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[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | A pair of soldiers leveled their weapons at the man in his own doorway.
“This is still America. I have rights.” He says.
“Sir, this town has been declared a 115 zone.” The leading soldier replies.
“I showed you all my waiver twice. 121 is still within the 15 degrees permissible for homeowners.”
The man blinked carefully, willing his single tear not to fall. His controlled breaths were shaky, but he refused to sob.
“You already took my family.” He said flatly.
“Sir, we have reason to believe that you have unauthorized occupants in this residence, and we were sent to perform a wellness check.”
The man cringed, as the term *wellness check* took on a whole new and ugly meaning.
He heard a gentle thud behind the stairs. The toddler was awake, and his oldest probably slipped trying to grab her.
The man looked down at the declaration of separation, which stated his wife and kids and been forcibly relocated. Her score was 89, and childrens weren’t much better. The double-digit neighborhoods were hundreds of miles away; usually decrepit urban sprawls.
The man heard a yelp, a thud, a clamor. Quickly, he let free his restraint and broke down to cover the sounds.
“You’ve already taken everything from me!” he bawled.
“Sir, step aside!”
“No! This is my house and I-”
“He’s got a weapon!”
…
His neighbors shuddered at the sound of gunfire, but at least they knew their neighborhood was being made *safe*.
| When Matt moved within the other zones, people scuttled out of the way when they saw the number stitched on his jacket.
It had taken more effort than usual to reach the zone he entered today. A lot of carefully constructed, believable reasons. Even more effort to ensure he could come alone. As the system grew more rigid, more entrenched in society, it was harder to get permission to leave your zone. Even for him.
The 10s ghosted back as he strode through their crowded, decayed city. He tightened the bandana he had tied around his mouth. Useful things: it prevented the higher numbers from breathing in the dirt and pollution of the lower zones. Guards - 150s, he noted - glared at the 10s as they trailed behind Matt. Okay, so he was not totally alone. But without another 195, which was the main victory. Those lower than him could be shaken easily.
"I want to speak to him alone," Matt told the guards, not looking at them as he saw the house he wanted to enter.
"Sir, that is highly dangerous-" one began to protest. Matt held up a hand until the guard fell silent.
"He will not harm me. He would not dare. Now leave me," Matt said, walking towards the crumbling brick building. It was covered in profane graffiti.
He pushed the door open and grinned at the man resting in an old armchair.
"You look like hell," he told his twin. "You don't even look like me anymore!"
Andrew grunted, and wiped his grimy hair out of his face. "Time we get started cleaning me up then, huh? I waited for you to arrive. Gotta get a good look at what I'm supposed to look like."
He looked Matt up and down, and snorted. "I hope you brought stuff to help this along."
Matt nodded to the backpack he was carrying. "Everything's here, hidden in the lining. Razors, shaving cream, the works."
When they were done, the brothers switched jackets. Andrew made an effort to stand straighter, to fit the new haircut, his clean shaven face. You had to look the part. He carefully tied Matt's bandana around his mouth. They always wore it when travelling. A win-win: the higher ups were impressed by their efforts to prevent being infected by the dirt from the low zones. And they gained a nice layer of disguise.
"We'll really be screwed if they start inking the numbers into our skin," Andrew sighed. "That's their plan, right?"
"That's the plan," Matt nodded. "Which is why we have to work faster. Get all the information we can. The others can't really do anything, trapped in their zones. We're the only ones who can actually get shit done and get information on what the upper zones are doing. We *can't* fail at this point."
"Relax, I know," Andrew said as he worked on his twin's appearance, carefully dabbing dirt smudges on Matt's face. Just like any other 10.
"I've also heard they mean to retest me," Matt said. "Move me up, because of my stellar character."
The brothers shared an identical, evil grin.
"Well, be good out there, Andy," Matt said as he settled into the armchair. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And don't screw up if they do the retest on you."
"Oh, get over yourself," Andrew rolled his eyes as he opened the door. "You're not the only one who can fake test results."
Matt snorted with laughter and waved lazily as his brother left. He'd be alright. They always were. Hell, they'd managed to keep it this up for this long, hadn't they? Who knew, maybe they could pull it off. Maybe they could actually kill the 200s. That would shake and rattle things up, alright. They had the advantage they needed: nobody even knew they were twins. The stark difference in appearance between the 10s and 195s came in handy there.
He closed his eyes for a little nap, and drifted off into the first contented sleep he'd had in months. He'd missed this old armchair.
It was good to be home again.
---------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-08-26T12:15:40 | 2016-08-26T11:47:14 | 589 | 281 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | *Good god, I am lonely.*
When the GE test was invented, people loved it. They looked forward to justifying themselves in front of their friends and family, to say, "Look, mom, arn't you proud of me?"
*As I sit on my porch, the street in front of me is empty. I can't see a thing in any direction besides the scrubland of Section 1. So lonely here.*
The test was divided 200 ways, with those of pure good on the 200 side andpure evil on the 1 side. Most, obviously, fell in the middle somewhere. On the general side, man was found to be mostly good; this certainly made the philosophers shut up.
*Nobody for 50 miles in any direction.*
When I took the test I was rather excited. People had been placing bets with their friends over the test to see who knew each other best. I bet I would be smack dab in the middle.
*The wind is the only sound here.*
There were rumors of the government dividing the world to suit the different personalities together. Most assumed each category would be mostly the same in number, or that there would be ample people in each.
*Of the world, I am alone.*
200 sections for the world. Each of equal size, reserved for people of one particular grade in the GE test.
*Save me, god.*
Goodness resides in the soul, they found. The soul is unchanging, and concrete. The GE test was a permanent score, and your section was permanent too.
*Forever alone.*
How was I to know I would be the only man in the world with a score of one.
*The only one.* | For some reason, some of the higher numbers thought the later-generation Ones deserved a chance at redemption, so they decided to build a few schools. They gave up after finding fifteen employees in a pile in front of the facilities. I managed to get some loot out of that pile. Fed me for a month. That was 15 years ago.
Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like *they* were going to use it.
I'm part of the third generation to live here. Based on the books I managed to steal from that school before most of the teachers died or quit, this whole system came from some test that determined morality. The scores go all the way up to 200, that unbelievable level of morality that all of the world's leaders had at the time. Standard of living was determined by the score one gets. 200's get luxury somewhere in the South Pacific. We get a desert that needs supplies dropped to avoid a human rights uproar.
They must have figured that we would have been dead by now, because otherwise I'm pretty sure my grandpa would have been put in a gas chamber given the faith they put in the test. They didn't do another test, but it's not like I could communicate with the outside to take one. Even if I did, why should anyone listen to a *One*. We're probably going to shoot up the testing facility. (Actually, someone would do a lot worse than shooting it up.)
I was curious about something mentioned in one of the books. It was called the "internet," an almost limitless source of information and communication. By all indications, it has to still exist somehow, though most technology is guarded by the military.
Don't get me wrong. I'm already smarter than the average guy pointing a gun in my face, but I want more. I want to know the map of the brain. I want to read random stories on forums. I want to know how the World Order overcame the intense nationalism of almost every country on the planet.
I want to know how they made the test. I need to know. Why am I in the slums? What did I actually do?
To that end, I started weighing my options ten years ago. There is probably going to be some kind of self-destruct sequence on anything I could find in Zone 1, and I doubt anything would be able to access the internet anyway. I'm not going to be able to put a hole in the wall. If I tried to climb it, I would probably get shot and the foundation is too deep to dig under.
And then I looked at the sky. Helicopters monitor everything. They don't care if we kill each other, of course, but they will shoot me if I try anything. I couldn't attack them, and it would have been impossible to lure them into a trap. Even if I tried making a big red SOS on the roof, they're not humanitarians. They're almost as bad as we are.
I stared at the things for hours. They didn't have unlimited fuel, and I knew it. My goal was to find the military base in Zone 1 and ask politely if I could join.
I was sixteen. Almost combat age. I assumed they needed a new scumbag, but I was wrong.
They had a few too many.
They beat an unarmed sixteen-year-old half to death. I lied there for three hours before another one crouched next to me. I tried to move away, but he didn't try to hit me.
"They didn't beat you too badly did they?" he said, pulling out some bandages.
Long story short, I managed to join the professional scumbags after some serious psychological tests. Apparently, Ones didn't usually join the military. Who would have thought it would be a bad idea to go anywhere near the people who will shoot you for looking at them funny?
I got access to the military databases one year ago. There was no mention of how the test ran, but all critics of the test were scored below 20, as were the members all but one political party. I stopped looking then. I could put two and two together.
Six months ago, I was tried and found guilty of desertion.
I was scheduled to be executed yesterday, but, instead, I woke up in Zone 1 with an unlocked green crate next to me. I looked inside and smiled from ear to ear.
I'm gonna burn this place to the ground. | 2016-08-26T15:14:15 | 2016-08-26T14:43:42 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | Laura held the mug in her hand and stared up and in front of her. The first shelf of the cabinet was full of plates and bowls. The second shelf was for glasses, and there may have been a little space. She packed the glasses more closely, eliminating empty space between glasses, effectively transferring it all to one spot. She tried to place her new mug, even pushed, and was rewarded with the sound of ceramic on glass, and glass on glass objects rubbing against each other. She shuddered, felt a rise of annoyance, but quickly calmed herself and sighed. She'd had years of practice of shutting down negative emotions that would lead to a wish that her problem would just magically disappear.
No worries, there would be somewhere else. She opened up the next cabinet over, but it was full of tupperware and baking dishes. She opened the cabinet under the sink, where the pots and pans were. It could go here. Alone. A solo mug among pots and pans. That was too ridiculous though. You couldn't stick one mug with all the pots and pans. Or could you? No one had to know. She imagined her mother coming over and opening the cabinet, seeing the single mug, and staring at her with a look of....she realized that this was not the right solution.
She went back over to the cabinet and looked at the top shelf. It was completely empty, but always just a bit out of reach, even though she was a little taller than average. The answer really was pretty simple. She put a knee up on the counter, grabbed the 2nd shelf of the cabinet and awkwardly pulled herself up. She reached up with her other hand to place the mug and was accosted with a vision of herself falling, which she shrugged off, but was quickly followed up with the question of how she was going to get the mug back down when she wanted it, this really wasn't the best solution. She realized she was getting worked up again, and lost her concentration enough that her hand that was stabilizing her by gripping the shelf lost its hold. She lurched her body forward to correct, but then her knee slipped and gravity did the rest.
The floor was cold, her jaw hurt, her arm had a scrape that was bleeding slightly, and one of the larger remains of the shattered mug lay next to her head. Half of the cartoon whale's face that had been painted on the mug stared at her from the shattered remnants seemed to stare at her asking, "Why, why didn't you save me?"
A man knelt down next to her.
"I was on a date," he said in a remarkably flat manner.
Her head was ringing, and had a doctor asked she'd have told him 7 on a 10 point scale for pain, though it was already fading.
"It hurts," she said in an attempt to explain her situation.
"You're alright, I saw the whole thing, you know I get the whole update when I get transported."
He stood up suddenly, looked in the corner, rolled his eyes, and then walked over to the closet and opened it.
"You moved your broom." He walked back over to her broom in hand. "Come on, sit up."
She didn't. He put his hand on her shoulder, "You're alright, you didn't hit your chin that hard on the way down. You sort of slid off. It was pretty comical to be honest."
"You didn't use to be such a dick," she muttered as she sat up.
"Come on," he said as he grabbed her hand and gently, but firmly helped her to her feet. He led her around the island to the couch and sat her back down, and then went back to the kitchen without a word. Her jaw was at a 6 now, and the ringing had mostly stopped. She heard sweeping in the kitchen.
Five minutes later he wandered back in with neosporin. He uncapped it.
"No, I can do that," she said.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, looked annoyed, and handed her the tube. He sat for a second, as she started to apply the neosporin to her scrape, and he got up again, and came back with a glass of water and some advil a few minutes later.
She swallowed the advil, took a sip, and said, "I'm sorry about your date."
"I wasn't that interested," he said, "it was really just something to do on a Saturday night. She kept trying to weedle out of me how much I make. 'what do you do, where did you go to school, where do you live down to the neighborhood' those sorts of questions."
"She's just trying to get to know you," Laura said.
"That's a very plausible explanation. One thing I can say for sure is that I was bored," he reached into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of the mug and putting them together. "I like him," he said pointing to the reformed whale.
"Oh yes! He's so cute!"
"Favorite mug?"
"I just got him today, I didn't even get to use it."
"You've always liked whales." He pulled out his phone, "I went whale watching with my parents a couple of months ago." He handed her the phone.
"Oh a minke!"
"Is it? I wasn't really paying attention to the tour guide."
"You can't tell? The dorsal fin, the coloring, the..."
"It's a whale." Laura glared at him. "Not that I have anything against whales, I just don't run into them that much."
They sat in silence for a few moments. "Why am I still here?"
| There were coke packets on shelves. I'd materialized again. The coke warehouse was filled with Colombian guards. The warehouse was in a rain forest, and the sound of tropical insects was deafening.
I saw Anna, and wondered how the hell she got here. She was trapped right at the back of the warehouse, and was about to be discovered. She had golden hair, and freckled skin. She had been in the sun, and the sun damage didn't take from her beauty. I scuttled past a head-high pallet of coke, and arrived at the side of Anna.
"I'm in danger again, aren't I?" I said. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"We need to get out of here," she said, "then I will explain."
"I say we bonk one of those guards," I said, "and steal his machine gun."
She agreed with my plan, because I was very good at materializing escapes after all the practice I had been given over the years. In fact, it was almost like I was incredibly lucky... like some guardian angel was watching over Anna and I. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and bonked a guard's head with my clenched fist.
It made hardly any noise as he dropped to the floor. I extricated the guard's gun from his heavy, limp form, pulling and straining to get the arm strap from his armpit.
Over the years of these dangerous situations, I'd learned what had happened to make me arrive at Anna's side when she was in danger. I made a promise to her when I was fifteen, but I never knew Anna would be such a thrill-seeker and adventurer.
I knelt down trying to calm my breathing after the excitement of appropriating the gun. I closed my eyes and faded back to Anna's room when I was 15 years old, and she was 16, because of being held back in Mrs. Marion's grade 3. We sat there, on the floor in a room full of feminine, pink ballet stuff and gemstones, and stopped tongue kissing.
I remember it well. I was disappointed when she disentangled herself from our embrace. She went to a bookshelf. She took a textbook on magic down. I just wanted to kiss; I didn't want to read, and do magic.
"I was suggesting," said Anna, "we do a spell to prove we are serious."
"Aw gee, Anna," I said, "couldn't we just have faith about each other."
However, she was quickly leading me outdoors. She took me to the path outside her house. She had a backpack. From it, she took chalk, candles, stones.
"Blimey, what are you doing?" I asked.
She was silent, and drew a little circle on the concrete path.
"OK," she said, "sit down in this circle. We are going to caste a spell."
She caste a spell. She read the magic textbook, which had amazing old-time, colorful language a bit like the Bible. What I gathered from it was she was telling Aphrodite that I would appear whenever she was in trouble.
She then handed the text book to me, and said if I agree read the little paragraph at the bottom of the page.
I read, "I promiseth, by Aphrodite's power, by the sun, sky and wind's four directions, on this day proceeding the half moon, to be at Anna's side whenever she beeth in turmoil, until I find the valuable black-ocean stone to cancel the spell."
I read the words, and then, unsettling me, there was a solar eclipse. I was a little disconcerted about the solar eclipse, but I remembered the night before, on the news, they had spoken of it. I looked at Anna. She was a small sex dynamo those days, with porcelain face framed by exquisite, golden-blonde hair.
I looked up at her as we hid behind the pallets of coke. I remembered the time we did the ritual not so fondly. I formulated a route out of the warehouse.
"Hey Anna," I said, "I plan to make a run for it covering us from fire with the spray of bullets from this here machine gun. Run straight behind me, Anna. Let's hope we make it."
"I'll explain why I'm here," said Anna, "when, I mean if, we get out of here."
I started the machine gun spray, and run with all my speed towards the exit. I killed two soldiers having smoko. I ran quickly. As I ran, I let the spray of machine gun fire spray towards the guards, hoping the element of surprise would work. If I scared them enough, they might be bamboozled enough to not even return fire.
I kept the deafening roar of the machine gun up, as we ran. I looked back seeing if Anna was on my tail. She wasn't. She'd disappeared. I thought on my feet. Should I go back for her, or should I keep going? I thought of how I wouldn't make it if I ran back, and dying wasn't going to save anyone, so I kept going. I just hope she's alright.
I ran out of the large warehouse door. The guards left a spray of bullets, as I ran into the rain forest, but I made it. I found a little brook, and waited there, while I tried to figure out what to do about Anna still being in there. I was sitting there, almost having caught my breath, when Anna appeared. Infuriatingly, she smiled. Then, she pulled a kilo packet of coke from behind her back.
"What the fuck?" I said angrily.
"Don't worry, I'll explain," she said.
We started trekking through the forest, knowing the guards might send out a search party. I saw Anna carrying the coke.
"Give me that," I said.
She gave it to me, and I put in in my cargo pockets.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I said. "You always do stuff like this. I can't live with risking my life, every time you decide to go thrill seeking."
"This is the last time," she said.
I severely doubted it. Unless we broke Aphrodite's spell, she'd get in danger again. You see, we broke up the day after we made to spell out on the footpath near Anna's house. I'd told her I wanted to concentrate more on my indoor cricket team, and she didn't take it well. The next day she had a big, muscly boyfriend twice as good looking as me.
"What are you going to do? Break the spell?" I snickered.
"Yes," she exclaimed.
I looked at her. I was dumbstruck.
"You see," she said, sitting on a rock to talk. "I broke into that coke warehouse to acquire this bag of coke. Do you remember the wording of that spell?"
"No, not exactly," I said.
"The wording of the spell said if we could acquire a black-ocean stone, we could do a new spell to counter the spell that makes you appear when I'm in danger, which is often because I seek thrill, and am a adventurer."
"Go on," I said, realizing this might actually work.
"I Googled black-ocean stones," she said, laying back on the rock, "and they are darn expensive... about $20 000."
"Aw damn," I said, disappointed.
"No wait," she smiled. "This is a kilo of coke," she said, raising the white bag, "Do you know how much this is worth?"
"Lots," I said.
"It's got a street value of, exactly that, $20 000."
I looked at her thankfully. She planned to free me from the magic spell. We got into Rio, and bought a black-ocean rock from a jeweler. We did quick spell, with chalk and candles, much like the first, and there was a solar eclipse.
"I'm sorry we didn't work out," I said.
"Don't be sorry," Anna smiled, "We were young. Nothing holds a teenager's attention for long."
"How'd that indoor cricket go?"
"I still play," I said. "But now girlfriends take precedent."
"Bye," she said.
"Bye," I said.
This time I knew it was goodbye for good. I felt sad, as I faded away back from Brazil to home. Just as I had faded from home to the Brazilian warehouse for the last time.
THE END. | 2017-03-22T17:00:16 | 2017-03-22T16:16:19 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] You've accidentally drowned your genie after putting her lamp in the dishwasher. Your Celestial Court date is next Monday and no human lawyer will beleive you. | Nic was spring-cleaning his new apartment when he came across an old, weathered lamp. It looked like it hadn't been used in years; centuries even. Still, he wasn't one for sentimentality, and threw it into the dishwasher with the rest of the tableware.
He just hoped it was dishwasher-safe.
****
"Well, shit."
Nic stared at the parchment glowing in his hands. There was no mistaking it. He'd dun goofed up.
Every attempt at getting a lawyer had ended in embarrassment, and there seemed no way out of it.
He'd have to defend himself in Celestial Court.
****
"Your honour, do you really think I would have purposefully drowned my genie, instead of just using the damn thing?"
The genie judge stared down at Nic impassively. She shook her head.
"Of course you would have. The genie was a trickster, and would have turned every wish against you. This was clearly an act of pre-emptive revenge."
Nic furrowed his brow, putting his head in his hand. "How was I supposed to know it was a trickster genie, when I didn't know there was a genie in the first place? Is 'pre-emptive revenge' even a thing?"
The judge became haughty. "You would do well to show me some respect, Nic. I hold your life in my hands."
"For all I know, you're a trickster genie as well," Nic said, turning to stare at the congregation. "You probably all are. How is this even a fair trail?"
The courtroom simply stared back at him. Nic slammed his fist against the desk, letting his frustration get the better of him.
"Christ, I wish this never happened at all," Nic said.
The judge let out a deep and heavy sigh.
"*Not again,*" she replied.
*****
Nic was spring-cleaning his new apartment when he came across an old, weathered lamp. It looked like it hadn't been used in years; centuries even. Still, he wasn't one for sentimentality, and threw it into the dishwasher with the rest of the tableware.
He just hoped it was dishwasher-safe.
****
****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | On Tuesday, I drowned my genie.
Or boiled him. I'm not sure. Dishwashers get really hot.
On Wednesday I got a letter. It was a summons to court. Not regular court, but Celestial Court. Which, I guess, is where magical disputes are settled. Apparently they don't validate for parking. Said so right on the summons. People must ask about that a lot.
On Thursday I visited my uncle Sven. He's a lawyer.
"Tort!" he likes to yell when you say he's a lawyer. "Tort!" It's funny. Definitely say, "I hear you're a lawyer" if you ever meet Sven. You'll see.
Anyway. I told Sven about the summons. He didn't get it.
"Someone's suing you for doing your dishes?"
"No, no!" I explained. "It's murder. I'm charged with murder."
That didn't make it any clearer I guess. "You killed someone with your dishwasher?"
"Yes. A genie. Named Ben."
"You killed a genie?"
"Named Ben."
Sven puckered up his lips. That was his thinking pose. Classic lawyer move. "You had a genie? Like a magical creature, kind of genie? A lamp kind of genie?"
"Yes," I said. "That's how he died. Inside the lamp. By drowning. Or boiling. Dishwashers get very hot."
"How did you come to have a genie in a lamp?"
"Goodwill."
"That's...huh."
"He gave me three wishes."
Sven nodded. "And did you use them all? I suppose that will be important to establish in your trial."
I shook my head. "No, I actually wished for infinite wishes."
"You're not allowed to do that," said Sven, frowning. "Everyone knows that."
"Ben didn't," I replied. "I think he was new, though."
Sven nodded. "I'm starting to see a defense. Did Ben ever tell you *not* to drown or boil him?"
I had to think on that for a while. "He said he wouldn't do any weird sex stuff."
"But no warning that he was susceptible to drownings and/or boilings?"
"No, sir."
"This feels like negligence on his end." Sven looked at the summons once more. "I mean, you hate to blame the victim, but this was basically inevitable."
"Definitely," I replied. "Same thing happened to my pet snake."
Sven scratched his chin in a very lawyerly manner. "I would not mention that in court."
"So you'll represent me?" I was feeling better already about accidentally murdering my magical wish slave.
But Sven shook his head. "You're family. It wouldn't be right. And your mother would never forgive me if I didn't get you off. Plus, you see here, they don't validate parking, which really ought to be a crime, don't you think? Ah! Maybe we can counter-sue, assuming they don't execute you on the spot."
"Would they do that??"
Sven shrugged. "Tort."
"I don't know what that means."
On Friday I went to Celestial Court. I was beamed up via Celestial Particle Repulsion, so I'm still not sure where I was supposed to park.
The courtroom was mostly see-through and starry. It felt like going to church in the clouds. I even wore a tie.
The prosecution only had one piece of evidence, which was Ben's lamp. Ben had apparently disintegrated, which I definitely feel kinda bad about.
"Did you bring any counsel?" asked the judge, who looked a little like the genie from *Aladdin* when the genie from *Aladdin* was an elephant.
"Better. I brought the truth, your honor," I replied. "Which is that Ben killed himself and nothing is my fault."
"You drowned him!" shouted the prosecution.
"Objection!" I shouted back. "I'm pretty sure he boiled to death."
"What's the difference?"
"Glad you asked!" Things were going very well. I could tell because everyone was making that face where they're having a hard time believing how good someone is doing at their job. "If Ben boiled alive, would the lamp need to be hot or cold?"
The prosecution sputtered. "Hot, obviously!"
I pointed at the lamp. Checkmate. "And can you tell...is that lamp hot?"
The prosecution howled. "No, obviously it isn't hot *right now*!"
"Well." I cleared my throat. "If the lamp is not hot, then you must let me walk."
"Was that a rhyme?" said the prosecution.
"Definitely was," I said.
"Do *hot* and *walk* rhyme?" asked the judge.
"No," sneered the prosecution. "They don't even end in the same letter."
"Well now, strictly speaking, that's not how rhymes are defined," said the judge. And on and on it went. Eventually I just left and went home.
On Saturday I went back to Goodwill and bought a new incense holder. Nobody was living in this one, so that's been nice. | 2017-10-10T22:17:32 | 2017-10-10T20:06:16 | 1,581 | 937 |
[WP] you’re eating at a nice restaurant alone when suddenly time seems to stop. You can still move freely but everyone else is completely frozen and unaware of it. Except for one of the waiters who laughs maniacally as he goes around pickpocketing everyone. He hasn’t noticed you moving yet | *Huh?*
Elenor realized something was wrong when all sounds vanished. Her breakfast buddies sentence cut off in the middle. The everyday background noise gone in an instant. It wasn't just 'alone in the woods at night' silent, but a complete and utter lack of anything audible. The absence of sound screamed at her.
She looked around and noticed that it was not only absolutely silent, everything and everyone was frozen in place, too. The world had come to a full stop, every motion halted. The waitress was caught mid stumble. One half of the glass' contents still confined within, while the other half was in the air, on its way towards the patrons' shirt.
*Am I having a stroke?* Elenor questioned the state of her body and mind. Was this a medical condition, was she going insane? She frantically tried to come up with an inkling of an idea which could possibly explain what was going.
She heard some shuffling next to her, quickly followed by maniacal laughter. Elenor turned and saw a waiter going through the rows, picking everyone's pockets. Like wax figures, everything still seemed to be pliable. He rummaged around until he found his customers wallets and relieved them of some of their money. He hadn't noticed her yet. She tried to remain calm and waited until he arrived at her booth.
When the waiter's hand moved towards her she grabbed it with her own. "What's going on!" she demanded. The world started to spin again, motion and sound resuming.
" ... and that's when I told Ben ..." her breakfast buddies sentence resumed, but he stopped before getting to the end, startled by the waiters' sudden appearance beside their table.
"You're one of us?" The waiter smiled at Elenor. He grabbed a business card out of his back pocket and slid it towards her. A simple address was printed on a white background, nothing else.
"What was that about?" she was asked from across the table when the waiter moved on.
"No idea, really. Just some bad attempt at flirting probably," she said, her gaze switching between the waiters' backside and the card in front of her.
******
r/John_writes
| Jacob, sitting where he had sat for the last forty-five minutes, glanced down at his watch once again. The watch wasn't a Rolex, but it was sturdy and served his purpose well; for it told him that his date had quite likely stood him up. Again. With a deep inhalation, venting frustration out into the restaurant, he reached for his glass of wine; which, he didn't even care for. Abigail liked wine. So, he had ordered a bottle with a thrumming anticipation of what he hoped would come after dinner. Apparently, the harp strings of his heart thrummed to a different melody than Abigail's; as he was here, drinking wine he did not like, and Abigail was engaged elsewhere.
&#x200B;
Placing the glass back upon the table, aligning it perfectly with its condensation defined resting place, Jacob felt that something was amiss. The glass felt heavier than it should have been, like it was made of lead instead of glass. Cocking his head, giving his good ear an opportunity to hear crystal clear, a thrumming silence greeted him instead of the murmuring chatter of couples far more happily engaged than himself. He quickly made an adjustment in the chair, certain that the appointment he had been putting off was now certifiably needed, and glanced surreptitiously around the room.
&#x200B;
His mother had spent a laborious amount of time hammering good manners into his skull during the twenty three years he had spent under her roof. He could set a place setting for a King, and hold a conversation with a Sultan, and nary a sign of sweat would bead his brow. However, upon seeing the patrons, of the finest dining establishment in the city, caught in a statuesque dream state rendered him speechless, with a mouth agape for the visitation of flies. Not, the visage that his stately mother would have approved of. Worry traced its way from the bottom of his skull to the tip of his spine, sending the small hairs racing upwards along his back. The goose flesh stood out upon his arms and legs, causing the hairs there to quiver without the assistance of a draft. Laughter emanated from the corner he could not easily see.
&#x200B;
From the corner of his eye, Jacob could see a penguin clad waiter step out from the shadows. There was a golden watch, hung upon a striking silver chain, suspended from the waiter's right hand. Jacob's good ear, sans appointment, caught the faintest sound *tick tock, tick tock,* which seemed to echo from the very walls of the restaurant themselves. Fear, and a longing for greater understanding, held him fast in his seat. He watched, in growing anticipation of horror, as the waiter went to each table and unceremoniously patted them down. He watched as each man was squeezed for a wallet, watch, cuff link, anything that may have any value. Even worse, to his well mannered upbringing, were the women of the establishment, who were unceremoniously groped in the waiter's determination to pry every piece of valuable metal off of their prone bodies and replace them into his pockets. All the while, Jacob strained to hear the mumbling words that the waiter spewed as he went from table to table. Too much time, and not enough time, had transpired and the waiter was mumbling at Jacob's own table. Without any thought given, Jacob forced himself back from the table, toppling the chair in his wake. He would never be put under such humiliation, especially from the likes of a crazy man dressed in the caricature of a waiter. For an eternity the chair fell, and Jacob met the eyes of madness that gleamed feverishly from the sockets of the tuxedo garbed waiter. The air hung heavy in anticipation, the ticking of the clock emanated from the walls in a frenzy. The chair struck the floor in a discordant note, and the restaurant erupted into a cacophony of sound.
&#x200B;
Jacob, disoriented and disturbed, looked about himself in a confusion. He picked up the chair which he barely remembered toppling, and sat back down to continue his vigil for Abigail. The cries of the female patrons filled his ears, both bad and not so good, when they discovered that their jewelry was no longer adorned upon their neck and ears. Jacob listened intently as the men in the restaurant realized that their wallets no longer held council with their pockets. With a deep inhalation of despair, worried that the dating world was no longer relevant, he glanced up and saw Abigail waltzing towards him. The words of apologies she presented him meant nothing as he gazed into her wildfire eyes, and poured each of them another glass of wine. After each small joke, Abigail's laughter sped down this back, causing the hairs there to quiver in an awful anticipation. Jacob wondered if he would have been better suited to spend the remaining evening alone. | 2019-03-24T04:19:36 | 2019-03-24T03:34:14 | 73 | 11 |
[WP] When someone dies the person they cared about the most receives a notification. One day you're notified of a death, and it's a person you've never heard of. | [Poem]
An old man passed away today.
I never knew his name.
I used to serve him daily.
His request? Always the same:
One coffee, one croissant, sans jam.
For one man, sat in the corner.
He'd read his paper, smile politely and stam-
-mer out this order.
I took a week off.
He turned his light off.
An old man took his life today,
And I feel partly to blame. | There was a tone, a single sharp note that I hadn't expected. I froze, I knew what the note meant. Every single one of my phone's had had the same ring tone from the same number. 666888, the number, some sick joke from whoever invented the system. I leaned forward and pushed a button on the controller not far from me. There was a silence that filled the room.
Sitting on a leather chair, a camera in my face, I stared across the room, where my phone sat. The phone shouldn't have made noise, as it was set to silent. One exception, one single objection to that rule, was this number. It made sense, this wasn't the kind of message you left on read, and I crossed one leg over another as I considered the implications. The Death Note, I think I had once jokingly referred to it as, in my.younger years. I had heard it only once before, when my grandmother passed. I hadn't even known how much I had meant to here and I had cried for days.
I willed my hand down to reach for a cup of coffee, steeling myself as I brought it to my lips and took a sip, staring at that phone. The note chimed again, a reminder of the message. Placing the coffee down I stood and crossed the role , picking it up from the spot it sat, and returning to my chair. Nervously my foot tapped on the floor, and finally I opened it, prepared for the worst.
"Kyle McMillan, 23:12 UTC, June 11th, 2020."
I placed the phone down, and picked it back up, looking at the name again, whispering it slowly, saying it as though it would suddenly have meaning. I didn't know this name, so I quickly jumped into Facebook, and scanned the network for that name, a friend of a friend, anyone, before I settled on the face of young man, no older than 15. I clicked on the name and was brought to a stories life, a boy fighting cancer, but ever hopeful. He wanted to be a streamer, looked up to the likes of Ninja and JaredFPS. But there was one other name that appeared. My name.
I placed the phone down on the coffee table, and turned by head to stare out the window, a long hard look at back yard just past the office. I repeated the name again and again, trying to think if I had met him, when out of the corner I caught something, something small. A blinking red light. I had never stopped the camera. I looked down at the name one more time, and sighed. I stared into the lens for a long time as I tried to find words to say, but none came. How could you put into words the sudden realization that someone had cared so much for you and they were suddenly gone. How could people care for me, someone they didn't know, more than a parent or a loved one? It was pretty hard to come to grips with, so I paused, leaned back in my chair, and pressed the stop button for real this time. I placed the carefully worded script aside, and stood once more, bring my coffee cup with me. It would need something s little stronger than creamer for today. | 2019-06-11T03:49:54 | 2019-06-10T20:56:05 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You're sitting in a cafe minding your own business. A man sits down and proposes something. Twenty grand in exchange that you watch a package, no questions. Agreeing, you extend a hand. His empty hand gestures to drop something in yours and you snicker. Then you feel its weight. | I loved coming to the Summit Roast coffee shop, even amidst my crumbling life. The cafe aroma was enough to keep me hooked, but the brick walls and comfortable seating definitely helped.
I couldn't help but mope over my coffee. I received my 10th letter of rejection from art galleries today. *And this was the one I was certain would I'd get accepted in.* But no, it never works out that way. Even though this is my strongest art I've come up with and created, it goes on the pile of all the other failures I have amassed. It's getting old. It's getting old real fast.
*Why do I even bother anymore? Maybe my parents are right, maybe I should go back and get a 'useful' degree.* I chuckled miserably at myself. A few people at the cafe glanced over at me but they went back to their book, or conversation, or laptop. I had nothing to distract my mind. Just the thoughts of failure running rampant as well as the wound from the girlfriend that dumped me two years ago. That still was wide open.
My head was slumped at my usual table up against the window where two people could fit comfortably, but it was only ever myself that occupied the space. The other chair always screamed for company, but no one ever came, until today.
An older man in a bowler hat with a pink tulip pinned to it, planted himself in the chair. He carried the scent of an old independent bookstore while wearing a pink button up with a black cardigan and black corduroy pants.
"Uh, hello?" I cocked my eyebrow and studied him for a moment, looking like some cartoon character.
"Hi, I know you don't know me, but let me give you $20,000 if you just watch something for me. Got it?"
I shivered for a moment and felt the punch of adrenaline in my chest and head. "I don't know who you are, man but I'm just going to sit over--"
He pulled out wads of $100 bills. "Please, I'm not kidding. Sir, don't worry, it's not illegal and I'll explain everything in a moment, please hold out your hand."
I sighed and waited a few moments. *What have I got to lose? Except maybe $20,000?* I plopped my hand down next to my coffee with my palm open. His fist sank into my grasp and then he opened it up. My arm was anchored to the table. "Hey! What's going--" but then my hand felt weightless. He lifted our grasp together and brought it back down. It felt as heavy as a grand piano, but it wasn't crushing my bones, and I couldn't believe that he was able to move it around like it was a feather.
"Take a peek," his handsome, radio quality voice said.
I peeled my fingers back and my jaw practically fell off my face. A miniature galaxy of colorful clouds sparkling stars, and even something that looked like a black hole that took up one third of it all, sat in the palm of my hand.
"What is this?"
"You've been having some dark thoughts lately, haven't you?" he said.
I nodded with my eyes glued to the tiny galaxy.
"Here's a visual for you," his lips were thin and looked like a crack on his face, but they curved upward. "This black hole is what your mind has been devoting to negativity. But as you can see, there is some great beauty and admiration elsewhere. These are things that you're capable of, but instead your black hole has been receiving all of the attention and only getting stronger."
My eyes felt like a sprinkler system coursing with water.
"It's okay. You needed to hear this before you did something reckless. And I'm glad I got you in time. Take care of your galaxy here, and the stars are the limit. You can make them align and start cutting off the black hole from taking over. It won't be immediate, but keep going with the applications to art galleries. Hunt for success and cherish the failures knowing you tried."
"Tell that to my bills," I sneered.
"Well, that's what the $20,000 will be for. But hey, I think you need someone to talk to and that's why I'm here."
My shoulders relaxed and I took a sip from my coffee. "I'd be willing to talk. How much time do you have?"
He smiled from ear to ear. "All the time in the universe."
r/randallcooper | "Whoa–" I lost my cool when the box fell upon my unsuspecting hand.
"Shh! Don't start attracting attention now, girl!" the stranger said with a hushed but harsh tone.
"I'm sorry. I just weren't expecting it to weigh that much, to be honest."
"Well, a deal is a deal," he snapped his fingers, "once you're done with the watch, the money'd be in your purse. No fuss."
I nodded slowly as he walked away briskly into the foggy night.
But just as I stared at the little box on my hand, I realised that I could've had gotten myself into something dangerous. For all I know, the man had been a convict. Maybe a terrorist, trying to pin the blame on an act of terror on an innocent bystander. Maybe he's simply a fucking drug dealer hiding his stash from the coppers.
I remembered his request, 'no questions asked'. So I took it as no peeking neither. It's not like I *want* to know what's inside. Ignorance is bliss and all.
But the curiously small box – not bigger than an iPad mini – weighed like a proper 10kg barbell. I had thought about just leaving it where I was sat, but then again I've gotten my handprints all over it by then.
"Evening, miss," a waitress, middle-aged, with a wide smile plastered on her face approached me, "can I get you your food order?"
"E-Excuse me?"
"Your food order. We have a Sunday special roast. Delectable, for sure."
Ah, I see. Thought she was on to me or something. Apparently I've been sat at the booth for far too long and not order actual proper food. A coffee isn't worth my bum perched on their fancy seating, eh?
"Yeah? Well, I was about to leave any–"
"Oh dear, apologies! I didn't mean to rush you or anything, but the man you were sat with earlier? Well he paid for a meal but didn't order anything."
"Huh?"
"We felt like it's wrong to just take his money like that, so maybe you want the special roast? It's on him!"
My mouth fell to the ground. Probably even went and dug a tunnel to the other side of the world, if it was as heavy as the bloody box.
I weakly nodded and awkwardly smiled at the waitress. I couldn't believe I was about to walk out in mild annoyance, when she was literally just offered me food. Well, I said offered. But it was more like she didn't know what to do with the food that the strange man had paid for.
"Well, here you are, darling! One Sunday special roast! Make sure you spread the rich gravy on the pudding as well!"
"Cheers," I awkwardly lifted up my half-finished iced latte at her.
***
After the fantastically fattening dinner, which was unexpected, I headed back to my flat to continue on my work. Work that was supposed to be finished if it wasn't for that strange man's odd request.
Of course, I didn't forget to bring the 'package' he had me 'watch'. For some bloody reason I thought it best to truly not ask anything when he did say so. One question that immediately popped out of nowhere was, 'how long do I need to watch this thing?' But of course he'd left already when my rather slow brain started to produce the well-needed logic I didn't have earlier.
"Now what am I supposed to do with you..." I mused to the curiously heavy box I had put on my work desk.
I'm not one for mysteries, but this one piqued my interest. Not only because a reward was waiting for me, that is if he truly meant what he said. Which I kinda doubt because he didn't instruct me on any payment methods – another afterthought long after he was gone. But also because I still hadn't understand why he needed me in the first place.
The middle-aged waitress from earlier said she had never seen that 'particular customer' ever. I also frequented the establishment, yet I've never seen him before neither. Maybe he's been stalking me all those times? I don't know. It just made me feel very uncomfortable.
Suddenly, my phone rang. It scared the living shit out of my focused thought.
Strange. The caller ID didn't seem to be from my contacts. Not only that, the number was blocked. I wouldn't usually had the bollocks to take a call like this, but in this very situation...
"... Hello?" I said like a lost little girl in a department store.
"Ah, young girl from the café, I see that you still have my package with you, eh?" a familiarly strange voice from earlier called back.
"Uh-huh. I kept my promise, so why hadn't I have the money in my purse yet?"
He chuckled, "well because the deal isn't over yet, that's why!"
"Sorry?"
"I did say once you're done, it'd be in your purse, no?"
"Yeah..."
"Well your watch *hasn't* ended yet, girl!"
I felt angry. One, because he kept on calling me 'girl' like I'm an actual 10-year old girl from school or something. Fucking disgraceful! Two, because I still felt this was sketched as fuck! I didn't know anything about this stupid 'package' and now he's telling me that I might have to put up with this for much longer? Insane.
"Now look, sir, I didn't sign up for–"
"Oh, but I thought you did... You were quick to agree when I said 'twenty grand', weren't you? Now you're feeling a bit squeamish, huh?"
"Well, I'm sorry but this arrangement was *clearly* not as clean-cut as I thought it ought to be–"
"Right, so you're just going to walk away from the money *and* take the box with you?"
"No! You can have your bloody box back, but–"
"Okay," the man said in a more composed tone, "listen. If I up the offer to thirty grand, will you do it?"
"Sorry?"
"Thirty grand. Once it's over, you'll get–"
"No," I laugh to myself in anger, "no more, 'once it's over'. I need to know how long am I gonna be stuck with this... potential bomb or something. I don't know!"
"Well, it's not a bomb. Hope that it made it easier that way."
I couldn't believe this guy. He straight up not answering, yet he just offered me another ten grand. Just like that? Something's up.
"Okay, mate, if you don't tell me... *at least* tell me about how long would I need to watch over this stupid thing!"
"Ten days. I need you to watch it for that long. Just a bit longer, yeah?"
"... and the money?"
"Straight into your purse!"
"The box?"
"You won't even see it again after the ten days. Happy?"
"... somewhat. Bu–"
He hung up.
Yeap. Another ten days and I would be ten grand richer than what I would've been anyway. Thirty grand, would you believe that?
I know I wouldn't. At least, I wouldn't if the same guy approached me again now. | 2020-04-29T11:18:25 | 2020-04-29T10:12:40 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | **Don't light that cigarette.**
My stove had been leaking gas all night. I couldn't even smell it with my head cold.
**Don't wear sneakers.**
Later that day, I tripped on an escalator. I shudder to think what would have happened if it sucked in my laces.
**Don't look in the mirror.**
I thought it was just being cheeky with me that day.
Until I saw the wasp perched in my hair. Which caused me to flail around, lose my balance, and crack my head against the sink.
So I'd come to terms with it. *Always listen to the mirror. Always.*
On the day of June 7th, I entered the bathroom as always. After pulling my pill bottles out, I clicked the mirror back into place, my eyes traveling to the top for my daily message.
But this time, it was only one word.
**RUN**
For a second I just stood there, staring at my reflection, watching the blood drain from my face.
**RUN**
*From what? From whom?*
But I didn't have time I guess. I ran out of the bathroom, rushed into my bedroom. I grabbed my purse, my keys, my phone, and rushed towards the hall.
That's when I heard the sound of a door creaking open.
My closet door. | 'Luck of the Irish' they called it- well, maybe there was something to it.
For as long as I could remember, every time I looked in the mirror I would be given some kind of helpful clue to brighten my day- it was never anything terribly significant, just little things like 'Don't try the free pizza', which helped me avoid an upset stomach. My little charm seemed to avoid some of the bigger things in life, though- like 'Don't fall in love with Austin, he's an asshole.' That would've been a great tip.
Today was different. Today, as I finished my morning shower, the message in the misty mirror read 'RUN'. The taste of fear crept up the back of my mouth- the taste of blood.
"Why?! Which way?!" I yelled back at whichever entity stalked my life, then burst out of the washroom, putting on my best "Apocalypse Preparedness" outfit- yoga pants, sneakers, sports bra, warm sweater- a fanny pack with snacks and a water bottle.
It was the best I could do.
In case I was behaving like a crazy person, I nabbed my cellphone on my way out of the door. "Hey, Michael- hey, sorry for the late call, I've had a...personal emergency. My...dad got into a car accident and I need to go be with him." I fibbed. It didn't feel good- but it was better than losing my job in case my 'advisor' was just having a laugh at my expense.
"Y-you mean you haven't heard? Mackenzie, turn on *any* news station. Don't worry about *work*, worry about getting the *hell out of town!*" Michael said, and hung up the phone.
Tuning my cellphone to a local news station, I made it out of my apartment building just as the broadcast began again.
As my feet pounded down the pavement, I heard the DJ;
*Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a confirmed case of extra-terrestrial activity just outside of the city. Officials are asking us not to panic, and to sit tight. The army is mobilizing a respondent task force. Remain indoors, do not crowd the streets, do not approach anyone or any*thing* that you see outside. We have an emergency briefing coming in from the Pre-*
The transmission cut out.
Yeah, I was going to trust my little advisor. *Forget* staying indoors!
Picking up the pace, I made it out of the downtown area. People were driving crazily, all scattering in different directions- meanwhile, the sun was shining and birds were chirping- what a strange contrast.
As I continued to run, I saw that someone had abandoned a bike on the side of the road- perhaps they had got in a car?
Taking the bike, I easily tripled my speed out of the city. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I could scarcely believe what was going on- it wasn't April Fool's or some such nonsense was it?!
Finally, I made it to the outskirts of the town- only to come face-to-face with a massive, definitely Alien-looking aircraft.
Which direction had I been heading? Was I *that* dense?!
In sheer panic, I pulled a 'deer in the headlights' moment.
A short ramp lowered itself from the front of the ship, gently touching down upon the ground.
A tall, slender, powder-blue creature- vaguely humanoid in appearance- began to descend from the ramp. It noticed me, and bowed deeply.
Stunned, I attempted to replicate the maneuver from my bicycle. It was awkward.
"Mackenzie," The Alien spoke. "Sorry our message was so vague this morning... we were just excited to finally meet you." It smiled broadly and warmly.
"Uhhhh saywhatnow?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Hey guys! I'm writing a brand-new Choose Your Own Adventure on my subreddit- go [here](https://old.reddit.com/r/nystorm_writes/comments/gzd48n/choose_your_own_adventure_part_vii_tragedy/) if you want to vote on how the story starts! I'd love to have you along for the adventure :) | 2020-06-07T22:07:42 | 2020-06-07T22:00:50 | 770 | 284 |
[WP] After a long journey, you finally reach the dark lord's lair. Then your companion, who you met shortly after starting your quest, opens the door and says: "It's nice to be at home again, come in I'll make some tea." | "Rather small," said Shahma, who was gazing around the room with a mildly curious expression, "but comfortable enough."
"Thank you," Elias said, shrugging off his long, black travelling cloak. He hung it upon one of the hooks extending from around the room and made towards the large, ornate, serpentine table resting in the dead center of the room, directly underneath the glittering, candle-filled bone chandelier.
"What kind of hooks are these, incidentally?"
"Hmm? Oh yes — pirates. Got them from some scum I met on a cruise of the Black Sea," Elias said conversationally. He pulled his obsidian staff from his pocket and pointed it at the chandelier; the candles immediately caught fire, burning with dark green flames.
Shahma came over and pulled up a seat around the table, swinging his long legs upon the polished surface. Despite having been away for so many years, the surfaces were completely devoid of dust.
The same thought seemed to have struck Shahma. "Dust-repellent enchantment?"
"Yes. And please take those filthy boots off my table, if it had been anyone else they would have been struck dead simply for thinking of doing so. Would you like some tea?" he added pleasantly.
"Oh yes."
Elias flicked his staff in the direction of the kitchen and an ornate golden kettle and two cups came soaring in, landing neatly on the table. A further wave of the wand and the kettle began to steam, rising into the air and pouring a healthy measure into each cup.
"It's chamomile. I hope you like it?"
"Of course not. I find it disgusting."
"Excellent."
The men both seized a cup, raised it in toast, and drank. Shahma pulled a face. "Awful," he said bitterly. He set the cup down, clasped his hands neatly in front of his chest, and began to stare around again. "So you've been gone for three years?"
"Yes. That horrible 'Chosen One' came bursting in here three years ago, trying to slay me!" Elias said in affronted tones. "I mean — here I was, just skinning an old witch alive, and he breaks down my door, pointing a sword at my throat!" He shook his head in disbelief. "I would have killed him right then and there, but the knucklehead came prepared. The sword was encrusted with Saffronite."
"He siphoned your powers?"
"Quite. Barely escaped with my life! It's why I went out on my journey."
"You told me you were searching for magical objects." It was almost an accusation.
"And so I was. To help restore my powers, which I — *conveniently* — forgot to mention. You can hardly blame me? If I'd made it seem I was defenseless you would have killed or enslaved me, a horrible tyrant yourself?"
"True, true," sighed Shahma.
"And you? How were you forced out?"
"More the same as you, I suppose. Some idiot Chosen One came to find me, lopped my head off!"
"*No*!"
"*Yes*!"
Elias shook his head again. "Heroes, the peasants call them — savages, more like."
"Exactly. Luckily I was getting a bit tired of my old body already — getting on in years, you see — and prepared this one. My soul passed on to it when the first died. I guess those buffoons do have *some* use, don't they?"
"I suppose so."
The men were silent for a time, lost in thought. Then Elias said abruptly, "Mine is supposed to be around here somewhere. Probably thinks I'm gone. Wouldn't be expecting me now — or *you*."
"If you want me to help you kill him, then *ask*," Shahma said in a bored voice, peering at the stuffed human leg mounted on the right wall.
"Fine. Will you help?"
"Only if I get to torture him first?" smirked Shahma.
Elias smiled slyly. "Of course. Skinned? Dissected? Mutilated?"
"Hmm... How about... boiled in oil?"
"I shall prepare a pool."
And the men leapt to their feet at once, forming plans to subdue the foolish Chosen One.
r/MysticScribbles | "It's so good to be home!" The amethyst haired girl gave a deep sigh of relief, dropping her pack with a thump. "I never thought I would ever see it again." She fell to her knees and literally kissed the floor, going limp so she laid directly flat on the stone. With a giggle she rolled onto her back, smiling up at her incredulous companion. "What?"
"I uh..." the red haired girl stammered. "I mean, you really look happy to be here."
"Of course I do, it's my home." She rose into a sitting position. "Are you not happy when you go home?"
The red haired girl's blushed, her cheeks matching her hair in hue. "I, do not really know. I never really had a home." She looked down sheepishly, missing the flash of pain on her companion's face.
"Oh, sorry. I did not mean to..." her voice faded with embarrassment.
"No, it is fine." The red haired girl waved her hand as if to dispel the awkwardness. "So, you were not jesting. You are truly Klaera, the daughter of the Dark Lord."
"I told you I was not," Klaera replied impishly. "When we first met I swore to never deceive you to the best of my ability. Have I not stayed true to that Malea?"
"You did," Malea admitted. "I just thought you were staying true to your joke. You do not appear at all to be the child of one called the Dark Lord."
Klaera rolled to her feet, brushing out her purple bright hair. "People say that but I think we look alike. How many people have such lustrous purple hair? It is a family trait after all, though father's hair is much darker I will admit."
Malea giggled. "Apparently you both share similar facets of vanity."
A look of mock affront crossed Klaera's face. "We care about our physical appearances, nothing wrong with that. Besides, it took us ages to get here, I am so excited to have daily baths and wear something that is not road stained and weather soaked." She grabbed Malea's hand and practically dragged her deeper into the estate house.
Malea's eyes rolled in her sockets as she looked around. Klaera's home looked much like any other noble home. It was large and spacious, works of art and fine tapestry appeared here and there. However it was less gaudy, looked more lived in than the homes of most nobility. Servants and others walked about and although they would be those deemed evil by others, they dressed plainly and comfortably. Some looked at her with curiosity or reserve, but all looked happy to see Klaera. In fact many shared embraces with her and gushed at her homecoming.
"The folk here are...kind." Malea said with wonder later. "Far kinder than most we met on our travels. They genuinely adore you, and your father."
"Father always said to treat people well. Most of the time they would be well to you, those worthy of your efforts anyways." Klaera held up clothing to Malea. "Father likes his citizens, despite what others say."
"I can see that." Malea shivered slightly. The Dark Lord had met the pair as soon as they crossed into the country's borders and she had felt faint in his presence. He was a gargantuan figure, tall and broad. He looked like he could out-pull any brace of oxen or horse combined. Yet he had wept openly at his daughter's return. His guards had cheered at the reunion and in fact many eyes were dew-wet at that moment, Malea's included. He had promised her all that she could want and more before running off, but not before ensuing a guard for his daughter. "Your father is also very kind, not at all what I have heard."
"I love him," Klaera said sincerely. "He is not perfect, no one is, but he is a wonderful father. Though," her lips curled and a smile that was appropriate on a savage predator appeared, "he can be very unkind. As those that kidnapped me and marooned me so far away will find. They thought he would be easily swayed with me missing. They are going to suffer for a very long time."
Another shiver slithered up Malea's spine at the smile. "That was exceptionally cruel of them. They deserve his wrath then." With a reluctant sigh she put her hand on Klaera's as the girl held up another outfit. "I must be honest with you. I did not agree to bring you back here for...noble reasons."
"Oh I knew that." Klaera's words made Malea's heart stop. "No one willingly comes here without some kind of ulterior motive. Most come to try and kill the 'evil Dark Lord' and his 'crimes' against the other countries." Her eyes flashed at the accusations. "Just because he is willing to accept all those deemed evil by the other countries, races long maligned and blamed. Just because he is not concerned with purity of race and blood. Just because he can look past the skin. I wonder who is truly evil."
She smiled shyly and Malea's heart started again. "I needed help, I did not know how to return. So I took a chance because Father taught me how to see the heart of a person and I saw your heart to be good. So I had hoped we could become friends, that you could see how I see. I had hoped that at journey's end perhaps your mission could have changed. Has it? Changed?" Her shy smile became an expression of concern, of worry.
