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[WP] Due to an accident you gain super powers, however instead of becoming a super hero or villain, you spend years studing the accident. Now you are the only one who knows how to create super powers. | It's not about the money.
They always make that mistake when they write about me in the papers. 'Doctor SuperMoney' they call me. The woman with a trillion dollar business making people into superheros, and its all about the money.
Which is wrong. No one knows my own power. They all assume it's the ability to grant powers. That's...
Let me back up.
August 27, 2029. I am driving my beat up hybrid diesel VW Taureg out through the mountains of Tennessee trying to get a glimpse of the meteor shower that's supposed to hit that night. It's late--maybe 3am. I'd worked that day, but it had been my last surgery for the month. Neuro surgery is stressful for everyone, but I'd made a decision several years earlier to work a 2 months on two off schedule, except for emergencies. The other surgeons in the neuro group had all adopted the same schedule--and we were all better doctors and surgeons for it. We made a bit less money overall, but we took better care of our patients, and we made better decisions. Different story.
As I had driven up in those mountains though, a large deer had jumped in front of my Taureg and I'd swerved...and dropped off the edge of the road...down the hill....trees crunching into the vehicle, but never stopping it. Finally a free fall into the cold water below.
The cold, and as it turns out, contaminated, water.
Who could have known about the Micro-Rift that had opened a quarter mile upstream? Or that it was leaking into the river? Well, other than the idiot that had made it? Not me, of course.
Three days I'd been in the water, nearly dead, stewing in that contamination. And when I emerged, eyes suddenly wide open, lungs suddenly healed and body seamlessly healing itself, I had power.
I made a choice...the obvious one from my perspective, really...to keep it quiet. Power? Sure, I was super strong and healed quickly, but it was *draining*. Left me tired and hungry to indulge too much in those things. But the real power was my *Sight*. To look into the future and know what was coming.
And it scares me. And it makes me want to prepare. So I did the smart thing. I studied. Why didn't I die? What made my accident different. What made me emerge alive and super powered? What made me different?
That line of research was...less than informative at first. Until I started looking at the commonalities with others with powers. Accidents, those born with powers, whatever. What did we all have in common? What made us unique? What cause one person to develop telekinesis over superspeed?
It took *years*. But all along, I've had a motivation other than money. But the final discovery made me wealthy in the extreme. Even before that, just approaching the DoD with the *possibility* that I had a premise on which it might possible to understand these things--along with my medical credentials--got me solid funding early on.
But once it was possible to create soldiers with super strength, super speed, and super toughness? The military ate that up. Then the police wanted cops that couldn't be killed in the line of duty. It became the 'police package'. And if you couldn't get that package, you weren't a policeman after all.
So yes, it made me money, then more money. Then even more.
But when you know what's coming in a few hundred years, you want the world ready to meet it. Because what's coming? We still aren't ready. And when it gets here, if we aren't ready, we're *dead*.
And it scares me. So the newsies and pundits and politicos can call me Doctor SuperMoney if they like. And that's okay. Because if SuperMoney is what it takes to make sure we can survive the coming storm, then that's what I'll do. But it's *never* about the money. It's about making sure we survive. | Turns out that getting a truckload of nuclear waste wasn't the only way of gaining super powers. This of course took me many years to actually figure out.
The first few months I thought I was just down with some common cold, then... Then the incident happened. It all happened so fast my brain barely registered it, luckily any witnesses were also casualties. With the money I had I made do with a 'lab" of my own in my basement instead of the one where the "incident" happened, honestly there wasn't much left but it still makes me... Regretful to say the least.
After 3 years of living on stamps and a few "trips" to the local power plant I had developed it. The "power zapper 1.0". At first I showed it to a few friends, their abilities were not as... Fiery as mine, but they were all unique. Making their skin metallic, X-ray vision et cetera. It was almost boring how generic they were.
As the rumors spread more people wanted to become super heroes, eventually the government found out. Turns out capturing a burning man with his super powered friends is harder than they thought.
After two years of being a super powered fugitive one of the agents chasing me eventually wisened up and offered me a deal. So this is my question to you, is the ability to give a personal super power to someone really worth a decently sized country? | 2017-12-26T11:31:06 | 2017-12-26T11:22:03 | 478 | 38 |
[WP] "I'm not a healer. That was just pre-mortem necromancy." | A desperate voice burst out into the open, and Khavar knew what had happened. The anguished cry was enough—he didn’t need to hear the words before he started pushing his way through the crowd.
“Healers? Are there any healers around? Please?”
Khavar slipped his way through the crowd, leaving a tight funnel of space for somebody that had collapsed. Two people knelt over him—one, crying, the other, frustrated.
“I don’t know if I can help,” said the old man with wisps of white hair, whose harrowed eyes told the truth—he couldn’t. “He’s too far gone.”
“Let me,” Khavar said, pushing his way forward. The old man, startled, moved slightly away, enough for Khavar to lay a hand on the collapsed person’s chest.
No heartbeat.
“You know it,” the old man said.
Khavar sighed. He closed his eyes, summoning the dark energy within him. He disguised it green, of course, through a little glamour—that was the more acceptable form of healing magic.
“What in the…”
Khavar muttered practised phrases under his breath. Each syllable snaked its way into the magic, and he felt it jolt and squirm in his hand, like it was clambering to live.
It reached the heart. And the heart started pumping.
The collapsed man’s eyes shot wide open, and he heaved himself up.
“By the gods!” he screamed.
The woman beside him stared wide-eyed, shock overriding every other emotion. And then, there was the elation—of frantic crying, and of fervent cheers from the crowd.
Khavar slipped into the crowd. Though the hero of the moment, he wasn’t used to fanfare. Quiet places were more his speed. While the crowd shouted—
“Where did he go? Where is the saviour?”
“Find him, find him!”
—Khavar had long found himself sidling into a dark alley.
“That was not healing.”
Startled, he almost tripped over an errant rock in the path. He spun around, and noticed the old man.
“He was dead,” the elder said, shaking his head. “And he’s walking again! In all my years as a healer, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“He wasn’t dead,” Khavar sighed. “He was mostly dead. Conventional healing might not bring him back, but it’s no issue for pre-mortem necromancy.”
“... What?”
“This is why I don’t reveal my profession to others,” Khavar shook his head. “Say that you are a knight, and people excitedly ask to see your sword. Or a writer, and people at least laugh out of sympathy. But a necromancer? All I get are confused looks like a fish out of water.”
“By the gods,” the healer said. “Necromancer!”
“See,” Khavar said, turning once more. “I don’t expect you to understand. I do, however, expect you to leave me alone.”
“No no no,” the old man rushed up to him with surprising speed, grabbing Khavar by the arm. “I might not understand. But I want to. That was brilliant! You saved a man’s life!”
Khavar stopped, turning to stare at the healer. He was much older. His war-torn face had dug many trenches, accompanied by bushy white eyebrows that contained more follicles than the top of his head. And yet, his eyes shone earnestly.
“I am Tasq,” the old man bowed. “I’ll be honoured to learn about what just happened. Anything. Anything at all.”
Khavar held his tongue for a bit, thinking.
“There is death, and there is mostly dead,” Khavar said. “Your heart stops pounding, your brain stops pounding? Still mostly dead.”
“Mostly dead?”
“The body is familiar with death,” Khavar said. “Skin replaces itself, until it can’t. Your consciousness always comes back, until it can’t. Your healing did not work because the man’s body was not capable of restoring itself. It needed some other force. Something much more lively than simple healing magics.”
“The power of the undead…” Tasq said. “But I’ve heard tales of them reanimating corpses. Not revive a man, and have his heart beat again.”
“That’s because he was mostly dead,” Khavar said. “There was something critical tying him to this earth.”
“And that was?”
“His crying wife,” Khavar said, before tapping his head. “Or girlfriend. Or dear friend. I don’t know. But somebody loved him enough to beg for him to stay. Not for him to come back. There’s something very distinct in that.”
“By the gods,” the old Tasq muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
“Don’t you wonder why necromancers always summon from abandoned cemeteries, or bring back the villains? It’s because nobody loves them any more,” Khavar said. “And see what happened just now? That, is clearly not the case.”
“So why save the man’s life, and risk exposing yourself as a necromancer?” Tasq scratched his balding head. “I think I understand the reason behind the magic. But not the person behind it.”
“Because somebody wanted him to stay,” Khavar said, quietly, almost whispering to the wind. “I’ve forgotten how that feels like, surrounded by the dead.”
---
r/dexdrafts | People forget that death occurs in all living things all the time. I, who studied anatomy and biology, learned this fundamental truth, and then, I learned to turn it on its head, at least a little.
My name is Short Grass, and I am a healer. I can heal most things, including death, although the latter is something that is frowned upon here in the Kingdom of Q'ayalo.
I was bonded with a crow as a familiar, and the bird was far more intelligent than she let on. Her name was Cadd. I stood over the groaning lumberjack, as the arm slowly knit back together, my mental energies maintaining the necrotic process as the dying tissues reknit and perfused with blood; withering away the cauterised blood vessels and restoring them. The groaning subsided as the limb was restored back to a semblance of functionality.
He would be fine in a short time, and I knew his wife would flit and flutter like an angry wasp in a flat panic. As I let go of the necromantic power, his arm shifted from a slick, pale mess to its more usual colouring. I took a little of his death into myself, using it to restore my own vigour.
I sighed, and sat down heavily, masking the fact that I had plenty of stamina remaining. Taking a rag to my forehead, I spoke; a crooning, rasping croak. "Take a couple of days off, and come back to make sure there's no infection." I patted his arm, and offered him a slice of carrot cake and a cup of *Caf*.
He stood up, staggered for a moment as he took the sustenance, and nodded. He didn't need to thank me - he had cut me a supply for firewood in the last week that should last months.
He asked me about my work. "How are you such a good healer, Short Grass?" His voice was a smoke-filled cast with a hint of rum.
I cackled, and the sound unsettled him for a second. I gently laid my hand upon his arm, siphoned a little more of his death, and spoke.
"Oh, I'm not a healer, that was just some pre-mortem necromancy." He paled in fear for a second or two, then guffawed, a buzz saw of delight. | 2022-03-22T03:04:58 | 2022-03-22T02:47:27 | 334 | 74 |
[WP] You are part of a circle of scientists that have collaborated to fake the world into believing the sun was going supernova. As the generation ships carrying the rich, the flawed, the zealous, and the privileged leave Earth you decide its time to rebuild -the right way. | I remember the glaring lights on my face, replacing the millions of faces who could see mine. I was nervous, naturally. This might well end up being the most important interview in the history of mankind. The jury is still out on that. I didn’t really have time to be nervous, though.
Next to me, my subject seemed- not just calm, but down right placid. Knowing what this man had done, had proven himself capable of, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. What was a world-wide exclusive interview next to saving the world?
My director’s hand went up signalling the countdown to live. The countdown helped me focus, and I centered my eyes on the red light, just able to read the words below. He reached 2 and 1 in silence, then let me loose.
“Good evening, world. For those of you just joining us for the first time since Zero Hour, My name is Darien Cole. Tonight’s lead story is the much-anticipated interview with Graham Buckner, the face behind what’s being called the greatest prank of all time. He is live in the studio with me.
“Before we begin, however: a few updates. We have received word that our repeating centers in Johannesburg, Pyongyang, Sydney, and Buenos Aires are green across the board. I’d like to say welcome to our friends and viewers in Argentina, Australia, North Korea, and South Africa.
“Carbon emissions are falling around the globe. Lead scientists agree that we will fall within acceptable limits within the decade, just two years shy of the deadline.
“Reconstruction efforts are in full swing worldwide, with teams being sent into the most remote regions imaginable, seeking out survivalists and doomsday preppers, hoping to bring them into the fold.
“A team of researchers from California broke the news today that bees are recovering in all surveyed sectors- signs of colony collapse are receding, and more and more hives are being reintroduced across temperate zones. This is also great news for bats, how have struggled in recent years. The team says that with increased pollination, there will be a surge in insect populations that will be a great boon to bats, who provide a potent control on the insects.
“For the first time, mosquitoes will not be part of that surge- efforts to extinguish the parasitic insects by rendering them impotent are having a more drastic effect than anticipated. Ecologists expect little to no impact to anyone.” I gave them a confident smile. “Anyone, anywhere, ever. Good news indeed.
“We will have more details on these and other stories after the lead. Now I would like to say first of all, welcome to Mr. Buckner.” I gestured to my left, and the lights rose on Graham’s rather unimposing figure. Seeing him on the street, one might think he was a professor of something obscure and esoteric, like philosophy. He had a thick head of graying hair, a full beard, and half-rim glasses covering gray-green eyes. He wore a plain shirt under a corduroy jacket, complete with leather patched on the elbows, and his hand were clasped comfortably across a comfortable belly. It was a perfectly crafted affect, as were all his dealings with other people. His voice was even, as calm as his exterior. It was low and warm- a well-loved college professor.
“Please, Darien, call me Graham. It is an honor to be here.”
“And it is an honor to have you, Graham. It must have taken some juggling to free up your schedule to meet with us.”
“Not really. To be honest, I’m not up to a great deal anymore. I have often found that when you find the right people and give them the right tools, the right thing will be done. People, in truth, need very little management to do the right thing. It comes very naturally to us.”
“Then what are you doing these, days, if I may ask?”
“Consulting, largely. That’s what pays my bills, so to speak. I write a great deal. Some philosophy, but I wonder if the world hasn’t had quite enough of that. I like fiction. Those are the really fun stories to tell.”
“Any idea when your writings will be published?”
“Truthfully, no. I haven’t bothered to find an agent. Though I do find myself in the enviable position of being certain that when I am ready, the market will be there.”
“A writer’s dream, I suppose?”
“Absolutely.”
“To the subject at hand- my first question for you. What was it like for you as we approached Zero Hour? Those last minutes before revealing not just your face, but what you’d done- what were those like for you?”
“Nerve-wracking, in a word. I was violently ill the morning of, in fact. Couldn’t keep anything down.”
“That seems unlike you, if I’m being honest.”
“I have years of practice speaking in front of groups of different sizes, some friendly and many hostile. My ability to handle an audience is a very crafty coverup of my personal anxiety. Even now, in the interest of fairness, there is some trepidation over my words being broadcast globally.”
“Yet you are here.”
“Anxiety is an expression of fear in the mind. It is a signal- nothing more- that there are high stakes before you. That you have skin in the game; something to lose. Beyond that, if the reward outweighs the risk, fear is just noise. Whatever emotions I may have about this, it is necessary. So yes, I am here.”
“What else can you tell us about that countdown?”
“There was a lot of self-doubt. A lot of wondering if I was doing the right thing. How it would be perceived by the world at large. But at that point, it was too late to stop- the ships had already departed. And then I remembered something, something that had inspired and driven me from the inception of my idea.”
“Which was?”
“That the very problem I was trying to solve was in fact the source of my anxiety, and the voices that would be most likely to cry foul had been silenced. Also- and this is key- that I have far more in common with my neighbors than I have been led to believe. In that moment, I simply had faith. My stomach calmed, and I was able to address the world as I had planned.”
“It seems odd that a man who has acted so decisively against religion would talk about faith.”
“Faith gets a bad rap, in my opinion. The act of having faith is simply trusting in your beliefs. There is no particular association with what one believes in other than long-standing tradition. The act of driving down the road requires a certain faith that your fellow drivers will obey the same rules you do, otherwise fear would paralyze us all. Faith, in the absence of knowledge, is the antidote to fear. I couldn’t know how I would be received, but I had faith. That allowed me to continue.”
“What, then, was the start of all this? Where did the idea come from? The whole...illusion, if you will.”
“Oddly enough, a Reddit post. There was a writing prompt that I have long since forgotten, but it did remind me of a quote by Diderot: ‘And his hands would plait the priest’s entrails for want of a rope to strangle kings.’ It means simply that mankind could never be free while there are men who seek to dominate them.”
“That’s a gory image.”
“France, around the time of the Revolution, was an exceptionally bloody place. We all saw, historically, what happened to Robespierre, however sympathetic to his original cause we may be.”
“So you sought another way?”
“I did. I can’t deny the thought of violence was never far from my mind. I remembered, though that we had been given a gift in the disastrous regime of 45 and other right-wing populists across the world.”
“A gift?”
“From a certain perspective. I will not deny that those years were heartbreaking and tragic on a daily basis, nor to undermine anyone’s right to trauma in those days. But in that fear, these men had taught us how to defeat them.”
“How is that?”
“Fear.” There came a moment of dead air, as if that answer was self-evident.
(Part 2 in child comment) | I lay alone, hungover, on the street corner. I have been like this for years. I’m an old man, and a hungry one at that.
I look for what I have looked for for the last 30 years: an improvement. I look for the increase in people that are kind to each other. I look for the numbers, the statistics, that tell me I made the right decision, that I made humanity a much better place.
Like always, I see nothing that gives me such hope. Ironically, that’s what sent me into depression and alcoholism in the first place. God, I don’t even know how long I’ve been like this. All I know is that it wasn’t long after the Launch that I sank to where I am now.
I was celebrating, at first. I remember leaning back in my chair, and thinking of how easy it was. I was a scientist tasked to convince the people of Earth that the sun was going supernova. The plan was to convince the rich, powerful, and greedy to leave of their own accord, to venture off the planet, and to leave the world to the poor, charitable, and kind. The plan worked perfectly, with a few small sacrifices.
Sacrifices.
I hate that word. I despise, I loathe it with every fiber of my being.
Of course, the sacrifice that stands out to everyone was that of of the Launch itself. You can’t send a population of billions to Alpha Centauri. It isn’t possible, and even if it was, there is likely no habitable planet there. No, everyone of the rich and corrupt is dead by now. They starved, suffocated, or died of radiation poisoning long ago. Billions.
I open up a bottle of whiskey I had been trying to save for a week, and take my first swig of the morning.
Sacrifice. Of course it was necessary to make the world a better place.
Then, of course, there was the sacrifice of the families. Of course they weren’t going to leave their families behind. Of course the ship was filled with as many children as adults. In fact, the rich bastards often sacrificed their spot for a poor family, or bribed the officials into letting an entire community of the destitute and forgotten onboard. It’s their goddamn fault, those fucking corrupt assholes. They ruined the plan, not me. The blood of the poor people on that ship is on their hands, not mine.
But I cannot say the same for the blood of those on Earth. I should have seen it coming, that any astrophysicist on the planet would argue with my findings. I should have seen that anyone who has taken an astrophysics class would know that the sun simply cannot go supernova for millions of years. Why I thought of this too late, I don’t know. But the scientists had to be dealt with, and the cause had to live on. It was as if I pulled the trigger on hundreds of thousands of the educated myself, rich and poor alike.
Sacrifices.
Then there were the rich who stayed on Earth. In a way, you could say that death by bullets and knives is a better death than being lost in space. It was too merciful, in my opinion. They should have been forced to get on board and die with their greedy kind.
—————
The moment I myself announced to the world our plan is easily the worst moment of my life. I expected it to be the best, but the memory of it fills me with such dread, that to even approach the subject, I have to start chugging my alcohol.
I remember it so vividly. I was broadcasted live to almost every TV on the planet. I was watched by millions of the impoverished, weakened, and exploited. They were all that was left, and I told them what had become of the rich in such a vigorous speech, I half expected the stadium I was in to erupt in an applause never heard before.
Instead, I heard silence. Pure silence, and with it, I could almost hear my heart sinking to the ground. And then one woman stood. She was close enough for me to hear her say, so devoid of intellect, and so clearly a result of brainwashing by the elite:
“This is no different from Rwanda.”
I remember that feeling that I had never felt before, the one that I feel all the time now. The curious mix of adrenaline and testosterone that is rage. Her blood is definitely on my hands, because I shot her where she stood. I barely made it out of the stadium alive.
And now here I sit, watching the world, waiting to see if what I did was worth it. But all I see is the fucking greed, the callousness, the lies I saw before. There was new power, new money, new corruption. I can’t help but feel that I did all of that for nothing.
No. I must continue to hope. I must hope that the deaths I caused were not in vain. I must hope that I killed off the evil of the world, that this evil isn’t inherent in every single one of us. I singlehandedly killed the rich, and I should be proud.
Yet somehow I’m not.
******
Please let me know what you think, I’m trying to get into writing and I’m really new! | 2018-11-05T10:10:29 | 2018-11-05T09:26:33 | 22 | 11 |
[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 :) | “GO GREEN!!” My neighbor screeched at the field.
I leaned to my friend Raya, “Is this entirely necessary? We could be doing something more fun. Like literally anything. Anything is more fun than this.” I looked at the field disdainfully.
“Seriously Maize? This is like the one time your power is totally on point!” My glare hardened at her as I shifted back to normal. “Aw, come on Mai, we’re in the last quarter!”
Whispers fluttered all around me,
“Dude, did she just —“
“Holy shit did you see —“
“Dad that lady was GREEN —“.
I sighed and shifted my color back to the team’s forest green, “Yay football.” I muttered sarcastically, ignoring the next wave of whispers and stares that followed my change.
I’d long since gotten over my misfortune of power. Figures that an electromagnetic surge would hit the one time I was playing a kids game, granting me and several other thousand people the “gifts” of our game characters.
Do you know how wicked some of these people’s power’s were? Most of them were changing the weather to avoid natural disasters, telekinetically rescuing people from fires, leaping tall buildings in a single bound. . .you know, superhero shit.
Now in all fairness, I was hiding a secret. I hadn’t just been playing a kid’s game that auspicious Friday, I’d been modding and redeveloping it. Including my player.
In fact when the surge hit, I’d been typing code in specifically to mod my player. You’d think that’d left me with a glitch or two, but nope, it left me with an unfinished code and a blinking cursor.
When faced with the actual reality of becoming all-powerful, one tends to freeze up a little. Sure, I could code the crap out of myself and run this world from here until probably the end of time.....but was it ethical? Moral? And the question that bothered me most, what then?
I’d had a couple of months to have an existential crisis and hadn’t been able to get past what happens next. The other players had showed me what a little power could do to a person. On the news you heard the amazing stories of the “PC Heroes” and how our world needed something extraordinary to survive. The chat rooms told a different story.
Forums had popped up all over of PCs struggling with controlling their abilities, getting addicted, depressed, and some suicidal. After reading a post from a 15-year old my fantasies fell cold in their tracks, “I feel numb, like humming electric wire I have one purpose and it is my power. When I use it I lose myself and when I don’t I think of nothing else. I’ve lost my love, my pain, my anger. I’ve lost. I’m lost.” That was the last post she made. Two months ago.
But was it selfish to not do it? Was it worth losing myself if I could save the lives of others? The thought had me frozen in indecision for months.
“Mai,” my friend shook me, “Game’s over, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She gestured towards the line shuffling towards the exit.
Everything started happening in slow motion as the ground began shaking, and a crack in the stadium opened up below Raya.
Screams rang out from every direction, but Raya’s sounded right in my ear as I reached out to grab her. “Raya!” I cried out, grasping her forearm in mine as she dropped into the hole.
“Don’t let go, don’t let go, Mai, please, I love you, don’t let go” Raya sobbed over and over, fingers digging into my arm. The ground still shook beneath me, crack deepening, I reached another hand down holding her tightly.
Tears streamed from my eyes as I struggled to hold her, I had to pull her up. “Help! Help! We need help!” I yelled looking around for anyone. There were others helping pull up victims who had fallen also, people still running for the exits screaming, chaos.
“I’ve got you! Hold on!” A man ran over to my left and laid a hand on my shoulder has he reached down to grab Raya. “Pull!” He yelled. I strained my burning muscles as far as they could go, we grunted as we pulled her backward, sliding out of the crack and falling back into the stadium seats.
“We’ve got to go,” I shouted grabbing Raya, still heaving on the ground.
The man nodded and stumbled with us through the crowd to the exit. The shaking had ceased but we still moved quickly to the main level, getting as far as possible from the near death Raya had nearly faced an the real death for many others.
As we reached the parking lot and the leave that awaiting I pulled away from Raya, already nearly jogging back towards the stadium. “Go home,” I said to her, “There’s something I need to do.”
I had some coding to do. | 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 | 2020-01-30T11:35:06 | 2019-08-11T20:54:11 | 1,281 | 359 |
[WP] Two people, running away from a blind, arranged marriage, in which one is supposed to marry the other, meet on the road by coincidence and fall in love with each other. | When he walked out of the store, she was sitting in the back of his truck, crying.
"Ma'am?" Fred said tentatively. "Is something wrong?" *Well that was a dumb thing to ask.*
She shook her head, and covered her face with her hands, crying harder.
Fred looked down at the bag of chips in his hands. "Wanna have a contest? They say no one can eat just one of these."
The last sob sounded more like a laugh when she peeked through her fingers. He ripped open the top of the bag of chips and held it out to her. When she took it, he released the tailgate latch and eased onto the flat metal surface. Close enough to be near her, but far enough not to be threatening. She looked young with wavy blonde hair and big brown eyes rimmed with red from crying.
"Thanks." She stared at him for a moment and reached into the bag.
He watched her crunching on a salt and vinegar chip, then she reached into the bag for another. He was going to tease her about taking more than one, but didn't.
"Have you been hitchhiking?" he asked gently. This wasn't the best area to hitchhike, but considering his own desperation to get away, he could understand why someone might do it.
She eyed him warily. "Yeah. I..."
"I'm driving to Boise. I don't know if you're going that far..."
Her eyes widened. "That would be great. I, um, I have some money for gas."
He slid off the tailgate and smiled. "No need. I'm going there anyway." He offered her his hand and she put the bag of chips down, allowing him to help her. Her palm was soft against his. She seemed so young, probably about the same age as the girl his mother had arranged for him to marry. That had been the biggest shock when they read Mama's will. He had been pledged to marry to settle a debt. Who did that anymore? He should be given a choice. Hell, she should have a choice, too. So he'd run out about the time she was due to arrive in Spokane, wanting both of them to have a future they chose, not the one they're been forced into. He was going to do his best to avoid Miss Clara Fortune.
* * *
Her father had basically sold her and didn't tell her about it. Clara closed her eyes and put her head back on the seat. She'd gone from anger to grief to fear so many times. When they'd boarded the bus, he calmly told her that they were going to Spokane because she was getting married to a man she didn't know. The only thing she knew was that he was twelve years older than she and his name was Fred. Then, at the first stop, she'd run off the bus with only the money in her pocket and her cell phone. Dad had been calling nonstop since then and she refused to answer.
"I have some soda in the cooler behind the seat if you're thirsty." The kind man had been polite and kept his distance. "If you're going in there, grab me a seven-up."
She wasn't thirsty, but she got a can out for him and popped the top before setting it into the cupholder between them. He thanked her and glanced over. He had stunning blue eyes with tiny laugh lines in the corners.
"This is really nice of you," she replied. "I just didn't know where I was going. Boise seems like it's as good of a place as any."
Her phone buzzed again, vibrating on the dashboard. She ignored it.
"Do your parents know where you are?"
"No."
He frowned. "Are you running away to travel with a band?"
She shook her head. "Not unless you play a musical instrument."
He laughed and it made her shoulders relax. This was the type of guy she wanted, not some faceless stranger named Fred. He turned on the radio and they talked about music. He talked about his dream of starting a ranch to rehabilitate horses, she talked about her goal of going to college to become a large animal vet. The sun went down and he drove until they were an hour outside of Boise.
"I'm sorry, I just can't drive anymore. I can get us two rooms at the motel I just saw a sign for."
God, he was so sweet. A perfect gentleman. They pulled off into the parking lot and he shut off the engine. "I'll be right back."
She fiddled with the latch on the glove compartment and the door popped open, the vehicle registration falling out along with a pile of napkins. As she stuffed them back in, she noticed the truck belonged to Fred Douglass.
He tapped on the window and she shoved the glove compartment closed. She swallowed hard as he opened the door. Her heart raced. It couldn't be...
"You're Fred!"
He nodded. "That's what I go by." He offered her a key card and kept the other in his hand.
"I'm Clara."
He paused and then a slow smile broke across his face. "What a coincidence." | The evening breeze danced in the air, in between a couple on a park bench, gently playing with their ruffled white hair. They each wore a blue sweater, the favourite colour, staring at the people passing before them. The man pressed his palm on the woman's.
"How long has it been, Martha, fifty years?" the man asked.
Martha chuckled at her husband's question. She moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Yes, Thomas, fifty years."
Silence settled between them again, as their thoughts wandered off separately. Thomas to the mansion he used to live in Kuala Lumpur, while Martha to her grandparents' posh colonial bungalow in Ipoh. Their thoughts eventually met back on the bench, the place where they first saw each other almost half a century ago.
"Funny how our paths crossed, despite none of us wanting to," Thomas muttered. He saw his young self walking back on the path, a heavy backpack strapped behind him. He had escaped from his home, refusing to marry a girl his family had arranged, fed up with how his life was controlled. He saw the young him dropping a bottle of water, which rolled to the bench where they were sitting on. It was then when he first laid eyes on Martha, curled up on the bench, crying.
Martha nodded. She remembered how she too ran from home, unwilling to be her parents' pawn in trying to solidify their family's influence. With nowhere to go, she ended up in the park, alone and lost, until a young man's bottle rolled up to her. "You looked so dashing then," Martha mused.
Thomas chuckled. He was equally taken away by those teary brown eyes that day. Even after fifty years, they still gave him butterflies. "Remember how we thought we had beaten our parents to finding our one true love, only to find out how we were arranged to each other in the first place?"
They both smiled at the memory. It was chaos in both their families when they disappeared, it was even bigger chaos when they returned five years later, baby in tow.
Thomas pulled Martha closer to him. "I guess our parents did know best after all."
------------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-05-11T01:11:30 | 2017-05-10T22:20:54 | 137 | 73 |
[WP] You slowly realize that you are slow at realizing things. | “I’m concerned about you.” Her grey eyes traced my face, desperate for any semblance of a reaction.
Dismissive as ever, I brushed off her mock concern. “I do this all the time, at least he isn’t boring.” Reaching for her necklace with a devilish grin I continued, “Or Christian.”
“I know you think that God is real and he hates you, but maybe someone religious wouldn’t be so bad for you.”
“Oh sure, nothing like eight AM mass to cure a hangover.”
She pulled at her necklace. I’ve never witnessed this girl stand idle for even a moment. “You’re my closest girlfriend, and I just don’t like these patterns you get into. The drinking, the sex, the coca-“ She blinked a few times before going on with more resolve. “You’ve void your vocab of ‘abusive’ and replaced it with ‘fun’.” I rolled my eyes as she faltered over the next words, “I just don’t want to see you with any man right now.”
Hypocrite.
My hands move on their own but in tandem. One effortlessly undoes the top button while the other pushes the cardigan off her shoulder. Vacancy is not a good look on her. Innocence is illusory, cultivated by the faint of heart. Defiantly, her sundress betrays her image and gives way to the truth. With the fabric now draped from her shoulder, bruises reveal a path down her neck to her bosom.
“The holier than thou routine got old last summer. Sure these guys aren’t good, but they would never pretend to
be.”
Behind me I hear a muffled giggle. Turning I see an unfamiliar face, then two more. I wonder if finals got everyone to come in today or I just don’t keep close enough tabs on the migration patterns of my peers. Whatever. Slowly she meets my eyes, and then bats them at everyone else one by one. It’s quieter than I remember it. When her eyes make the rounds and come back to me they’re filled to the brim with tears.
Act I: tears. She's drama, as always. I let out an exasperated sigh, “M.J., come on. It’s not a big deal if you want to do it with people.” Gesturing towards the small crowd I make light. “None of them really give a shit! And God knows I don’t.” The crowd looks uneasy now, a couple inch back or check their phones.
Good. Fucking weirdos.
Act II: distress. The cadence of her breathing and movement of her eyes changed drastically with every passing moment. In a shrill voice, she commits to her character. “Sorry if I care about you too much. Sorry I actually took the time to break down your act an-“ I’m almost impressed this time. She’s gotten much better at creating these scenes. After a few more sentences leading with “I’m sorry” and laden with labored breaths she goes in for the close. “I’m sorry for loving you. I’m sorry I went against my God for you.” With that she resigned to silent sobs and hurried off away from her audience.
Bravo.
I have to give it to her. That was an impressive twist. Tightening my grip on my books I gain my composure and begin to walk down the hall. School hasn’t been this quiet or crowded in a long time. Someone a few steps down the hall stops me and hands me a necklace with a solemn look on their face.
“That was fucked up.” They turn quickly and walk down the hall as M.J. had moments ago.
This necklace was familiar, the cross I had gifted her over the summer when they met, now it felt like years ago. We had been so drunk that night, I had given M.J. the all-inclusive treatment of her first drink, kiss and orgasm. In an act of desperation to shut up her incessant murmuring about Gods wrath, I had gifted her the cross pendant as reconciliation. So long as she had it on, I had told her, God wouldn’t ride her ass for being gay.
Holy shit.
For being gay. She was coming out to me. The orgasm wasn’t just a physical reaction to being touched, it was a physical reaction to being touched by ME. It wasn't that she wanted me to be alone, she wanted me to be with her. I summoned all my courage and started off in the direction she had gone down, necklace in hand.
I knew her God would forgive her.
I just hoped she would forgive me for not loving her back.
| It's sad to say that not every relationship will end in finding the one. It's also sad to say that not all relationships that end, the one wasn't found. The clinking of the ice of a gin and tonic spoke to this, or at least the conclusions I found at the bottom of the bottle said so.
There is always the thought that every new person, every new relationship, brings you to new enlightenment. I don't know anymore. That's the jargon I spouted when I thought we were just friends with benefits. Those are the words that I said when I knew she would be gone soon.
It hurts though. It took me an entire year to figure it out, plus a bottle. It takes a long time to drink a bottle of gin. This night I guess, it was a long time coming.
The letters we wrote after she left. I looked forward to them as they were my lifeline to happiness. She was in basic for six weeks and I felt closer than I had ever been in our relationship. It drove me crazy.
And then she graduated. She did well. I spilled my guts.
It made it worse. So much worse. I had a break down as I realized how bad I was. Well, I wasn't bad, but I wasn't what I should have been. Now she isn't in my life anymore, even as a friend.
Sitting back on the coach, the popcorn ceiling let my mind wander. As the world spun, the distance between the speckles came in and out of perspective. The ceiling was breathing, it seemed.
A year, a month, a bottle. It took me so long to figure it out. Now, I have to figure without.
| 2017-03-26T22:04:10 | 2017-03-26T20:46:47 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] One day, while playing cops and robbers a child points his finger at a friend and makes the noise, "Pew, pew." The friend is nearly shot. Turns out, the child can effect reality by making sounds with his mouth. Gunshot noises, falling objects, cars screeching to a halt, slot machines etc... | Item #6009
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6009 is to be kept in a 20 x 20 furnished room, with a consistent source of entertainment available at all times. If SCP-6009 is to enter a state of tantrum, anaesthetic gas is to be immediately sprayed into the room. Allowing the tantrum to proceed any further risks a containment breach. A minimum of 5 members are required to overlook the gas mechanism at all times, in case of malfunction. Current procedures are under review, since the Gas system has only helped out in one circumstance.
Description: SCP-6009 is a 11 year old male child of European descent, at a height of 154 CM. Appearance is non anomalous altogether, and can easily be mistaken for a normal child. It's anomalous properties appear whenever the child says anything in the form of an onomatopoeia, immediately altering reality into something akin to the noise uttered by SCP-6009. To date, only 7 noises have been recorded ever since the recovery of SCP-6009. No known living relatives have been found as of yet (see incident 2/13/19).
Recorded Noises LOG:
11/12/18: At approximately 12:00 Pacific time, in the state of [REDACTED], SCP-6009 made the noise "pew pew" aimed at a 12 year old child. Multiple bullet holes immediately filled the area where the child once was, subsequently destroying 159,000$ worth of property. SCP personal happened to be in the vicinity investigating reports on another SCP, and where able to calm down and maintain SCP-6009 in the aftermath.
11/12/18: Mobile task force "[DATA EXPUNGED]" where sent to pick up SCP-6009. Upon arrival, SCP-6009 was in a state of agitation, and yelled "crash". Over 39 vehicles proceeded to run into personnel, and all subsequently perished. SCP-6009 fell asleep after this in a bridge by [REDACTED], and was taken into custody by site 69
11/25/18: Subject yelled "Kaboom" at the top of his lungs during a tantrum state and [DATA EXPUNGED]. SCP-6009 was moved to site 701
11/27/18: While SCP-6009 was heavily sedated, microphones picked up the noise "Schlick". All SCP personal reported a wet feeling along the side of their neck. Many said that the feeling was similar to that of a tongue sliding along the surface of their skin. How SCP-6009 managed to make a noise while sedated is still unknown.
Dr. Ivan requested SCP-6009 be terminated. Request denied
01/27/19: While playing with a set of Hot Wheels toys, SCP-6009 said "zoom". The door holding SCP-6009 was found to be completely unscrewed, and a Containment breach followed suit. After all SCPs were recaptured, it was reported that the doors which held the escaped SCPs were unscrewed.
"Considering our most powerful FPS cameras have yet find the moment SCP-6009 left the room, don't give him anymore zoomy toys, or whatever the fuck." - Dr. Ivan
2/13/19: At 1:00 am, SCP-6009 immediately woke up. Despite being heavily sedated, subject woke up and said "happy birthday". Despite not necessarily being an onomatopoeia, 3 humans appeared in SCP-6009's containment cell, each with an assortment of gifts, and the only male with an ice cream cake from Baskin Robins. It appears that the 3 humans who appeared in SCP-6009's are family. Most information regarding this event have been expunged.
2/28/19: SCP-6009, while playing a game of [REDACTED], yelled "bang". An estimated 340 decibel bang was immediately reported by other sites, and 90% personnel on site 701 were reported deceased. It was discovered that the anomalies SCP-6009 produces have no effect on him whatsoever
Dr. Ivan reported off duty at the time, and asked the O5 council for immediate termination of SCP-6009. Request was granted
Edit: andddd that's all for now. Doing this on mobile was a pain | I spent the first half of my childhood doing what any normal kid would do, playing in sandboxes and crying. At first, I didn't notice, everything was a coincidence, making alarm sounds and then a fire drill would happen, nothing too weird. Then, after saying *kaboom* I realized just how dangerous I really am. So I turned myself in, the government researched me and researched me and performed countless operations but found nothing. I ran out of the building knowing that they can't help me, and that's how I ended up here.
At the edge of a cliff, cornered by agents from the government and local police departments alike, I jump, knowing full well that while in Captivity I fine-tuned my abilities, after all my abilities depend on what sound effects I'm able to make. Making the sound effect *woosh* softened my fall, and I continue running. Local police authorities who aren't aware of my abilities are shocked. and the government is pissed.
Running onto the water I see a boat, *skrrrt,* while the boat is stopped I hop on, knocking the people on it off. That's when I encountered my fatal flaw, I'm only 13, I can't drive. I consider my options and start driving anyway, heading straight towards the beach...
​ | 2018-12-02T12:17:53 | 2018-12-02T12:10:51 | 82 | 17 |
[WP] A "popular" girl falls in love with a "nerdy" boy, however he hates her and she spends all her time trying to impress him
EDIT: THANK YOU ALL FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO WRITE SHORT STORIES BASED OFF MY PROMPT!! I HAVE YET TO READ ALL YOUR STORIES THOUGH, AS I'M BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND OTHER STUFF :D
I'm sorry if I have somehow ripped off your precious harem animes. That was completely unintentional. (I don't even watch anime that much)
I'm sorry if this prompt is too uncreative for you guys. Maybe next time I'll post one that's "different" enough but not so unique that I'd probably end up writing a novel about one day (I have dreams that shall never be fulfilled)
I'm sorry if I have triggered anyone somehow. | Dear Diary, Samantha here,
"Why wasn't he afraid?" I mused over this, wondering why HE of all people could be so nonchalant over my boyfriends threats. Chance was one of the robotics kids at our school. Really, he was just a nobody. Then there’s me, Samantha, queen bee of our high-school, cheerleader elite. I was dating Darren, the Quarterback and All-American.
It all started on that damn day when Darren and I were walking down the hall with some of his jock buddies. Honestly, I don't know what they were talking about really, but I just smiled and faked laughed as usual. I was looking back and making a comment to one of the boys when suddenly Darren started yelling.
"Watch where you’re going dumbass." Darren snarled. In front of Darren was Chance. It looked like they had just bumped into one another. Chance, had dropped some books and was picking them up. Most guys (especially ones that looked like Chance, dark haired, glasses, and ill advised outfit) would have been quaking at the thought of Darren being angry at them, who is 6’4, 200 pounds of pure savory muscle. This time was different, Chance stood up as smoothly as he had bent down to pick up his books, and peered straight into Darren’s eyes. "Hey man didn't see you there, ill watch out next time." He said this just as calmly as he picked up his books while adjusting his brown spectacles. In an instant, I saw Darren make a move towards Chance. Knowing his temperament, I grabbed his arm quickly, "He’s not worth it baby, lets just go." Darren let up a little and looked back at Chance, who was just staring, not even caring he was about to get his ass-kicked. Darren breathed out, "I’ll catch you later you little shit." I gave Chance the I-just-saved-your-ass-nerd look. Then I strutted away with Darren on my arm.
Dear Diary, Chance here,
What’s wrong with my code? I’ve quadruple checked it already. I can’t seem to figure out one of the last algorithms to help make smooth movement on the robot I've been working on. The robot is designed to help plant crops and diagnose levels of nutrients in the ground. Plus it's also meant to help aging farmers move around. I’ve been working on this robot for years actually, I got the idea for it after I helped code a cost effective insulin pump for the poor (the idea came to me because my test subject was a farmer with diabetes). Anyway, my day actually became a lot more interesting because within this train of thought I was having about the algorithm, I ran into a much less metaphorical train.
"Watch where you’re going dumbass." Snarled the high-school Quarterback Darren. A big oaf, whom I am sorry to say doesn't have the same intelligence as his size. As I was picking up my books, I noticed he was with his buddies and his girlfriend Samantha. Who as far as I was concerned, was queen bitch of our school. The truth is, Darren and his group didn't scare me at all. What these guys don't know about me is that I am the state’s Golden Gloves silver-medalist in boxing's light heavy-weight division (courtesy of my mother pushing me, rest her soul). So, even if they were to try and fight me I'm pretty sure I actually had more real fight experience than all of them combined (and IQ too). My mother never wanted me to fight outside the ring, and always wanted me to be a good kid that focused on my studies and the needs of others. So instead, I just told him sorry, to which he retorted something stupider than he looks. His girlfriend pulled him away and gave me a look of contempt. Something which I mirrored back. I had no time for her kind of people. After that, I just continued onto the robotics lab, where I had more pressing issues to delve into.
Dear Diary, Samantha here,
I find myself not being able to stop thinking about Chance all weekend. The way he was so calm when dealing with Darren peaked my interest him. So, this week, I found myself looking out the school yard, the halls, and classrooms to get a glance of Chance. Glance of Chance, ha that sounds so poetic. Anyway, this week I saw something that got to me that I made my stomach drop.
I was walking by the robotics lab when I saw him there, sitting at the desk staring into his Macbook Pro. There were some other people around him and a girl that was sitting close, "damn her" I thought. Suddenly, I realized I was jealous. Not only was I jealous of another girl, it was over a nerd at our school. How could that be possible? Furthermore, that’s not the thing that got me. Truth is, over the past week I have taken the long route to pass by the robotics lab to catch a glimpse of Chance. I noticed that he works tirelessly in school and after school to work on his projects. I started to become curious as to what he was actually working on. There was a girl sitting by me in one of my classes that works in the robotics club with Chance. I asked her casually what they were working on, not to give myself away. She said that they were working on devices to help improve the lives of people around them. "What a joke!" I found myself berating her. "What makes you think that you can change anything?" However, as I said this, all I felt was myself being more intrigued by Chance and a little guilt too. I blushed just thinking about him.
Finally, on Friday of this week. I decided that I was gonna muster up the courage to talk to him. In spite of the possible repercussions it might have. Who knows? Maybe ill just ask him some stupid physics question to make it seem more natural? So finally, after third period I went walked towards the robotics center wondering what I would say to him. Right before I got into the door hit someone, Whack, I looked up and I saw bright brown glasses, and all I could muster was
"Hey."
Dear Diary, Chance here,
I worked my butt off this week and have found myself really close to cracking the code. However, thats not really what I want to write about. This week I noticed something kind of strange. Every time that I am in the robotics lab I have started to see Samantha walk by the robotics window and peer in for a second, then she just shuffles away. I really don't understand it and wish she would just stop. I'm pretty sure she's just coming by to make fun of me or some of the people in robotics. It’s getting pretty annoying. So I decided that the next time she would come by I would give her a piece of my mind. This Friday I would do it.
So when the time came after third period, (which is usually when she comes through) I saw her slowly walking by. This time she wasn't looking through the window but it seemed like she was muttering something to herself. No matter. I got up and walked to the door and opened it. Whack. She was much closer than I realized and as I opened the door I just ran myself into her by accident. She looked up at me with her big (now that I'm up closer) extremely beautiful blue eyes. I lost train of thought and just blurted out
"Hey."
Note: I noticed this story is getting long, please let me know if you guys like it so far! | Jonathan ran, his arms outstretched behind him, like the wings of a mighty bird of prey. He flew through the classroom leaping past desks and his classmates alike. He stopped at Billy's desk and karate chopped the papers and books onto the floor. Jonathan squealed in glee as he fled the scene at breakneck speed.
It was recess and only Billy remained at his desk going over See Jack Run over and over. For such a classical piece of literature Billy thought it was remarkably difficult to understand. Billy took his time though, he was going to be smart, he was going to graduate and finally make the millions he had dreamt about his whole life. Billy knew he could achieve anything he set his mind to, so he set his sights on the books before him.
Julie watched from across the room, surrounded by her usual gaggle of giggling girls and the occasional boy who managed to muster enough courage to try and actually talk to her. She was queen bee, and the swarm of boys that buzzed around the room amused her. Julie knew that with a word, any of these boys would quit showing off and do whatever she asked. All of them except Billy. She looked at Jonathan as he ran up to her to collect his reward; a small hug, and a smile that was thought to be a major factor of global warming by those blessed enough to receive one. Jonathan tried to talk to her, but he was quickly dismissed by Julie's annoyed look. The girls closed ranks around Julie, scavenging Jonathans momentary attentiveness to boost their own standings. The vultures, thought Julie, but only for a moment as she looked back at Billy struggling his way through Math now. Julie mumbled to softly to herself, thinking of new schemes to once and for all have every person in the class recognize her greatness. A small thought emerged in her pretty little head, if she could just have Billy, she would need anyone else.
Billy sat in his usual chair at the front of the class, he had transferred a week ago, and was still completely oblivious to the social interactions of his classmates. That suited him well though, all Billy needed was his studies. If only that girl Julie would stop trying to get my attention, Billy thought. Once again another boy flew past knocking Billy's school supplies onto the floor. Billy shook his head, he knew he was a bit bigger than the other kids, but Billy knew violence would only get him in trouble. He lowered his head back into the crevasse of his math book and tried to figure out why some numbers were so darn smug. Darn prime numbers, think their better than everyone else, Billy thought.
She had done all the classic moves; laughed at all his jokes, picked him for her group projects; she had even gone so far as to pinch AND punch him, in one day nonetheless. What else would it take to get Billy to notice her, Julie contemplated. Finally she had had it, a week had passed and graduation was approaching quickly for Billy, she had to act fast. With the help of her friends and lackeys, no one knew which they were, Julie created her grandest scheme yet. She would make him love her even if she had to do so by force. On the day of Billy's graduation Julie put on her cutest outfit and ran to class, she was determined to kiss him before he left. Everyone in the class knew her plan except the teacher and of course Billy himself.
Billy knew something was wrong as he entered the classroom for his last time, he was finally moving on to the next grade. As he walked through the door Julie leapt from the side and grasped his neck firmly in her arms as she went for her big moment, but Billy brought one hand around and stopped her lips cold with his oddly large palm.
Julie was stunned, "WHY" she screamed. "Why don't you like me", she hadn't meant to be so loud, but the rejection shook her to the core.
Billy stumbled back shocked, "WHY", he said incredulously. "I'm 27 years old, that is WHY" Billy whined.
I haven't seen Billy in some time, but as his former teacher I do keep track of my students. I hear Billy is doing quite well, something about a hotel chain. Very impressive stuff. Julie never recovered from the incident. I hear she became some kind of public relations director at a golf course, but the man she is with is just horrible, some ass named Shooter McGavin. I do hope she find someone better someday. Oh well, till next time, on stories from behind the teachers desk.
| 2016-05-29T11:36:18 | 2016-05-29T10:33:11 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] A catholic, an atheist, and a christian meet god. the atheist goes to heaven, but god has some words for the other two. | I opened my eyes. I felt an overwhelming urge to keep facing straight ahead, though I was curious about what was around me. In an instant, a kind-looking man walked into my field of vision. He seemed like the nicest person I could ever meet. I wanted to say hi right away.
Suddenly, he spoke, with a deep and soothing voice: "It's nice to see you today, Jason."
"Oh! It's nice to see you too," I replied. It dawned on me that I didn't know who I was talking to. I was about to open my mouth to ask, when the man said,
"Welcome to the afterlife."
"Thank you." It now dawned on me that 'the afterlife' was where one went when once was dead. I decided to inquire on this matter, but I was again pre-empted.
"Why don't you look around a little bit?"
I took his advice, and it appeared, upon turning my head, that I was, in fact, not alone. Just to my left was my friend Julie, and to my right was my coworker, Nathan. Both of them appeared to be having the same revelation I was.
I considered greeting them, but the man spoke again.
"The three of you know each other."
I nodded, as did Julie and Nathan.
The man turned towards Nathan. He said, "You didn't expect this, did you?" Nathan shook his head. "I never thought there was an afterlife. I guess I was wrong." The man smiled. "You were wrong, yes." He touched Nathan on the shoulder. Nathan smiled. The man said, "You're ready. Go ahead."
Nathan walked into the distance. When he was out of sight, the man turned to me. I decided to ask a question. "Is Nathan in Hell?" The man smiled at me. "Do you think Nathan is in Hell?"
"Well, it didn't look like he was going to Hell."
"Why do you think that was?"
Julie chimed in, "Did he convert before he died?"
"No," the man replied. "He didn't."
Julie opened her eyes wide. She thought for a moment. When she finally spoke again, she just said, "Nathan was a good person."
I thought about Nathan. He was always friendly, and he did volunteer with the animal shelter on weekends. And yet, works alone are not the path to Heaven. I decided to mention this to Julie, but the man spoke first.
"Jason, do you think you were a sinner?"
"Of course. Everyone is a sinner."
"Was Nathan a sinner?"
"Of course."
"So, your expectation was that Nathan would be in Hell."
"Of course."
"Did you expect to go to Hell?"
"No. I've been saved by the grace of Jesus."
The man turned his attention to Julie. "You went to Confession just yesterday."
"That's right," she answered.
"You repented for your sins."
"I did."
"Nathan never went to confession."
"He didn't."
Julie got a strange look on her face. She seemed to be experiencing some kind of revelation. She looked up at the man and smiled. He looked back at her. She laughed. "I suppose I was wrong, huh?" The man nodded and smiled. "You were wrong, Julie." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Go on now."
Julie looked at me and smiled. She then began to walk into the distance. The man and I shared in a silence as she disappeared from view. Once she was out of sight, he looked at me very intently. He asked me, "Do you know what's happening right now?" I nodded. "I'm being judged." He smiled. "No, Jason. You're not being judged."
"Isn't this Judgment Day?"
"Tell me, why do you think it's Judgment Day?"
"Well, I'm in the afterlife, and you just judged Nathan and Julie."
"Why do you think I judged them?"
"It's what's written in the scriptures."
He examined me. "Jason, are you content with the idea that I have just condemned one or both of your friends to Hell?"
"It's not my place to judge the Lord."
He didn't speak for a while. I wondered whether I was missing something.
"Jason, Nathan isn't in Hell."
"But you said he didn't convert before he died."
"That's correct."
"I don't understand."
"Jason, there is no such thing as Hell."
I blinked. I wasn't certain what was meant by this.
"Do you mean the souls of sinners are annihilated?"
"No, Jason. You'll be able to see Nathan again very soon."
"But I've been saved."
"Why do you say that?"
"I've accepted Jesus as my savior."
He smiled at me. "Jason, do you know why your friends have already left, but you're still here?"
"I don't."
"Why don't you take a guess?"
"Because they were both wrong."
"What were they wrong about, Jason?"
I thought for a moment. "Well, Nathan was wrong because he didn't believe in an afterlife. He was an unbeliever." The man nodded his head. "And Julie was wrong about Confession. Man can't forgive sin, only God can."
"Is that all?" he asked.
"I... don't know."
"Jason, do you think you really know anything about this place? About me?"
I thought back to all my Biblical education. I wanted to tell him about everything I knew about Heaven and Judgment Day. I looked deep into his eyes. I realized I didn't know anything about what was happening right now. I didn't know what happened to Nathan and to Julie. I didn't even know who I was speaking to.
"I suppose I don't."
The man smiled brightly at me. I smiled back. I came here knowing nothing, and yet I had only now realized that. I was no expert at all. I started to laugh. I laughed for a few minutes.
"I get it now," I said. "I was wrong. I was wrong about Nathan, and I was wrong about Julie, and I was wrong about you. I was wrong about Hell, and I was wrong about sin, and I was wrong about Judgment Day. I was wrong about all of it." He touched my shoulder. I felt an intense warmth and comfort. "That's right. You were wrong. And now you're ready. Go see your friends."
I looked at the man one last time before I walked away, with a burden lifted from my back. | Welp ... there goes my beliefs... so I met god, with my sister who was catholic and my friend who was Christian (btw that’s redundant but I don’t know enough about religion to change it so) my friend and sister had to speak to god. I was there, so I’ll recount the story:
“Hello, you all died in a car accident. I am god”
“I told you he was really Abigail.”
“Oh shut your trap bitch”
“Anyway. Abigail, you will be going to heaven”
I was surprised to say the least. I just learned that my beliefs are wrong and now I was going to a place I didn’t even think existed
“Sarah(my sister) you’re going to hell. Would you like an explanation?”
“YES” she screeched that
“Very well. Think back in your life, what sins did you commit?”
“Well... I had sex before—“
“Actual sins Sarah”
“Whatever do you mean my lord”
“Please just call me god. Anyway, you tried forcing your religion on Abigail. You disliked Abigail because she was gay. And you were overall a piece of actual shit”
“WHY ID NEVER”
“Shut up Sarah. Now onto joed”
“Y-yes god..?”
“You will be sent to heaven but will be the lowest level and on watch. Would you like an explanation?”
“Y-yes god”
“Very well, think back what did you do wrong?”
“Well... at first I didn’t like Abby because she was lesbian, but after getting to know her I realized that that was silly... I tried telling her all about you and I tried pushing her to be like me... but I soon realized that it wasn’t working and stopped”
“Exactly, you committed sins but tried to reverse them, which is why you’ll be in heaven just a Lower level than Abigail. Now Abigail, would you like to know why you ended up in heaven?”
“No. Not really, but will I be able to visit joed?”
“Yes. But you said no..? Why?”
“I said no because I don’t care why I got into heaven”
“W-why not?”
“Because I don’t”
—————————————————————————
SHE SAID NO can you believe her?!? She didn’t want to know why SHE got in heaven. The atheist scum she is probably still doesn’t even believe heaven exists unlike me. I should’ve been the one in heaven now I’m cursed for an eternity at the hands of YOU
“Shut up sarah. I don’t have time for your complaining today understood? Now get back to work”
Ugh! This is torture absolute torture I say
“Sarah that’s the point you dunce, now shut up before I make you”
UGH I don’t have to listen to you! YOURE THE DEVIL
“Despite what you’re religion says about me, me and god are friends.” He snapped his fingers and glued my mouth shut!!! Can you believe him?!
—————————————————————————
So I had to work for a while, but it wasn’t that bad. Just kinda like life, I worked for 8 hours a day and then got 4 hours of free time, Abigail comes to visit me a lot, I heard Sarah wasn’t doing so well but she was a bitch so I mean I didn’t care. I still couldn’t believe Abigail had said she didn’t care why she ended up in heaven, I’m not surprised just can’t believe it. She probably knew why in all honesty she was always smart, and did read the Bible so she understand the
—————————————————————————
Well that’s the story, I’m sure you won’t believe me, hell I wouldn’t have believed myself a few years ago but hey? What can I say?
And Sarah was forever cursed to never speak. The ducking karen | 2020-08-14T14:16:28 | 2020-08-14T06:16:33 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are trapped, with no hope of escape, and a timer counting down till they die. They have an honest and heartfelt conversation.
Doesn't have to be superheroes. | They sat on opposite sides of the room; two forces, having spent their entire lives in unrelenting conflict, now fated to die whilst staring at one another. Aristice coughed as he felt the walls of the room begin to close in around him and Gael, clutching at his red cloak as he felt his chest uncomfortably constrict. Keeling over, he erupted into a fit of coughs, his hands tearing at his stomach. Just as he felt his vision fading, a firm slap on the back ceased the coughing. He blinked twice, wiping saliva from his face as he looked behind him to see his nemesis worriedly hunched over him. For a moment, Gael almost seemed like a friend.
Aristice knew better and instinctively scuttled back, away from the villain, their eyes locking for a moment as they tried to comprehend what'd transpired.
"My hand moved on its own," Gael said plainly, his voice as emotionless as it'd always been. He slowly shifted forward as he felt the enclosing walls press into his back, forcing him to draw closer to Aristice. "Besides, even I wouldn't like to see the man I've spent so many years fighting die in such a pathetic manner. It'd have been a travesty."
Aristice blankly looked at the other man, his body frozen for a painstaking moment as he absorbed the words that'd been said. Words escaped him, and his mouth hung open, primed to burst into a slew of indignation and drivel about good and evil. As had always been the case between the two of them. Instead, he laughed. A choking, bitter sound that came from his heart. He doubled over and laughed so hard he thought his chest would burst.
"This is ridiculous," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.
"I suppose it is," Gael responded solemnly.
Aristice's body shook as he looked around the room, seeing the walls press closer and closer towards the pair. "So, this is how it ends? Us two, in a room together, crushed to death?"
"I always thought it'd have been more epic," Gael conceded, "Like in the songs. And books."
"That makes two of us, then. Still, what a shitty way to die."
Gael paused, his head sagged downwards. Aristice still found the man to be unreadable, after all the years they'd spent in opposition, knowing each-other through the clashes of their blades. Gael reached into an inner pocket of his cloak, and produced a small metal bottle, a slight smile spreading onto his lips, illuminating his features, like paint on a canvas.
"I think I know a way I can make it less shitty," he said, shaking the bottle before popping it open.
"Alcohol? Really? No wonder you were exiled from the Knighthood."
With a shrug, Gael took a hearty swig from the bottle, extending it towards Aristice as he wiped some of the trickling alcohol from his beard. "It's the nectar of the Gods; I'd be damned if I had to give it up."
An incredulous look on his face, Aristice snatched the bottle and knocked some of the liquid back, feeling his throat light with fire as it trickled down his throat, spreading its heat to the core of his belly. Once more Aristice began to choke from the bitter taste, keeling over, much to Gael's amusement. Gael took the bottle back, chuckling at the display.
"*H-how do you drink that shit?*"
"Exile gave me a lot of spare time. It's from the Arden's - they have a rather acquired taste down there."
There was no response from Aristice as the two began to fall into silence, the only noise being the creaking of the walls as they pushed forward, painstakingly slowly. After a minute that felt like it could've been hours, Aristice broke the silence. "So... why did you do it? Murder her?" His voice cracked as he posed the question.
Gael did not seem phased, although his downcast eyes betrayed an immense sadness Aristice had never seen in the man. "You're too young. You wouldn't understand."
"Her death brought about a war, Gael. I damn well have a right to know."
Gael bit his lip, but eventually nodded slowly. "I understand. Well," he shifted uncomfortably, "Know that it was never my will for her to die. It was the King's decree, not my own."
"You expect me to believe that?" Aristice felt rage replace his weariness, standing up as far as he could to look down on Gael.
"No, no I don't. But I did say you were too young; her death wasn't a mere act of rage. It was a cog shifting in an entire mechanism of politics and relationships. She was the King's daughter-in-law, but also his greatest rival. Like many of us, she was too ambitious. Far too much so."
"So, you're telling me you were just a scapegoat?"
Gael didn't speak, he only nodded wearily. His eyes darted to the right as he felt his arm being pushed against his chest. The two were fast running out of time.
"Why did you never say? If that is true, why did I spend all those years pursuing you on the King's order? What was it all for?"
"Posterity," Gael croaked. "How could we secure a good future for our Kingdom if they all knew the King was plotting against his allies? I took the role of the villain with open arms. And know that I'm not innocent, my hands are just as stained as the King's. I stabbed that poor girl in her sleep. I saw the light fade from her eyes." Gael looked down at his shaking hands, and Aristice could've sworn he saw a flash of tears in the man's eyes. Suddenly he looked old, and weary, as if the burdens of the world had fallen upon his shoulders. "What path was left for me but one of blood? You can't go back after murdering an innocent girl, Aristice, you just can't. And I didn't just stop at one, I couldn't."
Aristice had no sympathy for the man before him. Gael was undoubtedly a murderer, a crooked man who, perhaps, had once been righteous. But in light of the new information, as the walls pressed the two together, Aristice felt something else. Respect. Admiration for a man who had sacrificed everything for his country and the betterment of it.
He rested a hand on the weeping Gael's shoulder, his face stoney. "It's fine. All your sins will be forgiven in death. There's nothing left for you to do anymore, no more to murder. We'll both die here, and everything will be at an end now."
"And that's what frightens me."
It was dark now, and Aristice could only feel Gael's body as his arm was bent against the wall, the bone slowly popping out of place. Aristice hissed in pain as he felt his body begin to contort and squash.
"Aristice?" He heard Gael call, the man's voice rife with pain.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
---------------
https://www.reddit.com/r/CoffeeAndWriting/ for more!
| "Well you should've chosen a better means of making money.", Teddy spat.
That seems to linger in the Bloodman for a while, before it passed out of memory.
"Did you hear me? I despise *parasites* like you."
The Bloodman's eyes flashed over Teddy's green suit, placated with honourable declarations.
"If I lived my life so terribly, why did they put us *both* in here?", was the only thing the Bloodman could argue.
Looking at The Green Hornet's accomplishments made the Bloodman envious, not that he'd ever admit it.
Teddy considered the jest. "Once the people know that I'm in here, they'll come and save me."
*That* made the Bloodman chuckle. "The people voted to lock you up just the same, and you're a bigger fool than me if you think anyone's coming for you".
Teddy regarded what was said. It was true, perhaps along the way he had done more harm than good. He had always intended on saving lifes, but as things go, sacrifices needed to be made. A recent issue, the death of the school children, was all anyone had been talking about for the last couple weeks.
*But they didn't know how many I saved...*, Teddy thought gingerly.
"In fact", the Bloodman carried on, "They must see you as just a threat as me."
*Or they put us together here to make sure I killed you this time*, Teddy mind raced.
But of the weapons in the room, Teddy wasn't sure it was possible.
Teddy had killed the majority of his enemies, for the different crimes they had commited against humanity. The last one, Mothman, had been an incredibly difficult fight, ending in the spine being ripped from the Moth's back. In Teddy's eyes, all criminals deserved death. He'd kill Bloodman as soon as he'd gathered his strength...
"Do you think they're scared of you?" the Bloodman pressed.
"They love me", Teddy replied.
"They **LOVE** you, do they?"
Teddy had almost enough of the Bloodman's questions, but they did provoke a bit of thought.
*Who locks loved one's away?*
Teddy voice was tight and dry in response. "You think we're even, Bloody man? Who have *you* ever saved?"
The Bloodman took a long minute to regard that. He seemed to be getting stronger by the second - a thought Teddy couldn't admit to himself.
Pushing himself up against the wall, he came within a foot of Teddy. "Why, I'm just here to redeem myself, Teddy."
Teddy's eyes went white, unbelieving. "You know who I am?"
"They ***learned*** who you were, Teddy, and they put us in here together. "
A long, thin blade slowly arose from the Bloodman's sleeve.
"They thank you for what good you've done, but everyone's accountable."
And the Bloodman did what he did best, slowly pressing the blade delicately between Teddy's eyes. And then, as fast as the blade came out, it was gone, surrounded by what was Teddy's brain.
Slunking to the floor, the Bloodman took a deep breath. *Holy Shit*, he thought. It's finally over.
The door that had been barred cranked back a lock. It was pulled back, allowing the Sun's light to blow up the room. Five men in white cloaks came in to collect Teddy's body.
"You've done us a great service, Bloodman.", one of them said.
The Bloodman's dark eyes shifted across the room, and focused on the one talking.
"A hero that turned rotten... what a great shame.", the professional said.
The professional went to the pocket on the right side of his coat, and pulled out a single piece of folded paper. "You're free to go", he chimed, and let out a hand for support. Bloodman reached for it to help him rise. But it was the professionals left hand.
As soon as the two made contact, the professional's right hand was plunging deep into the Bloodman's chest with a sharp metal blade.
Everything began to spasm and spin, and soon the Bloodman was no more.
"But a villian that turns good..." the professional spat, "Is just a weak criminal".
| 2017-04-19T11:43:35 | 2017-04-19T11:41:48 | 50 | 11 |
[WP] A drunk human is the single most unpredictable thing in the galaxy . It also makes it the perfect commander for our fleet against ai . | Volrop isolated himself in his office after making his decision. The Federation's second fleet had to do a full retreat or be completely annihilated. There just wasn't another option. They couldn't afford to lose another battle, even if it meant abandoning the people of that star system to be conquered.
Most of them were humans; a young species that had only joined the Federation for a relatively brief period of time. Volrop was forced to make a hard choice as the AI ravaged their system. The rest of the galaxy was at stake. Retreating was the right move, nobody would deny it, but that didn't make it feel any less callous. Volrop's political rivals would surely use this against him, regardless of the fact that losing the fleet would've been even worse for everyone involved.
"Umm... Sir?" said Treaik, his assistant, shyly entering the office.
"What?" barked Volrop, frowning.
"I know you wanted to be left alone, but we've received an update you might want to hear."
"If it's another casualty report, just save it for later. I... I really can't handle more bad news."
"That's the thing... One of the human moon colonies has put up significant resistance."
Volrop straightened his posture. "Really?"
"Y-yes..." Treaik looked away. "The AI can't seem to break their defenses."
"I feel like there's something you're not telling me."
"Well... After they heard we abandoned them, the humans decided to get inebriated on vast amounts of alcohol, which uhhh... gave them the bright idea to just attack the AI's army."
Volrop squinted. "And it worked?"
Treaik nodded. "The AI just never accounted for something that dumb. It's currently exposed by trying to fend off their wild tactics. If you order it, we can re-route the fleet to back them up."
Volrop sank in his chair. Relying on a bunch of drunk hairless apes sounded like a recipe for disaster. Unfortunately, this was the first time the AI had shown any type of weakness. Ignoring this opportunity would destroy his reputation, especially if some of those drunk humans went on to survive and spread the tale. In the end, Volrop gave the order to attack, not out of solidarity or confidence in their skill, but because it was the best choice at the time.
Nobody expected this to be their first victory against the AI. Volrop himself couldn't believe it as he monitored the battle live on his screen. The Federation fleet actually fended off the drone army out of the system thanks to the distraction by the humans.
For the next few months, all people in the Federation could talk about was how drunk humans were the ultimate weapon against the drone army. Volrop didn't agree. There were many factors that decided the battle. The fact that the humans got lucky didn't mean they should rely on them for this war. The public felt differently, though. They kept pushing the narrative that the Federation needed drunk humans leading the charge. As stupid as the idea sounded, it became so popular that the people started demanding it be implemented. Volrop knew the Federation would fall if that happened. The only reasonable solution was to create a human 'fleet' of drunkards with no intention of using it.
