.
"Oh, you are indeed Anthony Miles. You're not a detective though, you're one of our best actors. You were picked at birth! You've given us several years of excellent programming that's been broadcast to over a thousand worlds, including the real Earth! The bullet-dodging, take-no-shit man against evil. There's quite a market for you, and the archives will still make us a lot of money, to say nothing of your 'daughter's' adventures in Los Angeles." he mimed air quotes talking about the girl. "That said, it's time to go now, Mister Miles."
I heard the gunshot this time and felt my chest collapse into pudding. The last thing I heard was "You two! Once the reset is complete lets work on getting this set dressed!" | "Damn, will this rain ever stop? The sound is killing me."
Grant slowly stood up from the old, velvet covered arm chair and stood near the pane glass window, looking out onto the gray and blue streets. The gloomy clouds up above seemed to weep as it rained on, not too heavy, not too light. The setting sun seemed to illuminate the outlines of the darkened clouds with a violent shade of purple as the bustling city slowly lost its energy, seemingly going to sleep.
"It's been days."
The veteran detective said this distractedly as he looked down onto the empty streets, transfixed by the tempo of the rain drops on a large puddle right near the bus stop sign. Blood was too thick to do something like this, he thought.
Back in the days he would never have had to make himself stay indoors during a shower. His job required him to go to many places. Ponder many things. Peoples' lives had to be avenged and his almost religious belief of justice gave him a certain cold determination to put people behind bars. He once desired to be a prosecutor because of this and chased the career, only to realise that legality kept him from intervening directly and impeding those animals. So he took the baton of a police officer and sought to become a detective.
Maybe it was due to his over the top belief in justice, he had never once not solved a case. Even cold cases weren't out of his jurisdiction. Some way or another, he would have the criminals in cuffs or their bodies on stretchers.
But as all things do, he had grown tired. One day, he judged that he had done all he can do to contribute to justice. Life was full of other treasures than only revenge and hatred. He could take even greater measures than being a mere detective.
The day he retired, at the present, he was staring out the window. Looking at a few moronic maggots scrambling along the streets. Slowly turning back to that old chair he thought to himself how long it had been since he had sat down on that chair. The apartment didn't feel like home, as if he was intruding someone's residence. He never did have a real "home".
"Guess I'll have to wait until they come home. My stomach's grumbling."
He muttered to himself as he lazily sat back down. He had been considered a great, if not the best, detective by everyone in the nation and even some international fellows recognized his name.
He pondered on and on. About all the cases he had solved.
There was that case where a raven's feather was found on every lifeless body in alleys. A fifteen something year old was caught two months later in a different continent. He was the youngest individual to get the death penalty. Sucker deserved it, the body count was in triple digits. How he had done the killings were beyond a mystery with his anxious expressions and anorexic body. All the evidence pointed to him.
Also, the case of Madam Lemina. An eighty year old who was responsible for the murder of several girl scouts. Nobody would've expected him but Grant. He could see from her eyes when he met her for the first time. Eyes of a devil. She had to serve a sentence that was close to her age, but everybody knew that she wouldn't be leaving prison grounds as long as her heart beats. The evidence was all laid out.
The hardest case was handling the father of two who was not present at the moment of the murder of three prostitutes. He had a rock solid alibi. There were several videos of him playing with his children that day, with his girls on his shoulders and smiling that hateful smile Grant so despised. So carefree and happy.
After a year or so, the people who provided evidence had been discovered as collaborators and put into trail that is currently running for forgery of evidence and false testimonies. The main bastard was rotting in jail. His girls...well, who cares.
That memory brought a smile to Grant's face.
After moment, he was laughing. Nobody would've expected that hardened, no-bullshit face of the greatest detective to be able to contort to such degrees. The corners of his mout nearly reached his ear as he, for a brief moment, held his laughter and finally, like a burst dam, started pouring down the room in the sound of his roaring laughter.
He stood up.
His eyes, now tearing up and almost closed from the sheer joy he felt, stared at the ceiling as he leaned backwards, his spine adjusting so that his head was turned to face above. He suddenly leaned forwards, clutching his sides as the laughter reached a peak. And slowly, the sound shrinked until finally, only the pouring of rain was heard.
Of course, all those people had been innocent. Morons. Imbeciles. Pathetic piglets with a ball of grass for brains.
He wasn't the greatest detective. He was history's most immaculate forger. Be it official or unofficial, digital or physical, anything recorded and documented could be altered.
After all, evidence was what lead to an arrest. The skills to make what is untrue true could be done by expoiting that essential information.
The young boy's face as he slowly straddled into the electric chair made the left corner of his mouth curl up.
The old lady's eyes, filled with horror and confusion, caused the right corner to twist up.