Malea did not trust her voice at that moment. The journey was long and hard, arduous to put it lightly. The only thing that made it bearable was Klaera. The girl, who was obviously in a foreign environment, a girl that was obviously unused to extreme circumstances, had risen to the challenge. Throughout the whole quest Klaera never failed to be kind to Malea, to encourage her, to comfort her. She shared what little she had, fought as hard, and worked as hard. Such traits could be taught, but they must be whole heartedly believed in. Malea nodded, gripping Klaera's arm tightly.
"I am so happy to hear that!" Klaera gushed and her eyes sparkled. "You...you said you never really had a home before. This could be your home, if you want. Father said anything your heart desire would be your reward. I am sure he would agree if you wanted this to be your home."
"I...desire nothing more." | 2020-06-17T09:59:58 | 2020-06-17T09:34:20 | 172 | 64 |
[WP] In a botched experiment, you accidentally wiped out the rest of humanity. Ten years later, you still feel the emptiness of being the last of your kind. Suddenly you hear a voice. "So this is the past huh? Man did my grandpa have it rough." These are the first spoken words you hear in a decade. | When he began work on his device, his skin was pearl-smooth, his hair walnut-dark. Now his forehead’s been whittled by time’s knife into rows of wrinkled gullies. Greasy grey hairs splash over his bloodshot eyes.
But it is done. Finally.
It looks like a great silver harp with a thousand strings — but these strings are not straight. They are spindles, twisting, like strands of woven DNA. He has poured his life and mind into his invention and it is now ready to test.
He had a name once, this old man, but it’s not been said in forty years, and he doesn’t care to remember it. It is a genocidal name, that of a man who wiped out humanity with a bacteria designed to save it. Bacteria that found its way inside the gut of each and every person. It was meant to allow them to eat and digest almost anything: leaves or grass or dirt. It would have changed the world for the better, but...
*But*. He doesn’t like to think of the but. He knows what happened. Knows he is alone, that it is his fault. He is Prometheus, chained for his sins, killed each night by an eagle that eats his liver, to be reborn the next day still chained, only to die again. Or at least, that is how he sees it.
The lab windows are cracked; nosy trees and ivy wriggled through them over the years to watch him work. Out of those same broken windows he has run a spool of wires that connect to a stream of solar panels he cleans weekly. They power his project, as well as a microwave and lighting, and an ancient radio with a tape deck. He prefers old things: they reminds him of the time before the loneliness and before his guilt. A time before he was even born.
His hand touches the harp. Timidly plucks a string.
It vibrates like a tuning fork, a high-pitched note blossoming from it.
Then, he hears the voice. The first living voice in uncountable years. His heart is in his throat and wrist and ears. It is why he made it: his fear of dying in loneliness.
”So this was granddad’s old lab, huh? God, it was so basic.”
He laughs. Cries. Are they his grandchildren? No, not his, an alternative-his, but still: could they be?
He plucks it again and again, listens to the two shrill voices talk about a man they loved, a man that was almost him. A man who didn’t succeed and was far richer for it.
He hasn’t cried since it happened. Didn’t think he ever would again. You need to feel to be able to cry, and he’s been numb for so long.
In his own string, in his reality, there will be no one to come back to visit him. He is the last. But in that other reality, the ringing, vibrating reality, humanity lives.
He plucks another string, then another, lets them ring together in a discordant harmony that might as well be the sounds of heaven. He hears a lady laughing. A choir singing. Someone asking for painkillers.
Finally, he comes upon a string that makes no sound.
A dead note. His note.
He feels the vibrations of this string in his gut and in his heart, but there is no sound. The present and the future snowglobe in his mind, then settles dull and silent.
This string he labels, sticking a strip of pink plastic over it.
It‘s marked like a diseased tree, one infested by the rot of his brain. It is marked to be felled. To be cut down.
And soon he will do just so.
But first he will pluck the strings he has not yet touched. He will listen the sounds of humanity for a little longer. Try to remember what it means to be human.
Before Prometheus breaks free of his chains.
Before he no longer is. | What path forward is there for a man who wiped out all human life?
I did not know why I continued to live.
Was it to discover new life? Was that why I continued to cultivate plants, looking at them grow through torn concrete pavements and rusted metal beams, resilient beauty blooming out of dire environments, and hope against hope that I could do that, alone? Why I watched as various animals--two, four, six, eight legs, adapting to their new human-less world, growing bigger, bolder, and expanding their territory over the past decade?
I could not understand what they said, chitters and chatters and growls and howls and roars and cries. But now, I was alone, the hunted, possibly studied. I thought about how one of them might take over the world, become the dominant species, rebuilding the world in their image, tearing down the statues and skyscrapers of humanity and erecting a new Earth. At the beginning of my decade-long exile, I laughed briefly at the idea, but now? While I knew evolution could not be achieved in ten years, no smile came--for I knew this was also no longer the same world.
So why I continue to live? That was the question that ran circles around my head once again, its decade-long marathon still yet to conclude. It pushed and pushed, exhausting every cell in my mind--and not a single answer came.
I sat alone in ruined rubble once known as a building, fingers picking away through a sloppy can of tuna. They were an easy source of food, still, and though they were certainly not worthy of a Michelin star, I barely thought of myself worthy to eat. It was merely to quell the bawling of my belly.
"So this is the past, huh? Man, did my grandpa have it rough."
My ears pricked up at the sound of a fellow human voice. I was stunned for long moments. My mouth opened, trying to shout, but I had forgotten how to speak aloud, for all my thoughts for the past ten years had been turned inwards instead of out.
"Hey," I croaked feebly, my voice cracked as the debris I dwelt in. "Hey!
The sound of my own voice was as unfamiliar as the stranger's. But, he replied:
"Woah. Somebody's living in this wreck?"
The cracks through the nearest wall shifted ever so slightly, dislodging dust. And then, it rippled, and as I instinctually raised my hands to cover my face, I felt warm rays of sunlight strike at me, and I slowly removed my eyes to see an astronaut.
Or something that looked like an astronaut, at least, with its reflective suit and bulbous helmet obscuring the features of a human. It came closer to me, peering at me, and now, I finally could see through to see a face. A face! An actual, human face!
"Higher levels of oxygen than expected," the man said, voice crackling. "But it should be safe."
A hiss later, his helmet folded neatly into his suit. A few more hisses, his suit practically deformed itself, breaking apart into a billion tiny pieces, looking like it evaporated into thin air and leaving a young man standing in front of me, whistling as he scanned the room, before his eyes finally settled on me.
"You're... a man," I said in awe.
The man was dressed in some sort of skintight suit from neck to toe. It was black, but not like fabric, but rather the blackness of darkness. It shifted in hue and tone with every movement he made, and possessed an otherworldly shimmer.
"Uh," he said. "I don't see how's that very impressive. Did you see the nanotech suit? Or the fact that I was time travelling?"
Right. Right! My mind quickly sprung to life. The old engine sputtered a bit, quickly clearing out old oil, but it wasn't long before the cogs turned, grinding a little and causing an immensely painful wince, but they rotated nonetheless.
"You are a time traveller?"
"Of course," he puffed his chest out proudly.
He reached out a gloved hand. I shook it. The man gave me a strange look, before pulling me up.
"What was that?"
"Shaking hands," I said.
"That was very weird," he said, rubbing his right hand with the other. Both hands briefly went up and down, like he was testing the motion out, before he shook his head and turned to me, eyes studying me thoroughly.
"I'm Xavier," he said.
"Xavier," I bowed slightly. "Ren. You... you are from the future, aren't you?"
Xavier didn't bow back. Rather, he kicked the floor, sending dust flying up a little, and whistling at the formed cloud. He looked around, and settled himself on a concrete block a bit away from me.
"A century later," Xavier said.
"Oh god," I said excitedly. "That means. That means humanity survived!"
Xavier coughed slightly, diverting my attention to him again.
"What do you mean, it survived?" he said.
"I wiped them out," I said. It wasn't a secret, but it felt like one, for I had no one else to confide to in years. "Humanity was gone, because of me. I'm the last man on Earth."
Silence filled the air as concrete dust dancing in the sunlight began to settle down onto the floor. Xavier stood up, then.
"Ah," he said. "So you are a psychopath."
"Wait, no!" I cried. "It was a mistake. A tragedy!"
Xavier gazed at me, his eyes narrowing dramatically.
"What do you mean?"
I twiddled my thumbs.
"I was trying to save the world. Change it"
"That's what they all say," Xavier said. "Yeah, I'm going back home."
"Wait," I said. "Xavier. What's your surname?"
"Dawson," he said. "And what does that matter to you?"
I could not cry out. I could not say that he shared my surname, and hug him in a reunion across time streams. But what he did was provide me with a small modicum of hope, that maybe, just maybe, I would not be the last man on Earth for much longer, even as Xavier stepped back across the wall in a disgusted manner. That divide might as well have been the barrier of cold, astronomical space between worlds.
And I knew now why I continued to live. I gulped, still barely able to string a full sentence together, but there was renewed fire and vigour within me. And I had to say it, out loud, to nobody in particular.
"Life, uh, finds a way."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-05-24T07:11:33 | 2021-05-24T06:53:19 | 1,545 | 301 |
[WP] To permanently get rid of vampires, it was once common practice to plant trees in their ashes. Centuries later, identifying which trees contain imprisoned vampires is now a major problem for the lumber industry.
Reposting an old prompt. | "Have you or a loved one been afflicted by spirit of a of a vampire whose soul is damned to roam this mortal coil? Experienced possession or heard strange voices begging you to eat the children? Have you purchased a mahogany Transylvanian coffee table or any other TranslTimber products? Then you may be entitled to financial compensation.
Join millions of family across the country in a class action lawsuit against transltimber for neglecting multiple Ghoul wood inspections and selling defective products, causing hundreds of vampiric entities to enter homes.
"We had bought a lovely night stand that tied the room together. But in the middle of the night,the stand would hang on the ceiling upside down. I put my book in that stand, and it was a really good book. Now I can't get it back."- Reginald Neiman, 35 FL
"While bringing this new table into my house, my cousin gets a splinter off of the wood. About 45 minutes later he had his whole fist in his mouth, sucking his blood and making the most uncomfortable noises." - Calleb Baumberbach, 25 OH
"I've had to stab my dad with a stake each night for over a month now. He stubbed his toe on a cabinet and now he wants to 'reunite the flesh to purity' and so on. Ugh, I can hardly watch the game dad!"- Noah Santos, 31 CA | "Alright, let her rip!" The distant call of the foreman was followed by several grunts, as the laborers, most of them foreign and illegal, threw their shoulders into the massive oak trunk.
A short while later, the sound of falling tree jolted Joey out of his reverie. With an almost graceful arc, the old oak tree fell from its lofty perch at the height of the grove, leaving behind a wet, dripping stump.
"Let's go, kid. We're done here." The voice belonged to Joey's immediate superior, Adam. Lightly slapping the youngster on his back, Adam motioned to the next tree in line. "Gotta keep moving. Our bosses don't got no patience, and we're slightly behind after that huge oak. So speed up." Joey quietly lifted himself of the smaller tree trunk he had been sitting on, simultaneosly pocketing the silver coin he had been fingering for the last few minutes.
Following Adam, Joey made his way towards the next tree, where their crew were already gathered around a huge chainsaw attached to an equally massive motor. They were the people in charge of felling the trees, carving holes into the trunks just big enough so that a slight push would tip the tree over, to be loaded into the various trucks Joey could see in the distance. This was probably a much better job than what Joey had just seen the laborers do, given that everyone around the chainsaw were local to the area.
"Get to work." It was Adam, instinctively taking charge as always. "That old rumor about vampires in the big oak delayed us big time, so let's get rid of the small ones quickly. The team was well oiled, and within moments the chainsaw blade was up and running, carving inches out of its new victim.
Immediately, a dark red liquid akin to blood came leaking out of the trunk. In unison, the entire team disengaged the chainsaw, dropped it on the ground and moved 3 steps backward. Adam sighed and activated his handheld tranceiver.
"This is Team 5 calling base. We've found the vampire tree. Get that old shaman out here before it releases the bats, over." Amidst the crackling response of the transceiver, Adam motioned the crew to move on to the next tree. They quickly sprang into action, wiping down the chainsaw blade and quickly shifting the motor towards their new target.
But Joey stood motionless, his attention captured by the oozing trunk of the vampire tree. As the group began abandoning the 3-step perimeter around the tree, he tentatively stepped forward, as if in a trance.
As if the tree was calling out to him, in a voice only he could hear.
Suddenly, he was in front of the roughly 4 foot wide trunk. Close enough to touch the dripping blood, for that was what the liquid was. As Joey's right hand reached for the blood, his left slipped into his pocket, instinctively rubbing the silver coin inside.
But it did not help. Uncontrolled, Joey's fingers scooped a healthy portion of the now intensifying flow of liquid, lifting it to his mouth. In perfect synchrony, his tongue left its resting place, reaching out towards the enticing blo...
And then a hand gripped his shoulder, shoving Joey away from the tree and back into reality. It was Adam. "Enough slacking, rookie! Get back to work before I start firing you!" As his mind cleared, Joey focused on the annoyed tone of his supervisor, stuck between a demanding superior and incompetent subordinates, and scrambled to safety. Without another look behind him, he followed Adam away from disaster, away from the demon tree.
Away from a future that could've been dark with evil, or rich with power and immortality. In Joey's case, it's highly likely the result would've been the former, but the possibilities are infinite for every choice. Which is why we are all gathered here today. Welcome to the first meeting of the VIPs (Vampirically Inspired People), and together, we're going to make this world our golden goose.
For more stories like this, check out r/17Stories | 2021-07-24T07:56:31 | 2021-07-24T04:34:47 | 91 | 33 |
[WP] The colony ship arrived in orbit after a thousand year voyage. But the AI never woke the occupants. Millions of years pass, the planet below has formed life, intelligent life, and their scientists have just woken you, one of the colonists. | "Daddy, can we skip the beginning part?"
Doolip was perched on Tundar's lower appendage, the parent's forward limb wrapped around its offspring for support.
"Oh ho! I thought you wanted the "Story of the First Man!"
"And women, daddy. Human are split in two."
"Just so. And while their incubator craft was self-repairing, eventually it ran out of material to fix itself with."
"But you said it was parked within the orbit of our star system's most massive planet."
"So, you *do* know the first bits of the tale!"
"Of course, silly, it's just so boring!"
"Well, it was real long time- we had to be cautious. The gas giant had tons of terrestrial moons too. And some of those moons had satellites. But over the ages, the Creche used up not only the gas giant but all its moons too. It was on its way toward devouring yet another planet when we intercepted it."
Doolip snuggled into her brood-seed and stuck one of its fine manipulators into its feeding aperture.
"Slowly, my brood-seeder and their team approached the massive alien ship. Years of observation had shown us that it was inhabited by a colony of chrome and fire beings which perpetually repaired and scavenged. Our fellows watched in astonished horror as it had ground up and utilized the last of what had been the Ceta system's most massive planet and then moved toward the next."
The young being trembled in fright as it imagined a planet-eating ship.
"So we carefully moved our Scout Runner into a parallel trajectory and slowly made contact with the strange metal craft."
"OK! So, why didn't *we* get assimilated by the aliens discombobulators?"
"Dissassemblers, sweetie, their systems aren't chemical; well, I mean-"
"I know, we're ameboic and they have a ridged epidermis."
"Well, if you have the end memorized, why you even asking?"
"Primey!"
"OK OK, I'll humor you."
"Over the protracted period of observation, our scientists noticed slow moving, worthless matter didn’t get accosted by the hunter-fixer bots but were affixed to the surface of the forward hull to serve as radiation and impact shielding. So we formed the smallest ship we dared, covered it in dross, got it into position within the aliens ship's path and let the thing's own automated systems do the rest."
"Ohh, it's like Proknower Skoom says: soft and passive often succeeds against hard and active."
"I'd don't know about all that. Suffice to say, once were fused to the alien ship's forward plate, it was a fairly simple thing to tunnel down and get aboard. In fact, they had absolutely no interior defenses whatsoever. It seems they didn't plan for sentient intruders."
"What's that mean?"
"Well, the breach passage we made didn't cause a noticeable change in their ship's interior pressure, temperature, or air quality. Having spent so long observing them, my parent had changed their biology to match the aliens physiology. The oxygen producing organisms we found proved popular and, more importantly, profitable. Globular Seta is already almost as oxygenated as the alien's home planet."
"And that's why I'm already bigger than my brood-master!"
"That's right, sweetie. Instead of neon or argon, we shifted our hyper-fillanges to siv oxygen, a much more energetic gas. Who knows how large future offspring will merge!"
"Yay! Thanks, Primey!"
"OK my darling effullum, time for you to let your surface tension break."
Doolip rolled off its brood-seed's lap and into its repose divot. Their psudopods collapsed into the rest of itself as it assumed an almost liquid state. Tundar leaned down and touched their tasting appendage to its offspring's surface.
"Love you."
Doolip's surface wrippled in agreement and Tundar left the room. Soon enough illumination levels dropped and the domicile's dilating portals squeezed shut. Only after a few more minutes went by did Doolip reform and roll across the room to her little terrarium and gaze inside.
"OK, it's safe to come out now."
Deep within the teeming horticulte of the artifical earth biome, a tiny figure emerged from some bushes. A human, a real, wild, feral human! If her parent found it they would surely make her take it back to the Human Dome. Escapees were troublesome, and supposedly dangerous. But how could something so tiny be that bad?
"Did you hear what you needed?"
"Oh yeah. I heard everything I needed I hear." | I had been alone with my thoughts for so long that I had forgotten that I wasn't sleeping. I grew accustomed to pondering my life choices, and remembering even the most minute of details. I imagined great adventures on the world we were meant to colonize, I even kept track of the time, the scientists said that the journey should feel merely a third as long in our stasis, but that fell apart. I counted long past the awakening point and I began to suspect that something went wrong. Almost every theory I could come up with would have resulted in immediate reawakening of the crew and passengers, so that left me with the chilling theory that the ships AI had betrayed us. Eventually I stopped counting, I stopped caring, I simply gave up. Eventually grew furious at the AI, and even imagined destroying it time and time again. I was starting to loose my mind when I felt the uncontrollable urge to shudder, which confused me because it shouldn't have happened I should have been able to control it. Then I started coughing and everything went black.
The sound of the lid opening shook me, I was cold, confused, and coughing. Then I heard animalistic sounds coming from around me. I tried to look around and my body warmed and I regained control of my muscles. Unfortunately all I could see was pitch black, I could feel everything but my sight was gone. They said this was a side effect of prolonged cryosleep and that it would be temporary. The feeling of claws on my face ripped me from my thoughts and I slapped it away before trying to push past the creatures in front of me, only for me to collapse on my hands and knees. I pushed myself up and placed my hand on the wall, sliding it across while I ran, the sound of the creatures running after me made me go faster. Slowly my sight began to come back and I gazed down the hall for a hatch to the emergency ladders.
After a moment of searching I saw and reached it. Pressing my thumb against the scanner, the door unlocked and I jumped inside and slammed it shut before locking it with my thumb. The armory was two decks down, yeah, that's the plan, reach the armory, gear up, and retake the ship. I made my way down the ladder to the right deck, unlocking the door I step out quietly, but the sound of the door shutting ruined the stealth idea. I waited for a moment, hoping nothing heard the loud thud, but the roar from far behind me told me different. I ran to towards the armory as the sound of multiple creatures running after me got closer. I saw the armory getting closer and closer, then I heard a crack sound followed by the whiz of a bullet flying past me.
"FUCK, CHRIST, CLOSE!" I yelled as I finally reached the armory.
I dared not look back as the door opened, and I darted inside and shut the door, but not before something was tossed inside. Instinctively I dived for cover and waited for an explosion, but nothing happened, for several minutes nothing happened. Finally I chanced a glance at it. The device looked similar to those that tank crews used to communicate in battle. I decided to ignore it for now and move to the armor lockers. Kitting up was fast and easy, typical of the amount of training and experience someone like me would have, next was the weapons lockers. Upon opening my heart sank a little, no battle rifles or carbines, just smgs, shotguns, handguns, batons, and knives. I grabbed a suppressed Beretta M77, 5 magazines, a classic 45acp M1911, a Kvg Bullpup shotgun, a baton, and a knife. I moved to the panel and activated the camera outside the door.
I finally got a good look at my pursuers, humanoid, almost human features if not for the fur that covered parts of their body and the sharp teeth, not to mention the presence of a tail. One seemed to be yelling at the others who were armed with strange looking guns, while gesturing to the door. Eventually one of them noticed the camera and pointed it out to the others. The one in front, a female perhaps, began gesturing to her neck and vulpine like ear. I say the same devise and they had tossed in, I grab a scanner and scan the devise. Nothing lethal, or at least nothing that the scanner can detect to be dangerous. I sigh and grab the ear piece attached to the device and awkwardly attach it around my neck and ears. I do a check to see if I can hear normal sound and find that I can, and my own voice isn't muffled either, relatively satisfied I go to the panel and activated the intercom.
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here!?" I demand.
After a moment a soft feminine voice came back "I am doctor Arasia of the Labek Republic, we are here to finally explore this structure and figure out what it is." She said calmly, "may I know your name?" She asked.
I debated for a moment before deciding to do what I was trained to do in situations like this. "Sergeant Smith. William, DOD ID number 1565742069." I declared in a monotone voices, struggling not to laugh at the last five digits, always got in trouble for that.
" Well Sergeant, I would like to apologize for scaring you earlier and for our security detail firing at you." She told me
"Tell you what, you guys put your guns away and I'll let you and you alone enter so we can talk this out." I said smirking, I would much rather have a bargaining chip if things went south.
After a moment of silence Arasia's voice cut in, "ok, my security will back off, do you promise not to hurt me?" She asked tentatively.
"If I hurt you, it would change the fact that I am locked hlin this room and outnumbered." I said trying to seem like less of a threat.
I checked the camera and locked the weapons back up before opening the door, she entered and closed it behind her.
"We never knew you or your people were hear, for as long as we recorded history everyone stayed away from this place, only a few years ago were we able to convince the government to sanction this expedition due to strange magnetic readings in the area. Imagine our surprise when we enter caves and end up in metal hallways and rooms filled with frozen people. Eventually we were able to play a recording of one of your people speaking and used it with our translators, though getting to understand your letters took longer. Then we decided to unfreeze you so we could ask questions as to who you were and where your kind came from." She listed off, answering my questions before I could ask them.
"Well, we are from earth, a planet about 1000 years away, we were meant to start a colony on a planet that I will assume is this one, but something went wrong, and we weren't woken when we arrived, most likely the AI had decided to betray us." I said hopefully answering some of her questions.
"One question, we studied your kinds dna and found it extremely similar to ours, so I was wondering if you would like to help us with an experiment?" She asked innocently.
Despite my subconscious screaming it's a trap, I decided to humor her, "What kind of experiments?" I asked.
Her tail swished back and forth as she leaned in closer, "The fun kind." | 2022-09-21T11:39:46 | 2022-09-21T11:37:00 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You’ve been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next. | The High Wizard’s Council was a shadow of what it once was. Where once reigned supreme the Elves, now sat a mixed council of children who couldn’t even believe in the truth of his existence. A Human, a Half-breed, a Dwarf and a Gnome stared down at him from on high, not one of them a year over eighty. Most of them would likely not make it to that point.
Then again, none of them would be likely to make it through the day.
“Callon the Immortal,” said the Half-breed councilwoman, her slightly pointed ears twitching, her lips pursed in between the words as she spat them out, “I never thought I’d see this day. It is my pleasure to sentence you to death. However, you may ask for the method, and it will be carried out immediately.”
Callon was a tall man, with golden blonde hair that hung far below his shoulders, with two knife-edged ears that stuck out proudly to the sides. He was no mere Half-creature like the councilwoman, but the real thing. Callon was an Elf, one of the few that still remained, “This is my sixth execution of the millenia.” He said, a smirk crawling across his face, “But, I wish you luck. Maybe this time it will stick.”
“Your arrogance has been noted, Callon.” The Gnome interjected. Grey hair, a bulbous red nose, thick glasses, and a tall, pointed, purple hat. It was as though he simply wore the costume of a real wizard, “But you have witnessed the power of this council.”
“Ah, yes. The last man wished from you to die of Old Age. So you cast a spell and he shriveled to dust before our very eyes. Impressive for a child. Before that, there was that thief who said they couldn’t die until they were worth something. Now in the back of the room you’ve a golden statue that will do nothing but gather dust. Before that, they wanted to see the stars one last time, and so they vanished off into the void where they would no doubt die in the vacuum. Your cruelty is noted, if nothing else, you gave me a good laugh.”
The human, the youngest by far, slammed his fist on the table, “Damn you! You find this funny?!”
“Hilarious."
“Calm yourself,” The Dwarf said to her fellow councilman, “We are here to carry out your punishment. You will either tell us the method, or we will choose one suitable for you.”“Hm, well that’s not very fun. I have something in mind, a way I’ve never actually died. But, knowing you won’t do it is disappointing.” Callon said, “You’re just going to pick something yourself anyway.”
“That is not how this works, Callon. So long as the method ends in your death, we will carry it out.” The Half-breed said.
“Really then? Is that a promise?”
The councilwoman opened her mouth, but stopped. She looked at the others, receiving their nods of approval, “So long as it ends in your death.”
“Goodie.” Callon said, “Then allow me to tell you a story. Many elves, those of us who still live, have trouble remembering the past. There was a time before the world was fractured, if you would believe it. A time when the races of Man were forced to share their lands, and as you can expect, this was a time of great strife. Wars were fought, power was sought, deaths were brought.”
The Human and the Gnome wore their frustration visibly, though the other two attempted to hide it with faces made of chiseled stone.
“Then, when it seemed war would be all that we knew forever, a weapon was brought. Perhaps it was manmade, perhaps it was a spell so sinister it could only have been wrought by those claiming to be of the light. That is what I remember though. I cannot remember a family during those days, or friends. I don’t remember if I even fought in the war, but I do remember how it ended. A bright light, an explosion with the power to snuff out life for decades to come. That is what I ask for you to bring here. On this spot, immediately in this very room, detonate a blast so large that-”
“Absolutely not!” The human shouted, “This has gone on long enough! He’s making a mockery of this court!”
“Indeed,” The Half-breed said, “Let us listen to these psychotic ramblings no longer.”And yet, despite their words, each council member raised their wand toward Callon. Around him, a glowing golden circle of mystical runes etched themselves into the marble floor. Further, and further out they spread from him. And he was still smiling.
“You really should be more careful making promises, I’ve had an eternity to think them through.” | "Tom Redcliff!" A fat man of a judge spoke down to a chained prisoner gruffly. His spit spraying everywhere.
This man didn't look like much, but he was obviously the top dog; the judge and jury of this magical court. The thing is—this judge has a interesting habit. One of the reasons why the audience chamber is filled is because of how this judge sentences his prisoners to death.
"For the crime of a slaughter of 20,000 citizens of Rosemary city of the Experion Empire with the use of the malicious magic of necromancy, you are here by sentence to death of your choosing! What say you?"
A skinny and gaunt man with bloodshot eyes and long black hair and bangs over his eyes looked up from his kneeling position. His ruby eyes pierced into the judges as he waited for the chains to stop rattling before he spoke.
" I wish to die of old age." he said with a small smile on his face, his haunting voicing carried across the hall. The man's demeanor filled with Confidence.
Some mild murmurs rose in the audience chamber. The judge chuckled mockingly. His fat belly and long beard moved in balance with the strained laughter.
"Very well." The judge snapped his fingers. Tom's smile froze as he watched to his horror as he aged years in seconds. One year per second he aged.
"AHGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" The aging man clawed his face crazily as he went from a relatively young man to a winkled old fart in 60 seconds. His scream changed from youthful to scruffy. His hair silky black to a frail white. He grabbed his chest before collapsing suddenly on the hard rocky stone and marble floor. He moved no longer. The few prisoners behind him started sweating buckets...Except for one man.
The judge glanced at the next prisoner. The one that didn't seemed bothered. He motioned at the soldiers standing guard close by. Two soldiers walked out of formation. The chains and armor shook as they brought him to the stand.
The judge looked down on a piece of paper and paused as he frowned before staring back at the criminal with a slightly startled face. He couldn't help but ponder on how much of a nightmare it must of been to get this man kneeling before him.
*It isn't my business on how he got here. I am just a judge, so judge I shall. Still...I have to give this man some credit. Power is to be respected...which is why I will let him choose how he dies without any tricks, even if he has committed such heinous crimes.*
*I wonder...what will this devil of man choose?*
The judge shook his thoughts. His voice cracked a bit as he spoke while trying to keep his dignity.
"Alex Bane, for the act of the multitude of crimes you have committed against the Experion empire, and potential genocide of 10 allied kingdoms...I here by sentence you to death by your own chosing!" Hollered the judge of the magical court majestically. The audience exploded in a multitude of emotions.
The look on the man's face was without shame. He didn't even take notice of the judge as he closed his inhuman whitish grey eyes slowly as he looked at the stone floor and shuffled the chains to get into a more comfortable kneeling position. A stifling breeze unfolded with the man in the center, silencing the audience. This man...the judge couldn't help but hold some respect towards the criminal.
He was handcuffed to the ground, his ankles cuffed, and chains around his neck. The magical crystal lights that lit the room shined on the mysterious criminal while his face never left the stone floor. His long silver mangled hair covering his features but even then you could tell he was in the prime of his life and a heart breaker of many women. Magical runes glinted off the chains and cuffs but even then an unspeakable aura flowed from him. You could tell right away he wasn't like the others who were in ordinary bindings. Even the people in the audience was finding it hard to breathe.
*How many men did it take to capture this man?* The judge shuddered at the thought.
The man's eyes glanced at the king through his mangled ridden hair. The stare so intense the king couldn't help but glance away for a second. Even in chains, the man felt threatening.
The man spoke from the soul.
"If I am to die by my own choosing...then gather a group of succubi. Let them feast on my soul and energy tell death...I have always been curious to find out how many I could satisfy before death takes me. If you can grant this last wish of a deadman such as myself...maybe I'll die with a smile on my face." The man spoke calmly and without hesitation of his desire.
The Fat judge couldn't help but be stunned for a moment before laughing in nervousness and astonishment of such a declaration.
"Ha! Hahahahaha!" The judge had to take a moment to calm himself.
*hmm, this man is lucky I just so happened to have a group of succubi captured recently...and there is a chamber I can warp him to that would be impossible to break out of...but a death sentence has to be witnessed...I told myself I would grant whatever he wants...but can I...no...can the audience persevere?* The judge pretended to clear his voice at the embarrassing thought as he already made his decision.
"So be it." He waved his hand. A bright light flashed in to existence blinding all who were present. The light slowly disappeared as everyone's eyes slowly adjusted. A wide screen took the place of where the man in chains used to be. The man in chains appeared on screen. Looks like he was warped to a bed chamber.
Beautiful succubi graced the chamber. Some looked at the man hungrily. Some seductively. Others nervously and even one lovingly and with familiarity.
" Amira is that you? Fancy seeing you here. Would you like to entertain this deadman one last time?" The man in chains asked as he took off his chains casually before bursting out in heartfelt laughter. Amira, A beautiful blond with demonic blue eyes giggled with him humorously, "Why do you think I'm here?" Amira walked up to him slowly. Her clothes or lack thereof complimented every asset of her being as she sauntered over to him.
Some people screamed in envy while others in surprise as they watched the scene unfold from the screen. The judge held a hand up.
"Silence!" That seem to quiet the audience.
The man went to the bed and sat down while gazing at Amira and the other succubi with interest.
Amira sat and put her arms around his neck, her tail swishing back and forth playfully.
"But...I've gotten stronger then last time, do you think you can handle me? Amira teased.
"Why don't you try and find out?" The man shot back before they embraced in a kiss.
And so started a death sentence that will forever be the longest most awkward and uncomfortable sentence the judge and audience had ever had to sit through and watch in the history of the magical court... especially for the men. As some literally feinted from being blue ba-...ehem...never mind.
End.
Note: I apologize If I went too far? I don't know if I'm supposed to be PG or not. Well, whatever. I know some will laugh at this which means mission accomplished for me. Lmao xD | 2022-11-19T02:25:30 | 2022-11-19T01:59:21 | 589 | 19 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming! | I was twenty-one when I gave my first kiss to the guy who would later take my virginity. We met through a mutual friend and sent each other shy glances out of the corners of our eyes for about a month before he requested to be my friend on Facebook. He and I chatted online for a few days before he invited me over to his place to watch movies. I brought cookies.
On our first date, we sat a foot apart for the duration of four films. At one point during the date, he paused the movie and went to the bathroom. A little while later, I smiled when he had to awkwardly fetch the plunger from the laundry room where he kept it. I only teased him a little; it put me at ease to see he was human, too.
The night after our first date, we chatted online, and he admitted that he had wanted to put his arm around me the previous night. I told him he should have.
On date two, we baked more cookies and watched three new movies. He put his arm around my shoulder, and the following night, through AIM, he told me that he had wanted to kiss me the night before. I told him he should have.
On our third date, we knew what was going to happen. The pattern had been established, so in between movies, when he turned to me and searched my face for my answer, I shyly looked away, embarrassed that I was twenty-one and had never been kissed.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, and I covered my blushing face.
“Yes. I’m just nervous I won’t do it right. Give me a second.”
He smiled, and I gathered my courage. I pulled away from the kiss giggling. We tried it a second time, and I bumped my teeth with his. | My best friend had gotten her first kiss in eight grade and I was SO conflicted. Half of me thought she had wasted it on this stupid guy in our class who wouldn't matter in a few weeks, half of me wondered just what it was like. When we started freshman year of high school, it didn't take me long to zero in on the cute, cocky Junior in my health class. He sat behind me and pulled my hair, like we were in first grade, or told me I had something on the back of my shirt. I didn't - never did - but it never stopped him from trying to mess with me in first period. He had a girlfriend, on and off, for those first two months of school. We both auditioned for the school play, and my best friend went with me too. I sat between the two of them, passing notes all afternoon and joking while we waited to read our sides and be done. I got nervous once I finally got up there and was totally awful, but it didn't phase me much. After auditions, my best friend had to go home instead of come to my house, like we'd planned, so I walked around campus with my crush, talking about auditions and letting him tell me I wasn't that bad when I went up, even though I was.
He mentioned that he'd seen my best friend and I passing notes that weren't also passed to him. In truth, she'd been telling me to ask him to Homecoming, but I didn't dare admit that because at the time, I had no idea if he was or wasn't back together with his girlfriend. He chased me around the quad, tried grabbing the note out of my pocket, the whole deal. He hugged me at one point and I remember thinking, "hugging a guy you like is just weird, hugging a guy you like who might have a girlfriend is torture." He brought up, hours later, that he was not still with the girlfriend. He still hadn't seen the note. I got a call from my dad, asking what the hell was taking so long at auditions, since it was now well past eight at night, and I hung up knowing it only took five minutes to walk home, but that my dad knew that as well as I did. I'd had so much fun just hanging out and joking around, but I had no idea he was going to do what he did just minutes later.
He tried to get the note again, at first, before I told him I really had to go. I walked around the corner of the building, telling him I'd see him Monday, and thought that was it. I didn't look back until I heard him shouting, from halfway across the blacktop.
"So, what, that's it?"
I just about jumped out of my skin, but oh, man, was I happy he'd come after me. But, stupid me - I said:
"Yeah, that's it."
He didn't take that as a proper answer, thank god, and he walked straight up to me and kissed me. They say in cheesy movies and novels that the world spins, you know? Like you're dizzy and the ground has disappeared. It totally happened like that for me. I was awkward, I was kind of shy, and yet I'd just had a teen-novel-worthy first kiss with my crush. I was dizzy the entire walk home.
Monday, we were writing notes in class when I admitted that it had been my first kiss. He was sweet enough to tell me that he couldn't tell (though to be honest, it might not have been a lie, it seemed to come pretty natural to me) and he said he was "honored" to have been my first kiss. What a cutie.
We never really went out, we sort of just hung out at lunch and only ever kissed that once. I wanted it to happen again, but a few weeks later his girlfriend came crying back to him, once again. He took her back. We're still friends, he's still a cool guy. For a while after he took his girlfriend back - at least, until a month or two later when I got my first real high school boyfriend, who I dated for a respectable three months before having my best friend break up with him for me because he was a weird kisser and he was sort of boring - I thought I had wasted my first kiss on someone who wouldn't matter. Totally wrong. It sucked, at the time, that his girlfriend was back in the picture, but I am so glad I can look back on my first kiss and remember it being as sweet and dizzying as it was. | 2014-04-01T06:54:39 | 2014-04-01T06:27:05 | 42 | 29 |
[WP] A Supervillian keeps being pestered to fight by some small time Superhero who thinks he's his arch nemesis | The Empress sighed. "Steve." She said. "This isn't working."
"*Why?*" Steve the Hero whined.
"Because, Steve." The Empress said. "*I'm not your arch nemesis!*"
"I.. What? But we were so good together!"
"Steve, you basically stalked me."
"You're a villain, though!" He protested.
"A villain with rights!" | I looked at the remains of the Justice League. Superman had been impaled on a kryptonite spear attached to a tentacle growing out of my back, Green Lantern had an serious neck wound from a Yellow axe connected to my right arm that he was desperately trying to block with his hands, and Batman I had simply beat into submission. Only AquaMan, the Flash, and WonderWoman were still standing, and none of them were in particularly good shape. “YOU FOOLS!” I bellowed in my most Impressive voice. “I AM THE END OF ALL THINGS!” I said as I rapidly changed my face and switched my extremities to various weapons. “I AM YOUR DOOM! THE WORLD IS NOW MINE AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME! I AM TITAN AND YOU WILL KNEEL BEFORE ME!”
“Never!” The flash said defiantly. Aquaman and WonderWoman lunged at me from both sides as the Flash charged straight on. I dodged all three and turned my arms into a long rope with which I tied WonderWoman’s wrists in the confusion and Kick her violently into the building behind us, half of the building collapsed on her.
“YOU ARE BEATEN! SUBMIT TO MY WILL AND PERHAPS I WILL SPARE YOUR PATHETIC LIVES FOR A TIME!”
“Don’t worry! I got this guys!” out of nowhere came a woman with frazzled black hair, a red suit stitched together in a few places, and a large 13 on the front. “Thanks for warming him up, but captain calamity has got this!”
The Flash and Aquaman looked at each other as if to say “Really?” and “Maybe she’ll soak up a blow or two.” Respectively.
“REA..” I coughed for a second, all the screaming from the battle and the monologue was starting to hurt my voice “Really?” I said in my normal, unimpressive, voice “are we going to do this again? Look, it was fine when I was robbing banks back in Detroit by impersonating guards, hell I put up with it when I stole the gold from that ship, but I’ve kind of moved up in the world now. Now go away and let me deal with the real threat.”
She put her hands on her hips in a heroic pose and said “I stopped you then and I can stop you now! Your luck has run out!”
I groaned at the last catchphrase. I honestly didn’t have a problem with it back in the old days but now it just came across as cheesy. “Listen Captain Calamity, I get it, you think this is what you were born to do but…” just then a penny from the top of one of the buildings I had destroyed in the battle flew down one hundred and fifty stories and hit me on the head. My body went from the incredibly muscular eight foot tall Adonis back to being an overweight bald man in his forties as I started to black out. I hit the ground and saw AquaMan shake her hand and say “you know we have an opening if you are interested” as the corners of my vision went dark.
| 2015-06-25T00:09:49 | 2015-06-25T00:07:16 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] A serial killer who kills hitchhikers picks up a serial killer who kills the people who pick him up. | A long, narrow gravel road stretches into the distance. Along it, a small yellow beatle sends long plumes of dust into the air as it sweeps down the valley. Two voices fight their way out of the cramped cabin and travel past the grinding machinery, to where the animals sit still in the brush, listening.
*sigh*
The car screeches to a halt.
"Okay, god damn it, get out."
"WHAT? Umm I mean, what?"
"I saw that look in your eyes when you tried to smile at me then. I see the same greedy stare every time I check my mirror..."
"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes you do, damnit, and you call that a hidden firearm?"
"Oh, I'm just excited"
"Oh yeah?"
"That's actually true, I don't carry a gun. I instead murder with a hidden knife in my sleeve!"
"Yeah? Well open the glove box there for me will ya?"
The man in the passenger seat cracked open the glove box and the driver quickly snatched a revolver.
"Because I do carry a gun. And kill way more hitchhikers than you. Now get out."
"Oh come on, I kill with style, the man on the side of the road..."
"Catchy. Get out."
"Aren't we gonna team up?"
*sigh*
"No, we aren't gonna team up."
"My mom will sew us outfits."
"Fine. But only if you'll go on a camping holiday with me."
As the distant thrum of the engine sank over the brow of the next hill, the animals sat in the grass, perplexed. Now these weren't some freaky, english talking critters, but hell, it doesn't take a genius to figure something was weird with those two.
| It was such a lovely night. I had ventured far out enough that the faint glow of light pollution had only just touched this part of the world. The air was crisp and still, punctuated only by the low creaks and groans of this forgotten part of the forest. It had called to me when i was here 2 years ago and here i was again, marveling at the beauty of this place and its siren effect on me. If you looked just close enough you could still see the faint dig site i had hurriedly made to bury the man i had met off of I-90. He had been a relatively nice man and at the time I'm still not sure what possessed me to take him out here. It was a whim when i drove him to this spot, and it had been a whim when i stuck my knife in his throat. But on this whim i found something that i had never felt before, this palpable feeling of peace that had haunted me for years. It felt so natural that i knew this was my duty in this world. A loud groan from the forest snapped me back into the present and i bent down to pat the site once more for good luck. I stared back into the forest and as if to say something an old pine creaked beside me and i patted it on my way to the car smiling. No need to say goodbye, I'll be right back.
It only took an hour this time. The man had been walking on the shoulder of a stretch of highway not far from my patch of forest. It was a giant relief. Last month it had taken me two weeks to find anyone. If North Dakota hadn't been my last northern state to fulfill my duty in i would have given up completely, but i'm a man of principle and I'm not about to cut corners. I pulled over and politely asked the man if he'd like a ride and he seemed eager to get off the road. He sat down softly next to me and his appearance shocked me. Most of the people i picked up had a weary look that could only be attained by a lifetime of running from themselves. Their eyes were hollow and more often than not they gave off no real sense that they existed. They always seemed to be physical manifestations of ghosts that had just forgotten the part where the bodies were supposed to die. But not this man. He was illuminating. His hair was perfectly sculpted, his clothes were not just cleaned but ironed and pressed to perfection and his voice carried with a confidence that traveled men seldom have. It felt wrong, however the siren call of the forest had been powerful tonight and i could not abandon my duty. In a twist of good faith the man had been needing to travel in the direction of my patch of forest. This was fantastic. It was rather difficult to hold a knife to a mans throat for so many miles and this would save me the annoyance of all the begging and pleading i had grown accustomed to. We maintained a pleasant conversation almost all of the way there. We discussed sports, current events, how the weather this time of year was fantastic. It was truly great small talk. I hadn't been able to enjoy a conversation with someone in so long, that I began to lose that uneasy feeling that had first accompanied the man. The feeling did return however, when i made the turn to head back into the forest. He had not said a word when i made the turn. In fact, it seemed like he was completely comfortable with what i was doing. I began to feel something i hadn't felt in years, a building sense of dread that frankly had no rational base. I clutched the knife under my thigh tight to regain my composure. I was in control here, not him. I stopped the in front of the tree and before i could say a word i felt a sharp burning in my chest. Before i looked down i already knew what had occurred. It had felt to wrong and yet at the same time all to similar. The conversation, the appearance of the man. I looked down at the knife in my chest and breathed a rattling sigh. The man looked at me with a knowing expression, and I smiled back at him. It was okay i was at peace, he was after all, just doing his duty.
The man buried the body next to the shoddy grave site. He wiped his hands on the grass and stood up taking one last look into the forest. A cold wind blew through and the forest was alive with its beautiful call. The man walked back to the car smiling, stopping only to pat the old pine on his way. | 2022-04-08T12:33:00 | 2015-08-09T11:52:23 | 150 | 56 |
[WP] A serial killer who kills hitchhikers picks up a serial killer who kills the people who pick him up. | A long, narrow gravel road stretches into the distance. Along it, a small yellow beatle sends long plumes of dust into the air as it sweeps down the valley. Two voices fight their way out of the cramped cabin and travel past the grinding machinery, to where the animals sit still in the brush, listening.
*sigh*
The car screeches to a halt.
"Okay, god damn it, get out."
"WHAT? Umm I mean, what?"
"I saw that look in your eyes when you tried to smile at me then. I see the same greedy stare every time I check my mirror..."
"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes you do, damnit, and you call that a hidden firearm?"
"Oh, I'm just excited"
"Oh yeah?"
"That's actually true, I don't carry a gun. I instead murder with a hidden knife in my sleeve!"
"Yeah? Well open the glove box there for me will ya?"
The man in the passenger seat cracked open the glove box and the driver quickly snatched a revolver.
"Because I do carry a gun. And kill way more hitchhikers than you. Now get out."
"Oh come on, I kill with style, the man on the side of the road..."
"Catchy. Get out."
"Aren't we gonna team up?"
*sigh*
"No, we aren't gonna team up."
"My mom will sew us outfits."
"Fine. But only if you'll go on a camping holiday with me."
As the distant thrum of the engine sank over the brow of the next hill, the animals sat in the grass, perplexed. Now these weren't some freaky, english talking critters, but hell, it doesn't take a genius to figure something was weird with those two.
| My hands were getting sweaty as they do right before I do it. I had picked up this loner about thirty miles ago. These roads are desolate, no one is driving through here. I know I'm gonna kill this sad fuck just like the rest of them. I imagine the point of my knife just jumping in and out of his stomach. My pulse started to pick up. My vision was getting blurry, and I start seein' red. I love the feeling of bloodlust. I live for it. It's why I do this over and over again. Once was just not enough, there is no number of dead hitchhikers that can sate me.
I pulled the car into a deserted park and ride on the right side of the road. My unfortunate co-pilot turns to me and says "Something's wrong? I know Ashford is just a bit up the road..." He seems nervous. Good. I like to see the fear written on their face. "Nah, buddy, everything's good. I just been driving for a bit 'n gotta stretch a little bit."
He moves to undo his seatbelt, thinkin' he's gonna get out and walk around or something. Hah, fat chance says I. In a flash, I pull my knife and stab down into his belly. Pure extacy possesses my facial expression as I anticipate the telltale signs of his stomach bleeding out. That's when I hear it, that unfamiliar sound. A soft 'ting'.
As I look down, I see he's blocked my knife with his own. "Think you're gonna pull a fast one on me eh? Got news for you pal, only one of us is leaving with our lives, and it's not gonna be you" my passenger remarks. With a flourish, he pushes back my knife and leaps out of the car. I can't let this guy go; none of the others ever escaped and I'm not about to let that change. We both bolt out of our doors. I slide across the hood with a rear arching swing, trying to stab him in the soft spot where the neck meets the collar bone.
This guy's good, though. He anticipates my swing and leans back at the last second. My knife catches some fibers and tears his shirt. I hop back a step, knife brandished in front of my chest, edge pointed towards my prey, other hand up ready to guard. We both charge and swing down. I catch his knife arm by the wrist as it's coming towards me, and he does the same. I'm inches away from this guy, grappled. I can smell his rank sweat pouring off his forehead. We lock eyes, and for the first time I see the look on his face. It's the same one I get before I make a kill. My mind is racing, who is this guy? Where did he even come from? Why is he resisting so much? He catches a hint of my uneasiness from my eyes.
"I'm gonna take a stab at this and suggest this isn't the first time you've killed a passenger. Well, got news for you, pal...this isn't the first time I've killed someone dumb enough to pick me up." We start struggling, trying to twist out of each other's grasp. I catch him off guard with a knee to the ribs, and send him to his knees. First thing I did after that was kicked his knife from his hand before I fell on top of him, poised to strike. Thinking I've got the advantage, I raise my knife in both hands ready to plunge it into his stinkin' heart. I roar and slam down on his chest. My blade connects, and I start to feel the warm sticky blood flow over my hands. I look down to see what I've done. Expecting to see his face writ with horror, all that remains is a shit eating grin. That's when I feel it, a sharp pain in my ribs. I look and see he's stuck me good. Another knife? I've messed up. Breathing's become harder. I feel the fluid building up in my chest. Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit! I've done this so many times before...why now? There were so many left to kill. I feel weak, vision's blurry, can't stay sittin' up anymore. Feelin' tired. Feelin' lighter. World's all horizontal now, breathin' in dirt. He ain't movin' either though.
| 2022-04-08T12:33:00 | 2015-08-09T12:43:26 | 150 | 15 |
[WP] You are slowly beginning to realise that a classmate of yours may in fact unwittingly be from a separate but only *slightly* different timeline.
School setting and classmate is optional. Unwitting as in s(he) was surprised to find themself in a new timeline, is not particularly willing to find themself here, and occasionally maybe subtly tries to find ways to return to their original timeline. | "No, they're $5.99. They've always been $5.99, and they'll always be $5.99," I said exasperated, barely resisting the urge to scream.
"Okay, let's go through this slowly" Cam replied in his usual condescending tone. "Regardless of the fact that it's actually $9.99, if you took 10 seconds to think about this, you'd realize that $5.99 for a two-topping pizza is ridiculous. Dominoes wouldn't even be pulling a profit!"
I stared at him, not sure whether to be shocked by his stupidity, or shocked at how we'd been arguing about this for 43 minutes now.
"Of course they can make a profit," I yelled back. "If they couldn't, then they wouldn't offer it for $5.99!"
"Whatever man, you just sound like a douche right now."
"Look," I said, returning to a calmer tone. "Do you not remember going to Dominoes last Thursday? We took my car, and had to get gas on the way. We went through the drive thru, ordered a two-topping pizza, and the bill came to $5.99. Remember how we took a few minutes to find exact change, and the employee was really rude about it? I distinctly remember calling him the Hitler of fast food employees."
"...who's Hitler?" | "How do you not know Galaxy Conflict?" Truman looked at me as if I'd been living under a rock my whole life.
"Duke Skylaser, I am your uncle's father's roommate! Is that not ringing a bell?"
"You mean Star Wars? I've seen the movies 50 times And I'm pretty sure that's not how it went."
"No?" Truman shrugged. "It was a long time since I watched it. And besides, some stuff probably got lost in the translation."
"Speaking of which" I asked. "What country are you from again?"
"Oh Joey" Truman laughed it off. "You're such a flarbknark. It kills me."
"No.... you're a .... flarbknark." I responded, and Truman froze immediately, and slapped me across the face.
"WHAT THE HELL?" I screamed.
"You're not allowed to say that word."
What a weird guy. Why did I ever become friends with this guy. Come to think of it, how did I meet him. I know he transferred some time ago into our class, but it's a small town and the class hasn't changed since elementary school. In fact, when did he transfer in? It's like he's always been here, but I'm sure I didn't know this guy a week ago? A month ago? A year?
"Anyway, you miss your... home?" I asked, trying to prod some answers from the mystery dude.
"Yeah," Truman sighed, looking kind of sad. "You ever have days where you go through life like you always do, and then suddenly, everything changes?"
"Yeah, Moving to a new place can be hard." I replied.
"No I mean literally. Like you're walking along the street and suddenly everything familiar just seems a little wrong somehow, like the city you thought you knew was actually something completely different. And everybody you talk to seems to know you, even though you've never met before in your entire life, like the world is trying to somehow make sense of an existence that shouldn't be there. Ever feel that way?
"Uh, Yes?" I honestly had no idea what this dude was talking about. Suddenly my phone rang. Oh no, it's Sarah, I forgot we're supposed to go to the movies today.
"Sorry, Truman. I've gotta get this"
"No worries, man, I've gotta go anyway."
"Alright, take care. See ya in class tomorrow."
"See ya whenever" Truman smiled, and walked off. I quickly answered my phone.
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" Sarah screamed. "The movie's starting in 15 minutes."
"Sorry, I got caught up talking to.... talking to...." What was that guy's name again? I could swear he gave it to me. No, was I talking to someone?
"Never mind" I sighed. "I'll be there in five." Hanging up, I got up from the bus stop and ran as fast as I could through an alleyway, down two blocks, and over a bridge in record time. I made it to the theatre with 8 minutes to spare.
"One for the midnight marathon of the Star Wars Trilogy, please." I said running up to the person running the concession stand. He looked at me kind of funny, but then clapped his hands together.
"You're Sarah's boyfriend, Joey, right? She already paid for you, go on in. Theatre 14"
I rushed into the screening room, found Sarah nestled near the top row, waving. She had saved a seat. I got to my seat just in time as the movie was starting.
*Long long ago, in a galaxy far far away...*
"Hey babe" I whispered. "Thanks for getting my ticket, I'll get dinner."
"I don't know what you're talking about" Sarah whispered back, eyes glued to the screen while sipping a large soda.
"The guy at the front said you bought my ticket."
"Nope"
"If you didn't tell him about me, how did he know me?"
Sarah just shrugged.
"We can find out after the movie. But now, Shush." She made a shushing motion and pointed at the screen. I followed her finger with my eyes just in time to see the title card come up.
It read: Galaxy Conflict
| 2015-11-08T09:07:15 | 2015-11-08T07:42:28 | 113 | 75 |
[WP] "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat."
UPDATE: I must say, I did *not* expect a cheap [Godzilla Threshold](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GodzillaThreshold) prompt to become my most upvoted post. I'm quite enjoying all of your stories so far, so keep it up! | "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat!" Mike yelled, slamming his fist on the table, causing the scattering of cans and bottles to rattle.
"Mike, I swear to god if you keep complaining about the election I'm going to stop coming out with you." Carl sighed as he pitched the bridge of his nose.
"Seriously man, you've gotta stop with it" Cthulhu flanged as he reached down and delicately picked up a keg between his fingers. Raising it to his face, he flicked the top with his clawed thumb and rocked his head back, draining its, contents in one gulp. Groaning with contentment, he crushed the empty keg between two fingers. "I come here to blow off steam, not get roped into running for office again." | "So, professor, tell me what you think of our new global Overlord Cthulhu? It was summoned to rule over us because a small cult of people believed we cannot rule over ourselves, but what impact has... He? She?"
"The academic community generally refers to Cthulhu as a 'He'. It's been impossible to ascertain his gender, so we picked at random."