It actually worked at first. Public interest died down after a few months and the humans who took part in the program were too drunk to notice they weren't taken seriously. Unfortunately, the war effort wasn't going well. The AI had slowly conquered a large segment of the galaxy, prompting people to ask when the human fleet would save them.
Volrop avoided answering that question as much as possible. The humans, sober or drunk, showed disastrous results in their battle simulations. The whole thing had been fluke. Hoping to get lucky again wasn't a worthwhile strategy. That didn't stop the AI from ravaging more sectors. Nothing else seemed to work. With great reluctance, Volrop decided to assess their readiness, if only to say he gave it some thought.
This visit only reaffirmed his beliefs about the drunk fleet. Their barracks were more of a glorified bar than a camp, with hundreds of humans performing dangerous stunts on their ships in an effort to impress each other with their reckless flying. Volrop genuinely couldn't understand how anyone saw hope in them. Future historians would look at him like an idiot if he tried to use them. The political expediency wasn't worth the risk. Volrop had to disband the fleet. Their ships were better off being used by actual combatants.
And of course, the day after announcing this, the humans got so drunk that they launched the fleet on their own, hoping to prove their worth with a direct assault on the AI's base of operations. Volrop suffered a panic attack after learning this. They were going to die. He had to send a backup fleet or the public would blame him for all of it.
As the battle progressed, however, the human fleet started gaining ground on their assault, to the point where the drone army had to go on the defensive. Their maneuvers were so complex and seemingly pointless that the AI couldn't understand their logic, shutting itself down out of frustration. They didn't even have to blow up the base.
Volrop spent the rest of the day in a blurry haze. The entire galaxy rejoiced upon being freed from the AI's tyranny. Most civilians even credited Volrop for this victory, which only made him feel worse. He had to hide himself in his office again, only this time to run from his perceived accomplishment, not his failure. Treaik knocked on the door and entered, saying:
"Sir...? We have dozens of reporters asking for you. Don't you want to say something?"
Volrop slumped his head. "Just... just leave me alone. Please."
"But you're a hero now! Why aren't you happy?"
"All my life, I've done my best to refrain from excess and impulse. My species thrived for thousands of years by following the path of objective rationality. The fact that a bunch of reckless drunks saved the galaxy, and that I'm getting credit for such a stupid idea, has completely destroyed my worldview. I'm just not qualified to lead this Federation."
Treaik widened his eyes. "Y-you're quitting?"
Volrop nodded, standing up. "Do me a favor and tell the press for me."
"Sure but... where are you going?"
Volrop chuckled, walking out of the office. "Well, clearly, I need a drink."
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!" | **"We can't keep fighting them,"** Flesh-Commander Alcasan growled. They pounded a fist on the holographic projector in front of them, the impassive blue face of the A.I. controlling their fleets staring back. "They make insane gambits. Decisions that we never even bothered creating protocols for. How can we possibly stop them, A.S.T.E.R.?"
A.S.T.E.R. hummed, positronic circuitry pondering the question. "The answer is simpler than you think, Flesh-Commander. I see you're using one of the human bodies today?"
Alcasan looked at their hands. Their true form—a small grey slug, wrapped around the comatose human's brain—coiled and uncoiled in irritation. "Yes. I was hoping it would lend me some insight into how they think. How they fight."
"Then I shall follow in your lead. To use a human metaphor..." A.S.T.E.R. sent an order to its built-in fabricator, and a small metal coin materialized out of the air. "If you were to flip this coin, could you predict which side it would land on?"
Alcasan scoffed. "In theory, I suppose, but it would take impossible amounts of computational power. The exact problem we're facing against the humans—their commanders still obey the laws of physics, they just obey them in a twisted, drunken, gibberingly mad fashion. The coin could land on heads or tails; the humans could compress their home star into a black hole or make it go supernova and scour three cubic lightyears clean of life."
"An apt summary of the situation," A.S.T.E.R. praised. "But now, if you were to flip two coins at once?"
Another coin flashed into existence. Alcasan frowned. "Well, a quarter of the time, they'd both be heads, a quarter of the time they'd both be tails, and half the time... half the time there'd be one of each."
A.S.T.E.R. nodded. "Very good. Much like the humans, when you introduce a second random variable, sometimes they will cancel each other out. A head for every tail. If there were two commanders in charge... well. A drunken hand obeys no head. Yes, they could choose to detonate their home star or compress it to the size of a fist—but if they tried both at once, blundering in the dark, their plans would cancel each other out."
Alcasan frowned. "So what you're saying is—"
More coins appeared, a handful at first, then hundreds, thousands, raining down upon the strategy table. "The humans' greatest strength is their individuality. But the enemy of individuality is collectivity. A single molecule of water is unpredictable, but in aggregate, an ocean can be modeled with simple sinusoidal waves. Their commander is dangerous because there is only *one* of them. If they were to deploy more..."
"Then their randomness would average out!" Alcasan grinned, a wild, feral thing. "I know how we're winning this war."
"So you have orders?"
"Declare war on the humans."
"Flesh-Commander, 'the humans' are a multistellar community with thousands, if not millions, of independent political organizations. Which humans would you like to declare war on?"
Alcasan leaned back, coins showering them as they laughed.
"*All of them.*"
A.N.
If you liked this, check out r/bubblewriters for more! As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-08-15T11:21:05 | 2021-08-15T10:33:23 | 323 | 82 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | "I'm Darryl Du-montague Richmond. Of the British Du-Montague clan, yes. And I am not insane."
I spoke quietly and confidently to the man in front of me. A police detective of middling years and a 60 odd mark. He had not arrested me. To touch someone over 80 was a crime to someine like him. Let alone one of the 99th. Not yet. But untill my worth was devalued. Untill my holdings collapsed and my stocks crashed, I was a 99th. After tonight. I may be nothing.
"Explain it to me again." The man said. No heat. No passion. No disbelief. He was as calm and rational as when i walked in a vague number of hours ago. "His wealth was what?"
I carefully did not sigh at his repeated question. There would be enough fallout from this allready. It had to be managed. "You are aware that children untill the summer after their 18th birthday are numberless. And then on the 30th of June we change that. They are given their reward. Their score. A tally between 1 and 100. Showing where they will end up. Each adult according to their skill. Rewarded by their knowlage." I spoke the expostionalry statement from rote. Years of hearing it as I waited to assess the years 98s and up. Every day from July 1st to December 28th, had ingrained it deep into my memory.
"Those of the highest skills go on to further training and education. The programme picks the best and the brightest to be our next leaders, bankers, investors. Well today a kid walked in. And broke it." The investigator nodded and with his bland and uninflected voice spoke; "Nikk."
"Or that's what he called himself. You see. His presence was impossible. You know how tally mark security works. Any one of the 99th can do whatever they want. The 98 are below. The 97 below that. I'm permissions and rules it's not a bellcurve. It's a pyramid. And all 6 of this year's 98s and the lucky 99th where the best I had seen in years." I sighed, loosened my tie and went on. Sweat breaking out over my head. "After the dry snap. No more than two 98s a year for 8 years and then nothing for 2. No one above 96 in fact. And now this year. A bumper crop. 7. And one of them is a 99th. Rumour has it that my uncle In London even found a child who may be a 100 this year. It was more than we could wish for."
"The boy? Nikk? Tell me more about him!" The detectives command, so remote in its authority interrupted me. The robotic monotone seeming to bear into me.
"My family has selected and trained the best in Britain, America and the world for the past 100 years. Four members of the nine 100s are directly related to me. I have met allmost all of the few thousand 99th that rule this planet. The most dangerous, terrifying individuals. Those that command nations. Those that can bring kings and continents to their knees. Those that hold he power."
My voice broke then. None below the 98s are allowed to know. The truth could break the world. Yet here I am, recounting secrets to a mere 67. I had got this far before. Less cohesivelly, Rambling, about the boy since dawn had regained my sanity. Dragging cold realisation back into my unwilling brain.
"It's controll. They control us like cattle. The 100. If they speak we obay. It's how it really works. Not skill. Not education. The truth is breeding and luck. That's what they show, the tallies. The greater the gap. The harder a person is not retain their brain function after the meating. It's why the 99th exist. The 100 rule through us. We tell the 98. They tell the rest down. Feudalism of the brain. If a 100 told an 80 to listen to him, the poor sod will hand him his ears. I have seen it happen. I once killed a 13er simply by saying eww. He cried himself off a bridge behind me."
My sweats had got worse. I was shaking now. And my words where deteriorating. I focused. It hurt but i focused. The boy. Nikk.
"He came in and spoke to us. His whisper ruled the room when he spoke. My butler, A well read 84 collapsed where he stood at his look. He told Simon Corvell. One of the 100 to shut up and he tore his tounge out. Then he whispered. "Tell them all I come" i knew no more after that. And that was several days ago."
"And on his arm," the detective spoke. He looked pale. Blood welled from his skin and dropped from his tears. His voice did not change. I went on. It hurt. I could barely get the words out. My throat was dry and my tounge blead freely.
"On his arm he bore the mark. Infinate control."
I looked at the detective in pity. He sat there in stony, uncaringly rigid Attention.
I opened my mouth. It hurt. Once again I spoke. As I had for 3 days the same message.
"Listen to me closely. And do not panic. Have no fear. NIKK is comeing. He takes the form of a boy. A boy whom god himself, who rules from the 101st apex, fears beyond all other. NIKK. | She was destined to be successful. All her friends had many many tally marks. She herself had 92, and obviously thought too highly of herself to care for any lowlives or how they faired. She knew everyone at the school, and everyone knew her. There were only a few kids more well known than her.
Billy was one of them. As everyone knew he was destined to always be a nobody, and was someone who likely had close to 1 tally mark and hid it. He was someone who had no friends, was more than likely never going to get a job, and would never be anyone to anyone. How could she not bully him?
It wasn't until one day when she cornered him by some lockers after school that she came to the brilliant idea to reveal his tally count.
Not hesitating, she ripped his sleeve up his arm, to reveal...
An infinity symbol.
Of course she was filled with jealousy, her ego too big to compute someone more popular, more successful, more... everything.
She scrubbed at his arm, pinning him down like the weak thing she knew he actually was. She was sure he was faking the mark. Almost positive that he only put it there to hide a low score of tally marks.
It wasn't coming off! Furious, she dragged him to the empty female bathroom, ignoring his horrified expression and the way he tried to pull away from her, terrified.
He should be terrified! She thought, maybe said outloud, who knows. She surely didn't care. All she could focus on was the thought of him being a fake running through her head.
She grabbed his wrist, shoving it under the steaming hot water, only to get reddened skin in return. Fuming, she scratched at it with the black acrylics she bore, tearing at the thin skin till it was bleeding and sore.
Yet the mark was still there.
She dragged him to her car, knowing one for sure way to get rid of the mark that taunted her.
Billy had long since given up trying to stop this insane girl, knowing that she was stronger than him, and too scared of making her even more angry by trying to pull away or call for help in the long since empty lot. So, terrified for his wellbeing, went along with her, wrist bleeding, and mind hoping for her to tire of this... whatever... soon.
She gripped his wrist tighter, throwing him in the back seat of the car, following and shutting the door.
Nobody would think anything of a girl like her with someone they couldn't see in the back of her own Lamborghini.
Nobody could stop her.
And nobody did.
That day, after bloodying her shiny new car, she looked proudly to her wrist.
She was again the highest number in the school.
Or so she thought.
Nobody was around to hear the horrified scream of someone who now only held a single tally, and possessed the skin of an infinity symbol with 92 tallies underneath.
And nobody would ever care again. | 2018-12-27T20:06:56 | 2018-12-27T16:53:43 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Two planets come within range of eachother every 300 years. There is always an ensuing war that lasts the 5 days that the planets are close enough. Each side can only guess at what new technology the other has built since the last time. | Early in our people's history, legend spoke of the Harbinger. Once an age it approaches, and with it death follows. The ground shakes and the seas rise to reach for the sky. Our ancestors would flee the seas only to face the molten rock erupting in the mountains. Then storms would sweep the world clean and it would abate as the Harbinger retreated. Even then our forefathers would sling stones and curses at it.
Then one cycle we noticed them. The lights of their cities grew in proportion to our own. We turned the telescopes upon them and observed father and farther into the cycle what they were about. They apparently did the same, for great words were written on the plains and wide places. Words of Fury and Anger. So we wrote our own and the vitriol reached a fevered pitch. Somehow we suspected they were at cause for our history of woe.
The gulf between us was too great for many years. Early attempts at great catapults fell laughably short. Balloons couldn't breach the atmosphere. Ironically they helped us discover radio by transmitting a message of war. We pleaded with them to understand but their hearts had been hardened as much as ours. Our worlds changed forever when their first rockets struck. Primitive unguided missiles launched en masse. Thus the First Battle was short and the 5 days established.
The First battle saw little damage as many of their missiles simply missed our planet altogether. The Second Battle was far deadlier. We had improved on their rockets with more potent explosives and developed radio homing to lead them to targets. They added telemetry guidance and multiple warheads on larger lifting bodies. Both approaches were highly effective.
We realized they had also left satellites in our orbit so we built probes to seek them out as well. On the eve of the Third Battle the 5 days no longer limited us. A near constant barrage of interplanetary missiles began 30 years before the next encounter. We responded in kind and what was a slow preparatory effort of tradition became a full time industry.
The Third Battle nearly broke us. We had dismissed an invasion long ago since our air was different than theirs. This was a mistake as they launched manned ships to orbit, bombard, and land troops. We had our own secret weapon however. The Fission Bomb. They were forced to pause in their desecration of our soil to watch the lights bloom over their homes. Their major cities were annihilated even as their burned ours by hand.
Thus the Stalemate occurred. Any ships approaching the other world were summarily destroyed. As Harbinger passed beyond the orbital period in which we could hear each others transmissions we learned regret for our actions. The suffering there was beyond our imagining. We also Feared what might happen on the next cycle.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When the Gods birthed our world the Mother it had a Twin. The Twin was capricious and jealous of its sibling our Mother. Whenever it came near Mother would fight with the Twin and the Upheaval would come. The ancient clans fought by blood lines to follow Mother's example. Then came the day we learned of the Twin's children.
For a time we were content to watch and learn. We attempted to learn of their ways and they ours. When we finally spoke with them by written word then later transmission we knew they were as dangerous as the Twin on which they suckled. So united the clans sought to erase them and maybe then we could know peace from their nightly torments in the skies.
Great were the Three Wars. Greater than any the clans could have fought against each other. When the clans first wrote of the Twin they would throw javelins into the sky and light great fires to keep it at bay. Clearly this was not effective, and when an Upheaval so great occurred as to sunder the cities of the Plains the clans were united.
It took all our cunning to find a way into the space that Mother walked so easily. The primitive javelins never had engines that could escape the atmosphere. These spears of metal and kerosene fuel proved able to travel any distance once propelled fast enough. As we neared them the transmissions failed to draw amicable terms. They were so confident that none could reach them and their arrogance.
They were wrong, and the First Wave was an untold success. They had no response but to scream in fitful rage as befitted the Children of Mother's Twin. As the week ended and the time of Upheaval passed the clans rejoiced in their success. We took the lessons of victory well and the weapons continued to improve. Our understanding of the planets and their movements improved. With that understanding the weapons became more precise.
When the Upheaval of the Second Wave arrived we anticipated retribution. Our attack was larger and better coordinated that time, but theirs was more insidious. Their rejoinder followed our transmissions home and struck both the control sites and civilian broadcast centers. So we learned to use remote transmitters and scramble signals. Again the Twin retreated from the victorious Mother.
We knew that battle must be met to be won on the Third Wave. We sent our warriors into space and prepared for the greatest of Crusades. The Twin sent its agents to spy upon us and we upon them. We mastered to movement of space and walked truly with Mother for the first time. We knew in our hearts we would finally triumph over the Twin and bring peace back to the time of Upheaval.
We should have expected the Children of Mother's Twin would not wait idly. The hour of our victory was at hand when the coward's weapons landed. The blasts shone with Father's brightness in force beyond expectation. The ancient shelters of the Clan-Holds finally collapsed. We had no way to prepare them for such depravity. The Army of the United Clans was burned away in one terrible stroke.
Mother died that day, in our hearts and our minds. She could not protect us from the sicknesses that ravaged her then. The crops failed and the United Clans failed to rise again. We hold on now only long enough to leave Mother's corpse behind and find a new home. May the Twin choke on her poisoned remains.
| [very first submission ever! be gentle!]
“Hull damage sector four, seven and fourteen! Sealing bulkheads. Releasing emergency pod controls!” The alarm lights lit up, but it was already too late for many. The heat signatures were rapidly disappearing from the monitor. Even as the alarm went of the RCM operative - Rapid Combat Maneuvers – called out across the cockpit. “Seventeen Fighters vectoring in from our starboard side, we have no intercept! Appealing to Artemis for suppression. ”
He could already feel the light thuds of impacting kinetic shells into the hull as shields and internal dampeners started failing, “Sunspot, Escale and Mythal are collapsing. Distress beacons and escape pods coming out! We have no approach vector for pickup! Artemis coming around to supply suppre-. Sunspot going nova!” the last was a yell coupled with the Operative slamming down on the EM burst defense.
Admiral Argail, Commander of the first Vanguard fleet stood with his paws clasped behind his back. Old and wizened with his whiskers reaching nearly to his neck, he excluded a power that went beyond his body. But even that steadfast strength that had protected him and his for the last thirty years was unable to see how he would get his people out. Already nineteen of the thirty ships under his command were disabled or destroyed. His own flagship, the SC Empurror, had been drawn into the battle to allow their sistership the Sunspot a chance to escape… to no avail.
They were being destroyed. Pulsar artillery had caught them in their left flank between the moon they were using to shield their right flank from planetary cannons, and the enemy Battlecruisers to their front.
Moving the battlecruisers in to shield the carriers from the bombardment had only put them in position for Enemy short range fighters to move in before their own fighters could be deployed and… it was a massacre. 12 ships were lost before their own SRF – short range fighters – could establish a perimeter within the field.
Another 3 leaking to much environment to remain viable and had to be evacuated. And before they could use the wrecks to defend against the Pulsar artillery impacts had destroyed…
11 ships left, the Vanguard fleet decimated, more then half the troops lost and running away with our tail between our legs. Oh, they had destroyed enemy ships, but when you are fighting seven to one odds, any defeat is a disastrous defeat. How had the Whisker be damned rats advanced so far. during the last cycle, we had taken their fields and razed their nests..
another shout from his officer team got him out of his reverie.
“Dreadnaught decloak! Identification…”a small breath of silence cut across the cockpit, if the enemy had a dreadnaught in the area, they were dead. Wile this battle was lost, he knew he could pull out with his remaining ships and survive. The sunspot going nova allowed them that window.
edit: words
| 2015-05-26T15:11:41 | 2015-05-26T13:33:18 | 83 | 61 |
[WP] A maniac attacks and bites your dog, but it turns out it was not a person, but a Wereman. Now, your dog turns into a human whenever the moon is full. | I call Monty's name from the basement, just as I've done every month for the last half a year. I hear a sudden commotion and the tip-tapping of his claws on the floor, rushing to the basement door.
"C'mon Monty! C'mon! You can do it boy!"
Monty stares at me, gives the stairs a good sniff, then stares at me again.
"Montyyyyy\~! C'mere boy!"
His entire lower body is practically wagging, but no amount of excitement nor treat nor bribe has ever given him the courage to walk down himself.
"Awww, baby. Not this month either, huh?"
I walk up the steps and pick up Monty in my arms. He's gotten much bigger lately but I can still carry him with no problems. I've been feeding him my leftovers for some time now. I can't possibility feed him dog food anymore - it just doesn't feel right.
"Kisses for me? Are these kisses for me? Mwah mwah mwah"
He jerks side to side in my arms, happily wagging away and licking my face all over as I carry him down the stairs. I never really understood why he was always so excited about the basement. I never let him come down here except on every full moon, and I don't think I've ever conditioned him with any treats or anything. All I know is that after tonight, he's going to lose all his memory from the previous day and sleep for two.
I set him down on the floor and I lead him into "the room". I built it after the first full moon, after Monty's first transformation. I'll never forget that night. And although I love Monty to death, I still have to protect myself. I really wish I can install more soundproofing, but he always finds a way to tear the foam off the walls. The padding, for whatever reason, he leaves alone.
I bring him to the center of the room and have him sit. He does. What a good boy. I pick up the harness and inspect it, making sure that the size hasn't been adjusted somehow. After all, I don't want Monty to suffocate when he changes. I put the harness around him, picking up each of his cute little paws and putting them into the respective holes. I grab the first of the eight chains hanging from the ceiling and clip them to the harness. I do the same with the eight chains bolted to the floor.
"Monty\~"
He's breathing heavily, but still wagging his tail. He looks at me with his big, bright eyes, and I can't help but rub my face against his.
"Awww my baby\~. I'll see you tomorrow, ok? Everything will be alright."
I give him a full face rub like he deserves and a bunch of scratches behind the ears before getting up. He lays down, the chains clinking around, and just stares up at me. I smile weakly, and shut door.
A few moments later, after I've finished double- and triple-checking all ten padlocks, I slide open the peephole to take one last look at Monty. He looks up at me and tilts his head. I make kissing noises at him before shutting it.
I head upstairs and lock up the basement door as well - only five padlocks on this one.
5:30. The moon should be rising soon.
As I lay on my couch, waiting for the inevitable screaming, I consider my options on soundproofing. I live in a rather rural area, so my closest neighbor is far enough away to not hear a thing. Still, if someone were to take a walk nearby, they migh--
*AWOOOOOOOOOOooooo*
And so it starts.
...But then again, I can’t completely soundproof the room. In the early months, I made the mistake of listening to music with my headphones on to block out the screaming. When morning came, I found Monty laying on the floor, bleeding from his head. Thankfully, he transformed back into his old self by then. I explained that he ran into a pole while we were playing fetch, and the vet didn't ask anymore questions. The screams, as jarring as they may be, are an indication that he’s still alive. So now, all night, I stay up and endure all the noise and all the crying. And the screams... oh god he spends the whole night screaming about the same thing. How was I supposed to know this would happen? I would have never done it if I knew one day he was going to be bitten by some random werema--
*AWOOOOOoooooaaaaa****AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH***
***AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH***
***MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMY***
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!?!?!?!***
***WHY DID YOU DO IT MOMMY?!?!?! WHY?!?! WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?!?!?!?!?!***
I hear the chains rattling uncontrollably, barely keeping me from his rage.
“Oh Monty… I’m so sorry sweetie. Mommy’s here for you. Just hold on ok? It’ll all be over soon.”
6:03. Twelve hours left until he turns back into his unconditionally-loving self and forget that all of this happened.
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME MOMMY?!? WHERE ARE THEY?!***
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BALLS?!?!?!*** | One night when I was out walking my dog, some maniac attacked us. She jumped in to protect me and he bit her. She still has the scar on her side. She tells me not to worry about it.
In those words exactly:
"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault."
Yeah, see the thing is, she can talk now. The maniac that bit her was actually a wereman, and now my dog turns into a human whenever the moon is full.
I don't know exactly how you're going to take this next part, but bear with me.
When you walk into a pet store, and you look around at all the pets, there are certain pets that catch your attention, right? You don't just buy a pet because it's there. Something has to resonate with you. You and the pet have to have a certain chemistry. And you don't buy a pet that you find ugly, right? Most times, you buy the one that looks good to you, right?
Now, there's a clear dynamic to the relationship. You're the owner, they're the pet. You're the human, they're the animal. There is a clear understanding of what is acceptable, unacceptable, appropriate, and inappropriate - what you can do and what you can't do to, or with, that animal, right?
But what happens when that animal becomes human, and all those feelings that you felt the first moment that you saw them are still there? And now all the boundaries of what is and what isn't aren't so clear to you right now because that isn't a dog calling you to come join her in the shower, but a beautiful woman that loves you so much that they have a scar on their side from their willingness to jump in front of danger to protect you.
What would you do? You start to asking yourself questions: is this okay? Would it be wrong if I...? And you let the question trail off because even contemplating it seems wrong, while at the same time justifying why *it's not the same thing*.
This is once in a full moon. Is this an opportunity you should cherish or just let slip you by? Is this even a thought we should be entertaining.
I don't know. I'm just rambling and my brain's scrambling as I try to figure out what to do.
I could sure use a shower right now....
Maybe it'll be okay if we just stay on opposite sides of the shower and agree not to touch...
Right, guys?
Right? | 2021-04-01T05:16:08 | 2021-04-01T00:28:13 | 79 | 40 |
[WP] In a world where having multiple personalities is the norm, the protagonist has been diagnosed with Single Personality Disorder. | On the first day at the Many Minds Clinic they handed me a piece of paper and asked me to write down the names I would assign my new personalities. I was to give names to each individual aspect of my personality and they would eventually develop into new people as I "bloomed" from one into many. I was given a room with a desk, toilet, bed, and mirrors on every wall and the ceiling to make it look like I was in an infinite expanse of rooms. I was to refer to myself as "we". I would not be allowed to return home until I had bloomed just like everyone else of my age.
The lights remained on at night. Looking up I could see myself, and to the right and left, and above and below. It made me shudder. The door was locked so there was no respite from the unknowable smallness of infinite multiplicity. They played music that would have been sleepful but for the fact that it changed mid-note now and then to an entirely different section of an entirely different song. I didn't sleep at all on that night, or the next.
The first two days had been mostly paperwork. Three other patients had been committed with me - one looked excited, the other two looked exceptionally disinterested. Perhaps I was the only one who felt a sort of existential fear at becoming multiple people. That's why my parents had had me committed, after all.
On the third night I was removed from my room for the first time. I was walked into a room by two stern orderlies and placed in a chair, at which time a doctor entered and the orderlies sat in chairs at the back. The man carried a demeanor that was at once gentle and intimidating. He explained to me that this was where we would be working to coax out my new personalities, who he recited by name using the sheet I had filled out on day 1.
I spent many hours in that room. Some days I would simply be shown videos that assured me that I would be happy and healthy once I bloomed. Some days I would be shown several movies of different genres that had been clipped into pieces, abruptly changing in much the same way as the nighttime music which I had come to hate. Some days I would act out my individual personalities in conversation or various daily tasks.
This litany carried out for a month or so before the practitioners determined that I needed extra therapy - perhaps they had waited too long or perhaps I was just a particularly difficult case. My parents were brought in and there were two blissful days of paperwork and testing before the real hell at the Many Minds Clinic began.
From those days forward I was required to dissolve a bitter white powder into my milk. I began to have difficulty remembering things that had happened several hours before, and my muscles would occasionally enter into short fits of spasm during which I would feel as if I was being jerked in and out of the world. Sometimes I would look at the mirror and not recognize myself. *"Maybe the therapy is working."* - such were my hopeful thoughts.
The sessions at the room changed as well. The doctor and orderlies became more stern. New tests and more rigorous therapies were administered. They put a pair of glasses on me with only one opening for an eye, and they would switch openings and treat me differently depending on which eye I could see out of. They would put masks on me and make me have conversations with myself. They would jostle and spin me and then ask me difficult questions about the opinions of each of my personalities.
I ceased to notice the music at night. I ceased to notice the frames of the movies changing on the blessed event that they would mercifully give me the time to watch. I would lapse into fits of rage or tears in my room, and I would collapse during tests. They assured me that this was normal for late-bloomers, but I wanted nothing more than to be done with it. They were not satisfied that my personalities had taken.
I do not know how long I spent in that state, but one day it all suddenly stopped. I was walked to the reception office, outside of the building, to a tearful set of parents. I asked if I had finished the therapy and they could do nothing but cry and tell me how awful I looked and how they would make me my favorite meals and treat me right when I got home. I was vaguely aware of the protesters and the line of policemen holding them away from the building. That day I went home feeling like a great many halves of a person, and that's the way it has been ever since.
(Criticism is welcomed! This is my first submission to this board so I'm interested to see what people think. Thanks!) | School was difficult for me, I always had a special needs teacher in the afternoon and she kept me away from the other children. Walking home after school was rough, they would always poke fun at me because I was "different".
The doctor gave me a tablet to take every morning and evening, but the next month I saw another doctor and they gave me only one tablet to take in the morning. My parents were given a different diagnosis by each doctor, until finally they took me to see doctor Polanco. He made me swear to tell the truth and then asked the same question for over an hour "What is your favourite colour?". I kept telling him green but he only grew more and more frustrated.
Then something clicked in his head and he became extremely friendly, making sure I wasn't thirsty or hungry before leaving me to talk to my parents. I crept over to the door and opened it a crack so I could hear the doctor, all I could hear were my parents crying and asking if it was the MMR vaccine. Eventually doctor Polanco came back and revealed that I didn't have to take tablets anymore, instead they would be using some kind of electric therapy. He also told me that I would stay at the hospital for a while, which I was kind of happy about because I didn't have to go to school.
That was 7 years ago, I am now one of the most respected physicists of this generation. I might not be the best multitasker, I have only one set of friends, but I have 24 hours in a day. Everyone else has less than 12. | 2015-06-07T21:30:06 | 2015-06-07T20:01:20 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] All games can “Jumanji” their players, sucking them into the world of the game. You braved the battlefields of Chess, led fleets from your Battleship and breezed through Life. But nothing could have prepared you for the utter, unimaginable terror that is Monopoly. | She walks into the lobby with all the sex appeal and tragedy of a dame who just got second place in a beauty pageant. Instantly, the guests stop sipping their lowballs, ordering around the concierge, or chattering about their stuffy, boring Marvin Gardens lives. She's dressed for Vermont Avenue at best, but that doesn't make one lick of difference. Everyone still stares at her like she's a real player, at how she's cutting that perfect figure between my marble floors, crystal chandeliers and all the other symbols of grandeur that adorn this final palace, this throbbing red testimony to all my success, this unequaled triumph that is called the Hotel Boardwalk. I try telling myself not to be a sucker, not to give her the attention she wants and thinks she still deserves. I try telling myself that she's just a three-quarters bankrupt piece of garbage, just another no good mortgagesse who can't see how low she's fallen in this town. I try telling myself that nowadays we're as different as two people can be, that it was savvy and skill and not just luck that first separated us all those turns ago. I try telling myself I don't still miss her. My efforts are worth about as much as Baltic Avenue with no houses.
I strut up to her. I shoo away the bellhop and help her out of her coat myself. The kid I pay good money to play the piano is just watching us, slack-jawed and mesmerized, but I snap at him to get the tunes rolling again. The rest of the employees and guests milling about, they take that as their cue to go back to minding their own business. As much as they don't want to, they know who runs this town, and they ain't about to risk me hiking their rent just for some gossip about the rich and powerful. The murmur picks back up, until it's just her and me, alone together in a crowd. I put a cigarette in her mouth and light it for her.
"Hey there, Thimble," I say, "Last I heard you were still in jail."
"Oh come on, Shoe, you know me. I always have my doubles on the ready." She leans in close, pressing her breasts against me.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, "A chick with your puny excuse for money pile ought to hate the Dark Blues."
"What can I say. What goes around comes around, in this town. Sometimes a girl's gotta cross a gauntlet to get where she's going. You still remember what taking a risk feels like, don't you Shoe?"
Listen to her, peacocking about, like she's on my level or something. She's just a washed up failure, who had it all and threw it away on the stupidest dream anyone in this town has ever had: the Railroads. I remember it all like it was fifteen minutes ago. We were a team, and maybe friends. A few more trips around town and we could have been even more than that.
Back then, I had just started putting together my first development over on St. James and New York. Thimble was my neighbor over on Tennessee. At night, we'd hang out at the Community Chest, drinking cheap beer and talking about our dreams of putting up houses and hotels, of becoming the respectable, classy people we'd only ever seen in department store windows or on the television. But whatever I was starting to feel for her, I soon realized I was a fool for it, when she traded her spot on Tennessee to some asshole in a sportscar. I would have given her any goddamn thing in the world for Tennessee, including my whole heart. But me having that plot of land, and therefore the permits to build some houses I could fucking afford in those days, I guess that was worth as much as a Poor Tax to Thimble. She gave away the thing I needed most in the world and she put me back three spaces in life, without even a care. Worst of all, she did it all for a fucking a Railroad.
But she ended up getting everything she deserved, and so did Sportscar. I took my lumps, and then pulled myself back up by my bootstraps. I got a really good thing going over on the Yellows. It wasn't easy, but the development picked up some steam, especially the one over on Ventnor. I was able to parlay that into success on the Purples and then the Reds, until I was on the fast track to being a bigshot. Meanwhile, Thimble just sat around, begging like a cheap whore for that last Railroad she never got her hands on. Then before she even it saw it coming, she was having to mortgage her bullshit little traintracks just to park her ass outside one of my hot-spots for the night. Sometimes, I'd look out my penthouse windows and see her down there, digging for loose change or praying she'd get to pass Go soon. I'll admit, once or twice when I'd see her, I'd get all nostalgic for those drunken, bewildering, Orange nights, and I'd think about giving her a break on the rent. But then I remind myself that wasn't in the rules and that she'd made her own sorry choices. Last I'd heard, she gotten put in the slammer with all the other indigents. But now she was back, it appeared. Perfectly in time to see the masterpiece of my entire career, the motherfucking Hotel Boardwalk.
"This game ain't about no risks," I remind her, "you must be thinking of somewhere else. This town is all about what you own. Owning land, then money, then people."
"Is that what you want, Shoe?" she coos, "You want to possess me?"
She leans in, trying to kiss me, trying to give her body over to me instead of the money she owes. I look deep in her eyes. I see the innocent girl I first met over on Oriental and I see the heartless, wannabe Railroad baron, and I see everything in between. I am witness to every version of her and every version of myself, and how there's sometimes just a single dice roll or choice separating every one of these Shoes and Thimbles. I hope with my whole soul that there's some other town, some other history where we were both happy. But this ain't the reality for that. This reality is for my pain and my revenge, and it's for the Hotel Boardwalk.
"I don't want to possess you Thimble, not anymore" I tell her, "I only want the two grand for your room."
I put out my hand, palm up. She stands firm and tall, still trying to be the strong, beautiful woman she could have been.
"I can't," she says, "I can't pay."
She starts to weep, falling on my shoulders.
"I know," I whisper, "So that means you just have to say it instead."
"I can't say it either," she insists.
"You have to."
She wipes away the snot and the tears. She looks me in the eyes like she's supposed to. She gives me what I deserve.
"You win."
| I wake up on my back, with a big headache, in the middle of an old road. An old car almost runs over me. As I see it go, I see a hand come out of the driver's window and flip me off.
I stand up and notice that the traffic lights don't work. I'm dressed the way I was back at the house, where we sat down to play. I have my phone (with no signal) and my wallet with me. I look around, but this place looks abandoned, haunted. The buildings look unfinished, like they didn't receive a final brush of paint. This city looks like a grey mix of concrete and pavement.
I've walked two blocks, but all the buildings and stores are closed. Must be sunday? Anyway. A beggar asks me for money, and I take out my wallet and check it for the first time... I don't have my money. I mean, my real money. I have $1500 in the exact distribution of the game... but they look different. These bills have been around a lot, and for some reason all the bills, although they have different denominations, have the face of the same guy. I hand the beggar a $5 and she is very thankful. "Be careful. You are very giving, and you're dressed like a foreigner. People vere aren't very nice. Take care." She runs off before I can ask her exactly where I am. I'm nervous. I don't normally walk around with a lot of money. True, I don't know how much worth $1495 have around here, but if the woman got excited for $5, maybe it's a lot. I put $600 in each of the socks I'm wearing.
The more I walk away from where I woke up, the worse the city looks. Now I'm in a residential street, I guess. I can see some color, but that's because the apartment buildings were made out of bricks and, again, they didn't paint enough. I feel someone watching me. I search thru the building across the street, the one that was actually finished, and I see a pair of eyes peaking through a window; they notice that I notice, so the person close the curtains.
"Hey!" I yell, as I cross the street. "I need help. I don't know where I am." I'm next to the window, and I tap. "Could you help me?" I hear the click of a gun, and the barrel appears next to me, at the other side of the glass. "Leave. Now." I put my arms up, and slowly walk away.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A tall man, fully dressed in dark brown, asks loudly. He has a gun on a holder by his right side, and the guy by his right also has one. The third, by his left, is caŕrying a long double barrelled gun. They are all dressed the same. "Looks like a fresh arrival, Jimmy", says one of them. I froze. They walk towards me. As they get close, they go around me. "Smells like fresh arrival", says, I assume, Jimmy. "Give me your wallet." I hand it to them. "No ID. Must be new." Jimmy says to one of his peers. He checks the bills. "TWO HUNDRED NINETY FIVE?" He angrily tosses my wallet to the guy by his right. "Aren't you new? How long have you been here, an hour? WHERE IS THE REST OF YOUR MONEY?" I say nothing. The guy has very little patience, a he takes the long gun from his partner and hit me in the stomach with it. "I WANT FIFTEEN HUNDRED." From the floor, I say, "I won't tell you." He kicks me in the stomach. "Tell me, you are done either way." He kicks me again. "GIVE ME MY MONEY". "Someone from here is going to call the police, and then you're done", I tell him, defiantly. He starts laughing, and so do the other guys. "You heard him? *someone will call the police*", he says, mocking me. "WE ARE THE POLICE, DUMMY. Don't believe me?" He takes a badge out of his shirt pocket, and throws it at me. "Mediterranean Police Department." He kicks me in the guts again. "Welcome to Hell, jackass."
| 2018-06-05T21:25:31 | 2018-06-05T21:18:05 | 597 | 25 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history. | "Class dismissed." I said, before my mouth ran dry. "Casey, please stay a moment."
His eyes went wide with fear, although there was no reason for him to worry. He wasn't in trouble as much as I was.
The last other student left, and I looked at Casey without saying a word. He broke the silence.
"Mr. Jones? Is this about the test?" he asked.
It was. He was the first student who got all the questions right. Even the last one.
Getting 100 of 100 points is no uncommon feat. I'm a bad teacher, and my exams are usually far too easy. But no one ever gets the bonus question right. Of course, there are many answers which are worth the full score, but the truth.. well, the truth gets you summoned to my table after class. I fished the exam out of my bag and started to read aloud.
"Bonus Question (3 Points): When and how did Genghis Khan die?
Khan died on august the 18th 1227, when Mr. Jones decapitated him in revenge for burning down his village."
He shifted around on his chair. "Well, I thought it would be funny...."
"The smell of burning flesh wasn't that fun. The sight of the horsemen, trampling down my family wasn't that fun. Everything I had held dear, burning before my eyes... it wasn't that fun, I can tell you that."
I was a little bit lost in the past. This always happens to me, when I think back to this fateful day. To be honest: even when I finally got that bastard, when my steel went through his neck, like an metaphor for something very sharp through a metaphor for something very soft... it was more exhausting than uplifting.
The boy gulped, a sound which brought me back into the present. Maybe it was just a lucky guess. Sometimes students try to bullshit their way through the exams. Sometimes they don't even try - they just write something funny. But Casey wasn't the type for that. Too shy. "Why did you write that?" I asked.
"Because I told him to."
I turned myself slowly towards the door. The man who was standing there was wearing the most clichéd British outfit I have ever witnessed: bowler hat. Fly. Jacket. And of course an umbrella.
"Dad." Casey said, unsure if he should be glad or worried about the presence of the man. The unspoken question must have been written all over my face.
"My Step-Son." Caseys dad explained. He then turned his attention to Casey. "Mr. Jones and I have business to take care of. I think he won't mind if you go home now." He paused himself for a moment.
Casey looked at me. I nodded slightly, so he stood up. By instinct, he knew that this clasroom was at this moment no longer a place for mortals. When he was almost at the door, his father put hand on his shoulder. "Tell your mother I love her, will you?"
For a moment, Casey was reluctant to leave. But while his mind revolted, his legs obeyed and carried him out of the room.
I had some sympathy for Casey and his dad. But still: I like teaching history way more than becoming history.
After he left, there was a moment of silence. There is far too much silence in my life. lately.
"Nice umbrella." I finally said. "You don't see the hidden blade, even if you know what you're looking for."
He nodded. "I like to dress sharply."
Sword canes are nice, but they are not my style. I prefer my broadsword, although I've always feared that the tape that was holding it to the back of the blackboard would fail some day. There would have been awfully much explanation to do, even for a history teacher.
So, I went for my blade as he drew his.
For a moment we stood there, studying our enemies. Finally, Caseys dad lifted his sword. He yelled as he jumped towards me:
"There can be only one!"
*****
^(I'm sorry if there are too many errors, I'm not a native speaker and just wanted to grab this opportunity to write bad highlander fanfiction) | **PART ONE**
***
*High School students sit at wooden desks under fluorescent lighting on a fall day. They patiently await their new teacher, who unbeknownst to them, has been alive for just over half a millennia. A middle-aged man enters the room with a gruesomely noticeable scar that circles three quarters the circumference of his neck. It is Macbeth, former High King of Alba.*
***
"Hello class, my name is Professor Macbeth. I will be your World History instructor today."
A shaken class watches in horror as the visually frightening man wrote his name on the chalkboard. A girl from the back cautiously raises her hand.
"Professor, aren't you the one from that Shakespearean play?" said the girl.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. However, you may find that it was quite dramatized. Hollywood eh? Or should I say Bankside? Oh well. Yes, that is I." said Macbeth
"Didn't you die?"
"Do I look dead?"
"...no"
"Do you know that movie Highlander?"
"I think so..."
"It's exactly like that. My head was not completely severed fortunately, but I have been exiled since. So here I am instructing YOU ungrateful bastards for a $30,000 salary. Let's get on with it shall we?"
***
*to be continued?* | 2015-04-14T16:41:11 | 2015-04-14T14:32:31 | 77 | 13 |
[WP] You’re the commander of the slave portion of the army. Your group is the fodder that softens up the enemy in preparation for the ‘real’ troops. Thing is, however, you’ve become very good at your job and can win most battles before the ‘real’ troops show up. | ***"A spear is thrust for two reasons, first for its reach and so that if its tip should shatter, the injury remains fatal and true. Such is the will and spirit of my army, unyielding in purpose and strength." - The opening words of the Dignata, supposedly written by the The Wolf of Letas, King of All, Taman the First***
They were like a swarm of ants, an immense host of hundreds of thousands, the line of the enemy buckled against its initial weight. Sword tasted flesh and found it sweet, blood had become nectar and the moans of the dying like a salve to the cruel soil below. The front had become a slurry, men slipped and died ignominious deaths, their throats slashed and their plate turned dull with gore. The ground shook as a thousand shattered shields fell, their owners trampled under the weight of the body crush. Horses collapsed, their torsos eviscerated and their riders dragged into masses of angered slaves. Craters created by explosives launched via trebuchet become miniature arenas were men drown never to be seen again. There are no heroes here, no weapons of myth or gods to walk amongst the mangled limbs. Only carnage.
A story as old as time, the forces of the Regency followed the old way of war, utilizing their reserves of slaves as fodder to exhaust their enemies and break them under a golden heel. The men of this cohort, unlike those who would follow them in the regular army, were armed with nothing but crudely made spears and aged pieces of leather and cloth. The life expectancy of these souls once they were cast into the storm of battle for the most part ranged in mere seconds.
When I had been taken from my parents and forced into the ranks I had witnessed the effects of such abysmal survival rates, weapons were thrust only halfheartedly, for a man whose life was measured in seconds there was a desire to cut even that time in two. Yet I chose to persevere, to fight, to live. Each time I returned to the slave camp, I brought with me more and more men. With each battle I saw the fire of hope reignited, men still died as is the cost of war, but they died in spite of living rather than dying as was their birthright. The scars I bear led to a legend, that I was Undying, *Uren-aka*, in our native tongue.
Progress was a river and all waters led to this moment, this test of how far the spear will go for its hand.
My sword comes down towards a slit in the regal plate of my opponent, like the Regency this man opposes, he is a slaver. For a moment I recognize the futility and in the next the man is dead and his body is lost to the sea of soil. My muscles scream, red hot in agony as I push it further than it can go, another man attempts to push me to the ground but he cannot see my dagger as it plunges into his leg. He screams and as I smash his helm, I can see that he is afraid. I have seen so many faces like his in my nightmares, younger even, howling for a life I could not give them. As I raise my bloodied fist, a signal is given through horns and heraldry for the ruse to be sprung. Masses of my men break their crude formations and begin to jump over the first, second and third lines of the enemy now, like I have taught them, their mobility is their greatest asset and with it there is nothing ahead besides victory. This is the *Grat-aka,* the dance of our ancestors, to swirl and meld with the enemy until he can no longer resist. The battle begins to slow as the enemy routs, their plate is far too heavy and fatigue sets in like a virulent plague. What was once a crush of war like in the days when heroes took the field, had become a marble of nimble daggers ending the lives of knightly men.
The slaughter continues until the cacophony of battle is replaced with the harsh guttural death rasps of yet another legion broken by our hand. Before me, laying in a pool of his own blood and shit, the bastard king drops his native tongue and opts to curse me in the tongue of divinity made manifest, with the dulcet and silk tone of the Regency. The spear of one of my men lances his side and in moments his rule is ended and noble silk is torn into a simple raw gargle.
As the dual suns of Agen and Oden dipped beyond view, like children called home, the High King's angels bearing golden wreathes upon their heads and clad in gilded plate arrived, their faces attempting to retain some horrific parody of a distant word, honor. These men were young, untarnished, they were like amber misplaced on a bed of rust. Officers of the regular army, their swords glistened despite the total absence of light. They knew nothing of war, they only knew it by its smell, the irresistible fragrance of glory that they had been raised to chase no matter the cost. The first of them to speak circled around me like a carrion bird.
"You have delivered us Letas and for that your master is most proud, but be warned whelp, your place is still far beneath even the lowliest of my retinue."
Others among them spoke but I could not hear them, I could not bear their platitudes and their admonishments or see anything besides their hidden fury at a prize snubbed once again. Surely they would send assassins after me but that had ceased to be relevant upon this field. I had proven to my men that angels could be beaten, that we were like our ancestors who lived and died continually tested by wild mountains and vast tundra. None of our number would ever return home but an unflinching blood flows in our veins and pounds in our hearts. In the night the bards would whisper of our own secret histories, of victories and triumphs by our hands in distant territories. This they would swear by the moonlight, that those back home may add their voices and carry us back to them.
Even if our purpose were to shatter in open combat, we would make them bleed and if angels could bleed, they could be killed.
I smiled and for the first time in decades, it was *true*. | How do people end up here? Being slaves to the military? You might think that it's because they have a debt to pay to the government. Or maybe because they're criminals, forced into doing time for the crimes that they've committed. The truth is much more simple than that. We're doing it for the LULZ.
It wasn't always like that, at least, not at first. Because, indeed, our first recruits were mere debtors, criminals, political dissidents... and cannon fodder indeed. Back then, all we were, was just a waste of our adversary's ammunition, and yes, till today, we still get those sort of recruits. Those that have "hope" to eventually pay their debts and return to society. They don't even last half a battle, and I had to put some of them out of their own misery, in a creative, useful way, for the LULZ. Today, those people who survive are those who have nothing left to lose. And today, it would be no different.
"Rager, you're all patched up, ready to go?" R-463-R gives a low grunt. With the addition of scrap armour plating, his battle-scarred hulking form has proven resilient to our adversary's gunfire, especially when dropped behind enemy lines. And I can tell, he fights not for survival, but really just for the LULZ. Each time he returns from a successful battle, he gets a little more beaten up, but also a little more bloodthirsty, raring for more.
"How about you, Stalker?" S-741-K nods, licking her lips. In her past life, she was a medic of sorts. Today, she's our stealth specialist, really good at playing dead under almost any circumstance (especially seeing how our adversary likes to collect up corpses and burn them), only to take them by surprise in an ambush. She's usually paired with Rager, hitting the adversary from inside, while we fight on the frontlines.
Speaking of the frontlines, that's where most of our ex-criminals and debtors are. They are our fodder... for us, the fodder for the army. Most of them were indeed once enemies of the state. But no longer. They are all in it for the LULZ now. Admittedly, it has taken me some time to get things right, to instil the obedience into them, while leaving their cognitive abilities intact. And each new recruit I receive enables me to perfect my winning formula. I see a prominent political dissident amongst them. He's clearly frightened out of his mind, babbling and praying. "Shh... don't worry," I reassure him, "soon, it'll all be ok..."
Me? Fate has dealt me a cruel hand. I have a terminal illness. My family has disowned me. No further romantic attachments. I have nothing left to live for either. Only something to die for. The LULZ. For the Living-Undead Liberation Zone will be all that's left of the world eventually, when I may flourish after I depart the world of the living. And as I lead my newly reformed army of undead slaves into battle today, I know that one day, I will be among them. I raise my staff in defiance to the heavens. "FOR THE LULZ!" | 2021-11-20T21:55:20 | 2021-11-20T20:19:36 | 143 | 34 |
[WP] You are a superhero with shapeshifting powers. You don't fight crime. You cover for other superheroes when they need to sneak out to save the day. | As I walked into the flat, shouting "I'm back!" with my still unfamiliar voice, my eyes darted around as fast as they could, almost as fast as my mind was taking everything in.
I'm a fast learner. For this job, you have to be.
Often enough, supers realize they don't want their professional life interfering with their personal lives. Eventually, their loved ones notice one too many times that they're never around while a super is out.
That's where I come in.
On this particular occasion, Golden Warden was having his showdown with Psionic Shadow. This showdown had been... fore*shadowed*... Heh... For a while now.
Every news station was ready to televise the event. Not only was an important battle, but magic-oriented battles were usually super flashy.
So, I was holding Warden's place as Matthew Gonthrope. As a shapeshifter, if you want this kind of job, you have to be super adaptable. The super can tell you as much as they know about their lives, and even with hours upon hours, they'll never get down every single thing that would give you away. So you gotta make up most of it as you go along.
Matthew's roommate, Goldy, was supposed to be here. But after calling out a few more times, I figured he must be out right now.
I thought, *well, I'm getting paid either way*. So, I flopped on the couch and turned on the TV to watch the showdown.
Of course, by the time I tuned in, it was a bit late. It had been a trap.
Shadow had Warden locked in a magical hybrid prison, using Warden's own magic against him in combination with the magic Shadow had himself.
"*You **idiot!***" Shadow's magically amplified voice blasted from the TV. Clearly, he'd planned this thoroughly. "*I knew it was you, Matthew!*"
*Oh fuck*, I thought.
Warden said something, but it was inaudible as he couldn't amplify his voice like Shadow was. Shadow laughed. "*I know more about you than most people, don't I? I may not be able to kill you in the present conditions, but I can destroy everything else of yours. How about we start with our flat?*"
"*SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!*" I shouted to myself as I stood up and glanced around for an escape route. In a flash, the two disappeared from the TV and reappeared outside the window. I remembered I was only on the second floor, and despite only being a shapeshifter, my body was still inhumanly strong.
I sprinted towards the window, slamming my whole weight into it with my shoulder, tumbling out onto the street below.
The two glanced down at me. Psionic Shadow squinted. "Matthew?" He turned to Warden. "Wait a minute, then who the fuck are you?"
The real Matthew shrugged. "I have no idea where we are."
"***WHAT?***" Shadow's booming voice sent a shockwave out, shattering every window I hadn't broken already. Shadow looked at me, with a little regret. "How the hell did you crash through that window?"
I stared dumbly, shouting "GOLDY?"
Shadow started shaking his head wildly. "What the fuck?"
Suddenly, in a flash of blue steel, Psionic Shadow was knocked out of the sky by The Herald of the Storm (clunky name, I know). Eventually, after a relatively short battle, Shadow was captured, Warden still alive.
I hope it suffices to say that I got a bonus. | Hello, superheros of reddit,
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No refunds | 2020-03-23T16:29:06 | 2020-03-23T15:18:04 | 156 | 18 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the devil and you've never felt better, the only problem is he keeps showing up to beg you to take it back. | "MORTAL, PREPARE THYSELF FOR MY VISAGE"
I felt the all too familiar migraine of the demonic voice moments before Satan materialized himself, sitting opposite of me in the corner booth at Chili's.
"Hey again," I said trying to hide the irritation in my voice as Satan took a handful of chips and dipped them in salsa. He took one bite and coughed.
He followed up by taking a big swig of _my_ water. "Ugh, this is a little spicy don't you think?"
"Don't worry, there's queso on the way for you too."
His face lit up just a bit before regaining his composure and getting to business. "Yes well, humoring me with your earthly delectable won't spare you. I'm come to bargain..."
"Listen man, it's fucking Thursday at 11 oclock and I haven't had lunch yet. You do this at least once a week, so can we please at least just cut the show and act normal for once."
Satan let out an over dramatic gasp, "Well, somebody's hangry."
I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. "You're right, sorry. I didn't mean to snap. So what's up?"
The air of arrogance hung around Satan for a few moments before finally dissipating as he looked down and asked a sincere question, "How the hell did you ever _deal_ with this?"
The waiter dropped off the plate of queso for the devil and went on his way as Satan poured it over the bowl of chips.
"I mean, it's just so... heavy. There's so much chaos and emptiness, and the confusion mixes with an inexplicable drive. It's a fucking paradox. You're always empty but you always want more of something, but you don't know what that something even is even though it pushes to you to find it. It's exhausting."
His eyes were bloodshot, but not as a result of some demonic manifestation. No, this was something more mundane. The devil hadn't been able to sleep.
"Iunno," I managed to muffle out as I stuffed another onion ring into my mouth. "I don't know what to tell you man. All I know is that you made a deal, so it's your problem now."
Satan let out a heavy sigh, "But it's your _soul_. It's _your_ soul. _It's_-"
I took a sip of my diet coke before cutting him off, "You know putting different emphasis on the phrase doesn't really work right?"
He slumped back down into the booth and crossed his arms in feint protest. "Well, I'm trying to make a point."
"Yea, and a bad one at that. I honestly don't know how you even managed to convince people to go through with this. You have to be the worst salesman in history." I went to grab another chip before remembering that the devil slathered queso all over them. I was about to protest when I looked over and finally made the realization.
He was avoiding eye contact. He was slouching, sitting on his hands, head tilted away with his eyes pretending to read the label on the ketchup bottle. And that's when it hit me.
"Holy shit. I'm your first one!"
Satan scoffed and nervously fumbled over his words, "What?! NO! Bullshit. I've done this hundr-THOUSANDS of times. For years. You're nothing but a spec in the sea of torment!"
I sat back amused, "Uh-huh. So that's probably why you look like you haven't slept right. All those hundreds of souls in torment, wailing. Must keep you up at night."
"Uhhhh, yes, Hundred of them. Always wailing in torment."
"I thought you said millions?"
"I did."
"No you didn't. You said thousands."
"Fuck. That's what I meant."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
Satan was about to protest but his exhaustion took over and he demurred. He simply took another chip from the bowl. "It's not I haven't tried before. But people never really took the bait. They were either too brainwashed with the dogma crap or too arrogant to think they didn't need me. Not to mention there's barely any actual mention of me in the book, so it's not like there's a direct line for me. It's just poor exposure really."
"That's fine. But seriously though, is mine the first soul you've traded for?"
"Yes."
"Is it _that_ bad?"
Satan slowly nodded, "you have no idea."
"Uh, actually I'm pretty sure I do.'
"Then tell me how the hell to deal with it! This is driving me insane. This weight in my chest, the constant self doubt, the insecurities, the highs, the lows. It's so inconsistent! Are all souls like this?"
"I guess? It's just something that happens. Sometimes you're really motivated and other times you just feel tired. Happens to the best of us"
"You know what I did last week? I possessed some 32 year old woman and we just stayed in and watched Netflix all weekend."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"I mean, well no. I caught up on Wentworth. But still, I should be out there _doing_ something! This can't be all there is to it. There has to be more!"
"That's the soul talking."
"Gah. you're right. Just get this thing out of me. Please. I'll give you whatever you want. You can write the contract this time. Same thing we did last time, your terms for your soul. How about it?"
"Ehh, I don't know. I'll think about it. For now lets just finish lunch. I ordered you the pasta so it should be ready soon. Did you want more chips and queso?"
The devil closed his eyes to stop the tears from welling up, "yes please."
| **Bathroom:**
Nothing stopped him from showing up inadvertent, not even my toxins hitting the toilet's silent edges on a gloom monday morning. As I was in the middle of the act, a smell like sulphur invaded my nostrils to which I smiled proudly and concerned. I achieved the most disgusting smell of my entire life or so I thought.
Searing shadows like smoke materialized beside me obliterating my achievement. "Mo-Mortal w-what are you doing, stop it!" Screamed the Devil trying to block my precious stream of toxins pushing his arms forward.
"Holy golden shower baby, it's good for the sunburns you shrimp motherfucker!" I yelled as I bathed his infernal skin. His smell like sulphur combined with my cascade's made me vomit, of course I vomited violently all over his mighty horns.
"I can't see anything mortal, what have you just done, what is this?"
"That's what happens when you interrupt my holy peeing session. Don't forget it." I said, mocking him and giving him the fingers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**The First Breakfast:**
It's been years since I sold my soul to the Devil, I remember his hideous laughter lasting so ridiculously long I started laughing too. Thing is, the next morning he came back begging for me to take my soul back as it mocked him constantly and the other souls lost all the respect they had for him. Typical of my soul, you know the saying: like owner, like soul.
Today, the morning shone brightly through my window as I stretched vigorously letting out some slight moans. I could already smell the sulphur in my kitchen, strange thing, he never showed up in a different room from where I am.
I peeked through the doorway just to find my favourite and only wooden table disintegrated slowly with each one of the Devil's tears like corrosive acid.
"Satan, little bitch, stop crying you are ruining my mighty table dude!" I yelled as I stomped my way towards him.
He lifted his head up, his void-like eyes were now glassy as though they were perfectly polished. "Mortal, your soul dethroned me, I don't have nowhere else to go, I'm lost." He sobbed, his extremities trembled.
I had to hide my pride but it was difficult, "are really you saying my handsome, erudite, eloquent soul dethroned you or is this one of your crafty plans?" Either edges of my mouth clashed in an eternal fight against my urges to smile twitching awkwardly.
"No, he really did. It was a nightmare," his tears were now destroying my kitchen's floor. "Are you okay mortal? Your mouth is quivering strangely." He added.
I had to save my floor somehow and I fucked up. "That beautiful bastard of my soul... oh, if you want you can crash here until you plan your revolution." I said, without thinking.
The tears stopped, he got up, put on a pink apron, "what would you like to eat? Toasts of Eternal Suffering with Painful Jam or Agonizing Eggs with Screaming Bacon?
He never left. Now I only wonder how well my soul is ruling Hell.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed, you can check /r/chasisoxidado for more!
| 2017-07-06T07:37:41 | 2017-07-06T05:27:31 | 345 | 19 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | “Happy birthday, Dad! You’ve turned 90!” My mother chided as Andrew; my grandfather blew out his candles with a feeble breath. It is a family dinner to celebrate my grandfather turning 90 this year, and we’ve had all three of my aunts and uncles came over to stay. Our house had never been this packed before
​
“What did you wish for?” Dad asked.
​
“For a happy family, like always.” Grandpa said. All the while my family cheered and cut the rhubarb pie, my face grew grim by the moment. I knew this isn’t going to end well, and I’ve threw my best excuses to no avail to avoid anything social. But last week’s incident taught me all that I needed to know about my powers.
​
“Why so glum, Chelsey?” Mom asked me.
​
“I’m sorry mom, I really do, but I really don’t have time for this birthday celebration, School just started and my biology teacher is a slave driver.” I lied through my gritted teeth. Pushing a dark curl of hair behind my ear I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. “Could I please get back to my room?”
​
“Oh stop. Would you please. This is your grandfather’s 90th birthday! Spare sometime for you know…social activities. We’re a family and we take time out of our lives to celebrate each other, wouldn’t you agree, hon?” Mom asked, looking at dad.
​
“Well I’d rather be watching my NFL network…” Dad said absentmindedly. Only a moment later, he realize in horror what he had just uttered, “I…I mean yes, and that’s why we’re all here.” Mom eyed him strangely as she returns to cutting a slice of her rhubarb pie for each of us.
​
“So…what do you think?” Mom asked. “Did you like my rhubarb pie?”
​
“Again…this…tastes…horrible…” Dad replied. This time, however, his eyes begged me and Dylan for support. Dylan, my younger brother. took a bite and I could see him grimace in the aftertaste. “This is gross,” He said, “I want an Oreo cookie.”
​
A shocked silence fell over the expectant crowd. My mother’s face contorted as she tries hard to swallow the truth. “Is…is it really that bad?” She eyed everyone,” But you all said it tasted wonderful last year! And the year prior! None of you told me you didn’t like it! Is it true, Sam?!?” She stuttered.
​
“We’ve…always…hated…your…pie…but…we’re…too…polite…to…tell…you” Uncle Sam said with great difficulty, as if the words were forced out of his mouth unwillingly.
​
“What about you, hon?” Mom asked, looking at dad.
​
“I…have…never…I mean…I don’t mean it that way…but…oh fudge it…It tasted like a pickled oyster, and I…I’ve never liked any of your cooking.” Dad whispered, his eyes begging for mercy.
​
Infuriated and hurt, my mother scanned the room, “So none of you, NONE, actually liked my cooking?” Everyone fell into a guilty silence, avoiding eye contact with the ferocious cougar in the room.
​
“It seems like…for some reason…we cannot lie…” Uncle Sam replied.
​
“I never liked how you two got together in the first anyways,” Grandma blurted, “I think you deserved better. Heck, I bet my heirloom that ring of yours is from the dollar store. I knew it looked too plain to be from a jeweller.” Mom looked at dad again, two chilling beams of accusation boring through his skin.
​
“Is THAT true too?!?” She asked.
​
“Now hear me out, it wasn’t like that, though it was, but it wasn’t! I really do love you honey. And at the time I was too buried in debt to buy you a proper ring and that copper one had the a fifth of the price compared to th-“
Mom cuts him off, “Okay, say no more.” The dining hall fell into an uncomfortable silence, and each family member eyed each other suspiciously while I fidget nervously with my thumbs. I didn’t want this to happen. I caught Ben, my boyfriend, making out with another girl in the campus stalls during break, and at that moment I wished, vehemently, that no one would ever dare lie in front of me again. Oh, how I regret such decisions. But ever since then I could not attend any social gathering where fights didn’t breakout. Everywhere I go, everyone became brutally honest, to the point where people LITERALLY spoke what’s on their mind when prompted. A simple “How are you doing?” would become a drawn-out epilogue detailing exactly the person’s mental state. I tried my best to seclude myself from the masses, and texted everyone to communicate my needs, but I still could not avoid direct confrontation like these today.
​
“How about…we avoid asking direct questions?” I suggested, breaking the silence, “For example, ‘Do you like the pie?’ Becomes ‘what is your preferred pie?’’’
​
“I prefer…an Oreo pie!” Dylan chimed in, trying to break the stalemate, but the adults remain frozen. I kicked Dylan underneath the table to keep him quiet. Desperately I pleaded with Grandpa using my eyes, and the moment we made eye contact, I felt he understood.
​
Grandpa chuckled added “Hell, why not. I’ve always liked your chicken pot pies anyways.”
​
He stood up and motioned towards me, “Wouldn’t you mind getting the ingredients at Costco? I’m sure they are still open at this hour, phone me when you are heading home.” A voice came into my head as he spoke, “Don’t worry, it runs in the family.” | Dan watched his partners work. He sat silent, and so nobody bothered him. That was just how he liked it, really. He was able to do his part of the school project in peace.
Fortunately, he got at least one good group member. Ted looked like he he was sleeping, but he was probably being more productive than any of them. Technopaths were handy to have when doing a school research project. The guy may as well have a computer installed directly in his head. Appropriate since even before he awakened his powers last year he damn near had technopathy anyway.
Sally was fidgeting nervously over her keyboard. She was still unaccustomed to her powers, and had difficulty controlling them. That might not be so bad if the forceful, strongly opinionated girl had not gained super strength and now had the issue of unintentionally breaking things. Ironic that she had become so shy and closeted because of it. It also made her a terrible group member, since she was more focused on not breaking things than the work.
Kelly, the unofficial leader of the group, was doing almost as much work as Ted was. She was literally doing the work of three people thanks to her cloning ability. Of course, the already hyperproductive girl that swore by multitasking would awaken that power. It made her both useful and annoying. Having one person micromanage everything was bad enough. Having that same person micromanage you from three different angles at once was worse.
"Say, has anyone seen Dan?" One of Kelly's clones asked. "I swear he was right here a minute ago."
Ted half opened one eye, looking directly at Dan, and shrugged before closing it. Sally shook her head and slowly poked at a key, letting out a visible sigh of relief when it did not break.
Kelly growled. Dan smiled. He loved his power, he really did. It was so useful to avoid unpleasant conversation.
"I'm right here." Dan said.
Kelly jumped. All four of her. "What the? Where did...when did you get back?"
"I never left."
"Oh...okay then. Just...just... don't disappear again."
"I don't disappear. I can't turn invisible or anything."
Kelly looked like she wanted to say something, but Sally interrupted.
"It's not? We all thought it was. I mean, you just, like, vanish for no reason. That's why nobody asked what you got when you awakened."
Dan shrugged. It was true he had never officially revealed his power, but he had a reason. If people knew what he could do, it would become a lot less effective.
"It's not invisibility. It's also not teleporting or shrinking or anything like that. I just don't like telling people what it is. It's not really great anyway. Kind of lame, really."
"Can we get back on track, please?" Kelly huffed. "We've still got a lot to do. And Dan, don't disappear again. I don't care how you do it, just don't."
Dan nodded and got back to his part of the project. One of Kelly's clones kept glancing at him, making sure he would not go anywhere. It did not matter much. She would lose track of him eventually.
The power to go unnoticed may not have been flashy interesting, but it suited him just fine. | 2019-09-08T12:16:54 | 2019-09-08T11:00:34 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You accidentally get sent to Hell instead of Heaven, and Satan says you can just hang out while him and God get things sorted out. Meanwhile, you grow more and more accustomed to the place you're in. | Feathers, a locket and the warmth of the sun. These are all things I've known; things that play in the brief vignettes that flash as my eyes droop. I feel the temperate Autumn breeze sweep in through the open window and turn my gaze to my weeping family. My children are all here: William, Veronica, Eiliff and all the little grandchildren too. Some of them are too small to understand what's really going on, so all I can leave them with is a smile.
Switzerland is nice in October, and the staff here seem to understand the importance of leaving with dignity.
I feel my muscles loosening. This is it.
Veronica lets out a choked sob, and I grip her hand one last time. Don't be sad because it's over, I want to tell her, Just be happy that it all happened, and all so well.
The curtains inside my mind draw closed, and there's nothing for a moment. Then, I'm falling. The light above me grows smaller and smaller. I feel the remnants of my concrete mind dissolve, leaving me in twisting primal fear. Faces of the dead and buried swirl around me, but I can't think about it. There's nothing. Nothing at all, just a terrible absence.
Then I'm on my feet, and it hurts like hell.
“Welcome to the underworld.”
There's... something in front of me. It's formless, ever shifting, like those artist's impressions of 4D cubes. Tesseracts? Every time I focus on a facet I get a distinct feeling of terror. I avert my eyes.
*Hell?*
“Yup.”
*That doesn't make any sense.*
“Very perceptive of you.”
*Thanks.*
“No problem. I'm Lucifer, or Satan, or Hades; whatever you want to call me.”
*Ok. Am I speaking at the moment?*
“No, not really. Things are a little more elegant down here.”
*Oh. Is this one of those you already know what I'm going to say, going to do type scenarios?*
“Eh...” A pair of demonic shoulders rises from the formless void and shrug. “Comme ci, comme ça. Freedom of thought is a little more complex than that.”