And finally, the look of absolute despair the father had when he was handcuffed after being torn away from his daughters made something inside Grant twist as he felt another ball of laughter creeping up his throat. | 2020-03-23T08:00:11 | 2020-03-23T06:59:17 | 79 | 24 |
[WP] It turns out the Immortals were ex boyfriends and girlfriends of Death, and as Death is incredibly petty, refuses to take their souls. As the oldest living Immortal, you think it’s time to make amends with your ex. | Mary felt the cold steel of the gun’s barrel around her lips. She pushed it in further, pressing it firmly against the roof of her mouth. She wasn’t scared as she pulled the trigger. She wasn’t scared when she felt the shot reverberate around her skull. Nor was she scared as the taste of gunpowder and smoke coated her tongue. All she felt was exasperation.
Mary spit the bullet out. “Grim!” she called out sharply. “I can see you over there!”
A hooded figure slowly poked its head around from the corner. Where its face should have been there was nothing but pitch darkness. “Oh, uh, hi there Mary. Didn’t see you there.” Death said in a deep gravely voice.
“You came to collect my soul, didn't you?”
“Whaaaat? That’s crazy Mary. You’re crazy. I was just in the neighborhood for…” Death looked around quickly. “That squirrel!” it said, pointing out the window at a tree. A squirrel dropped from its canopy to the ground like a rock. “Well that’s that, I best be off now.”
“Grim,” Mary breathed sharply. “I shot myself. I should be dead.”
“Huh,” Grim said, putting both hands to his hips. “Well isn't that something...”
“Cut the crap,” Mary said. “You’ve been avoiding me all these years, haven't you?" Mary had lived a long, long life. She aged normally until her seventies, then gradually the years stopped affecting her. At first she assumed it was proof that her kale-heavy diet was working, but as her 100th birthday came and went she started suspecting the relationship she had with Death had something to do with it.
"Avoiding... *you?*" Grim scratched his head theatrically. "Whaaat? No. Why would I avoid you?"
Mary raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Grim hesitated a moment, then slapped his hood, where his forehead should have been. "Oh *right!* Because of our history... yeah..."
Mary and Grim met on a rainy night, Mary half-delirious from a fever. Grim had experienced a particularly bad day on the job, and took a moment to confide in Mary before collecting her soul. Apparently he had repeatedly failed to collect the soul of a cat that had just been mauled by a coyote. The cat just kept getting back up, and the coyote got more and more frustrated. Unfortunately, the events were witnessed by a farmer boy who ran around town blabbing about how this cat had cheated death nine times.
Grim was humiliated, and Mary was there to console him. They spent a passionate night together and dated for a year afterwards. Then one day, Grim was gone.
“Its been a while hasn't it?” Grim said. “Well you look great. Really a testament to what exercise and healthy eating can achieve. Kale, I assume?”
“Cut. The. Crap. You’ve been avoiding me and you know it.”
“Mary, I swear on my life that I have not been—”
Before Grim could finish, Mary picked up the gun, put it to her temple, and pulled the trigger five times. Five shots rang out, along with five clangs as the bullets hit the floor beside her.
Grim went silent for a moment. “Okay fine,” he said eventually. “I’ve been avoiding you. But you should be *thanking* me. I just care for you so much, you know? I’m just trying to do right by you, Mary. Honestly.”
“It’s been two-hundred years, and I’ve lived a full life. It’s my time to die and it’s your job to let me.”
“I don’t think I’m ready,” Grim said, his shoulders slumping. “You really hurt me, Mary. Really tore my black heart in two.”
“You're *unbelievable!*” Mary yelled. “You left *me!* Without so much as a note!”
"Oh right, I forgot..." Grim said, stroking the spot where his chin should have been. "You know I think I tried leaving a voicemail but the line was busy and—"
"Phones weren't invented yet!"
"Okay fine!" Grim yelled, throwing his arms up in frustration. "You got me, Mary! Look, I don't want to spend eternity with an ex, okay? I know, I know, it's my job blah blah blah. I'm an asshole, big whoop! Jesus, Mary. Why do you want to die so bad anyway? Earth is great nowadays. There’s the internet, there’s fast-food, and jeans have become *really* comfortable in the last decade. You want to leave all that behind?”
“You haven't changed at all. You don't have to be a jerk, you know that right? Death can be a beautiful thing—look at me, I’m ready to die, I've made my peace, and I'm ready. This is your chance to be something more than catastrophe.”
Mary could see that Grim wasn’t persuaded. He was already shuffling toward the door. She would need to approach this differently. “Besides,” Mary continued. “Earth is actually pretty boring… Well, except for the dating scene that is.”
Grim froze. “What do you mean by the *dating scene?*”
“You know, the dating scene. It’s really been active with all the new dating apps.”
“You have the body of seventy-year-old.” Grim said incredulously.
“They have apps for seniors, and with two-hundred years of experience I’m really at my prime.”
Grim said nothing.