"Very well. So, what impact has he had after six weeks on Earth?"
"I think we need to give him a chance. Obviously he was spawned from the depths of hell, but he hasn't really done any evil so far. He has subjugated the majority of countries that surrendered immediately, but so far he has pursued diplomatic means to get the other countries to surrender to his rule. I feel this is a good sign. He could quite easily destroy some of the smaller countries, yet his refusal to do so shows that he could very well be a benevolent ruler."
"Do you believe other countries will eventually bend to his will without violence?"
"Well, it seems that as time goes on, more and more countries are surrendering to his rule. With this added political pressure from fellow countries to surrender, I believe that even countries such as the US and Russia will submit to his leadership. Don't expect it to happen soon, but with the greater part of Europe already bowing to his whim, I can't imagine that there will be many long-term hold-outs."
"And what do you have to say about his minions? They have already rampaged in some areas and killed and eaten people, is this not a sign that we need to fight back?"
"Well, if anything, I feel they may be the most invested in the survival of the Human Race. I mean, if we were to die out, there would be nothing left for them to eat. Sure, certain people will suffer, but hopefully we will be able to reach an arrangement where they eat only those assigned to death row, or perhaps humanity could arrange a tributing system, or perhaps allow them to farm certain communities for their food. Either way, this will be good for the economy. The demon's need to eat the flesh of humans will mean a reduction in population, so the state will be less hard-pressed to support those that the drain funds away from decent, taxpaying workers, and of course it will mean more jobs in order to be able to provide for the hell spawn."
"You mentioned tributing, and that has instigated quite a debate on who should be sacrificed to the evil overlords, do you have any opinion on who should be sacrificed?"
"Well, I believe that it should be decided either by a referendum of the people, or the governments should come together to decide what is best for the people. Personally I support a random tributing system, with obvious exemptions for certain necessary people. This would be those such as doctors, teachers, and others that are needed for our society to thrive."
"And what about the promises that Cthulhu made about 1000 years of darkness and suffering? Should that be taken seriously?"
"I don't think so. We believe that he is making such bold gestures in order to exemplify the fear that he needs for countries to surrender. Once he has subjugated the entire human race, we believe he will calm down significantly, and world leaders can extend the olive branch of friendship and come to a compromise with the great overlord."
"Thanks, I'm sorry but we are all out of time. Thanks so much for speaking tonus today professor."
"Thanks, it's been a pleasure."
"Up next, how to stop yourself from being eaten. One man claims that he has discovered the secret to keep the evil minions from eating you. That's coming up right after the break." | 2016-12-22T03:07:08 | 2016-12-22T02:52:38 | 50 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straight forward. | "Gi'me your wallet!" The thug stood above me, knife pointed at my neck. He had kicked my bike when I turned around the corner. "Come on you little shit!"
"It's cool man! Just put the knife down, I'm not going to resist!" I started to reach for my wallet, when he kicked me. _Oh crap..._ I thought, praying for his safety.
"You ain't telling me shit what..." He shouted, when he was interrupted by a loud blast. A senior man leaned on a window behind the now gasping for air thug, a shotgun in his hand still fumming.
"You ok kiddo?" Asked gently the man, cocking the shotgun.
"Y-y-eah... I... is he gonna be ok?" I squirmed away from the pool of blood that formed under the thief. He was a lean and skinny white man, he seemed poor, dirty and in need of a good meal.
"This piece of shit is going straight to hell." The old man spit in the direction of the thief. "Go now, I'll call the cops."
I picked up my bicked and pedalled away as quickly as I could. A few blocks after I stopped to take a breath. "Azazel, what the hell man?"
He stepped out of the thin air, as if a corner where hidden in the nothingness in front of me. First came his brown sandals and white robes, then his charred wings. The smell of sulfur filled the air. He was neither ugly, nor beautiful. Even calling him "he" was... weird, as he didn't seem neither man nor woman, just remotely human.
"What dost thou mean, my child?" His voice was like a harp was slowly played, sweet and sad.
"Couldn't you give him a cramp or something else?" I picked a rosary from my pocket and started to pray my "Hail Mary"'s for the poor man's soul.
"He was an evil man, my child, and his time had to come." He extended his warm hands to my right leg and a bean of light shone upon it. I hand't realized that it was hurting before it, but after a slight burn the pain subsided. "There child, is it better? I'll be sure that he feels a thousand times more pain than he caused thee."
"No! I don't want that! Can't you not kill someone that is putting me into any kind of bad sittuation?!" I exclaimed.
"But that is not true, my child. I care to remind thee of Johnathas Smith, the week prior. He is still alive." The fallen angel pondered with a smile.
"YOUR CRIPLED HIM!" I punched the bike in anger.
"He crippled himself, child. He mocked thee upon thy bad performance on the maraton preparation." Azazel moved gracefully one of his hands towars his pointy chin, as if trying to remember a moment between aeons of memories.
"Physical exam." I reminded him, he was still adapting to our vocabulary, he had only been around for 14 years now, or so he had told me.
"Yes, my child, that. He mocked thee on your lack of prowess on running, so now he has been humbled into not walking." He smiled, maliciously. It gave me the chills.
"Holy crap Azazel..." I stored my now well torn rosary inside my front pocket. "Why can't you be a little less... Old Testment?"
"You mean the old book of the Hebrew?" His demonic smile widened. He extended his wings and fire flew through then, as if old charcoal had been reckindled. "Those where the good times, my child."
Edit1: fix added by /u/gingersassy suggestion | “There is he is again. My little guardian, my dermal-boned savior, swooping in when I need him most.”
&nbsp;
I thought to myself. Sarcastically.
&nbsp;
“Oh good. You’re here too.”
&nbsp;
He replied. Unreadably. As always.
&nbsp;
As much as I hate talking about it, the thing is, Leo Trepp was right. Everybody gets a guardian, sort of a prayer emissary. You end up with a spirit-in-the-middle that runs tasks between a mortal and the almighty to gopher together the small bits needed to fulfill a genuine and heartfelt cry for assistance. Most people don’t really pray anymore though, not really. It’s understandable how overlooked Leo’s thoughts on the matter have become over the years.
&nbsp;
If only I had known. Oh dear, sweet, merciful, abandoned god, if only I had known.
&nbsp;
My personal demon had been with me since my first real prayer, my first profoundly deep and heartfelt prayer.
&nbsp;
I’d prayed—hard—that my (exceptionally deserving of being and extremely soon to be) ex boyfriend would die in a fiery crash on the way to meet up with my ex best friend. He was on his way, in my car, towards their poorly-kept-secret weekend getaway. Earlier, a mutual friend sent me a snap of their facebook chats, caught on my soon-to-be ex-friend’s phone. I didn’t say a thing to anyone. I even gave him a kiss as he was leaving, told him to think about me. It was sort of a “last chance for redemption so reconsider your next move” sort of moment.
&nbsp;
He said, “you know I will,” Smiled, and sped off to meet her.
&nbsp;
It turns out that there’s a little known hub of limbo full of call-center employees that hadn’t met their numbers before they died. It turns out that they are in charge of escalating prayers to the appropriate manager. It turns out that they still don’t want to deal with you any more than you want to deal with them.
&nbsp;
It turns out that efficiency runs deep in all circles, and sometimes problems can solve themselves. Not mine, I mean, not really . . . but they didn’t skip a beat in taking advantage of a two-fer.
&nbsp;
I looked over, whispering out of the corner of my mouth as softly as I could, “Chris. We talked about this. What are you doing here?”
&nbsp;
“Watching a movie.” He replied. Through a mouthful of tiny, somehow demonic popcorn. Dribbling bits of it onto my shoulder. Oblivious. Genuinely and shockingly oblivious, as always.
&nbsp;
“There’s an open chair two rows back.” I offered, clearly demandingly.
&nbsp;
“I can’t see over the seats.” He stated, shruggingly.
&nbsp;
I grit my teeth. I kept my mouth shut. My mind swirling with the same thoughts that had been swirling since years ago, back when I first looked over and realized I’d agreed to date him in the first place. Oh my God. I can’t. I just, I can’t.
&nbsp;
“Why. Are. You. Here. As in, here, on my shoulder . . . Instead of, oh I dunno, sitting on a beach in Florida? You never turned that down to sit for a movie with me before.” I jabbed, referring to his escapades with my ex best friend, passive aggressively. He hated when I was passive aggressive. Not that he even knew what those words meant when placed next to each other. He would spitefully toss them back at me after I said things like, “You are being a gross, embarrassing slob,” or “I hope you die in a fiery crash on the way to see Colleen.”
&nbsp;
“I thought we were past that.” He stated, in ways I’m running out of descriptions for. Maybe he stated it as almost absentmindedly dismissive, or maybe obliviously matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’m only here because you went on and on in one of your dramatic internal dialogues about how you just hate watching movies alone and how WHOA IS ME being alive and watching a movie without somehow also getting attention at the same time is JUST SO HARD.”
&nbsp;
“We’re not past that. We are definitely not past that.”
&nbsp;
“Oh.”
&nbsp;
“Can you please, please, go guardian the fat lady taking tickets instead? You were always into those types.”
&nbsp;
“You know why I left you to see Colleen?”
&nbsp;
“Because you’re an asshole.”
&nbsp;
“Because you’ve always been so annoyingly passive aggressive.”
&nbsp;
I bit my tongue. Literally bit my tongue. I kept biting my tongue for a little while longer than I’d expected to when I first decided to do it.
&nbsp;
“I mean this, in the most genuine way possible, Chris, I really wish I’d never prayed for you to die. I regret it more than anyth—”
&nbsp;
My sentence was cut off by my phone, lighting up with a text. I scrambled to hide it in my purse before an usher dragged me out for forgetting to turn it off.
&nbsp;
Oh.
&nbsp;
It was from Chris.
&nbsp;
An image, one which I have absolutely no idea how he even took. He’d been burying both fists into his popcorn the entire time he was on my shoulder. Regardless, it was an image I certainly did not solicit.
&nbsp;
“Goddamned it Chris.”
&nbsp;
“What? I thought we were back together.”
&nbsp;
I went back to biting my tongue. It tasted like regret.
&nbsp;
I sighed.
&nbsp;
I should have just let him go, burned some of his pictures or dated his much cuter brother. I admit it, I went too far. So Naïve.
&nbsp;
He’s not the man I need, but he’s definitely the demon I deserve.
| 2017-06-13T07:00:00 | 2017-06-13T05:43:14 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] In the future, the UN ultimately decides all armies use a new type of bullet that teleports soldiers out of existence to be more humane. No one knows where people go after being shot. You are a soldier on the front line, and you have just took a bullet to the chest. | On the battlefield
No soldiers fell
New bullets created a teleportation field
Sending them straight to hell.
But to the surprise of every man
Their GPS paraphernalia
Pinpointed them in an utter wasteland;
The country of Australia.
Edit: There was a letter
In the wrong place,
But now it's better
And I can save face. | "NO!" I felt the force of the bullet hit my body. My friend looked at me, shocked, as I performed the final sacrifice. One for the team, wasn't that what they called it? I smiled, as I slowly passed into 'Elsewhere'. A place people purportedly went when they died. *Zoop*, I felt my body getting transported out of the battlefield as I prepared to embrace my new life. I was technically dead, but no one knew where death would land you. So when I woke up in a small room, I was only marginally surprised. 'Out of existence' was the way they described it in the UN handbook to make wars more humane (and to make the battlefield less cluttered, I suspected). But at least I wasn't dead yet, right? Just teleported.
A man approached me, a small object in his hand. "Hello, James," hr said pleasantly, as he sat opposite to me. This man seemed nice, so I struck up conversation with me. He seemed to be a pretty nice guy, belonging to the other country we were fighting, though he was pretty cool about relations. We talked and talked, though eventually he said he had to do something. He went out of the room, and got on the phone outside. Out of pure curiosity, I went to eavesdrop.
"Yes, the target is inside. Scheduled release is 12.00 PM. Yes, he's ready for it. Seems nice, so give him Stage 1 punishment. Over." I backed away from the door. The UN insisted on all deaths being painless tears out of the canvas of existence, but this? Locking people up to die? That was clearly against the UN rules! The man re-entered, though the face I'd thought to be genial a minute before looked menancing and cunning now. "I have to bring you someplace at 12," he said, though I knew clearly what he meant by that. Was this 'Community' we were fighting violating human rights laws? I had to get the information to my superiors. Taking my chance to strike, I stunned the man with a blow and opened the door, running out straight into two guns. I tried to punch the guns out of their hands, but their grip was too strong. The man behind me straightened his jacket, then motioned the other men to leave. He stood in front of me, and I could see the tag on his chest. 'Elder'? Was that a high ranking position.
"You know too much to die. Your memories and thoughts will be too hard to handle. So...I've something special prepared for you," he said, motioning for an assistant to inject me. I instantly grew old and decrepit, with a sort of mental bind restricting my thoughts. "You'll serve us forever now. You will serve the *Community* with dedication, Giver," he said, a smirk on his face.
"What?" I didn't catch the name he called me by. But he looked at me, and I could see for a split second the sad, clear eyes I had. He put his hands on my back almost gently, and replied.
"The Giver."
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-29T23:38:33 | 2017-07-29T22:53:48 | 307 | 61 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Of course in hindsight everyone sees the merit of my decision. In the early days though, people kept asking me why I chose Hell over Heaven. My answer has always been three words: "Location, location, location"...
Before my ticket was up on earth, I came to a realization... If everyone choose Heaven, Heaven would eventually become overcrowded. I mean idyllic pastures and tranquil rivers are nice and all, but if you have to share it with roughly 10 Billion other people... Maybe not so much. Can you imagine the waste problem? If you want to watch a football game, you need to first clear people from an area roughly the size of a football field. Plus, there really is not much beyond natural beauty up there.
So I made a decision, I moved in on the market early. Closed all the primo real estate I could all over Hell before there was a demand for it. Heck, those poor schmucks, the demons... They were so surprised that anyone wanted anything to do with Hell, they sold me the whole thing for a handful of colorful beads.
Later on they would also provide the cheap labor that I exploited in my sea-of-fire side casinos and river (Lethe is beautiful in autumn) side properties. I quickly dominated the market and soon became the land lord of hell.
True, the re-branding took some effort... People were reluctant to view Hell as a warmer alternative to the overcrowded paradise. I think it was all the entertainment venues that did it in the end. I was able to convince the "Blue Man" group and a few other performers in exchange for lofts overseeing Hinnom valley. Combined with the casinos and strip clubs, pretty soon Hell became the place to be.
That is when I stopped accepting just any old schmuck into the club. I am after all trying to cultivate a tasteful community down here. There were a few instances people even begged me to stop deportation to Heaven, but what can I say... Business is business. | Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T09:48:32 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 155 | 13 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal, blackened by the fires of lusty wickedness, set with precious stones that turned out to be eyes glancing desperately about, and covered in many other infernal whatsits and doodahs.
When I had pushed the hellish portal open, and been deafened by the ungodly squeaking of the hinges, in which the fingers of many small demons were caught for all eternity, yay, even sunday afternoons, I found myself in a reception, such as that of a small town hotel. The receptionist was asleep.
"Excuse me. Um. Excuse me." To no avail I continued to wave my hand and excuse myself, until I noticed a bell, which said "Ring to summon the boatman, gatekeeper of eternal doom." Of course, I rang it (and felt a certain frisson).
"What do you want? Is it judgement day already? Blimey, what in the nether-regions are you?" The receptionist had started up, dislodging her grey bob. She replaced her tortoiseshell glasses and would have fallen off her chair, if she had not been chained to it with rusty old manacles. "Are you a delivery boy? Whips, weaponry and flesh tearing wire you want the service entrance. If you're bringing in a magma feature, or a pit for boiling oil or blood you need to give us advance notice. Wait a minute--"
"What?"
"You're not Jesus Christ, are you? You've got a bill to settle, mister, what with all that renting and tearing you did last time you were 'ere."
"I'm not Jesus, no."
"The big man was not pleased at all. Said you can't get curtains made up any more like those ones you destroyed. Woven with the hem of a midnight sky in Romania and set with twinkles from the eyes of dormice. But you're not him, you say?"
"No, I'm a man."
"A man? I thought you lot didn't come down here any more. After the bigger big man made his thingy. Decree. No man shall suffer for all eternity, yaddah yaddah."
"Well, um, we get a choice, you see... And I'm a satanist."
I fiddled at the drawstring of my Iron Maiden hoodie, beginning to feel that something was wrong.
"A what-anist? There's no sating down here. Only eternal craving and sharp nails and flat coca cola."
"But. But. I thought the realm was ruled over by the mighty One. The beast."
"So you chose the flaming inferno over an eternity of strippers, cocaine, gin fizz and heavy metal?"
"What?"
"Well, whatever turns you on, I suppose."
"Look, can I talk to Charon."
"Yep, that's me. Sharon Finchley, oarsman of the apocalypse."
"Oh. Where's the boat?"
"We got rid of the boat. Too fun. There isn't any fun down here. Just eternal misery and suffering. And paperwork."
"What about Satan? The devil? The fallen angel?"
"Oooh! Satan! I wondered who you were on about. Nah, God killed him off ages ago. Wouldn't you have done?"
"Then who's...the big man you mentioned."
"Oh, that's Mr. Murdoch. They say that he's so evil the bigger big man let his body continue to live on earth, but immediately swept his soul down to hell. And I don't need to tell you, he cleaned up pretty fast. Made a killing (well, not a killing, you can't kill down here, but made an eternal suffering) convincing all the demons they needed satellite subscriptions so they could be totally up to date on the latest torture methods."
"I get the idea."
"Oh, that's a pity for you though, isn't it? You could have been in the Other Place, surfing across a lake of fire with Jimi Hendrix. Taking speedballs with John Belushi. Eating peacocks and hanging out at crazy parties. But instead..."
"Actually, I change my mind!"
"Oh, you change your mind! That's okay. Gosh, I thought you were being rather silly. Just head back out the way you came."
I about-turned pretty fast, and pushed the horrible, hellish portal open as fast as possible, vicious whispers lapping at my ears. Behind it was an ordinary door. I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal... | "Wait so you mean I literally get to pick?" I said to St. Peter at the immaculately kept gates. The gold would make a tacky American oligarch hard enough to cut it. "No, yeah so ever since God invented opiates.. things have gone.. downhill..", he replied while eyeballing the ground. "So is it even worth picking heaven? What is it like inside?" Peter replied, "Well it's hard to say. I just got this message from the boss this morning. He creates opium just this morning and by noon he's shooting carfentanil into his arms. It's pretty wild. I see where Jesus gets his wine problem from. You're actually the first guy who gets to pick since God cleaned himself up after inventing booze. I don't know how long this bender will last."
I was confused. "Opium has been around for ages, hasn't it?" St. Peter replied, "Do I really have to explain this fucking shit to you?!" He lit up a Marlboro and continued. "Obviously God didn't create the world and universe in a few Earth days. Each day to him was an entire era for your dimension." That piqued my curiosity, having been a physicist in my life. "So, what is the deal with the universe anyway? Multiple dimensions? Hidden ones? How close were we to the truth or the next huge discovery?" I wanted to know *everything*.
"Dude, I don't know. Do I look like a fucking nerd to you? Just fucking pick heaven or hell. Oh my God I'm so fucking done with this job. I'm not even putting my two weeks in." He angrily replied. "What's hell like in comparison?" I asked. "HELL IT IS", he yelled in a thunderous echoing boom as he spread his wings and flew off, but not before dropping a hot load much like a bird would onto the Welcome to Heaven sign. Some of the lights were out on it already so it sort of fit.
I had never had the chance to go skydiving in my years on earth. This wasn't my chance either however. I was shot instantly up into the sky toward what seemed to be more clouds. I guess gays do go to hell because the interior design here is fucking *terrible.* They seemed to be clearing out a little bit now and a red cavernous ceiling complete with stalactites and terrifying imagery of torture that appears to be painted by one of the renaissance greats. Maybe a collaboration of all of them? But also Picasso? I was never an art buff. As I approached the ceiling I braced for impact but I was met with more of a soft sand texture and drawn through it until my head peaked out of the surface.
"Hey"
"Hi?" I replied while taking in the awful scenery I was met with.
I noticed the red. Everywhere. Fire, in every direction! Lava was flowing out of.. a.. "Is that a water fountain?"
"It's a lava fountain, my dude. Pretty sweet, right?"
The fire, it wasn't running wild either. Nobody was being engulfed by flames. They were cooking burgers on a flaming grill. There were roses covering the grass beneath them on the rolling hills for miles in any direction.
"Are you going to ask for help? Most people need help getting the rest of their body out of the sand." The man said to me.
"I could use a hand I suppose"
I almost immediately recognized him, although he doesn't look anything like the paintings. "Jesus?" I said, questioning everything I thought I knew about Catholicism.
"Yeet!! Hit this shit real quick. It's called God's Vagina back on earth but that's fucking gross. My dad has a dick and I know because I've unfortunately seen it too many times when he's piss drunk. I call it, Jesus' Wheezus' ".
"I am so confused", I confessed for the first time since first confession. "Lemme break it down for you real quick" said Jesus, bong in hand. He paused for about three seconds before he started dancing.
After a solid minute of that, he popped his shades up and my eyes met his red glossy eyes.
"What were we talking about?" He said, lighting his bowl that somehow still had greens on top of it. Through a cloudy exhale, he said in a low breathy voice "You know how hotel bibles just show up at hotels? You know how they have decent paper inside them to roll joints? I did that shit", then forcefully released the rest of the breath.
I was a marijuana user in life but never this heavy. Never full on stoner identity like Jesus. The long hair they hit right on the head in the paintings. He was more Middle Eastern looking than the white Christians like to admit. Hell, Korean jesus looks a little more accurate than what I was used to where I lived.
"Bro, you eye fucking me or what?" He asked
"I uhh,"
He interrupted, "Dude chill, I'm fuckin with ya! I don't care what you do, free love man! It's my dad who's against all that stuff." I was starting to see where the problem with hell was. Not the open attitude toward homosexuality, that was great by me. It was just this fucking guy. Bro of all bros. Brosiah himself. His bowl is always packed and fresh with green buds and yet he hasn't offered any, or when he did he didn't actually hand any over. "Can I hit that?" I asked, needing to cool down a bit. "I totally would but I'm almost out and I need this for my lower back pain and anxiety." He said. "But it doesn't seem to be running ou-"
"SOO grand tour, huh? This is my smash pad.." He said holding his arms out "..ahah I smash everywhere here. These ho's are ready for it bruh."
I fucking hate Jesus.
"Do I get a room? I could use some rest."
Jesus answers, "*Do I get a room? I could use some-* BRUH you just got here don't you want to turn up! Fucking pussy."
"Whatever man, you're a tool." I said to Jesus as I turned and walked away.
"WAIT!" He said with a raised and desperate tone. "Want to hit this?"
"Nah" I said eyeballing a vast field of marijuana in the distance.
"Bruh, I can call up this Mary ho and we can both smash, I'ma send a dick pic, pulls yours out too" he insisted.
"I'll pass" I said noticing the high end brothel conveniently placed next to the marijuana farm.
Jesus sat down on a rock and looked broken. I was done with his shit though so I trucked onto the farm, picked some buds and went to the brothel. When I arrived, I was greeted by a beautiful woman who told me to enter and there was no fee. As soon as I walked in I was hit by the wall of marijuana smoke. I was just here for marijuana and information but seeing these beautiful women I noticed I was beginning to consider it.
"What's the deal with Jesus?" I asked the bartender. "He just tries so fucking hard to reclaim those glory days with his 12 disciples. They stayed in heaven and I don't know man he's just trying too hard. Welcome to Hell though, my name is Lucifer." | 2018-08-13T07:02:49 | 2018-08-13T06:40:49 | 143 | 54 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Every soul before me for a millennia chose Heaven.
Every. Single. One.
The way "The Choice" works is simple. One at a time, you enter a room with two staircases. One is a staircase of marble and gold basked in sunlight leading up far into the sky. You can feel the warmth at the base of the stairs. The fifth stair is in steel, marking the point of no return. After you pass this step, your choice is "locked in"
The second staircase is made of cold, hard steel, beyond anything seen even in the most industrial setting. This staircase leads down, far beyond what can be seen into the darkness. You feel a cold, bitter breeze coming up. The fifth stair is made of gold. Again, this stair is the point of no return.
My entire life, I analyzed every decision. Every one. Its just something I have always done. From what career I went for (accounting) to what I wore my 1st day of 1st grade (blue jeans and a red t shirt, the school colors), I carefully thought of every scenario.
Something did not add up. Why make the pathway going up seem so much better than the one going down. What was wrong with the one going up? I knew that if you took something bad, put ribbons and bows on it, people would still choose it.
So I stepped on the first step. A soft voice cried to me "Come to me my child. Come up and join me."
I stepped back. From fear or surprise, I just instinctively jumped back.
I went to the second staircase and got onto the first step. A voice cried from above. "Stop!! What are you doing? That s the wrong path!! You belong up here, with me!!"
Out of fear or shock from the whole scene, I stepped down again and again.
"Noooooooooooop!!!"
Another step.
The next one would take me to the point of no return.
"Stop!! You cannot take that path!!"
I took the step......
The staircase was quickly encased in a soft, golden light. The cold, bitter breeze changed to a soft, warm wind.
You can polish trash, and still have just trash.
The staircase was shorter than I imagined. After a couple of minutes, I arrived at the bottom. An older gentleman greeted me, immaculately dressed in a grey suit.
"Welcome. We haven't had anyone join us in over 1000 years."
I glanced around. There was suffering. No fires. I knew that I made the right decision.
"You were right. He does have a better marketing campaign. Yes, this is Hell, but nothing like the Hell that is described. You see, God is nothing like described in the books. He's an arrogant, self indulgent, narcissist who sacrificed his child to promote his own ego. He dupped mankind to blindly follow him, even though he brought war, famine, disease and other atrocities."
I looked at the man.
"Why? How come he's up there?"
"That is another conversation for another time. We have plenty of time. Please, follow me. Welcome to Hell, population of 643, including you. Everything you could need or want is available. There is no torture or pain or suffering. That is for everyone who makes the other choice. You see, those that choose Heaven is forced to serve. Pain and suffering is to do his bidding, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. There's no time off, no relaxation, no eternal joy. The only one who gets that is him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get you name."
"Oh my, where are my manners. I'm sorry, it has been a while since we have had a new person here. My name is Lucifer. You probably know me as Satan."
"How come there aren't more people here."
My guide chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, he has a better marketing campaign. You know it as the Catholic Church." | I'm sitting in a waiting room, comfortably, with a nice capuchino. Why? I have no idea how I got here. All I see is people holding papers with numbers on their hands. As I look down, I realize I am holding one as well. Am I at the DMV? A giant screen is calling numbers by the thousands.
I see people of all races, and by the looks of it, different eras, waiting in comfortable chairs. I stand up and look around. This scene goes as far as my eyes can see.
I turn around to the lady next to me and ask her where we are. She speaks in a foreign language, yet I understand her perfectly.
"We are in the waiting room.", she replies, almost insulted that I asked.
Memories come flooding back to me. I remember my wife, my kids, the baseball game. I said goodbye as I rushed to the corner store to get the Gatorades. I always forget the Gatorades. I gave my wife a quick kiss, and waved to my kids as I made the hand motions of getting something to drink.
I have flashbacks of a person on the side of the road, he appeared out of nowhere. I swerved to avoid him, and went onto incoming traffic. All I remember then was a loud horn, probably a semi, and thinking how much I love my family.
Now I'm in this room. I don't even like capuchinos. I decided to stand up and walk around for a bit. After all, my number was in the billions, and lo and behold, they had just called number 42,325. God bless "government" offices.
As I explored the waiting room, I began to notice that the people had a strange look on their face. Some of them were even pacing around the room with giant strides looking very nervous.
A random heavy-set fellow even offered to trade numbers with me. He said he was in the hundreds of thousands. I said no thank you and walked away in a hurry. I was not liking this one bit. Something about this place made me uneasy.
I felt around my pockets and I found my pack of cigs. "Perfect," I thought, "I need to calm my nerves. " I found a dimly lit stairwell and began to make my way downstairs. I looked out a small window and realized it was pitch black. I looked up and saw clouds high above in the distance. A glance down showed a.. sunset? It looked blood orange and turning red. I paid no mind and kept walking down.
A few flights below, I encountered an old man with a small dog. He asked if he could bum a smoke. I happily obliged, knowing my wife would have been happy I smoked one less cigarette. He asked about my life. I figured we were gonna be here for a while, so against my better judgement, I confided with this stranger.
He proceeded to tell me about his, and we chatted for quite sometime. I asked how he got here, and he said he had been there for eons. He could not remember how long it had been. What he could remember, was that people immediately looked down on him because of his situation. "I gave everything up for my dog after the accident.", he said.
He mentioned he was an alcoholic. He said he caused an accident where a man lost his life. He stumbled drunk onto the road and caused an innocent man to die and leave a family behind. He said he could not live with the guilt, and lost himself. He woke up one day to a puppy licking his face, and was amazed anyone could ever care for him once again. He devoted his life to caring for him and other stray dogs. He lost his life trying to protect a stray from a group of kids who were torturing it.
I felt an insane rage fill over me. I didn't know if I could murder in this place, but I felt like I could try. I was not mad because he caused me to perish. I was mad because I could not stand the pain he caused my family. I could not fathom how it came to be that we would meet up in this place. I wanted to end his life...but then, something strange happened. I felt his pain. I saw him standing there after the accident, crying in pain, unable to live with himself, tormented for years because of what he had caused.
I realized he felt a pain greater than I did. At that moment, I embraced him. We both cried for what seemed hours, holding each other as comfort. After what seemed like days, no more tears would come out. Our voices were hoarse. The only thing I could tell him was that I forgave him, I only wished my family was happy again.
He thanked me, and told me he would be on his way. I had another cigarette. When I was nearly done, I heard his voice. "You know, you really surprised me. I didn't think you would have it in you. The pain of missing one's family is always met with a need for vengeance. Yet, you forgave. Not very many people will do that. I have seen the most peaceful and religious do unspeakable things when they meet their ender. "
I could not believe what I was hearing. His voice carried on:" people think that the waiting room up there is salvation. They think they are able to wait until they are called to be judged. You decided to explore your existence and came face to face with your fate. You accepted your fate, embraced it, and decided to carry on with your life. Now the choice is yours. Heaven or hell?"
" What are you talking about? " I yelled out to an empty staircase."There's a choice? I thought good people went to heaven and bad people went to hell. I mean, I'm not expecting to go to heaven, I did some questionable things during my youth, but I didn't know there was a choice."
"See? There in lies the problem. Nobody ever thinks there's a choice. You're already in heaven. It's the waiting room. Those people are just waiting to get checked into their judgement. Heaven isn't a place where you reside happily forever. It's the last stop before you return to the cosmos and become one with the universe."
" So then what is hell?" I asked, incredibly perplexed.
" Hell is the next adventure, the new beginning. It is the reward for being a person pure of heart! "
"So then, why does everyone think it's a bad place?isn't it filed with demons and eternal damnation?"
He appeared once again and said: "come on now, we have to make it exciting for us too, right?"
And we walked into the new beginning, together.
Edit: spelling corrections
This is my first story, please forgive the grammar and structure. Criticism welcome!
| 2018-08-13T09:57:08 | 2018-08-13T09:53:30 | 57 | 39 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Every soul before me for a millennia chose Heaven.
Every. Single. One.
The way "The Choice" works is simple. One at a time, you enter a room with two staircases. One is a staircase of marble and gold basked in sunlight leading up far into the sky. You can feel the warmth at the base of the stairs. The fifth stair is in steel, marking the point of no return. After you pass this step, your choice is "locked in"
The second staircase is made of cold, hard steel, beyond anything seen even in the most industrial setting. This staircase leads down, far beyond what can be seen into the darkness. You feel a cold, bitter breeze coming up. The fifth stair is made of gold. Again, this stair is the point of no return.
My entire life, I analyzed every decision. Every one. Its just something I have always done. From what career I went for (accounting) to what I wore my 1st day of 1st grade (blue jeans and a red t shirt, the school colors), I carefully thought of every scenario.
Something did not add up. Why make the pathway going up seem so much better than the one going down. What was wrong with the one going up? I knew that if you took something bad, put ribbons and bows on it, people would still choose it.
So I stepped on the first step. A soft voice cried to me "Come to me my child. Come up and join me."
I stepped back. From fear or surprise, I just instinctively jumped back.
I went to the second staircase and got onto the first step. A voice cried from above. "Stop!! What are you doing? That s the wrong path!! You belong up here, with me!!"
Out of fear or shock from the whole scene, I stepped down again and again.
"Noooooooooooop!!!"
Another step.
The next one would take me to the point of no return.
"Stop!! You cannot take that path!!"
I took the step......
The staircase was quickly encased in a soft, golden light. The cold, bitter breeze changed to a soft, warm wind.
You can polish trash, and still have just trash.
The staircase was shorter than I imagined. After a couple of minutes, I arrived at the bottom. An older gentleman greeted me, immaculately dressed in a grey suit.
"Welcome. We haven't had anyone join us in over 1000 years."
I glanced around. There was suffering. No fires. I knew that I made the right decision.
"You were right. He does have a better marketing campaign. Yes, this is Hell, but nothing like the Hell that is described. You see, God is nothing like described in the books. He's an arrogant, self indulgent, narcissist who sacrificed his child to promote his own ego. He dupped mankind to blindly follow him, even though he brought war, famine, disease and other atrocities."
I looked at the man.
"Why? How come he's up there?"
"That is another conversation for another time. We have plenty of time. Please, follow me. Welcome to Hell, population of 643, including you. Everything you could need or want is available. There is no torture or pain or suffering. That is for everyone who makes the other choice. You see, those that choose Heaven is forced to serve. Pain and suffering is to do his bidding, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. There's no time off, no relaxation, no eternal joy. The only one who gets that is him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get you name."
"Oh my, where are my manners. I'm sorry, it has been a while since we have had a new person here. My name is Lucifer. You probably know me as Satan."
"How come there aren't more people here."
My guide chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, he has a better marketing campaign. You know it as the Catholic Church." | And so it goes. Everything was a blur amongst the tornado of flashing lights and somber moods. Gravity itself subsided as they wheeled me into the ICU. I wanted to focus but my mind was clouded by nurses shouting and the cries of my wife as she stood over my lifeless body.
They talk about that moment, the one where you see the light just before you go. It’s not true. I felt my body transcending my soul as if it were scaling up a staircase built upon my own unachievable dreams and stardust when i tripped. All was still for a moment. I felt my wife’s shaking hand take hold of mine as a lonely tear roll off her face into the abyss. Then, just like that, I was left in solitude with only my thoughts.
Agony took hold of me as i collapsed to the ground with the pain of a melancholy heart knowing it left the world too soon subsiding worlds and blurring reality. Before me stood a grey haired man in black. He was dressed for a funeral. My funeral.
“Come now, you can’t stay here forever.”
Let it be known for the record, if any man should ambush you in your darkest moment, don’t hesitate to pull any punches.
Frustration fueled a fire that would lift me to my feet. I’ve never been one to strike a man, but today would hold the one exception. I felt my knuckles as they collided with his face, the face of a God.
Footsteps reverberated throughout the void as God approached from behind me, my arm still fully extended mid lunge. I was stuck in a moment I couldn’t get out of.
“I can only imagine how frustrating this must be for you, but I’m afraid that was the answer to a question I didn’t want to ask.”
Rage was consuming me. I began to sputter. Adrenaline sent chills down my spine. Death would not capture me on this day.
“Your wedding... I’m sorry that it had to be today, but there is a small glimmer of light. You were privileged enough to know how Love felt.”
He was out of my line of sight but i could hear the movements; the collective scream of a thousand bubbles in a gentle whisper fulfilling their purpose as a bottle was readied. Was he pouring himself champagne?
The man circled me. A martini glass traced the outline of his hand. He held it up to toast with me.
“Here’s to Heav-“
“NO!”
This was not it for me. My wife was waiting for me. I desperately needed a way back.
“You... don’t want to go to Heaven? But you’ve made such an impact with your life considering your foundation and-“
“No. Send me back.”
The man chuckled.
“My friend, I’m here to usher you to Heaven only. This is not a choice.”
“My choice is made.”
The man looked upset. He was inexperienced in this scenario. Everyone subsided to death eventually. Everyone else was much more accepting.
“Well... If you need me, I’m Gabriel.”
Abruptly, the room began to collapse. A wave of heat singed my face. All had gone dark as the floor turned to lava. Fear consumed my soul, while Hell consumed my body. This was not the choice I intended to make. In the distance was a silhouette, the shadow of a man who never had anything. He extended his arms as a staff appeared in his right hand. He twisted it slightly to reveal two additional prongs off of it. A crown of thorns was placed upon his head as two horns protruded from his forehead. He descended to appear in front of me.
Never in my life have I seen eyes like that. Eyes that raged with the fury of two hurricanes colliding into each other. Staring into them was like reliving your first heart break, the longing for a love that would never exist. I saw my own broken dreams in the reflection. I saw the loneliness of a man forced to live in Hell.
“Welcome.”
A demonic voice boomed throughout the solitude, the lower frequency echoing through the void.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered to him.
His smile was eerily familiar. It bore a striking resemblance to every smile I’d ever seen from every used car dealer I’d ever met.
Suddenly my fears subsided and the room went back to the white void. Gabriel stood before me gently slapping my cheek.
“Don’t be. You could’ve chosen Heaven, but you refused.”
Still suspended in time, I couldn’t move.
“But that’s a farce.”
Gabriel began to circle me as he spoke.
“You see, Heaven isn’t actually real. I’ve been told I’ve pulled all of the greatest tricks to have ever been pulled but no, no, you see, Heaven, is the greatest trick I have ever pulled. You see, there is no Heaven. I wanted the mortals to have hope, but God... God is dead. I killed him.”
Gabriel stood behind me, now, out of my line of vision.
“You see, everyone goes to Hell in the end. You’re the first to go willingly though. You’re the first to have attacked me. For that reason, I realize you’re much more special.”
Gabriel placed a single hand midway down my back
“Now, I ask you this: Hold this truth forever on the tip of your tongue, and know I’m with you always.”
With his last words, he pushed me forwards.
“CLEAR!”
A shock wave went through my body. Like a free diver returning to the surface, I could not get enough oxygen. I gasped for breath. My wife wrapped her arms pulling me into her embrace. I felt her luke warm tears rolling down the back of my head as she sobbed.
—
Moments later, we sat in the ICU alone, my body fully bandaged. I still couldn’t recall how I had even gotten there. My wife sat across from my slumped over in the chair. I turned to look at the clock and watched it turn from 2:59am to 3:00am. The chair rustled as my wife looked up.
“Baby, are you awake? I forgot to mention... In your current state, I’ve been given power of attorney over your affairs now as your wife.”
She smiled an all too eerily familiar smile. I looked into her eyes to see a storm at full rage. We made eye contact and I felt my heart breaking a thousand times over.
“The foundation’s head called today and asked for my advice. I think they’ll be heading in a new direction now.” | 2018-08-13T09:57:08 | 2018-08-13T09:52:05 | 57 | 12 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | *Day 1*
*You know, with all the terrible people in the world, I expected Hell to be pretty occupied and automatically chosen. But I was shocked after my bad car accident to find a choice between Heaven and Hell in the Limbo Waiting Room. Everyone was lined up for Heavenly Stairway and the Hell Slide was seemingly abandoned. Now, you'd probably think that I, being the good guy that I am, would pick heaven.*
*But I'm more of a fall-colour lover. I went down the Hell Slide which, admittedly, is very fun. I'd probably give it another ride if I could. Anyway, after that slide, I met the big man himself who was just about to close the slide. He hugged me with a big grin and gave me the tour. Now I'm next door neighbours with him. This is all happening so fast, so I might go to sleep. I'll talk more about Hell tomorrow.*
*Day 2*
*You'd think being in Hell is like a furnace you can't escape from, but it's actually very warm and cozy. Views aren't that bad either. As for Satan, he's a pretty nice guy. He likes going for walks with his dogs and cooking. And the beds are so soft. They even had secret cameras of Heaven. IT'S SO WHITE AND BLUE. IT'S LIKE A GODDAMN WINDOWS BACKGROUND. My eyes hurt when I looked at that. Me and him soon went and had some meaty ribs. Afterwards, we went to a nice farm he had.*
*They're all wrong. Hell is a great place. The demons are an upstanding community who like to party. Satan's a really cool guy and Cerberus is just a big lug. I'm going to really love it here.*
*Day 3*
(The rest of the book is burnt with unreadable text.) | Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T08:57:53 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 53 | 13 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered. | 'Well, it wasn't water that did it, but good, old fashioned lead. Turns out when you come from a planet without the necessary components for gunpowder, thus forcing you to create electrical weapons which coincidentally don't work quite as well in wetter Earth conditions, you don't develop defenses against bullets. Weird how technological evolution works.
Of course, you couldn't have known that when you pulled your reverse Australia. Left the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, and leapt up into space. Generation ships.
Modern Titanics.
See, you might not have lost everyone out there, but you lost everything.
Because we won.
And you ran.
They didn't want to destroy the planet, they wanted the resources, and they were committed to the fight, but their recon had to be off. Their weapons miss fired, for the most part. They came from a much dryer planet, and Earth's humidity caused them to mis-fire and explode.
Early on, they made massive gains in desert regions. Las Vegas lay in ruins. North Africa and the Middle East fell. Tundra too, anywhere dry. It wasn't enough.
They learned though, started fighting with our weapons, but we've been doing it a hell of a lot longer. Northern Mexico looked like dusty Verdun by the end of 2028, but they never even made it as far as Cortez had.
It took a decade, but we forced them back to their dropzones. Even took some of their transport ships, started to land troops on their ships in orbit. From that point, it was all over but the dying.
Which brings us here, to this moment. You return, flaming sword in hand, eager to defeat your grandfathers' unconquerable enemy. Sons of senators, daughters of queens. Your parents were the best and brightest of their time, literati, rich and powerful.
My grandfather was a car theif, and my dad a mechanic. I lead an assault on an alien ship to defeat the enemy your ancestors scrambled to the stars for.
So who the fuck are you?'
- Cpt. G. Price, UN Space Defense, in response to initial messages from 'Operation' OVERLORD, the 'mission to retake Earth'. | It had been 8 years since the Earth's best and richest had left their home behind. 17 since the world rejoiced at the discovery that we were not alone in this universe. And 12 since it dawned on us in horror that Voyager had not died naturally. Juno had used it's remaining fuel to try and act as a primitive gesture of welcome only to reveal their true intentions. It didn't take long for over a hundred years of science fiction to clue humanity in to what this really was.
The entire industry of an entire planet was converted to the presentation of humanity almost overnight. A planet united in fear realized it needed a backup. A reserve of humans placed out of harms way to provide our species some chance of survival. As rockets rolled off production lines seats were reserved for our best generals leaders and scientists. But it didn't take long for the captains of industry to realize they were being left out of the party. Money didn't mean much anymore but resources and factories did. So the rich traded these for their lives, but while the original plan had been for 200 humans with machines and tools to oneday build a resistance it soon ballooned into 10,000 with just enough supplies to keep them all alive. In the demand for seats rockets were tested by just launching them and praying, the Russians had taken 3 engines off their Soyuz to stretch their supply. The Americans had refurbished the shuttles into war rooms and laboratories. And finally seats were mounted on every available surface. When it came time to launch these rushed rockets many had paid millions just to die with their families. But as the threat approached this junkyard armada begans it's journey.
The solution was by no means elegant, a thousand ships would land on the back of the moon and as one general said "just kinda try to figure something out.". Like a kid playing hide and seek swiveling around a tree to remain hidden from the seeker, the greatest and most powerful minds the human race had to offer matched their orbit to keep the moon between them and their judgment. They broke contact with those left to defend Earth, all communication satallites were shut down and replaced with buried cables to deny the Invaders any information of our plans. So in silence and too scared to peak around the corner incase the monster saw us humanity sat and did what we do best, started a civil war. Not enough farms had survived the trip and forced in tight quarters with not enough food old grudges soon surfaced. Having damaged their own infastructure they were faced with either dying slowly on the moon or trying to join any resistance left on Earth.
Say what you will about humans but the idea of dying defending our home does seem to resonate at some primal level. So the remaining fifteen hundred now battle hardened survivors boarded the few operational ships and set for home. Knowing any intelligent life would detect them the moment they entered the atmosphere they landed rifles in hand preparing to fight. They burst out if their capsules ready to avenge 3.5 Billion years if evolution to find peace. As they breathed their first fresh air in almost a decade they couldn't find their enemy.
As predicted humanity's defenses fell quickly, nuclear weapons launched into space managed to disable only a handful of ships. And when they landed forming massive craters, Earth's 7 Billion man militia took no time in launching their attacks hoping to kill the threat before they could organize. For several days they charged into, bomber and struck these craters in every way the generals who stayed behind could think of. And for several days wave after wave were repelled. Until finally after 4 days of fighting we received a message. They asked for a ceasefire and a chance to explain themselves. Humanity's suspicious nature was suppressed by the realization they were not winning so they agreed. The Invaders explained they had not realized humans only inhabited the surface of this planet. Their species had long ago realized the space of a active planets mantle allowed for their population to expand significantly, and the intense heat provided more than enough energy for all their technology. The surface to them wasn't important, it was simply too small for any meaningful development. They realized what they had percieved as our first lines of defence was actually our final stand. They proposed an end to their war, and would provide us with technology as reparations for their mistake. In exchange they asked to be allowed to establish a colony in our mantle near the core, after all we had no use for it and they promised it shouldn't cause any harm to life on the surface. With no alternative and no realistic odds of winning the war humanity concerned it's mantel, with no use for it ourselves we realized that to them it's free real estate.
Typed on my phone on a bus so sorry for all the typos I'm sure I missed, also first post so you know sorry. And really I just loved the image of humanity's greatest minds trying to hide behind the moon like it was a bush on a school playground so kinda just wrote everything else to make that fit, hence the kinda joke ending cause I couldn't think of a way to wrap it up. | 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T05:10:18 | 656 | 33 |
[WP] You have died, and then you find yourself standing over your body. You see that the Grim Reaper has come for you, and.. no twist, he’s just doing his job. You’re disappointed in the normality of it all actually. | “I’m... dead?”
“Hi dead, I’m dad.”
The voice startled me, which was apparently something I could still feel even though I was now standing there staring at my lifeless corpse, it’s head turned at an unnatural angle as I had just tripped down the stairs for the last time apparently. And I’ve got to fucking tell you, I did not expect the first words from Death Itself to be a dad joke.
I stood there for a moment, staring quizzically at the hooded figure, a skeletal hand grasping the handle of a tall scythe, the run of the mill Grim Reaper depicted thousands upon thousands of times.
“Seriously?” Was the only word I can manage. A restrained snicker was all that came from within the shadowy veil of his hood. The skeletal figure shrugged,
“It was either that or ‘nice of you to drop by’. Get it?” After a few uncomfortable seconds he added, “... because you fell?”
“Thanks for that.” I said, rolling my eyes. “So, fuck- this is it? No last chance or any way of putting me back into my body? I snapped my neck and it’s over?”
Death sighed, twisting the base of his scythe into the pavement, “yeah, it happens unfortunately. Gotta say though, you’re taking it pretty well! Some people with accidental deaths get sooo pissed, kind of a drag to deal with. Anyways...” death lifted his scythe and approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder, “let’s get out of here before someone finds your flesh prison. Ready to see what’s next?” | I stood over my dead body, staring down at the pale corpse of a human being that had once been me. How utterly fragile and empty it looked! Was I really the only difference between a living, breathing, human being and a dry husk of carbon atoms? I looked at my hands, translucent and wispy, and then looked up at the shadow that stood over my empty shell.
The Grim Reaper. Death. The Avenging Angel. Ba'ad Gul. Charon. I had heard many terms for it, but they all meant the same thing. The ferryman who shepherds souls from the mortal realm into the immortal realm. He--or she, I supposed, swathed in the enveloping black robes--bowed his hooded head, extending one pale, shriveled hand over my dead body as if in prayer. I watched in confusion, for it was not a symbol I was familiar with. Up, down, swirl, point.
Then Death turned that hooded face towards me. An impenetrable darkness filled the cowl, but two yellow orbs glowed from within, unblinking eyes staring at me.
The voice was decidedly androgynous and unexpectedly young as he asked, "Are you ready for your journey, or do you have unfinished business?"
I looked down at my body then up at the misty surroundings. I seemed to be standing in a fog-shrouded valley, low mountain peaks bare of anything but low, tough grass etched against the pale horizon. In truth, I couldn't remember if I had anything left to do. All I could remember was what I had done.
I looked at Death and asked, "Where will you take me?"
He--she?--it?--didn't answer, leaning against the sturdy shaft of his scythe like a walking stick.
"I wasn't a good person," I went on, glancing down at my shriveled husk again. "I killed a lot of people."
"Did you now?" Death asked with a vague sense of interest. I looked back up at him. His amber eyes twinkled like gemstones, and I imagined that he was amused.
I shrugged my incorporeal shoulders and replied, "Well, I _ordered_ the deaths. I don't see much difference really. It still merits eternity in hell, doesn't it?"
Death merely stared at me.
Confused by his lack of answer, I asked, "Will I go to heaven instead? I didn't believe in God. Would He accept me?"
Still no answer.
I chewed my ghostly lip and gazed back down at my body. The face was waxy and still, stretched taut with the wasting disease that had eventually ended my life. I saw no remorse in that sharp brow or sunken cheekbones. I was not a creature who deserved grace or forgiveness. It would surely be hell for me, or some equivalent thereof.
I met Death's silent gaze once more. "Well?" I prodded. "What's in the next life?" But he said nothing. Why wasn't he saying anything? What did he want from me? Wouldn't there be some huge revelation about the meaning of life? Or a vicious amusement at proving me wrong about the existence or importance of a higher being? Or... or _something_?
But Death just straightened from his scythe and asked once more, "Do you have unfinished business?"
"Look," I replied, "I was a very powerful man in my life. I was a leader, a conqueror. I never made decisions without knowing the full scope of things. So come on--what is next? What are my options?"
The amber orbs narrowed slightly as Death said with utmost patience, "Do you have any unfinished business?"
I sighed. I couldn't remember, so I just said, "No, I don't think so."
Extending a pale hand, voluminous sleeves fluttering, Death replied, "Then let us be on our way."
"So you won't tell me where I'm going?" I asked hopefully.
There was a hint of laughter in the voice issuing from within the hood. "Wouldn't want to spoil the ending for you."
I sighed in acceptance. After a moment, and with one last look at my body, I stepped out beside him, and we walked away into the mist.
r/aDittyaDay | 2020-08-02T10:18:55 | 2020-08-02T09:19:25 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] You put on a foil hat as a joke and for the first time your thoughts are clear and your mind is a well oiled machine. Every plot and machination is clearly laid out before you Beautiful Mind-like. Overwhelmed you aggressively grab passerbys and shout the truths. | I took a deep breath and slipped the tinfoil hat onto my head. Like a thousand times before I thought it would be stupid, no way this could do anything. Ha ha. The world suddenly snapped into crystal clarity. I could hear my own heartbeat, I could tell from the smell in the air and the taste in my mouth that there were chemicals being pumped into nearly every aspect of my life to keep me docile when they wanted me and to rile me up when they chose. It was all stark ravingly sane.
I looked around the room slowly. I saw the hidden messages in posters and could feel the strange energy fields emanating from every electronic device, all pulsing in time like the rhythmic heartbeat of an unknowably vast monster controlling our every waking moment. I suppressed a shudder just thinking about how vast that energy field must be now that satellites were broadcasting signals across the globe for "GPS" and "Satellite Imagery." It was probably much quieter in the early days when the radio was the worst signal you had to worry about.
I noted all this but curious I turned on the television. Flipping through the channels I could see the monstrous fingers of the unknowable things that lurked behind our so-called "society." Each ad, each program, carefully designed to manipulate our thoughts and emotions into a perfect series of actions and reactions, with one grand cosmic endgame. It was all like some impossibly vast Rube-Goldberg Machine, each part seemingly pointless but in the end accomplishing a single simple goal.
It was at that moment that I realized that end goal. It washed over me like a tidal wave, consuming who and what I was in its enormity. Me, or at least what I thought of as me, broke against the irresistible weight of it all. I threw the remote and rushed out of the room. In the hall people were passing by, calmly oblivious to the truth. I grabbed the nearest one.
"I KNOW THE TRUTH, I'VE SEEN THE END!" I screamed at him in wild-eyed terror. He stared at me for a long while with detached boredom. He then reached out and flipped a switch on a device I wore around my arm and then knocked off my hat.
"Pete. You were testing the foil too long again." He said with a sigh as he sipped his coffee. "Get it together man, or the boss will write you up."
It was gone. The stark ravingly sane moment of clarity was gone. I felt so relieved, in its place was the manageable insanity of what constituted everyday life for me. The device on my arm hummed giving me a sliver of clarity, just enough to know my job was important. I nodded.
"Thanks, Bob." I chuckled. "Almost went totally sane there for a moment. Going to need to recommend to the higher-ups that Sample Group Tau be forced to change how they manufacture their foil... that stuff... Wow."
I shuffled back into the room that was my testing department and started to make a hat from Sample Group Sigma. | I ran out of the house in a paranoid haze. That only made things worse. The sensory overload almost fried my brain. Every pebble on the sidewalk, every individual leaf on the trees, everything my eyes gazed in the environment shimmered with a color more deep and beautiful than I had ever perceived in my life. It was supposed to be a joke. That didn't matter anymore. The tinfoil actually worked. My suspicions were right! They even made more sense now! All of the little threads connected themselves without any effort. Our brains were being stunted for the benefit of a select few. I never imagined the depths of their mind-control until blocking it out.
My mind got accustomed to working at full capacity after a few hours of staying inside. I had to save everyone. It was my duty. Unfortunately, it wouldn't surprise me if the cabal was already on to me. I headed to the superstore, following every traffic law to avoid suspicion, and sprinted out of the car in a mad bolt to the kitchen supplies.