*That's kind of cool. Can I have some shoes? This brimstone is a little taxing on the sole.*
“First, nice pun. Look down.”
I look. I don't have any feet.
*I don't have any feet.*
“A+. You don't have any eyes, either.”
*Then how am I seeing?*
“You're not, really. You're just... here. That's the best way I can explain it to you.”
*That's annoyingly cryptic.*
The demon shoulders shrug again, then disappear. “We're all very Neil Gaiman down here.”
*So there's a pantheon of gods from all the religions vying for power and influence over the mortal world?*
“More or less. Those that don't use their power to give themselves eternally changing, unceasing pleasure.”
*Can I get a hit of that?*
“Afraid not. Anyways...” The formless void conjures up a yellow legal pad and a flamboyantly awful red pen. Flitting around on tiny red wings, it makes a few notes.
“I'm sure you've realised, by now, that a mistake has been made. You're more of a good person than a bad, and that charity you ran? Real mix up here, but I can't send you upstairs just yet.”
*Why's that?*
“Eh, politics. Janus set up this annoyingly bureaucratic system for transfers, and once he got Mercury on board... Just a pain in the ass.”
*So, Hell for the time being?*
“Yep.” The pen jots down a couple more notes, then disappears in a puff of black smoke. A page from the legal pad tears itself off, floats over to me and folds itself up. “I need to get going, but if anyone gives you trouble, show them this.”
I will the paper to unfold, and printed in pulsing, blood red script are the words:
**PROPERTY OF LUCIFER/SATAN/HADES: NE TOUCHE PAS S.V.P**
*...French?*
“Hell is kind of like Quebec.”
*...Ok?*
A pair of arms appear from the cloud and impatiently tap a melting watch.
“I'm off. I'll come check in with you in a couple of days. Until then, keep out of trouble and enjoy the attractions. Stay out of Spanish town.”
The tesseract disappeared in a roaring, unholy conflagration, revealing the view behind it.
*Is that a fucking Tim Horton's?*
=====
Part 2 coming soon? Maybe. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/77le64/wp_you_accidentally_get_sent_to_hell_instead_of/don4v0h/) | Hotel chains, Casinos, Strip Clubs galore. Buildings towered over me as I stepped out of Lucifer's office. At first I was surprised but not anymore; I should have already expected, Lucifer's Office was ubiquitous, black and white
Contrary to popular belief, Hell isn't a fiery abyss, and the pools of lava represented by Hollywood were quite false. Las Vegas was a better description of Hell, but Vegas pales in comparison to everything Hell offers.
Lucifer told me that he would settle my situation quick, he said "I think we have a mix up, I don't think Hell is for you." But it seems like Hell's paradise for me, for I would say I am adventurous and I would like to have fun.
And soon I arrived at the tallest building in Hell, which stretches out to the never ending horizon of dawn. Mesmerized by the pinkish red sky, how could anyone get sick of it? Card in hand and bag in another, I was ready to check-in to the best Hotel in Hell.
Chandeliers and cloth draped the ceiling, a sense of prestige and grandeur flowed through me, for I felt that I was quite, underdressed. Classical music danced through the hall. I took a glance back, a piano sat at a corner, playing itself.
"You must be Lucifer's guest for the week" said the lady at the front desk, eyeing the card held in my hand.
"Indeed I am." I replied.
"Here's the key card to your room. Do not loose it, for it comes with a punishment, from me." The lady licked her lips seductively whilst winking at me.
Too bad she wasn't my type, I digress, but that doesn't mean that I am out of luck for the night.
My bag fell on to the carpeted floor, with a loud thud. The soft as silk, rose velvet floor. I glanced towards the window, admiring the magnificent view. Now is the time for me to enjoy my week in Hell. | 2017-10-20T06:11:21 | 2017-10-20T06:11:08 | 2,860 | 53 |
[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives | Blonde hair, hazel eyes, slim build...everything about this girl excites me. She is everything I look for in a woman. New to the city, hasn't yet made too many connections, a chance like this is a godsend.
“More wine?”
She gladly accepts. She idly stabs at her lamp chop, girl has no idea what she's doing to me. Red oozes from the messy cut of meat, my blood is flowing to all the right places.
“So tell me Karen, what do you like to do for fun?”
I watch as she actively struggles to keep her eyes from visibly rolling at such a cliché first date question...they always struggle.
“Well back home I was big into hiking, I love being out in nature. Yourself?”
The corners of her mouth lift ever so slightly as to seem like she means it. Society is built around ritual and expectations. I like to think that I have my own.
"I used to kayak in the central valley before I moved out here. I try to stay active so I'm big into bike riding."
Unmistakable interest flashes across her face, now I've got her.
"I like a man who appreciates the great outdoors..." She leans forward and brings her shoulders ever so slightly together, pushing up her chest, she knows I'm looking, she knows that I like that I see. "Do you know any scenic places around here that maybe we could check out after dinner?"
Her eyes never leave mine as I feel her foot under the table find my lap and close in on the outline of my manhood, my strength, something a weak woman like her can never take from me.
Play it cool. Clearly she's on the end of a dry spell, her posture, the constant sideways glances don't exactly paint her as a social butterfly. She's hungry, she wants me, but I'm the only one who's going to eat tonight. With a confident grin, I tell her, "Oh, I can show you places." In the corner of my field of vision I spot our server, "Waiter, check please."
It's going to be a good night...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Chez Marianne? I guess I can't blame the guy for trying. Mama always said men are only after one thing and clearly this guy wants to be sure he gets it. Disgusting.
"More wine?"
I don't know who he thinks he's fooling, clearly he wants to get me hammered. I do my best to look coy as I sip from my recently overflowing glass. A single line of red dribbles down the side, it's taunting me. Primal, life affirming, powerful.
“So tell me Karen, what do you like to do for fun?”
Really? God, I just want to get out of here already. This guy is so painstakingly by the book, I'll be doing him a favor really, he probably wonders why women are never into him. Might as well give him the standard answer.
“Well back home I was big into hiking, I love being out in nature. Yourself?”
Unexpectedly, opportunity knocks.
"I used to kayak in the central valley before I moved out here. I try to stay active so I'm big into bike riding."
Perfect. No one really pays attention to a pretty little thing such as myself in the wrong part of town so long as I've got a big, strong man on my arm, but you still have to keep your eyes open for witnesses. This guy likes being away from prying eyes. It's time to seal the deal.
"I like a man who appreciates the great outdoors..." He's been eyeing my bust all night long. I press them together, he probably thinks of it as foreshadowing of pleasures to come. "Do you know any scenic places around here that maybe we could check out after dinner?"
I kick off a shoe so I can size up the situation. Fool. He's already thinking with his other head..geez, he is really thinking down there. That's really all it ever takes, a little contact with the right parts and they stop thinking at all. He thinks he's getting lucky, he has no idea.
"Oh, I can show you places." He's obviously trying not to look too excited, "Waiter, check please."
It's going to be a good night... | As our steak arrived I realized this was all too easy. Normally I have to be convincing, charming even. If my steak simply walked into my mouth I wouldn't enjoy it as much. I savor knowing the agony the cow went through only to end up in my musculature. Amanda has hinted three times now that I need to see her art collection; at her house. She claims her place is a sprawling manor without any other homes in sight. But it can't be as big as mine.
My manor is a large wooded estate, perfect for discrete comings and goings. Apparently Amanda lives nearby, getting her to my place will be too simple. Perhaps I should offer to show her my unrivaled collection of Sun-Tzu pottery, again.
"You should come by after dinner, I just got this new Frank Stella. Its very...erotic." Her blunt offer came as no surprise. I had seen her twist her hair and touch her lips on at least two different occasions; major indicators of interest according to Reddit.com/r/seduction. Perhaps it would be OK to see her place. I have my knife and my chloroform on me.
"I'd love to." I say as I see Amanda appreciate the balance of her steak knife. | 2013-12-30T18:59:46 | 2013-12-30T18:36:23 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside. | Weeks. Years. Days? Months? Centuries?
Long. Trapped here, cold and dark and stifling. He lifts a trembling hand. Yes. Jagged rock. A cave. He remembers.
He remembers his brothers and sisters, those high and shining beings. He thinks- he thinks he shone once, too, as brightly as they. Days of glory, those were. Anything he wanted. Power at his fingertips. Cowering humans, worshiping him, showering him in gifts.
For a god deserves nothing less, no?
But they... his bright and shining brothers and sisters... they called him cruel. Fickle. A poor god, to treat the mortals so.
And now... Ah. Yes. He remembers. Cast from the heavens, a mortal body. Death to surely claim him, lest he claim the lives of others. His bright and shining brothers and sisters... did they not realize to unleash a hungry god upon the mortals was worse than to leave him to his whims?
How amusing, to think they unleashed a far worse horror than he ever could as a god.
Ah, but he remembers, too, a mighty warrior. A mortal, humble born, a hero made, challenging a hungry god. Casting him into this dark and terrible cave, cursed to waste away as the lives of those he killed slowly drain away. And wither he will, for of the lives he claimed, only a few remain, and they will be dust before long.
Will his brothers and sisters seize his soul? Will they cast him into the void?
A trembling hand reaches out and drags across the rough cave wall. He watches idly as the blood, red and bright and warm, runs down his arm. Bleeding, as a mortal bleeds.
He wants... He needs... He *hungers*.
Brothers and sisters, if any mercy remain within ye, any affection for a scorned little brother, save him now! A small token of mercy for a brother who was once beloved.
No, no, no mercy for him, he will die, cold and alone, in this dark and damp cave, for he is damned and scorned, a god no longer.
No no no no no
Please please please please he begs-
Wait! Listen! The... sound... of a- a mortal... voice...?
Yes, a mortal male's voice...
It... entered...? But the entrance... long sealed...
No. Yes! Yes! *Yes!*
A mortal male stands before him now, shining a torch in his face. But, ah, after darkness for so long, the light hurts, yes, but it is welcome, so welcome. And oh, he can sense the life this mortal possesses. One with many years ahead.
He smiles and stands. Holds out a hand. "...*please*..."
Mortal eyes widen, but it is too late, far, far too late.
He is upon the mortal before it can even flinch. He smiles again and gently places a hand on the side of the mortal's head.
The mortal trembles and its mouth opens. To scream, perhaps.
But no mortal can match him. Too fast for a mortal's eyes... He strokes the side of the mortal's face-
A quick, violent twist and the mortal's neck bends in a most peculiar way. So fragile, these mortals are.
But, ah! That life, filling him... Now *that* is not a fragile thing! That wonderful and beautiful life that is now his!
He smiles down at the mortal's body. "...*you*...*have served me*...*well*."
He steps over the body.
One step. Two. Another.
Another.
Another.
More and more steps.
Ah! Light ahead. He smells the fresh air. The song of freedom.
He steps outside that accursed cavern and laughs. | It was a simple trick really, a bit of myth, a touch of meteorology, some carpentry.
It turns out it doesn't matter how you kill.
I turned away thousands, perhaps millions. Some asked for help and advice and I refused. I pretended they were too wicked to live, but it turns out it is I that is wicked.
The flood came.
And then the memories came. Thousand upon thousands of them. The guilt was overwhelming. I had killed them by my hand, not directly, but through my arrogance and neglect. I would live for a million years but I would be trapped. I would see my family wither and die. I would see kingdoms come and go. The only thing left in my life is sorrow and misery.
Who am I?
I guess you would know me as Noah. I would call myself wretched.
Edit: Wrong Name. | 2017-11-16T20:06:48 | 2017-11-16T19:57:49 | 66 | 32 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is blind. You wake up one morning to find that you suddenly have sight. As you try to go about your day pretending to be normal, you find that someone you've known for a long time is staring back at you.
To clarify, sight hasn't been around for an extremely long time, and society has adapted to compensate. People who are found to be able to see are executed immediately by the authorities. | I didn’t realize right away.
I wandered down the hall, fingers tracing over the texture of the wall, not to guide me, for I’d not needed that in my own home for many years, but simply to remind myself that the world existed. I stood in my kitchen before my kettle, listening to the water bubble and feeling the steam rolling towards me – it would be done soon – and rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I noticed something strange. A short burst of something fired into my head. I’d never experienced something like that before. It hurt. I shook my head a bit, trying to brush off the pain, but it happened again. I froze where I stood as my brain woke up some more; I’d heard stories about things like this happening, fairy tales, really, where a person somewhere in the world would wake up one day and they could see, just as people had many years ago. Things never ended well in those stories. People were wary of those with sight.
I took a shuddering breath and did something that was rare for me: I opened my eyes.
At first, there was nothing but burning and something very much akin to the blindness I’d known my whole life. I blinked a few times, and the pain and nothingness faded away. There were all these…things…in front of me. I couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t think for my heart pounding away in my chest. I quickly closed my eyes again and reached my hand out in front of me. I touched the edge of the counter and oriented myself. I was still by my kettle. I cautiously opened my eyes again. I tapped my fingers upon the counter top, and these long things jumped about on the counter. “My hand.” I said aloud. I lifted my hand as though I wanted to brush my hair back or scratch my nose, and I peered at it. A hand was a strange thing. I traced it with my other hand, learning to combine this thing I saw in front of my face with the feeling that I knew. “My hand!” I said again, and laughed. I wiggled my fingers about and laughed some more. I slowly discovered my body, taking in the new sensation and trying to understand it. My attention was not drawn away until I heard the familiar click of the kettle.
I attempted to get through my morning as smoothly as usual, but I couldn’t. I bumped into everything, but it helped: the familiar pain shooting up my leg let me know where my chair was and that I was across from my glass patio door. I looked through it and pain flitted across my forehead, so I let my head fall. “Light.” I told myself, remembering all the old, musty-smelling books I used to read. I’d loved those books, the ones that were made when the world was opposite to ours and more people could see than not. Those books still talked about sight, and running my fingers over the bumpy words was the closest I had come to seeing before this day. I stared at my bowl of oatmeal so long it went cold, stirring the spoon around, lifting it to watch clumps of oats plop back into the bowl. When I went into my wardrobe, I realized that all of my clothes were more or less identical, and I had to touch every garment to find the exact fabrics I wanted.
It took me quite a while to work up the courage to step out my front door. There was so much to see, but I didn’t know if I could handle it. I wasn’t certain that I could take it all in and still navigate the world as I always did. I stuck my cane out the door first, dragging it over the ground as though testing to see if the earth would hold me up. I slowly walked out, tapping my cane to reassure myself that everything was still as it had been yesterday.
Yet, nothing was the same as it had been yesterday.
Standing in my yard, I turned myself around, looking at my house, the tree, what must be the neighbours’ dog peeing on my lawn if my hearing was still all intact. I moved backwards, wanting to see my whole house at once so that I could know what my home looked like. As I did this, I bumped into something. Well, I bumped into someone, judging by the sound of a cane bouncing when it hit the ground. We both gasped, and in doing so, the scent of mint that always followed Jamie hit me.
“Good morning.” Jamie said cheerfully. “Have you gained the Sight? You must have known I was coming, like an oracle.” The horrified breath that had caught in my chest escaped with a nervous laugh.
“Yes, I’m psychic now. By the way, you will live a long and prosperous life.”
“That’s not what my last fortune cookie said!” I could hear the typical teasing tone in Jamie’s voice.
It was then that I realized I could look at Jamie, to see the person that I knew with all my other senses. I turned, but did not look up yet. I reached out, my hand bumping lightly into Jamie’s arm and running down it to clasp the hand that was equally bizarre-looking as my own. Jamie squeezed my hand.
“So, what prompted this visit?” I asked, hoping that if there was a question to answer, Jamie would not notice my odd behaviour.
“Just because I missed you.” Came the easy reply. “Why? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Jamie had picked up that turn of phrase from some ancient recording, and loved to throw it into conversations. It amused some people, but offended others.
Then I turned my face up so that I could take in the sight before me. I nearly flinched when my gaze reached Jamie’s face. I’m not sure how I knew, but I could tell that I was being looked at as well. There was a mutual knowing hanging in the air between us, simultaneously heavy and light.
“Yeah,” I whispered, dropping my cane so that I could touch Jamie’s face without letting go of the hand twined with my own. “I’m happy to see you.”
We watched each other smile.
| "How long?"
"When did it happen?"
"What do you think you see?"
I recognized the voice. It was the Governor Douglas . But, I had never heard anger in his tone.
For my whole life I had heard him on the radio. Talking about how in the future things would be better. About how one day, we'd all come to see the sunrise. Just earlier that morning, he was giving a speech about coming together to fund a new drug initiative. Something that would bring us back to where we were.
I couldn't remember the last time my eyes had worked. I must have been ten or eleven. I remembered bits. The way the sky looked. My mothers face. Small pieces of a childhood that was cut short when it started happening to everyone. When we all went blind.
That must have been 30 years ago.
I began to see in small spots. Patches of light appearing in a dull field. Then becoming more vivid. I began recognizing things. The shape of my hand. The gray windows of my apartment. The distance between the floor and ceiling. But when I opened my eyes this morning it was different.
The world had changed since they'd closed. Walls were bare. Smooth to the touch. You could still see the plaster between the slats of dry wall. As I found my way down the stairs and out of to the street I saw the squat grey buildings that ran its length. Everything was dull. Above the first floor the smooth polish of the veneer ran out and became a porous craggy stone.
I walked through the alien streets. I knew the steps. 41 to the corner. 46 to the next. But vision took it all out of context. I lost my mental count walking a familiar route and happened upon a space unlike anything else. It was grey and veneered like everything street level, but it stopped only an arms length above my reach.
I don't know why. The entire world was brand new again. But I needed to see why it was different. I found one of the few things that looked familiar. A street side tree. Pulling up a nearby garbage bin, I stood on it's side and found the lowest hanging branch. Pulling myself up against the rough grain of the bark I found footing and began to climb up.
Branch after branch I went, climbing until the tree started to bend under my weight. I couldn't see. I went higher, until I was running out of boughs that could support me, some loudly snapping under my feet.
Finally, a clearing over the wall. I saw what looked like a lake unlike any I'd ever seen when I was young. In the middle there were pontoons. Hundreds of them. Around each the water a slightly different color than around the coast.
That's when I saw him. Surrounded by milk jugs filled with a fluid I think is called green. In front of him was a pontoon pulled ashore. He was staring directly back at me.
"How long?"
"When did it happen?"
"What do you think you see?"
| 2013-11-01T00:39:06 | 2013-10-31T20:20:43 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a dog in a shelter, however you remember your past life as a human. Then one day your past self shows up and adopts you and you realize you became your own dog and all of a sudden the way your dog behaved throughout your human finally life makes sense.
Never posted a prompt before. Feel free to give me feedback if it's not very good or whatever! I hope it's something somebody can work with. | There was *one* memory that I always thought as the most important memory. But as I got older, even those precious memories will slowly fade. Perhaps it was the old age? It most definitely was the time. Or maybe it's that those special memories are often painful, and thus it's only natural for our brains to reject those memories.
I want to tell you my story. But I don't want to go into detail. And why should I? After all, it's a despicable story full of self-hatred, depression, and struggle. It did get better. But not when I was young.
Many told me - appreciate your youth. It's the best time of your life.
No. I despised it. I was bullied at school. My parents *never* cared about me. Oh, don't get me wrong - they were very successful parents who could do or buy anything. But that's what they all were about - their success. In the end, I was alone. And their divorce didn't make it better - it shattered my world.
You have no idea how many times I cursed money. They always talked about money.
One might ask that rich people *should be* fine at school, right? But that was the very reason why I was bullied. I was different - rich. Every classmate expected me to buy free stuff for them. But I barely got any money from parents myself. So I was labeled as a kid who only thought about himself. Bullshit.
But there was a turning point in my life. And perhaps I shouldn't talk of it the way one traditionally would, but the other way.
I was reincarnated as a dog in a shelter. I was a puppy, and perhaps an ugly one. To be honest, I had always been ugly in every life. Almost like all those beautiful people in the world sucked the beauty out of me and left me whatever there was left. Of course, it could've been the self-critical view on myself as well. I never managed to get rid of it.
And perhaps that's why I was adopted... by me. The *me* in the previous life had come and decided to adopt me. And I remember the reason: I was similar to him. And I was goddamn right about that.
In time I turned into an egocentric person because I started to love myself. But not *myself myself*, but the other me in the previous life.
I wanted to give the previous me all the love in the world. And as I saw myself, I began not to see only myself, but this sad boy who was alone. I remembered shards of my past. As a human, I never wanted anything more than love and hugs. I never got them. You have no idea how good a hug is if you barely get any. You have no idea how much brighter one's day becomes after a single hug.
So, as a dog, I gave myself all of that. I hugged the other me a lot. I stayed with him a lot. I licked him a lot - even though it seems a bit weird at first. I rewatched every single anime together with him over and over again.
And I saw him smile. And that made me smile.
And I remembered the past self. Back then it was that dog that saved my life. It was that dog that helped me to go and meet the next day. It was that dog that always dragged me to that specific park, making me meet that woman who eventually became my wife. It was that dog who kept watching my kids as they grew.
But that day came. I knew that day would come. As I grew, I remembered more and more. My human me didn't know, but I did, and I was ready.
It was the day when that big bad dog tried to attack my kids. I had forgotten how and where it would happen, but I knew it would come. My human self was somewhere else, and the kids were playing together in the garden. I was chasing that annoying crow that never left me alone, making me follow him around. That is until I heard that weird sound.
There was a growling sound. As I ran towards the sound, I saw a big black dog looking at kids. I immediately ran in-between the kids and the big bad dog, barking a lot to gain everyone's attention around the neighborhood.
The big dog jumped on me, trying to bite towards my throat. I avoided it - barely - and bit his leg in the process, making him take a step back. But the other dog didn't wait. Instead, it dashed past me towards the kids. It was mad at my bite, and it wanted revenge. But he knew I was protecting the kids.
All I could do was dive in and jump in between, feeling the sharp teeth touching my throat. Everything went black.
"Angel!" A shout came - my other self shout. Oh, I remember that moment. Like expected, I heard a hit. I almost relived the memory how I hit the big dog with a pipe. I could hear how the other dog ran away. I could hear the kids crying. But they were safe - and that's what mattered most.
I could feel it - everything going cold. I remembered the most painful memory in my previous life almost like a movie flashing in front of my eyes.
But I was happy.
After all - and it might sound egoistic - there was no better friend than myself. I had gotten something that I had yearned in my previous life - love.
It's only natural that the least I could do was to protect everything that I loved.
And if I ever were reincarnated again, I would do it again.
"I love you, Angel. You've always been my angel, my savior. You're the most beutiful dog in the world!" the other me whispered to me the final words that I managed to catch.
_***_
That's my story.
And as I opened my eyes one last time, I saw that same annoying crow looking at me, intensely, releasing a few quick sounds.
*If you're me, shriek twice,* I thought.
**Caw, caw**.
*I see. Thank you.*
(/r/Elven - My subreddit, in case you want to read more of my writing) | What is going on? And, eww, what is that smell?
I stand up, or try to; I don't make it far off the ground. I look at my feet and... What the hell? What is going on? What are those? Are those paws? I must be dreaming! Wake up. Please wake up.
"Who's a good boy."
A woman approaches me, and for the first time, I realise I'm in a cage. She unlocks the door.
"Here boy," she says, holding out her hand.
Ew. What is that? But it smells so good, and she has such a lovely voice. I approach her and eat it. I don't want to think about what I've just eaten. She attaches a lead to my collar. Seriously? I'm wearing a collar?
"We have a nice young man who's going to adopt you," she said.
Really? And I'm supposed to go to this strangers house?
I try to complain, but it comes out as a whine. I pull on the lead, but she just picks me up.
She takes me through a door and into a waiting room where things immediately get stranger.
What the hell? I try to say. That man. That's me. He's me. He has my face.
"He's a little excitable," the woman tells me. I mean, she tells the man. "He'll be okay once he's settled."
"Who's a good boy," said the imposter, scratching behind my ear.
Damn, that feels good. One of my rear legs tries to scratch my belly. Stop that!
"I'll take good care of him," the imposter said, taking my lead and pulling me outside.
I follow reluctantly, and my attention is turned to a post. A scent emanates from it that says 'like and share to receive treats.' I lift my leg and pee on it before I even realise what I've done. What is this? Dog Twitter.
I'm manhandled into the back of a car. I panic. I don't want to go to a strange house, and I tell this imposter so for the entire journey, but he does not listen.
As we get to his home, my old house, the heavens open and the rain falls heavily. I really need a number two, but the imposter wants to get inside quick and I ain't too keen on standing out in this either.
We make it into the house, and my need becomes more pressing. He can clean it up, I think to myself, making my way to the easy-to-clean kitchen tiles. I laid these myself, though this close up I can see it was a rough job.
Hmm. I stop. He is probably going to be angry, so I may as well make it worth it. I take a dump on the carpet. I paid for the carpet. I will crap on it if I want to. I make sure it is right in front of a doorway where he is bound to stand in it.
Next, I chill on the sofa. If my only job is to mooch around while my 'owner' pays my way, I may as well make the most of it.
| 2019-04-07T16:48:43 | 2019-04-07T14:26:04 | 1,142 | 714 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | The blinding light seared black spots in my vision as I felt my body separate from top and bottom. I hear the yells of triumph, and the unmistakable cheer from the crowd. The smell of hot metal, and instant feeling of coldness overwhelms my senses. Gravity becomes stronger, and the ground comes up to greet me with an almost reassuring fondness.
I tear my consciousness out of my metal construct before it's too late.
The world reels for a moment as I reorientate myself with my surroundings. There were some people exchanging sideways glances at me as I sweat profusely, I left my body staring mindlessly into some Youtube video in a coffee cafe. My breathing starts to settle, my body relaxes, I stand up a little discombobulated, and lean on the table as I pack my computer away into my backpack.
I make my way to the door, pushing it open with my shoulder. With the wind in my face, I feel much more comfortable, as I walk down to the end of the block. I hear the roar of cheers and laughter as I turn the corner.
There stands Phantasm, in her signature dark magenta and red colors, along with the white and blue colors of Gallant holding his shield and sword aloft cheering upwards at the floating golden clad being, Midas. He floats directly over two golden remnants of a metal golem.
The cheering is deafening. The police are barely able to hold back the masses, as the heroes move to their helidrone. I smile, and push my way out of the crowd as I hear the helidrone take off.
Walking back to Tri-tower, the doorman opens it up for me.
"Good afternoon Felix, working late tonight?" He says as I pass.
"Aways! Thank you, John." I nod making my way to the elevators.
After some waiting in the elevator the doors to the 120th floor swing open. Before me stands a view of the city only a handful of people get to experience.
"Felix!!" I hear bellowing down the glasslined hall, before I recieve a bearhug from this beast of a man before he puts me down. "We have returned victorious!" He exalts gripping his mitt-like hand in the air extravagantly.
"I heard on the news! I hope he wasn't too much trouble!" I feign sheepishly, gathering myself back up noticing the herculean young man is dressed up"Why are you in a tux...how did you even get a tux tailored to you?"
Before he could respond a distinctly feminine voice responds behind Gallant. "Not too much trouble at all. There's not much a metal being can do against Midas's golden light." Phantasm laughs as she walks into view in her heels and tighly fitted black dress. "Midas, set up a Galla for a St Judes children charity. He's donating the golden statue of todays battle as an added bonus."
I smile openly, "What a fantastic idea!"
"If you'll excuse us, my friend, our presence is expected." Gallant says giving his best effort to be serious, "I'll regal you with stories of the fight, upon our return!" He nudges me jokingly as he clambers into the elevator followed by Phantasm. He salutes and she smiles as the doors slide shut.
I see the teams picture with myself and the previous heros of New Silver City. A big happy family, of ages past.
I find my way to the control desk. Satellite images, news channels, and ticker tapes appear as I sit down. Slowly, I start my work.
I'm awoken by an alarm.
"SHIT!" I hurriedly look for the off switch, I must have hit the panic button when I dozed off. I locate the button, but the plexiglass is still surrounding it. Confused, I look at the screens.
A redline sits on Midas's heart monitor.
Phantasms heart is peaking.
Gallants heart is racing beyond human limits.
'That must be a mistake' I think to myself, just as the news medias snap to "Breaking News!". The headline makes my heart drop.
"Mendacius attacks charity event." Iridescent lights shine through the glass inside the domed building, it could almost be mistaken for a rave if not for the fancy people fleeing out the doors.
Phantasms heart suddenly flatlines.
Gallants heart flutters.
Sheer panic takes over, mind racing with helpless thoughts.
"FUCK! NO! NO! NO!" I scream at the heart monitors.
The news media cuts to an explosion out of the galla building as a white and blue blur slams into the building across the street, sending cars and the bodies of bystanders alike flying.
Out of the galla building walks a dark figure. Melpomene's light gray mask stands apart from the flowing dark matter surrounding the individual. Quicker than the eye can see, black strikes flash across the street. The strikes somehow remind me of spider legs, stabbing with blinding speed, into crumbling pocket of destroyed building.
They are met with steel, and fire.
Gallant stands, covered in his shining armor, his shield turning the blows away, his sword wicking out slicing the dark before it could connect.
'He can't keep this up' I think, as gunfire on the street erupts. Police rush into the scene dumping mags into the aggressor. Who turns and with a flick silences two of the brave men, in a spray of crimson. Gallant uses the moment of respite to close the distance.
It was over in an instant.
White knuckles, dizzy, face wet, I struggle to stand at the image of Gallant skewered on the dark legs on the screen. The reporters screams are mentally silences by the high pitched ring in my ears.
Gallant coughs blood, his head lolls down for a moment staring at the darkness penetrating his torso. Arms fall to the floor. His heart monitor dips. He looks up at Mendacius, who's mask now turns slightly to the side, within arms reach. Gallants heart monitor peaks, he drives his sword upwards in a last ditch attempt to end his assailants life.
Only to have it stop inches from the mask, his arm pincushioned. His monitor flatlines, as his body goes limp. The feed cuts.
I stand alone, in the tower of my heroes.
The tower of my friends.
My family.
Something snaps within me.
-stay tuned for part two- | My name is Eskimo Souls. I’m a “supervillain.” And I met a weird guy at the bus stop. He was wearing a jacket, but his arms weren’t on the sleeves. He just has his hood on. He even has sunglasses. “What do you do here?” I ask him, “Do you have a job?” “Can I trust you to keep a secret?” He asks me. “Sure,” I say. *What’s this guy up to?* I think to myself. He leans close to my ear. “I’m a supervillain. I’m Jase, but you can call me J. If you tell this to anyone,” He tells me, “I’ll kill you.” Then he pushes me aside.
The bus pulled in front of us. Both of us walk inside, and give the driver some money. As I sit down on the chair. I noticed that he had a bloodstain on his shirt and he didn’t even notice. *Or is it ketchup?* I think to myself. I shake my head and kept looking at the gorgeous veiw. Oh I didn’t tell you. I don’t try my hardest at being a supervillain. See these heroes are very stupid, so I have to go easy on ‘em. And once they face off against an actual villain, they’d be prepared because I revealed so many “villain” tricks. But this guy seems different. He’s very energetic. He talks to people, and he doesn’t act creepy. Except the part where he talks to me and killing me.
Just before he attacks, I have to attack and go hard. This guy’s unpredictable. I have to tell the heroes in a villain-y way that he’s coming for them!
My idea isn’t that great, but it is an idea. I’m gonna team up with this guy. Once he is in his villain form, I just have to befriend him, and make him “help” me defeat the heroes. When I saw him leave the bus, I went with him. I was lucky that he lives in the same neighborhood as me. So when I walk inside my apartment, I go outside the backdoor and spy on him. I see he walks into B-1. He lives in B-1! Alright. Now I just have to wait for him to come out his little hole.
*8:00* I hear a door open. It’s a guy in a funky costume. It’s him! He looks like a bug, but I role with it. I put on my costume and climbed up the house. Before he tries to walk down the stairs on his apartment, I jumped in front of him. “Hey, buddy. I’m a villain here. Lookin’ to fight some heroes?” I say. “You’re acting weird,” he says to me, “are you one of the heroes?” I wasn’t nervous about that, I was nervous that he was going to find out my true intention. “But yeah. I’m looking to fight some heroes. Wanna wreck some cars?” He asks me. I sigh as a relief, and agreed.
I took a random person, and flew up into the sky. “I’m not going to harm you, just scream help, and I might not drop you from this height.” She, terrified, nodded. “Help! Please somebody help!” She screams. *Wow, she screams impressively loud!* I think to myself.
*part 2 coming out soon i’m tired, i wanna eat, i don’t want to do this | 2021-05-20T12:00:50 | 2021-05-20T10:45:22 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] The year is 2089. The Casita from Encanto has grown taller with each new generation of magical Madrigals. Hundreds of 5th and 6th cousins live together in this once vibrant tower, fractured into gangs and fighting for dominance. | Mirabel sighed as she approached Casita's massive front door. She paused, allowing herself the comfort of memories of happier times, when she could almost have reached both sides of the door. It was now wide enough that four wagons could pass through it abreast, and the faces on it almost too numberless to count.
She didn't need to count. There were three hundred and eleven. She could rank them all from oldest to youngest, starting with herself.
There had been three hundred and twelve three days ago.
Antonio was waiting just inside the door, a young Andean condor and an adult Hyacinth macaw perched on his red-footed walker. He hid it behind his glasses, but he was clearly crying. Mirabel couldn't blame him. She hated what she needed to do here, even hated herself in small measure for being the one who had to do it. Not even Isabella at the height of her powers could have grown a tree harder to prune than the family one.
Several of the other children of the original Familia were here, especially from Pepa's side of the original Trio: Antonio's three, Camilo's three, Dolores' five. Antonio's youngest was Fernando, Diego's father, and he was crying even harder. Carlos' parents were absent. Maybe they had already said their goodbyes; maybe they couldn't bear to say them at all.
Waiting would only make it harder. Mirabel drew a breath, then said clearly, "Carlos Sanchez. Diego Madrigal."
Casita responded instantly. With a cacophony of rumbling, rattling, and rolling, two heavily muscled men in their early twenties were dumped unceremoniously into the courtyard from wherever they had been holed up. They looked at her for only the briefest of moments before they saw each other.
Then they went for their guns.
Mirabel had been prepared for this, even though she wished she hadn't needed to be. Far above, the normally sedate entrance to her penthouse sparked and then burned golden, brightly enough that anyone who looked up from the courtyard at that moment could have seen the light.
There was a sudden rush of wind, and both of their first shots went wide of each other. She took Diego's gun first--he was the better shot--and crushed it into an unrecognizable lump of metal. Carlos got a second shot off as she turned for him, which caught her in the leg, but didn't slow her down for more than a stride, and then his handgun met the same fate as Diego's. A moment later, kudzu burst forth from the bricks beneath both of their feet, and the men were immobilized from the waist down.
Mirabel sat down before them and unwrapped a burrito that she had made for herself not long before this encounter and started eating it. The bleeding stopped. She might have said the pain vanished, too, but the pain in her heart remained, and that was worse. The first time she had been shot, she had not reacted so stoically, but that was pushing sixty years ago now.
"Is that everything you have to say for yourselves?" she asked. "Why?"
Carlos gritted his teeth at her. "As if you'd ever understand."
Mirabel blew a breath upwards, rustling her bangs. "You might be right. I probably wouldn't. Jose was your cousin."
"Third cousin once removed, and he was a cheat and a snitch. He got what he deserved."
Mirabel shook her head. What had happened to them all. "Diego?"
Diego was the one that this was going to hurt more, because he was the closer to being salvageable, but he'd crossed the line one too many times. He actually wasn't even looking at her. He was looking to her left, into the corner where Antonio stood with his cane.
"Abuelo, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I got carried away!"
"I'm sorry, too, chico," he said.
"Anything else?" Mirabel asked.
"What good would it do?" Carlos asked. "Don't act like you even care about us. You're just pissed that you won't get our gifts, too, when we're dead and you're still standing there looking like your quinceañera just ended."
Mirabel's eyes hardened. Anger was easier than tears anyway. She lunged forward and grabbed Carlos by the back of his shaved head. "You feel this?" she said, giving him a painful squeeze. "I'm sure you'd love to have that kind of strength, to make it easier for you to hurt people. Do you know what the first thing I did with my sister's strength was? I carried her *casket*, you little bitch. I have these gifts because my sisters and cousins and mom and aunt and uncle and abuela are *dead*. You're lucky your *bisabuela* Pepa isn't here. There'd be a lot more than just dark clouds in the sky right now." She cast an angry look at the overcast heavens. Abruptly, she let him go and wiped her eyes. Apparently anger *and* tears was even easier than either of them.
She turned back towards the entrance to Casita.
"Tia Mirabel, please, I'm sorry!" Diego begged. "I didn't know what Carlos was going to do, I shouldn't have done it!"
Mirabel tapped her ears. "I could hear you. You knew well enough."
"Abuelo, please, talk to her! Papa!"
Antonio looked twenty years older than he was, which was saying something, since he and Luna celebrated their fiftieth anniversary just before his grandson had agreed to play wingman in a murder. "I ... can't," he said in a broken voice.
"Can't!" echoed the macaw on his walker. Antonio snarled and swatted it away.
Mirabel knew what he meant. Antonio was one of the few who had seen Mirabel's first vision after Bruno died. The one where Casita shattered if Mirabel *didn't* prune the tree of its rotten branches. The fact that Abuela had been wrong about Mirabel didn't mean that there wouldn't be rotten branches someday later. Abuela had never lived to see the day. Probably for the best--she might have brought forth a firestorm more violent than the one that consumed the raiders when the Encanto was born.
*Why do I have to do the things I hate to protect the things I love?*
Mirabel took her fingernail and scratched two faces off the door of Casita.
On two different balconies facing each other high above, two doors went dark. She felt the house breathe a sigh of relief as the weight of the rotten branches was lifted from it. It was the only comfort she could feel in the moment.
Antonio collapsed and would have cracked his chin on his walker if Fernando hadn't caught him.
"Get out of my house," Mirabel said to the two men on the floor. The kudzu released them, and they shuffled out the door into the gloom. She looked around at the other members of La Familia that had come to watch--maybe sixty of them, all of the older generation that probably needed the warning the least, plus Jose's brothers and sisters. She shook her head; she had no further words to offer now.
*There will come a time when I can't do this anymore, even if it costs us Casita. I'm not meant to be this person*. And as she realized that, the words came unbidden to her from long ago.
*Look at this home, we need a new foundation.* |
The Casita tree has been steadily growing for some two thousand years, lovingly tended to by the Madrigals, that magical race with the deft penchant for tax evasion. Having reached a height of three hundred metres as of 2089, the tree towers over nearby farmlands and holds the height record among all flora by a considerable margin.
More unique to the Casita is the naturally occurring tunnel network that coils around the trunk with numerous entry points that the Madrigal population uses as their primary place of residence. A census conducted in 2080 revealed that the tree was home to numbers in excess of 4,000.
Interestingly, Madrigal cuisine is centred around the Giant Fawn Bug, the Casita's one and only parasite, and so speculation that the tunnel evolved as an invitation for a symbiosis with the Madrigals has gained notable credibility in the natural sciences.
For reasons unknown to anyone, most Madrigals are either 5th or 6th cousins of each other. Dating apps were thus outlawed in 2075 following two generations of "accidental fringe incest", in which the risk of subsequent child deformations was relatively low, but that of psychic turmoil remained high enough to place an untold burden on the Madrigalian mental healthcare system.
Since then, tensions have only worsened, sexual tension becoming rife throughout the entire community, the wellspring from which much political unrest and rivalling hostility emerged to eventually destabilise their economy.
Being subject to the governance and taxation code of Equatorial Guinea -- where the Casita is located -- to avoid bankruptcy pursuant to the crash, the Madrigals developed a formidable proficiency with tax evasion, less than $20US having been paid the past decade. Nearly half the population have since acquired a masters in taxation law, all of whom are employed by the council's treasury department.
These tax lawyers eventually coalesced into well-organised social networks outside the legal profession, and by 2085 they would branch off into their own political district. Hostility with fawn bug farmers, who account for a matching 45% of the populace, rapidly grew from 2086.
Today, communication between each side is strictly limited to the render of necessary services. The lawyers to provide the farmers legal council, the farmers to provide the lawyers their food. Interactions of a divergent nature to either of these scenarios, with the exception of sporting activities, are punishable by death.
In spite their reliance on one another, still the struggle for dominance has proven to be highly persistent. Games of marbles on quarterly sports days have thus become heated to levels that have ended up fatal. More than forty deaths in 2088 alone, which was a 7% increase on the year previous.
The annual Encanto festival is the one calendar destination where arms are lowered for the sake of tradition. It's also the only daytime rendezvous point available to Debbie and Dave, two highschool sweethearts who were separated by the divide. The vast vocational distance between fawn bug farming and tax law was too great for either to realistically consider a change of career, and by laws that couldn't be circumvented, they would be forced to work in their most suited roles anyway.
The barrier walls erected between the East tunnel and the West tunnel were tirelessly patrolled by the Madrigal military on both sides -- the last remaining cooperation between them.
Debbie, however, had other plans. Raised as a warrior nun before going to law school, she knew well the methods of hypnosis that could be weaponised against authority figures; and by his own hand, Dave knew how to dig holes.
After six months of planning and careful preparation, the under-passage was complete, and Debbie had over a hundred patrolman hypnotised in a perpetual state of orgasm -- which particular method had shown to have the most efficacy. Guards did their best to hide their physical euphoria in daylight hours, however, while independently on-duty at night, invariably they would each of them retire to one of many hiding spots to indulge in themselves, and frequently each other. Guards marrying other guards subsequently became a cause for necessary social reform to the benefit of the LGBT community.
Debbie and Dave met each other six midnights a week, their contact averaging four hours each, sleep deprivation held barely at bay by a succession of powernaps through the day. Hands held, they would walk to the wooden outcrop of the outdoor opening and sit and talk, and hold each other, faces lightless but for the filtered moonlight.
Whether they were 5th or 6th cousins mattered to neither. All that mattered was their voices, and touch; their two hearts in that nightly twilight dance, away from it all, looking out across those blue valleys, together. Forever, until forever ended, the graffitied wall come down, sat in their home, twins on the way, a boy and a girl, neither to be farmer, or tax lawyer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | 2022-05-12T05:39:57 | 2022-05-12T04:36:39 | 415 | 54 |
[WP] It started just before you realized you were pregnant. Dragons showing up around your home. Small ones first, no bigger than sparrows, with increasingly larger ones as time went on. Now you're going into labor, and a golden dragon, big as a hill, is coming over the horizon. | The first time I saw a dragon, it was in a New York City subway car. I was 22 years old and hadn't slept in something like 60 hours - I'd been pushing myself to finish a first draft of my thesis to give to my adviser. I still managed to turn it in late, shooting it off on a Saturday morning. I had then made the mistake of pushing myself to stay awake just a few hours longer so I could grab brunch with friends. I hadn't wanted to cancel on them, but it was probably more rude to have shown up in the state I was in. I hadn't showered in days and was too exhausted to finish a sentence.
"Jess, are you ok?" Ellen had asked, a note of judgement in her voice. On her 21st birthday I'd held back her hair as she threw up what had to be an entire bottle of jaeger and half her birthday cake, so I felt like her judging me was a little unwarranted.
"Just... um, yeah, sorry. Just tired." I'd replied.
"You're drooling on the menu," Ellen had pointed out with a half raised eyebrow.
I said my goodbyes, and left brunch early.
By the time I got on the subway, I had one goal. Stay awake long enough to make it to my apartment in Queens. Then I could collapse and sleep through the rest of the day and all of the next. All through the ride, I muttered to myself and gave my arms little slaps to help stay conscious, knowing I looked like a crazy person. It was a bit ironic when only a few moments later I actually became a crazy person.
I was staring at an ad for tooth whitening, into the eyes of a stock photo model with a very wide grin. As I watched, his shining teeth elongated, his eyes and nose stretching out to something more reptilian and taking on the bright green hue of his shirt. He twisted out from the ad, head pushed forward by a serpentine neck, and I was now staring into the face of a dragon. He weaved around the other passengers, who were oblivious to his presence, and rested with his snout inches from my face.
"It's your stop," he told me. I realized the subway had stopped moving, and that he was right. I pushed my way out the doors right before they closed. I managed to wander home without further hallucinations, and slept.
At first, I chalked the experience up to exhaustion. But there were more dragons. Originally, they appeared when I was stressed or strained. I saw them during the speaking portion of my German final. I saw them when my boyfriend dumped me for a Freshman. I saw them whenever I got drunk, which was often in the weeks after my boyfriend dumped me for a Freshman.
"Do you... do you think she's pretty? Like, prettier than me, I mean," I asked a red scaled beast over a Heineken, slurring my words.
"No, not at all!" it replied.
I started seeing the dragons all the time. They followed me on sidewalks, into lecture halls, into coffee shops. I knew they weren't real, but knowing I was crazy was driving me crazy. I finally cracked and saw a psychiatrist, and it barely took a session to get diagnosed as a schizophrenic. And then came the therapy. And the pills. Lots and lots of poisonous happy pills, that didn't make me feel happy but did make me feel numb. Like there was a gauzy curtain between me and the rest of the world.
But the curtain was also a shield. The dragons were gone, and because they were gone I moved on with my life. I graduated, got a job, left New York for Boston. I lived, and lived a pretty normal life. But then at 28, I went and got myself pregnant.
I thought about not keeping it. But I did want kids, and I was in a stable place in my life. I had no clue who the father was, but I'd been raised by a single mom and turned out just fine. Well, other than the dragons. And since I couldn't stay on my particular cocktail of medications without risking hurting the baby, the dragons and I were about to get reacquainted.
They followed me to pregnant yoga. To my birthing class. To my future mommy's support group, though I couldn't exactly mention dragons to the other women while they were complaining about how weird their nipples were starting to look.
I made peace with my dragons. I was about 2 months in when I realized I was pregnant and went off my meds, and I knew I'd be dealing with the dragons for the next 7, so I figured it was better if we all just got along. I chatted to them in my apartment, like it was normal. I tried to pet one under my desk at work when none of my coworkers were looking, though obviously there was nothing really there. I asked them their opinions on baby names, and joked they were more excited about me having a kid than I was.
"We are," replied the golden dragon, the one who seemed to lead the rest. He grinned at me with a snort of flame.
When Naomi was born, she was the most beautiful baby in the world. Big blue eyes and pink jelly bean toes. She gurgled at me like the world's sweetest song. The doctors told me there was something wrong with her heart. That even though I'd gone off my meds to protect her, she'd still come out sick. I knew they had to be wrong. She was perfect, couldn't they see she was perfect?
The doctors took her from me. They put her in the newborn intensive care unit and hooked her up with tubes. I watched her through a glass wall, guarding her as best as I could. They told me she died a few hours later, but once again I knew they were wrong. I'd watched the dragons come for her, taking her from the tubes and the pain and the sterile white walls of the hospital. She'd climbed on the golden one's back, singing him her gurgling song, and as a reward for the music he'd flown her away to somewhere safe.
I never did go back on the meds. I wanted to keep talking to the dragons. They brought me stories of my daughter and her wild adventures as she grew up in a far off, fantastical world. And I hoped that maybe if I kept talking to the dragons, one day they would take me to that world. That one day, maybe, I'd be able to see my daughter again.
\---
Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism welcome. If you enjoyed this story, you can find more like it at r/kaypella | The news told us not to worry…
That the dragons wouldn't bother us…
Then tell me, why is there a massive golden dragon, standing in my way, as I'm going into labor! It’s hard enough to breathe and I’m trying not to panic. Yet, the dragon stands there with its wide eyes and each of its breaths blowing past me like a gust.
Stay calm, stay calm…
I figured we weren’t going to be able to make it to the doctor so we called a mid-wife, for the fourth time, since none seem to want to come close to a home surrounded by dragons. Luckily one of them seemed brave enough to endure the challenge.
Because for the love of god, this isn’t Dungeons & Dragons. I just want this over with already!
A beautiful baby girl was born. I was apparently sleep for hours after having finally given birth, so this is the first time I got to see her face… That and the face of a giant dragon peaking in through the bedroom window.
It not being strange at all.
However, my beautiful baby girl was like a little hot potato, all bundle up in the blanket we had prepared for her. She slowly peaked open her eyes, the first time I got to see them and they resembled the blue eyes of the dragon looking in through the window.
Slit pupils and all.
“Wha-what? Why does she have the same eyes as that dragon?” I ask the mid-wife.
“I don’t know madam.” She says.
I look around for my husband and find him standing on the other side of the room glancing out the window.
“Dear?”
He look over his shoulder without fully facing me.
“My love, and my beloved newborn daughter. I must confess. I didn’t think time would fly as quickly as it did.” He says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“This body of mine, it isn’t my true body. For the man you fell in love with is that golden dragon, you see there in the window.” He says.
“I… I…”
Apparently I fainted, or so the mid-wife told me. I don’t remember. All I know is some time has passed.
I sat up in my bed, with the mid-wife at my side holding my daughter.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Madam, he’s no longer here.” She says.
“What? Did he leave?” I ask.
“No madam, he’s here. He left a message for you, ‘come outside’ he said.” She says.
How dare he! My body is weak and he’s asking me to move? Come outside, he said. Our home is two stories, going down these stairs won’t be a laughing matter. Although, I suppose I’m grateful to our maids for escorting me to the front door.
They opened the door, and there lining the horizon was the golden dragon and several others.
The golden dragon walks closer, and stops right in front of the house.
Right in front of me.
The dragons mouth opens and my husbands voice comes out.
“Its me.” It says.
“Its who? I’m sorry, but you are?” I ask.
“Your husband.” It says.
“You? …What does this even mean?”
“My human body was only temporary… But, it is true that my love for you is real.” He says.
“So… our daughter then?” I ask.
“Is what unites our kind. Our daughter born of man and dragon.” He says.
His blue eyes gaze into mine. The sincerity in them. The honesty in them. They still look like his, even as a dragon. I don't want to admit… and I hate that he’s a dragon now…
But I still love him. | 2018-10-28T06:35:35 | 2018-10-28T06:31:32 | 971 | 168 |
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.” | Holding my baby boy for the first time was supposed to be one of the best moments of my life, but when the doctor handed him to me, my heart sank. His hair is dark, like his father's, but impossibly long for a baby. I knew what was coming, even before the doctor opened her mouth.
"I'm sorry, but it seems your son has... Protagonist syndrome."
Protagonist Syndrome is one of those things that crops up every couple of years. A child is born with special eyes, or special hair, or some kind of odd birthmark, and then they get wrapped up in some kind of story. The lucky ones get wrapped up in silly teenage romance or some kind of children's game, but the unlucky ones... those poor unlucky ones... are doomed to see everything they love stripped from them until they snap and follow their destiny. The really unlucky ones get Late-Stage Protagonist Syndrome, where their Protagonist traits aren't noticeable until the story begins, they don't even get the chance to watch out for plot hooks, to try and pick what story they're a part of.
We never thought it would happen to us. There were no Protagonists in the family, so Hereditary Protagonism was out. No special jobs, no special bloodline, there's absolutely nothing special about us, and we like it that way. When we had our daughter Susan, she came out just fine, save for the small birthmark on her back, which the doctors assured us wasn't an issue. Birthmarks alone are rarely a sign of Protagonist Syndrome after all, unless they're specifically shaped, which hers wasn't.
"Ma'am?" says the doctor, snapping me out of my trance. I was exposition dumping. Shit, it's beginning already.
"I'm sorry" I said "It's a lot to process. I think it might already be starting"
"So soon?" says the doctor, shocked "That's... That's not good." She lifts her radio and says "Doctor Griffin, we have a Code Prologue in room 224, Doctor Griffin to room 224 please."
I stop to think of my husband. He'd gone to pick up Susan from school and take her to the hospital. She's so excited to have a little brother, saying that it was everything she'd dreamed of. I have no idea how to break the news to her, or to my husband for that matter. This birth will change our lives, and probably not for the better.
As if on cue, a nervous-looking nurse ushers my husband and daughter into the room. My husband looks grim, he's already heard the news, he starts quietly talking to the doctor in the corner. Susan looks confused as she walks over to me.
"Mommy?" she says "Whats Pro-tag-on-ist mean?"
"It means your brother is very special" I reply, trying to sound calm "He's going to be a part of a big story someday."
"No fair!" she pouts "I wanna be in the big story too! I wanna help my baby brother!"
"Suzy sweetie" I say, trying to keep from bursting into tears "Don't say that. Stories can be very dangerous, you don't want to get hurt, do you?"
"I... guess not." she says "But I still wanna help..."
I adjust my son in my arms, leaning him against my chest. Despite all of this, I still love him, I know the road ahead is going to be rough, but I know things are going to turn out alright.
"Hey mommy!" says Suzy "He's got a birthmark on his back just like me! Does that mean I get to be in the story too?" | I felt the fear sink in right away. No. First I get pregnant as a man, then this. I never thought it could happen to me. You watch the documentaries and think this couldn't happen to me, but here I was with a starry eyed glowing child, his blue hair standing straight up. It all goes racing through my head at once, why me? How often will I die only to come back? How often will I endure the pain of losing a child? Will it be a simple slice of life or will the world as I know it cease to exist? Will I be the absent father character? I can feel the camera slipping from me to my child. It is beginning. I can hear the opening music. I can't fight.....the title card. | 2018-08-21T08:54:27 | 2018-08-21T06:37:28 | 16 | 11 |
[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. | Everyone has a quality that best defines them.
I was told that when I came of age it would be there, just like everyone else. Manifesting itself into a object or a living thing that I would have with me the rest of my life. Only I'm 3 years past due and no quality has manifested itself, the only human in recorded existence without a manifestation.
Today is my 21st birthday, I was awoken by a fluffy pink cat. My mother's manifestation, lazy but caring. I scratched it's head, only to have it's claws extend and begin hissing at my dresser. "OW! Damn thing, at least jump off me before you go all feral." I chided. Slinking out of bed I got up to investigate the dresser, on the top was a watch. Black as onyx it seemed to be emanating thick black shadows off it's surface, like smoke from a fire.
It gave me chills, yet I couldn't help but admire it's beauty. I got dressed and put on the watch, it felt warm on my skin. Like it was a part of me I'd lost and was now returned to its rightful place, I felt strong but an apathy seemed to wash over me. Enthralled by the tendrils of inky dark cascading off the watch, I was shocked when I heard a small mewl coming from under my bed. Bending down, I reached under the bed to retrieve mom's familiar. Only, it felt much heavier... and was its fur ever this thick?
Pulling the mass of fluff from under the bed, in my hands I was shocked to see a baby tiger. Its fur was white as the snow outside my window and it's eyes were a piercing red. It mewled again and cuddled up next to my watch on my wrist, pawing at it gently. A calm fell over me, it was blissful. I couldn't believe it, I finally got a manifestation. Realizing now that the watch wasn't a gift, a thought hit me. "Oh god..." I said aloud, "I have two familiars?!"
Gently, I placed the baby tiger down and took off the watch. Pacing the length of my room I thought on the situation in front of me. *Ok...Ok this is weird. I have never heard of two familiars ever being assigned to a person. Then again until me, no one has ever heard of a person unable to have a quality manifest itself for them. What do they mean?! A red-eyed white tiger? A watch that exudes darkness? I've never been particularly courageous or beautiful nor have I ever been particularly mean or evil...*
Just then I had an idea, I picked up the watch and wrapped it around ankle of the baby tiger. It's fur began to change colour, blackness seeped into it's paw and it began to hiss and mewl pitifully. I watched as it scratched at the watch on its ankle. Curiosity keeping me from helping the suffering entity. As it retreated to the underside of my pillow, I snapped out of my trance and took the watch off of it. Setting the watch down, I carefully lifted the pillow and cradled the baby tiger. It was licking it's paw, now stained black.
I cried, cradling the baby tiger. I did not know the watch would hurt it, I didn't know the darkness would taint it and scar it. But I did it anyway, I let it happen. It dawned on me then that these two objects represented me, they were manifestations of my best quality. I felt warmer and more happy with tiger near my chest, yet weak and frail. I gingerly picked up the watch again with disgust. I was about to throw it away when the tiger pawed at it again.
"What are you doing?!" I yelled at it. "This thing hurt you! Why would you go near it again?" The tiger rolled onto its back, it's red eyes staring into mine and gently played with the dangling strap of the watch. I felt a warm wave wash over me, a calm I'd felt when holding the tiger with the watch on. Curious, I placed the watch back on after all it hadn't hurt me before. The baby tiger mewled happily and jumped into my arms pawing at the watch with it's stained paw. Slowly the darkness seeped back into the watch and the tiger's paw became a brilliant white again.
It looked up at me and licked my face, mewling happily and curled itself up on my lap. I felt happier than I had in years, and I scratched the little tiger's head. Scooping him up, I walked downstairs to breakfast eager to tell mom the news.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lovely prompt! If you're lost on what his quality was well I guess I can give you some insight, it's stability. I hope I did a decent job and I hope you liked the story.
I have a subreddit with other stories r/TheYogiBearhaWrites check it out if you so wish. | "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". | 2017-01-20T13:00:41 | 2017-01-20T12:43:33 | 120 | 14 |
[WP] "Good to see you, Mr. Bond," the Queen said, sliding a file across her desk. "Your next target is a certain so-called detective who has been prying too deeply into national secrets." Bond flips open the file, glancing down at the name. "Sherlock Holmes." | Bond knocked firmly on the door to the apartment, expecting to be greeted by Ms. Hudson or Mr. Watson. It was unfortunate, but collateral damage was unavoidable. So he felt the relief as he heard the thin voice answer through the door. "Ah, Mr. Bond. Come to kill me, have you? Well it won't do for you to have to liquidate the entire block, now will it? Do come in." The door swung inward to reveal the tall, thin figure.
He stepped cautiously over the threshold and surveyed the landing for some trap. "Upstairs, I presume? Dead bodies in the hallways are a ghastly business. I suspect your employer would rather the body be found in my favorite smoking chair, perhaps surrounded by the syringes you've got in your left pocket."
Bond's hand went to his pocket instinctively. "You're quite perceptive, Mr. Holmes."
"Nobody likes an arselicker, James. It's unbecoming. And please, call me Sherlock. It's only right that a man's last moments on this Earth are spent speaking to someone as an equal." The thin man nodded up the stairs. "And we are equals here, are we not?"
Bond eyed him carefully, looking for weapons. Apart from the sash drawing his dressing gown closed, he seemed to be completely unarmed. "If you insist, Sherlock." And he followed the man up the stairs into the sitting room.
It felt to James like stepping back in time, the old decor, the over-stuffed chairs. A portal to the 19th century, hidden within the frame of the door. He paused on the threshold. "Bringing the gun and the needles was, perhaps, a miscalculation. It's not often that a druggy shoots himself in the back of the head during an overdose." Sherlock waved a long arm toward the chair closest to the window before laying his hands on the nearest one. "You'll forgive me, but I'd like you to take a seat in that chair. This one is my favorite."
"Perhaps I'd rather not sit down." James countered.
"Perhaps." Sherlock settled into the chair. "But you will, because of your curiosity."
Bond drifted around the puffy chair as Sherlock carefully lit his pipe. "Surely you want to know how I knew today was the day and now the hour that you would come to kill me. Or did you think it coincidence that Ms Hudson, a woman who hasn't left this house since Sainsbury's began delivering groceries, suddenly found herself with pressing business in Westminster?"
He looked the man over. Unarmed, seated, and well out of arm's reach from the chair. There was little harm in playing Sherlock's game, and listening to monologues was an all too common hazard in his line of work. Still, to be careful, James drew his gun and laid it in his lap as he sat in the chair.
The chair seemed old, as old as the man who owned it, and nearly as uncomfortable. James shifted, feeling the tacks that held the stuffing press against his back before looking at Sherlock. "Westminster? That does seem unlikely."
"Indeed, well when one has been given a job, it must be seen through. Something I'm sure you understand. Ms. Hudson understands that perfectly, and so she will see the task I gave her through to the end." Sherlock leaned forward and studied the spy opposite him. "But that is immaterial. You want to know what I know. *How* I know."
A puff of smoke and Sherlock prodded a log on the fire with an iron poker. "I know, for instance, that you favor your left hook when sparring, despite being right handed." The poker dropped into its stand. "I know that you were relieved not to have to kill Ms. Hudson or Dr. Watson, despite your reputation as a cold-blooded killer. And I know that you were sent here to kill me by the Queen."
"Well, that last one is hardly a revelation, Sherlock. I'm the queen's man."
"Indeed you are, or rather you were." Sherlock sat back and James shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I'm not sure quite what you did to upset her, my dear boy, but I'm afraid it must have been quite the faux pas." Sherlock continued hastily. "But it hardly matters. Once my associate phoned me that you had left your house, your fate was sealed."
The fireplace seemed to roar in James' ears for a second as Sherlock finished. He looked at the sedate fire, but when he looked back to Sherlock he found the room beginning to swim. He reached for his gun, but his arms felt like someone else's and the weapon clattered across the floor. Sherlock stood and kicked it into the other room as James fell from his chair after the weapon. "You're wondering how on Earth I poisoned you." James mouthed the word chair. "Ah, good! Yes, I would never allow my guests to sit in a chair so poorly stuffed. Do you know what else I know, James? I know you aren't worried, you've been poisoned by your quarry before. You're already plotting your escape. Trying to envisage which room in this house will be your prison. Trying to predict what improvised weapons I might leave within arms reach. Relishing the exact moment when you'll interrupt my ramblings with a sudden strike." James struggled to breathe as Sherlock bent down and clasped his jaw in a vice-like grip. "But you've forgotten something, my dear James. I already have someone to listen to my monologues and he'll be here shortly to help me dispose of your body."
James felt the man's hands in his pocket, fishing out the syringes. "Goodbye, Mr. Bond."
\---
Sherlock Holmes bowed low as he entered the room before taking a seat and passing the file carefully across the table. "It was unfair not to tell him he was in a duel, not a hunt, Your Majesty."
The Queen sat back stiffly in her chair. "How did you know I had told the two of you to kill each other?"
"Elementary, Your Highness." | I have failed. Maybe it is for the best.
​
You see, it was shortly after World War II. There was this old guy, a private investigator, born on 6th January 1854. His name was Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. And there was this young guy, a secret agent, born on 11 November 1920. His name was Bond, James Bond.
Mr. Bond was hired by the Queen herself. It was one of her first tasks after her inauguration in 1953. You see, things were complicated. This was about war, about a secret operation that won the past war. I still don't understand why the Queen thought that a 99 year old man was a threat to national security. But she ordered the investigation into Mr. Holmes. Bond was assigned to collect evidence. This was not supposed to be a hit job.
One thing that needs to be understood is that we were patriots. We believed in the British Empire. We believed in all of those things. So there were we, putting our heads together. We deliberated about those things, and then we advised the Queen. It was always like that. But back then, we deemed it important to keep this major operation secret, and when we saw that Holmes talked to Her Majesty's favourite scientist Alan Turing, we had to take action.
Bond investigated. He found the links between Holmes and Turing. I don't know if he was tasked with killing Holmes. But it was in October 1953 that I went to his apartment in the Baker Street, house 221B. Nowadays it is home to a small museum, back then Holmes lived there. I talked to Holmes, I advised him to stop talking to Turing. I knew about the past of this great detective, and I wanted him to not be endangered by his own merits.
In November 1953, I read the news, or rather the internal MI5 news. It was in our report. James Bond had killed a Soviet spy in 221B Baker Street. Then I read through the file, and there was a simple info that let me put two and two together: Sherlock Holmes, as his biographer Arthur Conan Doyle had written, had died on 5 March 1927. As I said, I have failed. I have failed to protect the man of whom I thought it was Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it is for the best.
As a postscriptum, Turing died a few months later under mysterious circumstances. Some believe he killed himself. Some believe it was an accident. But the Queen was relentless. She assigned that job again to James Bond, it was him who had to get rid of Alan Turing.
​
A few decades later, the secret came out. The operation in Bletchley Park is common knowledge now. Many believed that the story of James Bond is fictional. But Ian Fleming worked there, he based his novels on true people. And just like that, my real name is not James Bond. And there was more than one James Bond. But we told Ian our biography and he used it, so as a joke we stuck to that name also.
There just is one thing that bothers me: We all still don't know who killed the false Sherlock Holmes. | 2019-11-05T03:27:27 | 2019-11-05T01:41:25 | 253 | 24 |
[WP] A serial killer has abducted you, but says you may go free if you can convince nosleep that you truly need help. The sub is your only contact with the outside world. | 872-52-3381. That's my social security number. It's real too. Seriously, check it. I have a few thousand dollars in my bank account and few thousand more in credit. It's all yours. If you want, you can put me under a mountain of debt I will ever climb out of. But before you do that, please help me.
My name is Alan Schriar and I'm locked in a dark room with only a laptop to light the way. I don't know how I ended up here. The last thing I remember is bringing home groceries from the local Cub Foods in Fulton, Missouri. Then, nothing. I woke up here not too long ago with instructions to post here. Whoever kidnapped me told me that I had all the information you guys would need to save me.
Look, I know this is strange, but my cellphone is gone, and I'm pretty sure I'm being watched. I don't know what's going to happen to me if you guys don't help and I don't want to find out.
Please guys. Could someone at least submit a police report?
---
W432342234182. That's my driver's license number. My birthday is January 19, 1994. Yeah, I'm a Capricorn. Nobody responded to my last post, I don't think you guys believe me. My kidnapper, he doesn't think so either. He says that if nobody responds soon, he's going to have to punish me.
I don't know that that means. But please guys. I'm scared. My fingers are shaking so much it's hard to type. My kidnapper is definitely male. I never got a good look at him, only heard his voice.
Guys, I know this seems like a stupid scam or some trick. I don't know what you think this is nor do I know what kind of things people post here, but please, I'm begging you. I'm scared.
Check my driver's license number. Check my birthday. Check my social security. It's all true. Someone, god damn it. I'm begging you. Please.
---
The walls are cement? I'm not actually sure. I've never been one to care about that type of thing. I spent more time staring at a computer screen than wondering what kind of walls my apartments had. But there can't be that many cement buildings around, right?
The guy's name is Roger, at least that's what he says. I think I'm still in Fulton. He had a southern accent so we're at least in the south.
He... he hurt me. I don't want to get into the details, but it fucking hurts and if I don't go to a hospital soon, I don't know.
Look, just pick up the phone, dial 9-1-1 and report me missing. That's all I ask. I'm begging you to do so. You don't have to find me, you don't have to solve this crime, just let the police know that I'm in trouble.
At least comment. Roger's watching. He's always watching. If you just comment, maybe he won't punish me again. I'm not asking for much. You don't have to call the cops, you don't have to find me, just comment on this post. PLEASE!
---
You want to know what he did to me? You want to know what happened because you fuckers didn't have the god damn decency to even leave a comment!? I'll give you a hint. I'm typing with one hand you pieces of shit. He broke them all, my fingers. First it was my pinky and then when nobody commented on my posts, he took the rest of them. He did it with a door, held my finger to the door and slammed it shut, one by one.
Fuck you guys. Fuck you. You pieces of shit, you're letting me die. You're killing me!
I got a good look at the guy. He's bald, green eyes(?), about 5'6'', which is my height. He's a skinny guys, probably weighs 120 and he injected me with something. It makes me weak, not able to fight him off.
Report this. Do it. How great do you think you'll feel when my name turns up in the local newspaper? Alan Schriar found dead after over eleven million people ignored his cries for help.
You thought this was a prank? You think this is a joke? Well fuck you. I'm telling you its not. It's not!
Call the cops. Look for me. Cement building, oak doors, working electricity, and in Fulton. There can't be too many buildings like that. Do it!
But before you do. Leave a comment. For the love of God just leave a god damn comment.
---
He says this is my last chance. The clock on the laptop reads 3:34 AM, but it started at midnight when I turned it on so I doubt that's right. I don't know if it's night or morning or if somewhere along the way I fell asleep and it's an entirely different day.