“You know what, I guess life *is* worth living,” Mary continued. “There’s plenty more men I haven't—”
“Okay okay!” Grim interrupted. “I’ve had a change of heart. If you want to come with me, now's your chance. No questions.”
Mary smiled, put the gun back to her head, and pulled the trigger.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Crows cawed over the high turrets of the stone castle that stood on a cliff's edge. On one of the turrets stood a man in a black robe. The man was old as sin, his figure was hunched, and presently he stared into the sheer drop which held the promise of certain death. The crows cawed again as a distant church bell rang. The black robes fluttered as the man plunged to his death.
After he hit the cliff's floor, the man -- Romanov was his name -- entered the void that exists between all things living and dead. There Lady Death stood before him in a shimmering black dress.
"Romanov? You have come again!" she raged.
The old man squinted his eyes, for cataracts had nearly blinded him, and said, "Yes. I have come to you, my love-"
"Don't call me that. I am not your love, not any longer," Lady Death snapped.
Romanov had had an inkling that such grudges might still be held by Lady Death, but the intensity of her emotions surprised him. A wave of panic washed over him.
"But...but...you see," he stuttered in his weak old man voice.
"I see what? I haven't forgotten your betrayal; it still is fresh upon my heart. The wounds hurt even today."
At his wit's end, Romanov didn't know what to say. He had hoped for time to heal all wounds, but eternal beings seemed to operate differently. Slowly, his hand crept to a pocket sewed onto his robe from wherein he pulled out a diamond ring.
"For you, my goddess," he said in a voice which he hoped sounded as apologetic as possible.
"Diamonds? You think that mere diamonds, material things, can appease the fury that burns in this heart of mine? This will not do Romanov. You will have to live another year!"
The mention of life made Romanov weep. His frail body shook as the tears fell down one after the other. Time had aged him and weakened his resolve.
"Pathetic," said Lady Death and prepared to hurl the old man over to the world of the living once more.
"Please...please take me, Lady Death. I have aged so terribly. I can't bear another year of a life full of aches and other mortal ailments. Take me, love!"
But the vortex to the world of living continued expanding. Any moment now, Romanov could pass over to the world of the living.
"A tribute," he muttered. "I have another tribute for you."
Lady Death stopped the vortex and shot a sharp look towards him. "A sacrifice?"
Romanov stared at his pathetic old feet. "Yes, multiple," he said.
"Go on then, I don't have much time," Lady Death said.
From under the robe, Romanov produced a little pouch closed with a drawstring. Lady Death nodded in approval. He pulled on the string, and eyes with pupils blue, black, and brown tumbled forth.
"Eyes of all the lovers after you, Lady Death," Romanov said and bowed a little.
Delighted, Lady Death smiled broadly. She walked over to Romanov and grabbed the soul out of his body.
More crows now circled over the ancient castle, and the murder of crows feeding on the dozens of bodies in the castle grounds started going on down towards the old man's now limp body. | 2021-04-14T09:06:22 | 2021-04-14T08:25:39 | 62 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/) | Right eye, left eye...right eye, left eye. Who ever said having these powers was a gift? I can't remember how long it's been, or even how old I am. The feeling of weightlessness, the lack of substance both metaphorically and physically. When was the last time I heard someone speak, when was the last time I felt another human's touch?...
Right eye, left eye... just a bit further now...Right eye, left eye... if I can just hold on for a few more days, I might make it back home. I can see the familiar blue glow from here, how many years had it been? It's difficult to keep track when you don't age, when you don't breath.
They said I was special, born in space with no earthly restrictions to hold me back. My body recycles hydrogen and light, it doesn't need air or food. Don't ask me how it works, I don't get hungry or thirsty. I don't even cast a shadow. Right eye... that day they sent me back up, how old was I? 18 or 19? couldn't have been much older than that. I had no idea at the time, no clue that these powers would manifest as soon as I left the atmosphere. Those poor bastards in the shuttle with me, no time to react...it was over as quick as that, left eye...
One blink, that's all it took. It all started with something as small and insignificant as that, first I was calling out system checks, the next...I was in pieces, scattered amongst the stars...I don't even know how I was still conscious, but I was. Right eye... then I started to materialise, piece by piece until I was whole again. Another blink, another galaxy, what was happening to me? it seemed that with each simultaneous blink I was jumping into a new reality, tearing myself apart and reassembling somewhere empty, somewhere cold, left eye...
It has all been a blur, I haven't seen home in a long time,right eye...it took me even longer to find my way back, I'm still surprised I have, left eye....
As the days pass it gets closer, I can almost make out the continents now, right eye....just a little longer and I'll be home, left eye....
I just need to get through the atmosphere and everything will be OK...
Not long to go now, I need to be strong, one eye after the other. Just don't think about it.
Don't think about...don't...*blink* | 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-14T16:02:38 | 4,698 | 175 |
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