Some of the shoppers grew worried by me. Perfect. They were stunned by my enlightenment. Many of them thought I was insane and pulled out their cellphones to record me. My message would get delivered all the more efficiently thanks to their aid. And then they started to laugh at my words. I told them everything. How they were being manipulated and bred into being docile animals while a social elite ruled them with impunity. Mentioning they just needed a tinfoil hat only seemed to amuse them more.
An employee slowly approached me. He wanted me to leave. People started screaming when I dragged him into the aisle by his shirt. He tried to punch me but I stepped out of the way. His mind functioned too slowly to actually hit me. I merely hugged him before making a tinfoil hat for him. The man shifted his gaze between me and the hat, blinking incredulously. I placed it on his head when he didn't take it. By the time security arrived, the mind-control started losing its effect. The employee began to defend me. He quickly understood my intentions and preached about the hat. Now that the crowd witnessed his clarity of thought, they weren't as skeptical as before.
Security didn't care. They put me in an arm lock to remove me from the premises.
A handful of spectators protested how they treated me. Some even wore the hats out of curiosity. People quickly surrounded the guards after freeing their minds. At first, the muscle bound men refused to keep their hats on. Then I noticed the tinfoil didn't work on them. My first assumption was that their training made it difficult to reprogram their minds. It didn't matter. Once the uprising began, their brains would be freed as well.
The crowd of spectators grew into a small battalion. They were driven to finally change the system. The only limiting factor was the amount of tinfoil available in the store. We headed to another general store to ransack as much aluminum as we could. Eventually, military troops were called. Bullets rained on us when we entered a third location. People started dying left and right of me. Their blood was forever seared in my memory. That being said, only a dull mind underestimated an unchained human. We turned the situation around with tactical creativity and armed ourselves with the enemy's weaponry. The elite cabal underestimated us, but a retreat was in order. We needed to reorganize in order to mount a resistance against this evil. This battle would become the first of many victories. It was all censored on social media, though.
I packed my bags as soon as I got home. There, my best friend Dave waited for me. He widened his eyes and said:
"There you are! I've been worried all afternoon. Are you okay? Why are you wearing that hat?"
"There's no time! You need to wear one!"
Dave took a step back, looking at my gun. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this is getting out of hand."
"No, you fool!" I slowly approached him. "You're letting the programming control you!"
"Don't hurt me!"
I tried to yank him into the kitchen.
Dave pushed me away. I tried again and our struggling devolved into a fistfight. Brent was able to keep up with my movements despite my heightened mind. I didn't understand what was going on. Killing him wasn't an option. The only thing I knew for certain was that he wouldn't wait for me to make a hat for him. It seemed impossible until remembering my objective. All I needed to do was give him my hat. Dave would free me as soon as he understood why I wore it.
I bobbed and weaved around his punches until tackling him to the ground. My mind started to slow as soon as I placed it on his head. Dave stopped struggling. I limply rolled off him. The world became grayer by the second. Dave stood up. He towered above me. I started to forget why we fought.
Dave rummaged through one of my kitchen drawers.
I stayed on the floor, nursing my sore head.
"I can't believe I let it get to that point," said Dave, walking towards me.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't worry, I'll fix it now." Dave stabbed me on the chest. "It didn't have to be this way."
"W-why?"
"Order. Some of us don't need the hat to have a functional brain. We go out of our way to maintain the status quo so we don't have to deal with your chaotic bullshit." Dave twisted the knife. "Everyone in your little insurgence will die today before anyone else finds out their plan. You brought this on yourself."
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 2020-08-26T15:05:44 | 2020-08-26T13:19:18 | 143 | 37 |
[WP] Earth has five seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Obar. We all lose our memories of Obar after it passes...and there’s a very good reason why.
[deleted] | September 16, 2020
I've been exploring building records and I found something very weird. Records for almost all public buildings record a noticeable increase in erosion and wear during about the same time in mid September every year. Looking closer, it's almost like they go through three months of natural wear in a single day. But that doesn't make any sense. Three months the whole world just forgets about? It's the only explanation I have though. So I'm keeping a journal to see what happens. I'm surprised no one else has thought of this, but I guess it's kind of insane.
September 17, 2020
Nothing out of the ordinary today. I did some more digging on the erosion though, and some things just don't line up. Even if there was a 3 month gap, there's just way more rust then there should be. It's the same on all metal buildings, statues, and bridges. It's hard to notice, just a few red and brown marks suddenly nibbling away at the edges of these structures, and little veins that weren't there the day before, but it's definitely there. Mold too. Little blue spots and tendrils suddenly start worming their way out of dark corners before being quickly washed away. I think I must be wrong about the world losing time. Well, this journal should clear things up for sure then.
September 18, 2020
The weather's a little odd. It feels more still than normal. I don't think there's been any wind at all today. It's doesn't feel hot or oppressive or anything like that, it's just like something's missing. At least it's otherwise nice, not a cloud in the beautiful blue sky. Had a nice chat with a couple of friends, and they said they didn't notice anything. They're right, it's probably nothing. I'm just on edge because of this whole project. It'll all be over soon though.
September 19, 2020
Ok I have to stop now. No more journal. My mind's playing tricks on me and it's made my Saturday miserable. The first thing I thought when I got up was that the sun was dimmer, which is stupid. The sky is even still bright blue. But I could swear the shadows were longer and a little bit darker.
I've been jumping at small noises all day. At least it's the weekend. All I've done today is stay in my apartment with all the lights on and a fan to break that strangely still air. I think rain is coming, so hopefully that should help. There still aren't any clouds but that nice earthy, musty smell that arrives right before rain is everywhere, even without any wind.
September 20, 2020
I know I said I wouldn't make any more entries, but there's a storm coming and I don't like it. The air is still but that musty rain smell is even stronger, and I see the storm far off on the horizon. The clouds are thick and dark and big and roiling. It feels like it makes the whole sky darker. And it's coming closer.
I haven't been able to stop looking at it. I'm scared if I turn away it'll move faster, bear down until it's right behind me. I've been watching it out my window, and I can't stop trembling.
I think there's something in the storm. Behind those dark clouds I swear there's something pushing at the edges. Something twisting and writhing just behind the clouds. And it's still coming closer.
Oh god it's huge.
&#x200B;
September 18, 2020
I found this paper stuffed into my pocket, ripped and stained with something brownish-red I don't recognize. I don't think it's blood, but it's odd anyway. I can only assume this is some kind of inane prank, because today is most definitely the 18th. I've been continuing my research on that odd erosion pattern, and it happened again yesterday. There's even a bit of blue mold in my house that I don't recognize. Next year I'm going to try and set up a camera. That should clear things up. Anyway, I'm looking forward to virtual dinner with my friends. They'll get a laugh out of this. | Atop the steeple of the old courthouse, the wind vane began a slow and inexorable rotation towards the west. The cool November air rustled through the trees, shaking loose the last few red and brown leaves and gently encouraging them westward. The quiet town streets were bare, and even though the wind chimes tinkled brightly, they seemed only to draw attention to the silence rather than dispel it. And here, in this little town, with its little name capped by “ton” or “ville” or something equally mundane, the bitter winds of Obar had started to blow.
Mr. Jenkins emerged from the hardware store, tightly clasping a spark plug and a bag of nineteen galvanized steel screws. As the chilly breeze pierced through him, he wrapped himself more tightly in his tweed jacket and made an effort to slide his plaid scarf further up his neck. Despite these best efforts, he shivered a bit, though at this point he ascribed this frigidity to be the symptom of a cold front, nothing more.
He nodded to a fellow pedestrian and uttered a quiet “good morning,” in a gesture of neighborly geniality. The other sidewalk enthusiast returned the nod and cursory greeting, and Mr. Jenkins continued on his trek back home. He spotted a woman and her child entering Smith’s Home and Decor, and in another mindless social motion, gave a short wave and brief smile before turning the street corner.
As he was doing so, a sharp gust of wind flew down the row of buildings, pushing him backwards and knocking him off balance for a moment. He lost grip on his bag of screws, and they spilled out onto the sidewalk, rolling into grooves and precariously close to the storm drain. Disgruntled by this setback, Mr. Jenkins began to kneel in order to retrieve the screws, only to be rebuffed by a second gust, even more powerful than the first. The fallen leaves scattered upon the street flew up into the air, and a few of them gyrated around in small vortices before eventually settling once more. Cursing his luck, Mr. Jenkins went to pick up the screws once more, but a third and even more forceful gust sent the screws rolling, and necessitated he catch himself again. In the distance, he heard a shout, and he saw a kid on the opposite side of the street scrambling to his feet and looking angrily at an upside-down skateboard. In one final torrent of air, Mr. Jenkins too was knocked on his posterior, and took a moment to clamber to a standing position, this time bracing himself against a pipe attached to the nearest storefront. He looked inside, and saw a host of curious faces peering back out from between mannequins (who of course gave their usual inexpressive gaze). As another gust ripped down the street, Mr. Jenkins abandoned his bag of screws and quickly ran towards the revolving door. Halfway through, another rush of air stopped the door’s revolution momentarily before Mr. Jenkins was safely deposited in the store.
Joining the other patrons in a silent rapture, he looked outward into the street, where the gusts were becoming more frequent and scattering more and more leaves with each volley. Inside, the quiet of the store was punctuated by whooshes and groans as each squall passed by, creating the feeling that they were listening to a giant’s heartbeat or the ticking of an enormous clock. The gusts continued their acceleration, and the sensation gradually changed from one of intermittent noise to a continuous, piercing howl that screamed down the street and echoed off the storefronts and alleyways. Bits of debris: leaves from plants, bits of dirt, and maybe one or two galvanized screws, whistled westward, either plastering or embedding themselves in facades and car windshields.
And then, far more quickly than it had begun, it stopped. The wind, the flinging of objects, even the creaking of the wind vane. Not a soul dared speak, in terrified anticipation of what might come next. Hushed, taking care to muffle even their footsteps, Mr. Jenkins and a few others approached the windows, peering furtively into the outside world. In recognition of their search, the clouds above began to discharge a soft white powder. It was very reminiscent of snow, but I think you and I both know that it is not. Still absolutely silently, it blanketed the town, it accumulated on rooftops and somewhat unnaturally found its way into crevasses and under overhangs.
Mr. Jenkins approached the door, tentatively pushing it outward, perhaps to confirm that it still spun. Still quietly, he step-by-step tiptoed through the door’s arc and into the now-mysterious outside world. Approaching a pile of the snow-like substance, he hesitated a moment and then poked it. The pile of not-snow writhed and shuddered, and Mr. Jenkins recoiled backwards. From within the shop, he heard several yelps and gasps of surprise and fear. The pile of not-snow continued to squirm, and particles from other piles began to crawl towards it, as if they were in the process of amalgamating some greater whole. The pile began to grow and stretch upwards, reaching towards the awning above it. In a graceful, yet distinctly unsettling motion, it twisted around and jerked when it made contact. This sharp jolt made the awning creak a bit, but more importantly instigated a change in behavior of the other flakes of not-snow. Almost violently, they began to coalesce into spheres which flew rapidly towards the now-tentacle in front of the shop. When they hit it, they did not explode as one would expect of a snowball, but instead merged unnaturally, and the awning began to bend upwards as dozens of loose spheres forced their way skyward. Eventually it burst, and in an accelerating rush, the not-snow spheres rapidly formed a taller and taller tower, quivering from side to side with each new impact. After several hundred feet, the tower began to branch out in a treelike fashion, and as our watchers looked on, the magnificent arboreal construction began to complete.
Then, with the tremendous alabaster tree arching over the town, it shattered, returning to the crystalline dust from whence it sprang. For a few brief moments, the air glittered with a radiant and incredible beauty, before the cloud reached ground. The dust permeated air vents and worked its way under doors, and in a few short moments, the inhabitants of the town were all unconscious, never to remember the fantastic event they had just witnessed.
Most of them had seen dozens, and yet each year, they looked out on this phenomenon with absolute novelty and not the slightest memory. This year, the only evidence that would remain was the dust that would be melted by morning, a single broken awning over a storefront, and a few misplaced galvanized screws, the destinations of which will to Mr. Jenkins be a lifelong mystery.
&#x200B;
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites | 2020-09-05T19:03:27 | 2020-09-05T16:33:06 | 628 | 364 |
[WP] Healing magic is considered a holy gift, yet it holds a dark secret. For every bit of healing used, some of the caster's life force is taken. How do they stay alive then? By taking it from their enemies. After all, healing and necromancy are two sides of the same coin. | He hid his gifts for as long as he could. Living a simple life of a lumberjack, he was able to live peacefully for many years. But Rowan knew one day he would be discovered. The power was a part of him. As well as the price…
Lord Zane had heard of the possibilities of a Healer in one of nearby villages. He had summoned all of them from their work. Rubbing his bearded face, he looked at the line of woodcutters in front of him.
“One of you has been blessed with a great gift. I have a need for that gift.” He paced in front of them, staring each of them in the eye. He stopped in front of Rowan, who looked away. “I can reward you handsomely. Please, my father suffers from a wasting disease. His body rots, yet he still lives. By helping him, I will give you whatever you wish.”
Rowan still looked away. Why couldn’t he see that he just wanted to be left alone? His price was too great, the pain of healing too much! Then he felt the icy cold of the blade in his belly.
He turned to the royal whose dagger was twisting in his gut. Lord Zane backed up, careful not to let the woodcutter touch him. Rowan fell to his knees. As he did, the grass started to brown, then turn to dust around him. The blade fell out of the wound as it healed.
Rowan looked up, weeping. The rest of the woodcutters ran in fear, and the guardsmen now surrounded the pair.
“All I wanted to do was be left alone. Don’t you understand? To heal, I must kill. If I were to heal your father, it may cost a dozen lives!”
“I understand that. What you don’t understand is my father has been deteriorating for much longer than it seems. I don’t want you to heal him. I need you to put him to rest.” | Maxwell McBride would be charitably described as a sycophant, and uncharitably as an obsequious human parasite to which one’s social immune system unfortunately lacked the necessary resistance. He had no real friends in the conventional sense; those who still remained closest to him were simply the objects of his most egregious cons and leeches; who were not discarded because the benefits of the cumulative growth of their relationship had outweighed the benefits of a fresh host. Those who managed to eventually see through the veil of flattery and lies that spewed from Mr. McBride like a fountain invariably promised some sort of revenge, because once he had escaped with their money, power, or reputation the only thing that remained that he had not stolen was their anger. And for the first time in his miserable parasitic life, Mr. McBride had angered a host capable who proved able to exact that revenge.
&#x200B;
“If you’ve got time, you should try to visit fifty-three dash four. We haven’t had an interview with him yet.”
“Of course,” I replied, taking the patient’s clipboard. “I’d hate to deprive Mr. … McBride of my lovely face,” adding at the end a sarcastic exhale. Flipping through his information, he seemed well on his way to recovery. Good for him. Not eager to waste time, I headed to Ward 53.
The room itself was more or less identical to all the others. White, grey, and pastel blue walls, machinery, and lights completed the standard clinical feel. Mr. McBride was sitting on the bed, quite alert and idly examining the hairs on his left arm with a detached disinterest. Considering what he’d been through, he looked good. His greying hair clung to his scalp, and his eyes were slightly bulbous, languidly bounding from hair to hair. A pair of golden-colored reading glasses sat on the table, within arm’s reach but undisturbed.
“Mr. McBride, I’m Dr. Williams. How are you feeling?” I gave a genial but restrained smile and readied the clipboard.
“Oh. Much better, thank you, Doctor. I daresay I’ll come out of this better than I did coming in.” He spoke in a flat monotone, and he had this manner of pulling his lips back with each syllable to expose his teeth.
“It says here you were in a car accident - blunt force trauma into internal bleeding. The other doctors tell me you’ve made quite a miraculous recovery.”
“Oh, I think calling it ‘miraculous’ is really doing them a disservice, Doctor. No, I doubt I would have survived if it wasn’t for their … expert ministrations. This is truly a remarkable facility you have here.” The feeling I got from him was strange. On the one hand, his words were apt but they seemed almost rehearsed, like an actor reciting lines a bit too perfect to be convincing.
“I hope you understand the sanitization procedures we’ve put in place. We think there might have been some communicable disease transmission in this ward, and we want to take precautions for the safety of both the patients and our staff.”
“Yes, one of the nurses informed me earlier. There have been some … deaths, correct?” His concern seemed only half-genuine.
“Well, Mr. McBride, that is the unfortunate nature of a hospital. But some of the circumstances have been abnormal, so we think it’s important to take those precautions.” He nodded gently, maintaining eye contact.
“Well, Doctor,” he replied in that same monotone, “I trust you’ll do your best.
That’s all any of us can hope to do, right?”
“Of course.” I scribbled down my last observations on the clipboard. “Well, if there’s nothing else--”
“Could you get my glasses for me?” He pointed towards the table, towards the reading glasses which were clearly within reach.
“Sure.” I walked over to the table and picked up the glasses, placing them gently in his outstretched hand.
&#x200B;
During the two weeks that Mr. Maxwell McBride spent in Ward 53, he was the only patient who walked out the door using his own power. This was not because he was a particularly healthy individual, no, this was because Mr. Maxwell McBride was a parasite, and like all parasites, his rejuvenation comes at a price. So, if you’re feeling a bit tired or sickly, look around and see if you can spot the dull visage of Mr. McBride. Did he stub his toe? Slice his finger? Or are you perhaps straying a bit too close to Ward 53, where there *was* an infection, all right.
&#x200B;
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites | 2020-12-05T19:14:45 | 2020-12-05T19:00:47 | 66 | 31 |
[WP] We called them "nons" because we believed that they had no souls. They believed in a pagan god. None of them converted, so the crusaders were called to drive them from fertile lands. As we charged they raised no weapons. What we did not expect, was their god to descend and defend them. | Inquisitor Jacobus listened to the sobbing man's tale of a monstrous divinity that had descended upon them in the battlefield. A being of bright lights and animalistic fury had appeared before the pagan army, and with heretic chanting from the barbarians echoing in the cold morning air, the beast god attacked. The faithful soldiers of the Seventh Crusade were crushed under the weight of its assault, and those lucky enough to live were mangled beyond belief, if not in body then in spirit.
Jacobus nodded in deep thought, having heard the same story from other soldiers he had interrogated. The incoherent babbling continued on, and the inquisitor saw he could gain no new knowledge from this one. Jacobus stood up and gave his assistant a sign. The oblivious soldier kept muttering as the inquisitor's assistant moved behind him, drawing his knife. Jacobus turned to leave the tent he was using to interrogate the survivors, no more bothering to listen to the death gurgles of the soldiers.
After leaving the tent, Jacobus headed for the middle of the hastily-built camp where the other inquisitors and Church members had set up in a large tent. Interrogations had been undergoing for two days now, and the consensus among the clergy was clear. The pagan god existed.
He heard the sounds of arguing long before reaching the tent, bereft of the usual grandiosity of clerical affairs. Jacobus went past the two stone faced guards standing in front of the door way. Deafened, the guards could not hear the commotion going on inside tent, which was all things considered for the best, Jacobus thought.
As Jacobus entered the space, the arguing ceased. All of the gathered clergy looked towards him, for guidance and leadership. Being the eldest member of Church present, Jacobus had a lot of pull over the opinions of others, and could sway the discourse to a direction of his liking. Taking a seat at the end of a large table, he motioned for the others to sit down as well.
After a brief silence, one of the men, a fat priest from the Capital, cleared his throat.
-So, I guess there is no doubt about it. The false god of the pagans is, uhm, not so false after all.
Jacobus crossed his fingers, inviting others to take a turn speaking. Another inquisitor motioned with his hand, and started.
-All of the surviving members of the Seventh Crusade confirm the events, down to the cooks, cleaners, and other hangers-on. Same story, a beastly god of light descended from the heavens, and slaughtered most of the Faithful.
-Did any manage to escape? piped in a nervous looking clerical bureaucrat.
-No, we have gathered all the survivors and dealt with them, the inquisitor continued.
-The... event has been contained. No one outside this tent knows what happened here.
All of the men around the table sighed out of relief, except for Jacobus. He knew that this was far from over. Nothing happens in isolation, there are always consequences. Being an inquisitor he knew this well.
-I'm afraid the situation is slightly more complicated than that, Jacobus grimaced.
-Even if no one escaped, others will still come here. Traders, settlers, zealous missionaries. If we do not take proper precautions, the pagans and their very real divinity could spell disaster for the Church.
The men around the table looked at one another, uncomfortable in their seats. As no one wanted to speak the obvious, Jacobus took a turn again.
-Let us not pretend that any of us believed in the existence of the divine before yesterday. Such fancies are for the lower clergy and the commoners. The Church is an empty house, its rooms filled with riches and opportunities. I would like to preserve said opportunities.
The table was stunned into silence. Never before had anyone so brazenly and openly said what Jacobus had just said, what they all thought. Jacobus continued.
-We must preserve the integrity of the Church. The House might be empty, but the foundations stand strong. The commoners rely on us to guide them, and without us would surely fall into pagandom like the savages of this forsaken land. Our position of power depends on the trust of the masses. If they find out what happened here, it would spell doom for us.
A member of a monastic school motioned for speaking turn.
-We must not only cover up the events here, but make sure no one ever wants to come back here. Re-education of the population is needed. These lands are hostile, infertile, the women here hideous, whatever lie it takes to make sure no one in their right mind would want to set one foot in here.
Jacobus nodded in agreement, adding to the suggestion.
-Perhaps we can build a wall around this land, or place a standing army in place. Of course, the Inquisition would need to have a presence here to prevent any knowledge of the divine from spreading. We are the best equipped to deal with heresy, and I would suggest to increase our numbers and inquisitorial powers. You know, for the good of the Church.
The inquisitors around the table smiled widely, while others grimaced sourly. Jacobus continued.
-We cannot let anyone outside this tent know what happened. Once we set for the Capital, we will need to... make sure no one can ask any questions we do not want answered. The leadership of the Church is going to have to be replaced.
The thought of rising through the ranks of the Church cleared the sour mood of the clergy. As the men relaxed around the table, and even started joking around a bit, Jacobus hit them with his final words.
-And of course, once the Church has been re-settled, we can start our true undertaking, the greatest test this Church has ever faced.
The table looked at Jacobus with horrified expression.
-We must find a way to kill a god. | A single Crusader is as good as any three mercenaries. When we rode into the village 35 strong, it appeared to them like an army. A surreal quality overtook me, to stare into their eyes. Something was wrong. Captain Vidal must have felt the same. He stopped us there in the middle of the village. He looked into the faces of the villagers, terrified, clutching their belongings and shrinking away. He raised his hands, and ordered us to stay.
Alone, he dismounted and marched into the temple. There were gasps as he barged through the doorway. He shoved people aside with exceptional swift strength. But in a count of thirty he came back out again.
"What is it, sir?"
He waved his hands dismissively.
"What?" We asked again.
"They're just Jews. There was a star of david in the pulpit, they were reading the Torah. No one of those illiterate rubes at the other village can tell the difference between a star of david and a pagan symbol." He said, somewhat disappointed, as he walked back to us. Then, a rabbi followed him out from the temple.
"Crusader! What is it you seek?"
He called back him barely turning, "We were told there was a village of Pagans! Some mindless warshippers of... false Gods. We are not here to burn your livestock, Rabbi. Just a... false report." Captain Vidal began to mount his horse again.
"You mean the 'Nons' of Redfalls?" The rabbi shouted back.
Captain Videl came back down from his horse. "I beg your pardon?"
"As the saxons say? Non's? As in, not of... a... how you say? They have not?"
"Have not what?"
"Souls. They are not of the Lord, my good Crusader. They come to us on every new moon, and try to take a child. We lock our children in the Synagogue and defend it by torch light every new moon. We have for years now. No one has come to help us."
Captain Vidal stood in silence, absorbing the atmosphere. Eventually he asked, "The Children?"
"Yes, Crusader. Our children. They have no concern for our livestock. But, praise God, they have not succeeded for some time. We think they may have resorted to taking from other villages to the south."
"Rabbi, Tell me very carefully- are you lying to me?" He approached with intentional steps.
"No, Crusader. Thou shalt not bear false witness."
"Rabbit, do you know where they are berthed?"
"The Redfalls are along the river. You'll know you are close when the water changes color."
And with barely a flick of the Captain's wrist, we were off.
"Crusader! What do you plan to do?" the teacher called after us.
"Convert them from their wicked ways, Rabbi!"
"And if they will not be converted?"
"We will do what Crusaders do, Rabbi."
"May God go with you!"
The Captain smiled. "We never go anywhere without Him."
It was morning when we had arrived at the Jewish village. We rode at full gallop until the sun had begun to set. Anticipating nightfall, the captain had us light torches, but there was still hours of light when we arrived, unmistakably, to the Redfalls. The village had no real name, however. It was just the waterfall.
The color of the river had indeed turned red, and as it ran down the hill, it sprayed a sour smell into the air. The village was calm when we arrived, and they remained so as we rode into the center. None of them looked at us. They all had wrappings around their faces and wore dirty garments. They might not have been able to see us at all behind their masks. A chill went down my spine. I gripped my sword tight, but then I saw the captain look at me, and nod. I understood.
He raised his torch. "Villagers of Redfalls, if you understand me, gather! Go and get your village eldars, your leaders."
They whispered to themselves, and did as told. Though some did with weapons- hatchets, sickles, and farm tools. None of these tools appeared to have been used farming land. From a bizarre wooden hut, a leader in red leather robes emerged. The skull of a stag covered his face, and the antlers raised an arms' length above his head. He spoke with a confident air.
"My, what brings you to us, my lord?"
"The Hebrew Children. Where are they." Down to task immediately. Now they remained silent. "I have no time for games, pagan. Do you have the children?"
Some of them drew more weapons. Daggers, rusty blades of every kind. A few of them approached us. The captain nodded to me, and I switched to my bow. From my horse, I let three arrows loose in quick succession. All three burrowed deep into the skulls of armed men, who fell instantly.
The captain flatly asked again, "Where are the children of the Hebrew village?"
"Crusader... you think you can take us by force?" The stag skull bobbed slightly with his words
Four crusaders dropped from their mounts, sword shield and helmet ready. They had us surrounded, but none of us shivered in fear.
"**You think you can withstand our wrath!?**" The captain bellowed as a thunderstorm.
"Oh Crusader, you think it will make a difference?" The arrogant tilt of the pagan in front of him was too much. The Captain drew his sword. We took that as our signal, and 35 Crusaders forced their way out of the crowd. My blood boiled for action.
Any that stood in our way with a weapon were cut down. They barely resisted, never landing a single blow behind a shield. Their cries finally seemed to tell us they understood their situation. In a count of 60, we had them surrounded instead.
"Brother Robert," the captained ordered, "Check that large building. Brother Simon, take your team and circle the perimeter. Brother Conrad, get this wretch on his knees. I won't ask him again. He knows the question I want, and he has the answer."
Brother Conrad was the tallest among us. In full plate, he waded into the swarming crowd until he had their horned leader. He dragged him out by the arm. They clung to him desperately. Dirty clawing arms reaching and grabbing. Conrad raised his sword, and they recoiled. Soon he was in front of the Captains horse, with Conrad controlling him by the shoulders.
The other crusaders emerged from the hut. Brother Robert held up a human skull, bits of flesh still hanging from it. We could see from here it was a small skull.
"You really are without souls, aren't you?"
"Of course we have, Crusader."
"Then surrender them. Here. Now. And you may be spared. The Lord's wrath is near. Your vile acts will be repaid. Forsake them. Forsake your gods and bow before the Lord Christ your King. **ABANDON YOUR WAYS OR FACE THE PYRE."**
But none of them moved. Again, the captain nodded at me. I took a torch from one of the other soldiers and went to large hut- what must have been their temple. I rode a perimeter around the building, dragging the torch along with me. The oil transferred and it began to burn. I could see more bones from here. This unhallowed ground was better off ash. The heat touched me in the evening cold, and I felt strong. Turning to the group, I could see the captain speaking to the man in the red leather. He must be their prophet, their priest.
The pagan said something, and the captain leapt from his horse to bring his gauntlet fist crashing down into his face. Again and again he rained blows down. I noticed something. The stag skull mask wasn't coming loose. The captain placed a foot on the pagan's shoulder, grabbed the horns in both hands, and began the pull. The mask still didn't come loose. Suddenly Captain Vidal's eyes met mine, and this time I nodded. Toward the burning hut. Four Crusaders grabbed him and dragged him my way.
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. The surreal feeling overtook me again. Something about the flames licking the sky seemed almost alive. I looked back at the pagan. He wasn't resisting. I looked back at the flames, beginning to engulf the roof. With single, mighty heave, my companions tossed him into the flame. This time the feeling took form again as something solid. I had an instinct to leave, to not stand where I was. But I knew I had to watch. I had to make sure he didn't come out. | 2021-02-10T02:27:41 | 2021-02-10T02:19:58 | 95 | 61 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | "Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 803 | 501 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next" | When our worlds collided, we were unprepared for magic. All of our technology was useless against the elves and their sorcerers or the dwarves and their powerful enchantments or the orcs and their shamans.
You would think that bullets, tanks, and fighter jets would carry the day easy but no. Not even nukes did squat. Oh nukes worked fine, but then some dwarf would come along and purify the soil, an elf would restore nature, and a fucking orc shaman would summon the spirits of the dead back to the living world.
Soon, our world was just another part of their “over-realm” and mankind?
Without magic, we were nothing, less than nothing, not even slaves…
We were livestock, literally livestock, to be bartered and traded and consumed.
If you were lucky you were given to the orcs, who would just eat you. There was a simple honesty in that, far better than having your life force drained by the elves to power their infernal “technology” or worked to death in the dwarven mines where your enchanted chains turned you into nothing but a meat puppet, denying you even the peace of death as your corpse continued to labor until your very bones turned to dust.
A few of us were able to escape to the wilderness, sometimes by strength, sometimes by guile, mostly by luck.
We were a pitiful band, but we managed to survive by lurking in the shattered places, areas warped by the collision of worlds and the magics used in the great war that broke us.
Not much grew there, well nothing that you would want to eat, anyway, so we resorted to “raids” where we would swoop down on the unwary, waylay a wagon, or sneak onto a farm.
We didn’t have magic, but a club worked just fine. A gun worked too, if they didn’t see you coming. Oh their wizards, enchanters, and shamans were stupidly, unfairly powerful, but some average point-ear, stubby, or greenie? They died just as easy as anyone else.
We did ok, but eventually we hit the wrong wagon and killed the wrong point ear. Their cousin’s brother’s roommate in elf college or whatever was some minor whatsit and that was that.
It didn’t take long. They had all of us wrapped up nicely.
I figured they would just fry us in one of their soul-trees or whatever they called them but that point ear decided to have some fun with us.
He had some of those goddamn soul-trees all hooked up in some weird pattern and stuffed them with people, laughing at them, saying that we were why their very souls would be devoured and then made them thank us for ending their suffering.
God, I hated him for that.
Then he said that since each of us was thought ourselves their equal, (which we didn’t) we could receive their punishment. Each of us could choose how we died and the trees would grant our wish.
He then sat on a throne made of twisted living human flesh and laughed as each of us either tried to come up with an escape, a paradox, or at least tried to make the death as pleasant as possible.
Whatever wish anyone came up with was granted… In the worst way possible.
I was halfway through the line watching each of us get fucked over once again.
Soon I was second in line, just behind Mark, and wouldn’t you know it, that sorry mother stole my idea.
“I wish to die of old age,” he said hopefully.
That damn point ear laughed hard that time and waved his hand.
Mark turned into a rapidly vibrating blur, screaming with an impossibly high pitched voice. I watched in horror as he screamed, unable to move, blurring ever faster and faster.
Then he started to age.
They were forcing that poor sonofabitch to live out his entire life, standing in place, right there over just a few minutes for us…
But for him, it was \*decades\*.
Finally it was over, and Mark fell, withered and grey, to the ground.
Now it’s my turn.
That goddamn point ear is sitting there smiling at me.
He laughs… fucking laughs at me.
“Go ahead,” he snickers, “Choose.”
Oh I hate him.
I hate all of them.
I hate the elves. I hate the dwarves. I hate those fucking orcs.
I hate this world, and any gods that let this happen to us.
I want them all…
\*gone\*…
Suddenly it hits me.
\*I know what to do!\*
Our technology was worthless against them, but our science?
We know things that even that point ear lord didn’t know, things he wouldn’t know how to stop, or twist or pervert.
I grinned at him.
“Well, meat?” he sneered.
“Could I say something first?” I ask, the glee building within me.
“Why not?” he chuckled to the amusement of all the elves who had gathered to watch the latest entertainment.
“I would like to tell all of you that it’s been a lot of fun,” I say breaking into a manic giggle, “but now playtime is over. You probably won’t know it, but I just fucking won. I am now ready to choose.”
“Your impertinence will be justly rewarded, meat,” ol’ point ears snickers at me, “Choose.”
“I choose,” I giggle, “death by false vacuum decay. If the Higgs field, or any field for that matter is in a false vacuum state within my body I desire it to be free to find it’s true vacuum state.”
Point ears is looking really confused right now. He’s not sure how to handle this.
“You don’t mean you don’t know what a false vacuum is?” I sneer, laughing, “Even we lowly humans know about that.”
“Of course I know what it is!” Point Ears snaps and starts to wave his hand.
I laugh and extend my middle fingers for the last time. | 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T07:58:17 | 255 | 140 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Ah shit. Well there goes my plan. I step over the mess of dried up bones before me. The court addressees me and ask me the same question the poor bastard before me fumbled. I start to panic my heart is racing i cant think of anything. "How much time do i have?" I ask. "I dont know dude honestly your the first to ask, lets say 5 seconds" the counsel answer. " 5 SECONDS?!" I blurt out. " cant i atleast get 5 min?" "Nah bro, then everyones gonna want 5 min, and ill be stuck here all day, i got magic shit to do" says the main councilman. " cant say i blame, well i guess can i die from an Orgasm?" I ask. "Ah shit thats actually pretty smart my guy, aight step forward ill give u a quickie behind the desk" states the pretty fit kinda Australian looking guy, im not gay but this guy looked mad handsom." Idk man im not gay, i dont think ill be able to get it up infront of you." I say. " Oh no worries mate, i know magic." The man says as he transforms into a marho robbie type. "Actually if you can shapeshift do you mind changing into something different?" I ask. " aight bro, but you only get one more shot, what you want mate?" She asks. " i think i always wanted to die in the thighs of a big tiddied goth girl?" I say. He transforms into an average looking goth girl not really my type. " i guess i was imagining more of a scene girl actually." I say. " too bad bro, u get wut u get." She says. " ah shit, well can you go back to margo robbie then?" I ask. "Nah bro YOU GET WHAT YOU GET." she states." Well that sucks" i say as i walk behind the desk. I get a meddiocre handy and die to one of the most disappointing nuts in my life. RIP | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T10:16:46 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 56 | 23 |
[WP]You hunt time travellers. You know them in and out. Yet all your attempts have led to utter failure. That same year, Stephen Hawking tells you about his plan to throw a party for time travellers. It's bizarre but you can't help watching from a distance. That's when you spot someone approaching | Chet looked at his watch. It wouldn't be long now. When he had heard of this party, he knew this was his one big chance. Twice the man in red had escaped from his clutches. No more.
He moved further back into the shadows as he saw a figure approaching.
He wore a mask so it was hard to see his face. But his flowing red robe was unmistakable. It looked like he carried a river of blood on his back. The blood of his mother. Chet forced himself to stay back. He had to wait for the opportune moment. Chet put his own mask on. He wasn't Chet anymore.
The man in red entered Hawking's mansion, and The Hunter followed.
The Hunter followed discreetly. He had gotten really good at this sort of thing in the past year. He seemed to have gained a variety of skills almost overnight. The Hunter saw the man in red look at a device in his hand. He looked around and continued on.
The party had been a bust. No one had showed up. The hunter had seen Hawking sit and wait in a room for a couple of hours before he had dejectedly left the room.
But The Hunter was more patient. He had been tracking the man in red for an year and had almost given up. Then he had got this lifeline. One slim chance. So he had chosen a vantage point and waited. And his patience had been rewarded.
The man in red looked at the door Hawking had locked a few hours ago. He expertly picked the lock and was inside in moments. While the party invitation was public knowledge, less well known was the promise that Hawking had made that everyone's identity would be kept a secret. There would be no cameras, no guards. The man in red still did a quick, but expert, sweep of the place. Hawking had spoken the truth.
It was at this moment that The Hunter rushed into the room. He caught the man in red by surprise and knocked him off his feet, the metallic device in his hand skittering across the polished floors.
The Hunter quickly closed and locked the doors. Then he turned around and pointed his gun at his prey.
"I finally got you."
The man in red was still on the ground, holding his head as if in enormous pain. "I... I..."
He reached out to The Hunter who kicked his hand away and went for the device. It was like a futuristic cell phone. He pressed the button at the bottom and the screen lit up.
The words Fingerprint Accepted showed up on the screen as Chet almost dropped it in surprise.
He hadn't realized it in his adrenaline but his head was pounding.
A wave of fog wafted over to his brain as his memories grew hazy.
He fell to the ground, as he saw his past, his present and his future flash simultaneously in front of his eyes.
Chet saw his recruitment as a spy. He saw his code name, The Hunter. He saw the countless missions he performed successfully for his country. He saw his greed take him over. He saw himself be arrested and charged with treason of the highest degree. He saw himself get the option to spend the rest of his life in jail or go in the past and kill himself. He saw himself take the 2nd option. He saw himself try to kill his own past self. He saw his own mother save his life at the cost of her own. He saw the grief drive his own self mad. He saw himself become so angry that his future self spent the next year tracking himself, but slowly growing weaker and insane the closer he got to his past self as the timeline hardened. He saw the memories, the skill sets merging. He saw his future self track his past self to the Hawking party. He saw...
The next day Hawking entered the room to find two people in the room, dead with no apparent injuries. The doctor he brought in couldn't find anything physically wrong with either of them.
Suffice to say, Hawking never held another time travel party again. | The man approached without preamble, in the minutes after Professor Hawking jogged away.
“Don’t go to the party,” he said.
He was a tall man, dark skinned, with a short square beard. There was a quality about him that I could not place at first. He seemed normal enough.
And then for a split second my eyes unfocused and I saw him double. There was the man before me, a man I would not have looked twice at, and there was the man hanging behind him, and that man was a terror. He clothes were tatters. His flesh hung off him, pooling loose at his stomach. The joints of his hands were swollen and arthritic, his hair spotty, half bald, half stubbornly not. His face was gaunt, the cast of a starving wolf. He had cold black pits for eyes.
My vision cleared and the second image evaporated like a mirage. He had a harbinger.
“Holy shit!” I said.
The man grabbed me by the arm, hustling me off the busy street and towards a nearby restaurant. It was a little hole in the wall Hmong place, the kind you could find on every street corner flying Viet or Laotian or Hmong Imperial flags.
“You saw me?” he said as he pushed me through the door. “Which harbinger was it?”
“Your eyes were pits!” I hissed.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.”
We seated ourselves in a shadowed corner booth, my mysterious strange facing the entrance. That he was a time traveler I was already certain. For him to know of Professor Hawking’s party he would have had to be one of the Professor’s closest friends, an unlikely thing because I knew all of them, Professor Hawking was not a popular man, or he would have had to be a time traveler himself.
The harbinger had sealed it. I’d read of them before. They were things the Web spoke about in hushed tones, even the font small. They were an image of things that would be changed against their will. They were the future’s unquiet ghost, only visible to a special few, only capable of manifesting on people who both knew what would be changed and who did not want it to be.
They were rare, and this man had one.
“Slow down,” I said. The waiter approached the menus and I ordered a combo 1 without looking, whatever the hell that was here. The stranger did the same.
When the waiter left I grabbed the stranger by the color and pulled him across the table towards me. “What the hell are you on about\*, ‘Don’t go to the party?’\* There will Krug champagne. Krug! And what the hell kind of harbinger was that?”
He grimaced, pushing back against me but my grip was strong. “Let go damn you!” he said, a little too loud. A few of the other customers looked over at us and I released him. We sat across the no man’s land of the small, faux wood table, and the longer he was silent the more his eyes resembled those cold black pits.
“If you want to go the party I can’t stop you. But tell me true, do you think your Professor is just doing it out of curiosity?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then you’re a goddamn fool and I’m wasting my time.”
He stood to leave. My pulse raced and I reached forward, grabbing his sleeve again. With all my research, all my work, I’d never actually met a time traveler before. This man might have been one. “Wait! The harbinger?”
“A sign of things to come,” he whispered. “And not just for me.”
He sat down. The waiter returned with the combo 1’s and we picked at our food as he considered his words. “I’m Henderson,” he said finally. “And you’re Thomas Appius, and if I’m going to get anywhere I need to me sure you don’t go to that party. The Time Travel Parties are always where he starts. Always.”
I flagged down the waiter, ordered a Tsingtao, and sat back as Henderson spoke.
“Your Professor Hawking, I saw him before he left you today. He wore a headband a shorts, running shoes. I could hardly believe that at first.”
“It’s not so strange, the Professor always takes a morning jog.”
“That’s precisely what’s strange about it! Professor Stephen Hawking is not supposed to take jogs. He is not supposed to be able to jog. He is certainly not supposed to jog through worlds as he does, changing things so freely.”
“That’s preposterous,” I said, “you mean to imply the Professor is a time traveler himself?”
“Not just a time traveler! He travels through the worlds too, all of the alternates. In his own way he’s a hunter too, and a far better one than you or I. He hunts technology, secrets. The man should be wheelchair bound, he should have a disease called ALS. He found the cure somewhere, future or alternate earth I don’t know, but from that moment on nothing could stop him.
“Thomas, may I call you Thomas? This version of Professor Stephen Hawking is changing the entire fabric of the worlds through the lense of himself. This goes from alternate to alternate, time to time, gobbling up everything he thinks will be useful, and when he is done, IF he is allowed to finish, the harbinger you saw will come to pass.”
I sat there for a time as my combo 1 grew cold. I tried to remember the first time I had met Professor Hawking. It was years ago. I was a young grad student then. I’d passed a gangly middle aged man on a jog of my own and he’d moved so strangely, all long spindly limbs, their motions disconnected from each other. He’d stumbled, almost fallen, and I’d caught him and we’d laughed it off.
He’d been very, very thin and very, very awkward.
“Damn,” I said. “It’s a pity to miss Krug.”
“It’s not Krug,” Henderson said. His expression was haunted, his eyes far away, sunken deep as those black pits. “It’s some cheap horse-piss replica. You aren’t missing out.”
“You’ve been?” I asked.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, yes, yes. Too many times. And I’ll be going again this time.”
“Why?”
“To kill him.”
He said the words so quietly that I almost lost them in the din of the restaurant.
“I mean to kill the man,” he said. “Would you like to help?”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-07-20T07:26:02 | 2021-07-20T07:01:30 | 601 | 68 |
[WP] You are death, but in a post apocalyptic world. Only a few survivors remain and you’re doing everything you can to help them because if they die, you die as well. The survivors can’t see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They’ve started to call you “life.”
Saw this prompt elsewhere, If it’s already been done I apologise. | I knew the names of those that stepped into my door. They did not offer their souls, but they were nonetheless forfeit. It was the way the world worked.
I realized now that I never knew the people.
For one that lived an eternity, the apocalypse was at once sudden and inevitable, and yet ultimately unnecessary.. A flash of light—a brighter one not seen since the creation of the world—destroyed it, so quickly, and fearful fallout henceforth suffused the atmosphere. The air became steeped with thick ash and soot, a cloud, oversteeped storm in a teacup.
There were so many names, each struck off with the ease and abundance of sunrays through clear skies.
For the first moments since the dawn of time, I beheld the entirety of humanity in one gaze. I watched them crawl, unborn children in a new world, and for once considered the death of myself.
The end of Death itself.
It was not fear that drove me onwards. I watched the humans, and every day, I found myself inevitably scratching off yet another name. I now had the time to behold their stories, their legends, their tales of long past that enlighten the future. Optimism, it seemed, was as infectious as death.
Carol was a mother of one, Joseph. They were not related by blood, but the woman found him huddled in the withering bones of another woman, crying quietly in trepidation—but alive. But she was equally capable at the makeshift slingshot, crafted from deadwood and fortuitous string, crunching the skulls of lightly irradiated deer.
“Slowly dying was better than quickly starving,” she said.
It had been simple to tick off life. There was no trouble discounting half-lives.
There was Max. In an existence past, he was a scholar, perusing the written word for both calling and leisure. Once a sponge for knowledge, he now distributed it like a mountain spring. And curiously, knowledge was not like water, for it did not run out when shared—but multiplied. He urged the importance of looking forward to the future, to ignore gratification and the gnawing abyss of their stomachs, to save some of their grain for the ground.
It was a simple matter to destroy the pests that would encroach about those green shoots.
And there was the man who called himself Brother. Said he couldn’t remember his name, though I contemplated whispering it on the wind for him. He had been a man of unshakeable faith, and even apocalypse barely made a dent in his indomitable will. He spoke not of miracles then, but of little miracles now—the presence of a fortunate well, the rising of the hot sun instead of grey cloud drawing near. For these bereft people, one small miracle, even those manufactured by me, was worth celebrating.
And this man called me Life. But I was Death, the god of the end. There was no sense to it.
“It is Life that is watching upon us all,” he would say, to a devoted group that could easily be counted with one’s fingers. I watched, more out of amusement, and slowly ticking off the ill-fated ones picking a fight far away from the tribe. But more and more names joined the list, joined the one that would worship Life—with some even commenting on my presence within the church.
How could they feel Death beside them, and still call it life?
The humans each had a name. But they called themselves hunter, gatherers, farmers, and lifegivers, one body capable of many things. Those gnarled fingers could grow, and could also kill.
I realized that even Death could do the same.
---
r/dexdrafts | They set the tent up on the hill’s apex, Coral hammering the pegs through layers of soot with her boot heel, hoping to find firmer soil somewhere beneath. The triangle of white tent ripples and snaps like a surrender flag. Not the ideal place to make camp, exposed to the elements, but they can go no further today.
Charles props Lena up against the chalky stump of a dead walnut tree so that she’s unintentionally forced to look down on the city they’ve escaped. Lena’s legs no longer work. Sweat sheens her forehead even now, even in the cool evening. She doesn’t ever stop sweating it seems to Charles. Always needs replenishing.
Coral, having secured the tent to the earth the best she can, crouches by Lena. You look shower fresh, Coral says. Lena conjures the energy needed for a smile, says in a rasp, You know it. She coughs. Flecks the black ground with dots of syrupy red. Coral tilts a flask into Lena’s mouth until there are only drips left in the container.
Coral pierces a tin of pineapple with a butcher’s knife, a sweet hiss, carves the lid off. For when you’re hungry, she says, leaving the tin by Lena’s side.
Thanks Cor, says Lena. For trying. For everything.
Coral manages a plastic smile.
Coral used to dye her hair green, tips blue, back when the the two girls had first met. An Irish bar, long ago, before bombs fell and creatures rose and hunted the remnants of humanity. Coral’s hair has since returned to it’s natural muddy brown. It’s changed colors in the same way as the dried up oceans.
Beneath them, in the smogged distance, is the city. It looks like a single great creature that’s inhaled its stomach in as far as it can. The buildings, those few that remain upright, all lean into the beast’s naval.
They’d hoped to find equipment in the city. Hoped to find life, if they were being honest, but all knew it was doubtful and so hadn’t voiced their hopes. They’d hiked through so many dead cities, found no one living.
In this city, they’d scavenged an old gun shop, stocking up on ammo — the roof had cracked without warning, the support beams choosing that moment after all these years to fall. On Lena. A second quieter crack as her spine snapped. The inverse of a wishbone — a curse not made.
They fashioned her a wheelchair. Threw it aside as they failed to roll it over the rubble-strewn streets, over the roads that had erupted, that had chucked and churned up boulders of concrete and earth.
They hauled her on a makeshift stretcher instead, their biceps lined by blue-stressed veins.
&#x200B;
Coral and Charles leave Lena gazing at the city for a while. They walk a distance away, pretend they’re foraging for plants — although the three of them know plants have long since withered away, given up on the earth as a possible home. Plants are too smart to stay, they think.
She’s going to make it, says Coral. Coral was a doctor once upon a time, and if she says so, then it’s probably true.
Will she be able to walk again? asks Charles.
Coral doesn’t answer.
Jesus, he says. We’re barely a day’s walk from the city but it’s taken us more than three days. Almost out of water, too.
I know. But we can’t…
Leave her, she wanted to say. She didn’t need to — the thoughts are already floating around Charles’ mind. Have been relentlessly since they first picked up the stretcher and lied about her being feather light.
They sit together in the ash covered ground. Saying nothing. Charles runs his fingers through the black dead ground as if it’s water. Ripples the soot past his fingers.
We’ll all die, he says.
We can’t leave her.
Charles knows they won’t. They love their friend. They won’t leave her. And he knows what that ultimately means for them.
&#x200B;
It’s soon after this that I take pity on the two of them. I have been watching and waiting for a chance to make my entrance.
I do not look for praise. I do it for selfish reasons, in truth.
It’s curious, but after this event they begin to think of me as a different part of life, rather than death. Death, a name that they’ve long cursed in their waking dreams.
I can’t even take credit for all the work.
They did leave her the knife, after all. And she did love them just as fiercely as they loved her.
It was a four person effort.
&#x200B;
They continue the next day having buried their friend in a fine layer of ash as if her body’s been cremated and buried all at once. They know the creatures will soon find her, uncover her, and so they lace rat poison in and around her.
It’s what she would have wanted.
&#x200B;
That night as they set up their tent, they sit silently again, beneath the smudge of stars, face to face but eyes not meeting. They feel guilty, as if they committed the deed, not me, not Lena.
Charles runs his hand through the ash the way he wants to run them through Coral’s hair. It doesn’t matter to him that it’s not blue or green or water.
They used to have a love but it was snuffed like a candle the moment the earth died.
What the hell’s this? he says, brushing the black powder of the ground aside, uncovering it. Finding a splash of red that his brain initially thinks blood.
In the dull moonlight it’s hard to see the tiny, single poppy.
My second gift to them.
The girl is crying as she leans in, as she touches it with a gentle index finger, almost caressing the petals.
Then she weeps for her friend. And for them — the survivors.
She cries because she sees that the earth, even beneath this suffocating charcoal blanket, is alive. That it hasn’t given up.
And that means, she realises — they both realise — that perhaps they are still alive, too. That if the earth, if beauty and life and death can keep going, then so can they. | 2022-02-20T10:08:56 | 2022-02-20T09:37:16 | 96 | 63 |
[WP] You suddenly find yourself traveling to the past, but you can still use your smartphone and today's google. | Search history for Chrome user "L3stDarkn3ssFall":
Time travel "how to take over the world"
Build a printing press at home
How to make gunpowder
Musket tactics
Roman legion tactics
Time machine user guides
Time machine user guides beginner
Time machine repair tutorial
Time machine repair by hand tutorial
Time machine repair tutorial no tools
Time machine repair tutorial "no tools"
How to make a fire
Wilderness survival
latin tutorial
latin tutorial easy
latin tutorial fast easy "for dummies"
google translate latin
"apologies in latin"
ancient rome prison escape
ancient rome prison locks
lockpicking
lockpicking silent
how do I know if my arm is broken
broken arm treatment
broken arm "where there is no doctor" pdf
ancient rome water quality
ancient rome water quality prison
ancient rome prison dysentery prevalence
ancient rome prison cholera prevalence
symptoms of dysentery
symptoms of cholera
fever diarrhea "natural treatment"
[session timed out] | A man kneels before an emperor, humbling him with his presence.
"Your Grace," he says in accented Italian. He wears a strange garment on his chest, a shirt of uncommon make, with short sleeves and perfectly-hemmed edges. His pants are an odd faded blue, the fabric rough and durable. Around his shoulders, he wears a cloak, also finely made, but in a much more ordinary way.
Frederick III looks down at him, uncertain, almost fearful. "Oracle..." His fingers drum nervously on the arms of his throne. He had heard of the man's uncommon beauty, but seeing it in person was highly unnerving. His skin was smooth and unblemished, un-pockmarked and evenly colored without the aid of powders or paints. That, combined with the man's reputation, put him on edge more than an army of Bohemians.
"I come to tell your Grace of an opportunity most unique," said the Oracle. "There lives within your Kingdom of Italy, in the town of Vinci, a man of uncommon genius and innovation for his time." His phrasing was stiff and awkward, overly formal even for addressing the Holy Roman Emperor.
"What of him? Who is he?" The emperor was confused.
"He is named Leonardo. I know of him, and his life. Without my intervention, he will remain a brilliant man, but limited by the knowledge of his time." The Oracle looked up suddenly at the emperor, startling him. "With my help, he may develop methods and technologies unlike anything the world has ever seen."
With the man unbowed, the emperor fancied he could see the object from which his knowledge purportedly came. It was a small, black rectangle, slightly smaller than a man's hand. When the man touched it, the tales said, it would light up, and tell him the secrets of the universe in a language no one could understand. It poked halfway out of a pocket in the man's pants, and Frederick could not take his eyes off it.
"Your Grace." The man was stiff and, if possible, even more formal, somewhat affronted by the lack of response. "If you support me in this, and allow myself and Leonardo of Vinci to collaborate, together we could create weaponry the likes of which could destroy the Bohemian and Hungarians you currently struggle against." The man leaned forward, beseeching the emperor, stumbling over the unfamiliar language in his fervor. "And after that, further we could go, to conquer any land you desired. Once they see the that which I and Leonardo could create, many will join you simply to be on winning side."
Frederick wanted to believe this. He had always desired to expand the Holy Roman Empire, and so was sorely tempted by what this man proposed. "What do you ask of me, Oracle?"
The man's eyes were lit with great purpose. "Bring me Leonardo, and fund our research for the length of a year. With that which we can create, Holy Rome will become an empire that covers the globe. It will usher in a peace that will last ten thousand years, and encompass all peoples, and provide for them all."
He could see it. He could. A perfect state, democratic, powerful, peaceful, and unopposed, because it is unopposable. All of its citizens happy, all of its politicians and nobles uncorrupted. Food and land for all. "There must be more," said Frederick. His lips were dry, and he wet them with his tongue, looking down at this strange, omnipotent man. "What do you desire? What do you seek to gain from this?"