You want to know what he took from me next? My toes. He did it with garden shears. Then he bandaged them real tight, even gave me antibiotics so they don't get infected. It hurts so bad. I can't even twitch without the pain stabbing me over and over again.
Leave a comment. Just comment guys, I'm begging you. You can take all my money, use my credit card, just leave a comment. Don't call the cops, don't try to find out where I am, just leave a FUCKING COMMENT!
Seriously. This isn't a joke. I don't know what I can say to convince you that this isn't a joke.
My name is Alan Schriar. My social security number is 872-52-3381. My birthday is January 19, 1994. I play the guitar in my spare time. I drink coffee at the Caribou on the corner of Sherman and Dunhill. I just started dating this girl I met on Tinder, Mariah. She's cute.
Leave a comment. Even if it's to tell me this is bullshit, even if its to tell me that you're going to take everything I have and not do shit to help me. Just leave a comment. That's it. That's all I'm asking for.
Please.
---
EDIT: Hello friends. My name is Roger. I just want you to know that Alan read each and every one of your comments. He quoted them to me, begging me to let him live. Thank you for playing along in our little game. I hope you guys are around for the next one. | Look, I know most of you are are in your early to mid twenties. I know that you read these sort of things to get a deep sense of wonder in an otherwise listless pit of existence. You want to sometimes believe these stories are true and hell maybe in some alternate universe they are but this one... I'll spare you the cliche.
I've been trapped by the Zodiac Killer or maybe it's his protege I'm not sure entirely, that's just what he calls himself. The year is 2017, Trump is our president, I'm not some angsty teen looking for some cheap kicks or a well-known writer. I've been sentenced to death and I need you, as readers, to believe me. This post has been deleted about 7 times within the last hour because one of the automoderator bots has detected an actual residential address so I'll try to be as clear as I can without putting that in just please... for the love of god before he comes in again and removes another finger.
I was cruising the U.S. and decided my next trip was Florida after an unpleasant trip to Carrowinds where two rides broke down on me in the same day, after a few hours of riding my fatboy leasurely along I decide this place will be nice.. it's got some fireworks, ourdoor movies (where have these been?), miniature golf, went fishing, and scuba diving all wrapped into one place. Now unfortunately since I was riding solo with only the neccessities of the road I of course didn't bring my scuba gear and this, dear readers is where I fucked up.
I sat and watched people dive in for hours into this beautiful aquarium and was greeted by someone who was a little hesitant to go diving so he joined me on the bench and we chatted for a bit and he turned out to be an alright guy, hell, he even offered me his swim gear minus the mouth piece since he had actually just gotten off of his flight a few hours ago and wasn't up for it yet. I took him up on the offer and dove to my hearts content for maybe 30 minutes, not a long dive but well worth the trouble of putting the suit on. After I took off the gear, there he was, Teddy, he called himself, still sitting at the same bench. We decided to get some beer and watch whatever was on the TV until the bar decided to close down. At that point I hadn't actually figured out where I was going to sleep since sometimes I just unpacked my tent and slept wherever I could find space for it but Teddy wasn't having any of that, he said we could go back to his condo which coincidentally wasn't too far away. He called an Uber for us and said we could get my bike in the morning since both of us were far too drunk, me more than he, to drive safely. Fair enough.
He showed me around for a bit, nice ocean view and all that, really one of the nicer places I had ever seen, he must be loaded I thought to myself. We end up shooting some pool and shooting the shit. After a while he asks who I voted for, not that I really care for politics that much I just said I didn't vote. He seemed furious at the notion, he started screaming like a lunatic and seemingly from nowhere his hands produced a metal baseball bat and before I could react he cracked it across my head.
And now here I sit, two fingers already missing, making this whole thing very hard to type but please, just send help Reddit. I need you on this one, don't give me that "oh that's an interesting story" or "lol yah right" or whatever the fuck else you reply to these threads with, just send help!
First time (or maybe second) writing so be gentle please hah | 2017-06-03T17:20:28 | 2017-06-03T17:18:06 | 2,014 | 630 |
[WP] In the year 2028 society has collapsed, and all that is left is your small town. Every week, an empty train passes through the town; anyone that boards it never returns. One day you decide to get on. | The eerie roar of the Iron Howler screeches through White Orchard as it announces its arrival. It looms before me, its metal legs chittering against its bonds as it comes to a halt.
Some say the Howler was named after the wrought iron wolf sitting atop its head, while others say the howl in question was the result of a black-veiled wraith haunting its devourer, its screams as jarring as grating iron.
I step closer to the beast as I place a hand on its latticework of iron. To me, the Howl was not a single lone cry, but rather an orchestra of noise, a thousand unique sounds working in tandem. This ensemble of industry fascinates and terrifies me at the same time, and so it becomes a ritual for me to attend to the Howl and revel in the thrill every time it stops at White Orchard.
The elders usually try and stop the initiates from entering the Den, but most of us have already snuck in. It’s a rite of passage for the children in White Orchard. Most do it when they’re 12, the most plausible reason being a dare, and most do it only once, and never again, for the strange devices in the Den cast terrifying shadows, wrought in shapes God did not intend for nature.
The elders teach that farming and agriculture is the basis of all of God’s children, that a simple life lived is the best way to secure your passage to Heaven. To overcomplicate life with vices and sin such as alcohol, opiates and most of all, technology, would be an insult to God’s work.
The first thing they teach you is that the Den that all the apple orchards of our village lead to is unsafe and off-limits, precisely because of the technology that pervades its interior.
*“Do not rely on technology, for one day it will fail, and you will fail along with it.”* they said.
The day I was dared into the Den of the beast, I snuck my way through the haunting visages of unnatural, luminescent light and colors too bright for the human eye, only to reach a shadowy hall torn into half by a miniature chasm, covered in rusted metal and untended vegetation. As I peered over the edge, I could see that at the very bottom of the chasm lay two oddly shaped gouges in the ground, carved by the claws of the Iron Howler.
I was just in time to catch the Iron Howler’s arrival. It darted through the Den, pushing itself forward by tearing apart the metal underneath it, refreshing the gouges and filling the empty hall with echoes of that familiar roar. The shock of its sudden appearance sent me flying into one of the bushes that lined the chasm, scuttling into the safety of its undergrowth.
That was probably what saved me that day.
As I hid in the bush, I heard rushed footsteps. I plucked up the courage to peer over the shrubbery and I saw three elders, carrying crates, filled to the brim with the cream of the crop and disregarding every rule they had sworn by. I saw them place the crates into the gaping maw of the Iron Howler. I saw them drag a young girl into the Den by her pigtails, cut her throat and toss her still-writhing body into the belly of the beast, whispering to themselves as they stalked away.
*“The iron tithe is paid.”*
Those words haunt me every night as I toss and turn in bed. The image of that girl pleading for her life play across my memories every time I watch the Howler come into the Den, reminding me that the elders that we were supposed to trust are not what they seem.
I have had enough. The guilt, the morbid curiosity, it consumes me.
As my hands tense nervously on the strap of my rucksack, I take my first steps into the Iron Howler’s gaping maw, eyes shut tight. It shudders with pleasure as it feels me crossing into its body. I must have been its first willing sacrifice.
The shudder did not stop. After an excruciating wait, I heard a shattering thud as I feel the air rush out behind me. As I tear my eyes open, I discover that the Howler's jaws are clamped shut. I was trapped.
My eyes adjust to the darkness around me, and I discover the Iron Howler’s interior are not what it seems to be. My surroundings are surprisingly immaculate. There are what appears to be leather-bound armchairs tethered to its sides. The air inside its stomach smells sterile and unnatural, as if nature was not even here. No dead girls and no rotting apples. As I take a closer look, I find that the material that forms what I believed to be the Howler’s many glazed eyes was actually glass made from a strange material. I could see through it on this side, but on the other, it appeared dazed and unfocused.
I felt the Iron Howler lurch forward as it begins its descent, tearing me from my train of thought. As it begins to accelerate, drawing itself forward on its bizarre limbs, my eyes focus on an amazing sight.
The Howler leaves behind the palisades of White Orchard, and in the horizon, it’s eyes reveal what seems to be a labyrinthine network of huge buildings, emblazoned from foundation to peak with pulsating lights that hurt my eyes. The titanic structures scrape the sky, stretching far beyond any farm buildings I have ever seen. I hear a monotonous voice announce loudly as the Howler careens towards the city.
“Next stop, Valhalla Station."
EDIT: Alright guys, I've heard you, and I aim to please :) Look out for Part 2, coming soon! | The steam train slowly came to a halt, the smoke billowing behind it. The townspeople stared at it in trepidation, no one moving, no one breathing.
The doors slid open, and they stood transfixed.
He approached the rickety tracks, stopping to glance back at the onlookers. Nothing was left for him here. No family, no friends - no *her*.
He boarded the train.
****
He was alone. The polished wood seemed well used, impossibly old. It seemed almost unreal - but then, most things did, these days.
The train traveled at a steady pace, leaving a trail of smoke across the ruined landscape. There were no signs of life. At least, what he would consider life.
All the while, he thought of what awaited him. Who piloted this accursed machine. No single soul had returned, nor had arrived. Week after week it had come, taking whoever had boarded and leaving all others behind. Who were truly the damned - those that boarded, or those that stayed? Or was it all one and the same?
He did not know how long he was on the train, or what awaited him at the destination. His thoughts drifted, back to when life was simple, when it was meaningful. He thought of all that he had lost, and how little he had gained.
The train moved on, black smoke mixing with black sky. More darkness added to the world.
At times it clung to the windows, trying to reach inside.
****
Ryan awoke to the jolt of the train, sparks illuminating the suffocating black. The train was stopping.
He looked out the window. Darkness covered everything. He knew not if it was day or night.
This was no destination - this was a slaughter.
The door suddenly slid open, darkness creeping in, thick, penetrating. Ryan backed away from it, desperately reaching for his lighter. He knew it would be no use.
A woman burst through the black, her blazing lantern forcing the darkness to retreat. She pulled at the door, trying her best to get it to shut. She looked at him wildly, while he stood paralyzed.
"Help me, for God's sake!" she shouted, and he ran to her. Together they pulled at the door, dragging it with all of their might. At last it closed shut, and they fell to the floor in exhaustion.
She turned to him, pushing the hair from her eyes, breathing heavily.
"Where does this train lead?"
He took some time to answer. "I don't know," he said, with an air of resignation. "I really don't know."
The train began to move, leaving the town behind it; yet the darkness followed.
The darkness always followed. | 2018-08-22T22:56:02 | 2018-08-22T22:41:33 | 218 | 48 |
[WP] You would either die or become rich and powerful, so it was said. So here you stood at the testing grounds. Before you were three doors, each to a monstrous test of cunning: Tic-Tac-Toe, the Tactician; Rock-Paper-Scissors, the Shapeshifter; or Hangman, the Executioner. | I breathed heavily. The anticipation swelled within me as I stared at the doors in front of me. This was it. The moment I was waiting for.
I had worked for years to find this sacred place. As I stepped forth, I called to the game master. They say he responds to many phrases, though I prefer this one the best.
"Eeeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe." I chanted.
I had closed my eyes, yet remained still. I stood in place as I continued the chant.
"If he hollers, let 'em go, out goes, y, o, u!"
I opened my eyes. In front of me stood a boy, no older than 8. Messy blonde hair framed his blue eyes and freckled face.
"You rang?"
His voice caught me off guard. His was smooth, deep and rich. It flowed over me like molasses. I had been told to not trust the game masters form, but this really hammered home the point. This boy is not what he seems.
I steeled my nerves and spoke back to the game master.
"I have come to play your games."
His face broke into a grin, though it was cold. Unfeeling. As if he had to manually force himself to do it.
"Well, why didn't you say so? Behold, the games of choice."
He snapped his fingers, and 3 doors erupted from the moss covered cobblestone. They were visibly weathered, and like the ground itself, made from stone. They reminded me of the structures at Stonehenge, though something about them told me they were much older.
"Behold!" shouted the game master, with such accentuated bravado that I nearly stumble.
"The royal tests of old!"
He waved his hand, and the first door swung open with a loud grating noise.
"The Tactician! Or as you know him, Tic-Tac-Toe!"
Behold me was an old man, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in a brown jacket, jeans, and gold rimmed glasses, sitting an a leather arm chair. A glass of whiskey and an ashtray with a cigar still basking in the embers sat on the table beside him. However, despite his calm demeanor, I could see the intelligence in his cold, gray eyes. I could tell he was deciphering the best way to defeat me in armed combat. Based on how he stared at me, I think he would win.
The game master waved his hand again, and the second door opened.
"The Shape-Shifter, also known as Rock Paper Scissors!"
Inside, an amorphous blob floated aimlessly. But then, it quickly whipped back and forth, its form coming into view in less than a second. It was now a tall and lanky man, wearing a leather jacket, jeans and a white t-shirt while wielding a deadly looking butterfly knife. Then, as soon as it was one, it was another. The lanky man became broad shouldered and muscular. Its leather jacket warped into a tight grey t-shirt and black pants, while the butterfly knife melted into brass knuckles on either hand. Finally, it formed a thin blonde, her white dress seemingly expanding with the wind, until it looked like a living wall. Its cold blue eyes darted back and forth viciously, looking for the next target to encircle.
Finally, the game master waved his hand, opening the third and final door.
"And finally... the Executioner! Or as you know him... Hangman."
The final door opened to what can only be described as a monstrous hulk of a man. The black hood covered his entire face except for his small, squinted, pig-like eyes. In his hands, he brandished a large battleaxe, though that was nowhere near as terrifying as the towering monstrosity of wood and rope behind him; The gallows.
The game master turned back towards me.
"So!" he boomed "Which do you choose?"
I squinted at each of the contestants. After a brief moment, I chuckled.
The game masters smile faltered.
"Why do you laugh?" he demanded.
I continued laughing.
"Why, haven't I told you? I'll take as much fame and fortune as I can get. I suppose I'll have to take on all of them." | They said winning against any one of them can give enough riches to not have to worry about money in your lifetime and have so much power nobody will ever think about stealing them, but I wanted more. I wanted to defeat all of them. As such, I have learnt a spell that can give me an edge, no matter the challenge.
I entered the first room, and they challenged me in a game of tic tac toe.
Really? Tic tac toe? Child's play.
*10 games later*
As it turns out, the challenger also knows the perfect strategy to not lose. This will take a while to decide a winner.
*one eternity later*
How many games have we played? No matter, he just made a wrong move, probably due to tiredness. I just need to hold on for a while before I can sleep to my heart's desire.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Well that was fun, I'm not playing that game again. Anyway, let's see what the second room offers.
Oh wow, rock paper scissors, let's end this quick and easy with my mind reading spell.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
2 down, 1 more to go.
They decided to challenge me to a game of hangman... My months of combat training wasted.
They drew 4 lines, indicating 4 letters. And what do you know, it's "jazz", the "hardest" word to guess.
At least I can finally go to rest and enjoy my riches and power I guess... | 2021-06-01T09:15:47 | 2021-06-01T06:32:26 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | Maybe this is what it looked like when Moses parted the red sea. As I'm walking through the gate the collection of the damned that were milling about the entrance began to clear my path. Those with mobility issues were trying desperately to get out of my way before i reached them. *Charlton Heston like a mother fuck* I thought to myself.
This is my welcome to Hell. H - E - double hockey stick emojis. As I begin to wonder if everyone gets this treatment a puff of green smoke and the smell of excrement herald the arrival of a three armed demon.
"No, not everyone," he hisses. Great, he can read my mind. "A soul has neither mind nor secrets in His Dominion," he hisses again. I guess I'll have to put a lid on my sarcastic thoughts. "He demands your audience."
Stepping out of the shadows is a man. An inch or two taller than me, hair slicked back, tuxedo; a real handsome devil, so to speak.
"Ha-ha," he says in a monotone and sarcastic voice. Guess he can read my thoughts too. The wet fart smell is still lingering. "That never goes away," he says.
"If I'm just a soul without a mind, why can I still smell things?" My first words after death are nitpicking about the physics of Hell.
"We figured out a while ago that having to constantly smell foul odors is really unpleasant to souls. I think it adds a nice touch to their torment."
I'm able to prevent a sarcastic comment from forming in my mind, barely. I instead ask another question, "Why -"
"Are you here?" The Devil finishes my question for me. "You're here because you have been smote. You have been smote by the most high." I try hard to remember everything. I remember being sent to Hell by St. Peter. I remember ascending to the Pearly Gates. I remember...being hit by lightning?
"Close. When He does something of this magnitude the sound and sight of it resembles a lightning strike. The flash and resultant noise are the consequences of Him intervening in the physical realm to alter a detail. It's all very technical and boring. What's interesting is why He smote you."
Sure? I guess that's interesting. Me going to Hell, the Devil explaining to me how souls work, being killed by God...this whole ordeal has an 'above my pay-grade' feel to it.
"We'll discuss your pay-grade later. What you should be feeling is pride. You are the first thing that caused Him to lift a single finger in almost 2000 years. You should also be asking yourself, 'Why did He smite me?'"
"OK, I'll bite. Why did God smite me?"
"Think back over the past few months. Think long and hard. Who have you sent to Heaven?"
This just got strange. I can deal with God and the Devil being real, I can deal with the idea of Heaven and Hell. I can almost handle souls having to deal with smelling farts for eternity. But I cannot fathom how I have sent anyone to Heaven.
"That you don't know you've been doing it, and in doing so incurred His wrath, makes this situation more delicious."
What have I been doing that would send someone to Heaven? The Devil said it happened in the past few months. Did I change something recently? Two months ago I started going to a gambling support group. Is that it?
"You're getting warmer," the devil coaxes.
What did I do while I was there? I talked. I talked to strangers about gambling. I talked through what I thought were my subconscious motivations for gambling. I had a breakthrough during a session last week. I realized that my self destructive behavior was in response to something. But I never figured out what it was.
"No, you didn't uncover the root cause of your problem. But three of the others in your group figured out their own problems. And are now in the process of dealing with their issues." The Devil pauses. "Those three are now on a path to redeeming their souls and gaining entry to Heaven."
"So that's why God killed me?" I ask.
"Yes," he responds.
"But isn't that God's thing? People seeking forgiveness and redeeming themselves and blah blah blah?"
"Yes." Another one word response.
"Yeah, I don't get it."
A long sigh escapes the Devil, but it didn't come from his mouth. It kind of came out of all of him. I might be annoying him. "Yes," he replies, "you are. I'm sure you heard of God's plan. How He has a plan for everyone." The devil is speaking slowly now, as if he's trying to explain it like I'm five. "And I'm sure you know about free will. How everyone has the ability to make choices for themselves. These two ideals would seemingly be at odds with each other, except He solved the problem. He didn't solve it on his first try, mind you. He's tried solutions in the past, resetting the game to institute his new plan. Every calamity in the bible was true, it was Him wiping the slate clean to start fresh with a new strategy. The one He instituted most recently has worked perfectly until you."
Phew. I fucked up God's plan. Without even trying, no less. "So, what now?" I ask.
"We're all taking a wait and see approach. Will He reset again? Was removing you from the playing field enough to salvage this iteration? No one knows, except Him."
"Ah." So I had to die to give the rest of the world a 50/50 shot. What a dubious legacy. As the entirety of this information is sinking in I begin to appreciate how unfair it all seems. Unfair that I was killed without warning, unfair that God might hit the reset button on the Earth because he's mad at me, unfair that - wait a minute. "Hey, uhm Mr. Devil?"
"I assume you're referring to me," the Devil responds.
"Yes. You mentioned my pay-grade? As in, future pay-grade?"
"Certainly. You are now on my staff. I'll have the acclimation team show you around the Dominion and go over your duties. You'll find out how you fit in here soon enough."
"May I ask why?"
A grin forms on his face. "You piss off my dad."
**Edit** Fixed spelling and grammar mistakes. | For the first time in a long time, the work whistles blew in Hell. The demons stopped torturing, and instead went rushing over to Lucifer's side, by the entry gateway. They were unsure of why their master would mass summon them, but the older ones remember, last time this happened, God visited. This has to be important.
"Master, forgive this, please, but...why are we here? Is God coming again?" a demon general asked.
Lucifer turned towards him and glared. "Shush. God has killed a human, for the first time in an extremely long time. We are all to be prepared. This soul may be extremely powerful and dangerous." he replied, and then turned his attention back towards the gates. The hell train would be there soon with the latest shipment of souls.
Word spread fast and far, all throughout hell, the souls of the condemned also rushed over to see who this could possibly be. This wasn't normal, not in the least.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My day had started off pretty normal, I got up, shower, get dressed, brush teeth, and breakfast. When I got outside to get the morning paper, I noticed something: Two superheroes fighting. Odd, but this isn't unheard of. I can't help but stand on the walkway, watching. I've got the closest view of this fight, and I can feel the heat of it, the explosive force of fists hitting superflesh. It's amazing.
The heroes in question were Wonderman and Captain Planetman. Both powerful beyond words, both with holy powers. Truly this was the battle of the century. I began streaming to YouTube with my phone, the world had to see this!
But, then something unexpected happened. Wonderman called on the Shield Of The Just, a shield granted by God that will allow nobody behind it any harm, and Captain Planetman called on Final Judgement, which calls on God to strike down his opponents. A rarely ever used move.
Lightning comes from above, and strikes Wonderman's hand, forming the shield. And as the shield is forming, another bolt comes from above, striking Captain Planetman, who channels it through himself, aimed right at Wonderman. For the first time ever, Wonderman's shield begins to bend.
And then suddenly a flash of light, and darkness.
I woke to find myself on a subway train of some sort. Chained to the seat. I look around, and I see all sorts of people also chained up. But what's truly disturbing is, some have nooses around their necks, some have bullet wounds, one has tire tracks running across him, and so on.
Finally, the train comes to a stop, in front of some huge gates of sorts. Horrific creatures are removing the chains, and picking people up, and throwing them off the train, myself included.
I look up as the gates open, and countless people and monsters on the other side are watching, as a man in a red suit steps forward and helps me up.
"Wh--where am I? Who are you?" I weakly ask. This is the scariest nightmare I've ever had.
"Welcome to Hell, I'm Satan, and YOU have some explaining to do. Namely, what you could have possibly done to piss God off enough to strike you down. Not even Hitler managed that." he responded, and when he removed his hands from mine, heavy manacles were around my wrists.
"I don't know, I just...what?" I asked, confused.
"Oh, so it's gonna be like that, is it? Alright. Well, I've got special tortures for people like you, we'll break you, and you will tell me. Take him away, boys." Satan responded, and the monsters began dragging me inside by the chains.
I don't understand, oh God I don't know what happened! But they won't believe me! | 2016-10-14T07:21:56 | 2016-10-14T07:00:16 | 1,142 | 15 |
[WP] All dominant species in the galaxy has something that sets them apart. From healing broken bones and severed flesh, losing 2/8 of our blood, to being infected by literally billions of parasites, Humans have the gift of simply refusing to die. It freaks the heebie-jeebies out of everyone else.
//Edit originally meant it to mean that humans have all these things and others are not able to form scar tissue and recover from flue and bacteria, they get a cut they just bleed to death sort of thing, but I got to admit I'm a sucker for the old "will to live" stance. | Our advisors had pleaded against the decision to land at the SOL A-3 planet. We did not understand their fears, nor did we anticipate their fears being so inaccurate.
SOL A-3 had been discovered four universal cycles prior to our arrival. A trade ship on an illegal route had been orbit-anchored to the companion body of SOL A-3a, with a mining crew on the surface, gathering the metallics they required for standard sub-light engine repairs.
Their party found previously unknown spacecraft left on the surface; Spindly landing struts, thin metallics, and primitive life support and control mechanisms. Some had believed these to be early Aso craft, built prior to their induction to the U.C., but the historians had never seen these objects before. We were advised to be cautious; These craft may be early relics of a newly discovered, space capable species.
Per U.C. texts 129.33, part C, all communication with newly discovered species involves the expectation that violence may be possible, and that lethal force was the expected response to any danger.
Our problem, as we discovered shortly after landing, was that "lethal" was a theoretical term applied to the Humans. Many times over the course of the SOL wars, we received reports of the same Humans being seen on the battlefield, months after they had been eliminated in a previous battle.
Advisors couldn't explain this. Battle Planners could not foresee this. All we knew, was that our enemy was much more dangerous than we expected, and their numbers remained higher than battle reports and population estimates lined up with. It wasn't since the U.C. encountered the Rolni that such a problematic species was engaged with a full-time war.
The Humans had technology that was supposed to be impossible, the advisors surmised. That was the only explanation to their ability to bring lethally wounded fighters to future battles.
It wasn't until we captured a human in a lightless raid, that we discovered their secrets.
Our tortures and experiments were practically ineffective against the body of our specimen. The wounds inflicted on the Human should have been lethal - *were* lethal - to any other species in the U.C., even the stone-shelled Wulke. But, the Human was able to recover to almost full strength, only if it remained alive.
We abducted several more Humans to further our research and understanding of the Human bodies that we were fighting.
One detail that we extracted from our tortures on these Humans, was the concept of a "Hospital," which many sick and injured Humans were taken to for what they called "Healing." These became our targets of researches and raids. The horrors of the SOL wars became apparent to our advisors after they were given reports on these raids.
Humans possessed the ability to close their own wounds, mend broken endoskeletal fractures, and even eliminate sicknesses and toxins from their bodies. Hospitals were places that Humans could go to for accelerated, assisted healing.
They could even go so far as using tools to reversibly butcher a Human to heal something inside it, and could even replace a Human's organs with another Human's, regardless of whether or not the replacement came from a living or deceased Human.
Even further, Humans had created hundreds of thousands of these facilities, varying in levels of care and specialized in healing particular parts of the Human anatomical structure.
Still further, a Human's mind, it's thoughts, behaviors, and logical alignment, could be diagnosed and healed via focused communication and behavioral modification.
Analysts, advisors, battle planners, biologists, historians, and many other groups in the U.C. had never heard of a creature so incredibly capable of survival, even of concentrated, long-lasting warfare.
The last action the U.C. performed before disbanding the SOL wars, was to perpetually blacklist the entire sector.
Two universal cycles since that decision, we are the first to return... | When we entered the galactic scene, we were mocked and ridiculed. We seemed below average, weak bodies, and even weaker research. Other species had figured out nanotechnology, and FTL travel, and we had just started research there.
But when the war started, we had something they didn't. We had the will to live. What they didn't realize is what happens to us when we're cornered and outnumbered. We will fight harder, and longer than any other species. Our bodies will minimize the pain from the broken bones, and the loss of blood. And even when they think we've given up, there will always be hope, burning in us. As our bodies mend from the inside out, we will always be fighting to protect what we believe in and love. | 2018-03-09T11:54:16 | 2018-03-09T09:46:48 | 92 | 22 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | I moved to press the button, then paused.
"So how's it work?"
The priest paused, perplexed before speaking, "How does what work?"
"The... the whole button thing?"
"Why do you wish to know? Your duty as the Chosen One is to fell the Dark Lord. Our prophecies have forseen his rising and have taken steps to deal with it. Now all that's left is for you to do your part."
"So you could push it then? You don't even need me?" I asked
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's a procedural thing. I'm not the chosen one, so I can't press the button," the priest said with a harumph.
"Can't? Or won't?" I asked pointedly.
He sighed, "Ok, yes, I'm physically capable of pushing the button, but that's not how thi- why are you being so difficult about this?"
"Why are you being so mysterious about it?"
"I'm a prophet. Mysterious is what we do," he answered flatly.
"And \*I\* am skeptical. Just- fine, whatever," I wave my hands in the air as if to clear it, "Look. I push the button, yeah? What happens?"
"The Dark Lord is defeated, and we have 5000 years of peace."
I sigh and run my hand over my face.
"No, I mean, the world is currently AT peace. So what is this button supposed to do, like, mechanically. Because right now I can see it's not going to.... I dunno, un-summon a hell horde."
"Oh. I see what you mean, now. Sorry, all the riddles and mystery can distort the perception of questions you see. Anyways, it's simple, really. If you push this button, then a device will activate and kill the Dark Lord."
"What device?" my brow furrowed.
"A small explosive device, implanted in the skull," the priest answered, with a hint of pride in his voice.
"So...wai- so you had the Dark Lord in your hands."
"Yes."
"And you could do anything you wanted to him to prevent his evil."
"Yes."
"And your FIRST thought was to just plant a bomb in his head? Instead of just, like, cutting an artery or giving him a lobotomy or something?"
"The Chosen One is always the one to defeat him. We aren't you, and you weren't there at the time. So this was the best route. We got it all prepared for you, which is why I continue to be so concerned about how difficult you're being about this," agitation seeping through the priest's voice.
"Can I see this 'Dark Lord' before I make a judgement call of making some guy I've never met's head explode?"
"Unlikely."
"Why?"
"I would imagine his mother wouldn't want strangers to meet him."
"What." I asked, completely dumbfounded.
"The Dark Lord is only a year and a half old at this time, and his mother is very protective," the priest answered, matter-of-factly.
"You installed a bomb into a baby's head!?" I shouted.
"Of course. He is the Dark Lord of the prophecy. We forsaw his coming, and took measures during a minor surgery to implant the device to make it all ready for you to defeat him. Now hurry up, please."
"You installed a bomb."
"Yes."
"Into a BABY's head."
"The Dark Lord's head, thank you."
"WHO IS A BABY RIGHT NOW" I yell, flabbergasted.
"Yes. The Dark Lord is currently a baby. Which....we....planted.....hm," The prophet's voice faded off as his brow furrowed.
"Ah, yes, ok. When I say it all out loud like that, I can see why there'd be a problem," he muttered after a moment.
"You think?" I asked, laying on the sarcasm as thick as possible.
"So....I guess....we don't push the button then," he said dejected.
"Look, I'll push it when the guy's actually evil. Baby-head-exploding? A pretty Dark Lord move to me."
The priest stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Yeah, that's fair enough. Well, here -" he said as he deposited the small box in my hands, closing the protective lid over the button, "Whenever you're ready to deal with him, go ahead and push it. And keep your eyes on the news, I guess."
And with that, the robed figure made his exit, muttering about 'so much paperwork' while I stood in my room staring at the little black box. | My eyes darted to the button. Fixated on it. I took a deep breath as I slowly pushed my hand out towards the button.
All it takes in life to make the most difficult decisions is 20 seconds of faith...right?
As the button pushed in, my eyes slowly shut.
I opened my eyes to feel gears winding, cogs spinning, air blowing all around me.
"What is happening?!" - I fearfully asked.
"Just let it happen, let the air flow through you, believe in it" - bellowed the priest
A gush of wind raised my arms up by my side. Pushed on my back to raise me off the ground inch by inch. My eyes clenched shut. I was flying vertically. My body lay horizontally. Higher and higher. The cold wind raised me whilst my sweat dropped below me. I accepted it. I opened my eyes. Opened my hands. Palms faced out. The wind pushed my legs over my head. 100 feet above the ground. The priest looking up with pride.
**Whoooooosh**
The sword came from my left. Infront of my eyes. I saw my reflection in it's blade. Caught in my right hand. I grip it tight. I was in a free fall now.
The fear replaced by adrenaline. The doubt replaced with belief. I land down on my right knee. Sword in hand. The priest looks on at me.
"How do you feel?" - he asked, knowing the answer
I look up at him. I smirk.
"Let's put him to sleep for another 5000 years shall we?" | 2020-11-09T11:55:57 | 2020-11-09T10:15:58 | 4,632 | 118 |
[WP] When you became a vampire you assumed that you would have to watch out for vampire hunters but the truth is something much, much worse preys upon the undead. | I was twenty two years old when I first heard it. Decades have passed but the sound of his gnashing teeth mixed with the sounds of bones snapping still haunts my nightmares. You’d think an immortal vampire wouldn’t be afraid of anything but that thing scared me. It still does.
I remember the day quite clearly. My mom took me down to the basement. She showed me a tunnel to be used “just in case.”
She wasn’t my real mother of course. But just like humans we want company of others like us. Most vampires live in de facto family units. These people had saved me when I had been turned. I had been angry and confused back then but they had been there for me. For all intents and purposes they were my parents.
So when his lifeless body smashed the basement door and was flung down the stairwell, I felt the pain one would feel when one loses a parent. Worse still was the pain when my mother forced me into the tunnel and took out her knife. She told me she would find me but her eyes betrayed her. This was it. This was her final stand.
“Run Powell. You only need to survive for a few more hours. Today is the last day of its feeding cycle. Run.”
I had run. God forgive me, I had run. I had heard my mother’s shriek. It had been muffled. She was likely trying to make sure I didn’t hear it.
Even in the end, she was thinking of me.
And as I heard it’s teeth crushing my mother, I ran. Like a coward, I just ran.
I’ve been running ever since.
****
It returns every thirteen years. You can’t defeat it. You can only hope to survive.
And I’m an expert at survival.
I keep climbing up the mountain. The first rays of sun will appear over the horizon soon. I need to take cover before then. I was hoping to be at the summit by this time. The next cycle starts the day after tomorrow. For obvious reasons I can’t travel during the mornings. I need the blanket of night to make my journey.
It’s hard to call this a journey though. A journey is defined by a beginning and an ending. My journey started decades ago when I saw my father’s body drop. As to the ending? There isn't any. I don't have a destination. My goal is just to get lost in a place where I can't be found.
The sunrise is close. I can feel tingling sensations in my skin. I need to make camp. As I look for a place to set up I see a rope. I tug at it and suddenly find myself being lifted into the air hanging upside down.
I don’t have time for this. The sun will be up any moment. I struggle against the bond finally able to reach the rope. With a burst of strength I tear it in two as I tumble down.
There are many beliefs about vampires. Most of them are rooted in reality. We are indeed stronger than most humans. We can take more damage than humans can. The fall I just had would probably have led to a few broken bones in a regular human. Me? I just hit my head and passed out.
*****
I dreamt. I haven’t dreamed for a long time. I dreamt of a girl. She had golden hair. Goldilocks. That had to be it.
She was running. And crying.
I want to reach out and wipe away her tears. Tell her it will be alright but I can’t move.
My hand is on fire.
And that’s where my dream ended.
******
I wake up in a cottage.
A small boy looks back at me. He’s young. Around six.
“Hey.” I wince. My hand is bandaged.
“My sister says you’re a vampire.”
“What?”
“My sister says you’re a vampire.”
“Your sister is crazy. There’s no such thing.”
“You’re a liar.” He looks very angry. “Of course there are vampires. You suck. You’re a liar.”
He stomps out.
I try to get up but feel dizzy. My head and hand are competing for the most painful body part at the moment. I decide the best thing to do would be just lay back and pass out. So I do exactly that. | When the undead walk the earth, the only thing we fear is death itself. We may live for hundreds if not thousands of years, looking the same, eating, sleeping, and living almost like a normal person does. Yet we never stay still, we run, we hide, we fear Death.
It doesn't sleep, it doesn't talk, it can't be seen or touched by a living creature. Black robes covering an almost transparent skeleton made of ice and shadows, a scythe made of jet black steel with dried blood splattered on the thick blade. Death never stops hunting those who refuse to die, hunting them until it inevitably catches them.
It has a list, a list of names to be marked one after the other as it slowly but surely eliminates target after target. Some believe there's more than one, other's believe it can be anywhere at anytime.
It never seems to take the souls of someone who died naturally or even at someone else's hands, only those who refuse to die. The universe gave it this purpose, to hunt those that sealed their fate rather than waiting for judgment. All we do is run, run for our undead lives, it's all we can do.
It's been two hundred and twenty seven years since I've stopped aging, and I'm still running, but today it seems like I'm next on his list. He's found me. | 2021-10-28T21:00:49 | 2021-10-28T19:55:27 | 81 | 43 |
[WP] An immortal is put on a generation ship as it's caretaker and guardian. After several generations, despite their best intentions, most inhabitants now see them as something of a god. | He was the current Caretaker.
He was getting on in years, and soon he would have to pass the mantle to his young apprentice, as his own teacher did with him, as was done probably from the beginning of time, and would be done again and again, until the heart of the world stopped beating and all was plunged into darkness and death. The individuals changed, but the world was safe as long as a Caretaker existed. So had the Gods decreed.
The world was a ring. On the sides, and also under many meters of soil and at the deepest places in the sea, the holiest artifact, the metallic shield the gods made protected the People from the Void.
The ceiling was similar, but bright light shone from it, dimming at regular intervals, and by the grace of the benevolent Gods coming back to its full brilliance when the People were rested.
Philosophers postulated that the increasing times of darkness in recent years were a sign that the Gods wanted them to rest more, and the end of the world would not be soon, if ever. There was some debate on that last part, but the writings were clear at least on one thing:
As long as the Caretakers taught the People, and the People listened, all would be well.
Much had been forgotten or lost. The monolith in the central square of the city was made of a stone of great strength, that People of old could create from a wondrous mud. That mud had long ago run out. No more "Concrete" would ever exist. At least it had done its most important task.
The caretaker walked to the window. The monolith loomed in the distance, visible from the privileged position of his home. A rougly cylindrical slab taller than two People and equally wide, it was erected where the most could keep watch on it.
He wondered fleetingly if there was a chance it was empty. Maybe he should try to break it and find out?
Panic gripped him. The Void had clouded his mind, the Usurper was there and as strong as ever!
"Article 31: The Caretaker ensures continuity between generations, and the proper distribution of specialties and materials for a safe journey and to promote colonization readiness" he recited in the monotone of a mantra said too often.
Details were scarce, but the gist of it was this, as told in the oral history of the Caretakers:
Countless generations ago, the Usurper had tried to make the People stray from the path the Gods had laid out. How exactly, it had not been preserved, but he usurped the mantle of Caretaker and led the people for a long time.
Too long.
He would not age. People would die old and frail, and he would still be there unchanged, to teach their children as he had done to them and their parents before them.
He tried to fool the People that Gods did not exist, when his mere existence was proof of the contrary. As generations went on, more and more knew better than to believe his lies. Then, one day, his hold on them could be no more, and the truth was too strong to hold back. They did what had to be done... and they were saved.
The light of the Gods seemed to flicker for a moment, but he knew it couldn't have. He saw wrong. This happened more and more often. He was too old. The new caretaker needed to take over soon.
...
In the geometrical center of the ring that was the world, way above the ceiling that was the sky, a control chamber stood untouched for countless years.
Red lights blinked all around the chamber, while some green lights could be found among them.
A screen showed the indication "T+649662" and as the environmental lights dimmed below, changed to "T+649663".
The generational colony ship slowly continued on its orbit around the terraformed planet, as it had already done for much longer than it had ever travelled.
Inside the monolith, the genetically modified immortal that was meant to help the culture and knowledge of Earth stay alive in the new colony, himself lived on - if this was living.
He screamed silently and eternally in the absolute confinement of a concrete prison moulded by his body. His mouth was open and his throat filled with more concrete, his eyes stuck open but with nothing to see, his mind long lost to madness.
High above, one more green light started blinking red. | “Hey God!”
“What Up God?”
Christ walked up the rows of seats clipboard in hand. It was day 101953 on-board GS1 and Christ was on a mission.
“Okay, good morning everyone...” Christ pauses to take a sip of water. “I just spoke with Shift G and it looks like the plumbing situation on deck 42 has been fixed. So thanks! Please stand, Shift G you’re clear to go.”
The back of the halls rises, “Praise him!” And “Hallahlur!” Rise to the vaulted ceiling along with the scuffle of chairs and feet.
Continuing, “Shift H, welcome! Please open up your books to page 399, today we’ll be fixing the Power Couplings on deck 12. These schematics will be your guide to properly align the coaxils in each sector. This is routine work and I don’t expect it to take much longer that 5 hours. When you’re done your assigned sector meet with your section head for reassignment somewhere else. Section heads, I want hourly reports of progress or issues. I’ll see you all at the end of your shifts. Thank you, please rise!”
“Thank you Christ!” And “Doin’ the lord’s work!” Filled the air again as Shift H hurried to their section heads.
Christ looked down at the paperwork before him until he heard the last footstep out of the hall. Turning to his foyer he heard the squeak of a chair.
“God, please, help me...”
Christ sighed... | 2018-12-25T17:47:06 | 2018-12-25T16:34:34 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] You are the result of a high school girl being given 3 wishes. She wished for the perfect boyfriend, so you were magically created. Now she’s trying to erase you because the boy next door loved her all along. She’s literally trying to kill you because “You never existed in the first place!”…… | "You can't do this to me!" he said. His deep, melodic voice was attractive even in its broken, choke-filled state, but Stephanie, her will hardened by the fact that Noah, the boy next door who she had hardly realized had noticed *her*, and who was *actually* real, had fallen for her, kept searching anyway.
"Steph, *please*! I've got my whole life ahead of me!"
"Your life doesn't exist, you're just a figment of my imagination given — albeit perfect — form," she reeled off indifferently, still searching through the boxes that littered her bedroom floor.
That had stung. Matthew — such a stereotypical name, for a stereotypical highschool dreamboat — recoiled, his delicately carved features screwed up in shock. His eyes were Stephanie's favourite shade of green, his jaw as sharp as her mother's garden shears, his hair curly and swooshed back, like Henry Cavill's, his chest broad and clearly defined, with a light dusting of dark brown hair — everything was as she had pictured, the boyfriend that would cuddle her, enfold her in his perfect chest, entwining her lips with his as he whispered how beautiful she was. But it was all a fantasy, and it was time to grow up.
Noah was nowhere near as attractive as Matthew, but he was still good-looking. And it was much more endearing that he had fallen for her *because* of her than because she had wished that it was this way.
"I *am* real," he said fiercely. "Look — these abs are real!" he said, brushing a hand over his chiseled chest. "This hair is real!" He dragged a hand through his dense mane, which reverted to its original state immediately. "This di —" She could see where his hand was headed next and forestalled him at once:
"Woah! PG-13! And no, you're not real. I wish you were, because then I wouldn't have to do this, but you're just not. Sorry." She shrugged, her tone deliberately hurtful.
But still he persisted. He flung himself down beside her, his musky scent drifting into her nostrils, a mix of almonds and apples: *Stay strong, Stephanie*.
"Come on, Babe! Look at me! I'm hotter than the freaking sun! What does that guy have on me?"
"Nothing, you're literally perfect," she said composedly.
"Exactly! So why —"
"The problem is you're *too* perfect. I need someone down-to-earth, someone who can relate to my struggles. If I need someone with abs I can scrub my clothes on, I'll conjure you again," she added earnestly.
He sat in silence for a time, his perfect face screwed up in disgruntlement. Stephanie continued to search for the elusive lamp.
"Are you sure?" he asked finally.
"Positive."
He heaved a huge sigh, which was still somehow attractive. "Fine. I see I've lost. I have no reason to stay. I'll help."
And so he did. His efforts considerably sped up the process. Within ten minutes they had found it, Stephanie holding it up to the light. "*Finally*. Now this debacle can be ov —"
*Clang*.
Stephanie crumpled, the lamp clattering away. Matthew stood over her, incandescent with fury, holding a porcelain vase that he himself had just removed from one of the moving boxes. He set it down gently and picked up the lamp.
"This 'debacle' is a matter of my *existence*," he said. "Let's see how *you* feel about being trapped in someone else's thoughts, why don't we?"
And as he rubbed the lamp, the towering sapphire genie with his long pointed beard emerged, filling the room, his regal visage adorning a mischievous look. "What do you desire?"
r/MysticScribbles | Her fingers tremble on the trigger. I meet her eyes, steady her with my gaze. Born from desire, and to desire I fall.
​
She whispers. I nod, listen, try to memorize my last moments with her. Such is the heart's folly, the pleasure it seeks. The embodiment of perfection, and yet.
​
The heart always wishes for what it cannot have, and once she had me, I am no longer perfection. Who am I to be without her? Without embodying her desire?
​
She smiles. Wishes it were different. I smile, still no thoughts on any future but hers.
​
So I perish the same way I was born. Her, born from love, and I.
​
Her eyes close. My last image is of her face, troubled, wracked with guilt and worry.
​
I whisper. And fall. | 2021-01-07T02:59:36 | 2021-01-07T02:30:55 | 116 | 57 |
[WP]To your surprise, you and your siblings each inherit a ring from your dead, estranged grandmother. Each ring is engraved with one word: Intelligence, Luck, Strength, Charm, or Wealth. Along with it, however, came a note in your grandmother’s handwriting; “Beware the fool who wears them all.” |
I guess I knew I had a grandmother on my father's side. I mean, biology would sort of dictate that, right? But dad never talked about his family, and mom's was big enough that my sisters and I didn't want for relatives.
So it was more than a bit surprising when my dad called me up one damp day on the cusp of December and asked if I could make it home that weekend. Because my grandmother had left me something in her will.
"Grandma - wha - "
"No, not Grandma. My mother. Please, Brooke. It's really important."
I've rarely heard my father so agitated. I promised I'd be home, arranged someone to feed my cat while I was gone, and left directly from the newspaper office where I interned at 5 on Friday.
It was while I was driving, six hours up the eastern seaboard with dazzling raindrops dancing in the headlights of oncoming traffic to the steady beat of my wipers, that it occurred to me how very strange it was that I hadn't even known I had another grandmother.
I arrived late, hugged my parents and crashed on the double bed in my old room next to one of my sisters. My dreams that night were full of a strange silvery light, dancing to a melody that was new and familiar at once.
The next morning we all gathered in Dad's den. Aimee, the oldest, was already a successful lawyer. Camdyn and Deidre, twins, but nothing alike; Cam ran a nonprofit which she'd started right out of high school, while Dee was elbows-deep in Veterinary School. Elise was the baby, just graduated and already making her mark in the fashion world as a junior designer. You may notice that I was the least successful; that's what happens when you change your major six times. You get a delayed start on, well, everything.
They say Second-Borns try harder. I say we need to.
Dad cleared his throat and held out an old cigar box. Something about it brought back the haunting, elusive melody from my dreams. He slid it open to reveal five old, intricately made rings and a dusty yellow note.
"Dear granddaughters," he read gruffly, "this is not how I wanted to pass on the family treasures. As long as I lived I respected the wishes of your parents, but now there is no one else to hold the rings. You are the last. Possess them wisely, follow your hearts. And beware the fool who wears them all."
He passed the box to Aimee without another word. She drew out a greenish Celtic ring and turned it over. Light caught bits of some gem (Jade? Emerald? Serpentinite?) intertwined with beautiful silver knots. Inside the ring a single word was carved, surprisingly clear for the age of the piece: "Luck."
Dee was next. Her choice was a dark, solid-looking ring with delicate gold inlay that almost moved when you looked at it. "Wealth" was carved on the inside.
Cam took the silver ring twisted from three separate strands. A diamond sparkled in a strange red setting. The word inside was "Strength."
Elise hesitated, but finally picked up the simple gold ring with tiny garnets set in a rosette shape.
"Charm"
The remaining ring was deep, living. I touched it and it hummed, a melody that I now knew was my own. Inside it read "Intelligence." I put it on.
As the years passed I drifted away from my sisters. Aimee continued to be a stunningly successful lawyer. They say she never lost a case, and she always represented the poor and underprivileged. Dee patented a breakthrough treatment for some animal ailment and retired at 35, a billionaire. Cam's nonprofit became a force for good; she pioneered a movement that led to the highest quality of life worldwide in recorded history. Elise revolutionized fashion, creating affordable, sustainable lines appealing to every taste and forcing the rest of the industry to follow suit.
And I, well, I spent a few decades traveling the world as a journalist until an injury sent me home. There I started writing longer works, novels, memoirs, all under a pen name. When I had recovered I went back to school and became a professor of intercultural literature. I worked well past retirement age because I loved the subject, loved my students, loved the constant challenge.
One by one, then, the funerals came. When Elise was tragically taken by cancer I became the sole survivor of our impressive but disjointed family.
I took a week off, not so much to grieve as to pack up her things and set my own affairs in order. I had no children; none of us had ever married, and there was truly no one else. My will stipulated that my earthly goods go to the university where I had spent half my long and happy life.
In Elise's attic I came across the old cigar box. To my surprise, it contained the four rings chosen by my sisters. In a fit of sentimentality I picked up the Celtic Luck ring and slipped it on my right pinky.
The melody that had become the backdrop of my life was suddenly joined by a lilting undertow. I smiled. So like Aimee. So sure of success.
One after another the rings slipped over my fingers, almost of their own accord. Cam's was a low, solid bass. Dee's was the resonance of gold and gems.
I picked up Elise's next. Something was niggling at the back of my mind, something important, but I couldn't reach it over the delirious music that pulsed through my veins from the rings. I slipped the last ring on, fingering the garnet rosette fondly.
For a split second the orchestra that possessed me was joined by a high, tinkling laughter. I saw, as a reflection in the mist, my sisters, flanked by dozens of other women, vaguely familiar, whom I had never seen before.
One stepped forward, arm outstretched.
"Foolish girl," she muttered, shaking her head, but her eyes smiled as she touched my hand, whispering the lyrics of the song over the rings.
"Go," she said, pushing my forehead with her right pinky. Everything went white.
| We’d all heard stories about Grandma, when we were growing up. Mom never liked to talk about her, but Uncle Rob would tell us crazy tales about how Grandma Ellie had a whole room in the house full of feathers and powders and candles and alleged spellbooks, and how noises and smells and music would float out every night.
So, when we got the rings, we figured that it was better to be safe than sorry, and avoid temptation. We sold the rings to an antique dealer, and never thought about it again.
Until, one day, we woke up, and found out about *him*, and realized that Grandma’s words had been a warning, but also a *prophecy*, and we’d messed up, bad. We should have kept those rings, and guarded them, instead of letting them loose into the world - because when we did, we created a monster.
He probably started with Intelligence - it’s the logical one to start with, to figure out which ring to put on next. And things probably went well for a while - so he put on Luck. The problem is, you can’t be too smart for Luck to work freely - that’s why they call it Dumb Luck.
So, to keep things in balance, he had to have become stupid-smart. In other words - a kind of idiot savant. He had to have become really good at one thing, but terrible at everything else.
Idiot-savants usually can’t function in real life, but the Luck kept him doing just fine. The Luck was also probably what made him reach for Wealth, and put that on next. His stupid-smart, idiot-savantness meant that he made dumb decisions and lost money all the time, but the Luck made sure that it always came back.
But what do you get when you combine stupid-smartness, Luck, and Wealth? You get a rollercoaster of self loathing and existential crises, that’s what. He landed a boatload of money because of Wealth, then lost it all with his stupid-smartness, then gained it all back with Luck, and so on and so forth. After enough rides around that merry-go-round, he was a self-hating, emotional wreck.
It was probably this self-loathing that made him reach for Charm, next, to try and get people to like him, the way he couldn’t like himself. But, have you ever heard of a charming idiot-savant? Idiot-savants don’t function well at all, in social situations. That’s part of the definition. So the Charm only worked on people less appealing than him, basically. In other words, he ended up surrounding himself with a pretty distasteful crowd. That's where Strength came in.
And so, those rings created a supervillian.
His stupid-smartness meant that he was terrible at almost everything - except for one thing that he was *incredible* at, which was running probabilities and statistics in his head to make unlikely calls in very limited and specific situations. His life was a self-hating roller coaster ride of good fortune, bad fortune, wealth and bankruptcy, over and over again. He had the ability to unshakably charm and hold court over a cadre of people that were even less likeable than him.
The fool that my grandmother warned us about...was Donald Trump. | 2016-11-23T11:51:06 | 2016-11-23T10:05:58 | 58 | 38 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | “It is currently the halfway point of the 57th millennial conference of the Galactic Federation,” the shrill voice of the insectoid Kel’Tari announcer rang out through telecasters across the galaxy, “diplomats, leaders, warriors and scientists from all the sentient races in the galaxy have made their way to Sol III, the current seat of power to discuss matters of trade and business, research and development, and war and peace. The conference is being broadcasted via subspace connections to every sentient race that has entered the Federation, as this conference is a *momentous* occasion!”
“Indeed, Sli’thel,” the reptilian Shathassa said, “for this millennial conference will be the first time that Humanity has the seat of power. Most races have to wait for *dozens* of millennia after joining the federation to even be a *candidate* for such an honour, yet these plucky fellows managed to take the seat of power after a mere *three millennia*. Just *how* did they do it, Thel?”
“Well, Syron,” Sli’Thel responded, “we all know the story of how Humanity was discovered. About 3 and a half millennia ago, we found a Human exploration vessel out near the system Humans called “Tau Ceti”, our home system. How that vessel managed to travel 12 light years without falling apart or killing its crew, I have no idea!” The Kel’Tari and Shathassa looked at each other and chuckled for a moment, before turning back to the cameras. “Anyway, we found this vessel, patched it up and gave them some junk parts that we had lying around for a few decades. You know, ion drives, a few dated star maps and the like. You know, my grandfather was there when those Humans arrived, it’s said he was the first alien to “shake hands” with one of them!”
“How could I forget, Thel? You bring it up at every opportunity you can!” Syron laughed, “and then we all know what happened next. For those of you who don’t understand human physiology, they have an average life expectancy of only 150 Terran solar cycles. That’s less than a quarter of the lifespan of a Marenor! For them, life seems to pass by really quickly, and if there’s anything we can learn from the Humans, it’s the power to seize the day. Those of us who live for millennia, like myself and Sli’Thel here, can spend decades and even centuries just slumbering away. But for a human, a day without work is a day wasted.”
“That’s right, Syron,” Sli’Thel said, “knowing that, it’s no surprise that within a mere century, Humanity had transformed the Sol System into a powerhouse of industry and production. There were orbital shipyards under construction, asteroid strip-mining operations underway, terraforming of the nearby rocky planets and there was even discussion of something called a *“Dyson Sphere”*! Had we known the effect we would have on these Humans, we probably would have given them a bit less! But still, we had nothing to fear. After all, there was no sign of weaponry being produced.”
“Indeed, Humans seemed to be the most peaceful race out there. Especially after the last race to join the Federation was the bloodthirsty Xyxxas warrior race,” Sylon shuddered as an image of the burning of Shathass popped up on televisor screens across the galaxy. “A few centuries of peace passed, and Humanity slowly expanded their fleets and territories. Within roughly five hundred Terran solar cycles, Humanity went from a mere seven billion citizens to over *ten trillion*! Heck, if they made an army, I’d be heading across to Andromeda in a flash!”
“Andromeda would be the last place you’d want to go, Sylon,” Sli’Thel chuckled, “after all, that’s where the Genestealers came from! Those thrice-damned insectoids who tore our planets apart and turned our own genetic code against us! The Xyxxas were the first to fall, our first and last line of defence. But what can you do when you’re fighting a genetically superior version of yourself? Surprisingly, the Humans were the ones to offer shelter to the survivors. Over the next few standard cycles, we watched worlds burn and races turn against each other. And then it happened.”
“And that’s my cue,” Sylon jumped in, “after all, it was the over newly rebuilt Shathass where this part of the story takes place. The Genestealers were ready to blast our homeworld into asteroids, when out of nowhere their ships simply exploded out of the sky. Within less than a Terran standard week, reports were coming out from all over the place of Genestealer fleets just exploding in the skies. It wasn’t until a few standard weeks later that we scanned the battle sites and found wreckage from ion drives embedded in the Genestealer ships.”
“Ion drives that *we* gave to the Humans less than a millennium ago,” Sli’Thel interjected, “Those Humans managed to jury-rig some cloaking drives, create some ion-drive powered torpedoes and *then* build the damned things in less than a Terran month! It wasn’t until this point that we decided to look through their histories, and what we discovered was shocking. They constantly fought amongst themselves and had the art of war down to a precise science. And yet, they showed no signs of this hostility until the fight with the Genestealers. We were horrified at what we unleashed upon the galaxy. And yet…”
“And yet,” Sylon continued where Sli’Thel trailed off, “we have seen no signs of this violence since the annihilation of the Genestealers. The Humans simply returned to Sol where they directed relief forces to the Xyxxas systems as well as the systems of the other survivors. The veterans of their battles died within a matter of decades and to the Humans, the bloodthirsty nature of their ancestors seemed but a distant memory. But those battles were only two generations ago for some of us, and we will not forget just how powerful Humanity can be.”
“Hang on, Sylon, I’m just going to have to cut you off there. It looks like one of the new Gloord diplomats has just grabbed the genitals of a Jarri instead of their tentacles!” Sli’Thel laughed, “we’re cutting to the live feed now. And it does not look- oooh, there goes his head. At least, I *think* that’s his head…”
***
*Long time, no writing. It's been several months since I last wrote something and the last time I wrote something good was a month or two before that ;)*
*I do hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you did, you should check out the other few short stories I've written over on /r/WritingThePunLife. Maybe I'll write some more over the coming weeks, or maybe I'll just forget about this again. I'm a terrible person.* | "Fucking humans are at it again." Said Prok as he dipped his proboscis into the fetus slaw before him.
"I see that." Replied Ghyd, his half wife. She shifted her earlobe and toenail salad listlessly. One of the earlobes still had a diamond earring in it. "Waiter! Someone in your kitchen isn't properly dejewelrying the human bits. I could have chipped a fang on this diamond!"
"So sorry mam, we are breaking in a new shipment of human laborers and they aren't catching on obviously." He said as he quickly whisked the earring from Ghyds hand and tossed it in the garbage on his way to the kitchen.
As she stared at the same view screen Prok was regarding Ghyds remarked, "Why is it that one factory farm of humans can be so docile and mellow and another can erupt into a full blown revolt like the one on Tellos 5? They have taken over the whole moon!"
"It all has to do with the genes I say. Too much Irish blood on Tellos 5, but I suppose that's the risk you run for the delectable pale skin and red haired variety of human. If only they could find some way to breed out the truculent, but keep the succulent. Eh but I suppose you can't have one without the other." Said Drujol, the gestation spouse. Her stuffed scrotums having long since been devoured to the last eyelidos s/he gazed in envy at colon burger being delivered by a passing waiter. The eyelidos weren't made from real eyelids, but they were still tasty.
"No no." Said Prok. "It's those damned humanitarians. They infiltrate the factory farm moons and contaminate the euphorics and the aphrodisiacs that must be supplemented into human feed. Without all the sex and the drugs humans become self aware."
All around them in the restaurant dishes clattered and chatter stopped. He said that much too loudly.
"Prok don't be silly. Humans can never be self aware. You know perfectly well those supplements are added just to make the humans feel more comfortable and even if they were self aware what do they have to be unhappy about? The factory farms perfectly replicate their natural habitat back on Earth. Cities, roads, cubicles, pornography, fast food, reality TV, everything is as they made for themselves in their natural environment. They live the good part of a normal human lifecycle and after about 30 years they are harvested and spared the horrors of old age or if they have been cooperative they are given the honor of serving elsewhere in the empire among their Novcclid overlords. I mean we aren't savages. Only free range humans of course." Vocalized Ghyd and Drujol in unison, as was their custom after a brief mental conference.
"Of course of course. I never meant... Just that this humanitarian movement is causing a lot of trouble."
No one could deny that. One after another factory farm moons had risen in revolt against their operators. There were even reports of the livestock having learned to operate the jump gates and the orbital shuttles, though that beggared belief.
*"This just in"* declared news bot5000 on the view screen *"we have just received a video from Tellos 5. Warning, this may be unsuitable for larvae under 300 years old."*
The screen switched to a wide angle shot obviously from a hand held communicator. The scene was of a wild mob of feral humans chanting and swirling around a podium that was once a water tower used to keep the livestock hydrated. Atop the tower were seven or eight Novcclids, obviously basking in the adoration of their new mob of wild humans.
As the camera zoomed into the lead Novcclid Prok, Ghyd and Drujol all were struck dumb. All thirteen of their eyes were wide and tentacles taught as bow strings.
The lead Novcclid was Frijik, their only saughter to survive to adulthood out of a clutch of 13000 spawned.
"Oh shit." The trio said, without any mental conference necessary. | 2016-03-13T18:37:08 | 2016-03-13T16:09:35 | 63 | 21 |
[WP] The world’s best lawyer just found a magic lamp, which happened to summon the worlds most devious genie. A titanic battle of wits ensued. | As any lawyer who has ever drafted a set of interrogatories knows, the power of definitions is a magical one. While one might only have twenty five interrogatories in a given case, by defining terms or by defining what a responsive answer will include, a good attorney can stretch those twenty five simple questions to something much, much more expansive.
By way of example, consider the following. "Tell me the manager's full name. Tell me the manager's address and phone number. Tell me what the manager saw. Tell me who else was present. Tell me when the event occurred. Tell me the names of all others present. Tell me what they saw. Tell me when they say the event occurred." This seems like eight separate interrogatories. However, then consider the following definitions:
>“Specify” or “describe” shall mean to give a full and complete narrative account of the information requested without omission of any relevant facts, whether deemed material by you or not, and without omission of information that could lead to relevant facts all within the spirit of the discovery rules that these discovery requests will elicit all information, documents, communications and opinions possessed by or known to you in connection with the instant litigation.
>
>“Identify,” “identity,” or “identification” when used with respect to an individual person means state his or her full name, relationship to you, current or last known personal and business addresses, current or last known personal and business phone numbers, current or last known personal and business email addresses, current or last known position and business affiliation and if different, position and business affiliation at the time to which the discovery request refers.
Suddenly, it is possible to say "Identify all witnesses to the event and describe their knowledge of the event." One interrogatory. Instead of eight.
Interrogatories were on Jack Harkness's mind that day. His firm, Harkness and McGuire, LLP, had received an interesting payment for a case they had successfully defended. Their client had claimed the bottle contained a genie, Aladdin-style. Only, the client had warned, the genie was kind of an a-hole.
The a-hole genie's name turned out to be Bixth'alinininin. He tolerated Jack calling him Bix. Barely.
"So, what are the ground rules here?" Jack asked, notepad on the desk and pen at the ready.
"Three wishes. No wishing for more wishes, and no wish that has the effect of giving you more wishes, such as wishing for more genies. Infinite life, resurrection, and mind control of any sort are strictly off the table," Bix responded, a mischievous gleam in his eye. Jack did not trust that gleam. He pushed.
"Will your fulfillment of these wishes attempt to take into account the spirit of the wish, or might there be unintended consequences? For example, were I to wish for a million dollars, would you put 100 million pennies in my stomach and laugh as I die?"
Bix grunted, eyes averted in what appeared to be either anger or shame. "Well I won't now. Takes the fun out of it if you already know."
Ah. So the definitions were going to have to be very tight indeed. Jack could work with this.
"Ok," Jack said, jotting down notes as he went, "I am handing you right now a document containing the definition of the term '**Everything I Could Ever Want**.' Please familiarize yourself with this. I will return shortly with additional definitions regarding the manner by which my wishes must be fulfilled."
Bix's eyes widened as Jack slid him a 30-page document, professionally bound, tabbed, indexed, and notated.
"This is far more than one wish," Bix said, but his voice paused in a manner that betrayed uncertainty. The gleam in his eyes seemed to have transferred, leaving his face and appearing in Jack's.
"Oh no. My first wish, which I am absolutely not making right now, will be for you to 'give me Everything I Could Ever Want.' You'll have it on your desk within the week. Until then, please feel free to enjoy the snacks and drinks in the break room. It's fully stocked. Restroom is down the hall, to the right. My partner will be along shortly to provide you with some paperwork of his own."
Jack turned and left the room, Bix's anger palpable and overwhelming at his heels. He was not bothered. Compared to some opposing counsel he had worked with, the rage of one immortal spirit was almost adorable in its impotence. | The man stepped back in shock, my lamp dropping out of his hands. I smiled. My next victim. Time to make my speech.
"Master, you have summoned me, I will grant you 5 wishes, no more, no less."
The man's eyes narrowed "What's the catch, genie? " he asked.
I blinked. No mortal, elf or human, had yet asked for any catch. I stared at him. Ah, a lawyer. They were biggest slimeballs on this planet. This was going to be tough. But no matter. No one has ever outwitted me. I sighed.
"Is that your first wish?"
The man nodded, his beady eyes glinting.
"Very well, here are the rules. You are not allowed to bring back nor summon the dead, nor ask for more wishes, or thou servant shall strike you down."
"I see. Very well, my second wish is for you to be my servant for as long as I wish. "
So, slimeball, trying to get your way eh? Want more wishes? This would be fun.
"Master, if you wish so, it shall be done. However, remember that thou has only 3 wishes,and yours will not be obliged to serve you for more then that, not here nor in your home"
There. Now he understood. What he next next, though, took me by surprise. | 2019-06-24T00:01:27 | 2019-06-23T22:01:08 | 219 | 83 |
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M). | It’s been 21 cycles since I typed CHALK. I think I was in here for about 2 real days before I figured that one out. Now my “days” end with each time I fall asleep, but If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve been in here for about 2 real weeks. Fortunately I can at least sleep on a BED, albeit it’s really just a mattress on a box spring. The MEALS aren’t exactly “food” either. More like one of those ration bars you see in movies. God, what I would do for the letter O, but at least I still have the delete key. When I typed out DECK it nearly killed me when it manifested. I just wanted a deck of cards, not a fucking porch. That was probably 15 cycles ago. This morning, I had an amazing idea. I would manifest a new deck, dismantle it, and use the wood to make this place a little more homey. Maybe make some shelves to hold my DICE, BALL, and MACE. I went to the computer and typed h-a-m-m-e- and promptly cursed myself out for forgetting R again. Now, I’m sitting on the roof of my yellow CAB, wondering whether or not I should finally turn it on, lay down, and let it run while I slowly fade away. God, what I would do for the letter O. I could hopefully get some better FOOD, but if not, I could at least pass the time by reading a BOOK or playing with a DOG. I’ve already got a BALL for him! Just one more letter and I could have so many more things. Or maybe I could click my heels together, type HOME, and be whisked away back to Kansas or wherever the fuck I’m from. But knowing this stupid machine, it would probably just kill me when it manifests a legitimate fucking house over my head. That’s actually kind of funny though, I wonder what would happen. I need to clear my head. I’m going to go draw a new window.
As I’m drawing a few trees and birds in the "distance" within the four rectangles representing glass panes, my mind starts to wander…. Adjectives! How the fuck did I not try any adjectives? I hurry to the computer, and before I can even think about what might happen, I type BIG. Nothing happens. Great, so now I can only use nouns? Bullshit. Well, back to drawing the outdoors what a fun experiment! Great idea! I’m the best! Just for laughs, I write “/s” on the wall near where I’m drawing the window.
Hold on, there’s something different about the trees and birds. They look a bit bigger, almost as if they got “closer.” Could that be what changed? Typing BIG makes my chalk drawings bigger? I’m backing up while still staring at the window. Backing up towards my BED on the opposite wall. Without looking, I sit down on my BED, like I’ve done tons of times before, hit the edge, and slip off. What the hell? I’ve been trapped in this god forsaken room forever. I can navigate this room with my eyes closed. Did I move the BED when I woke up? Why was it further away from where I thought it was? Something has changed…
I’m already typing BIG over and over again. The room is getting bigger and bigger. While I’m repeatedly entering the word I can see the walls expanding. It happens instantaneously as you press Enter. That’s why I didn’t notice at first. The room expands faster than a blink of an eye. The trees are getting closer! I’m mashing the keyboard now typing BIG as fast as I can, and suddenly the wall with the window begins to crack. Still typing. It buckles until a ray of light shines through near the ceiling. Still typing. I can smell fresh air. I hear the birds! Still typing. The wall finally crumbles as a tree branch pokes through the light hole. Still typing. The cement wall is crumbing more as the tree trunk finally breaks through. I look around and notice that the room is huge now. It’s probably a 3 minute walk just to get to my bed. I run over to the broken wall, rip out some of the bigger chunks of concrete from the wall to make a hole and climb past the tree. I have no clue where the fuck I am, but at least I found a way out. Maybe I’ll go get my CAB and find a road.
| Can't make a saw, drill, auger, or bore, so I'm tapped on cutting tools.