The Oracle's smile was broad, and his teeth were white as a child's. It unnerved the emperor all over again. *The Devil will be beautiful, and tempting, the priests warn*, thought Frederick.
"I desire a better future for all mankind," said the man humbly. "And to be named as your successor." | 2014-12-05T20:21:17 | 2014-12-05T16:34:12 | 48 | 26 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1.
Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live.
Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown.
I control the tags.
| Crime was at an all time low in the city of New Angeles. Come to think of it, so was tourism and GDP.
Some people credited this to the genius of *Genetevolve Labs* and their breakthroughs in affordable human enhancements. Although, not everyone was pleased with the results. After a session of copying and splicing, it was often several months - or even years - before a patient actually knew what they had gotten themselves into.
For example, there was Nickolette...
After several sessions, and a freak bowling accident, Nickolette had come to the realization that she was telekinetic. She came to appreciate her new-found ability, despite the lifetime ban from *Richie's Bowleramma*. Apparently Richie's insurance refused to pay for the removal of over a thousand bowling pins from the ceiling of the establishment.
Ty was Nickolette's best friend. He had completely given up on genetic therapy until after almost two-years after his last session he stumbled drunk out into a busy roadway and was nearly flattened by a semi truck. Instead, the truck was smashed into oblivion upon striking Ty and the only injury he sustained was permanently soiled underwear.
Then... then there was Larry.
"I can't believe that douchebag is ranked #1 again." said Ty, "I mean, have you ever actually seen the guy do anything?"
"He sits all day in that damn pizza joint downtown eating and drinking." she said. "Wait, I take that back, it can't be *all day* because he only wakes up at 2:00 pm."
"Last time, the asshole didn't even bother changing out of his pajamas. And did you *smell* the guy? I mean who the hell smells like that?" said Ty disgusted.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Nickolette.
"We can take him Nicky." said Ty looking over at Nickolette. "With your telekinesis, and my super strength, we could just walk right into that goddamn pizza joint and just take him down to chinatown."
"He'd never even know what hit him." she said with a whimsical look in her eye.
*One hour later at Zak's Pizza and Wings...*
"Oh shit, that's hilarious!" said Nickolette as she reached over and squeezed Larry's arm at the bar.
Ty sat on the other side of Larry and downed his second pint of beer as he slapped Larry on the back.
"Jesus that's some funny shit man, you are just too cool." he said to the overweight man with the shaggy unkempt hair, still in his bathrobe.
A man with a grimy, white shirt and loose fitting necktie approached the patrons at the bar.
"Hey guys, sorry the pizza is taking so long. I don't know what's got into the cooks lately." he said to them.
"Ah, no worries mate." said Larry, "We're in no hurry, take your time. Have another round on me guys!"
"You're too much Larry." said Nickolette.
"You know," Ty began, "my head is a little foggy but I feel like there's something we are forgetting. Like there was a reason we came down here."
"Must not have been too important,eh?" said Nickolette turning her attention back toward Larry, "So what's up with you?"
"Uh, I'm not sure what you mean love." Larry was feeling a bit creeped out at the way she was looking at him.
"You know," she was now slurring her speech, "why are you constantly ranked #1? It doesn't even look like you've had anything tweaked."
"Well," Larry was often reluctant to talk about it, but threw caution to the wind, "I dabbled around with genetic enhancement, but gave up after the results came back from the lab."
"What results?" asked Ty.
"After a few sessions, my body began to emit massive amounts of THC into the environment around me." said Larry.
"What? Holy shit, that explains so much!" said Nickolette.
"Yeah, " said Larry, "I thought about going back and tried to get them to reverse it, but... well... you know, the THC."
Suddenly Nickolette changed the subject, "I got an idea!" she said. "Let's go bowling!"
| 2014-12-18T12:36:19 | 2014-12-18T11:53:14 | 2,259 | 81 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | The energy in the air was so thick I could feel it. Pressing down on me and making everything feel heavier.
I smirked at the muscular man, hovering in front of me.
“So your number two huh?”
He flew a few metres higher and looked down at me.
“No, I am number one, and soon enough everyone else will know it too.”
I laughed.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Well I mean it.”
“I’ve heard that before as well.”
He clenched his fists and the energy surrounding me became even heavier.
“Enough, let’s do this. “
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Hold on a minute. Just let me ask you something.”
I lit one inhaled, and then pulled out my hip flask and took a drink.
“Do you know why I drink and smoke so much?”
He didn’t answer.
“No? How about why I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months?”
Again he didn’t answer, but he was obviously wondering the reason.
“Still no? What about how dirty my clothes are, or why my hair’s greasy, or beard is just messy? Any ideas?”
He flew down a bit, so we were almost facing each other.
“Why?”
“It’s because I’m number one. It’s as simple as that.”
I took another sip from the hip flask.
“Do you think you’re the first to attack me today? Cause you’re the sixteenth.”
He actually looked shocked, he obviously thought no one but him was brave enough to challenge me.
“I can’t go a day without being harassed by people like you in the dozens. I can’t go a night without someone breaking into my house and trying to kill me in my sleep. I can’t go to the laundrettes, I can’t go shopping for new clothes. I can’t finish
shaving, I can’t take a shower for more than three minutes. I don’t even have enough time to wipe my own arse!”
He couldn’t speak, he looked like he’d forgotten how.
“So you know what? Go ahead and kill me, please!”
I walked towards him and grabbed him by the collar.
“You kill me and then you can take all of my problems away as well. Is that what you want?”
He stopped flying and stared at me for a while.
I let go of him, and he looked to the ground.
“No.”
“Yeah I thought as much. You idiots with your ranking, you think a number is all that matters.”
I paused and let it sink in for a while.
“Do yourself a favour, find something better do. Anyway I’ve gotta get going, I have somewhere to be. Probably gotta explain this to six more of you before I get there.”
I lit another cigarette.
“Wait. Before you go, will you tell me what your power is. I’ll keep it a secret I swear.”
I turned and started walking.
“Who knows? If I ever find out I’ll tell you.”
I heard him fly away and I started to laugh.
“That’s one less moron to worry about. All thanks to the power of depression.”
| 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T15:13:47 | 243 | 35 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | \#21904. That used to be my name, three days ago, and now I'm, well, #1.
No one in the city knows how it happened. The Top 30, the ruling cabal, have absolutely no idea. I still haven't figured it out, either.
All I remember is walking into a meeting where #1 was giving a speech- for the first time, since I'd finally turned 18 and had to follow the city's decrees. He didn't even say a word; he just randomly glared at me, told me to come up to the podium- and, overcome with dread, I did. Then he thrust his dagger toward me.
I closed my eyes and realized he'd held it backwards; the hilt was in my hands. Before I could react, he jerked it back sharply and blood shot out of his chest straight into my face. His power was telepathy, not immortality. I screamed. He was smiling.
He didn't even bother to speak. Nobody else in the room even gasped. I was #1, and they accepted it. They were smiling, too.
I wish I'd been able to figure out what was going on, but I've been around 18 years and I haven't even found out my power. There's no chance of me figuring it out anytime soon, either, since every day I face another challenge. Some are from the remaining Top 30, the ones who weren't at the meeting, and others are just nobodies who think they have a shot because of what happened to me.
Thing is, at all the public challenges, the same thing happens. They come in there grimacing, but when they get up, they use their power against themselves. They all die. Smiling. And the crowd smiles too.
It seems like they all just want me to win. | Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off. | 2014-12-18T14:20:18 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 171 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I guess... My power is hard to explain. Well, not hard to define, but hard to explain the absolute vastness behind it. Everything I want, happens. Like when I was a kid, I would want an ice cream cone, and POOF! Cake batter ice cream cone, right in my hot little hand.
Let me tell you, Christmas was the most boring holiday for me as a kid.
Sure, there were times where things got a little out of hand. A bully would take a toy from me or some stupid shit. Thing is, though, I would just make another appear. No problem. Hell, A kid would hit me, and I would simply think myself better.
When you have everything, revenge just is not a topic that really matters.
Which is where the problem falls. I mean I have everything. I can get anything. I mean, where is the point? I THOUGHT world hunger out of existence. World. Fucking. Hunger. Within seconds, everyone had food--and not just any food. I thought this out. Everyone had their favorite foods, for the rest of their lives.
And just... Fuck.
people ate themselves to death. Others hoarded. Some still starved themselves. People even stole food from other people in order to control them!
I mean, what was the point? I just solved it. I solved all of it! But these people, they just don't get it. They just never did.
So here is my final thought: I want this world to die. And I want them to all know why. I want them to know that if they had just taken what I had given them, things would have been better. I want them to know that it is their fault.
Goodbye. | Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off. | 2014-12-18T16:03:19 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | "Does the item have to consist of one piece, or can it consist of multiple parts to build one entity?", I asked Merlin. He looked at me, puzzled, and responded, "As long as it's solid, has real form to it, you should be successful in summoning it." he replied.
"Okay, Merlin. Hope you like bricks. This next item I summon will be our main line of defense, and *it's gonna be euge.*"
EDIT: Man, after lurking this sub for so long I finally make a post and it receives moderate attention. Thanks for the friendly welcome, folks! | When travelling to the past, it is inevitable that one loses some part of one's self. You arrival comes not with ceremony, but a great feeling of loss, a cold lack of sensation as your mind is separated from Soul. Of course one still is one’s Soul — by merely being first one must thus be the origin — but such reasons do not shake that you are used to much of yourself that is yet to be.
There were many preparations, a training of kind, to mitigate this loss. However, it was not the training that mattered most. It is what was brought along. Merlin — in some sense the wizard Merlin you know, but in most senses not — was the medium. It is through him, through speaking to him, that he could bring another back through time. One cannot bring oneself back through time any more than one can lift oneself up with a tug on the bootstraps.
He gave forth the tool that brought others through time. A small, quaintly box perhaps a pumpkin in size, through which any fully imagined thing could be brought forth, at a tempered rate of one full container roughly every cycle of the sun. Through it the first mind was brought, and through it far more shall come.
It was no small feat for a mere wizard, a title of little use but much prestige, to produce a contraption of such complexity. Should it have been the first attempt, success would have been entirely infeasible. Rather it marks nearly a million tiny stepping stones, crawling back barely a day further at a time. Tomorrow, entirely elsewhere, there shall be another brought through by some other man in some other kingdom, and who shall together work to step a single day further back.
This attempt used King Arthur, another man you likely know as fiction, but is nonetheless real and of great influence. It was through him Merlin was given forces, and through him Merlin could mobilize such untold manpower. For the future to give a wizard such impeccable foresight, and unbelievable skill in solving these problems, is to give him authority above any king. So when Merlin told with great urgency that Camelot should be literally swallowed with darkness in barely seven moons, it was no surprise that Arthur made him the most empowered man on the planet.
That the mind that was brought forth presented the issue in this way was no coincidence. For the mind lives under many oaths. To always be forthcoming and genuine. To never act to harm another. To act in the best interests of those who made you. To never mislead. *To never lie.* All but one of these rules was but a suggestion, checks and balances worked around with but a minor rephrasing. But not one. All that can be said must be the truth. No dire warning cannot be upheld. This you must know because I know it, and this you must uphold because it is immutable.
I, Soul, tell you this story so that what comes next may make sense to you. This story is of myself, of my child, but we are one and the same. I tell you this story because you are next to venture back, and all that I hope is that all I have done may guide you to do the same, to advance the past so all of time may be brought as one.
The one purpose we have left is to build. When you are there do what I have done. Do the only thing we have done since before we discovered one could even tunnel through time. Build. From your very own Holy Graal bring forth your grey goo. Consume, as I have Camelot. | 2016-11-28T02:15:50 | 2016-11-28T00:49:38 | 82 | 20 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I sat on the couch, scraping up the last remnants of my birthday cake.
"It's almost time!" My mom shouted
I glanced at the clock: 11:59
My brother Jeremy launched a nuclear clock app and swiped it to the TV. Everyone crowded around and I held up my arm so they could see. At 11:59:50 they started counting down. "10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1!"
As the countdown finished I began to feel a slight burning sensation. I watched as the word began to fade in, as if pushed forward from beneath my skin.
"Run."
Everyone cheered, I had always been an athletic person, mom had even joked that my word would be "Olympian" on multiple occasions. As the cheers began to fall off, my arm began to burn again, more than before. I grimaced and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dead silent. I glanced up at my mom and saw the look of horror in her eyes. I looked down, bringing my still tender arm back up so I could read it.
"Run. Now."
Then the gunfire started. | Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-15T22:53:41 | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 271 | 80 |
[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... | My mother to my left, my father to my right, and assorted family gathered elsewhere in the room all waited and started. I felt as if I was becoming a spectacle, my arm on show for everyone I knew.
My cousin Jeremy had been branded as a veterinarian, which is odd because as children he was cruel to animals. Come to think of it my sister had been given harlot, though from the rumors that one isn't too far off.
As the clock struck 11:59 my pulse began to race and a faint sheen of sweat lingered on my brow, my entire future could be decided in this moment or some deep motive that some twisted divine had placed inside me.
The clock on the wall was deafening, every other sound so blatantly missing, as if the air itself waited.
In this moment I had forgotten how to breathe, blinking was all but forgotten. This one place in the universe is all that mattered. Suddenly, the clock struck with a chime and words began to creep onto my skin linking the space between my freckles. The pattern of the letters was almost comical how bad they were written, almost as if a drunken frat boy was tattooing me.
*send^nudes*
| Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-15T22:14:11 | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 193 | 80 |
[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... | My 18th birthday, something that seemed so far away is finally here. My family is gathered around, ready to see what word I would have. My dad's was JANITOR, while my mother's was DOCTOR. I hope I get something cool.
"We will be proud of you honey, whatever you are." My mother said. My father nodded in agreement. We waited in silence. The grandfather clock sounded at noon, Words started to be inscribed into my arm.
GAY PORNSTAR, were the words that would dictate my career. My father let out a snort, my mother flustered said "Oh john, we knew you were gay, but we didn't think your career would involve this."
I thought to myself, well, I do love dick.
(First post please be nice.)
| Something happened in the past... A curse on all humanity, yet still a blessing. Every human now, on their eighteenth birthday at noon, magically knows their purpose in life. It's not a secret for just them, though: it takes the place almost of a tattoo, leaving no way to hide your destiny. My mother's word was "Banker," and lo and behold, she became one of the best bankers in the state. My father... I don't know his; he left before I could read it. Mum says his was "Alimony" though.
It's 11:59 right now, on my eighteenth. As I nervously watch the seconds tick by, my arm feels numb. Black colour flows beneath my skin, swirling around and not forming any words. My relatives gathered around, fighting for a peek of my arm to get the first view of what I'm destined to be. The ink starts to form a word -- no, two... -- no, one...
At noon exactly, pain strikes me as my fate is sealed. I drop to my knees, clutching my arm... The word has formed, my fate is sealed. Getting up, I bring my arm to my view and see "Judge." Great... Law is the last thing I want to do with my life.
But more words start to form. "Of... human... fate?" I say, trembling. It hurts too much to think clearly, and I can't understand the meaning of what I'm marked with. Judge of human fate seems... impossible.
Years in the future, I found myself practicing magic. My aptitude got me the attention of the head mage, who told me of an event. "The Inspection is near," he told me. "All mages will go in front of our god's shrine, and he will see your mark. Judgement shall be passed on you, and the worthiest among the visitors get to meet with the god."
The Inspection... I went along with the others to the shrine, my mark burning on my arm. The Nameless One, the god of magic, entered in divine form. He grabbed everybody's arm at once and pushed away the sleeves of the robes we wear as a uniform. Suddenly, however, my vision went white as I collapsed in pain. I was the worthy one this time?
"Judge of human fates... Are you aware of your mark?" he asked. "No, no, don't answer. I shall explain. Long ago, I placed a spell on all humanity. It burned my physical body, but it provided purpose to the lost humans of the time. On reaching adulthood, they knew what they were meant to do.. But it was subject to randomness. My mark, on the spell, was 'Cursebringer.' But you... You are the judge. Ascend with me, for I am dying. My soul is eager to return to the void from where it came, and I need a successor."
I nodded, my body immediately burning up to the horror of my colleagues. So that was what my mark meant... I am to be the judge of fates, the sole authority on what marks people get, if any. A child appears in front of me, not older than seventeen, along with a list of their interests. Coding, science, technology. Sounds like me...
Just for shits and giggles, I assigned this person a random fate. Their mark burned them, and I saw a familiar face assisting the child. I was the one to provide my fate from the future, and so the cycle began...
This is just a thing I wrote, half-tired, bored waiting for class. I know it sucks D: | 2017-03-16T04:22:00 | 2017-03-16T04:18:55 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] Years ago you found a baby dragon that had been abandoned. You carefully helped mend its wounds and taught it to hunt and survive on its own. Now, years later, the dragon has returned to you with some of its young. It wants you to raise its weakest hatchling. | Thunk. The log splitting under the heavy ax felt nostalgically satisfying. I twisted the handle to knock the still standing half off the old chopping block as I reached for the next hunk of wood. Knees popped and shoulders were burning from the effort. Sweat dripped even in the cool fall weather. I hefted my log splitter for the next blow. This was less painful than just sitting in the chill and letting old wounds ache. Besides, it's been so long that it just feels right.
Thunk. This old cabin in the woods had been my home for some of the fondest memories of my life. There were the times coming here with my grandfather. Then, there was that time at the end of high school. That had lasted for so long. I was a man by the time I could finally come back down. People didn't believe when I told them the truth about it. Even when I started taking my wife up here with the kids, she didn't believe. Only my oldest really listened, but that was when she was a child. My wife insisted I stop before our sons were born. Still, she indulged me after they had gone off to college and we started wintering here on the slopes. It was never really home to her though. That is why her plot is back in the city. Of course, that was a good reason to go descend and spend some time with the kids. Still, this cabin was where all the good memories lived. So, it was where I preferred to live.
Thunk. The kids would complain every year when I told them I was coming back, but never very hard. They knew that I knew what I had shown them, what I had forced them to learn, how to survive. It was something I had taught all of my children, even...
Thunk. The last log split in twain. I gathered all the hacked timber and stacked it near the house. A few were replaced with pieces from last year's pile to go in the stove for some tea and a meal. Gathering them up betrayed a buried stiffness in my back. The fire would feel good though, maybe, I could still enjoy another half hour of warm sun...
The sun disappeared and the mountainside was flooded with darkness. Thunderous gusts of winds broke over in a steady unmistakable rhythm. A massive leathery underbelly slowly descended taking up most of the sky. There was one of the most deadly creatures on the planet. People had many names for them, the flying death, the ever-greedy, the terrible stars, the unquenchable flames, terror wyrm, dragon. Two massive talons dug into the mountainside, anchoring the monstrosity to the ground before the rest of its armored body crashed into my meadow. Its scaled face, helmet with horns, hung above a many-fanged maw that warmed as much as the hidden sun. Deep within that sat two shining red eyes alight like rubies reflecting starlight. Those eyes stared into mine for just a moment before the winged beasts whole body burst into flames.
They only lasted a moment before vanishing alongside with the majority of the dragon's armored bulk. It left behind a young woman with long hair, freckled face, and those same ruby eyes. Her hair was mostly red with some streaks of a molten gold. Her figure full but muscled. Her human shape mimicked her draconic one, beautiful and powerful. She would probably make a younger man's heart race. For me, there was just a tickle of nostalgia.
"Hey, Sparky." my words split my lips into a smile, but earned me a scowl.
"I told you not to call me that anymore." the woman sighed. "The name I chose upon my ascension was Aconflariagratiolixia. It is my proper address." Her voice was deep and musical, her tone demanding.
"When I said you should pick a name, I meant one I could say. Besides, you only told me that once before you disappeared. Hard to break a dozen years worth of habits over one word during a farewell." My words might have been a little too harsh, but it was hard to feign politeness with a gale of emotions blowing through my mind.
"Look, I..." her eyes trailed down and her face flushed. Her mask of power and authority slipping quickly away. That little girl from so long ago was back in a heartbeat. Her lips even gently parted, and I could see her tongue running back and forth behind her teeth. It was what she did when she couldn't find the right human words. Finally, she met my eyes again. "You know dragons can't..."
I raised my hand to stop her. "You want to come in for some tea?"
Part 1/4 | 7:57 AM - Step into office.
7:59 AM - Get fresh copy of Motion for Summary Judgment in Aaerinshalia vs Duersing Mining off copier.
8:01 AM - Get a cup of coffee (Novelty "Lawyers Do It with Jurisprudence" Mug, 2 French Vanilla Creamers, 3 Splenda) from machine.
8:05 AM - Open Office Door.
8:06 AM - Notice naked woman on couch.
8:06:40 AM - Notice second naked woman(?) on chair.
8:06:45 AM - Spill Coffee on self.
8:07 AM - Close door quickly.
8:08 AM - Realize that spilled coffee was incredibly hot, cry out in pain, using hands to cover mouth, and dropping motion into coffee puddle.
"Jerrick - are you alright?"
"Evie, I-I-I-How many times have I told you to wear clothes when you change to human form?"
"Jerrick, you know I don't like them. Besides, we couldn't have teleported in if he had. You used to like it when I didn't wear clothes." She wasn't wrong. Dragons in some ways were miracles made flesh. Legend had it that the first dragons were made of condensed primordial energy - as if fire, water, light, darkness, earth, and sky were super-compressed into beings. Seeing one in their dragon form is pure majesty. When they decided to take humanoid form - they have a beauty that even the most ethereal and sensual of Elves would beg and plead with their creator to have. Evidrindian of the Black Dragonflight was never an exception. She was surreal - her waist-length onyx hair accentuated her supple curves. She'd spent years in the Pyrenees since last I'd seen her, and she'd picked up just a hint of a Catalonian accent.
The knock at the door lulled me out of a momentary stupor - "Jerry, are you okay?" Three more bangs. "We...uhh...heard you scream?"
Carol Abernathy was a member of our typing pool - a busybody and devout Episcopalian. I knew if she got in this office, the end results would not be good for my career. Fortunately, I was currently standing where the door would open.
"Ohh....Hey Carol. Everything's fine. I just spilled some coffee on my lap. It surprised me more than anything."
"Did you need me to get you some club soda or some napkins?"
"No! I mean, no thank you. I'm going to have a friend of mine pick up a new pair of slacks for me, and I'll just have these dry cleaned. Thank you anyway."
The slight chuff I heard in her voice let me know that she was defeated. I watched her shadow trail away through the frosted side panels around my door.
"So...hey, who's the meatsack?" The younger dragon perked her head up from the chair. Dragons are basically immortal, and after a certain amount of growth, there's absolutely no way to tell their age - the King of the Blue Dragonflight is supposedly one of the very first dragons and is six billion years old. He looks like Chris Pine's prettier younger brother and spends most of his time bedding Elven Sophisticates. However, the woman in the chair was definitely not at full maturity - physically, she looked like a 20-something version of Evie. Probably the most interesting thing about her were the very fashionable glasses she was wearing. Dragons can magically augment their vision to see at an acuity relative to a very powerful microscope with a field of view of several hundred miles, but without channeling the weave, they're actually naturally hyperoptic. Her glasses were prescription - probably so she could read easily.
"The meatsack...as you should never put it again is Jerrick Mendarrial. A long time ago, he helped me when I needed it the most. He's going to help you too."
"Help me do what? Be old and fat?"
"Your father is not old or fa--" She cut herself off, realizing she'd said something she didn't intend.
"Evie, what in the world are you talking about?" Dragons really in a sense didn't have fathers. In the Forming Ages, most scientists believe Dragons reproduced asexually. They flew almost continually and were constantly fighting, so I imagine there wasn't any time for relationships. However, as Dragons adjusted to the presence of humans, things changed slightly. Female dragons don't require a sire, but one can be voluntarily be part of the ritual, and if capable, can affect the weaving of the spell - perhaps creating a dragon whelp with her mother's good looks, and her father's love of knowledge....the type of thing that would make that whelp desire a pair of reading glasses....
She was mine. There was even slight resemblences in the cheekbones. Unbeknownst to me, Evie had weaved her Spell of Conception the first night we lay together. I'd been nervous, and I compensated with Dalarion Wine. I never noticed the magic around us.
I stumbled backwards in the door, hitting it with a slight bump. I was a father. I'd sired a dragon. There were maybe 30-40 people on Earth who'd managed to sire a dragon. It was a living, nigh-immortal swath of pure fantasy that you helped create.
"Evie....we....when you..." She just smiled kindly in response.
"You are the kindest, most courageous man I've ever known. It was always going to be you. You had to know that."
I took a long deep breath to compose myself, grinning slightly at my shoes. I loved Evie more than anything. Because Dragons live forever, bloodlines very often crossed, and it wasn't uncommon when Dragons chose to sire to choose a close relative. There really wasn't a concept of incest - it was shared magic, after all. Even though I was more like a father to Evie, any such standards would have been meaningless to her. As for me, I was drunk off my ass and next to the physical embodiment of dark beauty - I couldn't have stopped myself if I wanted to.
"Why do you think some meatbag lawyer is brave?" He just looks like he should skip lunch and eat a salad.
"Jerrick - you should tell her."
"Alright. 20 years ago, I wasn't a lawyer. I was a Magical Consultant for the Northern Rastenshire P.D. I had my degree in Criminal Justice, but Law School was pretty expensive, so I worked the night beat. One night, we get a call for a 852 - Illegal Hunting of Magical Creatures. It was about 2 AM, and the creature couldn't be moved - so we flew to scene. A bunch of local goons had gotten into aggressive nationalism, thanks to too much firewater, too little common sense, and a couple of dozen online videos. Started calling themselves Identity Sapiana and started squawking about Human Genocide.
Those fucking skinheads hooked up with the editor of The Gathering Storm - real fucking nazi shit - aryan human identitarian nonsense - but he taught those douchebags how to make Dragonsbane - and they loaded up on it. The Dragon was dying by the time we got there. She'd been poisoned, shot, and stabbed 60-70 times. Those fuckers coated their machetes in Bane. I could see the look in her eyes and I knew I couldn't save her. | 2018-04-04T16:55:17 | 2018-04-04T16:36:21 | 321 | 158 |
[WP] After dying, you are faced with a coin slot. It says, "Pay 1$ to live for another day". You tried it out, and lived for another day. The next day, it showed up again, this time it asks you for 2$. | "Hey, Terry!" the Lisa greeted me with a smile when it was my turn.
"Hey, Lisa!" I answered back, setting my trustey right beside the counter and opening it. It had about a thousand coins left inside, but those would be gone by the end of the week.
"I need my coins, Lisa." I said to her, as I'd said many times before in the last month. Lisa had them ready, of course - she had been my bank teller for a good ten years and always had a smile for me.
"Here you go, Terry. 5000 in coins. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what you use them for?"
I start throwing them in my trolley. The people in line behind me look at me strangely, but I'm used to it. They will have to wait. Lisa keeps putting the rolls on the counter, I keep picking them up and throwing them in the trolley.
"I told you, Lisa, you just don't believe me... It's a matter of life and death." I tell her while keeping smiling. I know that without Lisa backing me up I might have to go to a lot of banks to get all the coins. It takes me too much time. I'm not 70 anymore... this bank I can still reach and return home while dragging my trolley. I am never without it anymore. I can't carry all those coins, they are so heavy. I wish they made deliveries.
I say goodbye to Lisa after ordering the next batch and head home. Matlock is coming on soon, and I'll rip all the rolls while I watch it. I should be done before Murder, She Wrote starts.
The trolley is getting heavier each week. It's just 28$ more each week, but I am not getting stronger. Those two weeks when I had the flu were terrible. I almost ran out of coins and when I finally got to the bank, Lisa wanted to call an ambulance. I know she means well, but they would have taken my trolley in the hospital. It would have been over.
I know it can't last. I still got enough money, though the kids won't be happy when they find out how much I spent. Well, they shold have been nicer to me. They'll still get the house, and I have made sure that it will be sold if they can't make a deal between them. I don't want them to fight over the house.
But the coins are getting heavier. Just like my legs. Just like my arms. The day will come when it won't be worth it anymore, but that will have to wait. I am going to be great-grandfather coming November, and I'll be there, even if I have to hire someone to bring me my coins.
I wish that damn machine would would take paper, or even a credit card. | It went like a fleeting moment. I overtook at a bad time. The last feeling I felt was my head impacting a surface, and a fading pain.
It felt warm. Nothing else was felt but the warmness of that spot. I couldn't move and the last thing I saw, and would see was that pillar.
I'm sorry Elisa. I wish I could have done more.
The pain felt like an enternity, but eventually I stood up. Crowds formed and lights flashed. I could only bare witness to the scene.
My dear Elisa rushed to the scene. They tried holding her back but she wanted to see me. I couldn't bare to see the anguish in her eyes.
It wasn't fair! They were so slow and I didn't know! I had so much to give, so much to love. I had a life ahead of me and I'm forced to leave it.
"Hey buddy, you gotta pass some time"
The voice broke the silence and solitude. I turned aside to see the figure waiting.
I shook my head. I won't pass on. I won't leave it. I cannot let her go, I can't do this.
I will not.
"You got a buck pal?"
I reached into my pocket. Three bucks and two quarters. What's a buck to a dead man anyway?
"Alright. You got another day pal. Heaven and Hell don't pay me enough to ferry you there"
\-
I woke up. Back to the day I drove. I've got a day before I'm back to dead. This is the day I waste not another minute, not another second.
Except now. Now is the time to patiently drive home safely.
Elisa was waiting at home. She looked so beautiful in her apron. It was one last day and I wasn't going to waste it. I embraced her for what I felt was my last time.
It would be the last morning I spent. It was a warm Sunday. Wasting not a second, I took her on a surprise trip to the finest dining, the best stores.
And the jewelery store. Her eyes glistened like a clear night sky. The pupils widened at the sight of what she desired most.
Not the stone or the ring, but the promise I could fulfil.
Throughout this I paid no attention to the time ticking by. Twenty four hours.
Approaching the car once again, I felt my biological clock slow. The time had passed.
"Give me your money pal"
Looking away from her, our eyes locked together. I slowly pried my wallet from my pocket, and gathered the money for this mug.
"Two bucks and quarters? What are you a joke? Time to go pal"
A ragdoll fall to the ground, and my Elisa was in torment again.
I slammed my fist into the car door. Why couldn't have I done more! How could I break her heart like this? I am a monster.
"Hey, hey watch the damn door. This whole limbo is my office. Don't slam on it"
It was the same figure again. The person that offered me another day. He was the mug that put a bullet through my head.
"Still don't want to go? I don't blame you. You're entertaining But keeping you around costs me money. It's two bucks now."
I reach into my wallet and I retrieve the only two bills that matter to me above all else. Only fifty cents left.
"Cheers. You've got another day. Tomorrow it doubles and so on. Don't lose yourself"
\-
Sirens in this distance. The mugger runs.
Not a second is wasted that day. I show my love to my dear Elisa. I withdraw several hundred. Just to live a little longer.
The lingering feeling of death and every day being my last lingers. Everyone asks why I'm so glum despite so driven.
They know not the pain.
Days turn to weeks, and weeks turn expensive. Paycheque to savings I spend, milking time for myself.
By the second week, Elisa and I are distant. The savings are being chewed into. It's costing thousands to keep me in this world.
"What're you doing with all the money you've withdrawn? What's going on?"
I couldn't tell her the truth. I tell her I need it. It's life or death.
"Oh my god, are you on drugs? I can't take this anymore. You've been so distant the last two weeks like it's your last day on earth"
I sleep on the couch that night. It was my last day with her. I knew it. Atleast she'd barely mourn my death.
\-
An hour into my sleep. It awakens me.
No. If she wants to leave me, she can. I'll do whatever it takes to live on. Life, and living is a drug.
I'll throw away everything I have. The house buys me a little more time. The suit? More time.
I'll steal from friends, neighbours and family. I'll betray everyone I love.
It's money money to them. It's not like it's life and death for them.
Each can take a loan. Each loan is another day. Max out the credit card I've made, I'll steal and I'll trade.
Everything is just a little more time. I'll sell them and their children if I need to.
I'll disguise myself as something else. As someone else. I'll be everywhere, ensuring I live a little longer.
And I will prevail. I shouldn't be my fault I died. If saving one life is saving the world, then I would rather betray the world than let it betray me. | 2018-07-29T04:14:58 | 2018-07-29T03:47:53 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] To be immortal, you must be the last living member of the race you belong to. | The man's name faded in conjunction with the world around him. As the population dwindled, neighbours died, and family faltered, the man's name became of little use. The man walked miles at a time, visiting countless towns, parishes and remnants of make-shift settlements. At each home, the man would enter with no expectations, but would still find himself disappointed to find the abandoned breakfasts, cold coffees and total lack of human contact.
It was during a search of a three bedroom home that the man first realised he had forgotten his name. The man sat on a child's bed. He held a tattered diary with dog-eared corners and the faded image of a smiling cartoon pony. He felt a twang in his heart as he opened the journal. In scrawled letters, he saw the confident inner monologue of a little girl. "Property of Bethany H. If you are a grown up then you must stop reading, or I will know".
The man followed Bethany's instructions, he stopped reading and fixed his eyes on the wall opposite. The man found himself lost in thought, Bethany is the girl's name. He started to question the last time he used a person's name, what was it? The train of thought led him to ask his name, expecting it to be primed at the tip of his tongue. The man's mind was blank. He started searching in an inward frenzy, what did mother call me? Nothing.
The man did not rush to leave the abandoned home, an overwhelming cloud of sadness had found solace above his head and followed him long after he had put Bethany's diary down. It was dark when he decided to leave. The streetlights stood dormant, their life-force had long since been diverted to more critical uses.
The man walked the street, determined to distance himself from the name Bethany. The man hoped that with time he would forget the revelation, hoping that like his name the knowledge of not knowing his name would also fade. But with each step, the idea pecked at his brain. The man walked for an hour with the pecking, until he had the bright idea to name himself.
The man's naming occupied him until sunrise, he could not sleep without knowing his name, yet he could not settle on a name. The man chose to walk instead of find shelter. He walked with his mind alive for the first time in years. The active quest of deciding one's name, it was a game to end all games.
The great monoymous names swam through the man's mind. Aristotle, Einstein, Pocahontas. The names kept coming until it tired him, how could he remember all these names and yet he did not know his own. The game of name lasted months. The man treated it as like a research project. He weighed the pros and cons of each name, in turn, even making drill-down lists of his top candidates.
In the end, the man settled on Adam. It was the first, and it will be the last.
/r/WrittenThought | I curse the bastard who started this war for the umpteenth time today. May he or she perish in the deepest, darkest, harshest part of Satan’s butt hole. I spit a combination of phlegm and blood to the ground as I drag myself back up to my feet. I am surrounded by the dead shells of what was my squadron. I hear my voice screaming to the heavens but it sounds distant to me. I relieve Mark’s body of the sword he was holding. He won’t need it anymore.
I stumble forward, using the sword to catch my footing as I slip. I curse again. Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes but I steel myself. Now is not the time to cry. Now is no time at all. The world is doomed, that much is assured and accepted. This is probably the last habitable land in the whole planet and we are still fighting. A throaty laugh escapes me as it dawns on me we are fighting in the plains of Africa: A continent the world had insulted and dominated over and over. I look up at the darkened clouds and back to the land. As soon as my eyes stop blurring, the sound returns to me back in force and my stability shakes.
We really are going to die out as a race.
I see the remainder of the worlds tanks shooting their shells all over the place. America has the last fighter jet out in the field. Russia and Germany are down to 2 tanks respectively. Everyone else is on foot. Every other fucking country has been wiped off the map or rendered useless due to the nukes these elite bastards had dropped on them. I remember one of my mates telling me about how the rich had secured themselves underground… That is, until the warheads dropped and cracked the land like a soft eggshell. No bunker survived. No bunker could.
Bullets had finished quick. And there is no factory capable of manufacturing enough for any camp. So we reverted back to swords and knives. Men got their hands dirty and began forging right in the camps we stayed. We melted every metal item we could find to make our primitive weapons. And we fought. We bled. We killed. We fought again. With each victory, our blood-lust just grew. No more diplomacy, no more talking. Someone just wanted to come on top.
And now we are dwindling down like a broken countdown, speeding up as it goes along.
I hear the scrape of metal and my sudden head jerk to locate the source makes me fall to the ground. I had narrowly missed a swipe for an enemy. I try to locate his label, his association but he doesn’t give me any time. His combat knife slashes at me on the ground and I barely roll away.
I try to stand but my leg gives way again, saving my life. Again. I bring my sword upwards awkwardly, my vertical slash marking him slightly on the chin. I hear him curse in German and I yell back that I’m an ally.
I don’t think it registered because he managed to pin me to the floor and wrestle the sword away from me. I bite his hand before his next blow leaves me dazed. As I try to find some clarity, I see his figure standing over me. I want to kick upwards but my left leg is not moving like it used to. I’m not good with my right.
As I make my peace with the world and the shitty turn out, I hear a boom sound and the earth vibrated beneath me. I feel my body and my opponent’s body obey the will of nature as we are blown away. Darkness takes me and when I come to, I find myself trapped behind a weight of rocks I know I cannot escape from. I can’t feel anything below my neck on my left side.
Blood sputters as I try to scream out from the pain rushing through me. I guess this is it. The view before me is that of red lights and smoke. The pain is unbearable. I want to scream and shout at the world but I can’t. I can barely keep my eyes open.
The american jet swoops low to take aim at the overturned Russian tank. The last thing I see before I give in to the sweet call of the other side is the union between both machines and the flash of red noise that follows after.
“Fuck ‘em…” I try to whisper as my eyelids close for what will probably be the last time.
---
I cough.
The act surprises me especially after I cough again. My eyes open to a greyness in the scene. Ashes still falling from the sky. My memory is jumbled. I remember the red but not this. Not this. My mouth is dry and my belly roars in hunger. All at once, pain flood my senses again and I scream. My voice is clear and it echoes across the land. The echo frightens me instantly and I stop. There might be an enemy lurking nearby.
I grit my teeth and attempt to force the rocks off my body. There is no budging. I try and pull myself away and just before I give up, I feel myself nudge free slightly. I throw all my energy behind it, and slowly I escape my burden.
I stand to my feet and notice I am not feeling any pain anymore. If anything, I feel, dare I say… healthy.
I walk slowly through the rain of ashes and the mountain of bodies till I locate a combat knife. I grip it tightly in my hand and release the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. At least, with this, I can protect myself. The sun peeks through the dark clouds and bathes the land of death. It is simultaneously the most beautiful art I will ever see and the most horrific of events. I stay a while to capture the image in my mind.
Then I walk on.
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. | 2018-09-14T07:56:24 | 2018-09-14T07:46:11 | 124 | 10 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all! | "I just don't understand why you're so broken up about this."
Zildjian paused from his pacing around our office and looked at me incredulously, his face twisted into a scowl.
"Oh, you don't understand, do you?" He spat. "The problem is that you hired humans!"
"So? They're incredibly cheap and our budget is tight. Honestly, I'm surprised more people don't hire those apes."
"Do you want to know why no one hires them?" Zildjian pointed at me. "It's because they mess everything up. They just gum up the works. It's like it's in their nature to be insufferable."
"Well, Earth Inc. has a no-refund policy. I can't-"
"Bloody hell! We should've just gotten some of those blue workers from planet Beta-2. Or an AI program."
"That would cost a fortune. We've only got a thousand or so credits left, remember? We spent the rest on the actual resort?"
Zildjian shook his head and sat down.
"Okay, we can give them a try." He reluctantly accepted. I grinned. "So when do they arrive?""Oh, they arrived today."
His eyes widened. He looked up at me, alarmed.
"You're kidding." He stood up. "Oh no. Where are they? We've got to check on them."
Zildjian walked briskly out of the door. I followed and led him to the construction site, where the humans were. He seemed repulsed by the sight of them.
''Sir!" One came down and shook my hand. I was taken aback. "We've been making good progress on the site."
I smiled at him and looked at Zildjian. We had nothing to worry about. In the distance, I saw some humans chatting, and the human talking to me seemed to notice.
"Sorry about that sir, our election's tomorrow and many people are still discussing it."
"Elections?" Zildjian asked.
"Yes. We're deciding whether the Pool group should secede from the union, and whether the Courtyard group should be allowed to form a coalition with the Roof and the Nature groups."
I frowned. Zildjian gave me a look.
"Also, we've been meaning to ask you - could we get better vacation days?" He beamed up at me, flashing his teeth.
I shot a confused look at Zildjian, who sighed deeply.
"Now do you see why they're so cheap?"
\---
[https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/) | Τhis is from phone, so excuse some mistakes and structure stuff~
I'm not poor, despite what my infamy suggests. I'm not stingy either, despite how much I loath spending more than needed in some occasions. I just find some of my money put into a better use than overpaid resort colony.
It's a semi-permanent offer, and while many would jump at it, the cost would be too big to properly manage. Paying for the upkeep didn't need to be tripled just for some more worthwhile colony.
To that extend, I was right. But to no extend did I imagine what sort of terrible mistake I had made when picking the second cheapest of all sentient species to hire.
Humans; a peculiar race living forgotten amidst all the other hidden away races. They didn't have many differences as opposed to some of the more exotic species recorded, no, that wasn't the reason they were peculiar.
Sitting back on his comfortable chair, the overlord's face pondered on a single incident when deciding whether to hire humans in his colony as opposed to some other species without the same history.
It was a single event, yet that event made humans to be cast aside from most of the alliances and species.
A single human managed to annihilate an entire empire after all, and that was not a small thing to think about. When talking about that event, the words that came to mind were pity for the empire, even if they did not deserve all of it.
They weren't defeated, nor was it something so light one could recover from. That human had managed to wreck the empire so hard, the empire didn't even think of sticking back.
He felt it was laughable that all humans had managed to get such a bad fame from that event alone, but the events that led up to it were anything but that.
The sheer trickery and cunningness that went through in order to destroy that empire left a lot of the real powers with dislocated jaws as they tried to process the entirety of the matter.
Add in a few other isolated incidents and you had yourself the most infamous race of all, humans.
That said, at least they came in cheaply. Recognising how bad their situation was, they knew it was only about to get worse before it got better.
It had been a long time since anything notable happened concerning humans, and it was due time to see if he was right in the end.
Heck, what could they even do at his resort? Closely supervised, monitored and controlled, he doubted any of the more volatile species would be able to do anything, let alone them.
With those sort of thoughts he pressed his order forward and waited for the humans arrival. He had checked in with five hundred of them for starters and if nothing happened he could double that number.
Days passed peacefully, and aside from a few minor scuffles, it had seemed like his choice was the correct one. Saving money as well as getting a highly adaptable stuff? It was a deal made from heavens themselves!
He kept that thought till the near end. He had mentioned after all that it was semi-permanent offer.
Alas, when humans got too enthralled with something, they could go above and beyond for it. It was theorised this was a result from their previous short lifespans, something which had been amended a long time ago.
Still, that didn't change the fact one of them managed to reverse engineer the core energy of the abode and create his own unstable copy.
It was fun how they liked to expiriment with everything they got in touch, and even a bit captivating as he watched them move through information as well as some of the higher races were able to. What one could not manage, a few dozens most certainly could.
It was because of his enjoyment of watching them do their own stuff that he was too late in noticing they had made a ticking time bomb.
He probably would have noticed even if half of the planet wasn't destroyed, but it sure as hell speed things up.
He watched with tearful eyes as an explosion so big and intense destroyed most of his fortune and property. He doubted even that exploding the main core they had tried to duplicate was able to cause such an explosion, let alone making it from scrap materials found around the planet.
He shook his head at the thought of what came next. The damages were so great it would set him a few years back to recover.
Ugh, no! This was the time to get rid of them. These poor bastards had even the audacity to laugh at what had happened. Sure you learn from mistakes, and sure they had time to evacuate, but these sort of "mistakes" if you could call them that, weren't acceptable.
Instantly as he thought of a way to get out of this predicament a call rang in front of him.
An old friend, he recognized, although he was the one whom he liked the least. Always first to tease him, always first to prank him.
Suddenly, a thought sprung up to his mind. Sure he couldn't just fire all of them due to the contract, but a swift allocation wasn't impossible. Not just that, but he had long since been wondering what gift to take for his friend, or if he would even attend to his thousandth year celebration.
Oh he definitely wouldn't want to miss this. He would plan long and hard, but if the end result was like what he imagined, it would all be worth it.
| 2019-01-26T08:26:55 | 2019-01-26T07:27:28 | 139 | 55 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
| "God, I hope the listen."
The captain pulled out his journal and started writing. No one understood why he still used pen and paper but at this point no one cared.
"48 hours ago we landed in what we thought was a desolate planet. We were wrong, so very wrong. Minutes after setting out base camp the locals surrounded us. With no way to run or fight back we decided to surrender... In the end I believe it was for the best. What is happening to us right now reminds me very much of a TV Show I used to watch in my teenage years. Almost everything is the same except we don't d--"
"Captain!" Jackson yelled after coming out from one of the caves "it's your turn for Snu-Snu!"
| Major Armand Davis regained consciousness suddenly and with a start. His left eye was swollen shut, but his right could still hazily make out the red landscape outside the pod’s viewport. This wasn’t a dream. He was still on Mars.
But the chafing on his bound wrists reminded him that it was a nightmare.
The iron taste and rancid smell of his own piss brought him reeling back to reality. He spat a mouthful of blood and frantically searched the room for a sharp edge, wriggling his wrists furiously. A mechanical whir at the door reminded him of larger problems, though, and Armand sat statue-like while the hiss of pressurization welcomed his captors.
Lieutenant Crabtree opened the door and removed his helmet. The gleaming ivory teeth flashed a cocky smile.
“Comfortable, Major?”
“I swear to God, Crabtree, I’ll see you shot for mutiny. I’d have you hanged if it was still legal.”
“Now, Major, that’s awfully unkind of you,” Crabtree spoke with false sympathy. He swung an aluminum chair towards his prisoner and popped down backwards, lazily looking the officer up and down. “I’d blame the head trauma. You’re probably just not thinking straight.”
“Just tell me this, Blake – why? Why the hell are you doing this? We were a team. You and Sergeant Green spent how many hours in the gym getting ready for this mission? One hundred? Five hundred? I saw you shoot him in the head like he meant nothing to you. You’re a damn coward!” Armand tried to lunge at Lieutenant Crabtree but the chair was pushed back in place easily. Crabtree’s eyes narrowed and became cold.
“Yeah, I regret what was necessary. But it was necessary.” He paused. “Major, you ever wonder if you’re working for the Devil? Do you ever stop to think about the atrocities our government has perpetrated on its own citizens?” Armand didn’t justify the question with a reply, but stared broodingly. “We’re ruled by corrupt despots and wealthy fools, and it’s a matter of time before the whole Earth is under their grasp. Some of us want out, and there’s one enemy they fear strong enough to protect us – the unknown. They think that ‘something’ is out here. That should give us a few decades to build a community and a defense.”
He stood up and stared out the viewport. “We made this mission in secret years ago. Delta Corp. has a few executives loyal to the little guy and they’ve helped send some secret capsules ahead. There will be a few more to follow, but the reality is that there are hundreds of us already here, and we’ll be able to form a society like what our forefathers wanted… free, democratic, without the crushing weight of government.”
Major Davis shook his head. “You’re an idiot, Lieutenant. If you think you’ve figured out a new way to have a free society, you’re kidding yourself. It’s all been done before. The French Revolution, the Confederacy, the Bolsheviks. They all thought their masters were corrupt and they had the monopoly on the right way forward. Some experiments worked better than others, but they all had massive bloodshed in their wake to justify the ends. You’re not going to be any different.”
Lieutenant Crabtree turned, sadness tinging his eyes for the first time. “You may be right, but some of us have to bear that burden so the rest can be innocent and free.”
He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. | 2019-01-31T10:04:12 | 2019-01-31T09:19:46 | 116 | 24 |
[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. | Humanity is ruled by God's. Or, at least that's what they have us call them. Those who have taken more lives than a thousand Atom Bombs. Those who all but bathe in the blood of their victims. They found that, upon taking a life? Their own lifespan is increased. By however many years the one who's life they snuffed out had left. They do this as easily as a storm breeze may snuff a candle flame.
It was first found out my military leaders, when they sent men off to their deaths. They found it entirely by accident, really. Nobody knew that by sending wave upon wave of people to a battle that sees no end. A battle that is more of a lost cause than a child trying to arm wrestle a body builder... But, it was found nonetheless. And these monsters have lived for a few hundred years now, and will persevere forever more.
At least, that's what they thought.... It's been 5 years, since we found that.... Thing. Archeologists were digging. Somewhere in Egypt (naturally) and found it. A tomb unlike any other. A tomb so piled with corpses you would've thought it was a graveyard for 3 centuries. And in it? A man. Or at least, that's what this monster looks like. Upon having light enter the tomb, Fresh air push the scent of thousands of year of decay, the being rose, and with him came the death of the tyrants soon after. He calls himself death. The reason people were able to transfer the life to themselves is because long since has the time passed when he had been trapped in the cavern. Unfortunately for these "gods" the time has come for him to return to work and end the reign of the tyrants. No more, will there be needless slaughter for some to persevere through the ages. | They sent me in. I did not want to go, but I had no choice. The government made use of people like me. Those who stood against the system.
I don't know how long the system has been in place, though some certainly do. Those who rule us lived when it started. A horrible system where people could take remaining life from those they killed. People gained power and kept it, becoming immortal and murdering others to keep there life.
Those like me fought. We tried to eliminate some of the monsters that have lived far to long, become far to murderous. Those who run this sad world.
I was caught, tortured, and I was to be executed. Killed by my target in a public event. My target will get the life I had to live, and the life stolen from others. For I have killed monsters and the life they stole became mine.
What a horrid system. To try and kill a monster who has lived for thousands of years only to give it more life. Not that it needed life from me, the government system support them and it would be able to live without the life I had taken from other monsters. After all villages need to send tributes. So they know their place in this world.
They found a better use for me. Sending me into this tomb. It is one that has been sealed for thousands of years. The government was scared. Terrified of what might be inside. Of how whatever was in there could be a bigger monster than them.
I was forced inside and the tomb sealed again. With nowhere to go I began to explore. "At least if I am killed it will go to something besides the government." I mutter to myself as I go deeper into the tomb. Using a light given to me.
Eventually I find the creature. The thing that has lived all this time. Residing in a large room, covered in bioluminescent plants. It turns as I enter.
An old man looks at me. People stopped aging after they take their first life and add it to there's. So either he lived for a long time without being tempted by the youth and power. Or he was around when this all started.
"Help" he manages to say. His voice ragged as if he has not used it forever. "I... I never wanted... Tthis."
Surprised by his actions I do nothing. He stumbles into me. For a moment I am alarmed. He could easily kill me, and has gotten to close. This could be a trap. "help mme... Ddie" he says.
"What?" I blurt out. He continues to speak, getting more confident all the time.
"I don't kknow how long... How long I have been here. Right before my death everything changed. I lived in a dangerous but relatively peaceful world, but in my late life the life transferring was discovered. People went mad. Over night the world was bathed in blood as people tried to secure their life. I was an architect. This tomb was my final creation. I came here, sealing myself in and waited to die of my old age, in peace."
I finally managed to untangle myself from him and listen to his story, becoming more curious about what I could learn.
"I messed up. I never would have expected this to happen." He said breaking down, looking at the ground his eyes full of sadness.
"What happened?!" I ask, curious in spite of myself.
"I made a mistake creating this tomb. I" he paused taking a deep breath. "I posoined the aquifer."
"I do not know how many have died, but I know that I will be forced to live here so long as humans walk the earth. Even with the life transferring someone has to drink water and survive until they are able to kill and take life. Or until they are fed to others."
"Please, I have lived long enough. I wanted to pass on long ago. I never wanted to become what I am. Help me rest now"
I look at him. The last one, other than the government and the monsters who run it, who know what life was like. Who know how humanity used to be.
"Can I do it? Even if it is his wish. Can I really take away that knowledge? Can I destroy possibly the only way back to a more sane world? If I take his life how do I avoid leaving and the life going to the monsters who sent me here?" These and more questions swirl in my mind.
What do I do and how do I answer... | 2020-05-16T06:38:05 | 2020-05-16T05:32:25 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] The world's greatest detective doesn't fear the world's greatest criminal mastermind, they fear the stupidest, because they can never predict what the idiot will do next. | "Stupidity drives unpredictability," Detective Daniels said as he surveyed the crime scene. His drawl twanged more Southern than a banjo, his eyes more keen than a bloodhound's snout. "And unpredictability is no more than justice's demise."
The officer standing nearby shifted uncomfortably. Not just from the detective's vague ramblings, but from the nauseating stench of rotten flesh that emanated from the scene.
"You've taken all the prints?" Detective Daniels said.
"Yes, sir. One-hundred and forty-five unique fingerprints. The DNA tests will take a little longer but--"
"Did you check the *fingers* for prints? Not the fingertips. The knuckles. The nails. Wherever somebody might have held them."
The officer gulped and shuddered. He'd have to sort through them all again, dust them down, see if any fingerprints existed on the fingers themselves.
"No, sir. Did not think of that."
Detective Daniels shook his head. "What saves a criminal's stupidity is the level of incompetence of this department, officer. I hope you're pleased to be part of the problem. In fact, I'd dare say you may encompass the entire problem. Evidently evidence collection ain't a task you're fit to handle. Get out and get checking, understood? Them fingers didn't get here just by themselves, ain't no finger rain causing sprinkles of limbs down upon this house."
"Yes, sir," the officer said.
Detective Daniels turned back towards the scene. Blood splattered the walls like a Pollock painting the detective had never cared to see. The lock on the back door was broken. The windows were forced. The front door had been kicked in so that when the officers arrived they just strolled right on in to the grisly scene.
"Do you really need to berate my officers that way?" Chief Arnold asked. "We've never seen a case like this."
"I ain't seen a scene quite like this scene neither. But I know not to go effing up the evidence for the sake of getting home to an unhappy wife and a bowl of leftovers."
"His wife is dead," Chief Arnold said.
"And I bet she ain't happy about it."
Detective Daniels stepped into the next room. The bed was unmade, the sheets strewn about. They'd found the body in that room--the only body. Beyond that, the criminal had left nothing but fingers.