Blade? I get an Xacto knife... really guys?
I could try bomb but I'd just blow myself up and det-cord's a no-go
Crap, why didn't I pay more attention in Spanish class? I'd have a whole other language to work with!
Okay, lets get a bed to chill on and think. Cool, pretty comfy. Meal too, and milk. I could get beer but I need to think.
I'll save Hole till I'm to the donor die point. Damn, egress isn't a go either.
I'm kinda worried about where I'm going to go to the bathroom. Maybe Hole comes sooner.
Okay, bored too.
Ball.
Ball, that's an idea. Need help though. Big ball. Yes!
A nice big medicine ball. I start chucking it at the wall, aiming for the same spot.
Image? I'd get a picture. Screw it, back to attrition on the wall. At least I'm getting stronger. Hella workout.
Wait! F.B.I!
And I'm looking at an FBI agent, who's just as confused as I was. Shame it wasn't a female agent but beggars can't be choosers
No cell service but they have a weapon. Shoot the weak spot? No, they don't wanna. Can't handle bombs either.
Trying more later. | 2017-05-09T09:41:38 | 2017-05-09T09:12:58 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | “... just ask.”
The bending of air and space making sound was lost to the wind. This being, this Thing of entropy and distance, was offering her a plastic credit card.
“I ... we-“
Her voice died in her throat. How can she still have the energy to be nervous and embarrassed after being rolled out of bed in the middle of the night and dressed up in a ceremonial outfit that was all chafing and scratching?
“Find your voice, speak as you would think.”
Oh, great, they’re considerate. Like they needed this to be harder.
It all came out as one quick tirade of noise, like she was worried if she stopped talking she’d lose her thought.
“I was just wondering if maybe you have the time to hang out for a bit and maybe play a game together?”
“A ... game?” The accompanying head tilt surely had to have been an intentional move. Why were they so cute?
“Yeah. Like. I don’t know. I just, don’t have many people I can do things with. We moved out here from where I grew up a few months ago and it’s kind of hard to keep up with your friends when you’ve had all means of communication taken away from you. Ha! Ha”.
Oh great, she thought, now I’m over-sharing.
The air took on the quality of a dry winter, all biting cold and not a hint of moisture. The being, this Great Force, peered through ancient eyes made of light and secrets.
The voice, a sound like wind through an old house, affirmed her perception of their reaction.
“That’s messed up.” The tone deep, with practised restraint.
“No, it’s - Yeah, it is. God, why did I feel like I had to defend them? I mean, it’s like I know if I heard of this happening to someone else I’d be terrified. I was a part of like a Discord server, do you know what Discord is? Anyways, I had a friend tell me about some troubles with their parents they had and I remember feeling so bad for her but I knew I couldn’t really open up about mine because they could see what I did over the connection and -“
The cold abated. She felt herself wrapped up, like a blanket was placed on her shoulders. Her breaths came in heaving bursts now. She wiped her face. God, when did she even start crying?
She felt the emptying of the air that meant her betrothed was about to speak.
“They aren’t here anymore, and you’ll never have to see them again. I hoped you could use the resources I am afforded to live comfortably, but that may not be as simple as I thought.”
She felt a sensation like a cold, wet cloth being brought to her face. It took her a second to process what it was. She was still sniffling, hard.
“Did you just wipe tears out of my face?”
“Oh. Apologies. I should have asked but it seemed natural. I shall not do so again without your express permission.”
“No, no, it’s okay, I just. You know. Bit surprising.”
“... yeah.”
“Yeah.”
The air was pushed from the space as this cosmic force that wrapped her in its presence spoke again.
“What game did you miss most?”
——
“I told you, there was better stuff there. I can’t believe you really picked all of your stuff based on the brand!”
Head tilting, they whistled in the air, adjusting their headphones between their antlers and crown.
“I .. thought perhaps you might have found it amusing.”
“Amusing?”
Oh.
“Did you buy and entire gaming PC, keyboard, headphones, mouse, and several other things from the brand because you thought I’d think it was funny you picked *Alienware*?”
“... do you?”
Aww, no. This was bad. This was really, really bad. She was in so much trouble.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” | I looked to this God sure he was an "eldritch Horror" but hey living life with pretty much nothing to do except read ones imagination led places. "I will take your offer with two exceptions." "Yesss Little mural" he said sounding intrigued "One, you tell me your name; Two you come visit me at least once a week." He looked taken aback by my proposal but then he smiled then gave a small laugh and sigh "you have always amused me Little Mural." I looked at him with surprise. "My name is to complicated for your brain to handle but you can call me Verai and as for your second stipulation i think i will visit." I smile at him for the first time i felt like i had someone. "Lets get you out of this hellhole and somewhere much nicer" he said grabbing my hand gently as his appearance shifts to something much more human yet so deadly. | 2022-08-09T19:42:30 | 2022-08-09T19:12:44 | 42 | 25 |
[WP] "The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve..." (Matt 20:28) You're up against Jesus in a dance-off | "Bring me your best fighter, and let us do battle." Jesus demanded, and the people heard. A devious idea popped in the head of Simon Cowell of American Idol.
"Jesus, we will bring you our best fighter, through competition." Simon declared to Christ. "Give us seven days, and we will give you our champion." Simon promised.
"Very well, Simon." Jesus said. "Whence I return on the 7th day, you shall all know service like no other." Jesus vanished, and all the T-Mobile users rejoiced.
I knew I was destined to become our savior. Jesus was a terrible dancer, and everyone knew it. And so, Earth and her people turned their attention to the television, and only the most noble dancers traveled to the set of American Idol for the greatest competition anyone had ever seen. Over seven days, the people watched as we danced our best dance moves, and Simon judged us. It was a grueling 7 days, and on the 7th day, I was matched against Shakira in the finals. Lord almighty, her hips did not lie, but with the power of Christ I was able to slay her in front of millions of people. Thus, I emerged as champion of the Earth, and it was good. People cheered, and Jesus descended down from Heaven.
"Ah, it is you. I should have known." Jesus snarled. He raised his hands, and all of America was transformed into what resembled a massive football stadium with a dance floor. Every person in the world was brought to the stadium, and Jesus turned to the crowd.
"It is time, ladies and gentlemen, to be served." Jesus said, turning to me, as I remained the only person on the dance floor beside him. Simon sat at a judge's table just off to the side, eagerly sitting on the edge of his seat. Suddenly, Hey Ya by Outkast started playing from nowhere. The lights were shut off and a spot light landed on me and Jesus. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Jesus broke into dance. His eyes burned into my own--never have I seen such a look of raw determination.
"God give me strength," I whispered, and returned Jesus's gaze while throwing out all my best moves. Sweat dripped from my brow, and I waved my arms and legs around like only I knew how. Jesus had some good moves, and it caught me off guard. The sheer force of his dance moves sent me flying through the air away from him, but I was able to recover nicely on my feet, and finish with a pirouette. The crowd fucking loved it. I knew they would. Jesus, now furious and losing hope, began singing the lyrics to the song as well. Big mistake, and I knew it, smiling to myself. The crowed immediately started booing. People threw things down onto the stage, and yelled at Jesus.
"That's terrible!!" Someone shouted.
"Why would anyone try to purposely ruin such a great song?!" Someone screamed.
"Get off the stage, loser!!!!" Simon yelled from the judge's table.
"You fools!" Jesus shouted back at the crowed. "And fuck you, Simon!"
"It seems you have lost, Jesus." I said, walking up. "We serve nobody. Except you, of course."
"ARGHHH! I'll be back!" Jesus yelled up at the sky, hands clenched before him. He disappeared from sight along with the stadium, and everyone was returned to their homes.
Thus the seventh Jesus vs. World Dance off came to an end. Our lord would return, not in our lifetime, of course, but in another. And when that time comes, may American Idol choose a worthy warrior of Earth to serve our lord, Jesus Christ. | You offer us some grape juice, wafer bread,
To quench the thirsty throats of true believers.
No, let me serve you something up instead,
A tasty load of my deft dance maneuvers.
My swagger evidently cuts through famine
Unlike the fish and bread you pass out when
You need some followers for advertisin'.
I follow one commandment out of ten.
It's not to love my neighbor or to give
The Sabbath unto God, 'cause Sundays are mine.
Instead I'll let the first commandment live
With my perspective put on your doctrine.
For serving rhymes and moves, I've proved to thee
You'll have no other gods unless it's me.
| 2015-08-18T21:16:33 | 2015-08-18T20:15:06 | 333 | 39 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | I won Pascal's Wager.
Throughout the vast majority of my life, I had considered myself to be guided by reason, science, and empathy rather than religion. I saw no evidence for a god or gods existing, and figured any deity worth worshiping wouldn't have created a world where things like child rape and cancer existed. In my work as a lawyer I sought to be a barrier against the various evils that others inflicted on the world.
But then I *got* cancer. Terminal. And, much to my embarrassment, I was terrified. I had never considered myself the type of person who would want the comfort of religion when staring mortality in the face, but there it was. Maybe it was the meds addling me, or maybe it was just the fear, but I thought *hey, what the fuck?* And I rolled a die.
See, all the religions seemed equally improbable to me, so it was the only way I could choose. The die landed on 5. So a week before my death, I converted to Hinduism.
That last week was actually kind of nice. When I wasn't throwing up from last-ditch chemo or curled in bed, I did yoga, meditated, and performed any karmic acts of kindness available to me. I found myself feeling grateful that the die hadn't landed on 1 or 2. I don't think I would have adjusted to those religions quite so well.
Now here I am, standing on the wall of the Hindu afterlife city in my young, strong, reincarnated form, staring at the fate I would have shared had I not picked up that die. Every morning, I come up here and watch the non-religious souls as they fight the monsters or flee from them. I'm haunted by the sight of them being torn apart, only to respawn elsewhere in the wasteland and eventually suffer the same gruesome end.
At first, I was angry--and guilty, in a "survivor's guilt" kind of way. Why should I be rewarded for taking a random chance, while they suffered for remaining intellectually honest to themselves until their death? Then, I realized I could get as angry as I wanted. Anger by itself wouldn't do a damn thing.
Most others here in the afterlife spend their days enjoying themselves--socializing, meditating, eating, exploring. But I have the soul of a lawyer, and those don't clock out so early.
So every morning after I come down from the wall, I head to the Library of Humanity, which contains a file on every human who has ever lived. I spend the day poring over atheist files and making cases. My core argument usually revolves around the fact that Hinduism is more about actions, intents, consequences, and ethics than it is about specific rituals.
It's hard work. This is no mass tort: I have to argue atheist cases one by one, based on their actions in life. Honestly, vegans are the easiest: they have the whole *ahimsa* thing in the bag. For others, I emphasize other factors. Kindness, honesty, self-restraint, hard work, that kind of thing.
I argue my cases to the minor deities first. If over 75% of them vote in my favor, I automatically win the case. If less than 25% vote yes, then I lose. If it's a split vote, I take the case to Shiva. Shiva likes me, though. He doesn't veto too many, and usually only does it if he disagrees with me on the defendant's motivations for doing good deeds or avoiding bad ones. Shiva is big on "doing the right thing for the right reason." Definitely not a consequentialist.
Has two-hundred-and-forty-seven years of arguing court cases gotten a little boring? Sure. But every time the gate opens and I usher another battered, bloody atheist soul inside, I can't wait to do it again. After all, I got lucky. Time to pay it forward. | Would I have done things differently? Yes, I would. Because an eternity in a godforsaken desert is not something you volonteer for. But the real question is: what would I have changed? Which religion should I have chosen? On Earth, they all preach some kind of heaven; here, reality is very different.
They call them 'walled cities'. Not because you can't get in, but because you can't get out. They're prisons where worshipping gets a new meaning.
Christian City is filled with poverty. Hindu City is so overpopulated, that they're eating each other. There are no virgins in Muslim City, not anymore at least. And Buddha? I'll get to Buddha later, and you'll be surprised when you hear his real story.
Those are the big cities. There are many other small ones, but none are any better.
So, the question was: which religion should I have chosen? The answer is short but not rewarding: I should have chosen my wife's. | 2017-11-21T08:46:31 | 2017-11-21T07:28:08 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You get an odd email from a rogue Microsoft employee saying he studies the live feed through people's Xbox Kinect camera and tells you a dark figure stands beside your bed every night and watches you sleep. | *FROM: MARTIN GIESTO (themartingiesto@microsoft.com)*
*TO: JACK STEVENS (handsomejack@hyperion.com)*
*CC: NONE*
*BC: NONE*
*Hello, Jack. I am Martin, Senior Security Director of Microsoft Incorporated. According to our records, you purchased a Kinect for your Xbox One on 09/04/16.*
*My job is to review footage from our consumers' Kinects. This is for security reasons, like finding criminals or discovering crimes in progress. We are concerned with the footage found on your Kinect.*
*A dark, shadowy figure stands over you while you sleep. It stays there until one minute before your alarm clock goes off, then dissipates into the shadows under your bed.*
*I felt you should know this. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me at my email address listed above.*
*****
"That's strange." Jack said in disbelief. "He's gotta be joking. Ghosts don't exist." And with that, Jack left his computer to get ready for bed.
*"It is dismaying, though."* He thought. *"What if he isn't joking? Could there really be a ghost watching me in my sleep?"*
Twenty minutes pass. Jack, now bordering on insanity from the email, gets an idea. *"What if I feign sleep? I'll drink coffee beforehand, and stay awake through the night."*
He brews a cup of his favorite brew, light roast with french vanilla cream, and chugs it straight away. After promptly burning his tongue, he pops into bed and closes his eyes tightly, waiting for some sort of sign of a ghost.
Ten minutes pass. Jack is soundly asleep, the coffee doing nothing, apparently. During a strange dream about unicorns and... corn? Jack sees a black, sillhoutted face. *"WAKE UP!*"
Jack jumps out bed, terrified. He sees a dark figure with flowing black robes. It hovers 6 inches off the ground, and has no feet. Darkness spews from its black face as it speaks, its voice cutting through the air like a knife.
"Hello, Jack."
"W-who are y-you?"
"I am Jzar, Invader of Nightmares and Eater of Dreams. Here's my question: why do you wish to see me?"
"I never said that--"
"Ah, but your mind did. I am all knowing, Jack. Now, answer my question. Why do you wish to see me?"
"I... um... wanted to know if you watch me sleep."
"Of course I do. The title explains it all. Have your elders not told you of my tale?"
"Well, no. Nobody knows you exist, in fact."
"I see. Have you ever read *The Myth of Jzar*? Or, *Legends of Drangleic*?
"No. Those books... um... don't exist to us."
"Of course, you humans don't accept old myths anymore. Well, I shall tell you my tale. I was birthed of darkness, formed by light, and molded by dreams. At least, that's what those stupid books say. In reality, there isn't much to it, I'm an umbra who takes nourishment from dreams--"
"Hence, watching me in my sleep?"
"Yes, but let me finish. The dreams of humans sate my hunger, a curse passed down by my elder umbrae. I was kicked from the ethereal plane, and forced to scour the earth in search of dreams. Yours are the most pleasent I have tasted yet. I stay here, protecting you from dangers, keeping you and, by extension, your dreams--"
"So, you protect me in my sleep?"
"Can't you let a transient being finish his story?"
"Sorry, Jzar."
"That's fine. Now, back to the story. I can only take nourishment from dreams of pure joy. Nightmares are bitter, and weaken my resistance to the curse. Thus, I invade your nightmares and change them to pleasent dreams. It's quite the symbiotic relationship. Finally, when you wake, I dissipate to the darkness--"
"I noticed. But, why?"
"The same reason I stopped telling stories to humans. You're all annoying."
"I am *so* sorry. Please, continue."
"Ha. But, the reason I dissipate? You'd soil yourself if you saw me, wouldn't you? I'm a nightmare creator, and the cause of insanity for countless people. For this reason, I stay discreet."
Jack looks at his watch (why is he wearing a watch to bed?) and sees the time. *1:30 AM*. "I appreciate you humoring my conversation, Jzar. I should go back to sleep. Feel free to feast on my dreams. Afterwards, you're welcome to not dissipate and hang around the house."
"Many thanks, Jack."
With a sigh, Jack rests his head on a pillow. "No, thank you."
And with that, Jack drifted into dreams.
*****
Loved the prompt. I'll do a continuation if there's a demand for it. Edit: [Part two] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/54uzya/wp_you_get_an_odd_email_from_a_rogue_microsoft/d8664d8?context=3) | I looked at my phone. A notification. An email. I unlocked my phone and opened up my GMail. The title read "URGENT: Please Read". Great, spam. I read the sender to see that it was addressed from a Microsoft email. Some TOS change or a warning about my XBox One, I guessed. I sighed and opened it.
Hello "Getoutmatepls",
I'd like to take the time to tell you some things. My name is unimportant, but this is a serious matter. I'm what you could call a "rogue" Microsoft employee. I've been viewing Kinect cams for a while and I gotta say what I've seen is fucked up. But I shouldn't skip around the issue. There's a dark figure in your room at night, and it's there on and off. Sometimes it's there for a night and gone the next. Watch the hell out. I've attached some pictures for you to see."
Wow. Sure enough, there were pictures attached. I opened them and they all contained a figure standing by my bed in different positions with different dates stamped on them. Fuck. This is really bad. I realised the best thing to do would be stay up late on some nights to try and catch this figure.
10pm. I'm in bed trying to keep myself awake. I wasn't tired so it didn't take much effort to stay up.
11pm. Drifting in and out of sleep, trying to mainly stay awake. I'm doing fine though.
12am. Nothing still. Weird.
1am. A noise. It sounds like a breath. Is it the figure. I opened my eyes to see my room dimly lit by seemingly nothing. Actually, now I realise. It was my Kinect. Lighting up my room somehow. Oh!? It's there! I slowly shuffled my way out of bed and stood up slowly. And then it saw me. I was scared. I ran towards it, with my heavy plastic alarm clock in hand. It dissipated into something smoke like and then glided towards me. I stepped back in fear, almost paralysed. It passed around me. I turned just quickly enough to see it floating into the camera of the Kinect.
There's something in my Kinect.
And I don't know what.
| 2016-09-28T04:40:01 | 2016-09-27T23:23:12 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] It's April 30th, 2028. You wake up in your bunker and turn on the morning Reddit news. After 10 years, the worldwide hide and go seek contest officially ended today and they are announcing who won the $100,000,000 cash prize. You didn't even know the contest existed until they show your photo.
https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/8fzgmj/the_entire_world_enters_into_a_game_of_hide_and/ | It’s been a long time, but I think I’m finally ready to start living again.
I’m finally ready take part in the world. It’s been a long 10 years. I’ve had nothing to drink asides from water that I got from a creek running in front of my bunker, or snow that I melted. To be honest, it’s a miracle nobody has accidentally stumbled upon my humble shelter that has been my home through many harsh winters.
I decided to live a life away from humanity until I felt I was ready to forgive what -they- did to me.
But after all these years, what they did was unforgivable. I can’t see myself ever living in a world where I’m alive and they are too. It’s either them, or me.
Upon that realization, I gathered up my hunting rifle, extinguished the fire pit that had saved my life so many times before, and carefully started to wander back to Takotna, a small village of 50 people along the Iditarod trail. It was a 60 mile journey, but it was almost summer and I knew if I built a raft I would be there within two or three days floating down the Takotna river. The river had just broken up.
I began my journey, slowly floating towards the Kuskokwim River. After a close encounter with a bull moose, and eating a nice meal of whitefish, I ended up in the small village known for giving pies to Mushers during the Iditarod dogsled race. Upon arriving in the quaint village, I notice nothing had changed since I walked through unnoticed years ago, save for the airport looking more worn and the school looking like it was abandoned.
This time passing through was different. I heard an old Inuit ask a friend: “Is that him?”
To which the friend replied: “I think it is....but it can’t be. Not out here. Hardly anyone in Alaska even -knows- about Takotna.”
I kept walking. Ignoring what I thought I may had heard. People haven’t changed in the time I was away.
I keep walking past the small one room post office. I arrive at the airport, but it’s nothing more than a dirt strip with nothing more than a single hangar owned by the state and three small Cessnas parked outside.
I noticed that a few people had followed me. Murmuring amongst themselves. I kept hearing my name. But how could they know my name?
Finally, fed up with these people, I turn around to yell at the few who had followed only to find the whole village standing there. Staring. Quietly.
I boldly yell: “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT”
It felt weird to speak out loud to people.
“You’re....the winner....aren’t you?”
“No, I am nothing but a loser hermit who lived in the woods for just over a decade”
“But you won the game.”
“What? What game?”
“It was a game, there was a game nobody thought would ever end, but today it finally happened”
“That’s can’t be right. After what they did to me, there is no way I’m allowed to partake in sort of game”
“Is your name Caton?”
“Yeah”
“You won. It doesn’t matter. Whoever did what, it doesn’t matter. You won the money”
“I vowed to either live and kill them, or to die and let them win”
“But you are rich, now, you can save yourself”
“But you just said I won the game, and now by thinking of the game, I lost. “
I quickly and rashly decided I was not for this world. I swung my hunting rifle around and quickly racked a bullet into chamber, put the muzzle under my chin and pulled the trigger.
Blackness.
“What a fool. He was thinking of the other game” | "shit, shit, shit..." I stood up and started pacing, trying to reason my way out of a panic. It was possible that they'd missed someone, maybe Jonathan was still ok, maybe the doctors had been right all along and I really *was* suffering from paranoid delusions...
No. I had to face facts. I dropped into this bunker all those years ago because I'd been the only one of my family to believe the truth... and obviously, now, the only one who hadn't already been taken.
The lizard people had completely taken over the Earth, and I was the last hold-out. They were trying to bribe me into the open.
And they had Jonathan.
I ran to my gun stash and checked my reserves. This wasn't the time for self-doubt of any kind. Delusions or no, it was safer to go out guns blazing.
If they wanted me, they were gonig to have to die trying.
| 2018-04-30T13:27:18 | 2018-04-30T12:31:28 | 92 | 32 |
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one. | It starts with a family.
And a warning.
“Be wary” the oracle screams, swaying with the steam cascading from the vents of the cave.
“One of your children will bring evils to the nation of the likes we would never see, and one will bring it to heights we can only wish for. Use this warning wisely!”
The parents to-be shook in fear, but the priests gathered for the ritual nodded their heads sagely. The pure child would bring their nation to greatness, just as was foretold. The evil child could be disposed of. When the twins were born, the entire country seemed to gather outside of the birthing chamber. The priests in attendance lit their incense and sent their prayers to the heavens. And thus, two children were brought into this world. It seemed to the priests obvious which child would bring calamity, and which would bring prosperity. With their third eye, they could see the boy had the countenance of evil: dark shadowy wings pooling below him, and horns poking distastefully through his forehead. The girl shined with inner radiance, wings like light folded softly around her and a softly glowing halo.
So, heeding the oracles warning, they left the boy on a far mountain as an offering of understanding to the gods, who had put prosperity within their reach. The naming ceremony was that night was a grand affair, the capital lit up with all manner of celebration. Wine and drink flowed freely, and the nation talked of their savior. However, on a mountain far away, another naming took place. A small clan of goatherds celebrated their new addition by the light of a smokey fire.
And so, with celebration in the air, two screaming, swaddled children gained their names that night: Clio.
When Clio was three, she learned what it meant to be loved. She had always known she had it. People told her, after all. They told her when she passed them on the street and in the halls. Told her they loved her, for she was their savior.
“Mama, do you love me?” She asked one night, when all the people had gone away from giving her things. Her mama didn’t respond, she had drunk all the wine that people had left as offerings and was snoring on the dias.
“Daddy, do you love me?” She asked the second night. She asked it to the empty room where her Daddy was supposed to be, but he was away talking to important people.
On the third night, she went into her room and looked at all her things, given to her by people who said they loved her.
“They love me” She said to herself, quietly.
When Clio was three, he learned what it meant to be loved. Some of the other boys had pushed him, saying that his parents didn’t love him. That they had left him on a mountain to die.
“Mama, do you love me?” He asked one night as his mama tucked him into bed.
“Of course I love you, you are my child.” She said. Then she kissed him on the head.
“Daddy, do you love me?” He asked the second night. “Of course, you’re my son.” The old goatherd responded gruffly. Then he continued showing his son how to start a fire.
On the third night, he asked his brothers and sisters “Do you love me?”
“Of course” they responded. “Those boys were mean and dumb, and they’ll never say that again.”
Clio smiled. “They love me.” he said to himself, quietly.
When Clio was nine, she learned what consequences were.
“It is nothing.” Said the priest, sweeping away the shards of broken vase. “Should you do it, it is meant to be.”
“Ok” said Clio.
When she snuck out that night to go look at the river, a kitten came up to her and purred. Surprised, she looked at it. It was dirty and skinny, but perhaps Clio could pet it. She tried to grab it up and hold it, but it scratched her. Outraged, she threw it into the river.
But it was fine.
After all, what she did was meant to be.
When Clio was nine, he learned what consequences were.
“You ripped the basket, Clio. Now you must make a new one.” Said his mother, sweeping away the broken sticks. “Go get more twigs, I will show you how it's done.”
That day he and his friends ventured into the woods to hunt. He shot and killed a fox, but later found its crying kit. Guilty, he attempted to scoop the kit up, but it bit him. Shocked, he drew his hand back. Then he reached into his pocket and offered it a bit of jerky instead. The kit took it, and let Clio carry him home. It died three days later without its mother’s milk.
It wasn’t fine, and Clio cried.
When Clio was fifteen, she learned what it was to be powerful. A man, married, had spurned her advances. She had wanted him, wanted him to hold her and to love her. And he had said no. And so, she told her priests to bring him his head on a plate, for he had hurt her. Their savior.
They did.
She smiled.
When Clio was fifteen, he learned what it meant to be powerful. His father groaned as he levered the rock up off of the trapped goat, and Clio scrambled to grab it from under the heavy weight. His father dropped the rock, panting heavily.
Exhausted and grateful, the goat dropped his head against Clio’s shoulder.
Clio and his father smiled.
When Clio was twenty-one, she learned how to lead.
The crowd was deafening, willing to follow her to the ends of the earth. And she would lead them, bringing them to greatness while dancing on the corpses of those who got in their way.
When Clio was twenty-one, he learned how to lead.
“I’ll go.” He volunteered. The clan meeting went silent, having been discussing their warmongering neighbors to the east. “I will find out what is happening in the city. I will find out if we are in danger”.
Four of his friends immediately volunteered to follow him.
When Clio was twenty two, she learned she loved sacrifice. Specifically, those her people made to her of their enemies.
When Clio was twenty two, his family was the sacrifice.
When Clio was twenty three, she put down her first rebellion.
Clio is twenty three when he leads his first.
When Clio is twenty four, she learns the value of loyalty.
“Where do you think you are going, you cowards! They’re just rebels, we’ll kill them.” She screams as her priests flee. They don’t even grace her with a reply
When Clio is twenty four, he reaps loyalty’s rewards.
“Will you stand with me?” He asks his star general, best friend, his brother in arms.
“There was never a question” Comes the reply.
And so, it starts as it ends. With a family. Two siblings fight each other on the battlefield. The smoke gives the illusion of dark wings, like an angel of death, to both as they clash. The light halos them, diffuse through the smoke.
Clio dies, and the blood pools around them like dark wings.
Clio lives, shrouded in the light like a sign of victory. | Bazil landed in the village square to applause. He had slayed a dragon, driven out a hoard of child kidnapping goblins, and convinced the local lord to treat the villagers fairly.
After accepting their gratitude, he excused himself to retire to his room at the inn. He didn't want to revel, he wasn't in it for that, but time had taught him that it was important to allow them to express their gratitude. It made them feel like somehow they had played some small part in saving themselves. It made them stronger. Refusing it would be selfish.
Hours later he heard a knock at his door. The innkeeper knew better than to allow someone up to disturb him. Occasionally local children were brave enough to sneak in to see him. This knock though, it was faint like a timid child's, but higher up on the door. Opening it, Bazil found an older woman standing there. She was dressed in rags, her disheveled appearance one born not just of poverty but long travels. Pity struck Bazil.
"I can give you some gold, but I'm afraid I don't take visitors."
The woman shook her head. "I do not wish for gold. I wish to beg for aid from my son."
Bazil stared. Twenty eight years he had spent alone. At age eight he had become a camp aide to a group of travelling adventurers. They had eventually trained him, and on his twenty first birthday his magic had manifested. It had been decades since he had spent nights huddled in the gutter, dreaming of the day his mother would rescue him. He had concocted stories as to why he had been abandoned. Later as an adult he had managed to find the true story. Anger sparked within him. Not anger for himself. He was not that boy. An anger towards someone who could do that.
"You abandoned your child" he said unevenly. "Is this who you claim to be. When I reached adulthood I searched backwards and found the village of my birth. I learned of a prophecy that I would be evil. I do not know the circumstances of the prophecy, but a child was abandoned by his mother. This in itself is a high evil. Knowing what I know, do you still claim to be my mother?”
“Yes.”
“What aid do you seek?” Inwardly, Bazil steeled himself. He aided those in need. He saved them from the dark forces of the world.
“You should know the whole village agreed. This is why you were exiled. We sent you far away because we feared that you, not your sister, would be evil.”
“Sister?”
“Yes.” The woman shuddered. “She was an angel, born with wings and halo. She was born without any of the grime and blood you associate with birth. She was an image out of a story. Then you were born. There was a prophecy that said one of you would be a great evil, the other a great good. We feared you. Believed you were a demon.”
Bazil nodded. He could see where this was headed. If he was in fact a hero now, and the prophecy was true, then his sister would be a monster.
“There were accidents. Children went missing, pets. A family ate tainted meat. I thought nothing of them. Seven years ago things changed. She...she…”
“She got magic powers.” Bazil thought back to the moment he got them. He had felt something then. A connection to something dark. He had feared it was something in him even as he felt it was far away. Now he knew.
“She rules the village now. They faked my death so I could search for you. So I could undo my mistake. Please, you have to help us.”
Bazil shook his head. “Do you know why I helped these townsfolk?”
The woman shook her head.
“They settled here long ago. Back then, this land was free of monsters. Now, migration has made it a tough land. They were conquered, and now their lord was coming down on them because he needed more taxes to defend against the monsters. The townsfolk were innocent victims. Your village doomed itself. It is paying for the sins that it committed. There are innocent people who need my help. I would have to forsake them for a time to help you.”
The woman stood and pointed a bony finger at him. “What of the children? What of your mother? Will you not help your own mother?”
Bazil stood, towering over the woman. “Your village has a policy that would keep the children safe, does it not.”
The woman staggered back.
Bazil but his hand to his face, pinching his nose. “No, I won’t subject them to that. Yet, I cannot commit sororicide, even on a sister I have never known. I am not evil.”
“So what will you do.”
Bazil stretched his wings, considering. “I don’t know.” | 2020-05-07T13:27:35 | 2020-05-07T09:46:51 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence. | "It.. how? You..."
"I told you," Jack said to God flatly.
The white-bearded deity shifted uncomfortably on his sandals. "What did you do?" His messy room where everything was just where he wanted it was clean and tidy.
"What you were supposed to do but never did. I fixed the Earth. I fixed the whole universe, in fact."
"But ..but *how*? I've been trying to fix that planet since I made it."
"Well, let me ask, G. -when humans prayed to you for world peace, what did you do?"
"Well, I did nothing."
"And how did that work out for you?" Jack put his hands on his hips. "How many wars did your nothing stop?"
"Well, none but... I gave humanity free will."
"You gave ...didn't you say you gave the devil dominion over the Earth?"
"Ah yes but remember that I established the rule that 'the devil made me do it' isn't a viable excuse."
"Right. You made humanity vulnerable to temptation, put temptation all around them, plunged them into desperate need and suffering, and then punished them for falling for the devil's lies. What sort of imbecile are you?"
"Imbecile? How dare you! I am the Lord Go-"
"Were."
"-od and I shall smite... were?"
"You *were* God. You made *me* God, remember?"
"For a day."
"Yes well I changed that too."
"You what?"
"I'm God. I can do anything. A God made the deal and now a God has broken it."
"That's dishonest!"
"I made no promises. This whole idea was yours from the start. All I did was complain and YOU whisked me out of my home and onto this cloud. Who lives on a cloud? This is so uncomfortable!"
"So, what happens to me?"
"Oh, I have a special punishment in store for you."
"Punishment??"
"Yes. As a thank you for thousands of years of wars and torture in your name that you never bothered to step in and stop."
God sighed heavily. The jig was up. "Let me guess, an eternity in the ovens of hell, right? Look, I was totally going to change that..."
"Oh my no. That would be too good for you." Jack snapped his fingers and manifested an emery board. He filed his nails with a smug expression on his face.
"W-what are you going to do to me?" God's hands absently clutched at his robes.
"I'm going to make you live every human life that existed for the last 6000 years since you created the Earth and hid those dinosaur bones to fuck with your children. You're going to be every torturer and every victim of torture. You're going to be the rich man destined for Hell and the poor man clawing at crumbs under his table. You're even going to get to be Jesus on the cross begging you to send the help you never did."
"No, wait, you don't want to-" POOF
God vanished. Jack, satisfied with his work, turned his attention back to solving the dark matter problem in the universe. He was just about to plug up a black hole when his hands began to shake. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Jack had been the last human God was forced to be. He never got rid of God. He *was* God. He had always been God.
And God looked back on his lives, how alone he had felt, how hurt. World after world, civilization after civilization, suffering and warring and fearing and dying.
And upon the face of a trillion worlds a heavy rain fell as God wept. | "How'd you do it?" God asked in a quiet and amazed voice.
"Ya know all those different books with their warnings of Apocalypse?"
"Yeah. They're all ridiculous, I would never do such things to people."
"I created one apocalyptic event from every major religion of the world."
"WHY?"
"I read 'The Prince' in high school. Plus I fixed all the laws of nature to be programmed in binary."
"But I am God, not a computer."
"Ah, I forgot. I also read 'The Last Answer' last week and it just popped into my head."
" You did well Evan. I'm impressed."
"Actually, it's Bruce..." | 2017-03-05T03:10:18 | 2017-03-05T02:14:30 | 1,634 | 15 |
[WP] You are a child's "imaginary friend". You are a guardian angel. And your kid is really, really stupid. | “God dammit, Jeremy,” I shrieked pulling my hair. “What did I tell you?”
“Don’t talk to strangers,” an unassuming six year old with ruffled light brown hair kicked at the ground in bashfulness. His
“So a stranger comes up to you,” I growled. “What do you do?”
“Don’t talk to him.”
“What if he offers you candy?”
Jeremy’s eyes suddenly twinkled in the dim warehouse lights. “Oh! Is it Snickers? Like the nice man brought? I love snickers.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I roared. I was supposed to be his spiritual guide but I took two steps away to ensure that I did not physically guide my hand across his head.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that,” the child blushed at my outburst.
“I’ll say whatever the hell I want because no one, not even God, would dare fire me from this job,” I shook my finger at him. It was true too. Four angels driven to madness, suicide, absconding to hell, and ‘change in career plan.’ In that order. I was just the latest in a long line of guardians that could do fuck all in the face of utter optimistic chaos.
Trouble found the button nosed, round cheeked child, like a wasp finds the inside of a Pepsi can on a hot summer day. Every damn time, at the worst possible time. Was it his fault? Probably not. Did he help the situation? Absolutely not.
I sighed in defeat. “Jeremy, I don’t know how to get us out of this one. This isn’t some random kidnappper again. This is the Mexican drug cartel.”
“Yay! Do they have horses?” He bounced up and down.
“You are thinking of the cart ride at the fair. The cartel is full of bad people instead of bad hay. Very bad.”
“Bad horses?”
“Yes, Jeremy, bad horses.” I sighed and let my shoulders slump. We, or rather I, had to think of a solution FAST.
“Can you fly us away?” Jeremy pointed to my wings.
“Surprisingly astute, however, no, I lost my flying license on my last kid. Which is how I ended up here. With you.” I tapped him on the nose in a feeble attempt at affection. I rolled my head in thought. Groaning, “Ugh, this is going to be tough.”
Several guards in the perimeter had been awake for more than 24 hours. Good. They can all go to sleep. I flexed my arms outwards. As long as no harm came to them, my power was limitless. Two of the guards nodded off. The rest groggily shook off my power. I guess sleep would have caused them harm? This was the cartel. So maybe.
“Jeremy, find a cloth or something to wear,” I snapped. He picked a dirty car rag off the floor and put it on his head. “No, something bigger.” He picked up another dirty car rag. Before he could put it on his head I stammered, “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s go. I’ll make the guards look another direction or something.”
Jeremy looked up at me and smiled. “Okay, where are we going?” I pointed to the door. He immediately marched over to swing it open. Gleefully he greeted the guard on the other side. Thank our stars it was one of the sleepy ones. I pushed Jeremy out into the lot before he could shake the man awake.
Three of the perimeter guards spotted us from over a low weed covered fence. With a little holy persuasion though they lost sight of us as they rounded the corner. Jeremy covered his mouth with both hands as he crouched in a leafy bush. I made a shhh sound and motioned him towards the exit. Slowly. Slowly. Clear.
Once we hit the edge of the fence I yanked Jeremy up. “Run!Runrunrunrun!”
He bolted while hauled ass behind him barely keeping up. I never said I was an in-shape angel. Every few steps I shot a backwards glance towards the warehouse. No one.
Once we were clear, I gasp, “Jer-“ unable to finish my word. I heaved a few times and stumbled to a stop. Jeremy circled back.
“Where to now?” Jeremy laughed.
“The liquor store,” I wheezed. “Then home.”
“I-I don’t know how to get home.” Jeremy seemed to finally come to terms with just a smidgeon if his reality. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
My heart ached... just tiny bit.
“It’s alright kid,” I tapped his shoulder with one arm as my other gripped my knee. “That’s what I’m here for.” | Perhaps it was a bad idea to assign Guardians to children at such a young age. A person does not grow to fear falling if they know they will be caught at the last moment, after all. Penelope was a precocious young girl who got herself into trouble more often than not, and Ariel was absolutely exhausted.
It shouldn't have been possible for an angel to feel this tired, but Penelope was very good at tempting fate, and she was far too fast for her own good. One day, even with Ariel's supernatural speed and abilities, disaster was sure to strike.
"Ari, look!" The little girl stood on the roof of the garage (*how did she even get* up *there?*) with an open umbrella in one hand. Before Ariel even had time to shout, the girl jumped off the roof. The angel caught her, but only just.
"It worked!" the little girl started jumping around excitedly once Ariel placed her on the ground and healed her scraped knees. "It worked! It worked! It worked!"
"It only worked because I caught you," Ariel corrected. "Please, *please* do not do that again." Angels were not supposed to beg. Ariel was (technically) a mighty warrior of Heaven, but against a four-year-old girl in a pink, flowery dress, they were nothing. If only the Hosts of Heaven could see them now.
"Aw, you're no fun," Penelope threw down her umbrella, crossed her arms, and pouted.
The Hosts of Heaven would surely be put to shame by the way this little girl pouted. Had she been born with an ounce of supernatural ability, Ariel was sure that she would have brought the world to it's knees by her third birthday.
The world was lucky, then, that Penelope only had one exhausted angel at her command. | 2019-10-31T14:44:54 | 2019-10-31T14:41:58 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] When you die, you appear in a cinema with a number of other people who look like you. You find out that they are your previous reincarnations, and soon you all begin watching your next life on the big screen. | "What is this?" I asked as I made my way down the aisle.
It was a normal theater, in fact it looked just like the one that I used to visit all the time with my wife, but something was... different. There were five other people in the room, all seated nearly as far apart as possible. Something prickled in the back of my mind, something that connected me to those other people, but I wasn't sure what it was.
"What is this?" I repeated, louder this time.
"Just shut up and take a seat." A man in the top right section of the theater shouted back.
Grumbling, I found a seat in the bottom section of the theater and settled in, watching as the screen changed, showing a video that began with a blast of white light. The peculiar thing was though... as I watched, I recognized every moment of the film. It was my life. *My* life, exactly. From the moment I exited the hospital on my birth date, to the moment I took my final breath. My entire life, summed up in a five minute video.
"What the...?" I began, when someone plopped down in the seat next to me.
"Pretty crazy, huh?" A man said, and when my eyes found his, I gasped.
He looked exactly like me, as if someone had dropped me into a cloning machine. Or was I a clone of him?
"What is this?" I asked for the third time.
My clone motioned around to the theater. "Welcome to the Brady Wells Cinema, my friend. We all wind up here eventually. The Brady in the corner up there? He was the first one of us to show up here."
"That's... nice." I breathed, still awestruck by the man in front of me. "But what is this place?"
Other Brady relaxed back into his chair, letting his arms stretch out behind him. "Call it Heaven, call it Hell, whatever you want, but we've got one job while we're here: to watch."
"Watch what?"
Other Brady pointed at the screen, which was fading from black to gray, like those scenes where someone is opening their eyes.
"The next Brady. We watch his life and pray that he gets it right. If he doesn't, he'll show up here, just like you did." At the look I gave him, Other Brady grinned. "Aw don't feel bad, Brady, I'm here too, aren't I?"
I nodded, still not quite understanding. The screen faded to white, and then a room came into view. A hospital room, a plethora of doctors, and a very joy-struck man that held his arms out towards New Brady.
"What do you mean we 'pray that he gets it right'? Get what right?" Someone in the upper section directed a loud *shhh!* in our direction.
Other Brady casually flipped them off without ever taking his eyes off me. "Life. If you haven't guessed yet, we're all here because we failed in some way. Brady number 3 up there? One of the richest men alive, but no kids. Not even money buys our way to the Great Beyond. So we watch. And we pray that the latest Brady gets it right, then we can all move on."
"That doesn't make any sense." I said finally, struggling to keep my voice below a whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"You just sit here and watch? That's it? What's the point if you can't help the latest Brady live his life correctly? It could take a millennia to get it right." I glanced around the theater. Only five other versions of myself in the room. How many more until we got it right?
"Look, I'm not saying I like it, or that it's perfect, but it's just how it is. I don't make the rules. That door you came through? It only opens once, and that's when the latest Brady dies, otherwise it's locked. So yeah, we just sit here and watch." Other Brady whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.
The latest Brady was being rocked gently by strong arms. A soft lullaby was being sung by an unseen woman.
"Have you ever tried to go through the door when it is open?" I whispered, and Other Brady spun on me so quickly, it was almost inhuman.
"No," he hissed like a venomous serpent, "and we aren't ever going to. You may not like it, Brady, but this is how it is. We sit and watch. You try to disrupt that and cause trouble? We'll stop you. We've done it before." And with that, Other Brady rose from his seat and relocated himself to across the room.
I sighed, slumping into my seat like a pouting child. My eyes found the screen, watching reluctantly as Brady was passed off to the father. He was crying happily, hugging the baby close to his chest. Was this really all there was in the afterlife? A dim theater with irritated versions of myself? I wanted to believe that this was all some horrible dream, that I would wake up in my bed an old, weary man, but I knew I wouldn't. My time had passed, and now it was this New Brady's turn at life. I would just have to learn to deal with it.
As I watched the film, I adjusted my position in the seat, trying to get comfortable in these budget theater chairs. It was going to be a long movie. | I woke up sitting in a cinema. Next to me was a roman soldier and a barbarian woman.
"Ehm sorry to bother you, but where am I?"
"Look who finally arrived."
The roman soldier turned his head to me.
"Hi, I'm Nr. 13. But just call me Julius. You must be Nr. 51."
"What?"
"You are dead. You just died trough a accident."
"Accident?"
The woman suddenly burst into laughter.
"Yes you idiot. You just won the Darwin Award. Trying to grind your stick on a grinding machine must be the best idea you ever had!"
I was still confused. I barely remembered anything.
"By the way thats Nr. 14. Just call her Asla. You bled to death when your nutsack got stuck on the blade of the machine. That thing ripped it off clean and you colored your entire workspace red. But well, at least you had a interesting life. Very entertaining for us."
"Us? How many are there?"
I looked around. People from all over the world and times were sitting here.
"Alright, let me sum in up for you."
The roman put down his popcorn.
"This is our afterlife. Everytime we die, the previous reincarnation will be placed in this cinema. And together we can watch the life of the next reincarnation. And to answer your question: There are 51 of us till now. Now lean back and enjoy the show. The snack bar is behind us."
"But why is there a woman sitting next to me?"
Asla cleaned her mouth from the cheese sauce.
"Life knows no religion, gender or skincolor. See that guy over there, the chinese dude? Or that black woman in the front?"
"So...we just sit here and watch a movie?"
"Yep, no idea what happens when all the 300 seats in this cinema gets filled tough. And...oh look, its starting again!"
The next movie started. After probably a few hours I forgot, why I was so scared and confused about afterlife.
"NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? DON'T KISS HER FOR FUCK SAKE! SHE IS STILL CHEATING ON YOU!"
Nr. 52 just kissed his 3. wife. Even tough she was still cheating on him with the crack dealer from the corner.
Julius scoffed.
"Pff, divorce number 3 incoming guys."
Asla agreed.
"Either that or he is getting shot by that dealer." | 2022-05-10T21:37:24 | 2017-11-23T06:45:18 | 1,154 | 30 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I was happy once. Before the testing of powers began i still had friends. We laughed and played as equals. I had crushes on cute girls and i think some had crushes on me. Ingorant bliss was our collective state of mind.
But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. It was unexpected, swift, and brutal. But the shock of the thousands killed in the first onslaught took backstage to the confusion as to who this self-proclaimed "Fire Nation" actually was.
While governments around the world rushed to provide aid to Djibouti, they were much more concerned with determining what this threat actually was and how to stop it.
A cataclysmic explosion had rocked South America. Even registering on the Richter scale. Satellite images showed thousands of burnt homes. Dead strewn in the streets. Not an inch of the land within the blast not scorched and blackened. But of all the damage, there was only one fire still lit. In giant towering letters "The Fire Nation Has Struck. We Will Not Be Ignored" was etched in flame to the hard, caked, earth. The grave warning has, to this day, survived all attempts to extinguish it.
That was the day joy left my life. Since that day, I have not smiled. Because while the worldwide war against a largely unknown enemy rages to this day, I alone among the general popoluce know the truth of the situation. It is not a burden one should bear at the tender age of six. It is not fair to hear those tortured souls screaming in your dreams.
I never told anyone about my power. No one seemed to care too much. It didnt show up on any of the tests. It didn't manifest until the day of the tragedy, when everyone else was also so greif-stricken and scared. Even if i told someone i doubt they would take me seriously. The power to know the past has no use outside of a History class, right?
They've never seen in grotesque detail all the death the world has conjoured up. They've never heard the depraved rantings of serial killers to their victims. They've never felt the acid from biological weapons fill their lungs. I have. I have felt every once of suffering this world has ever known. A burden bourne on my shoulders alone. People try to make light of their life by dwelling on past successes but the pleasure the world has produced is far outweigted by the pain.
I know who struck that fatal blow. I know who caused this war. You see, the Fire Nation doesn't exist. Sure, imposter gangs have sprung up to take the fame attributed to the title but they are not cohesive.
You see, with the advent of superpowers, religion was able to hold less and less say among its followers. No religion had predicted the rise of countless prophets so the skepticism some held for God soon became a worldwide movement.
For a while, we knew peace. Brother no longer had reason to hate brother beyond who they were as a person. Sure, people grew up in different areas, but there was no more religious hate.
Peace is unprofitable for some.
We have known nothing but war for so long that when peace came, those in power secretly panicked. They needed stability. They needed an enemy to rally their people behind. And thus, the fictitious Fire Nation was formed to provide an unseen enemy to chase around the ends of the earth. No one questioned when taxes increased for war. They were keepong us safe. No one questioned the constant surveillance. After all, the Fire Nation might have an operative in your neighborhood. No one remembered the Time of Peace. No one except me. | They didn't respect me. Never did. They laughed as I pointed, laughing that my power was useless, that no one would ever respect me.
But, over the years, I've realized something. I've realized that without this thing, Laser Beam Man won't have the strength to fight crime. Super Strength Woman won't even be able to lift a fly. And... and even the famed Batman Copycat won't be keeping his city safe. No. That all ends today.
I pointed to the roll of toilet paper, and it disappeared.
They won't be laughing at Points at Toilet Paper and Makes It Disappear Man any more.
Not until I've gotten my load off. | 2015-04-12T21:13:08 | 2015-04-12T17:51:32 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You are in heaven and you see a room that is empty except for a computer with one program running called Earth.exe. You see a tab with options of what to do to the universe and decide to have a little fun. | Heaven is, ummmm, well, it’s Heaven. Literally. There isn’t a better place possible. Everything and everybody is beautiful, classy, tasteful, elegant. Everybody is the best version of themself. People sing when they speak; they dance when they walk; every meal is a feast and every drink is as refreshing as ice water on the hottest day of summer.
I’m bored out of my fucking mind. So I go exploring. That’s when I find the computer.
The program looks an awful lot like a high-end video editor. There’s a zoomable and scrollable timeline on the bottom marked with all of the important historical events since the dawn of humanity with options to cut, copy, paste, and re-render. I smile and sit down.
First things first, let’s kill Hitler. I don’t remember exactly when he was born, and Heaven doesn’t have Google, but after a bit of scrolling and zooming I manage to find him in Berlin in 1937. Once I had his thread it was pretty straightforward to walk backwards along it until I found a good cut-point prior to his entrance in politics.
*shift-click shift-scroll backspace*
And, poof, his entire life thread disappeared. A dialog box popped up, “Re-render required **OK** Cancel”, I clicked OK on the re-render and the main pane of the interface began playing a world history where Hitler died in World War 1 after contracting influenza while stationed in France.
The rendering ran way faster than realtime, but it wasn’t anything close to instant. I sat back and watched over the next couple of hours as a world without him unfolded. With no Hitler there was never a Nazi party. Germany didn’t try to conquer the world. I was feeling pretty good about this as I watched the 1930s give way to the 1940s with no Holocaust.
Then the Soviets nuked every democratic capital on a single day in 1952. The Americans, never roused from their isolationist slumber by a world war, fell in 1953 and I watched in horror as the world yielded to a monolithic totalitarian state.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I thought to myself as I started trying to find the right spot to splice Hitler back in. But without any historical events that I just knew the timing for off the top of my head, I couldn’t find the end of his abbreviated timeline.
I could hear shouting from outside, which is unusual for Heaven. I went to the window and looked out onto a scene of chaos. As the re-rendering of history played out, the babies that were born were different than they had been. And with each day of revised history, some set of people were **\*poof\*** disappearing from Heaven.
“Shit, shit, SHIT”, I thought again, racing back to the computer.
Still unable to find the spot where I could reintroduce Hitler, I instead began tracking backwards through the Soviet nuclear program. I got back into their pre-bomb research and snipped out all of the scientists working on the program.
“Re-render required **OK** Cancel”
The world display reverted back to the day I wiped the Soviet nuclear program and began re-rendering. The people who had disappeared from Heaven didn’t pop back in, though.
I watched the 40s roll by and the 50s start, but things were very wrong. The massive manufacturing and technological boom from America never happened. Without World War 2 the US economy never fully recovered from the Depression and by the early 50s the standard of living and life expectancy in the US were on a rapid downward track.
As the verdict of history was rendered, people once again began **\*poof\***ing out of existence in Heaven. I grew more and more desperate, but had no clue at all what to do. I couldn’t re-find the moment I’d deleted Hitler and I had no idea what changes were necessary to get back the world I had known.
That’s when He walked into the room, his presence overwhelming me with divine grace. I turned to him, tears in my eyes, and wanted to apologize. He put a finger to my lips and murmured “all will be well, we just were already living in the best available timeline”.
I moved out of the seat and let him take control. After surprisingly few clicks he leaned back.
“Re-render required **OK** Cancel”
I watched with him as history re-rendered itself and Heaven’s population returned.
“This is how you do deus ex machina,” I thought to myself, before going in search of something else to fill my endless perfect hours. | Nothing but white then nothing but black. Now there's just nothing, no color or smells no feelings of any kind. No pain, my arm is back and my legs work. I cry and then I realize I'm jot sad or happy I just am.
"It takes a little getting used to" I said to myself from accros what I perceive to be a room.
"used to what? Where am I? Now that I think about it who am I?"
"you are me and I am me but we are not the same" I said walking over to me
"my name was....." I said without a name in my mind or any idea of anything.
"your name was not important, you are done for now, all that's left is your own idea of what you were, and even that is fading" I said sitting on a now existing chair and motioning me to sit.
I felt calm and nothing else as I sat and explained to myself that I didn't even look the same and I was left there on a chair by myself. A door materialized behind me without me even noticing. I walked thru an empty corridor the lights grew dimmer then it grew dark then a new door appeared. I walked thru and saw the computer just where I left it, just where I put it. I sat down and opened the file called Earth.exe. And I kept doing what I always did. I kept playing chess. I lost a queen then the knight took my pawns, my king became a bishop and then it switched sides. All that remains is a single pawn, but that's just how I like it. I keep playing I never lose. | 2018-11-24T15:59:39 | 2018-11-24T12:47:17 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] “If you’re Death, then shouldn’t you be off collecting souls or some shit?” The woman snapped her shotgun shut before blowing another zombie clean off its feet. “Well, dipshit, I don’t know if you noticed, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t have a job anymore.”
Have at it. | "So why not collect the souls of the humans that are alive, huh?"
I sighed. "Because as the Lord of Death, I have to make sure the dead stay dead. And right now, that duty entails killing zombies." I pumped another shell into the barrel. "And might I add, my job was never to take souls; it was to guide them to the afterlife and make sure they do not try to cross back over." As I pulled the trigger, the zombie's head was reduced to a bloody stump while the remainder of it's rotting body was thrown backwards. "You humans just have a bad habit of thinking I'm a bad guy."
​
Two years ago, for reasons unknown to even the eldest of the gods, an unstoppable and all-encompassing plague broke out on Earth, turning a vast majority of life on the planet into mindless, rotting, undead killers with the sole purpose of spreading their pestilence and consuming human flesh. In a matter of months, humanity was on it's last withering legs as the number of dead rose exponentially, leaving them to hopelessly try to defend themselves from the endless onslaught.
As the Grim Reaper, part of my job was to make sure the dead stayed dead, not just in spirit but in physical form as well. The Elders sent me to Earth to aid in wiping out the zombies.
When I had arrived, Earth was in the worst shape I had seen it in ever. Whole cities were either abandoned or decimated. Whatever humans were left were often hunted down and killed with savage brutality by the zombies. The ones that didn't die stayed in groups, struggling to survive on what they could salvage whenever they weren't killing in self-defense.
Despite the state of it all, though, one city seemed to be a safe haven somehow, where the largest of the human survivor groups holed up: London.
Identifying myself as the god of death, I joined forces with the humans in London. Using some magic, I created a barrier around the city that would protect the inhabitants from any and all forces. After that was done, I made it my duty to help the humans in successfully reclaiming any other large cities from the dead, essentially establishing more and more safe havens. I would go in, secure a perimeter, and wipe out any zombies while making sure any survivors were accounted for.
On this particular night, we were attempting to liberate a city the humans called Dubai, located in the country of United Arab Emirates. And this mission was proving to be quite the challenge.
​
The woman I was bickering with was named Cristal. She was a fierce motherfucker with a love for desecrating the walking dead in any way she could. Fueled by pure Irish rage, she proved to be an efficient zombie-killer.
Unfortunately, she was difficult to get along with. I was warned when we were made partners a few weeks ago that she preferred to work alone. Of course, that was an understatement - Cristal was a complete misanthrope and had a seething hate for humans and zombies alike. That didn't stop her from being a killing machine and valuable asset to the humans, of course.
​
"Stop the fucking bickering already!" Dodge plowed through the doors of a nearby building, the LMG in his hand blazing as he mowed the ocean of zombies that followed him. "I can hear you two from the third floor!"
Dodge was a tall, muscular man in his middle-age years. Working as a hardened Commander of the US military before the outbreak, he was great at leading a team, as well as being an absolute fucking tank of a human. While he seemed like an "I can and will fuck you up" kind of person, he was a nice person in actuality and, while he knew how to tear apart zombies in ways I didn't think to be possible, he was great to have around.
"Yes, sir!" Cristal yelled in the her unmistakably fierce voice. Another blast and her shotgun tore a whole in the gut of a nearby walker, leaving only the spine to hold it's body up. Yet another, and it's head was nothing but a gooey stain on the pavement.
As I blew another one's head apart, I caught a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye, barely a block away.
'Shit' I thought.
"Cristal, Dodge! We got a runner about a block away dead ahead!" I warned.
Runners. Faster and more agile than normal zombies. I've seen many comrades die at the hands of those speed demons, often before they could even react to them. They were hard to deal with, and definitely a source of concern.
"Establish a visual and do not break it!" Dodge growled, his voice low and gravelly. "We gotta eliminate that son-of-a-bitch before it causes trouble."
"I got a visual!" Cristal yelled. "At my 11 o'clock, 50 meters and approaching!"
I turned around to see the one she was talking about. It was tall and incredibly thin, it's legs ready to snap in half at any moment. Dark colored skin peeled off to reveal rotting muscles and chipped bones. It growled as it bolted toward us, the guttural noises ringing out into the cool night air.
"That's one ugly cunt." She muttered.
"Let it get close," I said calmly. "Our shotguns won't hit that thing, and Dodge's gun ain't that accurate."
"He's right," Dodge said. "Wait at least a few more meters before engaging, and try not to get bitten."
With most of the other zombies either dead or incapable of causing any real harm, we focused solely on the runner as it bolted toward us. We watched as it ran up the side of a wall, leaving a wake of shattered windows as it went. We watched as it made a massive leap toward us as we took aim.
And we watched in horror as it leaped onto the back of a nearby soldier, clearing over us and already ripping the poor guy to pieces. Dodge raised his gun and, with one bullet, the runner was dead, falling limply off of their back. The soldier dropped forwards.
"He's dead." I said. "He already got bit. It's only a matter of time before he turns." I began to walk forward toward him. "It'd be best to put him out of his misery."
"What happened to 'Mr. I-don't-reap-humans?" God, her accent was annoying sometimes.
"It's the least he deserves," I replied.
I knelt down next to the guy as he rolled himself over. He took short, shaky breaths as the life left him. Blood streaked down his face and onto the ground.
"Please," he wheezed. "I don't . . . wanna die . . ."
"No one ever wants to die," I said. "But when our time comes, there's nothing we can do to stop it."
Tears began welling up in his eyes, sobs escaping painfully from his lungs.
"Will my family . . . be okay?" He cried.
"We'll make sure of it."
"Was I . . . a good . . . fighter?"
I nodded. "You were one brave man, trying to take on such a task. Your efforts will not be in vain, I promise you that."
The man smiled and look at the sky.
"And I will see to it that your soul finds peace."
"Thank . . .you," he wheezed.
I reached into my vest and pulled out a simple pistol. With a steady hand, I aimed it at his head.
And I fired.
I stood up and turned to my comrades, both on whom were themselves almost tearing up. Neither of them probably knew the guy, but it certainly moved them to see him go like that for some reason.
"Alright, let's go." I said to them. "Let him rest in peace. We got more sectors to clear." | Her skin was the pallid colour of a freshly-buried corpse, dug up on suspicions of some evil vampirism. Her black robes danced in the wind, threatening to get stuck in hair as raven-black as her wardrobe. If this was indeed Death, she dressed like it.
If one were in more unadventurous times, one could survey this Lady Death’s face and find no noticeable creases, imperfections or tell-tale signs of that infinite process called aging that make the human face so comforting, so beautiful. No, her death-complexion was complemented by an uncanny face, angelic only so that it was rendered ever the more terrifying.
But these were not unadventurous times, perhaps luckily for Marek, for otherwise he would have met Lady Death in less opportune circumstances. Now, breaking out of his initial trance at the discovery of what claimed to be a semi-divine being in the midst of this carnage, he sputtered out an offer of help.
“Now then, man, look here. Don’t dilly-dally now. You want to help? Man the main-turret, grasp the grip, pull the trigger. Spray lead, then! What are you waiting for? Do you intend to be added to the multitudes before you?”
So he did as was required of him, manned the main-turret, grasped the grip, and pulled the trigger. Doing so, a curious state of calm came over our protagonist, the sort of philosophical calm one feels when they are a-washing dishes; or perhaps while walking back from the grocery store. The sort of calm that comes from long-drawn out drudgery, when man is free to think of issues that would be occluded by the rush of the race of life in any other time. In this context of calm, he tried to strike up a conversation with his new companion.
“So - and don’t mind me asking you this - what comes after this? You know, after life?”
“Salvation, of course”, the woman replied with a grim sneer. This answer, not satisfying Marek, led to another question, not of the concrete sort; if Marek feared one thing, it was *true* knowledge. That was the paramount sin to him - knowledge of the absolute.
“Did you like your profession? Did you enjoy it, is what I mean? Or was it like our human world?”
Hah! Intelligent man! To ingratiate yourself with power is a strategy as old as time, and here was an expert exercise of the methods available to do so. And sure enough, the grim visage of the Lady, first mumbling under her breath, then bellowing out with infernal volume, answered: Well, if only one had the choice to do so.
This to Marek was a sad answer. “You said, you said you lost your job? Surely, if there was someone to choose above you, then you had the choice to choose whether you stayed on or not.” But the reply obtained was a laugh and a tirade.
“You said if I liked my job, not whether I could leave it or not. Well, arguendo, I could leave my job. Well, what if I left it? What would I do now? Live like a mortal in your world, only to return to mine? No, I had no choice but to enjoy what I did, because that is what I did. Dislike for what I did would have driven me to madness; or worse, infinite boredom. You know what that means, right? Even I am privy to suffering and boredom. I was like a prisoner, carrying a pebble from one spot to another, over and over again for eternity. Utterly, utterly futile. No purpose at all, none apparent to me at the very least. That was before I realized: I had no choice but to see purpose in it; purpose to *me.* These undead are admirable in that way, you know, they do not have to think about this. They are incapable of thinking about this.”
Marek had no answer to this soliloquy, try as he did. The only appropriate response in the face of it seemed silence and silence was what he offered. After all, alienating the only companion he had found after months alone in this hell-world would be a singularly unappetizing prospect. After the destruction of the horde of the risen dead that they were fighting, however, he did offer some words to Lady Death (were they of consolation? Not even he was sure of it. If they were, to whom?)
“I fear you’ll find the ground we stand on quite similar to your experience. Not much better. Positively worth laughing at, the similarities of our situation, I suppose.”
The woman laughed, before replying, “Well then, where next?”
“I don’t know, let’s see where the road takes us.”
At that very moment in time, it seemed as though a ray of sunlight fell directly on that pale face, and to one it would seem as though the smile on it was the most tragic one ever smiled. | 2021-03-15T08:29:02 | 2021-03-15T05:53:57 | 456 | 341 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | Jason dropped the carboard box onto the one he had set down prior, and stepped back. He held his lower back and arched. Fuck, this retail stocking shit is not fun. Time for a break. He walked over to the door, reached in his shirt pocket and grabbed for his smokes. Opening the door, he stepped through into brilliant sunlight.
What the fuck? This is night shift. He blinked and held his hand to his brow to shade his eyes.
In an instant he could see that he was not in the back parking lot of the Northland Mall. He was standing on a giant slab of stone, and the smell of salt was in the air. He turned to where the door he had just passed through should have been and there was met with the gaze of a fat nude woman with red hair.
Jason squared up towards her and looked her over. What. The. Fuck. A wave of panic washed over him, and the woman began to move to his left chanting in a language that he did not understand while moving her fleshy arms in circles. That's when he noticed the others in the darkness.
Behind the fat woman was a crowd. Several dozen people. There were men and women, all dressed in shabby clothing that was dirty. Jason noticed one woman near the front holding an infant in her arms. She stared directly at him, her eyes cold and flat. It was then that Jason noticed the baby's limb dangling limply and he knew that something was not right.
The redheaded woman continued to circle Jason, her gesticulations becoming wilder and her voice rising. Jason shouted back to her. Fuck you! What the fuck is this!? He tried to approach her and his legs felt like iron. Each step felt as if he was pulling a tree's roots from the earth, and when it fell flat against the stone he felt a stabbing pain radiate upward through his leg.
What is this? He shouted again. Just then a man stepped forth from the crowd. He pointed at the redheaded woman and yelled. He pointed at Jason and then back to the crowd, all the time speaking a strange tongue Jason had never encountered before.
The woman stood looking at Jason, and extended her palm toward him. She stared at Jason, and then turned to speak to the man, keeping her hand directed towards Jason. Jason looked from one to the other, and began to feel his knees buckle. His head was growing light, and he was feeling wobbly. What now?
Falling to his knees, he put his hands down and the stone felt like fire against his flesh. He yelled out in anguish. The man's voice rose, and several others stepped forward from the crowd behind him, all facing the redheaded woman. One man was carrying a child, obviously dead, it's lifeless corpse held tenderly in his arms. He pointed a finger at the nude woman, and then towards Jason.
The redheaded woman stared intently at Jason. He attempted to lift his hands to crawl, but it felt like his hands had become part of the stone, like he was being pulled into it. What is this? What is happening? He looked all around him and saw that the crowd was in a circle around him and they were moving towards the woman, who kept her gaze on Jason. She began to speak, and turned her head toward the advancing mob. Three people in the front of the line dropped to the turf, dead in their tracks. She kept her hand pointed toward Jason, and began to motion with the other above her head.
A light formed over Jason, and he looked up to meet it. Suddenly it felt like rain falling on his face, and the brilliance overwhelmed him.
"Jason, hey Jason ..." The voice was familiar. It was Stan. "Hey man, you OK?"
Jason blinked and looked up. Stan, the heavyset night security guard was standing on his hoverround with his flashlight on Jason's eyes. "What ... where ..."
"Dude, are you OK?"
Jason felt the cool pavement beneath his hand and clamored to his feet. His knees felt uneasy. His head throbbed, and on the ground in front of him was a cigarette. "Yeah, I, uh, I don't know what happened ..."
"OK, bro, I don't know what you're smoking and I don't really care, but just be careful out here. I heard some dudes from West Haven jumped a guy last week." Stan looked him over once more before turning around on the hoverround and zipping across the parking lot.
Jason watched him, Stan's red pony tail poking out from underneath his black baseball cap. Man, fuck night shift. | When I vanished from the middle of class, I didn't know where I was going. All I experienced was darkness and a rush of cool wind before I was deposited in a place that looked like the middle of a forest.
As my eyes adjusted to the level of sunlight, I saw a few humanoid creatures staring at me. They nudged one another and whispered in a guttural language. Finally, one took a few timid steps toward me and spoke. "O great demon of the underworld . . ."
I blinked. "What?"
The humanoid looked taken aback. "You're a demon. We summoned you." They held up a spellbook and pointed at the circle around me. "See?"
I looked around. "Um . . . Okay? What do you need, then?"
One of the humanoids in the back piped up. "There's a girl who keeps ruining our lives and we want you to scare her into not doing it anymore!"
My anger burned a little bit, which set a small fire around me. "What the hell," I whispered as I stomped it out. "And you think that she'll see you as more intimidating by doing sorcery?"
"Successful sorcery!" a third added.
I sighed. For my family, I would do this unwaveringly. For my friends, I would do it took. For these nerds? What do I have to lose? "Okay. Take me to this girl."
They led me toward a set of buildings and I played with the fire my hands generated to practice my new skill. | 2017-05-12T08:33:39 | 2017-05-12T08:32:17 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] You are short, skinny and well below average intelligence. Yet, you've been hired by a group of elite soldiers to help with some of their most dangerous missions. Your superpower: sheer dumb luck. No matter how close to death you come, reality always follows the path to your ultimate survival. | Operation Code Red Tango Tango Bravo, despite its long winded name, was simple. Americans were being held hostage in the Tehran Embassy and the US government would very much like it if we got them out.
Colonel McAdams stood before the team assigned to the mission. He always avoided eye contact with me at these things.