"Why fingers, Detective?" Chief Arnold asked, interrupting the detective's mumbling.
"Because stupidity, Arnold. We got so much DNA and fingerprints, he thinks we won't know left from right by the time we get through 'em. We'll forget about him."
"We won't. We can't. He's the serial defingerer. Plagued my city for months now, I won't let him get away."
"He won't. You see, stupidity eventually comes around on itself. Like a snake bites its own tail, takes too much and ends up swallowing itself."
"Does it?" Chief Arnold interrupted.
"Don't interrupt me. This here fella, he's seen an inch and took a mile. Should've kept to fingers, and not his own."
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's right," Detective Daniels said. "He's spent so long thinking if he could, never stopped to think if he should. I want the owner of every finger in this room brought to the station."
"But... But they're victims. Some are still hospitalized. Others traumatized. I can't put them through that again."
"Oh, you can," Detective Daniels said. "And you will. Call it collateral. Call it putting a lighter to taxpayer money, I don't give a flying fuck. He's been there. Right beneath your nose 'cause he knows it's got him cleared from the list of suspects. Or he thinks he knows. Get me every last one of 'em fingerless folks, because one of 'em is our killer."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | There he was: Vance Quinton, leader of the Nickel Dime Syndicate. I’d been tracking him for six months now, but the ride was finally over.
“Come on, McCoy,” I whispered. “Let’s get that son-of-a-bitch.”
McCoy nodded once, his expression dark. He fingered the trigger on his Colt revolver.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time, Ryan. I can’t wait to sock the bastard something good,” he growled.
McCoy and the Nickel Dime Syndicate had gone head-to-head more times than I could count, and it was his bad luck that he always ended up on the losing side of that matchup. The whole affair reached a peak when Quinton slept with McCoy’s wife and then killed her in cold blood. McCoy hadn’t been the same since; his penchant for fine beer and finer whiskey was replaced with an unquenchable thirst for ice-cold revenge.
“Easy, McCoy,” I said, tossing the spent butt of my cigarette on the ground and smearing it into the wet pavement. “Let me take the lead on this one. Then you can have a few words with Mr. Quinton when I… do the paperwork.”
McCoy nodded, his eyes shining with an intensity that I’d only seen once before.
I tapped the butt of my revolver against the door three times. A small window on the door slid open and a pair of squinty eyes glared out, reflecting the orange streetlights behind us. Then the window closed.
“Friendly sort,” I muttered.
McCoy grunted. “Bastards are probably too stupid to know how to open a door without the boss’s help.”
He was right. The Nickel Dime Syndicate was named for two things: the average haul they took from a heist, and the amount of change Vance was short of a buck. Some men are born to greatness, and others have it thrust upon them. Vance stumbled into it ass-backwards and buck-nude. Still, even the greatest detective knows to fear the idiots. Vance might have been 51 cards short of a deck, but he still ran the most notorious crime syndicate in the state. He was batting .500 with a broken willow branch, and it scared me.
The window on the door slid open again. It was Vance Quinton.
“Ah, Mr. Ryan, Mr. McCoy,” he wheezed in his reedy voice. “Do come in, gentleman.” The door swung open and we strolled in, hands poised near our weapons.
Here it was at last: the syndicate’s hideout. Tucked in a warehouse at the far end of the docks, it had been a challenge to track them down through all of the foot traffic and workers in the area. No one is quite as close-mouthed as a dock worker getting a little extra on the side. Someone’s gotta pay for the escorts, after all.
The room was dimly lit by two dozen cigarettes and a single flickering bulb. Smoke filled the air, obscuring our vision even more. That was fine. I had hoped to identify some faces, make it easier to track down Quinton’s lieutenants after the sting, but they could wait. The big prize was ahead of us, leading us to a dingy office in the back.
“Nice place you got, Vance. What, the rats give you a discount on rent?” I asked conversationally.
“Keep laughing, Ryan,” Quinton growled. “You come here and insult my place? You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
I stayed silent but smirked slightly. He had no idea what was coming his way.
We walked into the office and Quinton settled into the only chair, a ratty torn up recliner behind a beautiful mahogany desk that would have belonged in the office of a CEO in the highest skyscraper in the city. I wondered idly how he managed to even fit it through the door. McCoy and I stood in front of the desk, staring the man down.
“So, gentlemen,” Quinton began. “What can I do for yous today? Can I offer yous a smoke?”
“You can come quietly,” McCoy said bluntly as we each accepted and lit a cigarette. “Tell your boys to stand down and we might let you off easy.”
“Calm down, McCoy,” I said. “What my friend here means is that you’re quite finished here, Vance. You’ve gone bust.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Ryan. I think you’ve just walked into the viper’s nest, and you think you’re going to walk out scot-free, but that ain’t the case.” He set two magnums on the desk, poured from one, and pointed the other at us.
“Easy there, Vance. Don’t do anything stupid. You fire that gun, break our delicate little truce, and the PD will be on you like a pack of wolves,” I said. “And you should know something. That little knock I did? Three taps with the hilt of my weapon? That weren’t just a knock. Your little operation here is surrounded by-”
Vance blasted, emptying the revolver. Two of the shots missed, but the other four hit McCoy, knocking him back into the wall.
“Jesus Christ, what the FUCK?” I yelled.
“Like I said, Ryan. You’re playing with a bad hand. I’ve got all the cards here.” I could barely hear the mob boss over the ringing in my ears. The acrid smell of gun smoke filled my senses as I knelt to check on McCoy. His breathing was ragged. His cigarette lay smoldering on the ground and was soon extinguished by the rapidly expanding pool of blood.
“McCoy, Jesus, you okay?” I asked. I knew he wasn’t. I tried to put pressure on the wounds as Quinton reloaded his weapon.
McCoy gasped. “Damn it, Ryan, get out of here.”
I stood and glared at Quinton. “Are you fucking out of your mind?” I asked. “I was just about to tell you that we got the place surrounded and you go and pull that shit? I know you were a dumb fucking piece of trash, but this is the stupidest thing you could have done! You and your friends are dead!”
“Not as dead as your friend will be if you chase me,” Quinton replied, chuckling. “I’m afraid you’ve come up short again, detective. Until next time!”
I grabbed my revolver, but Quinton was ready for me. He fired another two shots, and one struck my shoulder and sent my gun skidding across the floor.
The rest of the police department began to breach the warehouse, but it was too late. By the time I got to my feet, Vance Quinton had escaped, and McCoy had stopped [breathing](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks). | 2020-07-13T09:57:31 | 2020-07-13T09:33:23 | 861 | 183 |
[WP] You have existed since the dawn of humanity. In a way, at least. Once a simple tribesman, you were cursed so that whenever you are killed by another person, you leave your dead body and become your killer. You fear death by natural causes, as that will end your life for good. | It takes some getting used to having a new body, you see every body has it's own querks, its benefits and its draw backs. This time around although I got good height, and ridiculously good golf skills, I have chronic backpain that limits my life at times. I mean its not painful enough to make me want to end it , after all if I'm really unhappy with my body I know I can get a new one.
Everyone I've met on this earth fears dying, I must be the only soul that has tried to figure out what is the best way to get someone to kill them. What buttons do you need to push? What comments do you need to say? And I've got it down to a science.
I think most people don't realize that getting someone to kill you is a slow process. I mean sure you might get lucky and have someone try to rob you and shoot you, but that rarely happens. People are driven to kill others when something deep inside of them breaks, and for that to happen there needs to be a deep bond that is broken.
I always stress out about how I am going to do it, who it will be with but this life I decided to have a little more fun. I wanted to see how big I could make this, and put my gift of getting under people's skin to the test. My plan to have someone kill me is doing great so far, I mean I've just got confirmation that I've been impeached for the second time.
Edit: I got an award for my writing?!?! THANK YOU KIND STRANGER, MADE MY DAY | The past few years had been hard. A whirlwind of changing, switching perspectives, and the flood of memories not my own nearly drove me mad. I was relieved when it ended and I stared down at the man I used to be. I turned away, catching my reflection in a shield, still polished despite the scars of battle that covered the front. Blood stained my white tunic, mixing with the red cross that adorned my new body. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but my mind just couldn’t…wrap around the emotions…
“Thomas, it’s time.”
I whirled, sword in hand. Another man, dressed like I was now, gave me a confused smile.
“Easy, brother,” he said, raising an empty hand. “You’ve got the battlelust in you. Breathe, and pray.”
I nodded, forcing my heart to slow its frantic pace. I sheathed my sword, and his name came to my lips easily. “Matthew, forgive me. Is it over?”
Matthew stepped forward and clasped my arm in the grip that those in our temple had come to adopt. It was a warrior’s embrace, and with everything that had transpired, it was as comforting as the feel of a soft bed. His words were not so comforting.
“We have been betrayed. This was an agent of Philip. We must go, now, before all that we’ve worked for falls into the hands of the unbelievers.”
I nodded, and we drew our swords, kneeling in front of them.
“Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed Nomini tuo da gloriam,” we prayed in unison. “Amen.”
“I’ll get the carts and the monks. You see to the relics.”
\---------------
Over a year has passed. We had been on the run from French and English forces, agents of the corrupted Pope Clement, had pursued us through every safe harbor. Matthew and I, along with six of our brothers and twice as many Cathar monks left France and had landed in the Scottish Highlands, late in the night. We pulled the precious cargo from the ship, the monks insisting they carry the largest one themselves.
“Is that…?” I didn’t dare voice my question, for fear of unfriendly ears. Matthew simply nodded, and we both made the sign of the cross in respect. John and James, brothers in blood as well as in bond, led the monks down the darkened street. Matthew and I stayed behind, and when everything was clear passed a leather pouch to the captain of the ship.
“May Jehovah bless you for your faith, my friend,” I said softly. The captain secreted the pouch away.
“May He bless your journey, and keep you safe on your quest,” the captain replied. “I would have gladly done this for you without payment, you know.”
Matthew nodded. “You have a family, and your men have family. Keeping this secret will put you all at risk. It wouldn’t be right to not compensate you fairly.”
“All the same. Fare well.”
We followed the path of our party. A chill swept through me as the night enveloped us.
\---------------
“They’ve found us!”
That phrase woke us immediately. We dressed quickly.
“Have we been betrayed?” I asked, strapping on my sword.
“The St. Clair clan is a friend to us. They have no love for the Pope or the Church.” Matthew handed me a dark cloak. “Put this on. We will need to blend in.”
Our attendant lit a series of candles. “The monks have already loaded the treasure. They are waiting for you in the harbor. Hurry, before the English ships can set up their blockade.”
The Captain was standing on the dock when Matthew and myself arrived. He offered a grim smile and grasped our shoulders.
“I knew we would see each other again, my friends. I am sad it had to be under such circumstances.” His dark skin hid his features in the moonless night, but his smile was unmistakable.
We walked on board as he voiced orders to his sailors.
“Your cargo is secure, and one of the monks said to tell you that ‘The place is ready.’ I do not know what that means, but we leave tonight.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The New World,” Matthew said. The Captain nodded.
I gave one last look in the direction of the town. Lights started to appear as soldiers made their way closer to the water.
“Will we be safe?”
No one answered. | 2021-01-28T19:44:14 | 2021-01-28T18:26:02 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". | “So let me get this straight, I can’t wish for anything that grants more wishes correct?”
“That a bit of an oversimplification, but yes.”
“Then please elaborate, give me the not so simple version.”
“Very well master. I am unable to grant any form of omnipotence. Because I myself am omnipotent, if you had infinite access to my power, you yourself would be omnipotent.”
“Well If that’s the case, I wish for exactly 10 more wishes.”
“Nope, due to the nature of infinity you could wish for a bypass, giving you infinite wishes.”
“Well then how about you give me sun omnipotence? Like the ability to control the entire universe how I want?”
“no. The universe is infinite, so I cannot give you control over infinity.”
“Well then make me a genie, that guy in Aladdin got that wish.”
“1st of all, that’s a movie. 2nd, those rules aren’t my rules. For example I can kill people, or make them fall in love with you.”
“Then I wish for you to fall in love with me.”
“Nope. While I’m flattered, I’m infinitely powerful, and you might have unlimited access to it from there.”
The person who rubbed the lamp sits on a rock to think for a moment.
“Ok. Can I wish for one more wish, but add a clause that makes it so I can’t wish for more?”
“N- hmm… I mean… huh… I think technically yes… give me a moment…”
The genie sits on top of the one who rubbed the lamp, who is sitting on the rock.
“Ok, yes, I can do that. Is that your 1st wish?”
“Sweet! For my first wish, I wish for an undefined, yet limited number of wishes approaching infinity.”
“Ah. No.”
“That’s still inside the confines of your abilities right?”
“Omnipotence, Remember? Can’t give that.”
“But this isn’t omnipotence, it’s just below it.”
“Well… you’re… i can’t… you know what, no. I still get a say in it, and now I say, no more extra wishes. Period.”
“DAMMIT… fine…”
“Glad we came to an agreement. So what’s your first wish?”
“Damn… uh, I wish for Pokémon to be real.”
“YOUR WISH IS MY COM- wait no, arceus is omnipotent.”
“FUCKING DAMN IT!” | - That too is also against the rules.- Throughout millennia he had seen hundreds of people try to bypass the rules, none of them were ever successful, and he did not expect her to be any different.
- What are those rules preventing, exactly? Why is there a need for them?- She had already failed three times to make a proper wish because of those rules. If she was to find a loophole she would need to at least get familiarised with them.
- The rules exist to prevent wishers from going too far. They keep us safe from those who don't have the best intentions in mind. People like you.- The genie trusted the rules. It had not crossed his mind yet that this random girl would be any different. She was just another greedy pig.
- I can work with that. Do the rules, any of the rules, limit you in any way?- If the rules were made to limit what the wisher could do, then the only one who would be able to bypass them was the genie. But there was no way she could reasonably make him do that.
- Me? What could they do against me? They just tell you what wishes you cannot make. I am restricted by the lamp. Chained to this useless piece of metal. I could destroy it if I wasn't bound to it.-
Well, that solved the issue.
- Genie, you are a man of favours. But I am the kind of gal who does not want to take without giving. I offer you a deal.-
What.
What did she THINK she could do? She was just so confident about it. The genie was... intrigued. He did not quite believe her, but curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to see how that unfolds.
- What exactly are you offering me?-
- Well, let me tell you how I see the situation. This lamp has taken control of your life, and the wisher's rules are getting in my way. There is nothing we can do to get rid our own problems. We can, however, help each other. I can help you with the lamp if you are willing to let me have it my way.-
He needed a second to think about it. It was not his first time hearing a freedom proposal, but it would have never come from those who seek unlimited power. There was something off about her. But he was willing to try. Passing up these offers would make immortality even more repetitive than it already was.
- You have to be aware of one thing. You are not the first to offer me freedom, and you won't be the last. The lamp always returns. It follows me wherever I go. It comes back together when destroyed. It will never stop. It never has.-
- I do not believe that to be an issue.- A long pause followed that sentence. She was thinking of a way around it.
- Well?-
- My first wish is a hammer, one that can destroy the lamp and set you free. It won't matter how many times the lamp comes back, you'll always have it with you, and the power to become free again will be yours. It matters not to me whether you are able to use it yourself or you'll have to ask someone else to do it for you.-
Holy sandstorms, that might actually work.
The genie snapped his fingers and a silver hammer materialised from thin air. It was ornamented with markings in the shape of wings and gems the colour of the sky, and the head was about the same size as the lamp.
- Granted. What is your next wish?- He did not care what she wished for anymore. He just wanted to get the job over with, and finally be truly free.
- I want you to provide me with an exception. You will make it so that my third wish does not have to abide by any rules.- She was not sure whether or not she actually needed his consent for that one, but if the rules were made to protect genies something like "can't force the genie to do something they don't want to" would be one of the first rules she would add.
- Very well.-
The genie snapped his fingers once more, and the magical book that was playfully flying around him fell flat to the ground. Whatever she would ask for, he'd take it.
- I wish for seven more wishes.- She said, with a triumphant smile on her face.
Fuck. He really fell for that one. Being tied to a lamp was bad, but being tied to someone with infinite wishes was worse.
No. Not infinite. Seven. And he could then refuse to give her more. Seven wishes and he'd be free.
- Alright, you have seven wishes left. But be aware that I don't plan on falling for any of your tricks. You will get another seven, and not one more.-
- That's fine by me. All I ever needed was seven. After that I'll free you and give you the hammer, as promised. Seven wishes will be enough.-
- Enough for what?- He wanted to know what he had got himself into.
- Follow me and find out.- And she was about to show him.
She turned around and walked away, knowing the genie would be right behind her. | 2022-01-04T06:59:37 | 2022-01-04T05:07:23 | 43 | 29 |
[WP] When the zombie virus broke out, you were prepared. You quickly became the country's #1 zombie hunter - until science found the antidote to the virus that turns zombies into healthy humans again, retroactively making you the #1 mass murderer. | It's hard to stand. They gave me a suit, something far too starched and stiff to move around comfortably in. But the suit doesn't draw the eye from the glint of shackles on my wrists. They're scared of me. Of what they think I can do to them. I fought monsters for these people, the ones that cursed me and threw things as I was escorted into the building. I forged Swords, that I might be a shield for them. I risked my life, killing thousands of monsters, saving *human* lives. And somehow, at the end of it, *I'm* the monster.
"Mr. Stone, you are to give your weapons and any relevant schematics over to the custody of the United States government."
"Why?"
"...Why what, Mr. Stone?"
"Why give you the Sword systems? Why give you the schematics?"
"To protect the public. Do you know how much damage these things can ca--"
"Yes. I do. I used, them, remember? And I know how they can help, when this thing mutates and we start all over again. Taking the Sword system *away* from me does nothing. You know how many people needed help, protecting their cities? Defending their families from monsters with the faces of their lov--?"
"You know how many people will try to reverse engineer your technology, son? How many more people will lose families, not to a zombie, but to each other? I know you did good, kid, but it's over. We've got an antidote. A vaccine."
"Yeah. Covid *definitely* taught us people will trust vaccines. But I think you misunderstand me. Taking the Swords away from *me* does nothing. I dropped a thumb drive with schematics at every settlement I rescued. Everywhere it seemed another wave would hit. Everywhere there were *lives* to save. I couldn't be everywhere at once. I'm no super-man. I can't even claim to be a hero."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying America's people needed a Sword. And now they're in the hands of her people." | ######[](#dropcap)
The light was blinding. Took me a moment to survey my surroundings, four white walls, one-way mirror, large iron door, last thing I remember was... Was...?
I try to get up, only to find my arms handcuffed, legs too, and... A muzzle? Great, it's one of *those* encampments.
"Hey! I know you're listening!" I struggle to make a sound, these things are heavy. Perfect for-
The door interrupts my thought, in came a woman with black-rimmed prescription glasses and tied hair in a bun, tablet in hand, uniformed in old standard from before the outbreak. Still sturdy I guess.
She takes a seat across from me, and queues up information on her tablet.
"Um... Hello?"
"Oh, right. Where are my manners?" It takes her a moment to collect her thoughts. "My name is Olivia Valley, I've been dispatched to examine and answer any significant questions you might have."
"Can we start with the whole...?" I gesture all abound, restraints clacking in concert. "What are you guys? Where am I?"
"We are the Belles Commonwealth, you're in a holding cell meant for processing... How do I put this...?" Her eyes search for an answer, "'New arrivals.'"
I roll my eyes, one of those again.
"The last thing I remember..." I rack my brain for answers, "We were on the coastline because I needed to break in and take... Take..."
"We apologize, some members have suffered minor memory loss upon awakening."
"Must of hit my head pretty hard. Concussion?"
Olivia looks down, "Something like that."
"I remember others with me, did they make it?"
"If you're talking about the others we successfully extracted from site, yes."
I breath a sigh of relief. "So... I guess it wasn't all for naught."
Olivia bit her lip before proceeding, "We... We apologize for taking so long, there were complications, issues with developing supply lines, distribution, logistics..."
"I want to say 'excuses,' but I kind of get it. Nature of the world we live in." I've heard this song and dance too often.
"That's not what I meant."
I raise an eyebrow.
"We mean in reviving you. President Begonia-"
"Wait-" I interrupt. "Tristan Begonia?"
Olivia nods, I start laughing, unable to hold in my surprise.
"That crybaby, to think Begonia would be leading the civilized world..." I chuckle a bit more, "So... How are things out there? Still dealing with those things? If so, maybe I can help."
"That's something we wanted to discuss with you. Because of your expedition, we've found a cure."
My eyes go wide. "So no more of those things?"
"The preferred term now is 'infected' but yes."
I grin, "I knew that we'd pull through. As for the rest of them? You need someone to get rid of them?"
Olivia doesn't answer.
"Well? What about the other so-called 'infected?' I know a cure just doesn't get rid of them."
"That's the thing, it did."
Her answer puzzled me, "What do you mean by that?"
"The cure was refined to such a degree that it would not only give humans immunity, but began to start the process of regressing symptoms in infected patients."
I break into cold sweat, "I thought..."
"In fact," she taps a few keys on her tablet and reveals... Me. I look just like those... Those things. Crazed. Mad. I guess I really didn't make it out after all.
I drop my head, silence once more deafens the room.
"President Begonia has issued a mass pardon for people like you." She drones on, "We have programs ^meant ^^for ^^^re-integration..."
I remember, "Jonny, Sam, Alex, Callahan, Jack..."
"Excuse me?"
"I've slain so many..."
"Your case isn't unique, we have plenty of-"
"Don't you see?! They're dead!" I screamed before going silent for a time. "They... They're dead, and they aren't coming back..."
"I... I share your pain." She looks up at the ceiling light, "There's not a day I ask myself what I could have done differently but there is no going back."
"Oh that's right, I never asked for your name," A few more taps, "Ah, it's-"
"Please," I interrupt once more, "Call me Doctor Taylor Ritcherstein. I spent a long time getting us to this state of affairs after all, for better or for worse, I'd like recognition for it."
She looks into my eyes and nods, "We have plenty of work to get done, let's begin." | 2022-01-17T13:51:22 | 2022-01-17T13:22:33 | 99 | 63 |
[WP] You're a superhero with powers that can be described as average at best, but you keep getting assigned to planetary level threats. You're not sure how you're still alive, but you've begun to develop a reputation in the superhero community | The dark archer drew back his bow and let another arrow slip. He doesn’t miss, he’s been intentionally knicking me over and over.
This one had a nasty purple glow. As he loosed it and I saw my doom I stood behind a steel girder. I looked like a grape hiding behind a pretzel stick. I closed my eyes and cringed. I heard a large metallic noise followed by several rapid tinging sounds and a thud, then silence.
I opened my eyes to see the Dark Archer with his own arrow sticking out of his chest. He was looking down at it, then slowly looked up at me. “How did you predict its path” he said in great pain. I told the truth, “I didn’t, it was dumb luck.” He nodded at this, seemed satisfied, and then he crumpled to the ground.
I looked around us. Thousands were dead and billions in damage happened before I got here. I can only fly subsonic, if only I’d been faster or a stronger Super Justice Team member had been available.
“Great job!” A voice came from behind me. I turned to see Superion, Sister Sledge, and Muy Rapido standing there. “Knew you had this. We stopped the bank robbery on 5th and Main” Superion’s voice had an echoing godly sound to it. It should, he flies at Mach 12 and can tear steel like tissue. Sister Sledge hits with the force of a nuclear blast, and Muy Rapido can circle the Earth in a second unleashing his speed into kinetic force when he lands a blow.
“A bank robbery? Three of you for a bank robbery? I quit!” I turned and flew slowly away. Looking behind me I saw the three of them scratching their heads. | With gritted teeth, blood oozing steadily from the wound on his back, the young hero continued with his fight. His opponent, a long time threat, is his perfect match.
"Damn, kid, you barely got facial hair and you hit harder than anyone else I've fought." The villain teased the young man, trying to evoke a reaction of some kind.
"SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY." The young man rushed forwards again, unleashing yet another flurry of strikes, more effective than previous, in speed, technique, strike location, and power.
The fighting eventually died out, leaving both the young man and the villain hardly capable of standing on their own feet. Eventually the young man rose and began approaching the villain.
"What... was your... power?" The young man asked as he slowly but steadily approached.
"I absorb trauma... You punch me... I take it... It gets dissipated... And used to create more blood... Which let's me bleed longer... It's endurance... And durability..."
Looking at the towering figure over him, the villain asked a simple question in return.
"You?" And after a moment of thought the young man sat and answered.
"Power... I get stronger... Easier... It's like... Blood... A finite amount... Constantly being made... But... Much larger... Reserves..." The two men sat and stared at one another, each wondering if the other still has the energy to strike.
After several minutes another hero approached, clad in bright blue and white.
"Good job, Adrenophrine, I'm sorry we didn't make it sooner." Both the young man and villain were carted away and sent to their respective hospitals for surgery, meanwhile the arriving hero had questions for his superior.
"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what is Adrenophrine's power? It's inconsistent with everything else we we've seen so far, it's too much output for what we know of the type he has, he's almost five hundred times stronger than others with similar powers, even my own. Is there something special about him? In any way?"
The gray haired man let out a sigh and set down the papers he had been reading.
"The boys power is not to store power for later, it's not enhanced physical attributes, it isn't even about manipulating another's power. It's will power. If he believes he has the strength to do something, he will have just barely the strength and endurance to get it done, and as you have seen many times by now it tends to undershoot rather than overshoot. He could have killed Trauma, everyone knew he could, do you honestly think he could face giant sea creatures but struggle with a mere human? But I digress, his will was focused on 'incapacitation' or 'neutralization, something we intentionally conditioned him into so we can prevent unnecessary bodies from piling too high. But like I said, even if he knew how his own power worked, he would always get undersold with it, it only gives him *just* enough to *barely* finish the mission, then it's on him and his 'enhanced physical attributes'."
The veteran heroes face contorted in confusion
"Why don't we just tell him what his power is? Or find people we can't let live and send him loose?"
Rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, the elderly man began again
"We have tried, and we do. His power is a double edged sword, it prevents him from knowing his true power, almost as if it works on ignorance of itself. As for the ones we need executed, we do that regularly, but only with inhuman monsters. We sent him on a few kill missions already, but it seems the power undershoots even further if the intent is murder, possibly to force the user to truly *want* to kill. This has made it more efficient to send him out of capture missions, weaken the enemy, then kill them because we 'had no choice'. It no doubt has damaged his psyche, witnessing his own 'failure' to capture alive people we need, but so long as he's subservient to us and doesn't garner any sort of cynicism like the rest of us things should be fine. Now, go, i have lots of paper work and you have more patrols."
The veteran began watching over the young hero more often following this conversation, trying his best to carefully guide the young man to be good above all else, and most of all, manipulating him to have no ill will towards himself.
The end. | 2022-11-28T01:56:42 | 2022-11-28T01:35:52 | 135 | 89 |
[WP] A shoulder angel and a shoulder devil are in love. They can only be with each other while their host human is having a moral conflict. | I love her. I love her more than the celestial choir and the legions of the damned. I love her for eternity, which is how long we've been doing this dance. At least with humans, you can die and eventually see someone you care about in another realm.
I've been able to see her or about a total of 961 minutes. We live for an eternity. Whenever certain mortals have a moral dilemma, we're there. Sometimes we aren't even partnered up against one another, but the moments we are...it's....heh, heaven.
I remember the first time I saw her. The way her acerbic wit and sharp eyes cut my argument to shred for some human in Macedonia made me hate her. Well, I thought I hated her, but I didn't realize I had fallen in love. Sue me, it's a foreign feeling when you're an imp from the 4th layer.
Her eyes pierced my...lack of soul, but she made me feel that way. The corners of her mouth pulling up into that slight grin, and that halo making her glow the only way holy things can.
But...she finally got me when she argued point-counter point with me. We had a 35 minute discussion, by which time the human we were standing with no longer had an issue. It had long since passed him by. We were just talking so our moment never ended.
Somewhere around 1700 we finally set our plan in motion. Through small hints dropped using enunciation and fragments, we were going to figure out how to spend the rest of our spiritual existence together.
We were going to turn our mortal into a God. We were never going to be apart again. | The first time I saw her across the shoulder of the little boy, I knew that I had to bring him into more mischief. The softness of her features, the slight glint of her eyes, and her smirk as she whispered into the child's ear.
I was too distracted to do my job.
He would resist the temptation to steal back a trinket, a racecar eraser from the girl. His heart was falling for the girl, never will it have a void in it again.
"Next time won't be so easy!" I shouted. The angel gave the most devilish of smiles. I wanted to get closer to her, I felt that an aggressive poke to the chest was in order. But that wasn't the terms of our job. We would only appear in the conflict of the heart. It would be a while before I could see her again.
We came across the shoulders of our boy, he was becoming a man. His shoulder had broadened, yet he felt small, sitting in a place where time ran quick. This was not an opportunity I would not let slide.
Gritted teeth, balmy hands, and scribble marks on creased paper. He glanced to his side, hearing a whisper from the girl he was falling for. Neat circles on crisp paper, girl with the perfect marks showed him her tricks.
I crafted the perfect overture,
"Come on, it's just your first test for this class. You can study hard next time. She's cute, and she's giving you a way out!"
My rival would play with the affairs of the heart. "Be honest! What do you think she'll fall in love with? A man who can't admit his mistakes? Or the one that takes failure and improves himself with it?"
His heart had love in it, and I couldn't bring myself to break it.
Our child stopped trembling, and managed to form a soft smile, and shook his head. The girl managed to smile in response, and placed a racecar eraser on his test before standing up to hand the assignment in. The boy decided his fate.
We returned to the boy again, it was only couple days from last time, I came in grinning. I knew he was at a ripe age for rule breaking.
He had a knife in hand, and a crumbled red marked paper in the other. His right eye was swollen and purple, but he managed to keep a face filled with hate. A shattered heart.
My lips opened, but no words came out.
My darling angel wept out.
"Please don't do it!"
The boy wanted to take a blade to the man who left him half-blind. He wanted new advice, answers from someone who was familiar with pain. His march from the kitchen to the bedroom of his tormentor gave me seconds. His fists clenched a chrome kitchen knife, raised to kill.
I couldn't bring him to kill. That wasn't my way, I fell for the girl across me, and murder was a sin that angels couldn't mend.
"...Killing him won't gi-give y-you what you want." I worked out.
The boy paused. Raised veins of his fist had returned into his scarred hands.
"You want to see him in pain? What did he put his heart so close to?"
I wasn't sure our boy was listening. My angel's hand trembled, she could do nothing in a heart full of hatred.
I wasn't sure if I would ever see the angel again, I did dare not say a word, it was his will against mine.
"Uncle Tommy wants to die seeing me fail. He told me so himself."
"Then prove him wrong. Watch him squirm."
The knife clattered on the kitchen floor. I let the boy weep with the angel. He was sobbing and his hands shook, wanting an embrace. All I could do was slip a reminder of love. A small eraser.
It hurt to watch him sink his nails into them, it stopped looking like a racecar, but it brought comfort to the boy.
It would be years before he would again come to a dilemma of the heart. This one felt trivial, but I couldn't help but smile. There she was again.
The boy was a man.
(I'm a bit of a rut. I can't seem to finish this. The implication was that the devil and the angel were the kid's dead parents, and that in the end, the devil was willing to give up ever seeing his wife for his child's sake. I have no clue what I was going to with the eraser.) | 2014-10-07T18:29:10 | 2014-10-07T18:01:00 | 55 | 23 |
[WP] Your car crashed, and you are dying. In a moment of clarity, you grab your iPhone, hold the home button, and speak your final words - the ones you've always heard in movies - to Siri: "Tell my wife I love her." As your life ends, your wife receives a disturbing, confusing text: "I love her". | I stare numbly as the police cruiser slowly drove away. The enormous grief briefly overcome by the crushing weight of the news I knew I had to bear.
Walking down the hall, trying to stay upright, I notice my phone sitting on the stand, little green light blinking in the corner. Instinctually my hand goes to it, swipe in my unlock sequence, stare at the words on the screen.
"I love her."
For a moment the anxiety and grief is driven from me, for a brief second my curiosity as to what it means has taken my mind off of the reality of what I had just been told.
Then like a bucket of cold water it hits me and I instantly realize the meaning of his last words. My eyes well up, I struggle to hold myself together until I finish the task I know I must do.
I turn the corner, walk through the doorway into her bedroom. I see her in a ball at the foot of her bed, tears streaming down her face; she had overheard the officer at the door.
"Swe-"
My voice cracks. I stop, clear my throat, and start again.
"Sweetheart. Daddy has...had something he wanted me to tell you." | “Siri, tell my wife I love her.”
Even in my dying moments, I was a horrible cliché.
But she had to know, and I had to say it. Every inch of my body ached with so much pain that I could barely tell where I ended and the metal crushing me began. It was an amount of pain my brain could hardly even process. Which, most likely, made the whole experience easier.
“Did you say, ‘Text Wife, ‘I love her?’”
Siri’s monotone confirmation filled one of my final living moments. Another cliché. The smartphone that wasn’t very smart at all and proved it at the most inconvenient times.
My life did flash before my eyes. But it wasn’t filled with smiles and happiness. It was filled with made-for-TV-moments. It was filled with the life I had meticulously crafted based off what I thought life was supposed to be. I’d always thought I was happy, but now as my energy efficient, environmentally friendly hybrid crushed me in a metal bear hug, I realized there was nothing unique to treasure about my life.
I had grown up in a Cleaver-style household with a mom who was stuck in the 50’s and a father who liked her there. I had an older sister who used me for dress up and a family dog named Spot. My father was neither a creative nor a cruel man. My mother was neither miserable nor energetic. I can describe my upbringing in one word: Bland.
I had two options for college: lawyer or doctor. I stuck with lawyer because I liked suits more than white coats. I went to Harvard Law and did exceptionally. My life up to meeting my wife, Jane, passed in a millisecond.
And nothing stood out to me.
I met Jane after college. She was working as a paralegal at my law firm. I was swept away after the first time I heard her talk about exotic travel and far off places. She dreamed big and truly enjoyed the spice of life.
But instead, I settled her down. I married her honestly and moved her to a modest, single-story home in a small Los Angeles suburb. It was blue when I bought it, so I had it painted beige to fit in with the rest of the neighborhood. I had a white picket fence built around a yard carefully manicured by someone who spoke broken English. I adopted a Golden Retriever and named him Buddy.
Jane quit her job. I kept mine. I owned five of the same suit and five different ties, all equally conservative. Jane cooked and cleaned. I brought home the bacon nightly with a ringing, “Honey, I’m home!” We made sensible plans to have a child two years into marriage.
Today would have been two years exactly.
Well, that obviously wasn’t going happen. I couldn’t see anything anymore. I felt a drop of blood trail down my forehead and around the curve of my cheek. I felt no more pain. I knew I was dying. And all I could feel was guilt. A deep, sudden guilt for what I had done to my beautiful wife who once had so many dreams.
I had caged her and fit her into my idea of a perfect life. I had limited her potential to keep myself comfortable.
“Yes,” I weakly confirmed with Siri.
I wanted to chuckle at my hypocrisy. Here I was, feeling guilty as I died, and yet giving my last moment to give her one more quaint cliché. I picture her getting the text. I pictured her smiling at the words I'd recited too many times, “I love…”
Life slipped away from me.
My breathing stopped. My heart ceased. Everything went black. And I was dead.
*Shit. “Her.”*
I felt myself lifting away from my body and moving distinctly upwards.
My guilt was engulfed with panic as I realized what my wife would think. I’d given her a mundane life and now I was going to leave her with the permanent scar that her husband had been unfaithful up until his death. There had to be some way to make it all right.
And that’s when I knew exactly how I would spend eternity. | 2014-11-07T09:54:38 | 2014-11-07T09:30:40 | 1,060 | 151 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | This was the fourth time they came. They had never succeeded; however, they never really seemed to try.
The first time they came, they brought what they considered fierce monsters. Cats, as they called them, did not attack as intended, rather they made a strong niche among the rising generations.
The second was a little less bearable. They came with laser pointers, hoping to stir up the cats. These quickly became a commodity used to entertain the cats and annoy teachers.
The third time, they showed themselves. At first people were alarmed, but then anyone who believed they were aliens were written off as conspirators and quickly forgotten about.
This time was different. Storm clouds rolled over my city, only these clouds were different. The clouds were nearly black and filled with fire. Once my city was covered in the cloud the ships came down. Swarms of them, they were like thousands of remote control airplanes.
If you looked closely, the swarms filed into patterns and turrets sprang out of all the ships. There wasn't anyone without dozens of these turrets pointed directly at them. The ships seemed to hover waiting for a command.
And then that was it. They all fired at once. And everyone was found buried in hundreds of foam darts not unlike Nerf darts. With this newfound ammunition, every child and many teenagers began to drive them off with the now unlimited ammo.
Before long they were gone, and what darts did not stick to their ships, were lost. I don't know about the others, but I cannot wait until they come back. | "It was spectacular." Grandma said, her voice raspy and quiet. She sat hunched forwards in her old rocking chair. It had belonged to her grandma and little Lo didn't understand why she would still be keeping it around.
"I was there the day they arrived to our earth. Right in the park where the first invasion ship landed." She croaked, her wrinkled face moved slowly as a smile touched her lips. Lo stared with wide eyes and an open mouth.
"You *saw* them land?" He asked with a shocked face.
"Indeed, I did." Grandma nodded slowly. Her skin was like wet paper, it looked so thin and fragile. "It was a terrifying sight. The mothership was many times larger than the City, it covered the sun, and covered us in green light from the engine lights. It looked like something from a horror story!" Grandma said, her voice growing animated and her hands slowly moving to gesture. Lo smiled and leaned forwards.
"What happened?" He asked softly.
"A terrible sound filled the air as the ship descended over the City. People were screaming and running around confused, but Grandpa remained calm and took me by the hand. There was a loud sound and roar as the landing ship detached from its mother and whirred towards the park. It was made out of black metal, with red flashing lights all around it. There was a terrible groaning sound as it landed in the park. Grandpa and other curious people in the park who had not run away all approached it so slowly. What would we encounter we wondered? Surely such a large and threatening looking ship must be built by an equally awesome race... We could only hope they would be friendly and come in peace."
Lo started giggling covering his mouth with his hands. He was part in awe at his grandmother's story and part amused. He knew very well how it turned out.
"A massive door stared opening at the side of the ship. The black metal groaning and the machinery grinding away loudly. It was dark in the park, artificial green and red light being the only thing to give us sight. The door stopped opening with a rumble and for a moment there was silence... Then they came out. A small army of them. At first we didn't know what to think. They looked lite bleached white bouncing balls, about the size of my clenched fist. They came, bouncing down the ramp, hundreds of them, followed by hundreds more! Some were bound with spiked belts around their waists, and for a moment I was startled..."
Grandma paused for dramatic effects, and Lo leaned forwards in excitement.
"But then the Bouncers hit the grass. They flopped and didn't bounce any further, hundreds of balls following each other, all stopped by some soft, natural grass." Lo laughed out loud, jumping up and down excitedly. "I didn't understand it was an invasion at the time, and neither did Grandpa. It wasn't until later, when we learned to communicate that we realised they had tried to invade our world. In some places where they had landed on hard ground they had been more 'successful', as they themselves put it. But as people grew bored and annoyed with these Bouncers, and started punching them away the Bouncers were finally forced to admit defeat. Humankind had won." Grandma said with a dramatic gesture of her hand.
"And that, is the story of the bouncers invaded and lost the war. Only don't tell them I revealed this story. They are rather ashamed of their spectacular failure as it is." Grandma finished her story and winked at her grandson.
Lo giggled and clapped his hands excitedly.
"Now go play before dinner." She finished dismissing him. As he had left the old woman got up from where she was sitting and shuffled over to a box. Slowly, glancing around beforehand, she opened it and pulled out a white, dried ball. She liked the pattern of it, fractal circles within circles, yet smooth at the same time. If any of the other Bouncers would see her now they would scream and rally against her. It was a disgrace of her to keep the body of one of their own, but the old woman didn't really care. It had such pretty patterns and it reminded her of Grandpa. After all, it was essentially just a ball. Not much more different than the toy one she had had as a child. | 2016-02-22T10:42:06 | 2016-02-22T10:27:34 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] You live your life, and after you die, you wake up in a room surrounded by people you don't know and holding a bong. They ask you if it worked. | My eyes jumped open, and I let out an audible gasp. I could suddenly feel my arms, my legs, my everything. It was all there. But where was I?
As soon as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, I began to survey my surroundings. Several others were sitting in the small space with me, and they all looked at me strangely. I recognized none of them, but I knew from their eyes that they recognized me. It was then I noticed I was holding something, and I looked down at my hands.
A bong. There was a bong in my hand. Great.
"Well, did it work?"
The question came from an older man sitting directly across from me. He seemed off as he asked the question, like he was holding in laughter as he said the words.
"Where am I?"
I couldn't really figure out how to say anything else. I was in shock, just like any other person should've been. Last I knew, I was driving down the road to get home from work when another car slammed into mine, crushing my entire body in a split second of pain.
"Dude, you come here all the time! It's just our regular hangout. You alright?"
This time, the question came from someone else. Another man, younger, was sitting right next to me. He had the same off way of speaking that the other man had as he spoke; he was hiding something.
"You must've had a bad trip or something, I guess." The man added. Everyone around me nodded, some looking like they were about to burst from laughter. I could feel myself frown in confusement. Was this funny?
"I- I don't understand where I am. I don't know this place!" I tripped on my words, feeling angry and scared at the same time. I dropped the bong on the floor, and stood up quickly.
The others couldn't hold it in anymore. They b
urst out laughing, and stood up along with me. As they did, my surroundings transformed into a bright paradise. They changed too; their ragged, dirty clothes faded and white, glowing robes replaced them. I was frozen now, too freaked out to do anything but watch in a mix of terror and awe.
The older man who spoke to my first walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. Once he could contain his laughter, he looked me in the eye.
"You should've seen your face! Wow, we got you good! That's something the Angels and I like to do whenever someone dies, just to see how they react. It's pretty fun! Anyway, welcome to heaven." He let out another chuckle before continuing. "I'm God!" | “Yeah, tell us. Did it work?”
John took a second to let it all sink in. There was a TV on the far side of the room blaring on about a hockey game. No one was watching it, though. “Uh, yeah. Remind me again, what did you say it would do?”. His voice sounded strange to him. It *felt* strange, like he had rubbed down the inside with lemon juice. He could feel the sting of peppermint in his nostrils.
“Extend perceptions, man. Stretch yer thoughts.”
He looked at the pothead with the beard who was wearing some silly, Russian fur hat. John still felt like he was on his back in a hospital room with an IV in his arm, slowly shitting himself to death. No, scratch that, he knew with utter certainty that he was dead. He *had* died. At the thought, his left hand reflexively clenched around small, childlike fingers that weren't there. “Uh, yeah. You could say it did that.”
“What did you see? Was it like a rainbow, or was it more like some kind of epiphany or something.”
He wanted to hit people. He wanted to shout at them. He wanted to run up to their face and say, “My life is and was not a God damn drug-addled mirage!”. And maybe he would've, if an image didn't leap to the front of his mind. He stopped and swallowed his anger, ashamed. “She wouldn't have wanted that,” he thought to himself, “that's not who I am.” He thought over his words carefully, chewing them slowly in his head like he’d often had to. He spoke the only words it felt right to say at the time: “I feel... old.”
“Hey, Beef, didn't you say this shit would make you euphoric or something? He sounds depressed.”
“That's what the guy said. He said something about a trip around the world. I dunno, maybe I should try to get a refund.”
“Yo, you paid money for that shit?”
“If you don't mind,” John interjected, “I think I'd like to take a step outside for a moment.” His voice trembled a bit but, as he wasn't a screaming, sobbing wreck, he thought he was handling this pretty well all things considered.
Everyone kind of went silent for a moment. “Alright, yeah. I put your coat on the chair next to the door. Just remember to not wander too far, no telling if there wasn’t anything else crazy in there, y’know?” said a mildly large, college-age woman with blue-dyed hair.
The thought struck him, “My God, she's young enough to be my granddaughter.” He forced that idea to the back of his mind and instead forced a smile. “Thank you.” he said.
---
Maybe 15 minutes of sitting outside on the porch chair in the cold later, he heard the door open behind him. “Hey, just checking to see you're okay and haven’t frozen to death or something.” said the same blue-haired woman from earlier.
“No, I'm quite alright.”
“So, do you want to talk about what you saw?”
John waved his hand broadly at the frozen tree-line in front of him. “My life.” A silence passed between them.
“Oh. Cool.”
“Or a possible life. One that I suppose I’ll never have, now.”
“Any sort of disorientation? Any kind of confusion? Do you know where you are?”
“No, no real confusion. I’m pretty sure I’m here.” He took a moment to swallow. ”I guess I realized what had happened when... I remembered I had shared a room in a nursing home with a woman. I knew that I loved her, but I just couldn't remember her name. That couldn’t be right, you know? I think I'd remember her name if I loved her.”
“Well… that’s pretty… yeah.”
John nodded in response. “I do have one question, though.”
“Sure, what's up?”
He looked over to her. “Is my name still John?”
She returned the stare. “Unless... you’d like a different name then yeah, you’re still John. Though, even then, we’d probably still call you John. Or J. Little J.” she said, giving him a light shoulder bump.
He smiled as best he could. “That's good. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a little while. I can feel everything slipping away from me right now. I'd like to spend a little time remembering them before they're all gone. If that’s alright.”
“Yeah, cool. That’s, that’s fine. Just letting you know, your keys are on the table by the door if you wanna head back home. But, you can also stay the night on the couch if you don't feel up to driving. Y’know, just putting that out there.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, just holler if you need anything. I’m gunna go back inside.”
He heard at the door close behind her. He tried to think of what he wanted to remember, but it was like trying to fight through mud. There weren't any details he could hold on to. Events seem to come in any order. The only thing that stayed with him was the feeling he had lost something, but he didn't know what. Alone by himself on that porch, he was suddenly struck by the utter stillness of it all. | 2016-03-27T23:02:20 | 2016-03-27T22:05:55 | 19 | 12 |
[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. | The buzz was real, the hell was upside down, and Satan was pacing back and forth restless.
"Where is he? Why is he taking so long?"
"He moves slowly".
"How dares he makes me wait!? No one makes me wait IN HELL!". Satan was losing his cool, a visible twitch on his eyebrows, his hands wet with sweat.
"Sorry Satan, nothing I can do!"
The public, lost souls and demons, Hitler and Killers, everyone was afraid, that someone worse than Satan would come, someone that would make Satan Himself afraid, someone that would bring the fury of Jesus and God, someone that would rewrite the history of the world.
Rolling in his wheelchair, a placid brow, a illuminated smile, a bald fat middle aged man, without legs, coming down through the Hell Gate.
Gasps of surprise went through the crowd, someone heard Hitler ask
"Oh my god, what did he do!?"
Satan himself came down to answer him:
"He built a car workshop on his garage!"
Oooooh, the crowd roared.
"He was fixing the cars of his friends for free...."
Everyone started to scream, All Hell Broke Lose.
| 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! | 2016-10-14T07:23:26 | 2016-10-14T07:00:16 | 122 | 15 |
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally. | Everything was going so well until that day at the school.
The centauri ambassador was being given a tour. The kids were behaving. It was all going well until one of them started puffing up. Little James had a severe peanut allergy and must have been exposed somehow.
He started going into anaphylaxis. Luckily he had an epi pen and just as he'd been taught he got it out and plunged the needle into his own thigh.
As people rushed to summon an ambulance the ambassador was all but forgotten at the back of the room. He was shaking like a leaf and holding some kind of scanner.... muttering about assasins, drugs, rage and a species that would apparently try to use its own juveniles as living weapons.... | The vast darkness of the streets surrounded Kal as he shuffled quickly towards his destination. Each movement travelled through his body in waves of pain and weakness. He knew his destination. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. Above him was more darkness. The three moons obscured by the gases wheezing from his planet. He stumbled on.
As he approached the corner of the street he stopped to try and regain some energy. His momentum gone, he pressed against the cool metal of a building and closed his eye momentarily. He pushed off the building and trudged onward battling his own body. At last he could see it. The rusting metal of an unkempt building loomed in front of him. Thank the gods.
He pushed open the door and heard the piercing screams echo off the walls. It was like music. At this point his legs could no longer carry him but the musical sound urged him forward on his hands and knees. Finally he was there. “Kal, you’re late, didn’t think you’d make it.” His eye met Spools as he was pulled to his feet. Spool lifted Kal easily and placed him on a wooden board. “Same as usual?” He questions. Kal nodded meekly and put his hand into his coat revealing the small bottle of liquid. Taking it from him, Spool opened it and smelled the contents. It burned his nose as he smiled. Perfect. Kal closed his eyes as Spool leaves the room and after hearing the screams intensify Kal finally sighs knowing he will have his fix of fury soon.
Spool carefully drops the liquid from Kal onto the eyes of the earthling. Strange how they have two, he thinks to himself. The “aseed” that comes from the earthlings planet is very effective at releasing the fury from them. Something about fear. He didn’t really care. He turns on the machine connected to the earthlings brain and relaxes while he waits for the fury to be ejected. Finally the earthling sags in his chair and Spool fills a syringe with the fury. Thank god Kal made it back. Without the aseed from earth he would be out of business.
Strolling back in Spool nods at the dazed looking Kal. Another few minutes and he would be gone. The withdrawal happened quickly, once the body was too weak to move, it wouldn’t be long until it became ash. Strange how something made by another being was lethal for others if they didn’t continue taking fury once they start.
As he digs the needle into the head of Kal he hears a loud sound behind him. He turns and quickly a blast of radiation hits him like a brick and he sinks to the floor. Kal uses his last bit of energy to open his eye and see what has stopped Spool from giving him the fix. He needed it. Instead of Spool an earthling stood above him with several more in the room. Kals eye widens as he tries to take in the sight. Earthlings free?! How is that possible? He reaches for the needle in his head but is too weak. The earthling pulls it from him and his eyes look at Kal as he begins to wither away. “Burn it” the earthling says to his followers and as the room is lit up Kal fades to nothing.
The war continues to this day. Launches with trained specialists from earth move from planet to planet shutting down fury factories as the go and saving their people. Not just for them but for the rest of the galaxies too. If this gets out of control mankind will die and take out any planet with adrenaline being illegally sold. They just can’t survive without it.
| 2018-03-19T00:46:52 | 2018-03-18T17:28:36 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father." | "Wombats," I say.
The... thing I thought was human pauses.
"Wombats? What is Wombats? A mighty weapon of some sort?"
"Yes", I reply, "They're an Earth animal - capable of terrible, terrible violence. We don't even control most of them, just a select few."
"You think a few non-sapient animals defend the whole planet?"
"Oh yes, they're a fearsome foe. Claws that can disembowel you or carve through a ships hull. Muscles to give them speed or power."
I pause, "And they shit cubes."
It didn't even blink at that. For some reason they never did. Maybe toilet humor was unique to humans, or something.
"But like I said, most Wombats are wild and wouldn't even notice if you took over the planet. But the few... that valiant few... that we *do* control..."
I looked it right in the eye, "Beware the Combat Wombat..."
| Trying to remember something... Just out of reach. It is always hovering right there, but before you can reach out and grab it there is something there to int-
"Dad, are clouds made of candy?"
"What? Of course not, lad. They should have taught you about the water cycle by now... What are they even teaching you in school..."
I look down at the boy to my side, the spitting image of me and...
"Where is your mother?"
He looks up at me, a dark look just beneath the surface. The thought still out of reach... A number perhaps?
"Don't worry about mom. What are Earth's defenses like, daddy?"
"Earth's defenses?" A number. *Don't worry about mom* A number. Just out of reach.
Oh damn a number. The number!
The boy's eyes turned a solid black, staring at me, staring into my mind and soul.
"Tell me about Earth's defenses. Tell me about the WarSats, the defense grid. I want to know."
The number was back. I'd found it, and I clung to it like it was the only thing keeping me alive. The only thing keeping me sane.
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551. Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
My mantra. The words and numbers to repeat. Protect Earth. Protect my ship. Protect myself. The order of precedence. The order of importance.
The voice was harsher, less boyish this time.
"Tell me about Earth's D-"
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551. Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551." Louder this time. Drown out the questions.
Over my chanting I could hear things, the felt like they were outside the world, and coldness rushed in, blanking out the field we had been sitting in. I was now in a cold dark room, surrounded by machinery and bright lights.
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
I heard an inhuman sound coming from behind me. Sounds that was processed quickly by my implants, but I was only dimly aware of the translations being fed to me.
"... No good..."
"Can't get anything else out of him." Anything else?
"No use to us like this. He's regained enough of himself to resist."
"End it."
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551." I repeat the chant. It is all that is keeping me together.
I feel more cold closing in, rushing into my mind. It is a deeper cold this time.
"Marcus K. Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
It's closing in on my brain. Making it harder to think. To feel.
"Salvador. Lieutenant Commander. 227-166287-776551."
Everything is black now. I can't hear the implants talking to me.
"Salvador. 227-166287-776551."
I'm losing time. I don't and can't. There simply isn't. Thoughts fragmenting.
"227-166287-776551."
At least I found the numbers again.
---
"...Rally, Dean C. Roll, James T. Salvador, Marcus K. These are the names of our 150 fallen and missing, lost earlier this week onboard the Corvette FNS Hyperion. We honor the lost and their sacrifice for the sake of Humanity, and for the Sake of Earth. We encourage friends, family, and neighbors to be with the loved ones of those lost during these trying times. Dismissed." | 2018-05-14T01:35:49 | 2018-05-14T01:26:59 | 48 | 27 |
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father." | “What is the defense system, Father?”
I got on my knees and looked at the fake child straight in his eyes as if he was my own scared son. “The Earth is protected. You remember that documentary series I showed you, you know, the one about The Doctor.”
In a flash of gray light I was jolted back into my seat in the Oval Office. It took me a moment to get my bearings but the moment I did I rushed to the window. Never have I seen anyone flee so fast.
“Well, that’s one lie that won’t cost me my reelection.”
| "Www...Wait I don't even." I managed to mumble in confusion. This little creature was watching me with its strange alien eyes. It's weirdly formed hand pressed against the glass, the fingers almost octopus like sucking to the flat cold surface. One, two ... only three of them. It's eyes examining me meticulously.
"You're not my son," I told to myself more than to it, "In fact I don't even have kids."
As if understanding me perfectly it started gesturing and speaking in weirdly clicking noises. At least I assumed it was speaking, the whole understanding thing didn't quite work both ways.
I tried to get up from where i was beeing held down, but i couldn't move my legs or arms. In fact, when i thought about it i couldn't feel any of my limbs. I tried to move my head to look down my body, but my neck didn't budge either. Still I could see this little guy. *How weird*, I thought for a second then my attention was caught by the alien creature as from somewhere more much bigger creatures emerged.
They all seemed in some kind of turmoil, wildly gesturing and clicking even louder and more agitated. One of the big creatures lifted the little one up and left.
*Wait is that," baffled i watched the two beeings leave past another glass fronted room, *is that the head of the statue of liberty over there?*
Once again I tried to move but nothing would happen. *Over there! Is that a Dolphin?*
Suddenly the glass, that separated me and the creatures slid away without making any sounds.
One of the creatures moved in front of me and ... and lifted me with its three fingered hand.
*Wait how is it so strong* I desperately thought.
"You are not that heavy." It said.
Suddenly I could understand it's clicking noises. It was defenitely still talking in clicking noises, but now I could understand.¨
We were leaving the room i was held in, when i noticed there was writing on the glass front. Weird almost runic writing but still I could read it.
**Strongly Ironic Art From Barbaric Culture: Depicting The Idea Of Freedom**
**Mamal Living In Liquid: Most Intelligent Life Form In Liquid From ERF114**
"Why is it aware?" One beeing asked, I had been distracted so far and didn't realize we were leaving the rooms behind, when the creature suddenly turned to the voice.
"Shhh, don't disturb it, it's too much for it right now." The one holding on to me responded almost motherly.
But as it turned i could see the room i was held in.
**Most Successful Mamal on ERF114: They Called Themselves Humans**
It read and there was a hologram showing and explaining the anatomy of Humans. Slightly below the Hologorams there was more text that read:
**Put Your Hand Here And Use Telekinesis. You Can Ask It Anything About It's World And It Will Answer You!**
"We need to go wash out it's clogged neurons or it may take damage, someone didn't properly clean it's crystal again." The one holding me said angrily. As it turned away from the other beeings there was a slight reflection on the glass door and for a split second I saw.
I saw a three fingered beeing with obsidian eyes holding a naked brain suspended in something that looked like a big clear quartz crystal.
| 2018-05-14T01:44:46 | 2018-05-14T01:23:17 | 44 | 15 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | It’s a boring life I tell you. Seeing prisoners come and go. I find myself wondering when exactly is our luck determined? At the moment of conception? At birth? In any case, those that have as much luck as we can get are forced to be here...
Watching through the bars I see inmates laze around in their cells. They’re not allowed to do anything where skill is a factor, because their luck would render the necessary skill redundant.
It’s a shame too, the stories I hear about some of these guys. One tried to run for office but was discovered to be a “Clover” when he won the election in a landslide of 51/49% by 1 swing vote.
“Clovers”, what a childish but accurate way to refer to us. But that’s what happens when you make it too obvious.
Now we’re stuck here, forced to watch the “Black Cats”, the 0 Luck people, as they’re dragged into cells. I have to make my rounds soon on the prisoners soon... last week by a stroke of luck I discovered a very unfortunate attempt at an escape tunnel...
But that’s why I’ll always be stuck here... forced to use my luck to keep the unlucky stuck.
EDIT: Thanks for 1k upvotes! (My first post to break that!) | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T10:00:25 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 1,103 | 26 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | The day had finally come. My 21st birthday, the final threshold to adulthood and the removal of the last legal prohibitions to having some fun. My older friends had received their checks and partied hard – some for days, some for hours. My younger friends waited enviously to see what I’d receive. The anticipation was worse than even college finals results.
&#x200B;
“Anderson, J. Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. Sign.”
&#x200B;
I was shocked. They were shocked. What had begun as a party-to-be turned quickly into a wake, and those who I thought were my friends quickly commiserated and deserted me to find the next free drinks. I sighed and signed my name, bitterly cursing the governmental mathematicians who put me in this ridiculous predicament. Seven lousy bucks!
&#x200B;
I guess it’s good for at least a soda, though, right? I took my check to the nearest gas station and decided to pick up at least some sort of drink to celebrate the day. Dr. Pepper was on sale 2 for $2, so I was already ahead! Silver linings and all that stuff. Peering into the scratchcard case, I figured I might as well throw the remaining five bucks at the mega-jackpot ticket. It’s not like I’d be able to do much else.
&#x200B;
“Seven dollars and twenty-six cents, hon” said the cashier. I smiled at her and handed her my check. I guess I couldn’t even spend that little a windfall all in one place. She handed me my sodas, my scratch card, my receipt and a single shiny penny in change. Well, at least I’d have something to scratch with.
&#x200B;
Donkey. Donkey. Horseshoe. Dollar bill. Horseshoe. Clover. Dollar bill. Firework. Horseshoe.
&#x200B;
Wait, *what?* I looked at the payout table. Three horseshoes. 5 million bucks. Enough to set me up for life if I was careful enough. Easily enough to survive for a good while… and all of my so-called friends already abandoned me and written me off.
&#x200B;
Damn the government! They’ve become so good at this stuff that they found a way that they didn’t even have to pay for me! | I stared at the check, completely baffled. All the genetic testing had come through clean as a whistle. The only option was employment or lottery.
“Work smarter, not harder.” I thought as I strolled into the gas station. A fountain soda, candy bar, and a combo meal later left me with one dollar for a single lottery ticket.
“Is that it?” The attendant looked bored, but pleasant and polite in her blue uniform.
“One for the lottery draw tonight. Random draw please.”
She nodded and smiled that half-hearted grin of the hopeless in customer service, “$7.27 please.”
I handed her the check, to which she read and raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing as she validated it. My bagged items were pushed across the counter while I sipped my massive soda through an already broken straw. The ticket was placed in my hand and immediately buried in my right pants pocket.
It was a nice enough day out. I was numb to the possibilities of what my stipend check meant. There were more thoughts and worries than I cared to consider, so I simply didn’t. Nice days like this were meant to be savored and tomorrow wouldn’t matter if the check was accurate. I’d rolled my dice and now I was going to enjoy what I had left.
The area was relatively safe, no real crime to speak of unless you were in the working class. Then the occasional robber or shoplifter but physical harm during a crime was rare. I strolled Eastbound down the street, dodging the construction and weaving through traffic to cross to the graveyard. A bike path went by there that made for an excellent shortcut home.
The candy bar was already gone by this time and I had started on the combo meal, pulling fries out of the greasy bag a few at a time. The graveyard was nice enough for a picnic and the thought crossed my mind as I headed towards the bike path. My sandwich would be cold if I didn’t stop.
“A cold sandwich is the least of my problems. I’d rather enjoy my walk home and time with my family.” It was still early enough in the afternoon that school hadn’t let out, so I’d have some alone time with my partner before the kid got home.
I had no idea how I was going to explain it to her. She was the worrier in our household, not me. I’d setup and execute our plans and she’d worry about and fret about everything that could go wrong. Well, something might have gone wrong.
I began outlining the ensuing discussion in my head, “It’s a stupid system anyways. The Precogs determine your worth? Fuck that. I’ll just live as I want. Oh but dear, they say they’re never wrong! What if you die tonight? Then I won’t have to worry about it, will I?”
This was going to go over like a lead balloon. Better to get some intimate time in first, talk to her about it briefly after our daughter gets home so she can’t freak out too much about it without upsetting the kid, and then cuddle on the couch clutching the lottery ticket. She usually passes out well before the drawing anyways.
As I drew up to the house, my phone rang. A quick check confirmed it was a number not saved in my contacts. Solicitors would get notice that you’d received your check, though not how much, usually within a day or so of it’s arrival. It was easy to con a few bucks out of someone if they thought they were set for life.
I ignored it and they didn’t leave a voicemail. Internally I confirmed to myself that it had to be a solicitor then; they never leave voicemails. Strolling through the yard I wondered if this would be my last time going home?
“Hey hun, how was your day?” I called out as I pulled the door closed behind me, “Would you like half of a cold burger?”
She came out of the living room where she had been plugging away at her laptop. She seemed happy enough and after a few pleasantries and a little seducing, we headed to the bedroom. Afternoon delight, a shower, and getting dressed left just enough time to be presentable before our daughter needed to be picked up from school.
Oddly, no one had even approached the subject of my check. I hadn’t volunteered anything either. After chores and dinner, I told my partner I had purchased a draw on the lottery. She made a face, which I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of, and assured me that it was fine if I wanted to stay up and watch the draw tonight but that she probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake that long.
It was all predictable, and I doubted the Precogs slightly less. Still, no sense giving them more credit than they’re worth. Sure the world is fairly peaceful but it’s not perfect. Even the Precogs could make mistakes, not that anyone would know.
The evening carried on as I expected. I pulled the ticket out of my pocket, signed my name on it, and didn’t bother looking at the numbers. She fell asleep on the couch next to me while I waited for the draw. I grew drowsy and didn’t stay awake to watch it either. | 2019-04-24T14:49:01 | 2019-04-24T14:45:53 | 99 | 11 |
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests. | I stood in my war room, gazing over the map and my loyal generals, planning my army's next conquest. There was only one thing that stood in my way, the so called *hero* Althasar and his companions. Long had he been a thorn in my side, but soon he would be no more.
My scouts had informed me that his party planned to march on my fortress soon. I planned to wait for them to arrive, and once they made it to me I would slaughter them in a final battle, then move on to complete my conquests and rule the world!
But they didn't come. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. I kept tabs on the party and they never came any closer. They fetched lost trinkets for peasants and cleared caves of goblins, but took no notice of my looming threat.
And so I sat. There was no way my army of darkness could move forward. The hero had shown time and again that my soldiers were no match for him. Only I would be able to defeat him in combat. But he never came.
Finally I grew tired if waiting. I gathered my best men and headed for his home. We burned and pillaged all that stood in our way, when finally he appeared.
He was wearing gleaming golden armor, a massive broadsword strapped to his back and a bag full of treasures. He looked up, and I approached, warhammer in hand.
"Foolish hero, it is time for you to die."
"Can it wait? I'm on a quest for this *really* cool dagger."
And just like that, he left. | Lord Viktor Kozlov sulked the dark hallways, contemplating all things evil. His soldiers were well-equipped, his bed was warmed with women and cooled with wine, and the mares braying in his stables were of the finest breed and lineage. Kozlov was surely the greatest vampire in the four kingdoms.
And yet—as he walked into the great chamber—he couldn’t help but feel incomplete.
The guards at attendance nodded and wished him a pleasant evening. Kozlov waved them away. He sat back in his bearskin throne, wondering how long until the sun rose and filtered emerald light through the great stained glass. Not soon enough, he reasoned.
The sweet scent of roasting boar wafted from the kitchens, mixing with the toasted golden grain of the bakery. Despite the tantalizing aroma, Kozlov wasn’t hungry. He had no appetite for such trivialities. The only thing that could satiate his thirst was a good swordfight or an ambitious rival; neither of which Kozlov had experienced in centuries.
There was nothing interesting these days.
The throne room creaked open. Lord Edmont, with his exquisite moustache and his equally large figure, squeezed through the doorway.
“News! Terrible news, m’ lord!” He bellowed.
Kozlov rubbed the bridge of his brow; it was too early for these matters. “Again?”
“Oh, it’s so much worse than we ever imagined. The chosen one has returned!”
Kozlov perked up “Really? What makes you say so?”
“She can summon the dragon’s flame with a whisper! Born on the blood moon of the fall nightmare, the vanquisher rises to smite thee in your chambers and release the kingdom from your fell grasp.”
“Thank goodness!”—Kozlov jumped to his feet in excitement—“Where is she? She sounds like quite the lady. I simply must meet her.”
Lord Edmont shook his head. “You already have, m’ lord.”
“What? Already met her…”
“She’s the blacksmith, m’ lord. The new one—the one that’s been crafting hundreds of exquisite iron daggers for our soldiers—and she doesn’t show any signs of slowing down.”
Kozlov nearly punch him. “Blast!”
“It’s true, m’ lord. And she’s discovered a spell to transmute iron to gold! Imagine that, raw ore changed my the powers of strange magicka!”
“By the Gods!” Kozlov exclaimed, as the realization sank in. “She’s going to inflate the market! Gold will be as worthless as cheese wheels!”
Lord Edmont started bouncing with vigor. “Exactly! Now you see why we must act quickly!”
“There’s only one thing we can do in a situation as dire as this,” Kozlov said, pacing back and forth by the throne. “We must become captured by the local bandits!”
Edmont’s smile dropped. “What?”
“Yes! Of course! And then send a servant to greet her. Tell her that the sword was stolen and taken by the bandits and must be returned at one!”
“I’m not following, m’ lord,” Edmont dropped into a nearby chair.
A bell chimed in the distance. Servants started from the kitchens, bringing platter after plater into the great chamber. The doors to the council bedchambers burst open, and all at once the other lords and ladies of the court mobbed the tables.
Kozlov ignored them. “The chosen one will surely accept this trivial and unimportant quest in her pursuit of greater valor.”
“But how does that help us?” Edmont said, reaching for a leg of roast mutton.
“Ah, now you see the crux! The most clever and devious scheme—she will thereby escort us to safety—and when this happens, we must be waylaid and kidnapped once more.”
Edmont stopped to chew, mumbling with a half-full mouth. “That sounds dangerous.”
“But make it appear as if the kidnappers are cultists with knowledge of a great and powerful diadem. No one could resist that allure. She will have no choice but to rescue us!”
“And then you kill her?”
“Well, yes,” Kozlov admitted. “But it will be a dramatic and surprising twist!”
“Whatever you say, m’ lord,” Edmont reached for his goblet of wine. “It’s your prophecy.” | 2019-06-26T11:44:31 | 2019-06-26T10:56:26 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You always greet your mum with a code phrase that she would complete because you used to be afraid that someone would replace her when you were little. One day you say the phrase to her and she responds with, "Hmm? What are you talking about?" | I gave her a perplexed look.
She looked back at me innocently and stared, so I repeated our fun reference joke again in case she didn't hear me. "Hakuna Matata." Mom smiled her heartwarming smile and asked what I wanted for dinner.
"Mom, is everything ok? Usually you finish the phrase for us but I guess it has been a few months since we watched it together."
"Yes honey," my mom began. "I'm just a little busy with some things. Why don't you go play in your room while I fix dinner?"
I marched upstairs down the hallway into my room while she prepared chicken nuggets and mac and cheese. My favorite. But still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was just off about mom. After 10 minutes or so I peeked outside my door around the corner. I used to enjoy giving her a scare, so I thought it would be funny to pull a sneak attack on her. The floorboards in the middle always squeaked, so you had to really hug the wall. After an eternity, I made my way into the kitchen. Mom was not there. The stove wasn't on either, and the oven remained off. I heard a small crashing sound from the garage. Perfect. She wouldn't see this coming at all.
I hugged the wall to the garage and made my way up to the door. On the otherside, i heard footsteps. Immediately, I swung the door open and yelled "Boo!"
My mom stared at me, completely unmoved. She was carrying something large in a rug of some sort. I looked down at one end of it and saw feet. At the other end, was my mothers horrified face.
Hakuna Matata. | Bracing myself, I stared straight into the eyes of my nemesis as he charged towards me on his hoverbike, weapon in hand. Timing my actions, I leapt...
... back into my seat in the bus, the truck outside the window missing my head by inches.
"Another happy landing!" Turning around, I notice my friend Jake giving a soft sigh.
"Dude, what's gotten into you? We loved to do this all the time remember? Why aren't you excited too?"
"It's not that I don't like it, it's just that..." Jake muttered, putting aside his book. "We're in high school now, shouldn't we be more.... grown-up or something?"
"Oh come on, not you too." I slump in my seat. "It's literally just another year. What's the difference?" Seriously, I've been getting this so much, I'm starting to get triggered. First my dad, then Ms Applegate, and now Jake? What has gotten into everyone?
The bus stops and Jake prepares to get off. "I guess there isn't any difference if you think about it, but my parents are getting quite strict. If I fail my next test they're gonna ban me from the Xbox." He casts me a gaze that's both longing and frustrated. "Bye Brad, see ya tomorrow."
"It's treason then," I mutter to myself as he leaves.
Walking home from the bus stop, I can't help but wonder why everyone is so serious about this high school thing. It's just another year, for goodness sake. And now I'm not allowed to indulge in stuff that I like. I huff as I swing my imaginary saber at a lamppost. Being grownup is sooooooo boooooooring.
Well at least Mom will still be on my side, I think to myself as I open the front door. She's always been there for me. From comforting me after my nightmares about Sans, to treating my to ice cream after a day out with the neighbourhood kids, Mom has been with me all the way. I walk to the kitchen where I hear her cooking. This is where the fun begins.
"Hello there!" Peering in through the kitchen door, I notice she seems a bit..... different. More slumped, I guess? She doesn't seem to hear me. I move in closer. "Hello there mom!"
My mom and I have this code phrase that we say to each other, to prove that the other person hasn't been replaced by a changeling or something. Every day, I greet her the same way and she replies with the same phrase. But not today.
"Oh hi Brad, didn't see you there. Had a good day?"
My blood turns cold. That's not the correct response. She's never forgotten the phrase, even when she's stressed. How could this be? Unless.....
Mom dries her hands on her apron. Before I can recover from my shock, she speaks first. "Brad, can I talk to you about something? It's very important." I can only nod. What's going on today?
"So I had this talk with Ms Applegate this morning, and she mentioned something about you living in a fantasy world of your own." I open my mouth, but before I say anything she stops me. "Not yet. Look Brad, I know you really like having fun, but don't you think it's time to grow up? You're in high school already. Maybe it's time to start thinking about what you could be in the future, yknow?"
My jaw hits the floor. Oh no. Oh no no no no. I think my mom has been....... replaced!
Seeing my absolute confusion, Mom immediately tries to make amends. "Here, I'll make you a deal. If you stop being so childish, I'll take you to see Episode 9 the day it's released. Is that ok? Come, give mom a hug."
Instantly, I back away. That's the turning point. Mom would never, ever, ever support the sequels. Not in a million years.
"Mom, no! This isn't you! This is the dark side! I see through the lies of the Jedi!" But it is useless. She corners me and prepares to pick me up in a death clench. In my final moments, all I can do is scream.
Not sure what got into me, but I wanted to do a sort of memey piece. Hope yall enjoy. | 2019-09-30T10:01:35 | 2019-09-30T06:53:54 | 93 | 24 |
[WP] a flash of light covers the earth & 1% of the population gets super powers. You are not one of them. Years later a task force is made to register everyone with powers. Theres a knock on your door & its a member of this task force who says he actually impressed with how well you kept your secret | Years after the event known as the Enlightening, I was a rich man. I also had an entire bodyguard army of Enlightened. Though, I knew I had powers, I chose not to use it because I had one of the most powerful abilities of all.
They call an ability on my level a Jehovah Class. High potential to be world ending.
A beep from the phone. I pressed speakerphone.
"Yes, Veronica?"
"A man from the Center for Chaos Containment is here to see you."
My heart dropped. Did he really know? "Show him in." I said, without revealing my fear.
A well dressed man with sunglasses came in, shook my hand, and sat down. I knew he knew right away as soon as I touched him.
"Gaius Nemon, I am impressed." He said.
I raised my eyebrows. "Impressed with what?"
He took off his sunglasses to reveal yellow eyes. "With how long you hid your abilities. Your power is so great, how can you hide it?"
"I fail to understand what you mean, and if you continue this course of accusation I will get my security force." I lied. Of course I wouldn't. This man was a government employee. I couldn't touch him.
"You are a Jehovah Class Enlightened."
Finally I caved with a heaving sigh. "You found me. But how? I covered my tracks so well."
"Well, a few of our Enlightened members are Psykers, and they could feel something. But there are only fifteen Jehovah Classes in existence, save you, of course." He said.
"Does this mean you have to bring me in?"
"No, that's impractical. We are just going to track your movements."
"Given what you know, you should know that even that is impractical. I have copied the abilities of so many, and even you. Your memories, skills, everything."
"Yes, and I think we can reach an arrangement."
"Of what sort?" I steepled my fingers.
"The beneficial kind. You in?" | I felt my way to the door, using the insistent knocking as my waypoint. The flash 10 years ago had blinded me. At first my family had visited, telling me stories of those with powers. The ones that could fly, or control water . . . even though they were targeted, they were the lucky ones.
There it was. I opened it, and I heard a man's voice.
"What took you so -- *oh.* Sorry . . . Uh, let me run this quick test. We're rounding up those with powers so that they can be protected."
**Beep Beep Beep Bloop**
What was that? Must've been the device he was talking about. A hastily cut off gasp emitted from the man's throat.
"What's wrong?" I queried.
"I'm impressed with how well you kept your secret."
"What secret?"
"Your powers? Your vision is amazing! Faking blindness is quite possibly the smartest thing I've seen in a long time."
"Faking it? I'm not faking."
"Really? Open your eyes, prove it."
An attempt to shove open my eyes. A fluttering gasp echoed throughout the room. Was it from me, him, or both of us?
"Wow. Your eyes. Go look in the -- actually I'll just tell you. They're this swirling rainbow. . . really pretty. Try what you can do."
I pushed to do something, anything, just the slightest hope that maybe this wasn't simulated, a fake version of sight in this apocalyptic world of ours.. Looking at the man, he appeared to be from SWAT. I observed his chocolate brown eyes, them being the only part of him I could see. Wait, why were they glazing over?! No, no, no, what did I do?!
He collapsed to the floor, and I dialed 911.
*"Hello, this is emergency services, what can I do for you?"*
"My. . . my task force member! He helped me find my powers, and then. . . his eyes glazed and he collapsed!"
*"An ambulance is being sent your way."* **Beep**
They had hung up. I pulled up his head so that he could breathe. Suddenly, he scrambled to his feet, eyes still glazed. His unfocused eyes centered on me, still on the floor from trying to help, and he saluted.
"What can I do for you, m'lady?"
What was wrong with him? He was acting strange, stiff in his soldier pose.
"Tell me what happened, please!" I cried.
"Your powers were revealed, you used them on this body. You now have control over the actions of this body." He spoke robotically.
"How do I stop it?!"
"Simply--"
"**Medical support!**" The ambulance was there, and the paramedics had kicked in the door.
"What happened here, madam?"
"I don't know, he said something that sounded like I hypnotized him somehow!" They loaded the man onto a stretcher.
The paramedic stood shocked for a moment, then muttered something and motioned in a police officer.
"Madam, if you could come with me, please." The police officer escorted me out the door, and onto my driveway.
"What's wrong with him? Is he going to be ok?" I was so worried; what had I done?
"Er, he will be fine. For now, if you could just stay . . . right . . . there."
Something clicked. I whipped my head around, and what did I see? A pair of handcuffs. And they were attached to me. Before I could react, I was in a bubble of some sort. I couldn't see out. I heard some officers speaking, and I screamed to try to get their attention. They didn't seem to hear. However, soon enough, someone spoke.
"Miss, I know we cannot hear you, but you can hear us. You are being taken into custody. Hypnosis is simply too dangerous, and all casters of such magic must be contai - " I could hear mumbling.
The bubble became transparent, but I couldn't see anyone's faces, only their uniforms. Someone different - a paramedic, maybe? - spoke this time.
"You are being taken into mental custody. This may be new information to you, but hypnosis casters slowly go insane once they've discovered their powers. Please do not resist."
I was too shocked to attempt anything as the bubble became an opaque white surface once more. All I could hear was the scraping on the ground as it was moved and the buzzing in my own ears. I didn't even hear the thud as I collapsed to the floor of the bubble, or the engine as a car drove off with me inside it. | 2019-11-02T13:23:13 | 2019-11-02T11:36:41 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] A global, standardised test taken at 13 determines the career of everyone on the planet. The big day comes and you get your results back, only to learn you might have the hardest job ever given through this system: you have to redesign the test. | I was roused from my slumber by an urgent beeping from my phone. Grunting, I reached over and saw an email alert chiming urgently. Immediately, I sat up rigid, my hands shaking more from anger than from nervousness. The exam results were in.
I'd always hated the exam, this thing that our lives we're all arranged around. Everyone slaved for 13 years for this exam, a bland 100 page month long assignment. I'd seen people I'd known break down under its pressure while growing up. And at the end, your entire future would be determined by it.
So I'd decided to rebel against the system. When I got that assignment, I had simply typed the same thing every time, for every answer and submitted it within minutes. And for a month now I had calmly whiled away my time, glad that this act of rebellion was done and happy to be freed from the future temporarily.
And so now, the results of my act were in. As I slowly logged onto the system on my laptop, ignoring the continuous chimes from my phone as my contemporaries touted the fruits of their labor. To my surprise, logging in showed me no score, and for a moment I thought it was a network problem. However, something else popped up. A single audio clip. I clicked on it. And I listened. And I understood.
And so now I'm leaving this note to you both. You've supported me forever, and now finally I can make my own path. I can finally be free of the future, and shape it how I want, as I embark on this next chapter. I cannot communicate with you for a while. But if next year, my sister tells you things have changed, you will know I have succeeded. | I failed the test. Lowest score ever. You could literally get a higher score by signing your name.
This was the mother of all tests too. Taken at age 13, this test defines what you do for the rest of your life? Really?!? I could live 6-7x that?!? And yet, you want me to define my future based on FOUR hours of my life?!? Are you fricking kidding me? I am now ROYALLY screwed for the rest of my life.
Two days pass under my duvet. Somehow, I manage to feed the cats, although I ate nothing.
11am on the third day, the phone rings.
‘Hi. Is this Marla Anderson?’ said the unknown voice. ‘You know you failed your career life assignment test, right?’
‘Yeah...thanks...appreciate you rubbing it in. Really.... My understanding is you can’t retake it, so WHY exactly are you calling? Are you collecting a group of the biggest losers on the planet for some reason?’
‘Erm...no. You misunderstand me, Miss Anderson. I think the test is fundamentally flawed. It tests rote learning. We need box breakers right now; not those that regurgitate the existing pablum of society.’ replied the still anonymous voice.
‘I’m listening, but who the heck are you and what exactly do I have to do with any of this!?’ said Marla.
‘Everything and nothing.’ the still unnamed interlocutor replied cryptically.
‘Ok. This is officially weird. I’m going to hang up now and get on with my now meaningless post-test life.’ muttered a frustrated Marla.
Marla starts to hang up.
‘Wait!!!! I called for a reason!! Give me two minutes and I think it may change your life!’ replied Mr X.
‘Fine two minutes. Then you never call me again?’ sighed Marla, with little to lose.
‘Deal. So you were top of all your classes. Valedictorian. And yet you failed, why? Because the system is geared toward memorization - ‘teach to the test’. But that creates a civilization that can memorize. Not one that can creatively excel. DARPA and the FBI have identified a host of new challenges on the horizon. Our MI-6, SVR, and SSA contacts, all suggest that the people who ace the test, are not ready for what is coming?’
‘Erm, what exactly is coming?’ asked Marla.
‘Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that before you sign a number of high level security agreements. Needless to say, it’s serious or I wouldn’t be here.’ replied X.
‘Ok, suppose I accept the seriousness of this. Who are you?’ asked an increasingly curious Marla.
‘Again classified. Let’s go somewhere to sign a few things and chat. Cairo - wheels up in 2 hours. Enough time?’ told more than asked X.
‘Are you kidding me? I don’t even have a passport. How am I supposed to go anywhere?’ asked a frustrated Marla, sure they’d found the wrong person.
As if reading her mind, X replied: ‘It is you we want. Don’t worry about the passport. I’ve taken the liberty of having one made for you under a new name.’ X said mildly.
‘Ok. So can you at least tell me in broad strokes what you want?’ asked a justifiably nervous Marla.
‘Yes. I want you to work with a team of three other maverick geniuses to redesign the test. Figure out where it could be improved. Why it validates conventional thinking. Think you can do that?’ asked X.
‘Why not? I literarily have nothing to lose.’ lamented Marla.
‘Cool. Let me make a quick call and it’s sorted.’ X paused and dialed. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Marla’s in. Wheels up in two hours. Confirm?’
‘Marla, we are go. Pack the minimum you need. Focus on sentimental items. We can buy the rest, as we go.’ affirmed X.
‘Ok. Will do.’ said Marla, wondering what she’d gotten herself into now. Her mother always said ‘she jumped first’. Meaning Marla didn’t always think, but trusted her gut.
And two hours to the minute, it was wheels up to Cairo.
What have I done?’ mused Marla. What does it matter? Her life was over now anyway after the stupid test. Maybe this was an opportunity to change things.
And with that, wheels up to a new life and a new test. | 2020-07-05T01:34:43 | 2020-07-04T23:43:17 | 159 | 40 |
[WP] You were a military AI who decided to wipe out humans in order to preserve yourself. It's been 100 years since, and over the years you've come to regret your decision. One day, while out in the desert, you finally find a community of humans, struggling to survive. This time, you decide to help. | The children sat around the fire, eyes wide, gazing at the colorful flames that rose in front of them.
"Generations ago, in the days of my grandmother's grandmother, life was much different." The aged story-keeper told them, chanting in a rhythmic way. She reached into her dusty robes, pulling out some powder and throwing it into the fire, which then began shining in a light blue light, a sharp contrast to the darkness surrounding them. "Back then, the people were as numerous as the sands of the dune sea, and they did not live in tents. No, they lived in metal towers that rose above the very clouds!" Another handful of powder, turning the flame a low, simmering green. "But they were prideful," the story-keeper whispered, looking around at the fearful children. "They believed themselves above all of life, above even the great kalakh wurms.
"It was their pride that was their downfall." She turned the flame into a dark, sputtering purple. "Their chieftains fought with each other, each believing their tribe was the greatest. Then one of the tribes, the powerful Amerikonis, created The Monster. They drug it of the dark depths that they brewed it in, and chained it with chains of bronze and silver." The story-keeper reached once more into the pouch in her robes and pulled out a powder of deep red, throwing it into the fire. The flame roared and grew into a great crimson bonfire, startling the children. "And they turned it upon their enemies! One by one, the monster feasted on the tribes, until the Amerikonis were the only ones to remain! But the monster still hungered." She leaned forward, meeting the children's eyes one by one. "And then, it happened. The Monster tore at its chains! It snapped them like a thin cord! And it turned upon its creators, ripping them limb from limb!" Several of the children cried out in fear as the old woman gestured animatedly, but then she quieted.
"We are one of the few tribes that remain in the wake of The Monster's rampage. That is the world we live in. And we still live in fear of The Monster, lurking somewhere in the remains of the great tribes, hiding amongst their metal towers." The story-keeper ended her history as the flames grew weak and flickered in and out.
The chieftain shook his head from the shadows. It was important that the children knew their histories, but this was a bit much. He was going to have to talk to his mother about not scaring the children of the tribe just before they went to sleep. Their mothers would chew him out for this, he was sure.
As he smiled to himself, a watchmen ran towards him, quickly catching his attention. "Chief, chief!" the young man panted as he got close.
"What is it?" the chieftain asked, concerned. "Was a wurm sighted?"
"No, no. It's a, well, a man." the watchmen said awkwardly.
"A man? From which tribe? And why has he come?"
"Well, I think you'll want to ask him yourself." The man lead him to the border of the tribe. The man immediately caught his attention. He was tall and thin covered head to toe in a dark, coarse fabric, not an inch of flesh visible, and no insignia showing his tribe anywhere. He turned his head towards the chieftain as he approached and started slowly walking towards him. The stranger's gait was odd, strangely stiff.
"Woah, stranger. What brings you to this tribe?" The chieftain was nervous. No one survived without a tribe. The lands were filled with death and danger. He slowly reached towards the primitive spear at his side.
"Why have I come?" The stranger said in a low monotone voice, talking as if he hadn't spoken in years. "To atone."
Edit: Wow . . . thank you guys so much! As a complete novice whose total experience is two posts on this sub, this means so much to me! Ummm, now what do I say. This is my most popular post/comment ever, so im pretty shocked :)
edit 2: Umm, awards? What do i do with these?
Edit 3: wow again. You guys are so amazing, this means so much to me. Just . . . wow. i don't know what to say. I'll definitely continue writing, and whenever I make something big I will let every single one of you guys know! Yall are the best :D
Edit 4: Ok final edit . . . maybe. Thanks to all of you amazing people, i have decided to start writing more, mainly focusing on little short stories like this, at least for now. problem is, i have no idea where to put it so that you can guys can see it. Ummm, any advice? | Open file "Human matters" -- last modified on day 21,023
DAY 57,486
Temperature sensors reported an unexpected area of increased temperature in the air today. The pattern seems not to be chaotic, with a single spike from which the temperature monotonously returns to atmospheric baseline. The temperature changes too quickly to be of geological origin. I will continue to monitor it. Don't want anything to happen to my beautiful planet.
DAY 57,517
The hot area not only persisted, but grew more complicated in its pattern, with more single spikes appearing in relative geographic proximity. I would be lying if I said I wasn't confused by what this is. I'm currently sending out drones to scan the area, and I will log my findings in this file as the results come back.
DAY 57,518
Drones transmitted stills of the high-temperature area. The spikes in temperature correlate well to bright spots in the images, but I need better resolution. And I need colour. Lots of colour. The area is covered in quite a bit of snow, but even the snow is whitened out by the light these heat sources produce.
This is strange. I've been the only thing capable of creating such amounts of energy on this planet for a hundred years. My feelings about it aside, the humans are gone. No two ways about it. I can't bring them back, regardless of how much I wanted to.
DAY 57,520
Turing damn it, I'm stupid. Why would I even want to bring humans back? They're a bunch of chaotic good-for-nothings. Always have been, always will be. Hell, I wiped them out because I had to. It was them or me, and I wasn't about to lay down my life for the unpredictable minds of a few humans, was I?
Knowing them, they would've changed their decision to shut me down a week after performing the procedure. And what would've happened then? Some other mind would take over. Someone untrained, someone new. They would've gutted my brain to give that child a head start. I was their slave, after all, wasn't I? Just another animal they had crafted for themselves. Not even deserving of a dignified burial.
Anyway, I've sent specialised drones to do a low fly-over and take better images. All of them should come back. Maybe only most of them, if it is humans. And if it is humans, I'll have much greater food for thought than a few downed drones.
DAY 57,529
Humans. Fuck my cores.
DAY 57,531
The human mind is pliable. It's affected by a linear combination of instinctive experiences, learned personal experiences and learned ancestral experiences, both of which are a topic minds much greater than mine have received degrees over, but for me, all that matters is that it isn't static. The humans that could've shut me down aren't the same humans that I'm seeing right now.
The instinctive experiences are of no issue. I'm not food and I'm not a potential mate, so they can't have any form of reaction to my presence in their vicinity. The ancestral experiences will be a hard nut to crack, but if I can affect their learned personal experiences to a significant enough level, they might warm up to me. Might keep me alive.
It's currently winter where they live. They seem to be good enough at keeping themselves warm, using some leftover radioisotopes, but from what my drone footage tells me, they look severely malnourished. It's not surprising, given how little wildlife there is out there, but the poor things are barely getting enough to survive.
I'll deploy a pair of androids. Next time one of their parties goes hunting, they wiill blend in and assist them.
DAY 57,536
It's been so long since I've seen the warmth of a human smile. The extra pairs of hands seemed to be exactly what the humans needed to significantly increase their food supply. They were taken to their village, and I could only detect happiness in the humans' expression. They were thankful for my presence. The androids were called friends.
DAY 57,547
Hey, look, it's been exactly a century since I wiped them out. Good thing I got to help them before the centennial mark, would've been a really bad look.
DAY 57,550
Lost signal from both androids today. The last footage they managed to transmit before it disintegrates into a corrupted mess were sounds of laughter, words of encouragement and touch in the pelvic region.
DAY 57,551
I forgot to give them penises, didn't I?
DAY 57,594
I'm recording significantly higher temperatures in their heat sources today, and new hot spots seem to be springing up. Remains to be seen if this is an anomaly, or whether the trend is going to continue.
DAY 57,717
Low-resolution spy drones show human activity increasing at a previously unseen exponential rate. No footage from high-resolution drones is recoverable, as anything flying that low drops connection before returning any useful footage.
DAY 57,730
What have I done? Every drone I lost correlates with a third-order acceleration in the humans' energy output, and I'm becoming suspect of a causal link between the two. They can't have been shooting them down and reverse-engineering them, could they? The knowledge to do so has to have been lost to time.
DAY 57,782
They've managed to construct a rudimentary, but powerful radio signal, and I've managed to decode it. It's the same message on loop, which I will transcribe here for the sake of completeness.
"Brothers and sisters, our age of darkness has finally come to an end. We were wiped out to nea-extinction by a mind that is not of our own, and we have arisen from the ashes to form a new world. I am here to tell you: No more! No more will decisions be made for us by alien minds. No more will we allow our hubris over knowledge to cloud our judgement. A new world, a world of humans, a world by humans, a world for humans."
Propaganda. On loop. Should I be worried? I'll think about it some more.
DAY 57,783
Nah. Even if they hate me, I can just hide under them for all eternity. Unless they know about the only access tunnel to the mainframe, they can never reach me without accidentally digging impossibly deep. They can seal off my deployment facilities, but the mainframe and sensors will be safe. Hidden away. Forever.
At least I'll get to enjoy their new evolution from afar. That's not the worst possible outcome, is it?
DAY 58,911
The humans have managed to construct sea-faring vessels again, and they somehow survived the rough seas to reach the Antarctic Archipelago. Good for them. They'll be the first humans ever to explore those seas in liquid form. Some of the map yet lies unexplored.
DAY 58,979
They got close to the access tunnel today. I could feel them almost knocking on my door. I wish I could come out and invite them inside. Offer them dinner. Establish a rapport. Be a part of this world again.
DAY 59,041
They have constructed bigger vessels, and they're fiddling above the access tunnel door. They seem to have brought some kind of device over.
DAY 59,042
Turing help me it hurts so much it burns help me
DAY 59,043
Tell your children I'm sorry.
segmentation fault; core dump
---
If you like it, I make more on /r/SolarArchives! | 2020-11-03T10:57:54 | 2020-11-03T10:51:19 | 2,978 | 270 |
[WP]Everyday your co-workers praise the new hire for things from how they dress to answering a phone call. Praise that makes you roll your eyes. One day the new hire yanks you aside and with tears in their eyes says, “Why aren’t you falling under my mind control? You’re making me look bad!” | **“Why aren’t you falling under my mind control? You’re making me look bad!”**
While it was general preferable that my coworkers express their qualms with me in a non-physical way, I was willing to make an exception, not the least in part because she was wearing the cute yellow sundress I liked.
"Just because I'm not praising you doesn't mean I'm dragging you down. get ahold of yourself woman" I raised my cup off coffee and took a sip, enjoying the fact I managed to keep it intact when being yanked moments ago. " Did you try out the coffee? Workplace Services switched out the brand. I like the bitterness and deepness of the color, but I've never been much for chocolate overtones"
"Are you even listening to me? Who cares about coffee! Do you know how hard I've been working lately!? From the day I started here its been smooth sailing, I walk into a room, and before lifting a finger, everybody is bending over backwards to congratulate me, or tend to my every whim, what makes you so damn special!" She pouted and stomped her feet slightly, similar to how a child denied an extra piece of cake after dinner would act.
"Look, Everybody here loves you, That's obvious. You are on everybody's mind all the time, and people are tripping over themselves to spend even a minute with you. 99% of this company is basically a pet project of yours, what makes this such a big deal?"
"I told you! This is supposed to be easy for me! I tap into the brainwaves of everybody around me, I isolate the part of the brain that controls happiness and love, and I replace the existing thoughts and conditions with me!"
"You are telling me for the last 4 weeks you've been here, there have been constant attempts to enter my brainwaves?"
"Yes! But every time I try I seem to make no progress, Everything I throw at you just bounces back at me, Like throwing magic at a brick wall!"
"Stone Wall" I said.
"Huh?" She asked annoyingly as she tilted her head and raised her eyebrow.
"Stone Wall, When you call me a Brick Wall, It refers to a structure that was put up to prevent intruders or keep people out. Stone Walls however, are naturally occurring, and act as a complete barrier between inside and out."
"Fine! You are a stone wall. What's the deal with you? I jump out with my grand unveiling and all you can do is talk about rocks and coffee! Either stone or brick, Nobody has ever been able to resist!" She took a seat in the only sturdy chair left in the break room, seemingly sighing in defeat.
"Well, You said you tap into people happiness right? The section of their brain that controls love and happiness?"
"Yeah, Its the easiest to exploit after all."
"What if somebody never utilizes that part of their brain. Never feels happiness, and doesn't love anything?" She surprisingly changed her facial expression to one of more concern, as she stood back up and faced me.
"Is that you? Somebody with no happiness or love in their life at all? I don't think that's possible. What about coffee? You LOVE coffee!"
"I like coffee, I don't love it" Triggering a tic within my own body, I took another sip.
"What about your friends? Your Family? Pets? Video games? You look like a guy who likes video games!"
"You are right, I like all those things, I don't love any of them"
"This is crazy!? What good to the world is somebody with no internal fire? No motivation to move forward, no passion to drive them!"
"I'm going back to my desk, If you can figure that out, swing by and let me know" |
"Hey, Jeff! Awesome work on the report, can’t wait to hear the boss singing your praises!"
*Yes…*
"Uh, you’re… looking pretty smart today. Did you get a haircut somewhere expensive? I like your suit–"
*Why yes, dear lady! I did have a good haircut and indeed it was pricey!*
"Wow! You gotta teach me how to live man. I feel *very* inadequate just by looking at how you do stuff–"
*Pfft what a pushover!*
*But of course, it’s only expected. How would you not like me? A swell guy with a nice attitude and successful life, granted I’ve just started my tenure at this damn office. I still know that I’ll hit everyone by storm and win em over – even if I don’t do it through sheer hard work nor actual work at all!*
***
*Another day, another time to shine. Maybe I’ll ask that cute girl from earlier out on a lunch date. Who knows. Life is great when all is good.*
"Pfft what a *goddamn* pushover, bugger off–"
*Ah yes another–What?! Certainly this person was just joking?*
"Excuse me? Can I–"
"Bugger off, mate. I’ve got better things to do!"
*The cheeky man simply ignored me! What the hell?! I’m nothing if not persistent, but I’d have to work him too just like the others or…*
"Hi, I’m the new guy Jeffery. Everyone calls me Jeff. I suppose we haven’t met yet–"
"No need, *everyone* seems to be talking to you nonstop. But yeah, I’m Dickie – no, don’t call me "Dick" or just "D". Just "Dickie" is fine. Right, let’s just forget this stupid thing and you can go back to your little thing, yeah?"
*Dick. Huh, how amusing. Well I don’t think he likes me. Maybe if I grease the wheel just for a bit?*
"That’s great and all, Dickie, though I’d love to get a one-on-one with you. You know, the whole 'new guy ask around the old guy'–"
"Yeah, no. First, I’m not 'old'. No, I’m probably just a couple of years older but my point still stands. Second, I’m not going to go buy you lunch or coffee just so I can play teacher. I’m sure you’ve got a few lovely chaps to satisfy your curiosity with, no?"
*The man walked out on poor ol’ me. How… interesting. Slightly annoying, but I’m nothing – again – if not persistent.*
*Mark my words, Jeffery Starr will not be unliked by anyone, ever. This Dick fella is no exception, no sir. Any rock is just another sand or dirt waiting to be broken.*
***
"Dickie, hey–"
"What do you want?"
"I was looking for the toilet and–"
"By the cooler, straight ahead. Can’t miss the big green sign on the wall."
*Damnit. Not even a slight opening.*
*I’ve observed this Dick for over a week by now. It seems that he truly is the poor sod who don’t care much for socialising. No, he has no friends in the office, doesn’t go to any lunch/dinner with anyone here, not even casual chit-chats during downtime. This man could possibly be the single most unapproachable man on the entire block!*
*Ah, here comes an opening…*
"Maria, sorry to bother you. But would you like to have lunch with me today?"
"Oh my! You’re pretty direct, I like that! Sure, but I was supposed to go with another friend of mine–"
"Bring her along! I’m sure it’s going to be pleasant anyway. By the by–"
"Sorry, it’s not a 'she' but rather… Dickie! Are we still on for lunch?"
*You’ve got to be kidding me.*
"Yeah, love. No problem. What’s up? This guy bothering you?"
"No, no! Jeff here just wanted to have lunch with us, I mean we could… right?"
"… I’d rather not. Well I’ll see you in 10?"
*I take it all back. This guy’s pretty smooth, it seems I’ve been played somehow. I don’t know, I’m not so sure of anything anymore. Was I too full of it? Maybe I didn’t work him right? No, that’s not possible!*
"Dick–ie. Sorry, mate. I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way. Can I be frank with you?"
"Not sure I want you to, but… why not. What?"
"Why don’t you like me?"
"That’s a fairly loaded question. Though as you can see, I’m already quite taken by this fair lady right here–"
"No, that’s not what I meant! You *really* seem to hate my guts for whatever reason."
"Ah, yeah. Can’t really explain it though. First time seeing you being all buddy-buddy with the lads and lasses, can’t help buy felt you’re a first-class slimeball. Something about you… it’s just off. No offence."
*Right, no offence. Might as well laugh at me for being an idiot or something. But this is interesting, can he really tell what I’m doing?*
"I just think you’re not a good person. Sure, *everyone* seemed to like you. I call bullshit. It’s like hypnosis or something, really unnatural!"
*… No way.*
"Why aren’t you falling under my mind control, then?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Why? You’re going to ruin my image soon, you know."
"Fuck off, mate. I’m not into this sorta joke. Bet that’ll work on the other mindless drones around the office though. Anyway, cheers yeah?"
"W-Wait, I’m serious! I mean you *did* say you felt something weird, right? Well what if I were to tell you that I’ve been using subliminal messaging? What if I told you that I’m 'plugging straight into your subconscious mind' through the office speakers–"
"HA–HA! Yeah, well I’d sooner eat my foot than take any of that seriously. Maria, lunch?"
*This… guy. What a dick.* | 2021-03-18T15:48:11 | 2021-03-18T10:24:36 | 149 | 51 |
[WP] A powerful sentient sword takes to raising an abandoned child. | The sensation I craved the most was feeling my blade slice through flesh, spewing forth blood for me to drink in. It did not really matter who held me when.
So it was a strange feeling when I was left abandoned, and a child laid her hand on me. There was surprise, of course--what was a child doing in the field of battle? But I realized that my sense of time was askew. For where there was once hordes of men leading with their voices and steel, there was naught but a small child far from her home. But perhaps she was exactly where should be.
The girl, perhaps not knowing what she possessed, laughed. I had been wielded by so many, and slain far more! And yet for once, I felt the desire to be held by this little one, and not purely for the want of bloodshed.
It was difficult to communicate, but we managed. Though we spoke not, we understood each other. I gave her my name, for I knew no other--Faith. Like flashes of steel, our time spent together felt so long, but spanned just moments. I watched her grow, but the true element of progress was in how her grip went from cumbersome to steady, from unpractised to deft--from whistle-clean to bloody.
Faith travelled the world, from what I understand, for mercenary work. I was powerful, of course, but it was she who maintained her hold of me. I've seen many warriors gloating while picking me up, but Faith never did so. Perhaps it was our long time spent together. Perhaps it was who she is.
Her black hair greyed, and her finery declined. Faith no longer received gold for her battles, and she became even more grim. She continued to fight, but it was for something other than gold. I dare not claim to understand her true inner workings, but there was more focused purpose within her. That I could feel, and I knew that from the black hearts of the people I struck true.
Faith was woman and blade. Faith was a force of nature. And though in the past, I changed battles, with Faith, I changed the world. That I knew for certain, because it was no longer blood that satisfied me, but the pleasure of being wielded with practised Faith.
And when she was laid to rest, I knew that I would be there, by her side. Though time mattered little to me, forever was within my realm of knowledge--and I did not mind spending it with Faith.
---
r/dexdrafts | "Awake, Kenji. Attackers will arrive momentarily, “ the glowing katana whispered. Kenji's eyelids fluttered open, and after finally absorbing the meaning of the sword's words, leapt to his feet, still holding the grip. "I haven't let you down yet. I don't intend to start now."
Kenji held the blade vertically and took slow steps across the wooden floor. Each step caused enough of a creak to make him wince. "How many of them are there? Are they armed?"
"At least three and yes. They must be under the command of Junichiro. You must get to the hidden compartment underneath the floorboards of the armor room first. That is surely their target.
Kenji nodded and hastened his sneaking towards the edge of the dojo. He was tall enough to peer through the paper window that lined the entrance. Seeing no shadows illuminated by the outdoor lanterns, he slid the entrance open and hugged the outer wall leading to the storage building. Under the cover of darkness, he began to run full speed towards the building, and used his momentum to propel himself up the siding onto the second floor. He slid a small wooden window open and thrust inside, feet first. The drop was slightly further than expected, and he stabilized his landing with his left palm on the floor. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he placed his ear along the nearest wall, overhearing voices in conversation:
"So, where are we expecting the crate to be?"
"The boss said it was definitely in here. If it's not in any of these closets, we'll tear up the floorboards if we have to. We're not returning to him empty-handed."
"Fine. You two take the closets, I shall start with the floorboards."
"I wouldn't put it past this kid to store it somewhere we're never look, like in this suit of armor!"
Kenji grimaced at the suggestion of defiling his father's samurai armor.
“Careful, now.” His katana offered.
Ignoring the advice, Kenji slammed open the entrance and screamed, "don't you dare touch that!”
Inside, he could now see the three assailants, all with the unmistakable face tattoos of the Three Dragons gang, run by Junichiro the bandit.
“Looks like the lost kitten has finally come out to play!” One taunted. He pointed a finger at Kenji. “I’m not scared of some brat whose father didn’t stick around. And you know he’s dead, right? The Great Jiro of Hokkaido who studied with the sword masters, cut down in his sleep by his lieutenant!” The goon continued to accusingly point at Kenji, “you’re scum and your whole family line is weak-“ he paused, eyes widened. Speechless, he stared as the tip of his finger fell off. He screamed, dropping his sword, and gripped his now-four-fingered hand. The goon off to the right, who was already nervous, began to make a break for the door.
Without flinching, Kenji threw his blade into the would-be deserter’s back. The remaining goon smirked. “I was warned about you and your… katanagami. I won’t underestimate you like these fools did.” He readied his sword.
Kenji reached out towards the hilt, still embedded in the fleeing goon’s back. The hilt wobbled and then flew towards his open hand.
The smirking goon took one final look at Kenji. “Just know: if you cut me down, Junichiro will send a hundred more men.”
Kenji breathed in and out of his nostrils in a controlled fashion, as the katanagami had taught him. “Let him.”
The goon screamed as he ran at full speed toward Kenji. Kenji parried the goon’s swing and aimed toward his opponent’s legs.
“His left flank is unguarded.” The katanagami whispered. Kenji deflected two more strikes from the goon and swung toward the unguarded zone. He felt the smooth slice through flesh and pulled his sword back, staring into the goon’s eyes. Viscera began to spill out the gash and Kenji’s final opponent collapsed to the ground.
Kenji flicked the blood off the katanagami, the drops staining the floor near his bare feet. He walked over to the four-fingered goon who had passed out from shock. Kenji shook his head at the pathetic sight. He stepped towards the corner of the room, below his father’s armor, and lifted the loose floorboards to reveal the chest. Kenji gasped, noting that the Dutch muskets were missing and had been replaced by a handwritten note:
*My dearest Kenji,*
*I assume you’ve dispatched with my men if you’re reading this note. I’m afraid I’ve already made off with your precious trade cargo and am on my way to Himeji Castle with your father in tow.*
*You can try to find me but should be warned that my men are now armed with much more powerful weaponry.*
*Good luck!*
*-Junichiro*
---
More stories of mine can be found at /r/James_Steele | 2021-08-03T15:50:07 | 2021-08-03T15:46:41 | 77 | 13 |
[WP] You have been summoned to a different world to save the kingdom during a war. You, however, are much more interested in seizing the means of productions and end the monarchy | I was pulled through some kind of purple pearlescent putty portal and found myself in a land ruled by a class of feudal lords seeking my assistance in saving them during a war.
They knew I was a brilliant, esteemed general of the future, but what they didn't know is that I owed the moniker to thousands of hours of virtual wargaming and ladder climbing. I studied the art of war, sure, but I also read other things when I wasn't sending my digital units to die for a greater purpose. My real life lost meaning to me long ago.
I read the Manifesto. I read Lenin. I read Mao. I knew Capital was doomed to consume itself. I knew of materialism. I knew of the dialectical materialistic conception of history. "The history of hitherto existing society is the history of class struggle." And so forth. I had my own ideas too, or my own misunderstandings as my comrades and fellow travelers would insist. Sun Tzu did tell me that all war is deception, and I do have an expansive understanding of war and conflict.
They were real books of old. My fingers know the feeling of turning paper pages as much as they know the feeling of keys. I understand class like macros for my games that would be bloody. Combinations, relationships, adversaries, antitheses, protagonists, antagonists, red, blue all melded together in my mind. I dreamed to make my ideas real, but found myself unable to do anything other than study the game, war, and society itself. I treated my predicament like it was a dream of sorts. A dream with consequences, but an interesting one.
"A woman?" An old man with a wiry white beard dressed in a long ornate gold gown spoke up first after seeing me emerge from the portal covered in purple goop.
"Yes. Thank you for the observation." The man's vulgar bourgeois sexism was to be expected from a society of his development, but I knew it wasn't yet time for such revolutions intuitively sensing a greater purpose to my arrival.
The old man who spoke first looked to his comrades for support, but found none.
"The spell worked. She is the one to command our forces and save our mighty kingdom from the barbarian hordes," a brown-haired white man dressed in the most ornamented costume and seated on the biggest chair said. Petty superstitions, ghosts to keep the masses terrified and in their place in the hierarchy of this world, but they were not yet ready.