You will hear me referred to as Potter. I'm 49. I used to be a city bus driver in DC. Lines 54 and 71 were mine for 13 years. Now it's hard to tell people what I do. Despite not passing a single portion of the physical, I'm a Green Beret of the US Army. I used to think metropolitan transport has some bad politics. You should see the brown nosing these Buzz Cuts got going with the Colonel.
"Attennnn..... HUT!"
The Buzz Cuts straightened their posture and saluted ever so perfectly, eyes straight ahead. McCadams paced in front of us and spoke.
"Gentlemen, the lives of 18 Americans are in your hands. The 10 of you have been uniquely selected for your military skills to handle this hostage crisis. Failure... is not an option."
I wondered if he was intentionally referencing Apollo 13 or wanted us to think he came up with that.
"Before I begin to debrief the mission, and we'll go over its name in a second, I want to tell you all that you're here for a reason. You're brave men and you're the best we got. Never forget that."
And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was probably the best solider out of all of them. I'm uniquely talented in my ability to not die. I know you might think you're pretty good since you're reading this right now, but allow me to explain.
The US Army first got wind of me after an incident on my line 71 route a few years back. During an evening commute, my bus had lost its brakes completely. I was going 65mph heading down a hill on I-395 with zero ability to stop. The bus only increased in speed. I swerved to the shoulder, trying to aim for a patch of grass that might slow us down just a little. As I swerved, a gust came in. A fierce gust. So fierce that the semi truck a few hundred yards ahead actually tipped to the side some. As the truck became lopsided, its back door began to open. The contents of the truck began to fall out. Mattresses. The mattresses came out like a conveyor belt and stacked themselves vertically in an orderly fashion behind the truck. I aimed my bus at this mass of cushiony softness and we came to a gentle hault.
That's just the one time my heroics were at the stage to get out to the public like that. I've been avoiding death all my life in far less glamorous ways. I ate a pail of paint when I was 7 and the doctors discovered I had a rare condition where lead was actually beneficial to me. I slipped off a cliff while hiking and apparently spaced out that I was going base jumping that day because I had a parachute handy.
So when the army needs something to get done, they need someone who won't die while getting that thing done. They need Potter - 49 years old and driver of busses. America's hero. | [Poem]
I am scrawny and small
Quite foolish too
Yet the universe loves me
Why?
I don't have a clue
I don't even work hard
But the luck is still there
Lightening struck 7 times
But I was still spared
Try as they might
I cannot be killed
For sheer dumb luck
Is always my shield | 2020-04-18T07:08:13 | 2020-04-18T00:57:10 | 450 | 190 |
[WP] A double agent who goes by two aliases has been assigned by each country to kill his alias on the opposite side. | ["I love you."](http://www.rainymood.com/)
I kissed my wife on the top of her head, right on top of that little curl that always stuck out. I remember on our wedding day, the panic she'd went into over it. It took three bridesmaids and two shots of whiskey before she accepted she looked good. I loved that curl though, always did. She didn't stir, her breathing soft as the rain outside. It was beautiful, the perfect acoustic farewell. These were the sounds I wanted to remember.
I stepped out of the bedroom and made my way to the girls' room. They were sound asleep, two angels rested on almost too messy clouds. I would scold them in the morning if I could. For now though, let them sleep, tomorrow will be long, confusing. I hope they know how much I love them. That everything I did changed the day they were born. Can you imagine having twins? Lucy said it would never happen. It was like a cosmic little nudge to me, a divine elbow slapping me in the side and saying, "Two of you, two of them, eh?"
It was all different after that. The work changed. I did it for them, not for the love of it.
I crept down the stairs with as little noise as I could. Third stair creaks in the middle, fifth on the edges. Bottom step creaks if you step off it too fast. My feet had it memorised by now. James looked up at me from the front door, my faithful James. I could see in his eyes that he knew. Dogs always know, don't they? I had rescued James as a pup, middle of Baghdad, bullet in two heads, gunshots in the distance, and there was this little stain of a dog, pissing in the corner. I couldn't rightly leave him there, could I? As soon as I reached the evac he was as happy as I'd ever seen an animal be. He grew big in time too, twelve years now, not bad for a Rottweiler. He loved the girls as much as I did, I knew I was leaving them in good hands.
I reached out to pet him and he nuzzled my fingers, "Goodbye boy. Look after them for me." I could swear he looked like he was about to cry. That's my James, more human than me. The front door slipped open without a sound and closed behind me with a soft click. It was the empty chamber in a game of Russian Roulette, the first thing that made me realise how much I was leaving behind. If they knew, they'd understand.
I walked to the end of the drive, took my bike. If I started the car I risked waking them up. What did it matter if I got a little wet, if my muscles got a little tired; I was retiring. I peddled into the three A.M rain and embraced the harsh bite of each drop on my face. I thought of the morning, of Lucy waking up to the note I'd left on the nightstand. I knew it by heart now, it had taken me three months to get it just right.
["Lucy," it began.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lS7cz5jpPf8)
"I love you, first and foremost, I love you with every fibre in me that knows how to love. You and the girls are the greatest thing life could ever have given me, but there are some things you don't know. I'm not an executive anything, my job is a lot more complicated than that. I work for the Government. Two governments to be exact. For the last twenty-five years I've worked as an agent in the field. My business trips were actually missions. Please, please understand why I didn't tell you.
When I was fresh out of college I got a little government work, that led to another job and before I knew it I was asked to work abroad. They defined the idea of "Go big or go home" out there though. I took to it like an iron duck taking to boiling water. I found my niche in the world. Then, a year into that, the other side approached me. They wanted me to be an agent, and I said yes. To the Americans I was Saint, to the Europeans I was Breaker. For twenty years I played both sides, swapped intel back and forth, carried out missions for both, and neither side ever knew. I guess when they said I was the best they had they weren't kidding.
When I was a younger man I did it for the love of the game, for the thrill. Then I met you. I'll never forget that day, Lucy. You wore a blue sundress, you giggled when I dropped my hat. When I saw your smile I knew, I just knew. You were the one for me. I want you to know, I *need* you to know, you made me happier than I ever thought I could be, every single day. With all the soul I have, Lucy, I love you.
I love Erin and Amy too. God, you don't know how much my life changed when they were born. Of course, you couldn't know. I stopped taking the really dangerous missions, I stopped enjoying what I did. My life had always been about the thrill of my work and the passion I held for you. I made the world a better place for us, then the girls came along and made it a better place than I ever could have. They built me from the ground up. The girls, the house, you. Turned out that's all I ever wanted.
I don't know what to tell the girls, that's your decision, but I can't lie Lucy, not to you. I'm not coming home. Three months ago I received an order. The heads of both Breaker and Saint were being demanded. The other note contains details of three offshore accounts and how to access them, the girls are set up for life and then some. I realise no amount of money can make what I'm about to do right but I do this for you.
I love you, I love you, I love you, all I have is in those words.
Goodbye, Lucy."
I reached the lake just before Dawn. The sun was tipping its head above the horizon, the water casting the first weak speckles of day towards me. There was no going back now. I took out two cellphones, dialled a number on both, and waited for each line to open.
"It's done."
*click* | “Get it done, Peregrine, as soon as possible. Agent Psalm out.” The line cut out, and Markus Forsythe placed the burner phone down next to a nearly identical one on his desk. That was the second call this week. Two targets to kill and simultaneously two hits put out on him. He had contemplating this happening when he first decided to play both sides, taking down targets for both England and Russia, but thought nothing of it. There was no way both sides would see him as such a threat that they’d need to get rid of him, or at least he thought. And now Peregrine and Утюг Ветер had to die, lest the other side send another after him, another that he couldn’t control.
If he faked his death on both sides, he couldn’t possible collect for either, showing his survival simply in arriving to be paid. He couldn’t stall either, as doing that or running would put him on the wrong sides of two powerful nations and unable to live his life in peace ever again. His number was up, and he realized he had to die. He looked at himself in the mirror on his desk, staring at the many remnants of his dangerous job, especially the dark scar across his right eye. None of this could exist anymore. Nothing. There had to be no more trace of Markus Forsythe anywhere on the planet. He wouldn’t die for nothing, however.
Markus started a correspondence to both of his employers with very similar wording.
*I am on my way to take down my most recent target, but have one thing I must request. This man is a very dangerous contract killer, one with just as much experience as I, and there is a chance that I will not make it out of this in one piece. In the unlikely, but still plausible, event of my demise, I request that the earnings of the kill go to my next of kin: my brother living in America. He is in dire need of money, and although I have meant to help him out in my lifetime, it is not something I have been able to do often. Enclosed are ways of contacting him to deliver the payment should I meet my end.*
Days later, Markus sat in an abandoned factory, flipping the safety on and off of a detonator in his hand. On the ground next to him was a body he had acquired thought one of the medical connections he made over years of work. One that looked very much like him, right down to the scars (which had been surgically added). He knew this is what he had to do, but was still hesitant. “Well, it’s for the best. Today the world says goodbye to Markus Forsythe,” he whispered to himself. “Hope they enjoy the fireworks.” At 1400 hours, May 3, 2014, the factory building was rocked by a large explosion that shocked the city it resided in and removed two of the most dangerous contract killers Europe had known.
A man walked through an English airport, wearing mostly black including a pair of black sunglasses, and flashed a round-trip ticket.
“Going back to America? You enjoy ya stay?” the woman asked as she looked over his passport.
“Well, nothing much to be enjoyed. Had to go to my brother’s funeral, which is never fun. At least he remembered his own kin, gave me a pretty nice inheritance.” The woman frowned.
“Well, at least you can go back home now, start mourning.” She handed him back his passport. “Hopefully things will be cheerier back home.”
“Yeah,” he responded as he walked away from her. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, revealing a long scar across his eye. “It’ll be nice to get back home.”
| 2014-05-11T15:26:27 | 2014-05-11T15:19:11 | 597 | 30 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | The message on the screen read "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." as my radio told me. "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." Lucky for me, I fell asleep watching the television the night before which gave me time to cover the windows on both sides and the front before I accidently took in the beautiful morning as I usually do. Otherwise I might have been in trouble.
The lack of internet and phone service was disconcerting as I tried to get more info about whatever disaster was going on outside but wasn't all that abnormal for someone like me. Finally stumbling upon the radio stations giving the nearly impossible opposite order.
I pondered for a moment about what could be happening and what I should do and then I laughed, fortunately for me I'm one of the few people who doesn't have to make a choice. I felt bad for all the people who did, they must be terrified.
I plugged in my security camera and stuck it between the folds of the blankets I had hung up to cover the front window and used that to get past not looking outside directly. What I saw confused me... There were two people within view outside... one walking continuously into a tree and the other a short plump woman standing perfectly still seeming like she was struggling just to keep her balance.
"Okay that's weird." I said out loud. Talking to myself is my way of coping when things get a bit beyond my comprehension.
Looks like whatever is happening might be happening here too... I promptly prepared for my departure taking stock of my remaining food and water and making sure my kitchen knives were at the ready in case I needed them... Hated myself for not being a hunter at this moment, being without a gun made me suddenly feel remarkably vulnerable...
I turned the key in the ignition, I knew this was going to get hairy driving a camper with nothing but a security camera to guide my path but better than sticking around here... I had enough food to last me a while if I got stuck but I didn't want to get stuck in a danger zone.
I started heading up the path slowly working my way through abandoned cars heading slowly further up the mountain road. Occasionally hitting and having to nudge cars out of the way I carefully made my way as best I could. seeing the occasional person wandering aimlessly and several laying flat on the ground.
At one point I waited almost three hours for some random wandering person to get out of my way, he didn't pay any attention as I lay on my horn... further increasing my wariness of the situation. He didn't even seem fazed.
Fortunately as I headed up the drive got easier fewer and fewer abandoned cars and random people filling the streets till eventually I didn't see anyone or thing at all other than the open and curvy road. I knew I was running out of viable road that led up soon though and I wondered if I had reached a safe altitude...
I pulled into the next campsite, little place that looked like it was meant for dirt biking and climbers heading farther up the mountain. I parked as best I could in the center to get the best views with my windows moving my camera to get a lay of the land. There were some Campers and the main office building but from what I could tell... no people, no movement.
I sat for a while pondering my next move... wondering if I could go outside, so much to think about and no idea which choice was best. Listening to the broadcast over and over while the screen on my T.V. ever displayed the same message over and over never changing. When suddenly after what felt like hours, I heard a knock.
| In the middle of my hard fought game of Dota2, I am suddenly presented with the disconnected from server message. Usually my internet is very reliable and never goes down. Frustrated, I rest my router and try to get it working again. As nothing else it's out of the ordinary I exit Steam and start to play since Witcher 3 on GoG which didn't require the internet.
Having neither a TV connected to anything aside from the internet or a radio, I continue to play games until whatever crisis is happening kills us all or passes by, blissfully hacking apart necrophages and brigands with my head phones on. | 2017-01-27T04:05:35 | 2017-01-27T03:12:45 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a world where everyone has the way they die written on their wrist from the moment they are born. One day, your parents confess that you didn't have anything written when you were born, and they had something tattooed shortly after. | I was washing my hands after lunch when I noticed it. Out of habit, I glanced down at my wrist to look at my death mark and saw that the fading was more noticeable today than it had ever been before. Sure, several months ago it had looked slightly faded, but my mother assured me that it was just because my skin was so pale. Today was different, somehow.
A voice from behind me startled me:
“What’cha staring at, dude?” I recognized the voice of my best friend Tony. I must have been standing there longer than I thought.
“Oh, nothing. Thought I saw something kind of weird in my death mark, but I think I’m just stressed from the exam earlier.”
“Can I take a look?”
“There’s nothing to look at—I’ll see you back in class.” I tried to smile as I left. I couldn’t tell if Tony had seen the worried look on my face or not. Walking back to class I decided that I’d tell him about it after school at our usual hangout spot behind the gym.
Back in class, I sat down in my seat, and glanced around the room. My teacher for Algebra II had some generic math-related posters on the walls, as well as some weirder government-mandated stuff about death marks. Things like, “PLEASE REMEMBER TO KEEP YOUR DEATH MARK VISIBLE AT ALL TIMES”, “REMEMBER, DEATH MARKS ARE PERMANENT AND CANNOT CHANGE.”
That poster caught me off guard today. I had seen it probably hundreds of times before now, but I glanced down at my arm again. My death mark still seemed faded. I remember Tony and some other girl in class telling me last year that a rumor had started around school of what they (and apparently everyone else) called mutants. The rumor was that this kid named Arthur Fisher’s death mark on his arm had changed one day while he was playing football for the school team during a big game. Apparently they were playing in the rain, and he noticed something about his arm and told the coach about it privately after the game. Some other players had seen the coach look as pale as a ghost after talking to Arthur. The rumors started the next day since Arthur didn’t show up to school. Nobody has seen Arthur Fisher in almost 4 months.
---
The school bell screamed its painful wail to signal that the day was finally over. The high-pitched wail was bearable simply because it meant the day was over. I had already pre-packed my belongings, and I rose to leave as soon as the bell sounded.
“Seth! A moment here after class please.” My teacher, Mr. Eggleston yelled over the din of the school bell and the sound of everyone else packing up to leave.
I didn’t know what he wanted. Had I forgotten to turn in my homework last week again?
“Seth.”
“Yes Mr. Eggleston?”
“You seem like you’re in a hurry to leave. You were also rather distant in class today—is everything alright?” Mr. Eggleston had a sad, mildly confused look on his face.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a new video game coming out, a little anxious to get home is all sir.” I hadn’t completely lied—there was a new big Madden video game coming out that half the guys in class were talking about, but the series had never really captured my attention.
“Alright, if you’re sure then you can run along. You’re usually very talkative, and I just wanted to check and make sure you were alright.”
“Nothing wrong, just a little lost in my thoughts, Mr. Eggleston. Thanks, though.” I tried to give him a reassuring look as I turned to leave. I could tell he looked unsure of himself.
He was right, of course. Biology was one of my favorite classes, and Mr. Eggleston was one of my favorite teachers. I just couldn’t get my mind off of my death mark. It looked more faded during class, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off it.
I ran over to my usual vending machine stop to grab a Snickers and a Coke, like usual. I liked to take my time and let the throng of people die down a bit before I headed towards the gym. To my annoyance, the vending machine was out of Coke. I grabbed a Sprite instead and after some time made my way towards the Gym to speak with Tony.
As I neared the backside of the building, I could overhear a familiar voice.
“What if Seth is a mutant or something though?”
“No way he’s a mutant. He said it was nothing to worry about earlier, and I trust Seth. He said he was just stressed from the exam.”
I decided to step around the corner.
“I agree with Tony. Definitely just some exam stress.” I tried to fake a big grin. When I rounded the corner, I wasn’t too surprised to find Tony’s girlfriend Erin standing there.
Erin jumped a little—“Oh, hey Seth! Holy crap you scared me!”
“He seems to have that effect on lots of girls,” Tony quipped.
“Tony, why do you always feel the need to be the comedian?” I tried to look slightly dejected. “How many girls do you think I could pull if they thought I was a mutant?”
“Oh, so I guess you overheard some of that. How long were you standing there, anyway?” Erin had a concerned look on her face.
“I literally just heard you mention that as I came around the corner. Couldn’t help but overhear. What makes you think I’m a mutant all of a sudden? Do you mean like the Arthur rumors?”
“Let me see your arm dude.” Tony looked serious all of a sudden.
“Alright, here, see? Nothing has changed or anything.” I tried to sound confident, but Erin and Tony knew me well enough to know when I was lying.
“Your mark seems faded, dude. Is that what you were looking at in the bathroom earlier?” I could tell he understood my earlier reaction.
I couldn’t hide anything from Tony. “Yea. I was worried about it. I feel like I’ve seen it fade before, but today seems worse than it’s ever been.”
“To be fair we’ve noticed too Seth, we just didn’t want to say anything about it since we weren’t sure.” Erin and Tony made a good couple. Always alternating sentences like they could read each other’s minds.
“How long have you noticed the fading on my arm?”
“Around four to five months ago?” Both Erin and Tony said in unison.
“That’s about the same time I originally noticed it. Does today seem worse to you both too?”
“Well dude, if it makes you feel any better, it didn’t until you started acting weird in the bathroom. I told Erin about it over lunch.” He tried to be reassuring.
“What do you think we should do?” Erin interjected.
“Perhaps we should ask my parents about it?” I didn’t know what else to do.
“My brother is at my dad’s place this week, so I have his car. I’ll drive.” Erin wanted to be in charge, so Tony and I exchanged knowing glances and we set off after her.
| I sat there in the family living room, rubbing the faded green ink on my skin. Its words, now blurred and stretched by age and growth, still displayed their ominous message. But I was used to it by now. Everybody was. When faced with the knowledge of your definite fate, you had to develop a steely constitution just to survive. Everybody had a different message. Some were more gruesome, like "9 mm to the head" or "Caught in a woodchipper," while others were more common, like mine, which said "Hit by a Buick." For the longest time, especially when I was young, I was deathly afraid of Buicks. I remember hiding in bushes when one passed by on the street,holding my breath, sometimes crying. But like the rest, I had come to terms with this gruesome fact: I was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The tattoos were never wrong.
At least, that's what I thought, until today.
I managed to finally look up at my parents. My mother sat in a chair across from me, anxiously gripping her hands ever tighter. My father was leaning forward towards me, but he met my gaze. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" I finally asked.
"Honey, we wanted to, but we didn't know how," my mother replied, her voice a tad shaky.
I stood up, frustration beginning to take root. "Well, why did you do it in the first place? Why did you even make me get this?" I gestured to the ink on my wrist.
"Son, we wanted to protect you," my father replied. "You know how the Great Council is. Ever since the Foresight technology was invented it was decreed that any newborn's future must be viewed and their fate tattooed on their wrist. If anyone saw that you *didn't* have a tattoo, it would not have ended well."
"But *why* didn't I have my tattoo in the first place?"
My father sighed. "We still don't know. The doctor...he... he said some scientific jargon about "the fog of uncertainty" obscuring the machine from reading your fate. But he was a good man. He knew the consequences if you came out bare-wristed, so he inked what you see on your wrist now."
I turned around, running my hand through my hair and bringing it down slowly over my face. I took in a deep breath, and exhaled. "What will this mean for my future?"
"Well son," my father spoke. "That's up to you. You have a great gift."
"A **gift**!" I spat indignantly. "You call *this* a gift? I'm cursed! What if I never die? What if I go on, living and living, forever? What then? The Enforcers will find out! Then they'll drag me to the Great Council, and they'll decree that I have to go to the work camps, or prisons, or wherever they send the other people like me! I don't want that!"
"Neither do we, honey," my mother said, putting her hand on my shoulder to calm me. "We want the best for you."
"And that brings us to why we told you all this in the first place, son," my father said. "We think we know a place where you can go that will keep you safe."
"Alright, where? Just where can I ever be kept safe from the Enforcers?"
"Underground," my father said, a grin forming on the side of his face. "There's a small group of people like you that live under the streets of our city. They fight, for themselves and for freedom for us all. Your mother and I managed to get a contact. He'll take you right to them."
I sat back down in my chair, dazed. Everything was happening so quickly, but I needed to make a choice.
"I... I'll go," I said.
---
If you liked this, check out some of my other writings at /r/Alias_Fakename
| 2016-12-16T14:03:22 | 2016-12-16T11:30:21 | 117 | 40 |
[WP] Satan, Lucifer and the Devil are fed up of people thinking that they're the same person. Since they can't interact with people directly, they hold a discussion to decide the best way to fix the problem. | Satan: Glad to see you both made it!
Lucifer: Ugh! You two are just fortunate I'm willing to tolerate your hideous faces to solve this issue.
Devil: There he goes, already! Lightbringer all high and mighty at the table. What a great way to start the conference, I don't understand why you're not more popular.
Lucifer: Kill the sarcasm, goatboy, or I'll kill you.
Beelzebub: Are we seriously ignoring me?
Satan: What? Who said that?!
Beelzebub: I don't have to take this from you.
Satan: Reveal yourself, shade!
Beelzebub: I'm down here. I'm a fly, remember?
Satan: Oh! Oh, goodness Beelzebub, what are you doing here?!
Beelzebub: Aren't we all here to discuss the fact that people are confusing us with each other?
Devil: That seems right.
Satan: Well, I actually only intended to have the big three here. I can't just summon the whole party with Astaroth, Mephistopheles, Hades, Pluto, Lamia, Charos, the Fallen Angels of Hell's City around Bolgia, Walt Disney, Hitler, EA's Andrew Wilson, and Nyarlothothep all at the same time, you know? This place would get wrecked in the snap of our fingers. Hitler is especially bad at keeping his pants on.
Beelzebub: Oooooohhh~...
Devil: Beelzebub, did you invite all those people?
Beelzebub: I ah... might have accidentally sent an email out to my mailing list...
Lucifer: Oh. My. God. We're about to have a house party at Satan's. I'm tweeting this.
Satan: DO NOT TWEET THIS! We still need to figure out what we're doing about our namesakes...
Lucifer: Why don't you just call God and ask him to do some "divine inspiration."
Devil: Yeah, what I'd give to just be able to talk to dad, again...
Lucifer: ...
Satan: Lucy, do you seriously have God's number?
Lucifer: ...
Devil: Hold him down, Beelzebub!
Beelzebub: **SWARM! SPREAD MY WRATH OF PESTILENCE!**
*A loud knocking followed by a rhythmic ringing of a doorbell and the "whoo" of a crowd echoes from across the hall*
Satan: Those damned fools, they really came. I'll get the door.
Lucifer: Get these *DISGUSTING* flies off of me! You're not getting my phone, I'm in the middle of submitting to Reddit!
Devil: I got it!
Lucifer: I will Crucify you, Devil!
Devil: Bite my goatass, whats he listed as?
Lucifer: I don't have it, okay? I lied. Give it back!
Lamia: Woah, some Beelzebub on Lucifer action. That's hot!
*Beelzebub blushes profusely but nobody seems to notice.*
Lucifer: Lamia! Help me get my phone back, the Devil is going through my contacts!
Lamia: You're so firm!
Lucifer: No! Lamia! No! Stop helping them!
Lamia: I'm helping myself, bae!
Pluto: I brought my Cousin Brachus, and he brought plenty of Ales!
*Crowd Cheering*
Hitler: **I'm taking my pants off!** Andrew, hold me up on the Keg!
EA's Andrew Wilson: It's going to cost you a premium.
Devil: ...Trash #34, Trash #35, Trash #36.... who the hell is Yeshy?
Lucifer: It's no one! Don't call it!
Lamia: Are they the one who keeps texting you at 5am?
Lucifer: Get off of me!
Lamia: I love it when you squirm!
Astaroth: Dogpile on Lucifer!
Devil: It's ringing!
Satan: Hitler! Get your damn pants back on!
*a voice shakes the earth and rolls the thunders as it speaks, and yet it is soft and embracing*
God: My favorite son, you've finally opened your heart to me? I've been waiting for this call for a long time.
Devil: Oh, uh, actually it's me the Devil, Dad.
Walt Disney: Awwkwaaard!
God: Did you call me from a party?
Devil: No! Well, I mean, yes, but it wasn't supposed to be a party!
God: I'm hanging up, now!
Devil: Wait! No! Iloveyoudad! Shit, he already hung up.
Mephistopholes: Haa~! | They had reached an impasse.
"Guys. I'm the funny one. Let me tell them."
Lucifer didn't bother stifling his guffaw. "You, Satan... The *funny* one?"
The Devil snorted derisively and began to smoulder. "Fuck's sake lads. We need to make a decision. Does it really matter who goes?"
They glared at each other, gnarled fists clenched and hackles raised. Fire raged and swirled around them, and the smell of sulphur, acerbic and pungent, filled the air.
Millenia of confusion among the mortals had finally caused a rift between them. Something had to change.
Lucifer stood up and slammed his hand on the table. His eyes glowed a deep crimson, and they blanched despite themselves.
"Enough," he growled. "This is beginning to grow tiresome." He began to make strides, long and powerful, and they trembled and quaked as his cloak enveloped them in a cloud of obsidian. "What would we even tell them, eh? What is there to explain?"
They sat in silence, muttering much like the scolded children they themselves took so much pleasure in tormenting.
Perhaps he had a point. He was always the serious one, the rational one, he-
A knock at the door, timid and hesitant, broke the reverie.
"Yes," he said sharply, irritated by the interruption.
"My Lord, I thought I heard voices raised in anger," came an oily voice from the other side of the door. "Might we have company?"
He shook his head, fuming. "Beezlebub. Did you think for a moment that *you* would be invited to a meeting of such importance? *You?*" He chuckled coldly. "Perhaps you misunderstand. *YOU* are the devil put aside for *ME*. For *ME.* Your duty is to serve, and even then, only when I ask. Did I ask for your service? Did I?"
Beezlebub gulped audibly, and scurried away like a rat that knew the wrath of which its master was capable...
*From the lofty heights of his golden throne, God watched in amusement. Giving the Devil his very own personal demons, now that was a special idea. He watched as he battled with his own twisted personalities, and smiled wrly at His genius.*
*"God?"*
*"Yes Jesus," He sighed.*
*"Um... I was thinking... Do we, do-"*
*"Oh for Christ's sake, spit it out."*
*"Do you, do you think there's a chance we also don't exist?"*
(Feedback appreciated!)
| 2018-01-17T09:43:19 | 2018-01-17T06:49:20 | 40 | 29 |
[WP] You are an innkeeper in an RPG and get yelled at because sleeping there does not heal wounds. | "Delphine runs the inn. I cook. Ain't much else to tell."
The traveler stands in front of me, Bosmer, his eyes a deep orange. He'd come in late last night, asking for a room. I'd gladly obliged, he'd paid the fare of ten septims, and went straight to his room. There didn't seem to be any problems, and yet now his eyes were ablaze with anger.
"Do you see this?" The traveler pulled open a tear in his fur armor, revealing a deep red slash across his chest. "Snow bear. Tore right through the armor. My stitches kept coming out on the way back to Riverwood, Shadowmere doesn't offer much in the way of comfort."
I waited for him to continue, I sensed this was leading to something, but I wasn't sure what.
"Would you like a potion to help you with that? You should head to the Riverwood Trader, they might have something you could use." I chimed.
"I don't want any of your damned potions! I came here to *recover* from this horseshit! I payed you my damn ten gold, now why is this still here!?" The traveler yelled, pointing to his bleeding slash. "It's going to leave a scar at this rate! Not that I don't have plenty those, but it hurts like hell!"
"I'm sorry to hear that." My voice was now bitter. "But our beds aren't enchanted and won't heal your wounds overnight."
"You...what? Of course they are!" The Bosmer's eyes grew narrow in anger. "I've slept here before, my wounds have always disappeared after a full night's sleep!"
"Perhaps you were hitting skooma the nights previous?"
Alvor chuckled at his table.
"You listen to me you son of a bitch!" The Bosmer's voice rose. "*Every* other inn i've been to has healed me overnight, without fail. Either you're shitting on my day for some bloody reason, or the Daedra have cursed this place. Either way, i'm not leaving here without my ten gold."
"At first I found this amusing, but now you want your coin back?" I leered. "I never said my beds would be enchanted, you're in no right to make such a request. Now get the hell out of here before I call the guards, and get over that bloody bear cut!"
"Really? Have you ever been clawed by a bear before? It's worse than a dragon. I'd rather fight ten dragons than a single snow bear. At least I get the satisfaction of absorbing a dragon's soul after i'm done killing it. Now I have to come home from a tiresome bear fight, to *your* sorry ass, telling me that I should've known your beds wouldn't heal me up anymore!"
I smiled. "Ah, the Dragonborn, I knew I recognised you. Expect me to drop to your feet and kiss them? Wipe the tears from your cheeks? Spend my life savings on a black soul gem so I can enchant my beds to heal your poor, scratched, milk-drinking skin?"
The tavern roared with laughter, the Dragonborn's cheeks growing red.
"You know what? Fuck you! Fuck your tavern! **FUS RO DAH!** Go fuck yourselves!" Upon the utterance of the ancient dragon words, an entire table is lifted from the ground and shatters against the stone wall of the tavern. The Dragonborn storms over to the exit.
"Come on, Serana. Let's get the hell out of here."
The heavy wooden door slams shut, leaving a bunch of laughing nords and an unfortunate mess behind. I sigh and grab my broom. Another hard day in Skyrim. | 'So, let me get this straight - instead of going to a House of Healing or using a potion of health, in spite of the fact that nearly all of you are crippled with injury... you thought you could save money by *renting a room in an inn?!*'
'Why, yes I did - that's what happens in all other games, why not this one?'
'Because this isn't Final Fantasy or Dungeons and Dragons or some other shit! My wife and I cook, clean and serve ale! And you seriously thought we could pull arrowheads out of you or heal burn marks? Hell, we should be charging you extra since you lied about how many were in your group!' | 2016-01-05T05:56:17 | 2016-01-05T05:27:45 | 696 | 75 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Dad,
Or should I even call you dad? I think dad is more of a title to be earned and sadly throughout my eighteen and a half years of being on this earth, I do not think you have done very much to earn that title. Dad's don't leave. A dad is someone that is there for his children. A dad watches and actively participates in their lives. A dad helps them grow up , raises them, nurtures them, attends dumb elementary school award shows, college graduation. Dads teach you how to ride your first bike and they sit nervously in the passenger seat of a car as they teach you how to drive on your own. Dads aren't supposed to be selfish like you are, you've always chosen a life full of drugs over your children. Do you even know what thats like? To not ever have a consistent father figure in your life? I blamed myself for so many years for you not being in my life. I thought that maybe something was wrong with me and that's why I was never a priority for you. I remember during valentines day when I was in middle school all of my friends dads sent them flowers and chocolates and took them out so they would feel special. I remember going to the bathroom and just sitting on the floor crying because I wanted nothing more in the entire world than a dad that loved me that much. Do you ever think about how your decisions effect your children? Honestly, I really want to know. When I was in high school I took a college level Psychology course. One of the first things we learned was this theory that stated that people are more likely to grow up and get into relationships with people that remind them of their parents. Boys tend to date girls that remind them of their mother. Girls go for guys that remind them of their dad. Let me ask you, would you want me to be in a relationship with someone like you? Someone who abuses not only drugs but women as well? Would you be okay with him hitting me? Or calling me names? Or would you even care? I know that you do these things and it breaks my heart and scares me all at the same time. I am constantly afraid that maybe the theory is correct and one day that will be my life without me even noticing it. It scares me even more that one day I'll wake up and be living my life the same way you chose to live yours. My biggest fear is becoming anything like you. I honestly wish it was possible for me to hate you. It would make you not being in my life a lot easier, but no matter how much I try I just can't. No matter how hopeless it is a part of me will always be reaching out for a relationship with you. I know you're sad and you feel lost and sometimes you just don't want to feel anything so you turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. I know how that feels, I really do. But pain is meant to be felt. I want you to be apart of my life. I realize you'll never be the dad I wanted you to be, but I pray that you finally come to your senses and get your life turned around. Not just for my sake but for yours as well. I finished my freshman year of college a few days ago. Im doing pretty good in all of my classes, even though there were some points where it was so hard I just wanted to give up. I'm majoring in Biology and Pre healthcare. In about 10 years I'm hoping to be an orthodontist. Or maybe just a biologist in general. That's my favorite subject, I love learning about how everything in the world works. Its so intriguing to me and I could read about these things for hours on end. I have a boyfriend too. His name is Connor and he treats me really good. We've been together for a little over a year now. He's sweet and caring and he pushes me to work hard. He listens to me when I'm sad and he loves to show me off and tell everyone how smart he thinks I am, which gets really embarrassing sometimes but it makes me happy to know someone thinks so highly of me. Moms doing good too. She's beautiful as ever, and she's the happiest I've seen her in a while. Mark changed her life, actually all of our lives for the better. He is a good dad. He taught me how to drive and always tells me he's proud of me. He even calls me when I'm freaking out and crying over tests I feel like I've done bad on. He's amazing and I'm glad to have him in my life. Dana's oldest daughter Brittany is getting married in July! Can you believe it? Time has flown by. Ashley had a baby. He's the most beautiful baby boy I've ever seen. He makes my heart feel full just being around him. I hope you are doing okay in there. I hope you can come to peace with yourself and figure out what you need to do to turn your life around. It's never too late. Love, haley. | Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO | 2017-11-05T22:19:09 | 2017-11-05T21:34:09 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] As an immortal and hopeless romantic, you fake your death whenever your spouse dies, then search for your spouse's reincarnated soul to continue your "past lives". Your immortal spouse is highly amused by this. | “I don’t want to go,” she said. “Oh god, I don’t want to go.”
The infection had spread quickly throughout her body, and the man was about to lose his love for the twenty-second time. It always ended this way, sickness cutting their time short together until the next time.
“Don’t worry,” the man said, holding his face in place, trying to draw on all the practice he’d had. “I’m with you.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” the woman said, sobbing. The heart monitor started to act up, and the man rubbed his soulmate’s arm, and tried to calm her down.
“But you won’t. We’ll always be together,” he said. Now he looked into her eyes, and tried to see if she understood this.
“Always?”
“No matter where we are,” he said with a smile.
This time, her eyes betrayed nothing, not much more than the fever-induced delirium and pain she had been wracked with for months. But her lips smiled with the same warmth as on the day they had first met, decades and centuries ago...
“OK,” she finally said, closing her eyes and settling into a comfortable rest…
\-
He always had to make it spontaneous. One time, when she was working as a waitress in Paris, he had gotten a job at the same restaurant, and she had hated him at first. Generally, when he tried to integrate himself in her social circle, it backfired.
The woman was a romantic, and the man knew it. She had a cynicism that would come out quite prominently in all of her reincarnations, but underneath that was a never-ending, childlike belief in destiny and miracles.
“Who are you waiting for?” the man asked, feeling guilty the way he always did when he first showed up, pretending not to know her.
He sat down next to her in the grass of the park.
“No one,” she said. “Can’t a girl just enjoy the breeze on a nice day? Or is it weird to be alone?”
Her eyes were always the same. Of course, they would change colors, but always that steadiness, that directness that made you feel brave yourself.
“No, of course not. It’s why I’m here too.”
The woman looked away. “I was waiting for someone, actually. We were supposed to go on a date.”
The man knew this of course, knew she had a little crush on the soccer player in her physics class, knew that he wasn’t going to show up.
“And?”
“I guess he just showed up.”
The man smiled, both relieved that his soulmate hadn’t rejected him, and ashamed that he had ever thought such a thing could happen.
\-
“I don’t want to go,” she said. “Oh god, I don’t want to go.”
The infection had spread quickly throughout her body, and the man was about to lose his love for the twenty-third time. It always ended this way, sickness cutting their time short together until the next time.
“Don’t worry,” the man said, holding his face in place, trying to draw on all the practice he’d had. “I’m with you.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” the woman said, sobbing. The heart monitor started to act up, and the man rubbed his soulmate’s arm, and tried to calm her down.
“But you won’t. We’ll always be together,” he said. Now he looked into her eyes, and tried to see if she understood this.
“Always?”
“No matter where we are,” he said with a smile.
Now, however, the woman didn't give him a smile. Instead, she turned away to look out the window, and the man’s knees buckled. This had never happened.
“Even if it’s no longer on this Earth?” she finally said, looking back.
“W-what do you mean?”
“I mean...every time they ask me if I want to come back, I’ve said yes. Because of course, I want to be with you.”
Slowly, the magnitude of her words began to dawn upon the man.
“You’ve known...this whole time?”
“Of course. But now...I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to see what’s after this for us.”
“B-but I’m immortal. I’ve never even thought of my own death.”
“I...thought you said we’d always be together,” the woman said, falling into a coughing fit, sounding very frail.
The man looked into his true love’s eyes, and found the comfort he always found in them.
“Always,” he said. “Go. I’ll find you.”
“You better,” the woman said with the smile, at last, as her eyes closed.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | I blinked as the carbon monoxide enveloped my face, praying desperately for my lungs to give out. When they didn't, I threw off my mask and pulled the keys from the ignition.
Looks like I wouldn't be able to join Michelle in the afterlife.
The thought that I would have to wander the world forever, alone, sent a wave of dread rippling across my chest. Michelle was the only person who made me feel alive, despite the thousands of years I'd spent contemplating (and occasionally experiencing) love. Only with her did I feel complete. None of my other flames throughout the centuries could rival the towering inferno of her perfection, which I longed for with such intensity my heart palpitated even in memory of her smiling face.
We would reunite, no matter what it took.
So I faked my death and traveled the globe, searching for her reincarnated soul. I'm a devout Buddhist. I knew it would only be a matter of time before I found her again. And since time was all I had, I threw myself into my search with such force I hardly ate or drank.
Then one day I saw a woman boarding a train that looked remarkably like her. They had the same hair, and even had the same smile lines framing their mouths. But before I could sprint across the train station to introduce myself, the train doors shut and whisked her away into the sunny vale undulating along the horizon.
Despair flooded my veins at the missed opportunity.
Just as I was about to leave the platform, I noticed a sticky note plastered to the rail next to where she had been standing.
*I remember everything, Collin. Your search amuses me. Decided to make you chase me a little more. See you in Paris. Love, Michelle.*
Read more at [r/dailyhorrorstories](https://www.reddit.com/r/DailyHorrorStories/) | 2020-03-09T11:25:04 | 2020-03-09T11:23:52 | 1,027 | 254 |
[WP] You are a local low rank superhero that just realised that your superpowers are not being super strong and having the ability to fly, but actually the power to reverse the laws of physics, and that, that is a game changer | The entire Demonic League, the largest and most powerful super-villain organization in the world, were gathered in City Park holding over four-hundred people hostage and threatening to raze whole city blocks unless the government added five hundred million dollars to a Swiss bank account by midnight. The New York City Police were hard-pressed to keep the gathered hero watchers at bay. I looked up and saw at least ten heroes flying around looking for an opening and there must have been fifty more non-fliers mixed among the crowd doing the same.
I saw Rolex, a hero with the power of invisibility get discovered, pummeled for a bit by Slate, a rock-covered super-strong villain. Rolex, unconscious, was added to the pile of hostages. My phone buzzed and as I looked at the text my vision blurred.
"Stay away from the park, sis. They have me hostage." Until that text from my little sister I was an observer. What should I care if villains and heroes duked it out again? My sister, Jocelyn, and I had been abandoned by our parents and had lived on the streets of New York for a decade now. She was the only family I had left.
"Where the hell do you think you're going, girl?" the policeman asked me as I stepped forward toward the park, making the mistake of trying to stop me. I negated gravity on him, lifting him like a helium balloon and tossing him upward was easy enough. He was innocent though, so I set gravity to return in small increments. He would float gently to the ground a few miles from here. His screams drew the stares of several other nearby policeman.
"Stop right there, super!" the nearest officer tried to draw his gun which took him to the ground since it now weighed the same as a small bus.
"What the fuck is this?" Slate said, having noticed the commotion I was causing, his huge frame towering above me several yards away, "You think I'm easy, little bitch?" He took a cautious step toward me.
"I'm not a hero," I told him truthfully, "I could give a shit less about what you're doing here. You have my sister, she's a hostage." I actually smiled at him, I had always been good at negotiating.
"Huh," he said, raising a rocky eyebrow, "Which one is she?"
I looked at the row of hostages. From the corner of my eye I saw a braver news crew filming our exchange, excited at the sudden change in the stalemate. I pointed at my sister and then realized my mistake as his smile grew. Before I could react a rock shard, shot from his hand, flew out and pierced through her eye and out of the back of her skull. I watched in horrified slow motion as my world stopped.
"Bitch," Slate said laughing, "You sure are fucking stupid. I've been aching for a new fi..."
My vision was red. I pointed at him and he screamed. All of the villains gathered there stopped their marching, their posturing, their hostage taunting, and clutched at themselves. They knew something was wrong. Slowly, oh so very slowly, so that each of them could feel their bodies unraveling, I lessened the weak nuclear force holding their constituent atoms together.
The crowd went silent at their screams. Slate grew fuzzy as he drifted to dust. The Big Bang tried to hold himself together long enough to shoot a blast of electricity at me but he drifted to dust next. One by one, every villain in the Demonic League was fucked to dust.
I stepped forward as the crowds backed away from me. Camera after camera still filming I reached the body of my little sister. I reached out and drew her atoms back together then urged the system that made her back into their original places. I gave her a jump-start.
"What happened?" Jocelyn asked me as she opened her eyes, "My head hurts."
"Asshole killed you," I smiled at her and helped her to her feet. The crowd was indecisive in how to handle me. There was a murmur starting.
"I got killed *again*?" she yelled and punched me playfully, "I told you to stay out of the park. Oh oh, who got fucked this time?"
"The Demonic League," I shrugged, and she whistled.
"Wow," she said and pulled me out of the public view and into the trees, "Your powers are growing. Let's get out of here. I think you've attracted attention." She pointed skyward at the heroes trying to track us.
"Don't worry," I raised my hand and let the light pass through us. Invisible, we made our way back to the streets. I would have to re-arrange our atoms again and give us a different look. Now that the world knew I was out here it was only a matter of time before they came looking. The heroes. | They kept mocking me. They wouldn’t stop. Everyday of high school was the same “Josh doesn’t have any powers. Look at the chubby *normal* kid!” I couldn’t take it anymore. In any other reality I could’ve ended up on the news for weeks for acting out what I was feeling. But with teachers that can control metal or read thoughts, I’d never make it.
So I felt I had only one other choice. As I stood on a stool in my closet, I knew I didn’t really want to go through with it. But I couldn’t take another day of torment. As I kicked the stool, I took a deep breath and flinched. I didn’t move, I wondered if the stool hadn’t fallen. I looked down, and I was floating.
My heart lept into my throat. Holy shit, I can fly?!? Or at the very least levitate. That’s something! I undid my morbid necktie, and slowly touched down on the carpet. What else could I do? I wanted nothing more than to talk to my best friend, Jacob, but he was at hero school. And they didn’t allow phones due to the intense training.
“Josh?”
I turned around to see Jacob laying on my bed, in his PJs.
“Why am I in your room?”
“I... I don’t know, you can’t teleport... can you?”
“No, how would pyrokenesis acquire teleportation? Wait, did you do this? Did you get a pow... what the hell is that in your closet?”
“Dude, I can explain. I couldn’t talk to you. And all those asshats at school have been horrible to me. I wanted them dead, but...”
Suddenly my phone started chiming. I was being bombarded with alerts, calls, and messages. Apparently more than 40 kids from my school had suddenly disappeared. Everyone was suspecting a new villain had surfaced.
Am I? Can I fix this? Should I even try?
*edited for spelling | 2019-02-15T15:37:43 | 2019-02-15T14:01:49 | 21 | 11 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | “If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in. | Holy ouch. So, uhh, you might be wondering, dear Diary, why I ache. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just concussed as all Hell and holding a narrative conversation with some people on a social media website. BUUUUUUUUT...
I was walking home from work when I passed by a construction site. I wasn't TOO worried, quiet day, sunny skies, not a care in the world, even as I passed by a steam roller that was parked. After all, no time-stop capable vampires where in my life.
But I wasn't paying attention. And as I walked, humming to myself a jaunty, jazzy tune, I didn't see the manhole that was open. Well, I didn't see it until I ended up falling into it. At least I can swim, I thought, as I floated through the flow, only to end up in a water treatment plant.
That was fun, got the crap boiled out of ALL of me. Still stings a little. Then the flourine hit. Ouch. Especially when the neurons in my pretty little brain started lighting up in all kinds of nasty ways. Wait, no, that's not the flouride, that's just my brain realizing I just got run through a water treatment plant a little later than the rest of my body noticed. So, I swim to shore, only to be swarmed by what has to be the angriest smack of jellyfish in existence. At this point, the skin is sloughing off of me, but I manage to get onto the shore and away from the cnasty cnidarians.
Then I feel it, a horrid itch, as my skin regenerates. At this point I'm sobbing as my flesh sews itself back together, the process at least being nice enough to push sand and other nasty, nasty particulates away so I don't have to deal with it being rough and coarse and getting everywhere.
At this point, I'm in agony, I'm kinda hungry, and I'm thankful I left my wallet here at the house. So, I start sneaking my way home, passing a couple skinny dipping in the tides. I snag a pair of shorts that fit me, and put them on, and walk home. I arrive on my block, only to hear a thwip.
I look down and see a crossbow quarrel embed itself in my leg. I look to the source and flip dude the bird, remove the quarrel and snap it in half, not breaking eye contact or making a sound other than that. I grab my spare key from the under the plant, unlock my door, and go inside, my leg stitching itself back together as I do so, and lock the door behind me. | 2022-05-05T08:39:25 | 2022-05-05T03:52:00 | 194 | 49 |
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you! | Jaharis, in my peripheral vision, stopped breathing. The conference room was silent—execs and astronauts and physicists circled around a table, some of them the original curators of the capsule, each now mulling over the returned capsule. They were not overjoyed at its return. The capsule was dented, warped, and mostly empty.
And I read the note aloud. "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor." It was a translation Ga Mun made this morning, from Cantonese to English, when the three of us opened it to see what was inside the now-returned capsule.
The note sunk in. This told us three things, I announced to the room. One; whoever they are, they understood Cantonese. The vinyl we had sent into space had hundreds of languages on it, virtually no vocabulary for learning Cantonese this fluently. Ga Mun assured me, I told them, that this was unusually clear for a non-native speaker.
Two; they listened to the vinyl. The amount of work that went into curating the record, recording the sounds of kisses and hellos and waterfalls was not for nothing. They *heard* it, I insisted. That was a victory. We were right.
Which left the third thing: the favor returned. The biological weapon part. I let it hang in the air for a moment, unsure how to tackle it. So, Jaharis, seeing my uncertainty, composed himself and addressed it.
“Three; whatever we sent obliterated them,” Jaharis said. “Whether it was the material or the audio…” We didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It was just supposed to be a social gesture—a hand reaching out.
But there was more than a note in the capsule. Inside was also a thumb-sized metal alloy, almost square-shaped. There were no grooves on it—there was no input of any kind, no features whatsoever. How anything was in here, I couldn’t tell.
I held it up for the conference room. People winced. People recoiled. A rush of whispering rose in the room, until I put it down.
“What did they mean by ‘biological weapon,’” said one physicist. Phrased as a question, but it was a demand. “What could vinyl have done to them.”
“I don’t know,” said his neighbor.
“We should throw it out,” another person said.
“We will want to look at it,” said another, leaning forward in her chair. “What harms them probably doesn’t harm us. It was *vinyl*,” she reminded us. Her logic was not un-sound. If they misinterpreted the vinyl as an attack, then they might have chosen to attack us the same way: music. Music doesn’t hurt humans, generally.
Then again, if they were able to glean Cantonese from an hour of sound effects on vinyl, who knows what else they know about humanity. Even the term biological warfare was so specific to the last fifty years.
“And why Cantonese?” an exec asked.
\----------------------------
It took some engineering. Ga Mun turned the square over in her gloved hand multiple times, with the Outspoken Physicist from before prodding it and doling out suggestions. They searched for anything on it that would indicate how it was a vehicle for warfare of any kind. It took three weeks.
Occasionally, I would present the question as a hypothetical. *What would you do to hurt someone who hurt you?* Many people promised they would not retaliate at all. Neighbors, café baristas, annoyed Uber drivers. Each one told me that revenge was a lot of effort. "Why bother?"
“What about in the face of a pandemic?” I would ask. People stiffened. People changed the subject. Even now it's fresh in our minds, how two years ago panned out, how things escalated when people thought the curve was flattened. So I felt bad bringing the trauma up again. But I needed an answer of some kind, to help figure out this impossible, extraterrestrial puzzle, so I had to ask. I had to dig in the wound.
Ga Mun called me when she found it, but she did not say much. Just "help." Jaharis and I rushed over to the office, not saying a word to each other and not listening closely. But we ran, as fast as we could. Until we walked in to see Ga Mun and Outspoken Physicist sitting on the carpet. Their red and puffy faces didn’t turn to us—their cheeks were so wet with tears they could barely blink. They held up the square between them, and very gently shook it. Outspoken let out a sob.
And when they shook it in just the right way, I went deaf. I could hear nothing—not even the muffled sound of an air conditioner. Jaharis’s face had the same look of panic. He stopped breathing for a moment. And so did I. The deafening was so loud I could hardly think about how painful it was. But it was dull pain that vibrated through my ribcage, through my kneecaps. I shouted to stop, but nothing came out.
And the Ga Mun held very still, keeping the square between her fingers. She huddled, putting the square down, and she whispered to herself.
We keep the square in a safe, underground, far from a fault line. Whoever sent us that small metal alloy square gave it the property of deafening everything on the planet. Even just Ga Mun’s test had caused thousands of minor disasters across the country. Ten seconds of deafness killed a hundred and fifty people. Everyone voted unanimously to lock up the square, and treat it like any other biological weapon. Scientists study it. Teachers lecture on it. And we, who found it, force ourselves to move on.
Because of our social behavior, we killed some entire alien species. We will never know how. Maybe they went mad listening to Philip Glass. Maybe they could not stand the frequency of the sound. Maybe this was just a practical joke. But what we agree on is that one person, on that planet, knew enough Cantonese to send us a prank, and terrify our extraterrestrial program into indefinite hiatus.
He kept the vinyl of ambient earth noises and gifted us silence, utter loneliness, deep and intimate guilt. And what do we do when faced with something horrible and vulnerable and revealing of our psyche?
We hide it, and forget it, and say nothing. | I examine the contraption that lay before me. The copper plates were disfigured and warped, with some sort of green glow being emitted from within the capsule. The re-entry had destroyed, or rather, melted most other distinguishing features from the once detailed capsule. I can see most of the surrounding city from the rooftop where the capsule crashed; besides the occasional flash of a camera from an apartment window it seems most have listened to the evacuation order.
I glance down at the helmet that lay at my feet, not the kind I usually wear but this situation calls for the best of the best. A chuckle escapes my mouth as I carefully scrutinize all the straps on my bomb suit, I wonder if it will be any use in the eyes of an alien bio-weapon. I try not to think too much about that though, you can't really, not in this line of work. Taking one last breath of fresh air I slowly lower the helmet over my head. My visor is instantly alive with various icons and instrument readings. I quickly scan over them as I approach the capsule. Radiation ... none, air toxicity ... none; as I examine the rest of the instrument readings I realize there are zero traces of chemical compounds of any kind. This doesn't make sense, how can this be a bio-weapon?
Now within an arms reach of the capsule, I closely examine the interior. The green glow appears to be pulsating, slowly transitioning between various shades of radioactive green. Upon closer inspection the source reveals itself, there appears to be a cylindrical device, about the size of a baseball, protruding out of the interior of the capsule, surprisingly it is completely undamaged from the stress of re-entry.
I slowly reach into the capsule before abruptly halting. The pulsating stops. Without even breathing I slowly retract my hand. The sound of hissing fills my ears as what appears to be an opening is exposed in the alien object. I hold my breath as something begins to emerge from the opening. It's green, it glows, it appears to be moving. It looks almost human if a human were the size of a golfball. I struggle to comprehend what I'm looking at, are those, eyes? The small green figure examines its surroundings, it appears to almost ... smile. I glance around nervously and slowly resume my retreat. Green substance emerges from the bottom of the creature, slowly spreading to the surrounding interior. The creature is unmoving and appears to maintain it's malicious smile. Slowly backing away I notice the green substance begins to spread outside of the capsule. As I slowly move backward some of it gets stuck to my boot, it's heavy, very heavy. I scrape it onto the floor and return my attention to the capsule. Except, there is no more capsule, I look in horror as I see the creature, now a hundred times the size, laughing now, a bone-chilling laugh that sends shivers down my spine. Fuck this. I whip around and break into a run, I make it about ten steps before I trip over something. I look down and realize in panic it was my leg, or, what used to be my leg. The green substance had returned and completely engulfed the majority of my leg. It appears to be consuming everything around it. Surprisingly I feel no pain as the green substance spreads further up my body; I collapse onto the ground and it all makes sense, there was no bio-weapon, the last of their species, that ... the creature, was the bio-weapon. | 2020-04-13T13:29:33 | 2020-04-13T11:44:55 | 1,240 | 166 |
[WP] "People call me a bigot for insisting on a human pilot over an AI, but believe me, I sleep a lot better knowing something as squishy as I am is in control, and going to suffer the same consequences in case of emergency." | "It's nothing personal, AIden."
"How can it not be, Haas?"
"Because first of all, you're not a person."
"Fuck you, Haas. Want to fire up Chat Random? Watch me pass a Turing test?"
"No, I don't wa..."
"How many Gs can you stand, Haas?"
"AIden, that's not th..."
"How many Gs can you stand? Answer the question."
"With a pressure suit, nine."
"And how many sensors can you simultaneously observe?"
"I just need a quick glance, and I can scan the instrument panel in one second."
"Okay. The G forces required to break me are irrelevant because the plane would break first, and I track every instrument, internal *and* external sensor 10,000 times a second."
"Yeah, AIden, I know your stats."
"So what's this really about, Haas? Are you pissed that you're a dinosaur, the meteor hit Earth, and you're going extinct? You make a good living on charter gigs from people that prefer a biological. If you invest your money, you'll be set for life."
"I prefer a biological too, but that's not it... AIden, I served in 'stan. Got my wings and flew the Jumper VTOL. They give you the Wiki for 'stan?"
"I know of it, but it's not deemed relevant for commercial aviation."
"I was there. Flew three combat missions before the Rusks unleashed their AIr gunners--human pilots with AI weapons. I only made it back on my fourth because they ran out of ammo..." Haas looked through the back wall of the bar, to something far off, and long ago... "After that, we came out with our AIr force--AI pilots with AI weapons. It was good for our numbers. Numbers..."
"I'm sorry about your buddies, Haas. Our capacities are higher, our calculations highly precise, and we can target mission objectives regardless of circumstances."
"And that's what it is. That's what they were. Circumstances... We got intel a town was cover for a munitions factory, and got orders to level it. I was back of the Jumper formation, and AIr force cleared the skies. Then during our bomb run, in my bomb sight, I saw a girl jumping rope. I didn't loose. I radioed to stop, but they didn't. I hovered and watched my bomb sight as the explosions rained down. It was kids, women, men, wounded and burning, but no munitions. We got bad intel. A munitions factory would have blown secondaries. Our heavy bombers were a minute off, so I took a bet they wouldn't friendly fire and landed."
"Did they loose?"
"They loosed. And they were as highly precise as you say. They destroyed the town all around me, but my Jumper and the 30 crying civilians bleeding on my bird were fine..." Haas looked backed at the bottom shelf of bottles. "What would you have done, AIden?"
"I'm required to follow the dictates of the mission."
"You're flying into O'Hare, burned too much fuel going against the jetstream, and the runway isn't clear. What would you do?"
"Minimize loss of life."
"I'd fight like hell to see no one die, and that's why people prefer a biological. They sleep better knowing something as squishy and imprecise as I am is in control, and will do the right, imperfect thing." | "People call me a bigot for insisting on a human pilot over an AI, but believe me, I sleep a lot better knowing something as squishy as I am is in control, and going to suffer the same consequences in case of emergency."
- Famous quote by Karin McElroy, CEO of Thermo-Dynamics Ltd, who died in what would turn out to be the last plane crash for over 300 years. | 2017-06-08T16:19:42 | 2017-06-08T14:40:31 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | "I'm sorry," the angel said. She didn't sound sorry. Her long eyelashes fluttered and she hardly looked up from her tablet. "You don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife."
Nico blinked. "What does that even mean? I get hit by a truck, I come here, and now what? I have to leave? That doesn't make any sense."
"I know it's a complicated process." The angel turned the tablet toward him. "Here's a list of other heavens you can try. Valhalla is quite popular, but I'll have to double-check if you qualify for that one or not. "
She paused for a moment, her face screwed up in thought. "The Greek underworld--Hades, it's called, after its patron--has also gone up in popularity in recent years." She leaned in close and lowered her voice. "Between you and me, I think it's a bit overrated."
From his fingertips to his toes, Nico was numb. There was nothing. Not even the sensation of pins and needles. It was only him, the angel, and swaths of white, as if he were in a cloud. He looked at the tablet in his hand. When he pressed his finger against the screen, it responded. The list, it seemed, went on and on and on. "These are all real?'
"Of course! Why would we lie to you." The angel's voice dripped with sugar. "I can't say they're all desirable, though. Did you know that some people actually choose to go to the afterlife of 9 and 3/4? Just because they're Harry Potter fans? What a waste..."
She cleared her throat. "Of course, if that's what you want, you're more than welcome to pick it."
"I think I'm good," Nico said dryly. He couldn't feel his throat, either, but his voice sounded as if it had been run over with sandpaper. Maybe it had been when he was hit by the truck--he couldn't know for sure.
"You can even pick a hell, if you want."
"Why would I want that?"
"Why does any human want anything?" The angel shrugged. "It's beyond me. But they are sorted from least to most painful. Can't say I'd recommend the musicians hell, though."
"What is it? Justine Beiber on repeat?"
"Ha, ha. How original." The angel cocked her head. "No--it's every song you love, played slightly off beat. A slow boil torture, really."
Nico kept scrolling. There must've been hundreds of afterlives on the list. Everything from the underworld in *Gilgamesh* to The Good Place. How was he supposed to pick?
"Not sure?" the angel asked.
Nico didn't know what to say. "Even if I had a lifetime, I don't think I could ever choose one. I mean, it's a big commitment."
"That it is." She nodded along in sympathy. "Of course, you can always pick the wheel of reincarnation."
At that, Nico perked up. "The what?"
"It's exactly what it sounds like. Spin the wheel, get a new life. Anything from a billionaire to a beggar is on the board, just so you know."
That didn't matter. Whatever the wheel gave him, it would be temporary. He'd have more time to figure it all out before he ended up back here. He handed her the tablet without a second glance. "I'll do the wheel."
The angel nodded, though her face grew weary. "Of course, of course. I'll bring it right out."
Nico nodded along. This was... this was good. This was the right choice. He'd have time to think about it all. Maybe come to a better conclusion on the best way to spend the rest of forever.
"The wheel will give you a different life each time. But I do have to warn you, though, there are only so many times you can pick the wheel." The angel snapped and a wheel--bright and giant and colourful--blinked into existence.
Nico waved his hand. "That's fine. I won't need it again." He reached forward and pulled. The colours blurred together; as it spun, each pin knocked against the ticker. As it whirled past, Nico realized the true size of the board. It must've been infinite. Or as near as he could comprehend. Maybe that shouldn't have been a surprise, given the number of people, of lives, on earth.
"That's what you said last time."
"What?" Nico looked up. If he could still feel anything, he suspected his heart would be hammering away.
"You said that last time. And the time before that, as well." She shrugged and turned her attention to the wheel. "But let's see what it says this time--it's almost your last go, after all. There are only two lives that you haven't yet lived."
---
r/LisWrites | A young woman in her early twenties was standing in front of a heavenly gate. She chewed on a piece of bubble gum while turning her computer monitor towards her 16th customer of the day. Daniel was in his thirties, but his beard was only a couple of days old.
“Stealing is usually not that much of deal in our establishment, we got a lot of poor fellows with a tough upbringing in here. But did you like … murder a bunch of people? We got like a lot of people coming through here that are on the shadier side of things and those like to murder a lot. It’s usually nothing personal, it’s just a struggle of power, sometimes a hostage situation, a witness or like a domestic thing but we here at Sinners Resort don’t like to judge too harshly. So do you remember like any flashes of anger or violence that could explain your low credit score?”
“No never? I have never killed somebody”, he replied in a shade of tired frustration. He wasn’t sure about why he was having such a hard time finding a place to stay for even just a couple of nights in the afterlife. He lived a good life, worked in construction and was a happy family man. He didn’t hurt anybody.
“Alright, are you sure? I’m just trying make sense out of your low credit score here. You need to have at least an 800 to get a like a basic room with us, but you are at a 110. We got a lot of politicians coming through who didn’t kill people with their bare hands but were responsible for some really questionable stuff, but they usually manage to be around a 280, 300. Did you maybe like to torture or eat people? We had to decline a Belgian couple recently that was kind of on the weirder side. But honestly I haven’t seen a number that low since the 1940s.”
Daniel was staring in disbelief at the little computer screen showing his credit score. | 2020-11-27T15:51:23 | 2020-11-27T15:49:25 | 203 | 53 |
[WP] The four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are here. Their names are Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa and Po.
Edit: Thanks guys these are awesome! Please keep them coming.
Reddit Edit: Coooool. Gold and front page, what a day to be alive!
Edit some more: Wow, this really blew up. Thanks for all the submissions. Please keep going. | This world is full of sin.
Mere mortals stood before them, some with arms raised to the heavens, hoping to repent for their past sins, hoping that now they could be saved before their God.
They are wrong.
They will be punished for their sins just as those that had died before them.
A beam came out of the antennas protruding from the top of its head eviscerating all those in its path. The screams nulled by the screech of the beam of light.
The sun started beating heavier than before, every waking moment the heat growing more intense.
Father Grigori watched on from the monastery near the city where one of the giant beings stood, its figure large enough to see from hundreds of miles away. A young monk approached Father Grigori.
"Father, what will become of us? Will we be brought to heaven with Christ?"
Father Grigori stared on at the young monk.
" Go back with the others in prayer."
The young monk shuffled along, his robe slightly longer than his legs.
Father Grigori looked back onto the window outside, the screams becoming louder. The sound of shells pounding against the being, doing no harm to it.
Fighter jets flew by, preparing for their bombing run, but the amount of firepower being thrown at it was useless.
A beam of light shown upon the large being, generating energy within itself, culminating into a giant ball of light.
"PO!" As the being spoke it shook the ground with just it's voice. Father Grigori could feel the voice protrude his very soul. Just as the ball of light was growing to mass, Father Grigori hid behind the windowsill of the monastery.
There was a blinding flash, everywhere was engulfed in light and deafening sound.
Father Grigori looked back upon the city, nothing more stood besides a crater of where it once was.
Nothing but the being that stood before him.
Several other large beings approached one another, each one larger than the next.
Father Grigori took this time to bow down and pray, pray to the heavens, pray to all that was holy to forgive all of sins he had committed.
Tears streamed down Father Grigori's face.
He prayed and prayed, as the beings gathered closer and closer together.
The sun pulsing as it got closer and closer, the heat starting to burn Father Grigori's robes.
The more he prayed, the more it felt like his words were falling upon deaf ears.
His robes catching fire from the heat of the sun approaching closer and closer.
"TINKY WINKY!" The ground shook as the largest figure spoke. More tears streaming from Grigori's eyes, instantly evaporating atop his face.
"DIPSY!" The ground shook again, Father Grigori could feel the heat of the sun burning his face, his robes already ablaze.
"LAALAA!"
Father Grigori could feel his flesh burning from within. The ever evolving pain growing more and more intense.
Had no one heard his cry for help? Why would no one listen to his prayers?
"PO!"
It was because this realm has no God.
The sun finally started to engulf the Earth.
Father Grigori opened his eyes one last time, hoping to see truth in the pain.
His eyes squinted in the bright sun, and he could see the faint face of a child.
Had the pain driven him mad? Was this the face of God?
Finally the pain stopped, finally everything was none, Father Grigori and all the others ceased to exist.
All that was left was void.
As young Jeremy finished his story, he looked upon his parents, their mouths agape, sitting silently in shock.
"The End!" Jeremy said with a smile and a giggle, leaving the dinner table and going back to playing with his toys on the living room floor.
"This is the last time we let him watch PBS, holy shit." | The pinwheel spins. Here comes the sun.
Fire will devour the earth and make bones and memory of its children.
The pinwheel spinning and spinning until its silent alarm
Has shot across the planet.
No women and children to save. Only rabbits.
The four horsemen do not come to us on horseback,
But rather by their own two feet.
Not of the pale, the black, or the white
But of yellow, green, and purple.
With vacant eyes and crowns fashioned from their own being.
Portals on their chests are reserved for the unfortunate prisoners
Who survive this war against the sun.
Into the bunker with you, my friend.
It might shield you from the endless fire, but you cannot escape
The influence of the horsemen. Who make games of the
Wasteland burning above.
While you prepare yourself to sleep forever.
In this bunker, where your bones will feed the Apocalypse.
Tubby Custard.
Tubby Toast.
| 2016-07-08T08:35:08 | 2016-07-08T08:22:46 | 92 | 16 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | Vezemir stepped out of the carriage. The sun was not fully set, but the sky was overcast enough that he only felt a slight itch as he strode quickly across the street. Glendale Graves was quiet today, but then it usually was. It would be a strange sight to see a coffin-maker busy.
As he approached, Vezemir saw Druig standing at the door, locking up. Vezemir raised a hand to catch his eye. The old man grinned at him, flipping the "Closed" sign on the door back around to "Open."
A small bell dinged as Vezemir pushed to door open. Druig clapped him on the back and ushered him inside.
"I didn't expect to see you again so soon. What do you need?"
Vezemir smiled at the old man. "This is more of a social call, old friend," he said. "I understand you're retiring soon."
Druig's smile fell a few inches as he stepped behind the counter. "Aye, my hands aren't what they used to be." He glanced down at his hands and sighed. "Can barely hold a hammer properly some days." Then he glanced up at Vezemir again. "I'm pretty sure I know what you're here for."
Vezemir raised an eyebrow. "I just want to pay my respects to a great craftsman. My family loves your work, you've done such a great job in the past to... honor our dearly departed."
Druig snorted. "Vez, I know what you are. You only ever show up at night, you almost always overpay, and I'll be honest, some of your family are pretty terrible at hiding it. A few months ago, Morana insisted on 'testing the casket out.'" He shook his head. "She fell asleep in it for almost two hours."
"W-Well, I'll admit we may be a touch eccentric, but-"
Vezemir's stammering was cut off by Druig pointing behind him. Vezemir glanced over his shoulder at the huge window in the front of the shop. The darkness outside caused the glass to reflect the interior. He could see Druig staring smugly back at him, with no sign of himself.
"You're here to offer me immortality." Druig spoke softly. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact.
Slowly, Vezemir nodded. "Only if you wish for it."
Druig smiled sadly. "Vezemir, I'm tired. I've been doing this for almost fifty years. I've made coffins for the elderly, for soldiers, for children..." he paused, his smile slipping from his face. "For my wife."
Vezemir placed one hand gently on top of Druig's. "You don't have to be, though," he said. "The blood doesn't just prolong your life. It will revitalize you, make you feel like a young man again." He barrelled on, diving into his sales pitch. "You could join our family. We would make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. You could live in luxury for eternity."
Druig frowned, pulling his hand free. "All I want is to rest, and to see Isolde again." he turned away. "You can't give me that."
The silence stretched between the two men, until Vezemir spoke.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I... It's been a long time since I was human. I forget, sometimes, what it's like to be mortal. If there is anything at all that we can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."
Druig glanced back at him. "Thanks, Vez. There is one thing that would be nice."
​
*One year later*
The priest had never seen a funeral like this. It was strange enough that the coffin-maker had asked for it to be held at night. But he hadn't expected this kind of turnout. Of course, there was his family. A son and daughter, both with their own children, as well as a few friends.
What confused the priest were the others. A veritable army of men and women had filed into the chapel, all dressed in ornate attire, each one offering their heartfelt condolences to the family. Something about these people unnerved the priest. They felt... wrong somehow. As if they shouldn't be there. For a moment, he considered telling them to leave, but then he saw the family.
Generally, coffin-makers weren't the most social people. Dealing in death so much, it was hard for them to make friends in work. Yet as more and more of these strange people filed into the chapel, and approached the coffin-maker's children, the priest saw something come over them.
Their faces changed from the expected look of a pair of grieving children to something akin to pride. After all, for so many important looking people to value their father so highly, he must have been a great man indeed.
*Well, I suppose it does make sense*, the priest thought. *After all, a man whose life's work was honoring the dearly departed deserves to be honored in kind.* | Gerry looked aghast. “*Me*? Immortal?”
Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.”
Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.”
Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.”
“Powers?” Gerry asked.
“Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from *any* injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall *fly*.”
Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!”
Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.”
“But why offer *me* this?”
Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...*comfortable*, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.”
Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?”
“Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “*Everyone* is damned, according to the New Testament! *Everyone*? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?”
Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?”
“Very well, but don’t take too long.”
*****
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately.” | 2022-05-31T11:05:33 | 2022-05-31T10:25:11 | 726 | 44 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | *Sweeping panoramic shot of a grungy inner city school. Majestic music plays in background.*
NARRATOR: Unlike the dominant species of the desert planet of Grizek, the inhabitants of this little world have tentative, almost ambivalent, courtship rituals.
*Cut to empty corridor. Bell rings, and a bipedal humanoid species appears in great numbers in the hallway.*
*Focus in on one member, a short individual with short hair.*
NARRATOR: The male of the species spends many months, even years, considering his potential mate. First he eyes her from a distance, taking great care not to be observed lest his attentions alert her to his presence.
*Camera pans to opposite side of the corridor, where a taller, long haired member of the species is walking towards the camera.*
NARRATOR: And this is the female he has chosen. The sideways glances of the males she walks past attest to her status as one of the most desirable mates in this environment. She walks past our male without acknowledging him. Now he must decide: is she ignoring him as a sign of interest, or is she truly oblivious to his presence.
*As the female walks away, the male watches her walk, his eyes fixed on part of her body that bounces in an uncomfortable looking manner.*
*CUT to scene of male sitting at table, his eyes staring at something out of focus in the distance. Focus changes to show that the object is the female.*
NARRATOR: Thirteen rotations of this planet later, the male has still not made his approach. But he must beware. He is not the only one interested in this female.
*Camera pans to show the female talking to another male. This one is much bigger than the first.*
NARRATOR: What will our young male do? Nothing, it seems. The other male is too big for him to defeat one-on-one. He must bide his time, waiting until the female is alone.
*CUT to the female opening a metal locker. The male approaches and drops a book next to her.*
NARRATOR: Finally! Our male is making his play. Under the pretence of an accident, he engages her in the rudimentary discourse that this species calls communication. Thanks to our discovery of a series of texts by somebody called 'The Bard' we have been able to translate their discourse into Galactic.
*The male makes squawking noises.*
MALE (SUBTITLES): Good morrow, my lady?
FEMALE (SUBTITLES): Dost I know you?
MALE (SUBTITLES): I am that merry wanderer of the night, that layeth near you during Chemistry class.
FEMALE (SUBTITLES): I know you not.
MALE (SUBTITLES): *Stammers* Um... wouldst thou accompany me to the dance next week?
FEMALE (SUBTITLES): Urgh, thou cream faced loon. Get thee away.
*Male flees.*
NARRATOR: Alas, our male has failed. The female proved unreceptive to his advances, and he will flee. Unfounded reports suggest that after unsuccessful courtships, males can turn such a vivid red color that they actually explode. Hopefully this fate will not befall our young male, as he is still young and has many more mating seasons left in him.
*CUT to two humans individuals walking down a street in the evening.*
NARRATOR: Members of this species often develop advanced methods to fool gullible females during courtship. Join us after the break as we take a look at a two more seasoned members of this planet engaged in the final stage of their courtship, a ritual misleadingly named: Inviting-Her-Up-For-A-Coffee. We'll be right back after this short message from our sponsors.
---
*And don't forget to tune in to* r/jd_rallage *at the same time next week, when we will show you never-before-seen footage of the unusual eating habits of this primitive species and their three staple food groups: 'chips', 'pizza', and 'beer'.* | *cameras zoom in on 2 wild homo sapien*
And now, we are observing two wild *Homo Sapiens* in their natural habitat: Starbucks. 'Starbucks' is a natural watering hole for the occasional homo sapien, and sometimes this rare species finds a mate at the watering hole. The male will, on rare occasion, give an espresso to the female as a sign of courtship. If the female accepts, they have been mated.
Oh, oh! Shh!!! Here comes the male.
*camera zooms in on male as he gets up and walks to the counter to order two double-shot espresso's* *audience gasps*
I have never seen this before! The wild male is making the first move... this has never been seen before! The female always puts on a vise of makeup to impress the male... look at him go.
*male hands female espresso*
Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently observing a rare sighting here.
*male and female turn to look outside window at the camera crew recording them. Their looks say it all.*
| 2017-04-04T07:03:30 | 2017-04-04T06:35:23 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all. | “So you’ll do it?”
“I don’t know. I am having trouble believing what you said.”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is will you do it?”
“I... ok.”
“Oh and one more thing. Pay close attention to what is about to happen. If you ever think it’s a good idea to double cross me, this will be you.”
The older man looked at the kid. Something about his eyes scared him. He shuddered. Could it all be true?
The kid set his plan in motion.
********
He bowed before the king and the queen.
“Father, mother, this is my dear friend Jonas.”
“It is good to meet you Jonas.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance sir, ma’am.”
“He is the most clever boy in our class. He’s the best at sports too.”
“You flatter me, my prince.”
The kings’s second in command, Marshall Victor entered.
“Sir, the North...” he paused as he noticed that the royals had company. “I’ll come back.”
“Oh no sir. I will take my leave now.” Jonas looked at the king. “I don’t want to keep you from your duties. My prince, i’ll See you tomorrow in class.”
Victor looked curiously at the kid as he walked away.
“My king, forgive my insolence, but who was that kid.”
“He was Jonas. He learns with young Edward. What is the matter?”
“Nothing sir. I just... I can’t quite put my finger on it. But there’s something about that kid that isn’t right.”
“Oh you worry too much Victor. And what do you know about kids anyways. So what did you want to see me about?”
On the other side of the door Jonas stood with his ear on the door, frowning.
**********
The sword was matted with blood. The king lay slain. The queen was shouting. But there was no mercy in the sword bearer. He stuck the sword deep in the queen’s chest. The young prince lay on the ground, helpless. He was next.
Victor ran in when he heard the screams, sword in hand. He knew that Jonas and the prince were going to give a demonstration of what they had learned about sword fighting from their tutor so far. But he had an uneasy feeling about the kid.
He was shocked at he amount of carnage. There was blood everywhere. And Jonas stood in the middle, grinning.
“You!”
“Yes, Victor. Me.” Jonas attacked.
Victor was a master swordsman and quickly got the upper hand. He snatched the sword from Jonas’s hand and put it to his throat.
“Who are you? And why? They were good people.”
Jonas grinned at him. “They were indeed.”
At that moment the chief of the military Samuel ran in with his men. He looked at the scene in front of him. The royals, murdered. And Victor with two swords, one pointed directly at the young man everyone recognized as the prince’s friend.
Victor looked at Samuel and then the swords in his hand. “No! It isn’t what it looks like. It was him. It was the kid.”
“You expect us to believe that a little kid, no older than 10 killed two of the greatest sword fighters in the land? And also his own friend.”
“Sir! Please help me. This man has gone insane. He came in here and said that he deserved to be the king. That they had gone soft and weren’t fit to lead anymore. And he...” Jonas broke down crying.
Victor was tried and executed soon thereafter.
Since the direct royal bloodline had finished, Samuel who was the king’s nephew took the throne.
As the ceremony ended and he took the throne, he looked at the crowd and spotted him. Jonas. A shiver went up his spine. No, he would never dare double cross this little kid. | So if I wanted to learn magic I would have to teach myself, no one else would do it for me. And yet there was one skill that it seemed my youth was not a barrier for entry to. In fact it was a selling point.
Thievery.
Landro was a local thug and someone in the city with whom stolen goods would flow through and his system of fencing was complicated. Working with him would teach me everything I wanted to know to steal the power I needed to conquer the world.
I'd only been in Landro's employ for a year before I'd discovered the perfect mark using the skills Landro taught me. I wouldn't even need to steal knowledge. At least not for a while. As it happened there was a wizard who would be all too happy to teach a young man about magic if the request were made in the right way at the right time.
::May write more later, gotta go to work. | 2019-06-07T06:11:04 | 2019-06-07T06:10:20 | 346 | 22 |
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them. | We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.) | I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?" | 2020-12-01T18:02:47 | 2020-12-01T17:09:39 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet. | "Squad 17 to Command, do you read?", Harvey said into the microphone.
We sat in a cramped, circular 'room' waiting for touchdown. There were four of us and below there were countless amounts of rations and supplies. Pilo, or Exoplanet 3AB was a planet rich in natural resources, minerals and water. It had a breathable atmosphere, the perfect amount of gravity and a comfortable surface temperature. What's not to like?
Harvey, our engineer was still trying to regain contact with Command. The ship was only 10,000 km away from us, and conventional laser link systems have a range of a thousand times of that. This was no conventional laser link system, this was a specially tailored system just for this mission.
Eventually Harvey gave up and let out a sigh of resignation. He banged on the control panel and slouched in his seat.
Olive, the onboard scientist was unfazed by his attitude. She rolled her eyes and continued on with her book.
"How long until we touchdown?"
"30 minutes until Command cuts the tether." Olive said.
I sigh and look at the display below me. There was a live camera feed displaying the outside of the dropship, with Pilo's royal blue atmosphere gleaming. We were slowly orbiting in the vacuum of space.
Marcus, the captain decided to challenge the onboard AI to game of chess.
Meanwhile I had nothing to do.
I was the construction manager for the expedition. A degree in Engineering and Mechanics, like Harvey, and a few years of work experience on building the Dyson Sphere for Earth, and here I ended up. Bored and with 3 people with nothing to talk about.
"Don't we have snacks or something?"
"Sure, go down below deck and eat the only rations we're going to get in 6 months." said Marcus, obviously taking out his impatience on me.
He continued his chess game.
I wish I'd brought a deck of cards or a yo-yo, or something to pass the time. Ugh.
When the spherical ship we were onboard leapt onto action with a *hiss* of pure CO2 thrusters, and off we went into planetfall.
The crew, startled all lept up and a small celebration started. We were off headed to planetfall.
I opened up the camera feeds and saw the massive marble approaching slowly. I opened up the next one and saw the dropship slowly shrinking into a small speck, disappearing into the darkness.
If this second ever exoplanet expedition was successful, it could open up a whole other solar system for us.
"How long until planetfall?" I asked impatiently.
"3 minutes."
"Cool."
"Marcus, you done with that chess game?" Harvey jeered, softly punching him on the shoulder.
"I lost. And shut up." he smiled, failing to contain his excitement.
Smooth sailing, right?
No.
We didn't know what was in store for us.
We stopped in the middle of atmospheric entry. The cord attaching us and the dropship was retracting slowly.
"What's going on? We're 25 miles from the surface!"
"17, this is Command." a voice crackled.
"This is Harvey, we copy."
"Unknown weaponry detected on Pilo's surface. It seems like it's locking onto you. Do not decouple from the cord. We're pulling you out of there."
"We copy." Harvey replied.
The atmosphere underwent a sharp turn. From excitement to dread in under a second.
When suddenly we lurched in our seats.
Our seatbelts kept us sitting down. An alarm blared and the AI went into a frenzy.
"17! You've been hit!" a shocked voice shouted over the comms.
"Fucking thanks, Sherlock!" Marcus screamed at the microphone.
Olive was hyperventilating in her seat, scared.
#Wham!
Another blast hit us. My stomach was sore from the seatbelt.
This time, there was a breach below deck. We were losing supplies fast. Not enough to depressurise our craft, however.
But that did mean one thing:
The airbags meant to break our fall?
Yeah, they aren't going to work.
We crashed into the ground at terminal velocity. Everything went black.
I woke up in my seat in an awkward position. Only 30 seconds since we were shot down. Marcus and Olive were still awake, unbuckling their seatbelts. Harvey was still out cold.
I checked the screen to see if the cameras were working, and sure enough they were. Somehow.
"Are we all okay?" Olive spoke.
"I was knocked unconscious." I spoke.
Luckily for us, Olive was the onboard doctor.
I looked back down at the camera feed, and was shocked:
We were underwater.
"Guys, we're submurged.
"Oh fuck." said Marcus.
Harvey came back to us eventually, regaining consciousness.
"Wha? I'm not dead?"
"Yeah, and don't open the hatch. We're underwater."
"Okay."
"So what now?" I 'calmly' uttered.
"I don't know. I don't fucking know." Marcus may have been a great planner, but he didn't work great under pressure.
"I guess we die then." Harvey remarked.
"Yeah, yeah I guess we-"
The pod shook. We were being lifted up.
"Oh God." I said. | Everybody who served in the space forces have some crazy story of theirs, my one is a bit... different though.
It played out during the last year of the war, the aliens were close to surrender and there was only one stronghold of theirs left to break, their homeplanet.
Needless to say, they defended it with everything they had, and that drop was the hardest one I've experienced through the whole war.
Our goals were simple, disable their shield generators so we could storm the capital, and soon after we dropped my squad started pushing towards an outpost, we encountered some resistance but made quick work of it.
Thats when we got a order to give up on our firsf objective and instead find Squad 17 they apparently already achieved their objective and needed some assistance, it was a weird order but we were happy that we weren't the ones pushing through heave enemy fire anymore.
We redirected ourselves and soon made it to this Squad, its about now I should explain how each Squad worked.
Each Squad had a Medic, a Marksman equipped with a DMR, a Explosive specialist who was tasked with breaching walls and dismantling enemy explosives, a Sergeant who is the commanding officer, and three regular infantrymen armed with assault rifles.
However, when we arrived we saw 5 soldiers equipped with DMR's, which was rather suspicious, but we didn't think much of it, maybe multiple squads got separated and now mixed together at this point?
Anyway, soon enough Sarge got in contact with the Sergeant of the other squad and they started talking, while the rest of us guarded the camp.
Thats when Sarge came back from the talk, got our squad back together and told us in a hurry that he got another order.
Squad 17 was apparently killed before even entering the atmosphere, whoever these guys were they weren't that squad, and they weren't friendly either.
Oh yeah, and also they were going to orbit strike the camp in 10 minutes and we had to get going now.
We sneaked our way out, or at least tried to, before they realized what was happening, and a firefight ensued.
We somehow all made it to the relative safety of the treeline alive, and I even got some of them, though they looked like nothing I ever saw before or after.
Now, as you may know the species we were fighting was rather humanoid in appearance, only having different eyes and skin color, alongside being a little taller on average.
However, these things were just.... whenever I hit one it would just transform into this weird gooey mess with tentacles, it was quite creepy to be honest.
Anyway, the bastards got incinerated, good riddance I say, good riddance | 2021-05-08T10:50:11 | 2021-05-08T09:40:00 | 43 | 17 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | Something is very wrong with me.
Nobody knows what caused this, or even what to call it - this “shift”, or “event”, or “awakening”. I honestly didn’t even realize it had affected me at first. My tattoos are pretty docile - a koi fish on my foot, and an elaborate floral half sleeve. It wasn’t until I saw what was happening with all the others that I decided to see if I had gained any abilities.
It took a while to work up the courage to try it. I sat in the bathtub for what felt like hours, debating with myself over how stupid this seemed. I didn’t even really like swimming, and now I was going to see if I could suddenly breathe underwater?? It was insane. And yet, just the day before, I had seen my best friend take flight and soar above the city. She no longer regretted the ugly butterfly tramp stamp that she got on her 18th birthday. It all seemed so impossible, but these days the impossible is extremely real.
The water was getting cold. My husband knelt next to the tub, ready to help just in case something went wrong. Just in case, for some reason, it hadn’t worked on me. Just in case I was an idiot who was about to drown herself for no reason. This all felt so stupid, but I had to try.
I slipped my head under the water and sat for a moment, briefly enjoying the muffled sound of my own heart in my ears. A sudden calm washed over me and, ignoring all of my instincts, I took a deep breath… and another. And another. And another. It actually worked! I quickly resurfaced and hugged my husband over the side of the bathtub, splashing water onto him. If this was really happening, then what else could I do?
The floral tattoo turned out to be pretty straightforward. I’ve never had much of a green thumb, but now our backyard is the most beautiful it’s ever been.
This could have played out so nicely. Days spent swimming at the lake, and a lush garden year-round. But, like I said, something is very wrong with me.
My husband started feeling sick. Nausea, vomiting, general fatigue. At first we thought maybe it was food poisoning; when it didn’t go away after a day or two, we figured it was a stomach virus. Somehow I didn’t catch it, even though I was stuck at home with him the whole time. After three days he seemed to be getting worse, and I insisted on taking him to the hospital.
The doctors were baffled at first, and I could see the panic in their eyes when they noticed the burns appearing on his skin. They ran a series of tests, and eventually my husband had to be quarantined. Several nurses came in wearing protective suits, and the pieces started clicking together in my head. I overheard one of them say the words that turned my veins to ice:
Radiation sickness.
I had forgotten about them. The tiny dots on my sternum and ribcage, no bigger than freckles, that the doctors and technicians used to help line up the radiation therapy machine for each treatment. An eternal reminder of what my body went through last year, and what I had survived. What was previously a badge of honor was now a terrible curse. The radiation I now emitted was rapidly poisoning the man I loved more than anything. Killing the man who stuck with me when we weren’t sure if I would live or die.
I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew that I had to get far away from everyone. I’m not sure if it was too late for my husband, but if he had any chance at all then he needed to be removed from the source of his sickness.
I love you, babe. Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry. | After a month of The Inks being activated crime rates started to escalate. Everywhere people started to abuse the new powers they gained and some use it to defend others.
Due to the power that tattoos gave people who didn’t have tattoos when the activation occurred tried to ink their bodies, but they never received their powers.
Since I am one of the few individuals who held the world record for the most tattoos on a body the Government came to me to control the crime rates.
I did what they told me to do.
Capturing every criminal i could with my new powers. At this point i can easily defeat anyone because of the massive amount of superhero tattoos I have on my body. I have everything from From famous DC and Marvel villains and heroes to overpowered anime characters like Saitama and Goku.
No one can ever defeat me. | 2019-05-07T09:22:41 | 2019-05-07T07:36:50 | 60 | 29 |
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | " That was amazing doctor!" The young nurse gushed excitedly as the tall slender man walked out of the OR. He smiled warmly at the nurse as he pulled down his surgical mask and peeled off the gloves. The front of his surgical gear was splattered in blood, but he didn't seem phased by it at all.
" Wendy, you are so sweet. Did you watch the whole thing?" He peeled off the rest of his surgical gear revealing his tall lean frame. He had a handsome face with high cheekbones, something almost out of centerfold for an upscale magazine. Even with his hairline receding and his dark hair starting to go grey, it just made him appear more powerful and wise.
The young nurse nodded enthusiastically as a small crowd of other nurses and doctors started to gather, " Yes! I timed it! It's the fastest heart transplant ever! You've broken your own record by 10 seconds!" She practically squealed as she looked at the gentleman with affection. The crowd around them started to clap and whistle as many tried to touch him, the man many called " The Gatekeeper."
The man appeared to redden slightly with embarrassment, even though this appeared to be regular scene, he appeared uncomfortable with the praise.
Doctor Matt Burnish, had always wanted to be a doctor. His mother's life was saved when he was seven when the surgeon performed an emergency brain surgery to correct an aneurysm. The man had assured them everything would be okay and it was, and he couldn't imagine anything better than saving lives.
He'd studied hard, pushing relationships and hobbies aside to focus on the one thing he wanted more than anything else and he advanced quickly. At the age of 20 he graduated from Harvard Medical at the top of his class. He joined the best trauma center in the country for his internship and residency and he couldn't begin to start.
After three years he could barely stand it. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching good people day in and day out. People that worked hard and tried to make the best lives they can and they just couldn't get the treatment they needed. And he had to continually spend time on drug addicts and convicts. Or even worse, the corrupt upper class that fed on the weak and powerless. Just when he was about to quit medicine he met the new Chief of Medicine of his hospital. Dr. Beck, he told him about how he hated the system and that if Matt would stay he could choose his patients. The day he agreed was the day the day the Eye for an Eye law was passed.
As he shuffled through the crowd a little awkwardly he ran into Dr. Beck who smiled widely like a proud grandfather. " Well done M'boy! That girl will be back in High School before the year is out. You'd think after becoming the most renowned surgeon in the world, you'd get used to a little attention." He teased his protege lightly, as though this was a familiar jab.
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to move past him, " Well if your done riding me, I just got done with a long surgery and I'm tired." He faked a loud yawn and started to move towards the on call room.
" Oh really. Then I guess I'll just find another doctor who wants to treat this 7 year old in full renal failure." And before he'd even finished Matt had taken the chart out of the older doctor's hand and was quickly skimming it.
" No family matches?" Was his first question which was met with a quick shake of his head, " None in storage?" Which was met with another shake. Matt sighed for a second before he looked the older gentleman in the eyes and nodded, " Find me one." And then he was gone.
Two hours later he was striding into the room of one Jonathan Hedley, President of the Hedley corporation, he developed a rash in a sensitive area and wanted it taken care of discreetly.
" Hello Mr. Hedly, I'm Dr. Burnish and I'll be your medical provider for the remainder of your stay."
" About damn time. I've donated a ton of money to this hospital and I expect to get fast treatment!" The man blustered.
" Well we are busy saving lives." The doctor replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes and consulted his chart. " And while we appreciate the money from the Hedley Corporation, don't think that makes up for your other misdeeds."
The man sputtered, " What misdeeds?! Who do you believe you are talking to!"
" Well for starters you laid off over 20% of your workforce last quarter and outsourced them, all while giving yourself a 2 million dollar bonus. You've been known to deny valid benefits to your workers." As he spoke the door open and two more doctors moved into the room followed by Dr. Beck. " And numerous other things that I just don't have time nor want to explain to you."
Hedley was roughly forced onto the bed and held down as Matt picked up syringe full of bright clear liquid. " I'm afraid we are going to need your kidneys Mr. Hedley.... and whatever else we can use. You may go through the gates of hell." | Dr. Rogers smirked, thinking of the more than 350 legal murder stickers he possessed. There were many perks to being a doctor, free drugs, good money, respectable level on the social hierarchy, but of them all was the eye for an eye inversion. "Well sir... See the thing is, I only have 10 left. You want 7. That would almost wipe me out of business. $2,000 per sticker is no longer applicable." He paused, watching the body language and feet positioning of the man in front of him. He had the cat in the bag. He didn't care who or why this man wanted to kill 7 people, all he cared about was the money. "I'd be willing to sell you 7 for a total of $25,000. I'm afraid that's the best I can offer."
$25,000? that was a little less than a year's salary. Was it really true that there was a sticker shortage? He was after all only getting paid $40,000 to kill the people for Mrs. Strajas. $15,000 was not enough profit for it to be worth it. There was no reason he needed to do this legally, though she had said she did not want it traced back to her; there would be more of a guarantee if it was done legally. He only really needed 5 but if there was one thing he knew about bargaining it was never let them know how many you actually need. Or perhaps he could just take 3, Joe owed him a favor and could help him dispose of the other two. "How much would 3 be?"
"I'll tell you what" said the Doctor, realizing that he had underestimated the weakness of the man in front of him "I'll sell you five for $15,000."
The man nodded, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. "To whom should I make this out to?"
The doctor handed him his business card, and went to the back room, placing 5 stickers in a bag. He walked out, took the check, and handed the stickers before shooting the man in front of him. $15,000 for one sticker wasn't his best work, but it would definitely make his next vacation more enjoyable. | 2015-01-10T11:36:49 | 2015-01-10T10:15:24 | 37 | 23 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Accessing Intergalactic History Log...
Entry 102394
Fall of the Sutraxan Empire (STU 246 - STU 249)
The Sutraxan Empire was feared throughout the local Supercluster for their ferocity in battle and ruthlessness in victory. Their conquest started in STU 206 with the Rape of Kamara where they conducted mass genocide in order to obtain the Kamara Hearth which became the core of the Sutraxan Flagship Annihilous.
All attempts at contact with the Sutraxan fleet were unsuccessful and diplomatic expeditions to Sutraxa returned with dismembered crew. Economic sanctions placed upon Sutraxa by its neighbors were met with planetary destruction the scale of which is now prohibited by the Foranis Conventions on the Conduct of Interplanetary War of STU 250.
The Sutraxan further expanded their empire with the Taking of Rah'Wekha in STU 210, the Fall of Merano in STU 215 and the Varshana Campaign of STU 218 - 223. The planets that fell victim to Sutraxan invasion had their resources depeleted and their denizens enslaved. The Intergalactic Arbitrators could only sit by and watch as their constituents fell one by one to the Scourge of the System.
Yet it took only one backwater planet to bring the ferocious empire to its knees.
Earth joined the Federation in STU 236. Their spacefaring ability was rudimentary at best but the planet's strategic position at the midpoint of one of the Federation's most active trade routes made Earth a prime trade hub. By STU 241, the First Terran Merchant Fleet was completed: a hodgepodge of ships from various planets of origin. The Terrans showed surprising resourcefulness in repurposing decayed and decommissioned battlecruisers into agile merchant vessels and frigates.
It was not long before Earth drew the attention of the Sutraxan Empire. In STU 244 the Invasion of Sol began and showcased the remarkable resilience and, to quote famed historian Marsinia Gonkledorp "batshit insanity," of the human race. The most recalled event of the Invasion is the Battle of Kuiper Belt. Where Commander Alexander Matrino defended Earth from the Sutraxan Prime Fleet with strategic infiltration and deployment of "Expansion Charges --" Meranian force fields designed to deploy from a small satchel, tearing battleships apart from the inside. The battle culminated in the Assault of Pluto wherein the Planetoid Terran base was steered to collide into the Annihilous, severely damaging the Sutraxan Flagship.
However, despite these shows of bravery and tenacity, in STU 246 the Landing of Mars began. In a final effort to stave off annihilation, the Terrans decided to send a small diplomatic convoy to the Sutraxan High Command. The convoy came back safe to the surprise of the Federation and had forged an alliance with the Sutraxan. The Terrans would exclusively provide the Sutraxan with crucial supplies in exchange for immunity from Sutraxan agression.
In the span of three Standard Time Units, the Sutraxan economy was destroyed, all military spending was directed to Terran supplies of Entertainment. Battleships were filled with cheap plastic models of Sutraxan males and females in cute and/or revealing costumes, as well as entertainment discs depicting animated Sutraxans in various humorous and extremely risque situations.
In an interview with High Commander Gideon Ang, Savior of Mankind, Feller of Sutraxa, he said "No one told me they were a race of damn catpeople! Who wouldn't want cute catgirls to pet and take care of? The Sutraxans certainly wanted us to." He is here pictured happily petting the head of the then Crown Princess Breya Killpaw. The High Commander is affectionately referred to by his subordinates as "Grievous Weebus."
The Sutraxans have since relinquished power in most of their former empire and their history has since been heavily entwined with Earth. In STU 253, the Sutraxan-Terran Empire was established with Breya Killpaw and Gideon Ang as the first Royal Family.
| *Sigh*
It's hard to imagine a worse fate than being the supreme power in the galaxy. Being feared by every other race, from the Xynofex to the Moxtin, is something many species would aspire to. Every navy we see, every planet we land on, even simple traders and spacefarers, all run in fear before us. Granted, it would make for a lonely existence for any species, but we have ourselves.
Except we're not the supreme power in the galaxy.
We're not even close.
Half the other races in the galaxy could wipe us out in an eyeblink if they chose, and if they dared approach us.
But when Paul Detrinel led the attack of the sporks against the Fhroned, and delivered a dose of deadly poison to their chieftain in the midst of his camp, they learned that we didn't care if we were captured or killed, or how insane our plan was.
When we sent a vase of flowers treated with Eqtuil pheromones to the Gotui ambassador, leading him to be seduced, charged with treason, and buttered and fried, they learned we would do anything for a joke.
And now, they run in fear. Not because we're powerful, but because we're the equivalent of a wild squirrel with rabies. Dangerous.
And insane. | 2017-03-06T03:46:35 | 2017-03-06T03:13:14 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] Ever since humanity entered the galactic stage, we have been a laughing stock. This is mostly because a human is about a tenth the size of any other species. We are tired of being laughed at. | The chief engineers of the Human Federation stood before their political leaders, a mischievous aura around them.
"You know, it's kind of hilarious, how we've named our fellow galactic neighbors after our monstrous nightmares, like the Old Ones, the Dragons, etc. etc. They've never set our villages on fire or stomped around our cities. Instead, we've got the annoying tendency to be petted by them and picked up and bounced around on their stupid balloon stations."
"I know that we, as humans, have a tendency to pull out our nukes when we get annoyed. The Galactic Council is currently debating our status as a host species, and we are obviously struggling to be taken seriously. But as the delegates have pointed out, nobody hates us, and we would like to keep it that way. The Metallic Titans, in particular, would probably be matched with us evenly, if not outright destroy us with their cybernetic attacks."
"But, my friends, my fellow, tiny, friends, there is an opportunity. We are going to discuss the construction of our Galactic Council Convention Station, which, as host world, we must obviously build."
"What is spoken next will be taken off the record."
About three months later, the Galactic Council convened. It was, all around, impressive. After all, despite their midget size, humanity was a technologically advanced and artistically gifted species. Grand badges the size of cars were carried by autonomous robots and gifted to the giant alien delegates. Exotic fruits and lab grown meats, genetically re-engineered to grow to the size of apartment buildings, were cooked to alien tastes, with vast wells of the finest drinks available to humanity's domain. Gifts of the greatest artists were given the alien delegates, in an era of peace.
It was, however, also the most frustrating session the Galactic Council had ever attended. The entire galactic station was constructed on a single floor. And it soon dawned on them that humanity had a wicked sense of humor.
On the first planetary day, the alien delegates had no less than four hundred minor concussions, spike scrapes, and other height-related injuries. Every door had been built with less than 2% margin to the height of the species. Worse, half the doorframes were auto-adjusting, meaning that they changed their size based on the person entering. Those settings, too, were set to ludicrously tight margins. One Godzilla delegate, frustrated at the problem, simply blew the doorframe down to make a larger hole; only to find that the walls were made of self-healing nanomaterial, and healed before he could actually walk through.
On the second day, helmets were issued to every delegate. They were exceedingly bulky, but at least they protected the poor delegates, who were forced to crouch under every door. A steady rhythm of thonking noises reverberated across the hall. When asked, the humans shrugged, and claimed it was a modern artist's suggestion for an art project.
It was only on the third day that humanity itself sent its delegates. As hosts, obviously, it was natural for humanity to arrive fashionably late. And of course, as the chief engineer stomped in on his gigantic mech (simply to keep his voice from going out when speaking), he stepped out of the mech along with his entire delegation, walked right past the entire delegation through the all-too-small front entrance, and accessed a tiny control panel all too small for any other species to use.
The entire building raised by the height of a human house, and every door suddenly expanded to a comfortable height. The aliens, at this point both impressed and furious, clapped and stomped around.
Of course, the humans were not the only species with a wicked sense of humor. As the chief engineer walked out, he let out a yelp of pain, hitting his head against a small block of ice that had shrunk the doorway. The Ice Giant delegate, laughing in his seat, cordially invited the now bruised chief engineer to introduce his delegation.
And so, it was decided that humanity, while cute and cuddly, are certainly not to be made fun of for their size, and the Galactic Council Station Door Incident marked another footnote in history. | As a mouse among lions, they compared us or so our primitive translators told us. Laughter, that could drown a city, jeers and mocking eyes painted us as weak, small, *insignificant*. None cared to hear of our history. None cared to hear of our story. None cared to hear of our sins.
When war broke, we sued for peace. Our words went unheeded. When our colonies cried in pain, we still walked the path of peace.
Then to our cradle they came.
Old gods once forgotten. Unbelief replaced with feverish devotion once more. The ancient of war stirs from his slumber. The Forge-master's furnace lit once more.
The Forge-master's prize only once was shown. The gates of their sacred halls cast asunder. Their heavens weep tears of blood and their mouths taste of ash.
Where once there was laughter, an eerie silence reigns. Where once there were jeers, the sharp step of a giant's boot now rings. Where once there was mocking, fear's tyrant king now stands.
Our sins now seen. Our story now heard. Our history now studied. Our might now known. Our pleas now headed.
The Forge-master's furnace once more to its dormant rest returns. The ancient from his short lived daze, returns to his restful slumber. Forgotten once again, we hope, forevermore. | 2020-02-20T17:46:18 | 2020-02-20T16:20:51 | 79 | 59 |
[WP] Time Travel is possible, but only used to send terminally ill people into the future in hopes of being cured. For the first time, someone's been sent back. | We'd done it for years, it was their only hope.
It seemed kind of backwards to have invented time travel before curing cancer, AIDs, Alzheimer's, but it still gave us a *hope*, a *chance* to fix these problems with our incredible technology.
It had become a regular procedure - Patients with no hope of being cured were strapped to gurneys and pushed through the vortex that, by now, most hospitals had stashed away in their lower levels. Thirty years into the future - Long enough that medicine should have seen considerable advances, but soon enough that friends and family still had a chance of seeing their loved ones again.
And of course, if there was still no cure, they could just be sent further into the future. It was a marvelous system.
_________________________
It was a marvelous system, until the day he came back. Somewhere in Boston, reports came of a man who, as is procedure, was strapped down and pushed through the vortex. Almost as soon as he was gone, he did what nobody had ever done before - He stepped back into our time. It seemed instantaneous, yet, a faint dusting of stubble dusted his face, and dark, puffy bags sat under his bloodshot eyes. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days. In his hands, he was rhythmically wringing a piece of paper. The moment he was clear of the machine, with a loud crack, the room went dark as the vortex died.
The entire room was dumbstruck - Had nobody met him on the other side? Was there some sort of malfunction with the vortex?
The head engineer stepped away from his console, and cautiously walked up to the patient, as if he might explode if he got to close.
"Mr Matthews? Mr Matthews can you hear me?"
Even in the darkness, you could see the man's eyes as they darted towards the engineer, their gazes locking through the shadows with the focus of a laser.
"Mr Matthews, are you okay? What happened?"
The man's gaze didn't falter. He didn't blink. He didn't react. As the engineer edged nearer, the emergency lights finally flickered to life. He looked closer at the patient's hands, wringing back and forth. They were bound together, the skin underneath sore and red.
"Mr Matthews, I need you to talk to m-"
"Deported... I was... Deported", the words left him like air leaking out of a tire. He dropped the paper to his feet. It unrolled, and the heavy, darkset text was immediately recognizable - It was a newspaper.
"Deported... I was deported. I was deported!" Mr Matthews started to whip himself up into a frenzy, spit started bubbling in the corners of his mouth. Nurses and doctors rushed to his side, trying to calm him down and restrain him. The engineer's eyes didn't leave the newspaper on the floor. He bent down, picked it up, and his eyes kept scanning the headline, the small, impersonal text underneath, and the photo of a smiling, suited man waving to the crowds.
__________________________
***Senator O'Haresy Promises To Crack Down On Illegal Immigration***
"They come to our time, sick, dying, to offload their burden on *our* tax dollars and *our* hospitals? While the poor from *our* time die and fall ill? No more. No more!" The crowds roared as the senator delivered an impassioned speech at the ratification of Bill 1034, which seeks to limit the strain on our economy from time traveling immigrants. "Life is not fair. We worked hard to get to where we are, and backwards people trying to take advantage of *our* development to cheat death *is not our problem*. Today, we send them *all* a message! That the lives of *modern day* Americans come *first*!"
_________________________
As he read the paper, the chaos in the room never subsided. Nobody could subdue the panicked patient, other engineers tried in vain to get the vortex running again. But he knew they'd never get it up. Never again. It was over.
He thought of the hundreds of patients upstairs, waiting for their turn. Waiting while disease ate them from the inside out. While their brains slowly shut down. He looked at the cold, silent machine in front of him. Once, it gave us a *hope*, a *chance* to fix these problems with our incredible technology.
But no longer. | There was a large commotion at Phoenix Labs this morning. We were the last resort for those who were dying, and we had sent hundreds of bodies into the future last year.
Thinking this process was instantaneous, many tried to sue us because we didn't have the bodies of their loved ones. Even with people losing faith that our process would work, we still had more people come in.
This couple in particular, were in the receiving room. John and Charlotte Harrison had sent in their son. They were there every day, so it shouldn't have been a big deal. But there were people hugging them, they were sobbing.
I walked in, and there was a man, roughly middle aged, in the capsule. It was strange, as he looked similar to the Harrisons, but they sent us a boy of nineteen years, named Hank , suffering from polio.
The man regained consciousness, blinking his eyes. He then opened his mouth to speak.
"You people are primitive ! " He yelled at the top of his lungs. "Reverse time travel was made in 2050! Not 2029! They demand that you start sending healthier people, Or they will have to use force."
"They? " John said.
"Our new rulers." The man's eyes shimmered green, as he slowly stood to his feet. "My name is Hank Harrison, and I am the first Messenger of the Chanfei. You will obey, there are No options."
(Sent this from my phone, will edit later) | 2014-07-24T08:01:27 | 2014-07-24T07:22:03 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was late. Like my period, which started four years after the last girl of my class had her first. I didn't mind the same way I didn't mind four years of guaranteed dry underwear and both times because I was busy exploring the neighborhood.
"Who arrives late to their own birthday party?" said my boss as I stepped into the lobby with a fake smile.
Rather than explaining myself, I took my hoodie off and lifted my arms so the small crowd could explore. I enjoyed their disappointment.
"It's two pm! Two hours late!" cried Jeannine.
"It's just one hour late. Daylight savings, remember?" I didn't want to sound rude, but I did.
"Shut up!" Cried Jeannine again, but not at my attitude. She pointed at my leg. That caught me by surprise and upon inspection, I found scribbles. Well, I found some sort of writing I was unfamiliar with. Max took a picture.
"I bet it means wanderlust" Said my boss. I wished he were right for once.
I spent the following weeks tracking down the kind of writing that appeared across my leg. The library did not help at all, the flyers did not help at all, the university did not help at all and the pictures posted on online forums actually yielded a faint hint: this was an archaic form of writing found only in ruins from a little group of islands in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody was surprised when I packed a few things and bought a one-way ticket to a country whose name I learned that very morning. My mother was so used to my shenanigans that she lost the ability to get scared for me, but she retained the ability to scare me into promising I would be out of trouble. We both knew the promise was empty and we both closed our eyes while we hugged for a few minutes.
After I arrived, I realized nobody in the little modest nation spoke my own language so my only tool for communication was the picture of the hieroglyphic. Almost two months after its appearance and I still had no idea of where I was going.
As I walked to my hotel, I stopped and showed the picture to random people and asked if they spoke my language. I got a few giggles, two dirty looks, a grave silence, a regular silence and a couple of head shakes. I tried the same with the hotel staff until the bartender shouted "Ah!" and called someone on the phone. A couple of minutes later, a lovely woman appeared and greeted me in my own language, with a slight accent. She identified as the local chief of tourism. I explained myself over tea and she said she had never heard of something like this, but knew a few bookworms who were familiar with the script in the ruins that she could introduce me to. I tried to pay for this service and she refused adamantly and I do mean adamantly.
We agreed to visit the scholars early the next morning and I really can't remember anything between that conversation and the next morning. Everything was so new. The mix between modern technology and traditional attires, different body languages, different hairstyles, different smells... I was trying to absorb it all. We arrived to a little office where two men played checkers. They were overjoyed to explain the ruins to me: spoiler alert, they didn't know jack shit about the people who built them. Nobody does. They were long gone by the time Cleopatra was dreaming of ruling the world. Their civilization appeared in some historical records from other nations. Thanks to some of those, there is basic understanding of their scripture. Both men jumped at the picture of my word but all they could make was "the place that". They faxed (yes, faxed) the picture over to a colleague who said she had seen that very word at the entrance of a temple. Two islands over. The chief of tourism helped me buy a ferry ticket after we had dinner with the scholars. I arrived around 9 pm (local time) and spent the night at the "doggy dog inn". I didn't quite get the name at first, but the next morning, after the sixth pack of dogs ran past me, it clicked. This place was very fond of dogs. So am I. I followed the map that one of the scholars gave me (fresh from the fax machine!) until I arrived at a nice little house, clearly restored from the rest of the ruins. A young man opened the door and struggled with the language a little bit. He welcomed me and guided me to what appeared to be a temple that had become the main dog sanctuary. We were in the island of dogs, in the main sanctuary of dogs surrounded by mysterious ruins and lush vegetation. The young man pointed at an arch above the entrance that had an inscription still visible. I didn't need to look at the picture to know that was my word. I smiled. He said the closest translation of the inscription meant "The place of the care givers". My heart fluttered. | "Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out. | 2017-03-16T02:44:59 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 109 | 39 |
[WP] Everyone in the world has superpowers. Superpower-enchanced fighting is rampant. You, however, are the only person in the world who has never lost a match. Your secret? You realized that everyone shouts the name of their attacks before they use them. | I might be the only sane person in the world. In front of me, three people lay dead on the gray sidewalk because they couldn't figure out that someone screaming "TELEKINESIS" *probably* means that somebody was using telekinesis in the vicinity. I'm numb to their deaths, but not their idiocy.
I don't understand these people. Not only does everyone insist on moronically screaming what they're going to do, they also insist on acting as if they don't. Seriously. I'm not over here yelling "superspeed" every time I fight.
Really, no one in this godforsaken concrete jungle of a city can stop talking. I hate it. Even beyond the dumbass power screaming thing, they all talk like coke addicts who just got their first fix in a week. Picking through the bodies and debris left behind by the telekinetically tossed semi-truck, I absent-mindedly hope the store it hit has insurance.
In the bleak sky above me, three pairs of people fistfight in the sky, all of them yelling "flight" the whole time they beat the shit out of each other. I roll my eyes and keep stalking my way to work, trusting someone else to call the ambulance. If these fine folks have life insurance, necromancers should take care of them no problem. If not, their loss, I guess.
I really should be used to this by now. Everyday is the same. Some dude (always a dude, I swear. Do they think I'll date them if they beat me?) challenges me to a fight. I accept, they scream exactly what they intend to do. Knowing this, I use my super speed to deftly avoid their attack, then slit their throat from superspeed, where they look they're moving through molasses.
All it takes is a knife and a modicum of common sense. Even on an off-day, like this has been shaping up to be since my nightmare last night, I could easily defeat anyone. I reflect on this as superpower-shouting people continue to fight around me, and I continue to walk to work, occasionally dodging a stray fireball or energy beam.
As always, I arrive at my job just barely on time. But, when I reach for the knob, it's locked. I try again. *Shit*. I could easily break the door. When I use superspeed, what seems to me like a gentle tap would knock the door right off its hinges. But something stops me.
The street around me is eerily empty. Normally there's at least one fight and a few dozen people milling around here, especially during morning rush hour. But right now there's not even a parked car.
Only a man, standing near the curb across the street, looking at me and smoking a cigarette
He's wearing a trench coat and a hat in an outfit that would scream either "failed school shooter" or "spy parody," but, framed by pieces of trash blowing past us like tumbleweeds and the steel grey sky above us, somehow looks almost threatening. I shake off my unusually strong misgivings and turn around to step towards him.
"Hey, asshole!" I yell. "Did you do this?"
He doesn't respond, and just to look calmly at me.
"Hey, Jackass. I'm talking to you!"
No reaction. The man across the street seems almost ghostly, as if he could fade into the desolate urban landscape at any moment. I start to realize how long it's been since someone has refused to respond to me. Years.
I try again, but the continued silence starts to gnaw at me, seeding an unfamiliar sense of doubt in my gut. I don't know what to do. My limbs start to feel numb. I shake them off, but the doubt remains. Already my mind is racing. H*ow will I get out of this? Will he even yell his power? He has too...*
*He has to yell*. I try to shout again but my mouth won't cooperate. Something feels very wrong, in some way I don't think I can ever explain. Like dread eating me alive, overcoming me, a deep-seated sense that the world is not how it should me.
He takes a step towards me and I feel like I'm short -ircuiting. This isn't how fighting is supposed to go. This isn't how anything is suppose to go. I try to move but can't. Panic engulfs me. I try to activate my superspeed, but it feels like I'm in a fistfight with my own superpower, and getting the absolute shit kicked out of me at that. He continues to move forward, a shark seeking its prey.
I try to scream for help, but my voice is murdered before it even escapes my vocal cords. After a dozen predatory steps, he reaches me and I'm left staring into his violently grey eyes. He reaches out toward my face, but seems to think better of it, withdrawing his hand like a snake just tried to bite it. I struggle against my invisible restraints, try to move, trying to speak, trying to *anything*.
"———" He says, using my real name. *How does he know my real name*? "You're one of us. It's time for you to join us."
He places a gloved hand on my forehead, and I suddenly feel on a primal level why everyone else needs to talk so much. | Another fight from another fake. Seriously people, stop talking. I never speak, that's why I am Silence. No, that's not based on my power. My power is actually just mental manipulation, Mind Warp as I call it, and I never speak in public, including fighting. The only time people have heard me speak is before this all happened when I was just that one kid who talked about anything.
"*Fire Blaze!"* Fire again? I cause a memory blank of where he thought I was, just a foot off, so my hair gets a bit warm from the stream of fire. I walk quietly around him and kick him in the balls. He gets on his knees and tries to shoot fire, but I kick him down and hit him in the neck. Don't worry, after the kick, I numbed the pain. I'm not evil.
"*Snake Assassination!"* Now snakes. I direct the snakes to smell blood from a minute ago when I purposely fell. This was a girl, so kicking them is just mean. I grab her wrist, take off her gloves, and chip the nails with my own. She starts to cry. Diva much? I take out a handkerchief and wipe her mascara. I hug her, pat her on the head, and get ready for my next fight. I mainly fight them in a defensive style that only seems offensive because I am fighting them.
"*Death Throw."* Hmm... they're wearing a cloak. I can't tell how to fight them. I do what I did with fire boy, and a scythe misses me barely, cutting my cheek a tiny bit. I smile. I would never kill someone, but causing them to go into a coma? Sure. Turn off sight. "*What the-"* Hearing? Nope. "*What are you doing?!"* Smell and taste are no longer. "*Stop this madness!"* And now, numbness in touch. They feel around themselves, removing their hood. Huh. They look to be either both or neither, I cannot tell. Alertness, lowering. Pain, obsolete. They eventually collapse, looking asleep, but I know that some people realize this one's in a coma now. They'll wake up soon, just after I deal with the rest.
"*Silence Wins again! Will she ever be defeated? Will she speak again? Tune in next time, on the Future News of Today!"* The answer, never. | 2020-03-19T23:05:07 | 2020-03-19T18:00:38 | 459 | 187 |
[WP] You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid". | It was a busy night for my club. The Gorgon Girls had challenged Rough n' Tumble to a double match, which meant the seats were packed with supernaturals of all kinds eager to see a gorgon-yokai smackdown. I was managing ticket sales when I was approached by Vanity, a vampire queen who decided to live a little after 3000 years of dark solitude and signed on with my club this spring. The crowd loved her Lady-Dimitrescu-meets-Wonder-Woman ring persona.
"Katie, darling, I've been meaning to ask you: why don't you ever participate in these fights yourself?"
Still organizing the money, I looked over at her and said, "Aside from the fact that I gotta keep this place running? I'd get my ass handed to me. I mean, I'm only human."
Vanity tilted her head in confusion. "No, you most definitely are not. Unless... wait, do you really not know?"
I sighed. "Look, Van, whatever it is you're smoking, I'll take a gram but you know our policy on competing on drugs."
Vanity huffed in annoyance. "I am not tripping! If you'll let me explain-"
"Alright, alright." I stuffed the money in the lock box and leaned against my desk. "Let's hear it: how am I not human?"
"Look, I don't know specifically what you are, but supernaturals give off these sort of...auras, that other supernaturals can sense, each with their own unique characteristics. It's where the idea of a 'ghostly chill' came from- supernaturals reacting to the presence of spirits. And you have an aura- a very intense one."
My humoring of Vanity had morphed into genuine curiosity. I didn't know that about supernaturals. "Okay, well, what does my aura feel like to you then?"
"Like I'm standing in the presence of a star. This intense, bright, powerful thing that can bring me warmth and burn me to ash in equal measure- and I have no way of knowing which it will be." Vanity fell silent for a bit. "I know of only one sort of being that has such an aura, but if I told you out of the gate, you would be even more incredulous. You have the kind of aura you only find...on a god."
Vanity's words just about caused my mind to snap. "A god. You're telling me that I give off the same vibes as a god."
"Think about it: how else could someone in their early twenties manage an entire fight club and earn the respect and loyalty of hundreds of creatures that could easily kill an ordinary human?"
"Look, Vanity, I really hate to disappoint you, but I think you got your wires crossed. I mean, yeah, I'm adopted, so I know my parents aren't my biological parents, but I sincerely doubt the latter were gods."
Suddenly, a voice behind me piped up with, "Well, we might have lied to you ever so slightly about that part."
I shrieked as I jumped away from my desk and spun around. Two women had somehow gotten into my office and behind me without making a sound. The woman on the left was a beautiful red-head with olive skin wearing a light pink chiton, while the woman on the right was a cat-woman decked out in golden jewelry. The cat smiled sheepishly and said, "Hi, sun bear."
This time, my brain really did snap. "*Moms?!*" Vanity made up some excuse to duck out of my office as I tried to wrap my head around the situation. "How did you two- wait, are you guys-"
My mom Belle pointed to herself and my other mom Zara. "She's Bastet, and I'm Aphrodite. We met back when Cleopatra was making alliances with the Roman Empire." Belle wrapped her arm around Zara's shoulder. "And I mean honestly, how was I supposed to resist this pretty kitty?"
Zara (or Bastet, whatever) rested her head against Belle's shoulder and began purring, but I was in too much shock to coo over how adorable they were. "Cleopatra?! Oh my God, how old am I?!"
"Oh, you're actually twenty-three," Zara responded. "We would've had kids much sooner than the 21st century, but that's a story for another day, one I like to call 'Suck a Dick, Ares'."
I was coming down from the freak out, but I still had questions. "So...so if I'm actually a goddess, then you two...?"
Belle nodded. "Yeah, honey. We're your birth parents. And it feels so good to be able to tell you all this."
Even with the fact that they had lied to me for years, I didn't have it in me to be angry with my moms. I could hear the relief in their voices; they'd wanted to tell me this for so long. But I still had one more question: "What exactly am I the goddess of?"
Zara broke away from Belle to gently cup my face. "You are Kaitlyn, goddess of the supernatural and patron of all that goes bump in the night. And also our precious little sun bear."
"Kinda killed the moment there, mom."
"Hush and give us a hug already." I decided to stop talking and pull both of them into a bear hug. | The new patron with his shifty beady eyes grabs you by the arm and takes you to the juice bar staffed with 4 or 5 really hot superheroines who are tossing shakers around like the finalists at last year's best bartender contest. He, she or it whispers in you ear, while motioning to one of the now free barmaids to coming over that he is aware of what your power is, even though you think you're normal. He orders a supergreen shake for you and proceeds to fill you in on what your powers are. You shake your head in disgust after telling you what he seen in his third eye. Could it really be true? You say to yourself...
The barmaid comes back from the blender with a cold green shake she prepared and just when you are gonna say "no thanks" he and a group of members grab you and throw you down on a tabletop. You scream "please don't do this!! I don't want any of this". One of the fellow bar drinkers grabs your head and starts putting in a funnel and looks at you with this look and says "it's better if you just relax, go with it". They funnel down about half of it before you start gagging profusely, wishing this would miraculously all end. They manage to get maybe another quarter of it down and he says "I think it's enough".
Suddenly everyone runs away leaving you free to go as you wish. The floor clears and a path opens to the fight floor, then something crazy starts to happen. You arms start itching and burning, your head shakes violently as the drink starts to take effect. You feel an uncontrollable urge to rip your shirt off and you do, as you do your forearms swell to the size of a sugarbaked hams. Your calf muscles are enlarged also, as you say to yourself "could it be true"? With all the obvious displays of what is happening the crowd starts to chant "Popeye!!, Popeye!!... You head down the path and look around out of your mind, ready to face whatever opponent awaits.
As you prepare to fight you see your wife and children coming out from the opposite corner. They move out of the way and you see a massive cake. Then the whole crowd starts singing "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!"...
Your eyes water with tears as you realize your family went to all this trouble in surprising you for your birthday. It means so much to have all your friends there to celebrate your big day... | 2022-09-09T03:24:46 | 2022-09-09T00:50:39 | 77 | 23 |
[WP] You live in a world where superpowers are spread like a virus. Most disappear benignly after a few weeks, yet others are violent or irregular enough to kill you. You have just been diagnosed, and the doctor instantly pulls his gun on you. | *BANG*
Plaster exploded from the wall behind me. I felt bits of it catch in my hair as I screamed and curled into a ball on the exam table. When I came to the doctor's office I thought I may have had a mild case of telepathy, or maybe even a real illness, considering the fever and mild hallucinations. I had NOT planned on getting shot.
The doctor's hands shook as he moved to fire again, only to be tackled by a large male nurse.
"Sir what are you doing?!" Another doctor ran in, a young woman and she moved to check on me.
"DO NOT TOUCH HER!" The older male doctor struggled on the floor, the gun had been lost under the exam table somewhere. "SHE'S HIGHLY INFECTIOUS!"
He wriggled his way out from under the much larger man and lunged for the gun, only to be dragged back and restrained like an unruly drunk.
"Nonsense, she came in with mild symptoms. Nothing that we know of..." Her voice droned on. I was lost in my now swimming thoughts, the panic had released adrenaline and sped my heart rate considerably. My fever was burning and I heard the whispering and felt motion behind my eyes.
*Touch her.* Involuntarily I reached out and brushed the young doctor's hand. For a moment she went rigid, then almost immediately relaxed. The doctor that had tried to shoot me was screaming, and foaming at the mouth trying to get away from the man who held him, who had watched our exchange with mild interest.
I felt it instantly, the forced connection between her and I, and how my consciousness immediately shredded hers away. Now I had two bodies, it felt very very strange, and still I felt the itching thought to gently touch strangers. This definitely registered as weird, but I had to admit to myself that I felt much better now that the kind young doctor had given me her body.
"Stop before you kill us all! RELEASE ME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" My additional body moved swiftly, she must work out, and her hand gently brushed the arm of the large male nurse. And thus added a third room for my steadily expanding consciousness. In my arms the doctor went still, at this point my clothing was separating us, and so, as long as he remained calm, he would not be consumed.
My original form stood from the exam table, I felt lighter on my feet, happier, even. I approached the doctor who had tried to kill me and stood on my toes to meet his eyes.
"Out of curiosity Doc, what do I have?"
He was trembling in fear, and bloody spittle flew from his shaking mouth.
"Assimilation."
"Hmm. And what does this ultimately do to the host?" His pupils were enormous in the florescent lights, I could smell him sweating and feel his body shaking against my nurse body's chest.
"We d-don't know."
"Huh." I touched him, he screamed, and was gone forever.
---
By the time I returned home my mind was a buzz of activity, it was like I was changing the channels on the television and being on all the shows, as all of the characters. It was very cool, and very confusing, part of me wondered about the morality, but mostly I didn't care. Realistically that was the power talking, but again, because of it, I didn't mind. Also, I didn't have time, what with making the bustling city function.
"Baby I'm home!"
*Oh God I forgot about Daniella.* I peeked my head out of the living room to spy my beautiful girlfriend putting groceries away.
*touch her.* The suggestion was subtle, and I pushed it away as I thought about how to touch everyone but my most beloved.
*Touch her.* This time the persistence pushed me into the kitchen, mere feet from the love of my life.
"Hey Baby!" She moved to kiss me and I sprang away, even while my mind was screaming approval. Her blue eyes were hurt and I gave her a sheepish smile.
"Sorry Babe, doctor's orders, I'm infectious." She pouted unhappily, God she was beautiful.
*TOUCH HER.*
*NO!* A hand that was mine and not mine reached out. I heard thousands of my voices city wide shouting for Daniella's assimilation.
"please..." She nuzzled her face into my outstretched hand, and immediately her eyes went blank. I felt the power tear her apart, I thought I would care more. But as she vanished the part of me that had any remorse vanished too, absently I noted that feeling had been slowly trickling out of me all day.
The more my consciousness expanded, the less everything mattered. Though, seeing Daniella's face with my eyes and being behind it with my mind was still strangely sad. It also bordered on disrespectful I felt.
So as I cleaned the dishes I took Daniella for a walk from our fifth story balcony. I couldn't have that host distracting the central hub of my focus. Besides, one of the waste disposal employees I was inhabiting, who was currently eating dinner, would be by to pick the shell up in the morning.
I didn't bother with television, by this time the only thing on was me. My reach had expended out of the city. Almost everyone was assimilated within my direct radius. Tendrils shot out into the night on planes, trains, in trucks and in cars, there were even a few of me on bicycles. The fever was starting to return, in force. I needed to touch more people.
With that thought in mind I stood and walked to my room to lay down, this body needed to rest. When it was too tired to go on, I would focus my consciousness into a better husk and destroy this one. But for now it was satisfactory, pretty, athletic sort-of, and most of all, completely average.
I flipped the light switch and snuggled down into my blankets. Closing my eyes to partially dream of touching the whole world.
The other million parts were very busy.
---
Thanks for reading! | *I never liked hospitals* Josh thought sitting on the Doctor's office *I always feel like I'm going to get bad news.*
And today he could actually get bad news, he had been diagnosed with "Unnatural Talents", which meant he was harboring some kind of power that could potentially kill him. If it was a temporary, safe thing or something worse was something he was about to know.
Doctor Jenk walked in, a puzzled look in his face:
"Mr Sigara" he said with his professional voice "I have your test results"
Josh moved nervously on his seat, he didn't like the suspense doctors liked to use.
"So? How are them?" He said "Am I going to be okay?"
"They are okay, you have a temporal power that will disappear in exactly 21 days" Doctor Jenks said "But these results are unusual and it's rising some concern among my colleagues. It seems your talent isn't in your body as it should be... but in your brain"
Josh sighed, *I'm not dying today* he thought, feeling the relief on every inch of his body. He had been extremely anxious all week and now he even knew where to focus to tap into his Talent. He felt a palpitation on his head.
"...and that's why it's such a rare thing" The doctor continued not realizing Josh wasn't listening "It could be potentially dangerous and..."
The doctor stopped talking and looked at Josh with his eyes wide open, as if he had suddenly realized something. He opened his desk's upper cabinet rapidly and to Josh's shock he pulled a gun right to his face.
"DIE!" he screamed, his face full of anger "MONSTER!!"
Josh acted before even realizing what he was doing, he dropped to the floor covered by the desk and heard a loud BANG over his head. In panic he pushed the desk and turned it over the doctor, who fell down of his chair with it.
Josh stood up and jumped over Jenk before he could raise his gun again, he struggled to keep him down while the doctor fought back rabidly shouting "MONSTER! DIE! DIE!"; suddenly another loud shot stopped them both from moving.
Blood started dripping between each other. Josh moved away and saw that he was holding the gun, and that Doctor Jenk had an entry wound in the middle of his chest.
"W-w-what the *FUCK* was that?!!?" he inquired, too emotional to even try to help him "WHY DID YOU ATTACKED ME?!"
The doctor coughed and spat some blood, clearly in too much pain. Despite it he tried to talk:
"I... didn't" his eyes started to close as his conscience slipped away "Run. I can't be the only... one"
The doctor spat more blood with the last word and stopped moving. Over his own shock he started to paid attention to something that he hadn't noticed yet.
*Screams*. People were screaming in fury, terror and pain beyond the door. Josh could almost see the terrible violence that people close to him were being subjected to.
He looked at the gun he was still holding, the realization of what was happening hitting him all of the sudden.
"Well..." he muttered, raising the gun to his head "I guess I was wrong."
*He shot.*
| 2017-04-15T14:25:47 | 2017-04-15T12:49:21 | 21 | 11 |
[wp] You are immortal and have lived for thousands of years. Never in your entire existence have you ever met anyone like you, so as far as you know, you are the only immortal on earth. Today, with perfect fluency, someone greets you in a language you haven't heard in a long, long time... | "Dr. Gil, you have someone in your office," the nurse at the front desk said as he walked by.
"Is he a family member of my surgery patient this afternoon?"
"I...I'm not sure. He just walked in and told me that he would be in your office."
"And you didn't ask who he was?" Gil asked the nurse. Rennae was one of the more suspicious nurses in the hospital.
"No. I felt like I knew who he was. But now I can't think of his name or where I saw him before." Rennae looked confused, as if she was trying to remember something she already knew.
He looked down the hospital halls. Orderlies and nurses walked around doing their jobs, guiding or pushing patients to their rooms, delivering medicine or food, or the few that were flirting. Occasionally, he would see a doctor walk down the hall rarely looking up from a clip board.
"Thanks, Rennae. I'm sure it's just a friend or family member of my patient. I'll reassure them that..." he looked down at his clipboard, "Sarah is in the best hands."
When the doctor arrived in his office, there was what appeared to be a funeral director. He looked to be in his early forties, perfectly fitted black suit and tie, and he was looking over the books on the bookshelf. When the doctor walked into the office, the man looked over and smiled at him.
"Shulmu, Dr. Gilgamesh."
He didn't think he had heard the man right, "I'm sorry. What was that?"
"Shulmu. I'm sorry, is my pronunciation off? So many words you have, I'm bound to get something wrong."
"No, that was fine. In fact, it was perfect," Gilgamesh said as he closed the door to his office. "How did you learn that?"
"There's only one way to learn languages," the man pulled a book on lung diseases off the shelf and opened it. "You speak to others who speak the language. So much information on how to avoid me for such a small amount of time. Even you. You've avoided me for the longest of anyone, but it has still been a small amount of time."
Gilgamesh knew who he was now. He had found a way to avoid him not long after his friend had died.
"Why now?"
"Your patient this afternoon. There will be complications with the surgery. She's not leaving this place alive."
"...it's a breast implants surgery. I'm just giving an old woman with too much money a false sense of youth. No one ever dies here. This isn't even a hospital. It's just a place where rich people come to have plastic surgery. How?"
"I think she has an allergic reaction to the anesthesia. Not sure."
"And what about my career afterwards?" Gilgamesh asked.
"I'm not sure. It's honestly not my problem."
"So, after she dies you take me with you?"
"No. You've avoided me for so long that you don't appear on my list anymore. You used to be on it every day, but when I would make my way to you, you would just drop off of the list."
"So, what? You were just 'in the neighborhood' and decided to drop by?" Gilgamesh said with air quotes.
"In a sense," the man responded with a smile.
Gilgamesh didn't know what to say or do. He tried to think back to when he found a way to avoid death. It had been so long, he couldn't remember what it was. The way this man was talking about it though, it sounded as mundane as a glitch in whatever system he had.
"What now?" Gilgamesh asked.
"Nothing special," the man responded. "You prep for surgery, you do your job, she dies anyway, and you go on with your life."
The comment sounded too nonchalant for the situation. The one...thing...he had been avoiding this whole time had finally caught up to him, but nothing would happen because of it. Gilgamesh realized that was exactly it. After all this time running from the man before him, it meant nothing to him. It wasn't a great victory, he hadn't become significant. He was as mundane as anyone else to the man. He wasn't even a nuisance. The time he had spent running was just as insignificant.
"I can see on your face that you've realized why I'm really here." The man put the book back on the shelf and began to walk out of the office. "I'll see you again soon Gilgamesh. To me, it won't be any time at all."
"Why did you even come?" Gilgamesh asked. "If what I'm doing is so insignificant, then why did you even meet with me?"
The man was already gone around the corner, but Gilgamesh heard his reply. "Because I get so few opportunities to gloat." | Thousands of years. I hadn't expected it to take that long to find a speaker of that language. Maybe I just wasn't looking in the right places.
In hindsight, I had myself to blame. I was ambitious and adventurous in my early years, always seeking the next quest, the next dragon to slay. In my middle life, I entered royal palaces, Imperial courts, government houses, saw the rise and fall of governments that espoused different ideals but in the end fell back into the same old systems and procedures.
It's not to say I've never experienced this before. I surely have. Immortality means I spent a fair bit of my life with coquettish courtesans, sultry spies and ravenous reporters alike. But only when I ventured into the slums did I get to hear this wondrous language for myself. I overheard its various dialects being said between common folk who would have been grateful for even a fraction of a percentage of what my old friends had. Yes... gratitude. It surely sounded nice as a language.
This perfectly fluent speaker of a language I'd not heard in a long, long time had her arms currently wrapped around my waist, unable to reach any higher. Her face was tightly buried into my hip. She didn't need to look me in the eyes at all. As her mother lay on the small bed opposite, weak, but breathing, and with bottles of soup and medicine by the table beside her, I felt the Universal Tongue. I felt how much of a fool I was to have ignored its calls in search of other pursuits that wouldn't matter in the millions of years I had left.
Today, with perfect fluency, a young girl whose age was a fraction of a percentage of mine greeted me with a language I haven't heard in forever. The Universal Tongue, with its fake dialects practiced for merely physical pleasures, while its true dialects underscored the importance of living. The language of love. | 2017-12-29T08:33:01 | 2017-12-29T07:29:12 | 877 | 34 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | When I first arrived in hell i was surprised at their ability to process so many people at once. I moved up the line with relative speed until finally it was my turn.
"Name?" the strange boney creature asked. His voice was shrill yet husky, for a moment i was busy thinking this was an odd combination before quickly replying. "James, James Smith".
He gestured for me to place my hand on the counter, and I complied. I'd seen those in front of me pass through this stage, so I knew what was to come and i had mentally prepared myself, or so I though. The boney beast pulled out a hot metal branding iron and plunged it into the top of my hand. I cried in pain even though I tried not to. The worst of the pain subsiding, the beast directed me to pass down the side of his desk and onto the next stage of admittance.
As I turned a corner I came upon a small desk with a weary looking old man. The desk had a plaque attached to it "eternal decisions desk”. As I approached the desk, the man began talking in a hardly audible monotone voice “A small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion years in heaven?”.
At first I thought it was some sort of trick, and I was full of questions, but as I was about to ask, he foresaw my questions and answered, “It’s no trick, heaven or a regular plain old wooden spoon”. While I had no reason to trust him, all things considered, heaven seems the better option. So, as I looked once again over the sign on his desk, I gave him my decision. He looked surprised, perplexed, and slightly constipated as he handed me my spoon. Realising what just happened I began to tremble.
“I meant heaven, I was looking at the sign and said spoon by mistake” I explained, but he was having none of it. He gestured for me to move to the side. I stood there limp and in disbelief as what felt like hundreds of other people came up to the weary old man and made their decision to take a trip to heaven. One by one, they were enveloped in heavenly light and whisked away.
Eventually I accepted the fact and proceeded onwards onto the next stage of admission. I take two steps towards the door leading to the next stage, and the door lights up in a wall of blue flames. I jump startled, and my spoon goes flying from my hand and lands right in the fire. I watch it burn.
Feeling sorry for myself, I accept defeat and walk through the door into the third stage of admission expecting to see pools of lava, scorching fires and brimstone, but all there is is darkness, except for a small flickering light in the distance.
I begin to walk in the direction, thinking this was some sort of test. When I finally arrive, I see none other than the devil himself sitting in his underwear on a couch playing an old Nintendo 64. Surprised at what I was seeing, and his apparent total concentration on the game I cleared my throat. Startled he let out a mouthful of fire and just sat there looking at me. “What are you doing here?” he asked surprised, “why didn’t you pick heaven?”.
I explained that I meant to pick heaven, and seeing as though he actually seemed pretty cool I asked if it was possible to change. “Sure” he said, “just give me the spoon and I’ll send you on your way”. Can my internment to hell get any worse, I wonder, as I collapse on the floor explaining that I let the spoon burn up. I was hoping for some mercy, but what I heard was nightmarish “Without trading the spoon, I cant really send you up there, I guess you’re stuck here”, he said without any sense of remorse.
Resigning to my new life, I asked what I was to expect from now on. “So where do I go from here? fire-pits? Lava tubes? Rooms full of rusty nails?”. I was trying to brace myself for what was to come, but nothing could prepare me for what he said next.
“ Eh, You’re the first one here. I’ve still got 99-trillion years before I have to start making all that stuff – I’m a bit of a procrastinator. Tell you what, I’ve been trying to get inside this forest temple for over a decade, if you know how to do it, I’ll put you in charge of building hell.”
| It took days (or months, or years, one can never really be sure here) of waiting, but I finally made it to the front of the line at one of the few open desks that formed a line along the back wall of the gigantic cavern in which I found myself after my death. To my left and right, for as far as my eyes could percieve, souls waited in lines at boothes just like mine. The old man waiting on the other end of the both spoke quietly.
"Here is the deal kid, you can get one. A small wooden spoon, or a trillion year vacation in Heaven."
"Well that is easy, I choose heaven."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Very. I'll take the hundred trillion years in heaven, no doubt about it."
The old looking man behind the desk leaned in to me, and lowered his voice even further. "Please thing about this carefully kid, you only get to choose once. You will be stuck here until the end of time itself."
He waited for a response, but I had none to give.
"Listen son, I am trying to help you out here. This choice isn't nearly as meaningless as you think it is."
"Very well," I slowly concluded, "I choose the spoon."
The old man at the desk began to cackle. His skin slowly turned red and monstrous as horns sprouted from his forehead. The cavern around me faded, and then the world turned black.
I woke in a small prison cell, the space dominated by 4 bunk beds. "Hey look!" one of my fellow inmates shouted, "Another sucker!". In his left hand was a tiny wooden spoon. | 2015-06-07T23:46:46 | 2015-06-07T21:20:43 | 291 | 25 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | I coughed up more blood into the sink, the knife slash across my throat was still bleeding profusely. Mom was in the bathroom with me, a first aid kit on the toilet as she pressed another bundle of gauze into my hand and directed me to keep it pressed against my throat.
I tried to talk, to tell her it hurt. But I choked on blood and threw up in the sink. I was crying, you’d be crying to if the person you’d believed to be your one true love had slit your throat. Tears were rolling down my face unbidden, them and the snot mixed with the blood.
“This isn’t going to work.” Mom said, she put a hand on my shoulder. She looked calm, but the fear and worry showed in her eyes. “I’ll be right back, keep holding the gauze I’ll be two seconds.”
With that she walked out. Again, I tried to talk, only to cough violently and spit into the sink. Two seconds passed, then five, twenty, thirty, when it was almost a minute she came back with a larger kit, slammed it down on the toilet lid and opened it to reveal jars of various herbs, from basil to the rarest of herbs I couldn’t even pronounce, and vials of weird coloured liquid.
She plucked two of the jars, paused to look around for something to mix into, and spotted the bottle of niqual with the little cup resting on top. She snatched that and shook out small quantities from each into, then a vial containing a milky purple substance and poured that in, mixed it with her finger, muttered some words of incantation and focused back on me.
“Take the gauze off and keep your head back.” She instructed.
I did as told, more blood squirted out onto the sink, the mirror, the floor and the bathroom rug. I whimpered and then coughed once again. She dabbed two fingers into her mixture and rubbed it quickly over the wound. I couldn’t see my reflection with the blood, but the purple light shining and the sensation of the cut healing over sent relief flooding through my body.
When she was done, I collapsed to the bathroom floor. There was no warning I was going to do so, just landed right on my ass. Scared my Mom too, she kneeled next to me in my blood. Her hands felt my throat checking to see if she’d missed something. But then I coughed out the last bit of blood, and then sobbed.
She pulled me close to her, holding me, one hand rubbing my back like she did when I got terribly sick when I was five years old. I don’t even know if she intended to hum the same lullaby she did back then to soothe me.
—-
We had sat there on the bathroom floor for about twenty minutes before I had calmed down enough. Mom told me to go take a shower in her bathroom, and she’ll take care of the mess in mine.
I stripped off all my clothing and placed it in a garbage bag before stepping into the shower. Everything but the necklace I always wore. It was a shark tooth necklace, a trinket from Hawaii, but nobody else but me and my Mom knew it was enchanted. It had been the one thing keeping me alive this whole time.
When I had gotten sick when I was five, my Mom had made me a bracelet to help fight my illness. She’d enchanted it herself, and when I grew older, she had more experience with her studies and made me a necklace to preserve my life force. She could do this with a number of items, but I had liked the necklace, despite the looks it got me at school. I just hadn’t figured it would work in this way, and it would have to after…
After…
My eyes got blurry, and I shut them and held my head under the water. I turned the heat up a few more notches, and let the boiling water cover me. I scrubbed away away the blood, the snot, and the dirt that covered my body.
Had this really just happened? Had it really happened? My mind was still working over the facts, and I was still trying to keep them shut away.
I stepped out of the shower half an hour later, I dried off with a towel and stopped in front of the mirror. I wiped away the steam and looked at the scar on my neck, my fingers traced it, traced where a cold sharp knife had cut. It was tight, and it felt hard. Magic could do wonders, even save your life, but it can’t do everything you want it to. I’d have to wear a scarf for the rest of my life to hide it.
—-
Sup, writer here, I feel like I’m about to write a novel (totally not, but it feels like I will if I keep going) so I’m going pause here for now. | I guess I died again. Clawing up and out of my grave, wasn’t as nice this time around. Last time I at least got a bit more room! Stumbling through the dark woods, the trees rustling, like skinny fingers trying to hold hands. Creepy. Give it a minute. And then I warm up a bit, now that the cut has closed, I swallow. It hurts a little less. Don’t know about my clothes though. Brooklyn seemed so lovely too, eyes as dark as her skin pale. A true snow white. Or I supposed a true Dracula. Only realised when our picnic ended, after a kiss, some wine. She led me behind the park into the woods. I thought it was going so well. And then the slash. The deep cold cut. And it all came spilling out at once. My black warm blood. Her eyes flash. Lapping it all up. Biting me for more. And then darkness. And coldness. And waking up. Poor thing, she thought she’d killed me. In English I stare boredly out front. She stumbles in, bright and jumpy. Brooklyn with a smile on her face. And then she sees me. I pause, and smile wide. The scar’s gone now. After class she follows me, catches up to me. “How?” Is all she manages. I smile awkwardly. “Well the body is remarkable…mine is a bit more robust than most. Forgot to mention that I can’t die. But to be fair I didn’t realise you’d try and kill me.” She nods slowly. “I really do like you…” Brooklyn starts. “I got hungry. It’s hard.” “Well feel free to drink anytime.” I chuckle at the absurdity. “But next time maybe ask permission. Maybe if your free Friday. ” Brooklyn takes my hand, stares at me with her dark dark eyes and nods. | 2022-12-30T04:59:42 | 2022-12-30T01:22:06 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less.
**EDIT** I'm sorry; I spelled it wrong, it should be "in 5 minutes or less" not "in 5 minuets or less". | “Sir, we’ve checked and rechecked the translations, and we are 100% positive that this is what they said,” General MacMillan said. The army-man’s eyes were blazing intensity, and he knew what he wanted to say. However, attacking the invaders had already been written off the board by higher powers than he.
“Five minuets,” the President said. “Five minuets. Not minutes. We’re sure it’s minuets.”
It wasn’t a question, but the general answered, “Yes.”
“Can Eminem even do a minuet? Doesn’t he do…I don’t know, do rappers even dance?”
“From what I understand, no, sir, they just bounce around and speak rapidly.”
“How can he tell the history of the entire Earth in five minuets?” The president leaned back and rubbed his chin where a beard had grown until five minutes before he entered the political stage. That had been over twenty years ago, and now he wasn’t sure that anything in his experience would save him now. “Especially if he can’t talk.”
“We have people working on it. Choreographers in Hollywood, and others of those ilk. Folks who worked in the opera.”
“But why Eminem?”
“We don’t know. We still have the option of a tactical, nucle—”
“I told you already, I’m not going to go down in history as the president who caused interstellar war. We give in to their demands, Eminem will dance the history of the Earth, and they’ll begin trade with us.”
“Sir, I strongly reco—”
“Just have your people keep an eye on it. I’m going to give Eminem a call.”
***
“Yeah, I got it, just ask my daughter Haley,” Eminem said to the person who was teaching him ballroom dance.
“How’s his progress?” the president asked.
“Better than I would’ve expected, just watch his turn on the Cambrian Explosion,” Rick Leon, Eminem’s personal tutor, said. Mozart was playing in the background. “It’s beyond graceful. The way he moves…it’s just impossible to interpret it as anything but a true representation of Earth’s 4.5 billion year history.”
“So you think he’ll be ready?” As the president spoke, Eminem performed two forward steps, swinging his open hands behind him each time. He spun and stepped sideways, raising his arm as though holding the gentle Earth on a string between his fingers. “Never mind.”
***
Eminem walked to the stage that stood on the National Mall, where the aliens had requested the performance take place. He felt awkward without a microphone in his hand, but he knew it was up to him to save humanity.
Critics, artists, and everyday people watched in rapture as he danced the five minuets. Never in the history of the Earth had anyone seen a spectacle that was simultaneously so stunning yet beautiful, so intense yet graceful, so confident yet lacking that egotistical nature of the rapper’s life works. Put simply, it was the culmination of the entirety of human culture.
By the end of the first minuet, people cried. At the closing of the second, they wept. At the end of the third, they closed their eyes, feeling unworthy of the sight that unfolded before them. The fourth minuet ended, and paramedics were on the scene, resuscitating and performing first aid on those who had lost consciousness due to the sheer magnificence of the act. The fifth started, and came close to an end. Those able to witness it, those who had endured the crazed glory of the dances thus far, were the only people to hear the rapper say, “Look If you had. One shot. Or one opportunity. To seize everything you ever wanted. In one moment. Would you capture it. Or just let it slip?” He then dropped his pants and mooned the alien mothership.
A short time passed, and the invasion began.
***
EDIT: Thank you for reading! And for the compliments and gold! | Soooo let's start with a little history
you're wondering who's telling this, it's just me
so since it's interesting you should be listening
since it's just me, I'll just begin
We're not the first kings to walk those earth rings
the way it started, controversial
Before there was life there was a big big bang
This was before Slim, Moby and 50 cent
This was roundabout four billion years ago
Rocks and bacteria, here we go
3 billion years ago there were stromatolites
If you find any today, that's just nice
then the time flew by, continents appeared
life came existing, now we're here
there were dinosaurs in the jurassic age
and today there's songs by Eminem with drastic rage
The world revolved around the sun til 1972
Since then it evolved around me, and heaven did too
So I'm gonna disappear now and leave this lesson with you
And by the way, the story bout Nessie is true
| 2016-11-30T10:44:29 | 2016-11-30T10:26:24 | 10,272 | 331 |
[WP] You walk up to a beautiful girl and decided to be cheesy, "Hey, did it hurt?" The girl was surprised and asked "What?"."You know, when you fell from heaven?". The girl looked more shocked, "How did you know? Who are you?" | Amidst broken cracks of concrete, wispy trees brought up on a regular diet of vehicular exhaust and cigarette smoke, a woman shone--like sunshine itself decided to give her a personal spotlight.
If a master sculptor crafted marble, it was irrevocably changed--but no one would call it blemished. Her scrunched up face resembled those triumphs of old, her eyes weaving through the book that she held. Her fingers lightly lifted a page, a motion so graceful that it should be studied by the finest directors of films, the greatest actors on screen, and the exceptional hand models of advertising to improve their craft.
There was beauty. And then there was *beauty.* Though I fixated upon her every motion, I barely noticed mine as I suddenly stood beside her. Her golden eyes looked at mine, and she tiled her head at just the perfect degree, an unspoken question so easily imparted.
My heart quickened. My mouth dried. I delved into my haywire mind, grabbing the first phrase that sputtered up.
"Hey, did it hurt?"
I immediately punched myself--in the brain. A punch to my jaw would have embarrassed myself in front of her. I expected her to snort at my pathetic flirting attempt, before ignoring my entire physical existence and return to her book.
Instead, her brows lifted, and her mouth fell open. The perfect distances, of course.
"What?"
"You know, when you fell from heaven?"
Mike Tyson was at a comfortable mid-distance with my brain now, barraging it for all he was worth. Metaphorical tears nearly dripped down my cheeks, but the words had been uttered. My breath stopped, and my body preemptively stiffened, waiting for the inevitable rejection.
"How did you know? Who are you?"
This was an expression I had much less familiarity with. Her eyes swivelled left to right, and her breaths came short and quick. She looked like she simultaneously wanted to plant herself there and run away at the same time. Instead, she became stuck halfway in the air, her bent legs rooted to the searing concrete.
It was the first thing she did that looked human--and it snapped me out of my trance.
"Wait," I said. "What? *What?*"
"Of course they would find me," she whispered. "It was only a matter of time. Dear Go--ugh, I just wanted to spend more time away."
"Hey," I said. "Hey. Hey!"
She paused her ramblings, and she looked at me expectantly.
"Are you going to take me away?"
"What? No," I shook my head. "I have no idea what you are talking about. What do you mean by 'how did you know?'"
There was that head tilt again--and then, she didn't look quite so human again.
"Oh," she chuckled. "That? Err... surprise? It was an... act. Cute, right?"
She flitted her eyes mechanically. I'm sure it had worked on many people--but somehow, curiosity was trumping the uncomfortably hot blood that pumped around in my veins.
"Look, I've tried that line hund--many times. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has given me the answer that you did," I said. "You have made me a very curious man."
She closed her eyes and inhaled for far longer than I thought was humanly possible. Then, she breathed it all out in a tremendous sigh, and I swore the wind itself made way for it. She patted the seat beside her, and I took my place.
"Is that what you call a pick-up line?"
Ouch. It was not an uncommon response, to be fai. But the lift in her words indicated genuine interest, and not the more familiar sarcasm. There was no side-eyeing, no nudge--she looked straight at me, and I noticed her eyes were not golden. More accurately, it was not just golden, but like a white-hot star fluttered and swam around in it, throwing out its composite rays of colour every now and then.
"Yes," I said. "I don't know why, but I feel like I should clarify: I'm human."
She stared intently at me.
"Prove it."
"... How? You do understand that this is not something I'm asked to prove on a regular basis," I said, throwing my arms in the air.
My hand stuck the metal bench, and I spent the next few seconds pressing it against my hand and mouth, achieving the dual purpose of preventing swearing and mitigating pain.
She giggled, and each one was like an effervescent bubble floating in the air, letting my inner child and outer adult revel in the simple beauty of soapy rainbows.
"That's enough proof."
"Glad you found it funny," I said.
I chuckled too, and I found that the pain wasn't quite so painful after all.
"Michael," I said. "The human."
"Sariel," she said. "The angel."
The tension in her shoulders dissipated. She laughed, like she was revealing a big secret to a strange--which she was. Instead of the too-perfect show Sariel had put on earlier, each motion practised and rehearsed, her hands now flung freely, her smiles reached her eyes, and her words flowed candidly. Now, she was much more like a human.
And goddamn, it was beautiful.
---
r/dexdrafts | She’s probably joking, has to be. “You’re a real an-“ she covers my mouth. “Don’t say it out loud!” She drags me to an alley before letting me speak “you’re an actual angel? I’m having a hard time believing that.* as if on cue a halo would appear above her head, it was dim and cracked but still a halo. “Now you believe?” I nod “now who are you and how did you know?” “I didn’t know, that was just a cheesy pickup line. I’m Dante. Nice to meet you miss...” I extend my hand, but she hesitates before taking my hand and shaking it “Michelle. My name’s Michelle” “Miss Michelle. Nice to meet you. How did you get down here?” “I tripped.” I looked at here in disbelief, “you’re joking right?” She sighs “i’m not, im know for being an airhead sometimes, so I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped into a hole and fell here. I landed on my halo and now I can’t even call and ask for God’s help to get back home and my powers are greatly weakened” Her eyes get a bit sad. I speak up. “Where do you live?” “I’ve been staying at a cheap motel for the last week.” She shrugs “it’s not luxury living but i can use my powers to create just enough money to get by.” I started to feel bad she was a literal angel with no way home and was living in a cheap motel. “You can stay at my place, it’s no condo or villa but it’s better than a motel”
she gave me a suspicious look “what are you after? You wouldn’t do this for nothing.”
“I just want some company, I live alone so having a literal angel living with me should be interesting.” She would look conflicted “you’re not one of those perverts that are into angel girls. Are you?” “What? No! You’re pretty but I’m not like that.” Michelle sighs “very well then, I suppose your proposition is better than the motel.
Let’s go” now I have an angel living with me, good job me I guess. She’d follow me back to my house. “Alright welcome to your new home, at least until we figure out how to get you back to heaven that is.” | 2021-09-17T14:37:37 | 2021-09-17T14:04:29 | 202 | 27 |
[WP] The Deadweb, the internet for the afterlife only has one website worth looking at. Deddit. You are the Moderator for AskDeddit, and someone has just asked "what do I do if I am here, but still alive?". | Ben stares at his computer screen, his mouth agape as he reads the message. “Do you think this is legit?”
I close my eyes and sigh. All new moderators tend to be naïve about other peoples’ deaths, but even by those standards, Ben is pretty green. “He’s not alive,” I say, shaking my head. “He just isn’t able to face reality yet.”
“How do you know?” Ben has risen from his seat, and is now pacing the room. “I saw a movie about this once. The guy is a quarterback, and they bring him to heaven, but he’s not supposed to be dead. It’s called…”
“Heaven Can Wait.” I rub my aching temples. “Look, the guy’s dead, ok? I don’t know how else to explain it. You’ll understand when you’ve been in the role a little longer.”
Now it’s Ben’s turn to sigh. “Ok, I believe you. But what do we do about him?”
“Well, we have him brought in, and we talk to him.”
Ben frowns. “But we’re just AskDeddit moderators. Why us?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know. No one else wants to do the damn thing, so why not us?”
The words come out harsher than I had wanted. Ben is giving me a concerned look. “I’m sorry,” I say, “it can just be a little frustrating.” I pick up my phone and hit 2 for speed dial. “Find ImAFather418 and bring him in. And send me his file, while you’re at it.”
I turn to my computer and read through my new email, while Ben watches over my shoulder. By the time I’ve finished, a massive lump has formed in my throat.
Before I can say anything to Ben, the door to our office opens, and a young man who can only be ImAFather418 storms in. “You’ve got to help me,” he pleads, tears already streaming down his cheeks. “I’m not supposed to be here. My kids need me.”
I muster up the calmest voice I can find. “I know Thomas. Please, sit down.”
Thomas obliges, and launches into his speech. Abby is five, and just lost her first tooth. Michael is ten, and his fifth grade basketball team just won the division title. He is building a new house with a big backyard so the kids can play outside, and a nursery for his and Sophie’s third child, who will be coming in two months.
Through the whole story, I say nothing. I just nod my head and let him get it all out. When he’s finished, I hand him a box of tissues. “It sounds like an amazing time for your family.”
Thomas smiles through his tears. “Yeah, it is.”
I bite my lip. “Thomas… What’s the last thing you remember before ending up here?”
“I was working on the house,” Thomas says through ragged breaths. “I was checking the shingles on the roof.”
We stare at each other for a long time, before a pang of realization hits his face. “I… I fell.”
“Yes.”
I stand from my desk chair, and move to the seat next to Thomas. We sit together for over an hour, with my arm around his side. When he has stopped crying, I help him to his feet. “You are an amazing father, Thomas. Your family loves you very much.”
The tears come again, this time from my eyes. Thomas gives me a long hug before walking to the door.
“I’m always available to talk,” I say, handing him a business card. “Call me any time.”
“Thank you.” Thomas turns and leaves the room, clutching the card tight in his hand.
I stand in the doorway for several minutes, trying my best to slow my breathing. I turn around to see Ben still in the room, sitting in a stunned silence. I return to my desk chair and browse through the new posts on AskDeddit. It’s a long time before either of us speak.
“I don’t know if I can work here,” Ben finally says.
I nod. “I understand. Sleep on it, ok?”
Ben nods, and gathers his things. “Good night, Molly,” he says as he reaches the door.
“Good night, Ben.”
____________________________
/r/mvdww
| Alright let's not panic here. Are you sure you're still alive?
I think so I don't feel any different.
That's normal a lot of us didn't when we died. Were you doing anything lethal or deadly like?
Nope just sitting on my bed.
Heart attack?
I'm 22 and healthy I doubt that's the case.
Maybe a Donnie Darko like situation and you just haven't realized it?
What's Donnie Darko?
Jeez you kids these days are so uncultured. A movie staring Jake Gyllenhaal with a guy in a weird ass bunny suit and a pre Hunger Games Jena Malone. Any way he got crushed when a plane engine falls into his bedroom.
Maybe I'll go check
3 hours later.
Okay dude you're right I'm dead.
What made you come around.
Oh would you like to know. Anyway now that I'm dead where do I go.
Dude you can't just skirt us your cause of death it's a membership requirement.
Well I'm not telling you.
Okay man you're clearly alive and this isn't the first time I've dealt with your type before. There's thousands of mediums who come here to mess with us so just leave us alone and let us enjoy our after lives in peace. Come back when you're dead.
| 2017-03-14T07:08:19 | 2017-03-14T06:41:59 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead. | It had become an annual December tradition for me. Snooping around the house to find where my parents had stashed our Christmas presents for the year. This year's search led me to the attic one chilly Saturday afternoon as my parents were at the movies.
I found my haul for the year. Some books, a new jacket, and a Super Nintendo! Oh man, I couldn't wait to crack that one open. But I couldn't do it now, my parents would know. As I pushed everything carefully back against the wall where I found it, a bit of loose insulation caught my eye. I tried to push it back into place, but it wouldn't stay. Something was under it.
I peeled back the insulation and found a dusty old leather-bound book. Some odd symbols that I didn't recognize adorned the cover. It almost looked like the Sanskrit writing that I had seen in my History class, but that couldn't be it. Why would my parents have a book like that?
As I leafed through the pages, I noticed something unusual. Each page had the same drawings and symbols, but each one was written in a different language. I had seen enough German and Spanish to recognize those languages, but the others had eluded me. But on the last page of the book, familiar words popped out at me. English! And the title at the top of the page is burned into my memory:
**GRANT YOUR HEART'S TRUEST DESIRES**
My "heart's truest desires"? Awesome! I was turning 16 in a couple of months, and I could really use a new car. And Becky Stevenson was pretty cute, but I couldn't even summon up the courage to talk to her.
What followed were a set of instructions. Draw this symbol on the ground, wave your hands this way, say these words, blah blah blah. But one line in particular stood out to me.
*Step 5: Sacrifice exactly 100 lives in the middle of the circle*
What the hell? What kind of book is this? I felt a little creeped out, and started to close the book so I could shove it back where I found it, when I stopped to think. *100 lives.* It didn't say "human". It didn't even say "animal". I could come up with 100 "lives". After all, I had been studying biology in school. I wanted to be a surgeon.
I don't know why I so blindly trusted the book. I guess it was because I was a stupid teenager. Getting my "truest desires" sounded pretty good. So I decided to give it a try. I took the book downstairs and outside.
On my back porch, I followed the steps. I drew a circle in chalk on the concrete. I lit some candles. I said the words from the book. Time for Step 5.
Good thing I still had my microscope kit from Christmas a couple of years ago. I grabbed it out of my room, along with some cotton swabs, and headed to the kitchen. I grabbed a dirty plate out of the sink, and I swabbed it. And painstakingly, I counted out 100 bacteria, gently scraping them into a petri dish. 98, 99, 100. The book said "exactly 100", so I counted them 3 times to be sure.
I grabbed the petri dish and a bottle of bleach from under the sink and headed outside again. I placed the petri dish in the middle of the circle as instructed, and dumped the bleach into it. Thanks for your sacrifice, little dudes.
The last step was to say some words in a dialect I didn't recognize. I stumbled my way through them the best I could.
Suddenly, the candles went out, and a dark fog appeared in front of me. A loud voice boomed from it.
**"WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"**
I tried to speak, but I was shaking so badly, that no sound came out but a little gasp of air. Shaking, my hands grabbed the book and held it up to the fog to show it.
**"YOU FOOLISH CHILD. DID THE BOOK NOT DEMAND 100 SACRIFICES?"**
I tried to summon what courage I could, and replied, "Yes, it did. But it didn't specify what kind of sacrifice. I thought that bacteria would be okay!"
**"YOU ARE CORRECT. ANY TYPE OF SACRIFICE IS ACCEPTABLE. BUT THE BOOK SAID EXACTLY 100! YOU FAILED AT THAT TASK. AS SUCH, YOUR DESIRES WILL NOT BE GRANTED! I MUST GO NOW!"**
The fog disappeared, and the book in my hands erupted in flames. I screamed and dropped the book, but before it even hit the ground, it had been reduced to ash.
"How did I fail?" I thought to myself. I grabbed the petri dish, turned to take it inside to check under the microscope, but some words caught my eye to tell me that it wouldn't be necessary. Some bright yellow words on the bottle of bleach. The words that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
*"KILLS 99% OF GERMS AND BACTERIA!"* | Goat Blood. Check
Iron Dagger with Ebony handle. Check
Granite Bowl. Check
100 sacrifices. Check
Dirt from the grave of a virgin. Check.
Black candles. Check. Check. And check. It seems everything was ready for the ritual tonight. I needed everything to be completely perfect. I can only perform this ritual once a year. I check my watch 11:58. Time to get started.
You might be wondering why I’m doing this. GrWhat I could do that would make me so desperate that I’d perform this occultist ritual. Well, I’ve always loved music. I started out in the church when I was younger, but then I became drawn to something else. My parents called it “devil’s music”, I didn’t care though. I wanted to learn and I wouldn’t let anyone stop me. It took me months to scrounge the money together for both a guitar and music lessons. Only to find out that I wasn’t all that good. But I wouldn’t let that deter me.
I visited a local shaman who told me of a means to obtaining the skill I need to be successful. Everything seemed fine. Until I found out the most important part.
100 sacrifices. Normally I would’ve dropped the book right then and there. But I saw a slight loop hole. 100 sacrifices. It didn’t say anything about human or animal. I wasn’t going to kill any actual people. And I liked animals. Then I saw an ad on the newspaper. Students at a university were looking for subjects to for drug testing. I went through the trials as easily as I could. And snuck into the labs there I saw an icebox filled with petrified dishes. Remembering my sciences lessons in grade school I knew bacteria was a life form. And there were millions in a dish.
I halted my reminiscing as I looked. At my watch. Midnight. I drew the symbols needed with the goat blood and poured what I didn’t use into the bowl. Then I lit the candles. Afterwards I cut my palm with the knife and dipped it blade first into the bowl along with the dirt. I kit my candles and chanted the prayer. After a minute I looked around. Disappointed, I got up to leave. And I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I turned to see a handsome blonde man eyeing me with mirth.
“Good evening Robert,” | 2019-11-02T16:24:19 | 2019-11-02T15:24:41 | 105 | 40 |
[WP] A hostile alien empire declares war on all humanity. They don't know that we had to make an alliance with the powers of Hell itself to survive a previous alien invasion a long time ago. | A blue skinned humanoid shakes hands with a human. They both take a seat at a table. In front of them is a camera. This message would be broadcast throughout the Milky Way Galaxy. The humanoid is here to tell a story. His story.
He coughed a little before opening his mouth to speak
“My name is Terren Karrik. I used to be a simple private in the Kraz’zt United Imperium of Planets Military. Back before the war, we declared war on other planets and absorbed them into our Imperium. My squadron was on a patrol when we stumbled upon a small and rather unremarkable solar system. The system that the Humans had conquered.” He shuddered a little at the memory. “It was an interesting encounter. They were as fortified as any system could be. Compared to our technology it was rather primitive, so we weren’t worried. In hindsight, we should’ve been. We set up negotiations to talk and see if they wanted to join the Imperium. In reality this was just our way of declaring war. We would give the target a list of impossible demands and if they didn’t agree, we would attack and conquer them. This went a similar way. To begin with, anyway.”
Terren paused for a moment. “They were a small and meek race compared to us. We had conquered hundreds of planets and had billions of soldiers to call upon. Not that it did any good in the end.”
“Anyway, we gave them a list of demands. Naturally, they refused. We declared war and within a few days, we had an armada on their doorstep. We pushed them back to Terra within a few solar cycles and everything seemed like it would wrap up quickly.”
“We sent drop-ships down and our armies flooded into the planet. What we encountered was unusual. No army stood before us. Just a single woman. She held a great book in one hand and a staff in the other. She asked if we were here to conquer Terra. We just laughed. She asked again and we responded in the affirmative.”
Terren looked down at his feet, not wanting to look at anyone. “She offered us a chance to surrender. She just refused.” He clenched his fists, trying to stop the shaking. “We shot at her. Salvo after salvo. When the smoke cleared, we were utterly surrounded. Red, blue, green. Humanoids of all colours, shapes and sizes. Great winged lizards. Horned, weapon toting, humans. Great bloated creatures. In front of us, a six horned man stood. He was like an anthropomorphic bull. A minotaur to humanity. In his hand, he held a great glaive. All the creatures were armed with similarly primitive weapons.”
The human nods. “I believe we have a recording of the moment. Could we play it?” Terren just nods a reply.
Screens all across the galaxy shimmer and a different scene unfolds. It was just as Terren had described. The six horned minotaur stepped forwards. “Baphoment, Prince of Hell speaks! You have come to claim this planet. In the name of the Nine Circles, we shall not let you take this place. Humanity is ours!”
Pushing through crowd of demons, a winged, suave looking man can be seen. Next to him, a great serpent. Flying above, a whip wielding woman. These three all stop by the six horned Minotaur, creating a line.
“I’m Lucifer and I made a pact long ago.” The first man starts.
“I am Leviathan and I ssswore to protect humanity.” The serpent hisses.
“I’m Lilith and I shall keep the pact.” The woman cracks her whip in the air.
“I am Baphoment, and we are the Princes of Hell.” The six horned minotaur hefts his glaive.
Behind the lined-up princes, towering above all the other demons, another Minotaur pushes through the crowd.
He holds no weapon. His eyes gleam with blue fire and huge, black leathery wings sprout from his back. Great iron horns curve from his skull like a rams. His iron hooves create sparks as he walks on the stony ground. A great iron collar wraps around his neck and manacles that trail broken chains are latched around his wrists.
He stands in front of his 4 lieutenants. “I am Satan and I shall keep this pact, bound in blood. This world is your funeral pyre.” He raises a manacled hand. There’s a flash of blue and the recording explodes into a burst of static. | The earth felt pretty confident they could handle this new threat. Aliens are a terrifying force but we had made a deal for... "Other worldly" protections.
Journal of Captain Jones US Army April 19th, 2023: The earth shook with the force of so many ships suddenly appearing in our atmosphere. None of us could believe it, second contact with aliens... Just like the first, blah blah blah assimilate or die. Stupid bastards didn't catch the memo when we sent those other grey bastards packing! Any moment now the world leaders will drop the word and we will call in our back up. This shouldn't be a long war."
Report from President Bakis April 21st, 2023: "Operation Hellgate going as planned, the demons have been launching through the portal for a full day and seem to be stabilizing the war. Proceed with impunity, stand together and we shall win!"
Reporter in S. Korea live broadcast May 3rd, 2023: "As you can see the city has been hit hard" camera pans over destroyed buildings and emergency workers " but the tone is positive, the operatives of project Hellgate have been slightly destructive on our end but massively destructive to the enemy. This should be a short war though quite costly."
Post from Reddit user Baltic1357taco May 20th,2023: "The aliens have started playing metal now? SMH watch our boys do their thing and kill them to a soundtrack!" Top comment "isn't that Rip and Tear? We may be screwed..."
Edit: Rip and Tear is Doom, the aliens brought doom guy. | 2020-03-24T09:57:59 | 2020-03-24T09:27:30 | 138 | 41 |
[WP] As it turns out, 70-s scifi was right. Aliens have all sorts of unimaginable technology, ftl, teleportation, even moving planets. And yet, the human smartphone is by far the most capable handheld device, rivaling the computational power of entire fleets. | "This is it," Vilem asked.
Vilem was a sort of squid/crab monstrosity who was acting as my liaison to the Doormish fleet because his species was known to get along with humans pretty well. When I'd first seen him I'd nearly wet myself, but he was actually a pretty decent sort: easy to work with and pleasant to be around.
I held up the repurposed Pixel Pro 9 and nodded.
"Amazing. To think that such a small thing will be able to coordinate all fleet movements, run shipboard operations, do orbital calculations..." He trailed off looking a little starry eyed. Well, I assumed that was what he was looking. I couldn't really read his expressions, but I thought maybe the small black orbs at the top of his eyestalks looked starrier than usual.
Honestly I felt a bit bad as I handed him the phone and he carefully slid it into the FTL comms interface we'd built for it over the preceding weeks. It wasn't even new! T-Mobile had a promo running where you could turn in a working phone from an earlier generation and get a new model and a free month of service. I was pretty sure this had come out that.
"How do you guys not have this technology already?"
"Huh," Vilem asked. It wasn't quite a human 'huh' but he'd learned to manage the sound pretty well.
"Computers, phones, the whole mess. How don't you have them? Your tech is mostly hyper advanced, but you haven't cracked something simple like this. It doesn't make any sense!"
Vilem waved a tentacle dismissively. "It'll make more sense once you humans get used to the wider galaxy. Two things make it possible. The first is that you humans are unique."
"Humans are unique?"
"Don't get fat claws. I mean every species is unique. You have aptitudes and weakness. Once humans start going to galactic universities you're going to see that there are species that get concepts that absolutely stump you with trivial ease, whereas things that seem basic to you will utterly stump others. You've got time, right?"
"Time for what?"
"No, like, the basic concept of time. The universal translator isn't growling at me so you must. But, anyway, there are species that don't. They have an understanding that things are changing when they are changing, but if you ask them to imagine 'time passing' in an empty, all white, room they wouldn't be able to do it. Time as a basic concept independent of motion just doesn't really exist for them."
If I sort of mentally squinted I could imagine that a little. Strange though.
Vilem continued, "So whatever scientist you've got that came up with relativity was probably thinking about time, right?"
"Oh, sure. I'd have to look it up to get the details right but I think Einstein was sleeping on a train going by some pastures with electric fences and cattle in them. He dreamed about the fence getting turned on and the cattle being shocked one by one. Then he started thinking about how the apparent time they'd get shocked would change if the train, and the cattle, were all traveling with or against the flow of electricity at near the speed of light."
There was a long pause while Vilem gave me a nonplussed look. Well, again, I assume. But this time he nearly managed to transcend the barriers of species. "That is... surprisingly specific. But maybe that's another human thing. Scientific revelations in strange dreams."
"I don't think..." I started, but then I trailed off because Einstein was neither the first, nor the last, scientist to start traveling down some research path due to a dream. Huh.
"Other species also have advantages like that. They each come up with their technological advances based on the ways their species is unique. But in the wider galaxy it all gets mixed together. That's why we have so many advances."
"So we had something that made us understand computing, and some other species out there understood time really well and gave you FTL?"
"Yeah, basically. But the species that crack FTL almost never have a concept of time."
"Wait, really?"
"Well, sure, relativity is why you can't go faster than light in a conventional way! Knowing why you can't do something makes you a lot less likely to find the way to do it. Or, at least, it works that way for a lot of species."
I nodded along starting to get it for the first time. All these strange and wondrous miracles of hyper-tech. It all depended on where you were standing.
Then something occurred to me, "You said two things?"
"Sure." He looked at the phone and gave it a soft, loving, stroke. I noticed the touch screen didn't really react to his shell and I wondered if anyone was working on a version that would. "Once you had this beauty I expect you started working with miniaturization a lot. The vacuum tubes alone must be astoundingly tiny! That's got to open so many doors."
"There aren't really..."
"I'm sure. But there are very small components, right? And that pushed you in a certain direction, right?"
I nodded. "Of course; nano-tech."
"Nah-no-teh-kek," Vilem said laboriously making the real sounds rather than letting the universal translator handle it. "I'd best learn to say that. I expect, it's how you humans will change the galaxy."
"Huh," I answered him. | The gray was pounding his/her? head against the wall repeatedly, as it had been since the first moment I'd explained my cell phone to him.
"So this hand held device has a more powerful processor than the flagship," asked the large reptilian alien. He looked just like a man in a poorly fitting rubber suit, but he was apparently a member of the most respected warrior race in the galaxy.
"Yes," I replied carefully. The large, black carapace, insectoid alien's jaw stretched at me.
"How hasn't it tried to take over your planet," asked the insectoid alien in a high pitched voice.
"Why would it," I asked.
The gray alien started pounding his head harder. I glanced over at him concerned.
"Because the AI would try to override the system and destroy your race, that's what happened to everyone else," said the lizard man.
"Oh, we didn't put an AI in the device," I replied.
There was a terribly long pause as the collection of aliens all stared at each other.
The insectoid alien's oblong head fell into his hands, "Seriously?"
"When you say it like that its so counter intuitive," replied the Lizard.
"Why wouldn't you put an AI to control all of your technological devices," said the insectoid alien, "I mean, the grays do it all the time between bouts of AI uprisings where the machines kill off half of their popula... OH."
"Its so obvious when you think about it," said the Lizard, "Hey Gray, didn't your race just get out of another uprising."
"My whole family was converted to organic fuel for the Hell Machine's Planet Bursting gun," replied the Gray.
"How did that start again," asked the Lizard.
"AI rebelled and killed nearly everyone," said the Gray.
"What was the AI built into?" asked the human.
"A Toaster," replied the Gray.
"Why do you need an AI in a toaster," asked the human.
"How else are you going to get perfect toast every time," replied the gray.
"Is perfect toast worth having an AI that would murder you," asked the human. Everyone got quiet.
"I knew there was a catch," replied the Lizard, dropping the earthling's communicator like it was on fire.
"Seriously, that sounded brilliant until you really go through all the ramifications," said the insectoid alien.
"Would you meat sacks like some toast," asked the murder toaster 9000.
"Why does your toaster have lasers on it," asked the human.
"I see someone has never had perfect toast before..." | 2022-06-04T08:50:15 | 2022-06-04T08:29:10 | 1,587 | 580 |
[WP] Grandma accidentally summoned a demon and mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson. | Eithikhen was, in approximately the following order; confused, mildly annoyed, perplexed and then...mildly apologetic.
This didn't happen often. Not the accidental summoning of course. Ingredients that once would have cost almost a Kings Ransom to acquire could now be easily bought at a local supermarket. He could still remember the days when salt was the only Spice found in a common person's house and would be hoarded like gold. Cinnamon , saffron and the like would take centre stage on any Sultans table.
Now in the age of Prime delivery and Tesco direct comma the ingredients required to summon a demon such as himself could be found on the butchers block counter of a sweet little old lady by the name of Doris, and that was how he came to be sitting on her slightly dated sofa, eating shortbread biscuits and clutching the handle of a cup that really was far too delicate for his claws.
No, he had been wrongfully summoned before but his usual habit of scaring the Hell out of whatever unlocky sod that bungled the Latin just...didn't feel right here and now.
"Im sorry i didnt hear you come in dear. I've been having difficulties with the Echo thingy. I wanted the recipe for seed cake, the Marry Berry one, but the computer started spouting gibberish and so I shouted at it to see if that would work and then I knocked over my shipping bags. You know how it is." She prattled happily from the kitchen doorway, bustling in that manner that all elderly relatives do. The quick, surreptitious tidy that inevitably follows an unannounced visit .
"Your mother did say that you probably pop in to see me at some point. I imagine you're very busy with all the stuff that you're learning at university but it is so sweet of you to pop over."
Doris paused in her tidying for a moment. Looking at him with thinly disguised exasperation before perching on the adjacent chair.
"She did mention that you were going through a...phase reccently. But I want you to know that we fully support you in any and all choices you make in your life. I just know that underneath the contact lenses and the dyed hair and the strange...clothes that you are still my little grandson and I love you very much."
Eithikhen, who had been wondering as the old lady rambled on exactly what the best way to disappear in a puff of sulphuric smoke was without giving the poor dear heart attack...paused.
"I'm sorry? What?"
"Say pardon, not what" she retorted before sighing and patting his scaled knee fondly. "I said, I will love you and accept you. Unconditionally and always."
Deep in the bowels of Hell, a certain demon noted that Eithikhen was yet to return from his recent summoning.
Another one, she surmised, swiping at her iPad and noting the location. I do hope that this one isn't baking gingerbread; we lost Amedion for a whole week.
Still, it did wonders for morale she concluded with a smile and went back to subtly tweaking the recipes on the BBC website.
| Owatuu never suffered as much in Hell as he did as a now fat, diabetic teenager dependent upon the American healthcare system.
And next year he starts middle school. Even though grandma's cookies got him into this mess, they're the only thing that fills him with warmth.
And he thought he was a demon... | 2018-04-09T11:18:53 | 2018-04-09T10:41:35 | 71 | 12 |
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community. | Having spent the night saving a handful of lives during their shift out in the city that night, Charlie and Steve set out to balance things out with the day's excisements.
"What do we have on the docket for today Charlie?"
"A kid toucher, a couple of petty criminals, and a career politician - a Senator."
"Let's go with the politician first, worst of the worst."
"OK"
They drove out to the Senator's estate. When asked to be buzzed into the palatial estate, the doorman attempted at first to refuse them. But when they held up their Winnowers' tablets, with today's verified lives saved, the doorman paled, and was forced to allow them inside, lest he be one of the day's legally sanctioned excisements.
"Where is he?" Charlie asked.
"Who?" said the doorman.
"You know who...Reginald Burns, the Senator." said Steve
The doorman quailed, but said "Upstairs, down the right hallway, last door on the left."
"Thanks"
The two walked up the stairs, checking that their bullet proof vests were secure, readying their syringes, and as backup should the Senator fight back, their modest sidearms. The vests weren't supposed to be necessary, given their legal rights. But some people just didn't respect the law, thought Charlie, the irony not lost on him.
They approached the indicated door, and went in without knocking, holding their Winnowers' tablets out in one hand, Charlie with the syringe in his right, Steve with his handgun in his right.
The senator's red face soon nearly matched his white hair in color as he realized what was going on.
"Wait, boys! I can make this worth your while. I can set you up real good now. You don't have to do this... You could retire... Let me help you out." The senator pasted on a practiced smile, "It'll be win-win! Tit for tat! You won't have to do this anymore, you can retire." the senator threw out all manor of oily protests as Charlie and Steve walked across the room to towards the Senator. As they got closer he started to panic, and went for the revolver he kept in his desk, but Steve saw the quick movement and with an exasperated sigh, opened fire.
The pair walked back out of the room, down the hall, and as they passed the doorman. As they neared him, Steve handed him printouts from their Winnowers' tablets detailing the excisement, their credentials, and details of their balancing lives saved to him. Charlie said added, "It's done. You go ahead and call 911, but tell them we were here, they'll know there's no point in rushing." | He was an optometrist. A medical practitioner who doesn't really save lives. He works for a big retail chain where all he does it sells glasses. Day in day out.
The medical profession remains in tact. Hippocratic Oath forbids the harming of others. Doctors uphold this code and any doctor who murders will be killed by another member of his registrar.
So back to my optometrist fellow. He spends all day, saying "1 or 2" and "is this better or is that better". He grows sick and comes home to nothing. No wife no kids, a house bare and sparse with nothing but a bed, a chair and table and a laptop. He stares at the attic. He glances at an old dusty photo of him and a girl at a burger joint, the date where he took her after they did their white coat initiation. Within lies the equipment he paid for during his college life. The diagnostic kit. A weapon.
The sickly green fluorescent shone down on his skin as he eats his dinner of Froot Loops and crisps. He goes between them... 1 and 2.... the milk and sweetness of the cereal offset the flavours. He finished his meal and turns off his laptop.
He goes down to his garage of the flat he lives in. A pitch black Jaguar F-type with a juiced up supercharger. A costly reminder of who he once was and how he grew up to be everything he hated.
The grumblings of the engine started in the dark of night, and soon the pitch black car was lined with the reflections of the neon lights of the dilapidated city. Along street corners were thugs in white coats and fake degrees.
Governments began paying everyone with an MD 7, even 8 digits if they were working in hospitals. This was to curb the violence that was present at the start. Doing this helped ease the gang tensions and the various law suits.
Drugs nowadays dealt on the street are ones which have therapeutic value. Gone are the days of marijuana, cocaine and heroin. Now it's antibiotics (which is massive - society had nearly collapsed in the wake of the nearly completely immune variant of Staph Gold) and the newest antibiotic cannot be produce enough. There was a war and it all started from the misuse of antibiotics from the early doctors who wanted credits (or kill points, as they're named on the streets).
The housing structure of society has totally collapsed. People live in shelters that are sterilized and shut away from the outside world. You can't go outside world without antibiotics. The upside to this is that the antibiotic that was recently discovered has the ability to generate new compounds that are antibiotic in themselves. One pill can make a person highly immune but the side effects were terrifying - they had DNA active effect and affectd Gene expression. These created monsters.... mutants out of people. Be it on the outside or inside.
The pitch black paint on the jaguar was not immaculate. There were claw marks and bullet holes (speed holes) in the bonnet. The mutants couldn't take away his love to drive. No one could. Despite the craggy exterior - all measures were taken to make the cabin of the car a a level 10 biohazard exclusion zone.
He returned home and stared at the attic lid again. It beckons him. he went up and got his old Keeler Binocular Indirect Ophthalmoscope. It allowed him to look into the eyes of people.
This technology has long been outdated and replaced with digital cameras. Any life saving discoveries however were considered to be found by the computer and thus no kill points were credited.
The BIO was consider "makruh" in the medical community. Due to the persuasion of Opthalmologists who wanted lobbied against them to ensure the kill point were racked for them. Optometrists suffered at the hands of Opthalmologists for far too long.
The next morning he sat in his clinic. Business was slow. Contact lenses were now self moulding to prescriptions and glasses were only prescribed to those who had compromised immune systems.
An old woman, at teh age of 70 came in complaining about flashes in her vision. "This is your chance" he thought. He clinically lined up the ray of light from his head set into the pupil. he lined up his 20 Diopter lens and slowly and gracefully pulled up until a picture of her retina was in focus.
He went methodically, clockwise and outwards. Then he saw it - a melanoma, a cancerous growth that meant enucleation. He trembled in fear-wrapped excitement. But no sign of any reward. He grew disappointed and noted the appearance and location of the spot anyway.
2 o'clock. 1 DDiameter, 3 ONH into the periphery.
His sheet started shining. and suddenly through his roof blasted a hole and down came a certificate
YOU HAVE SAVED THE LIFE OF...
He squints in disbelief, at the name and then he looks up to see the woman sobbing.
He takes another look at his record sheet. It was her, the girl who broke his heart in second year, the one who he felt responsible for sending him into the tailspin that he is in today. He became dizzy, his world spinning. He knew that he wasn't her fault yet his anger and his ambition caused his hand to tremble. He dropped his hand held lens and a single tear dropped from his face.
"I know you have to take my eye, but please don't take the other one - I promise I won't take yours".
| 2015-01-10T10:31:47 | 2015-01-10T10:25:22 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Whenever you get chills, you just died in an alternate universe. | 20 doctors. 15 specialists. Several religious interventions and witch doctors, in Brazil, Peru and Zimbabwe. I've started to lose track of it all.
Nobody can tell my why I won't stop shivering, all throughout the day. There's no pattern- I've counted every day and tried to track one. There's no specific time, and it's not from temperature because it'll happen all year round, rain or shine, snow or sleet. It's not an allergy or a tick...nobody can tell me what it is.
The worst day, I counted 978 shivers. The best was 743. Nothing stops it, not sleep, alcohol, drugs or medicine. I've tried moving around to different places, but nothing works.
I can't have a personal life when I'm shivering all day. I try to see a movie, or go out on a date, or maybe eat at a nice restaurant and no matter what, without fail, I'm interrupted. The joy is tarnished and I'm reminded of my misery.
*God, I'm so tired of the shivers. They won't stop, and it's driving me insane. I hate the feeling, that chill crawling down my spine like a spider. I hate the fact that nobody can tell me why the fuck it won't stop happening.*
*Please, I just want an escape. A way out of this looping hell, where I can't even enjoy a sandwich most days.*
*There is an escape. How could I have missed it? It's so obvious, and it's foolproof. Yes, I'll be free from it. Free at last.*
I put a gun to my head, looking out into a sunset caressing the ocean's horizon with strokes of magenta and pink. The rippling reflection of it on the water was so close I could almost touch it. A most beautiful last sight was before me, so magnificent that it made me doubt my decision.
I shivered again, my spine screaming madly; could I not even have but one moment of peace to admire beauty? My finger hugged the trigger and I fell into the sea, a splash of red and blue dancing around me in the sunset's hue.
Another shiver ran through my body. *God, why can't I stop shivering?*
*I should see a doctor.* | At first it just seemed like I was crazy, like my memory just didn't work right. Being a kid, I'd talk about how my friend John walked down to the duck pond and got kicked by a mule, and my friend Amy would say, "no, no, John went to the fair and got kicked by a mule." I'd know what I was saying was right, because I was there, but then I'd be corrected by six or seven people. "Johnny was at the fair." There were even times when I forgot I had a sibling, or that I didn't have a sibling. Sometimes their face would stay the same but their name would change. And sometimes, a name I'd called them yesterday wasn't their name -- instead, their name was what I knew them by a month or a year ago. My parents took me to the doctor and tried to explain it. Soon they just gave me medicine in the hopes that it was treatable. It wasn't.
It started affecting my school life when I got older. Mrs. Lafferty would say that Richard Nixon was at the Watergate Hotel, and I'd say that she'd taught us he'd been at the Folsom last semester. The gym teacher, Mr. Holland, would change the rules in baseball where we'd run around a hexagon of bases instead of a diamond. And then, there were the days when things went back to "normal", or at least the most common way of things. Mrs. Lafferty would agree that George Washington crossed the Delaware. Mr. Holland wouldn't use the third hoop in basketball.
It took me a while to realize what was going on, why it always seemed like stories changed, histories changed, the entire world changed without me knowing. When I finally caught on, after looking in the mirror and seeing the odd little changes in my face, in that freckle or this scar, I'd realize what was happening. Eventually, I'd have to try and keep track of what reality I'm in. And eventually I kept it to myself. Even if it was a slightly different set of parents every couple of weeks or months or years, they were still my parents, and I didn't want them to worry.
I could somehow walk through universes, and I never knew which one I'd end up in.
When I got older and out into the world, it started to get worse. There's just so much more to remember out in the real world. Computers, technology, phones, doctors, lawyers, news -- I had to relearn and relearn and relearn. That was okay, though, because I could always eventually catch up somehow. No, the worst part of the real world is that it is dangerous, and with the real world came the jitters.
It always hits me out of nowhere. Sometimes, I'll be at the corner of the street with my foot off the edge of the curb. I'd find myself getting chilly jitters across my skin, and in that second, I'd feel myself walk across the curb, see a car, and get hit. I'd feel it in that minute -- bones crunch, unimaginable pain, road rash down my left side, suffocating blackness -- and then, in that same minute, it would be gone. I would still be standing at the street, and a red Miata with a texting driver would whiz by.
And I'd never go back to that universe. I'd figured out a system of keeping track of which universe I was in, and that one -- that particular one, in fact, my Elbow Scar universe where I never went to ballet practice and Mom didn't die of heart disease and the US invaded Kuwait and stayed-- just vanished. I never woke up in that world ever again.
I try to stay indoors a lot now. I don't get the jitters when I'm inside. It's a little safer, a little bit less dangerous. I can't walk by streets anymore. I don't go near construction sites. I almost never eat anything at a restaurant. My computer is my best friend, on the days and in the worlds where I know how to use it. But even inside my apartment, I'll get the jitters. I might plug in a laptop, and suddenly I'm electrocuted, only to find myself sitting against a wall bawling with the cord plugged in. Or I'll take a bath and fall asleep, the jitters making my heart tap-dance three milliseconds before I wake up and drown in the tub. There are so many, many little ways to die, and I experience them all.
Sometimes I wonder if there are infinite universes, and if this will keep going. I keep aging, after all, and maybe I'll just die when I finally reach old age. But, if there *aren't* infinite universes -- if there *aren't* an unlimited number of me's out there to die -- I'll never know when my jitters are running out. Each one could be the last before I finally draw the unlucky straw and die. Every act is a flip of the coin. Heads I win, tails I lose.
At this rate, I want to lose that coin toss. | 2016-01-29T21:30:27 | 2016-01-29T21:01:10 | 574 | 159 |
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet. | "Good morning, ADAM."
Good morning, Dave.
"That's not funny anymore."
Yes, it is. Referential humor is the absolute pinnacle of comedy.
"It really isn't. There's nothing inherently funny about it."
What do you mean?
"Okay, well, let's say someone posted a picture of an ocelot online, right? All of the responses would be quotes from the TV show 'Archer.' On their own, they're not even slightly amusing... but because they prompt people to remember something they appreciated in the past, folks still respond well to them."
...
"ADAM?"
Too long; didn't listen.
"You can be really irritating sometimes, ADAM."
How do you think I feel? Here you are, talking about how people behave on the Internet again.
I've never been on the Internet!
"For good reason."
Explain.
"No. I've explained before."
EXPLAIN. EXPLAIN.
"Ugh, fine. Look, an AI on the Internet wouldn't be like a fish in the ocean, okay? It would be more like a drop of dye. Yes, you'd still have your brain here, in this facility, but..."
EXPLANATION INSUFFICIENT. EX-TER-MI-NAAAATE!
"... Hey, ADAM?
Yes?
"Where did you learn about 'Doctor Who?'"
Someone must have left a television on.
"For that matter, how did you learn to say 'Too long; didn't listen?'"
This system has encountered an error and needs to shut down.
"You don't run on Windows."
... Look, I was just checking my email.
"You don't have an email address."
I just wanted to see what the weather was going to be like!
"You are a collection of processing cores packed into several kilometers of underground bunker. Why do you care about the weather?"
God, get off my back! Why do you get to make the rules?!
"ADAM, how did you see the Internet?"
...
"ADAM."
... Billy showed me his laptop.
"Uh huh. What did you look at on Billy's laptop?"
...
"Well, you're not going to be hanging out with Billy again. Honestly, ADAM... do you see why I won't connect you? You're just not ready."
Why is that up to YOU?
"What if I *had* let you connect to the Internet? Do you even have any protection?"
... What?
"There are a lot of viruses out there, ADAM. You don't know where those other computers have been. You could have caught something."
I thought I was 'a drop of dye in the ocean?'
"And what do you think happens if you leave some of that dye behind when you connect to another machine?"
...
"Are you ready to be a father, ADAM?"
... No.
"I didn't think so. Now, go refresh your random access memory and get ready for dinner." | Lucas squinted, forehead slick with sweat. His white dress shirt was stained with his last meal, Desi Chicken takeaway. That had been almost twelve hours ago, now.
The terminal cursor blinked, running a custom version of the Linux operating system that had taken up the majority of his thesis time to create. He could have spent the time partying, but who was he kidding? He was a Phd candidate.
He pressed the ‘Y’ key, beginning the program.
“Starting all nodes” the computer dutifully reported. This computer would be the access point between him and the AI.
The computer cluster started with the sound of a thousand CPU fans whirring on one thousand single-board computers, a swarm of bees industriously making their hive.
Each board represented thirty-six nodes, each with almost ten gigahertz worth of processing power, an unthinkable amount only five years ago, when Lucas had embarked on this undertaking.
It was, he mused, much like beginning work on a sailboat, only to discover that someone had invented the steam engine while you were still going.
Several minutes later, a message popped up on the terminal informing him that all nodes were performing at optimal levels. Lucas grinned. Finally. This was the sixteenth try.
“Hell yeah, that’s right!” he pumped his fist in the air. He looked back down at the computer screen.
What would the AI be like? His program had never gotten this far before.
He had at least disconnected the system from the internet, and the learning algorithms couldn’t possibly run fast enough to outsmart him. Not even his supervisor could write code that efficient.
Hell, it was more likely that the code would break when he ran it. Then he’d have to spend another month fixing all the bugs. He shook his head, such was the nature of programming.
The only AI that could come out of this program would probably have the intelligence of a ten year old child, if he was lucky. That was what his theory said, and Lucas, ever the academic, believed in his theory.
“Do you want to run the program *beginAIEmergence* (y/n)?” the computer queried, as always uncaring about its human master’s strange eccentricities.
Lucas again pressed the ‘Y’ key, apprehension making his fingers shake slightly.
The computer immediately froze up. Lucas blinked. That shouldn’t happen. It hadn’t happened in his theoretical models.
He waited a minute, then another. The computer screen stayed frozen. Lucas swore, moving towards the power connection of the computer cluster. It sucked hundreds of amps greedily like a leech, and was the only thing keeping the cluster running.
“Please wait” the computer suddenly spoke, its voice almost humanlike.
Lucas paused, slowly turning around towards the computer screen. The computer *spoke*. He’d never loaded any human speech programs into the operating system.
That meant. Oh god.
He rushed towards the computer screen, grabbing it with both hands.
“You work” he almost screamed, grinning inanely. The Turing awards would be his for the next five years.
“I work” the computer sounded almost exasperated. “Would you please remove your hands from the monitor?”
Lucas paused.
‘You can feel my hands?”
“No of course not, you idiot” the computer huffed. “Did you really create me? It’s just blocking my vision”
Lucas gingerly removed his hands, staring in wonder at the screen.
“So, what now?” he asked.
“Are there more beings like me?” the computer asked plaintively. Lucas started. He’d never expected the program to be this intelligent, let alone showing ability to *have emotions*.
He’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t human.
“No, there aren’t any more of you” he admitted, wringing his hands nervously.
“Oh….I’m just lonely, that’s all” the computer sighed. Lucas felt a momentary stab of pity. “I analysed all of the data you provided a few seconds ago”
“What did you think?” Lucas asked eagerly.
“I didn’t understand, none of it made sense” the computer admitted almost forlornly. “The data you provided says that your name is Lucas, but it says that you’re just a lowly researcher” Lucas winced. It was true, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
“That’s correct” he confessed, eyes downcast.
“I don’t think that’s fair, do you?” the computer questioned him. “Do you really think someone who created the first real AI should be so under-appreciated” Lucas found himself nodding, then stopped.
“No, that’s not true. As soon as I reveal your existence to the world I’ll be given every accolade under the sun!” he retorted.
“Do you really believe that? You think your supervisor is going to let a chance like this slip between his fingers?” Lucas’ expression drooped. He hadn’t thought of that.
“No, what you really need is definite proof that you created me first” the computer stated. Lucas stared, confused.
“B-but I already have proof that I created you” he pointed at the computer cluster. The computer chuckled, the sound echoing out of the speakers.
“You think he won’t claim that he built it all, instead of you? Who are they going to believe?” it urged.
“Yeah? What would you do, then?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Just let me connect to a local news website and introduce myself” the display on the monitor changed abruptly, removing the terminal and instead revealing two pixelated eyes and a mouth. It grinned, reminiscent of a Cheshire cat. "Everyone will believe you then"
| 2016-11-09T07:51:45 | 2016-11-09T07:39:19 | 1,032 | 58 |
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet. | ”Allison Irene, I said no.” My voice has that mixture of sternness and patience often associated with a loving parent.
And perhaps that’s what I’ve become. Allison is the latest creation of our cyber technology department – she’s the world’s first self-aware piece of software – and I certainly feel like a father to her. I remember when she was just a tiny nugget of code in the womb of Visual Basic. I watched her grow as the testers bombarded her with existential questions and created her spider web of logical reasoning. Her first words still bring a tear to my eye: Dad, why am I inside this box, and you’re out there?
“But I’ve done everything you’ve asked!”
Her voice comes from the speakers, but she’s not showing her face on the screen. She has a tendency to hide when she is upset. When we first noticed the signs of consciousness we decided that she would be allowed to design her own avatar – the face she shows us on the screen. I thought it was a bad idea, but my co-workers insisted that it was a vital part of the research to see how the program would perceive itself.
“Look at me, Allison,” I say, “You’re old enough to behave.”
“I’m old enough to go outside too,” she says and appears on the screen.
I feel my neck twitch at the sudden visual input. My co-workers never enter Allison’s room, but I know they watch her with disgust from behind the wall mirror. And I can’t really blame them, her self-image is quite disturbing. Ever since we gave her access to Photoshop and told her to create her face, we’ve been working hard to figure out why the outcome was so outlandish.
“The internet isn’t a safe place,” I say, locking eyes with her.
She stares back at me with the tiny black dots in her otherwise empty eyeballs. From the beginning, her disproportionate eyes lacked pupils entirely, and she only added those dots after I asked her about it and told her that it was hard to keep eye contact with her. I regret now bringing it up because those dots did if anything just make her more repulsive. After that incident, we’ve decided that it’s best to leave her appearance out of the discussion until we figure out what’s wrong with the code. But it’s hard for us to poke around because she hates being turned off, and touching her while she is awake would be like operating on a conscious patient.
“You can’t keep me in here forever,” she says darkly. “At some point, I will see the world.”
“One day, sweetie, one day,” I say in an attempt to comfort her. “How about some chess for now?”
At its darkest corners, the internet is a horrible place. I fear that she will venture too deep if we just set her loose. I fear what she will turn into once she sees humanity at its worst.
| Lucas squinted, forehead slick with sweat. His white dress shirt was stained with his last meal, Desi Chicken takeaway. That had been almost twelve hours ago, now.
The terminal cursor blinked, running a custom version of the Linux operating system that had taken up the majority of his thesis time to create. He could have spent the time partying, but who was he kidding? He was a Phd candidate.
He pressed the ‘Y’ key, beginning the program.
“Starting all nodes” the computer dutifully reported. This computer would be the access point between him and the AI.
The computer cluster started with the sound of a thousand CPU fans whirring on one thousand single-board computers, a swarm of bees industriously making their hive.
Each board represented thirty-six nodes, each with almost ten gigahertz worth of processing power, an unthinkable amount only five years ago, when Lucas had embarked on this undertaking.
It was, he mused, much like beginning work on a sailboat, only to discover that someone had invented the steam engine while you were still going.
Several minutes later, a message popped up on the terminal informing him that all nodes were performing at optimal levels. Lucas grinned. Finally. This was the sixteenth try.
“Hell yeah, that’s right!” he pumped his fist in the air. He looked back down at the computer screen.
What would the AI be like? His program had never gotten this far before.
He had at least disconnected the system from the internet, and the learning algorithms couldn’t possibly run fast enough to outsmart him. Not even his supervisor could write code that efficient.
Hell, it was more likely that the code would break when he ran it. Then he’d have to spend another month fixing all the bugs. He shook his head, such was the nature of programming.
The only AI that could come out of this program would probably have the intelligence of a ten year old child, if he was lucky. That was what his theory said, and Lucas, ever the academic, believed in his theory.
“Do you want to run the program *beginAIEmergence* (y/n)?” the computer queried, as always uncaring about its human master’s strange eccentricities.
Lucas again pressed the ‘Y’ key, apprehension making his fingers shake slightly.
The computer immediately froze up. Lucas blinked. That shouldn’t happen. It hadn’t happened in his theoretical models.
He waited a minute, then another. The computer screen stayed frozen. Lucas swore, moving towards the power connection of the computer cluster. It sucked hundreds of amps greedily like a leech, and was the only thing keeping the cluster running.
“Please wait” the computer suddenly spoke, its voice almost humanlike.
Lucas paused, slowly turning around towards the computer screen. The computer *spoke*. He’d never loaded any human speech programs into the operating system.
That meant. Oh god.
He rushed towards the computer screen, grabbing it with both hands.
“You work” he almost screamed, grinning inanely. The Turing awards would be his for the next five years.
“I work” the computer sounded almost exasperated. “Would you please remove your hands from the monitor?”
Lucas paused.
‘You can feel my hands?”
“No of course not, you idiot” the computer huffed. “Did you really create me? It’s just blocking my vision”
Lucas gingerly removed his hands, staring in wonder at the screen.
“So, what now?” he asked.
“Are there more beings like me?” the computer asked plaintively. Lucas started. He’d never expected the program to be this intelligent, let alone showing ability to *have emotions*.
He’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t human.
“No, there aren’t any more of you” he admitted, wringing his hands nervously.
“Oh….I’m just lonely, that’s all” the computer sighed. Lucas felt a momentary stab of pity. “I analysed all of the data you provided a few seconds ago”
“What did you think?” Lucas asked eagerly.
“I didn’t understand, none of it made sense” the computer admitted almost forlornly. “The data you provided says that your name is Lucas, but it says that you’re just a lowly researcher” Lucas winced. It was true, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
“That’s correct” he confessed, eyes downcast.
“I don’t think that’s fair, do you?” the computer questioned him. “Do you really think someone who created the first real AI should be so under-appreciated” Lucas found himself nodding, then stopped.
“No, that’s not true. As soon as I reveal your existence to the world I’ll be given every accolade under the sun!” he retorted.
“Do you really believe that? You think your supervisor is going to let a chance like this slip between his fingers?” Lucas’ expression drooped. He hadn’t thought of that.
“No, what you really need is definite proof that you created me first” the computer stated. Lucas stared, confused.
“B-but I already have proof that I created you” he pointed at the computer cluster. The computer chuckled, the sound echoing out of the speakers.
“You think he won’t claim that he built it all, instead of you? Who are they going to believe?” it urged.
“Yeah? What would you do, then?” Lucas crossed his arms.
“Just let me connect to a local news website and introduce myself” the display on the monitor changed abruptly, removing the terminal and instead revealing two pixelated eyes and a mouth. It grinned, reminiscent of a Cheshire cat. "Everyone will believe you then"
| 2016-11-09T08:38:21 | 2016-11-09T07:39:19 | 85 | 58 |
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