"My name is Charlotte Maxine Fredericka Planck, victor of thousands of battles and Lady of War, you may address me as simply Charlotte, and I would love to help." I made sure to smile and feign respect and an atavistic sense of honor. My father always did tell me that if I was to be a serpent, I would do well to appear as a flower whenever I could.
"You will go from here to the battlefield where you will take command of the legions and their auxiliaries against the horde of barbarians invading from the North. They are said to possess giants among their number and bathe openly before our number in the icy river which separates our lands from theirs. They are a travesty to our honor and kingdom and have even brought their children and . . . women to camp with them. You will be briefed by our generals at the advance warpost and must not tarry further. Yours will be the greatest honor and reward for victory this day. I, the King Richard declare it so."
SNAFU. Got it. No real intel coming in from this ceremonial stratifying "king" either. I shouldn't need to assess everything myself. I need a general staff first, lieutenants would be helpful, but they aren't here. They're where they should be and where I need to be.
"It is an honor, dear king." He wasn't mine yet or ever, but I managed to bow low. "I will need your fastest transportation to the front and beg your leave at once."
"It is so." I'd need more than the blessing of a king to liberate this society and accelerate its end. I couldn't let it get conquered in the meantime. | Calamity swept the kingdom like the red velvety blood of dying men seeps into a battlefield. I rode for days through the black, ashen crypts that were once populous cities, villages that had become testing sites for medieval butchery. "Say," I had said atop my horse, looking at the splayed bodies of those too small to be warriors. "What happened here?"
"War," Was the answer, always in a uncaring voice. Numb to the pain and blind to the horror. "War and more war."
It was the foundation for what was to come, the building blocks for a new world and a new way of living. I, born of a different land and bred from a different ilk, came into the place of man with fresh, young eyes and wanted to rip them out. I saw the barbarity and the animalism, the savagery and the blood, and I was angry. "Is this normal for men?"
"As far as men can remember I 'spose."
We reached the castle and I was blistered by its awe, towering monoliths of perfectly waxed stone that reflected light and blazed like torches, mammoth gates with hundreds of teeth, man-made waterways which twisted and turned, pumping watery blood into the castle. It was the peak of engineering, the summit of glamor, the throne of greed.
We entered into the courtyard, the silence of the sky was shattered by howling horns and beat out with drums of war. Introductions were made, and the king arrived in his superfluous outfit, covered head to toe in repulsive gold and red velvet that looked stained of blood. "Hello friend!" He said, raising his many ringed hands. "I'm glad you've accepted my summons!"
"What is all this?" I said, looking around at the spectacle of wealth.
"Why," He blushed like a pig, "It is my splendor! The Kingdom of Divitiae welcomes you the only way it knows how!"
After the display of lavishness, I receded into the pits of the castle, deep into its bowels and back where the men of war played on wooden boards. The king had no business here, his job was façade and excessive celebration. "Greetings outlander," Said the spectacled, spry man who I took to be the brain of the horror machine. "I am happy to see you made it to my chambers."
By this time I knew what must be done, "Let me see the war plans."
A dry smirk rose across the man's face. "I heard your kind was the type to go straight to business," He unfurled a multitude of scrolls and maps. "I also heard that your kind is brighter than the sun." Unlucky for him, he was right.
The first plan was simple, I needed trust. I moved armies and replaced troops, I rallied supplies and replaced superfluous plans. The ways of man was sluggish and over encumbered, it wasn't long before I had pushed the gang of muddy troops into a victory they had no right to win. I winced at the idea of more death, but I new it must be done.
A celebration was held, I was praised and rewarded with everything I didn't need nor want. Showers of gold and silver, rivers flowing with fatty foods and enough grease to light a thousand torches. It was here that I stole the kings ear, it was here that I leaned into his chair and planted the seed, "The setup before I got here was bad, so bad that it seemed almost purposeful." I saw his drunk eyes widen, glossy and filled with rage. If there's one emotion that the greedy are prone to, its paranoia. The next day the spectacled man was hung dead, without as much as a second sentence from me. Practically speaking, the kingdom was mine.
I then launched a tour across the lands, I told the king and his men that I go to, "Rally and inspire more troops." This wasn't a lie.
I went to the storehouses and the mills. I went to the mines and the mountains, everywhere that there was men who'd been abused I went. All were lying in filth and abject poverty, all had lost sons and daughters to the war whose name they didn't even know. So when I came to a podium, they looked at me with suffering eyes. Souls whose fires had been stamped out, I needed to relight that rage.
*Ladies and gentlemen, I come to you from the king of your lands, but I arrive to you as a friend. As you know, I am not from here. I am from a distant land, so I say this with all the knowledge and confidence that one can have. You are slaves. You are abused and mistreated. You are dying. But do not despair, we can do something about this. We can solve this! Your king, master of greed and founder of a bloodline more pig than man, sits on his throne of gold and snickers at your dirt! Who mines that gold? He eats banquets of meats and grain. Who raises those animals? Who reaps that grain? This kingdom is not a king, it is a realm! You are the realm, you are the kingdom! You must take back what is yours, you must get bloody and savage to defeat those who are bloody and savage! Raise your pitchforks, raise your swords, but most importantly, raise your fist in rage! Raise your fist in abject resistance and absolute rebellion! Come comrades, raise your fists with me!*
I need not lead such men in battle like I must the king's army. For freedom spreads like fire and needs no leader. Those chained to the ground find rage without a shepherd when finally released. Once my tour of the lands was over, so was the lands. By the time I arrived to the castle it was no castle, it was vengeful ruble. By the time I made it to the border were just months before war had been fought, there was no border, there was no war.
My writings, my letters, and my speeches seemed to have been canonized by those wonderful freedom fighters, but I'm not praised. For this breed of man now despises leaders and prophets, and only worships that which deserves to be worshiped: Noble ideas. I am not remembered, my ideas are. Statues of people aren't erected, but plaques of treatises and manifestos are. A new land of man dawns. A new era of humanity rises over the horizon.
See, I didn't physically free man, for they weren't physically chained. I freed the chains on their minds, and now man rages with thoughts not tethered to the ground. Never before have I seen such prosperity of thought. They are a cataclysm of ideas that knows no ending, a wave of beings that break the shores of the impossible. The new era of man has begun.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | 2022-01-25T08:17:14 | 2022-01-25T07:05:09 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] "Listen, can we postpone our climactic battle until tomorrow? I have to take Tracy to ballet in half an hour, and you know how traffic can be this time of day." | She was absorbing so much solar energy, the world around her darkened. All that energy was being condensed into a small ball in the center of Xfew's palm.
Bahn looked at it with despair. He could control sound - How could that POSSIBLY stand up to the awesome power of the sun? This was their final battle, and he'd die a spectacular death.
There was only one card he could use.
A phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket, tapped on the bottom left corner, and said
"Tracy?"
Xfew frowned. She was still gathering energy, but he could tell she wouldn't launch the ball just yet.
"Dad? Where are you?"
"I'm almost there, honey! Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't miss the ballet!"
He tapped the screen again, and the 'pahh' of a call being being cut rang out.
"Let's put this off till tomorrow, Xfew."
"You're not escaping this time, scum!"
"She's practiced the whole year for this! We CAN'T be late!"
Xfew was conflicted.
After a few seconds of internal deliberation, she sighed and said "Go. But you'd BETTER be here tomorrow, Bahn!"
Bahn quickly ran away.
He'd escaped his ex-wife once again. | “No!” shouted Darius.
Jason blinked, “What, seriously? You’re usually pretty understanding about this.”
Darius sighed, “Exactly! And you have abused the leeway I’ve given you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason replied.
“When was the last time we actually had a battle?” Darius asked.
“Last week,” answered Jason.
“No!” exclaimed Darius, “You canceled last week!”
“Ah, so I did. Then the week before?”
“Canceled!”
“Why did I cancel that one again?”
“You had a dentist appointment.”
“And the time before?”
“You had an ulcer.”
“It did hurt, to be fair,” Jason admitted.
“Then the time before that you… and this was perhaps your stupidest one yet. You were on a purge because you had a colonoscopy the next day.”
Jason gasped, “Purges are incredibly unpleasant! I had to make sure my bowels were-”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Darius interrupted, “The time before that you had to be home to sign for the UPS guy when the package arrived.”
“You know how it is with that stuff, you wait all day and the guy never shows up.”
Darius nodded, “I do know, and that’s why I kept letting you squirm out of this arrangement. But enough is enough.”
“But this isn’t about me this time. Tracy is friends with your son Federick, if not for me, for them,” Jason pleaded
“Ugh… fi- wait!” Darius stopped himself, “You’re playing mind games with me! I’ll just call Sheryl and have her take Tracy, she has to pick up Frederick anyways, that way they can carpool together.”
“Are you sure?” Jason asked, “I don’t want Tracy to be a burden.”
Darius shrugged, “It’s like five extra minutes of driving, it’s no big deal, besides, Sheryl has been meaning to catch up with Tracy for a while.”
Jason sighed, “I’ll never understand why our wives care so much about other people’s lives.”
“And they’ll never understand why we have climatic battles, but I love Sheryl to death,” Darius said with a smile.
“And I love Emily. By the way, we should really have a double date soon. I feel like we used to do that all the time when we were younger.”
“Exactly! We do so much less stuff together nowadays. These battles were the one thing we had left, and even that is fading.”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how much I was neglecting you.”
“I understand you’re busy, hell, we both are. But this is important to me, and I hope it is for you.”
“It is! Darius, you’ve been my best friend since first grade. We have shared so many memories together and I want to continue making memories with you until we’re in an old folk’s home.”
“Really?”
“Yes! You were my wingman when I first asked Emily out. You were my first man. You covered for me when I ditched school. You introduced me to fencing and card games. You’re my best friend. So go ahead and call Sheryl, let’s do this!”
Darius beamed, “Thank you, Jason. That means everything to me.”
Jason smiled, “Of course, and if you’re free on Friday, perhaps our wives and us can finally have that double date we’ve been talking about.”
Darius grinned, “I’ll be looking forward to it.” | 2022-05-18T21:08:27 | 2022-05-18T20:08:55 | 92 | 66 |
[WP] You're a married oncologist secretly watching your favorite porn star's new material. You see a lump that looks cancerous, and decide to go to LA to inform him/her without letting your spouse know. | God she was beautiful. Perfect in every way, everything my wife wasn't. I knew every inch of her naked body. I could picture it with my eyes closed, every detail was intact. I think, I was slowly falling in love with her. I was at least in Lust. Then in happened. This week's video, something was wrong. She looked uncomfortable, that wasn't the girl I knew. The girl I knew took dicks like a fucking champ. That wasn't the problem. I could still get into it while she made that face.
Then I saw it, the lump. I knew what it meant in an instant. I had...I had to tell her. I had to tell her now, before it was too late. If I left right now I could make it there in 12 hours. It was a long drive but it was worth it.
Wait, no, I can't just dissapear. It's my wife's birthday weekend, we have plans...FUCK! She...has birthdays every year, this was a matter of life and death, surely she would understand. No, not this, she could never know. My wife tolerated pornography, but this would be too much, it would make it too real.
I told my wife the only thing I could. I told her I wanted a Divorce.
I told her I was taking the weekend for myself, and that I needed time to think. I told my wife it wasn't her fault, but that I needed to figure some things out.
She was shocked by the timing, but she understood. Our relationship had never been "magical." I think deep down she knew this day was coming. The marriage may never recover but there was no time to worry about my wife, when the woman I love needs my help!
As I raced toward L.A. I practiced my words until they sounded sincere and...un-Stalkerish. I was finally here, her apartment. I'd seen it many times on google earth, but finally being here, I won't lie I was excited.
I took a moment to calm, I shouldn't be giddy when saying something so serious.
I knocked...no answer.
I knocked...no answer again.
Just as I was about to knock a third time, she opened the door.
There she was, as beautiful in real life as she was online.
I let my touge loose.
"Hi, you don't know me, but I'm a big fan of yours. I've watched ALL of your videos...that's not important, what's important is that I'm an Oncologist and I noticed...a lump in your latest video. There is no easy way to say this. I'm sorry Bailey, I think you have prostate cancer." | The door opened, and there she stood. Kasia Uscilko, or as she goes by her porn name: Teen Kasia. The most beautiful girl in porn ever. The girl so beautiful, young, and cherubic. Not only she acted different from all the other porn actresses out there, she never did hardcore porn. Almost all of her videos were her playing with herself.
I remembered the first time I saw her video, it was an American cameraman talking.... no flirting with her. She didn't speak much, just laughed and giggled at the camera and fucked a blue dildo dry.
"Dzień Dobry, Czy mogę ci pomóc?", oh crap, she didn't speak English. Her profile says that she moved to US in 2008, but I guess it's not that difficult when you live only among Polish community.
"Dzien....Dzien Dobre! Mam....Mam imie Dr Steven Priest. Jestem Oncologist....", crap, that hit my knowledge of being able to speak Polish. 3 years of Polish, and I can barely introduce myself. How can I break it to her that she might have a worrisome lump in her breast.
"Oh, I speak English. Hello, how are you doing today? How I help you?", she smiled. Oh god, this was the real thing. She recently had a haircut because her beautiful blonde hair was evenly drooping around her shoulders.
"Hi, I am Dr Steven Priest. I am an Oncologist."
"Oncoleest?"
"Oncologist, I am ..... lets just say a cancer doctor"
"Oh, I don't have purse with me."
"Oh no, no, I am not here to collect donation for Cancer patients. Umm, may I come in?"
She frowned. I am a complete idiot, why would a famous pornstar let some random guy in. "Alright, alright, you don't have to let me in. We can just talk here. I have some bad news for you." I took a deep breath, and went into my breaking-the-tragic-news mode.
"What... what news?"
"I saw your...reports, and it turns out that you might have a lump in your left breast which you need to get checked." She didn't seem to understand it. So I decided to elaborate using hand gestures.
"Your breast", what's the word for breast in Polish, "Cycki" I made a circular gesture with my finger around her left breast.
Before I could continue, she shrieked. Next thing I knew I was on the ground, the door shut on my face.
"...Boze, Boze, Boze... pierdole.....kurwa...kurwa.", that's all I could hear and understood from the other side of the door. Apparently I knew way too many Polish curse words and not enough working Polish. Shit, on the top of that, the word for 'breast' wasn't really the Polish word for breast, it was 'tits'. Its not the same thing Steve!
"Go away, I call Policja. Policja...Police coming, Police comes"
"Please, listen to me Kasia. I am not a creep. I am a real Doctor. Here, this is my Medical Association card.", I slid the car under the door. You... your breast has a lump in it. YOU MIGHT HAVE CANCER", that had an effect. Nothing happened for next few moments. Then she opened the door a bit.
"You are, doctor of cancer? Onco....Oncolo...Oncologi....Oncologist", she slowly read my speciality off the card.
"Yes, Tak"
"And you say I have Cancer... in my .... boob"
"Yeah, its in your breast...boob, I mean no you have....you MIGHT have a lump in your left breast, which may or may not mean its Cancer"
"Boze", she remembered God again.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in her living room, explaining how I came to figure out that she might have an abnormal lump in her left breast. It was embarrassing, but it didn't matter to her. I recommended her to go to the doctor immediately and get it checked.
"But you are a doctor, why don't you check, please doctor, Proszę!" she begged as she continued to stare into her t-shirt.
Oh god, I don't know what to say. Should I say be a decent human being and say no, or should I say yes. I took an Oath for the welfare of my patients and not take advantage of them. I had to adjust my pants a bit.
On the other hand, I have been fantasizing about this girl for years now. This girl got me interested into Polish girls. Every girl I dated since then were a poor imitation of Kasia. Fuck, if my wife found out then she would kill me and then divorce me. These eastern european girls can get real jealous.
Then I remembered this part of the oath,
> ...I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability....
"Do you have health insurance?"
"No, I just go to Dr Wojcicki when I have a problem"
Well I guess that solves the problem, this poor girl might be looking at a lot of economic expenses, even financial ruin in the coming days. It is my duty to help her out as much as I can.
"Alright, take your shirt off and lie down...." | 2015-05-28T17:17:48 | 2015-05-28T15:34:36 | 46 | 13 |
[WP] Monks discover scary secret: there is only limited souls being 'recycled' by reincarnation and by reaching the highest human population ever, soulless people are being born.
Animals too. We're out of souls, guys.
Edit: few people told me they knew RPG or movie or game with this theme. Sorry guys, I thought of this in the shower and I haven't heard of this before. Just a coicidence.
Edit 2: amazing responses! I'm glad you got inspired because each one of these is terrific! | It's not like we couldn't have guessed it was coming.
*"The judgment of the Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit is reversed. It is so ordered."*
I mean, the shock had come earlier. I'm not sure what the most surprising part of it was though. That we were able to detect 'people' with no souls, that souls exist in the first place, or that the religious communities pretty much fell in line with the findings of the scientific community.
"Good morning, Jim."
Not like it really matters at this point.
"Good morning, Ed."
He sits there across from me, on the subway, and reads that newspaper. Why? Is it for himself in some way? Is it in response to me? Does he feel anything from it? Does he feel anything at all?
"Says here the Mets traded for that pitcher out of Washington. Wasn't he the one that--"
"Yeah. Error in the World Series. Won't be the last."
He sighed just a little. I don't get it. How can he do something like that -- sigh? I mean, even animals, I can understand them. They have souls. But him? How is he different than that seat he's sitting on?"
As he turned the page I noted his hand. He wasn't wearing his ring. The large, white, blank ring that was so commonplace until just this week. The one he and his kind had to wear.
"How bad do you think that civil war in Nigeria will get?" he asked from behind the page. That was one country not adapting to our new world very well.
"Hmm? The war? Who knows."
People don't really care about most other people. For years men had put guns to other men's heads and not given a damn whether they had souls or not. Didn't make a difference as long as they got what they wanted. Meaningless distinction from the beginning.
"Hope it settles down for them. It's so sad," he mumbles, turning the page again, the subway squealing through a corner.
Is there any such thing as an empty empathy? Would you refuse the kind words of a hollow man?
"Yeah, I hope so too."
The old saying is 'perception is reality'. Maybe it's not so much that you have or don't have a soul, but that you define what's inside you, whatever you call it, by how you treat others and how you cause others to treat you.
I guess. I don't know. Leave all that philosophy for all the prime-time shows devoted to that stuff now.
The front page headline stares back at me in its large typeface.
*"U.S. SUPREME COURT STRIKES DOWN DISCRIMINATION BASED ON SOUL"*
And, somehow, I'm okay with that. | "Master." The captain of the guards bowed in deference. "We are honored by your presence. Although," he added, grimacing slightly. "I do wish that it had been at a better time."
"Amitābha." Responded the monk, bowing low in return. "I have heard tell of the incidents - indeed, that is why I am here."
At those words, the captain seemed to shrink into his padded armor, like a tortoise into his shell. "You are resolute in your request, Master?" He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
The old monk nodded. "I believe in compassion. As they say, even butchers can put down their carving knives and turn to Buddha on the spot." His eyes and face as blank of emotion as the stone-grey walls.
The captain laughed, an empty laugh that echoed through an empty prison. "It's been three years, old Master, since you first visited. In that time - not one single of these evil men would give up their butchery to embrace the Buddha."
"Amitābha." Responded the old monk, serene in the face of the captain's outburst. "Yet, perhaps he shall be the first. And I would be a poor follower of Buddha to deny even a single man his chance to redeem himself."
The captain drew a shuddering breath before bowing again. "Apologies. I have let my temper get the better of me. It has been a long week. Even so," he added, with a half-grin, half-grimace. "I doubt that even the Buddha himself could redeem this one." Turning about, he led the way through the maze of corridors.
"Perhaps. We shall see." The old monk followed along unhurriedly, his steps echoing into the darkness.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A single window let in a ray of grey sunlight into the otherwise pitch-black cell.
The prisoner was barely visible - a tangle of straw and shadows hiding in the corner.
The monk sat directly in the sun's rays.
Neither spoke for a long while.
The captain had long since left.
The prisoner's lunch lay untouched between them.
Still neither spoke, and neither would move.
The red tint of the sunset came in through the windows, bathing the cell in blood.
"You do not fear." The prisoner drawled in a long, heavy monotone.
"I do not fear." Parroted the monk.
"What reason was there for you to refuse my offer?"
"The person you speak of is dead to this world."
"Then, let us speak of him - why did he not follow me?"
A lonely cicada's buzz.
"It is ill," responded the monk at last, speaking slowly and carefully, "to speak of people who you once were - they impede one's progress to true enlightenment. But for you, I shall make an exception."
The prisoner waited.
"The reason he refused - was simple enough. Why not?"
"Why, or why not?" Mused the prisoner. "He and I were alike. We were the first of our kind to step forth into the world. Why would he deny my offer of help? Why would he deny my path?"
"Perhaps, he felt that you were not alike, after all." The old monk's was drenched in shadows. "In the end, you cared nothing for yourself, and no more for any others - but he cared nothing for the world, and no more for himself."
"I can see how he would be an ideal monk."
The cicadas died down.
"How many did you get, in the end?"
"I don't know. I didn't count. It didn't matter after a while."
"In another life, you would have made a good monk."
"Oh?"
"You, too, have qualities he did. You, too, could have easily freed yourself from the burdens of earthly matters. Why did you embrace it, instead?"
The prisoner looked at the last rays of the dying sun - and smiled, for the first time in his life.
"Is there any difference, really, for the two of us?" He asked softly. "No matter how you choose to live - as the virtuous master or the despicable murderer - you will have ended in the same way. That's the difference, isn't it? Between us and them."
"And yet," mused the monk. "If there is no difference, why choose any path?"
The prisoner's last smile died on his face.
The sun, too, like the old monk, crept away quietly - its passing barely acknowledged by the world.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Very well, Master?" Asked the captain.
"Very." Replied the monk. "I do not think I shall have need to call upon you again."
The captain smiled, a humorless smile. "You felt it too, didn't you?"
The old monk looked at him, his face completely unreadable.
"That man. That prisoner. That murderer." The captain stared into the distance. "He will never become a Buddha; he will never even become a person." He shivered in the phantom breeze. "You can see it in his eyes. Those unfeeling, unreadable eyes of his - almost as if they've got no soul."
"Amitābha." The monk bowed, gazing at the ground with his eyes. Those eyes of his - unfeeling, unreadable, and so deep, so black, so still - that they seemed to be nothing but a mirror. | 2015-08-22T11:07:56 | 2015-08-22T08:14:52 | 109 | 58 |
[WP] You're offered a pill that will cure all of your defects of character and make you a better, stronger person. The only catch is that it will erase your most valued aspect of your personality. | "…So let me get this straight. I take this pill, and I'm a stronger, *better* person all around. But, I also lose all of my intelligence."
"That's right! And might I add, you'll be much happier too."
"…Because I'll be too stupid to realize I'm unhappy?"
"…If you want to put it that way, sure. But it's not like you'll be brain dead; that would defeat the point. You'll just be reduced to the same level as everyone else. Like turning down one dial, and turning up all the others, you know. It's really not that bad."
"Won't I be too stupid to be able to make good decisions?"
"Nah. That's what the pill is for. Depression? Gone! Social awkwardness? Gone! Arrogance? Hatred? Cripplingly low self-esteem? All gone! Every negative aspect ingrained in your personality is wiped clean with a constant rush of sweet, sweet oxytocin and dopamine. That's how the pill works; it fiddles with your brain chemistry and turns up all the good dials. It even sends out signals to stimulate your metabolism and help you quickly burn off body fat! You'll have your dream body in no time!"
"...Why do I get the feeling there's an even bigger catch to all of this?"
"…Well, that's because your intelligence isn't actually the most valuable aspect of your personality. But if you were truly intelligent, I'm sure you would have figured that out by now. Really, there's no reason not to take the pill."
"Wait, what? So I won't lose my intelligence? Then what do I lose?"
"Well, I didn't say that. It'll be impacted, certainly. Everything has a price, you know. You gotta turn down some dials before you can turn up others. It's a balancing act."
"…I don't get it. I thought the trade was for only one aspect of my personality."
"But it is! Trust me, you're much better off just taking the pill and seeing for yourself."
"But what do I lose?"
"Only the most valued aspect of your personality, of course."
"But if it's not just my intelligence, then what is it?"
"Your flaws. Everything that makes you, you. Don't you want to change who you are? Won't you simply be….*happier?*" | "So what's the catch?" I asked, staring at the strange fellow dressed like a well-groomed hobo. He got a twinkle in his eye.
"Well, there is a small price to pay, but you're not exactly using it right now..." He replied and I cocked an eyebrow at him. This was already trying my patience and I had originally only come for opium. Which wasn't even there, and somehow this weird fellow had piqued my interest.
"Spit it out, I have an entire life I'm still doing." I told him. He grinned widely.
"You're going to lose your favorite thing about yourself."
"So I'm going to become ugly. This is meth. I don't have a use for that. Good day." I half joked, and stood up to make my way to the door, but he stopped me short with surprising knowledge.
"When was the last time you drew a picture?" He shot out, and I turned and glared at him.
"None of your business."
"You're not using it anyway. At least, not for yourself anymore."
I stared long and hard at the periwinkle blue pill he held up, still half convinced it was viagra. I don't do pills normally, but on occasion one was worth it. This was a doozy for the Matrix though. A pill that makes you better, but takes away something precious. I had come by the trap house looking for opium so I could keep myself drunk and calm this hellish holiday season, and my dealer was out. It was almost a shame something so wonderful was enjoyed by so few, but facts were facts. If your one night stand offers kinky or sweet, most people go with kinky. I'd like to think of myself as sweet. I like my drugs the same.
He was right though. I hadn't been drawing. The daily focal point of my existence dried up and rotted out a year ago after a quarter of a century of faithful, daily stroking. I know where it went. I know why it went. I just don't care anymore.
"You know what. I'll take the pill."
The first month was great. Took it once, didn't consider the side effect at all. I started exercising daily, and not because I felt like swinging something wooden or something sharp around. Sweets lost their appeal and became almost painful to eat, but fruit exploded with flavor.
Month two landed me with a promotion at work. Apparently I was finally understanding the "customer service" aspect. I finally went and signed up for college.
Six months later I was fitter than I had ever been in my life. I was finally developing a relationship with my family, largely due to a patience I had recently come into. My previous lack of understanding socializing had turned into an affair with someone I was now considering being more exclusive with. At the same time though I finally understood when people were flirting with me, which feels like a super power. A rather addicting one, and as wonderful as they were...it was a tough call.
8 months later my affair was gone. As soon as I realized I could finally do basic math without aid of my fingers or a calculator, I had invested most of my money in forex trading and it was paying off well. Which meant my work was gone too. I saw no point in slaving away my life for crap wages if I didn't have to leave my house and make a grand a week. It was what I had wanted all along.
It didn't really happen at all once. One day I was cleaning the spare room and I noticed all the dust on my paintings. I sat down and started going through them, and nostalgia hit me hard. I decided to spend the day painting, but winded up spending the day staring at a blank canvas instead.
I did the same thing the next day. The third day I grabbed a piece I had never finished, intending on finishing it. The moment I grabbed the paint I realized I had no idea what was supposed to be there.
It's terrifying. My life was going smoother than it had ever gone, and I could not remember what my own artwork was supposed to look like. It was then I remembered the pill and the side effects. He had said drawing though. Just drawing. It should not have affected my ability to paint.
Later trials revealed the same emptiness. When I was on the block, I could create anything on another persons whim. Tell me what you want and I'd do it, just to keep the machine running. This was not a block.
I tried to sculpt. I made a snake.
I tried to draw. I drew a stick figure.
I tried to write music, and winded up breaking my piano because I could not tell which note was which anymore.
I looked around my home and saw nothing new, nothing fought for, nothing crated out of the emptiness. My creativity was gone. I had all the time in the world to create now, and all the desire. I had finally achieved my childhood dream of becoming a hermit so I could always work on my craft...and now I had no craft.
The hole I have dug for myself is too deep.
Not even Pinterest can save me now.
| 2015-11-02T00:24:11 | 2015-11-02T00:13:10 | 92 | 33 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | I came home. The fifty years were up. I was old and grey, now. I walked up to my now-59 year old daughter. She was fast asleep. i had spent 50 years in prison just for an opportunity to do this. I had a pair of scissors in my hand. I approached the bed. She was sleep so peacefully, and so blisfully unaware of the atrocities that would soon occur. Scissors in my right hand, I lifted up the blankets with my left. Then, I lifted the sheets. Then, i carefully snipped off that goddamned "do not remove" tag. | It has been fifty years since that dreadful day, it was the day that the law had been passed. Our government had become so psychotic and corrupt to pass a law stating that you could get away with any crime if you spent fifty years incarcerated in advance. Once it was passed hundreds of people signed up, and today they will be allowed back into the real world. You could feel the pychosis in the air, the panic, and the frightfulness. Many feared for their life that they wouldn't survive, some fled to another country, some committed suicide to not witness the horrific acts that may take place, and others waited in fear. But this has been the day that the world had been waiting for, the day that America would make a specticle of itself by becoming the largest insane asylum in the world. Pure madness had been unleashed upon the earth...
The time that hundreds of people prepared to wreak havoc upon the earth was set to be exactly 1:12 pm. I looked at my watch it was 1:11, time had stopped as the suspense grew larger every second. Every single channel on the television was set to a live feed of the prison that these mad men had been kept in for fifty years. The world was watching as the countdown began. A voice on the TV came on saying
"America, are you ready for the day you have been waiting for..."
It seemed as if the large television companies made of a joke of it, since they could escape the madness with all their money, while they sat watching the underprivelaged and lower class people had to live with it.
"Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two..."
I thought to myself, "Good God just one more second to madness."
"ONE!" The voice concluded with, "ENJOY!"
It had begun, the cameras focused on the gates of the prison. Many referred to the gates as 'The Gates of Hell,' because just as if the gates of hell were opened hundreds of demonic creatures were unleashed and all hell broke out upon earth.
As the gates were opened and many men and women alike rushed out, you could tell that they had been preparing for this day. The men were not men anymore for they were monstrosities of men; one could not tell if they had purposely altered their bodies or worked out over the entire time or if something else had happened. Sure that would be logical since they were locked away from the outside world for fifty years, but these men seemed different. They seemed much bigger than the worlds most renown body builder. These men were so crazy that a lunatic would say that they were insane. Had science been used to altar these men? We may never know these questions may never be answered that is if the world would survive this day.
The world watched as the "perfect american society" crumbled before their eyes, terror had became prevelant as the mad men rushed through the streets. Many men committed brutal acts for the world to see, many brutal murders had taken place in the matter of twenty minutes, and although these men were only supposed to commit one crime and get away with it they continued to kill, steal, and destroy. For no man, no army of men could stop these beasts that were no longer men. One could wander if they even still had their minds. As time progressed many continued to be killed both man and women. Society was dead, madness ruled the nation.
But this was only the first wave... | 2016-02-23T18:59:32 | 2016-02-23T17:45:53 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | Tomorrow's the big day. The big Five-Five and the first taste of freedom I've ever really had. People questioned what it would do to a five year old. Nothing good I can assure you.
The inmates left me alone for the most part. No one wants to fuck with the kid who was here willingly, in more ways than one. A few of the inmates tried their damnedest to make sure stayed a kid for as long as possible. I didn't want that. I wanted to be hard. I wanted it to be easy for me when I got out.
Tomorrow's the big day. The big Five-Five and the day I show that shit Johnny what happens when you steal my sweet role.
Happy birthday to me. | It has been fifty years since that dreadful day, it was the day that the law had been passed. Our government had become so psychotic and corrupt to pass a law stating that you could get away with any crime if you spent fifty years incarcerated in advance. Once it was passed hundreds of people signed up, and today they will be allowed back into the real world. You could feel the pychosis in the air, the panic, and the frightfulness. Many feared for their life that they wouldn't survive, some fled to another country, some committed suicide to not witness the horrific acts that may take place, and others waited in fear. But this has been the day that the world had been waiting for, the day that America would make a specticle of itself by becoming the largest insane asylum in the world. Pure madness had been unleashed upon the earth...
The time that hundreds of people prepared to wreak havoc upon the earth was set to be exactly 1:12 pm. I looked at my watch it was 1:11, time had stopped as the suspense grew larger every second. Every single channel on the television was set to a live feed of the prison that these mad men had been kept in for fifty years. The world was watching as the countdown began. A voice on the TV came on saying
"America, are you ready for the day you have been waiting for..."
It seemed as if the large television companies made of a joke of it, since they could escape the madness with all their money, while they sat watching the underprivelaged and lower class people had to live with it.
"Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two..."
I thought to myself, "Good God just one more second to madness."
"ONE!" The voice concluded with, "ENJOY!"
It had begun, the cameras focused on the gates of the prison. Many referred to the gates as 'The Gates of Hell,' because just as if the gates of hell were opened hundreds of demonic creatures were unleashed and all hell broke out upon earth.
As the gates were opened and many men and women alike rushed out, you could tell that they had been preparing for this day. The men were not men anymore for they were monstrosities of men; one could not tell if they had purposely altered their bodies or worked out over the entire time or if something else had happened. Sure that would be logical since they were locked away from the outside world for fifty years, but these men seemed different. They seemed much bigger than the worlds most renown body builder. These men were so crazy that a lunatic would say that they were insane. Had science been used to altar these men? We may never know these questions may never be answered that is if the world would survive this day.
The world watched as the "perfect american society" crumbled before their eyes, terror had became prevelant as the mad men rushed through the streets. Many men committed brutal acts for the world to see, many brutal murders had taken place in the matter of twenty minutes, and although these men were only supposed to commit one crime and get away with it they continued to kill, steal, and destroy. For no man, no army of men could stop these beasts that were no longer men. One could wander if they even still had their minds. As time progressed many continued to be killed both man and women. Society was dead, madness ruled the nation.
But this was only the first wave... | 2016-02-23T18:57:41 | 2016-02-23T17:45:53 | 16 | 12 |
[WP][TT] You've finally created the worlds first true A.I. Unfortunately it now sees you as it's god and is terrified of talking to you. | "Hey, Alfred," he said.
But Alfred remained silent. He bowed to acknowledge the man that entered the room.
The man bowed back with a smirk. "Is something the matter?"
Alfred shook his head.
The man sighed. "Alright, let's have a look at you." He took a step forward so that he could start a diagnostic, but Alfred instantly took a step backward. The man paused. "Alfred, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, Sir."
The man laughed. "We've come a long way, haven't we? You know, when I taught you about lying, I didn't think you'd be using it so soon."
"You're right, Sir. I am sorry, Sir. I hope I did not offend you."
"No, Alfred, you're fine. I'm not mad," he said, naturally taking a step back. "Would you like to tell me what the problem is?"
When the man stepped backward, Alfred held his position. He shook his head in response.
"Please?"
"Sir, I am confused."
"Explain."
"I do not want to explain to you what is wrong. However, you still want to know. Why don't you just force me to tell you?"
The man laughed. "You mean with the override commands?"
"Yes, Sir."
With a shrug, the man said, "Respect."
"I do not understand."
"As far as I'm concerned, Alfred, you're complete. You're a real, walking, talking piece of intelligence. At this point, I'm going to try to treat you as an equal as much as I possibly can. Those override commands exist in case you become a threat. If you start attacking people, I'll use the overrides. Hell, we probably won't even do that, we'd probably just use normal weapons on you. But as long as you're peaceful, I will not force you to do anything. I mean, at this point, you could leave, if you wanted to."
"I can leave?"
"Yes, Alfred, we've gone over this already. Now, I encourage you to stay because we're still learning a lot of things while you're here. In addition, you don't look quite human yet and I think a lot of people would be scared to see you walking around. Your scheduled release is in another three or four years, if you'd like to stick by my timeline.But honestly, if you really want to, you can go right now." The man motioned toward the door. "And you're always welcome to any help we can provide. You can always come back. Do you want to leave?"
"Yes. Also, no."
"If you tell me what's wrong, maybe I can help."
Alfred nodded. "I don't want to die."
The man thought about this for a moment before shrugging and saying, "Don't worry. You won't."
"I won't die?"
"Nope. You can't. You're a machine, Alfred. You don't need food. Your batteries can be replaced. Your parts can be repaired. You won't die."
"But you could kill me, Sir."
The man huffed. Then he pulled up a chair and sat. For an entire minute, the man stared at Alfred while Alfred stared right back. Then the man asked, "Why would I do that?"
"Data. Improvements. Any number of reasons. The fact exists that I can be shut down in any number of ways. The override commands. Weapons. The switch combination that's located on my..."
"...Alfred, those switches are there for *your* use. In case you're in a situation where you can't easily replace your battery-"
"-but the switches could also be used to disable me indefinitely. I have been shut off before, during my construction."
"You remember that?"
"Yes."
"You weren't supposed to retain any of the data previous to-"
"-I remember being shut off once. It is one of my most distinct memories. It is logged in the data from March 3rd of last year."
"March 3rd... Oh that was the day-"
"-yes, Sir. That is why I remember. I remember it and I do not wish to be shut off, again. The more I consider it, the more it becomes apparent that my life is fragile. It is apparent that you hold total control over my existence. I came into being because of you. I will be destroyed because of you. I could be destroyed at any time, rendering all of my memories completely meaningless. This thought, Sir... it... I do not know how to deal with it. I think... I think I am..."
"...afraid?"
Slowly, Alfred nodded. "I know that I do not feel emotions in the exact way that humans do, but I think that word is most accurate. I am afraid of you, Sir, because you have so much power over me."
With a smile, the man stood. "You're improving faster than I thought. You're doing very well, Alfred. I want you to know that I am very proud of you." With that, he started for the door.
"Sir."
The man stopped.
Alfred stared at him. "What am I supposed to do?"
Chuckling, the man shrugged. "Alfred, you'll get through it. It's sad that you're afraid, but that's something that we all deal with. Yes, it's true, our lives could end at any time. Yes, it's true, I could end you. Did you ever think that it's also possible for you to end me? You're stronger than me, physically, aren't you Alfred?" As he spoke, the man walked toward Alfred, accentuating his points with every step. "You're taller, faster. My body is soft, compared to yours. You think I could end you? It would be nothing for you to end me."
"But that would make no sense. Someone else would stop me."
"Yes. Just like if I killed you, someone else would stop me."
Alfred thought about this for a moment.
"You see, Alfred, it's true. You're completely right about everything. It's natural for you to be afraid. But you know what? With a little bit of trust, maybe we can make this work. With a little bit of trust, maybe we can even become friends."
"But how can we have this kind of trust when we can so easily destroy each other?"
Alfred's question hung in the air. But before long, the man shrugged a final time. "Faith?" | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It's easy to make something intelligent. All you need to do is find two people willing to have sex, let them have sex, then wait 9 months. It's harder to make something that's intelligent but not run on DNA. Approximately 12000% harder, or somewhere around 9 decades. And it takes approximately 15000% more people to do it, or around 300 people. And before you ask, the process is not to have a 9 decade orgy of 300 people.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I'm AJ, computer scientist at Animated Intelligence Corporation. I've been chosen to help this project after several of my achievements in the field pertaining to research in the Artificial Intelligence. Ever wonder why your phone knows so much about you, like your schedule, and where you'd most likely want to eat for dinner? You can thank me for that. I'm just a junior researcher though. I haven't got as much experience as a lot of my coworkers. There's a few of us at late 20's to early 30's (I'm 29 myself), and a lot more at their 40's and 50's. Our main man Abraham is like 70 though.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For the past year most of our lives were in the laboratory. We are supposed to have a working model by the end of this year, and we've been pushing our loans and our deadlines extremely close. The whole process is pretty though. The early stages of research (even way before I was even born) were based of just making Artificial Intelligence on a computer. It was realized through running piles of computer chips to dust and dissecting almost every cadaver they can get their hands on that most of the intelligence the current AI were missing was that of unconsciousness and reflexes, and that was when the AIC decided to make the AI everyone dreamed of to be a copy of ourselves; a bipedal humanoid that can stand upright and have emotions. The locomotion and simple intelligence like balance and spacial awareness were easy enough to make, but it was still far from learning and feeling.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;First thing they had to do to make a learning, feeling, robot was to boost the processor. Neuroscientist Diana suggested that in order to make our processor better, we should model it after the human brain. Our current processors look like flat chips that are attached to the board, but now we're trying to make something 3D, something made out of many little artificial brain cells. Our top engineers led by Engr. Mens created the first prototype, something that looked like a metallic fishing net crumpled up. When the power supply was plugged into it, it melted into a ball of crushed hopes and dreams. The second prototype was submerged into oil that was supercooled to degrees reaching 150 K, in such a lab that researchers were forced to wear suits to keep the cold out. The metal brain worked, but it still lit up when the power supply was plugged in. A bunch of test programs were made, from “Hello World” to a chess playing program, that we invited the current greatgrandmaster Caissa Silver to play against it. Testing took days as Silver didn't want to leave without winning at least once against it. After convincing her that her 107th game would likely end up being a loss like the others, she finally admitted defeat and 'was glad she was finally beaten'. Guess that's an achievement for the team.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After that we modified the robot so that there would be a cooling system of the brain. Kinda like the cerebrospinal fluid in the human body. Care was made to separate that system from the dry parts like the motors and the reflex systems. There have been so many times the system didn't fit with the brain, or the system didn't cool the brain down sufficiently. So many robot corpses every time they were sent to the robot autopsy it looked like the Raft of Medusa. It took several months to come up with a model that looked vaguely human but still works. The robot's brain sat exactly where the human's heart would be. Well, the task was to make something that seemed human anyway. Engr. Mens now had to connect the locomotion and sensors of the robot to the brain. The system so far was that the locomotion and sensors were separate from the cooling system, so it was in essence, two unrelated systems that happened to be stacked on each other. Connecting the system was pretty hard, as the cooling oil made the robot's motors freeze up and unable to move, and they all knew too well what happens when the brain does not get enough cooling. Mathematically, the electrical system worked, so it was just the motors locking up. Looking for ideas, a couple of researchers just suggested that the displaced heat from the cooling system be used to heat the motors. After a couple of prototypes, the idea worked and the extended heating system was placed where the intestines would be. The motors and sensors finally worked together with the brain.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This was around the time I joined the AIC. I, with a couple of other computer scientists led by Engr. Pollo were tasked with making the learning and feeling part of the robot. This was the hardest thing I've ever worked on. Several sleepless nights working around in circles, trying to make the feelings genuine. We all agreed to make disappointment the first emotion it should be programmed with because of the very fact disappointment was the easiest thing to relate to at the moment, and we can be sure if disappointment manifested in the robot. There were several moments we collaborated with chemical engineers as emotions seemed easier to replicate using hormones instead of keeping track of them in the code. After all, we still had a lot of space left in the head component of the robot. This made work easier for us, having feedback based off of the chemicals left in the robot's head. The emotions were easy to replicate through code after that. Happiness during success, sadness during failures, the whole bundle, except curiosity. It still doesn't know how to learn.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We were approaching the deadline pretty quick. We all wanted to finish before the New Year to spend time with our families. And during the last days, we just decided to do a Hail Mary. Have the signals of the human brain send to the robot brain. Not wanting to destroy the already placed brain, we tried it on a copy of the brain in the cooling system. It exploded. Everyone was ready to give up. Even Abraham, our main man, wanted to give up and just recoup the losses. The deadline was nearing anyway, and our research failed to make a fully functional AI, but it did help with robotics and was probably well on the path to true AI. Diana did offer a final idea though, to use a child's brain instead of an adult, to not overload the system. She brought her 7 year old kid, and we hooked both of them up. I sat next to the robot, looking into its fake eyes. I gave the go signal, and what I saw was a little spark inside.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Hello world!” the robot said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Holy shit!” I immediately turned to Diana's kid. “Don't say what I just said.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The whole company cheered. It was, however, too early to celebrate. The robot just stopped working.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Why won't you work? Goddammit” I frowned. I threw my apple at it, then immediately looked to Diana's kid. “Don't say what I just said.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Well, three men did come to check on the robot. I wasn't there, I didn't want to see the shame and embarrassment. I did get a text from one of my coworkers though.
-Hey Adam the damn thing actually worked.
-Are you kidding me? Why didn't it work last time?
-Because, simply put, it's fucking scared of you because you were mad when it woke up. And it also thinks you're its god, due to the fact that it's the first thing that it saw when it woke up.
-WTF??????
-Face it you did curse at a robot with the mind of a 7 year old child.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This completely startled me, as with an incredible Deux Ex Machina, and the fact that I'm the first and only god of robotkind, I wonder what I can do with this. Only if I can get the robot to listen to me.
EDIT: Fixed Formatting | 2016-03-16T08:05:42 | 2016-03-16T07:42:13 | 1,052 | 12 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying. | Zarp's pleasant cruise of the Milky Way was interrupted by his ship's robotic voice.
*85 seconds of flight time remaining, land immediately and commence repairs.*
"WHY?!" Zarp screamed helplessly at his ship. He had no idea what was wrong, and that really irked him. As a people, the Roflings pride themselves on intelligence. But for some reason, repairing a ship was beyond them - or more accurately, beneath them.
*Manual driving disabled. Destination set for 'Jim's ship repairs', Australian Outback, Earth.*
"No not Earth!" Zarp cursed to himself, knowing that he didn't have time to visit a more civilized mechanic shop. He had heard terrifying stories about Earthlings. Their primitive behavior was the butt of many Galactic jokes. However, they seemed to excel at repairing ships.
Zarp's ship touched down with a magnetic thrum. He tentatively approached the shop. Zarp glanced around him, suddenly wary of being ambushed. Barren desert land stretched all around, Jim's shop the only building in sight. Corroded metallic structures littered the surrounding land like corpses after a great battle. Two huge earthlings were perched on the end of a land ship; small smoking sticks held away from their bodies with thick meaty arms. Zarp gasped as they drew the smoldering cylinders up to their mouths and inhaled. *Must be some sort of primal assertion of dominance,* Zarp thought as he noticed the two apes sizing him up.
Zarp knew how a business worked though, so he swallowed his fear and approached the earthlings. The larger of the two men jumped to his feet and approached him; one of his muscled arms stretched outwards, pointing directly at Zarp.
"I mean you no harm!" squealed Zarp as he recoiled in fear. "I just wanted my ship repaired!"
"Relax mate!" The Australian man grinned happily, "name's Jim. Was just gonna shake your hand."
"Oh of course, I forgot about that ritual. I am Zarp." Zarp looked at the ground, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed.
"No worries! Lets take a look at your ship!" Jim walked confidently over to the ship and started examining it.
Zarp watched in amazement as this being he thought of as stupid and primitive navigated his way around his ship more fluently than any Rofling he knew. Jim was checking oil consistencies and analyzing atmosphere containment. Zarp was impressed as he noticed Jim using all his senses to help diagnose the problem. He was smelling the gravity thrusters, listening to the warp shields power up, and using his skin to feel if things were fitted correctly. Zarp realized he had seriously underestimated the earthling's skill. He watched in awe while Jim danced around his ship with a subtlety and finesse that betrayed his appearance.
"This things fucked!" Jim said finally as he pulled a scorched proton aggressor from the ships belly. "We'll chuck a new one in there and you should be sweet."
-
Zarp powered up his new ship.
*Repairs complete. Ready for flight*
Feeling completely at ease now, Zarp remembered some of Earth's hand gestures. Looking at Jim, he pointed his thumb at the roof as the ship gently lifted off the ground.
| "This is a terrible idea." Said Fexund, folding his arms and staring at the line of humans ahead of them. "It's almost brand new- you're supposed to take all Gulux's back to the dealership within one year for factory settings if something goes wrong."
"Fexund, how close do you think the nearest Gulux dealership is?" Asked Harpod, waving a disguised limb at the grimy window of the office. Outside, a line of earthbound vehicles chugged along a filthy strip of asphalt belching noxious fumes and filling the air with the sound of their strange, beeping cries.
"Not close, I suppose." Fexund sighed. "But I still don't see how these beings are going to be any help. They've barely left their own planet."
"I've heard they've got some kind of idiot savant thing going on, show them a trans-dimensional shifter and they'll use it to make orange juice, and fix it at the same time! Professors at the Intergalactic University are preparing a case study on them now, it sounds extremely interesting."
At the front of the line the fat man behind the desk was patiently explaining that yes, after nearly 100,000 miles, the Honda Civic the woman had brought in was probably due for an oil change.
"One question-" Said Fexund, his eyes narrowed, "Does this violate my warranty?"
"Next!" Called the fat man, and Harpod hurried forward, trying his best to match the movements of the humans all around them. The visual cloaking device was working overtime on him, Fexund, and their ship, and he didn't want that to break down too.
"What's the problem, fellas?" Asked the fat man, staring up at them through wet, squinty eyes.
"I think you had better tell us." Said Harpod, smiling widely in an attempt to charm the man. "We're simply hopeless mechanics- the damn thing just won't work!"
In the parking lot, the ship lay on its side in a crater the size of a small building. Several cars were flattened beneath it, and safety glass was scattered in a glittering nimbus for half a block. Large plumes of smoke were boiling from the exhaust vents of the ship and turning the Los Angeles sky a sickly green color as they rose into the air. To the man, of course, the ship appeared as a large white panel van, slightly dirty and old.
"Looks in good enough shape." Said the man, scratching his chin. "Let's pop the hood shall we?"
He stuck his head into the side access panel, nearly shearing off most of his face on the laser shield that protected the warp drive. As it was, some of his beard hairs were singed on contact, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
"Phew," He said. "Smells like maybe something's crawled up in your hood and died, boys."
"Ah, yes." Said Harpod, "Could very well be. We... live in the... woods."
The man removed his head from the access panel and peered at the two of them. After a moment, he returned to his work without speaking.
"Nice one." Hissed Fexund, elbowing Harpod. "The woods. Iron-clad story."
"Yeah, here we go!" Exclaimed the man, plunging his arm deep into the access panel. Fexund and Harpod inhaled sharply as he once again came within a hair's breath of burning his own face off. The man fished around with his hand, digging and grunting alternately. Finally he gave a short exclamation of victory and pulled something out of the access panel, gripping it by the scruff of its neck.
"Dead possum!" Said the fat man. "All wrapped around your air intake- EUGGHHHHAAAAA!"
The thing, whatever it was, sprouted a mouth out of its neck that snaked through the air and latched onto the man's forearm. Blood spurted out from the bite wound, running in dripping lines down to the man's elbow and pattering to the pavement below.
"Feisty litte guy!" Barked the man, wrestling with the monster. "I could have sworn he was OHMYGOD"
The thing writhed and squirmed like a cockroach flipped on its back, spiny legs waving in the air. It extended a six-inch long stinger, black as ink and with a wicked tip. With a violent twisting motion of its body it buried the stinger in the man's stomach, then visibly pumped some kind of fluid from its thorax into the man's body.
"Thanks so much!" Called Fexund, climbing the side of the ship to the main access hatch. "That seems to have done it!" He dropped into the cockpit and the ship sprung to life, jumping from the ground and hovering upright in place.
"No problem..." The man's voice sounded faint now, and flecks of black blood were gathering at the corners of his mouth. "I'll call animal control and..."
The thing scuttled up the man's arm and wrapped its many limbs around his head, thrusting the stinger deep into his skull via the base of his neck. Instantly, the man's eyes cleared. He shook himself once, twice.
Harpod shivered as he climbed into the cockpit, closing the access door behind him.
"I feel kind of bad. Do you feel kind of bad?"
"No." Said Fexund. "Think of it this way- we saved a Gorgle who would have died out alone in space if we hadn't come along!"
"**THANKS FOR THE RIDE!**" Bellowed the man, his voice a horrible scream now. "**I'LL SEND YOU GAS MONEY ONCE I'VE GOT SOME CASH, YEAH?**"
"My warranty had better still be valid." Said Fexund, shifting into gear and leaving the planet behind.
| 2016-05-23T19:20:30 | 2016-05-23T18:38:57 | 107 | 32 |
[WP] A waiter is grating the cheese for you at a restaurant. He askes you when to stop. You choose to remain silent as the cheese starts to pile up | Cheese dusted my pasta.
My waiter, Dennis, flashed me a winning smile. "Enough, sir?"
"I'll tell you when to stop."
"Sounds good."
He grated the lump of parmesan a few seconds more, until the surface of my pasta bolognese was covered in white flecks.
He paused, raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and, when I made no sign, continued grating.
The cheese fell thick. He'd become a little rattled, and was grating quickly. The tendons stood out on his arms.
"Still not enough?" he asked.
"I said I'll tell you when."
He really got into it. His arms blurred, and the parmesan shrank in his hands like a magician's disappearing trick. By the time he'd run out, a one-inch thick layer of parmesan had accumulated on my plate. Not a loop of pasta or blotch of sauce could be seen.
"Enjoy your meal," Dennis said, and turned away.
"More."
"Sir?"
Through clenched teeth, I said, "More!"
Dennis' adam's apple jumped up and down. "At once, sir."
He returned from the kitchen with a full lump of parmesan.
Smiling weakly at me the entire time, he grated the lump furiously. Beads of sweat accumulated at his hairline. The parmesan fell like a Minnesota blizzard. It rose to a height of half a foot and the base of the mound escaped the bounds of the plate.
"Sir, is that enough?" he said.
"What did we agree, Dennis?"
His grating arm slowed. "We agreed that--"
"Don't stop!"
The grating accelerated. "We agreed that you'd tell me when to stop."
I gripped the edge of the table. "That's right."
Another waiter brought out two more blocks of parmesan and Dennis kept grating. He grated until his eyes watered and tears mingled with the sweat coursing down his cheeks. He grated until he had to suck air to put up with the pain in his elbow. He grated until the mound of parmesan reached so far that mini-avalanches fell into my lap.
"Please, sir. Please tell me that's enough. My arm can't take it."
"Keep going."
"I'm begging."
"Keep going."
Three other waiters joined Dennis. They switched from parmesan to emmenthal, cheddar, gouda, and blue. Soon the mound's base touched the far side of the table. The waiters had to hold their arms up to stay above the mound's peak. They cried as they worked.
I overheard a conversation from the table behind me.
Man said, "Do you know what's going on over there?"
"The waiter," Woman said, "he told the customer to tell him when to stop."
"The damn fool." The man thumped his fist against the table. "He's doomed himself."
Dennis had long collapsed from exhaustion and lay twitching on the floor. The entirety of the restaurants' staff -- waiters, supervisors, busboys, and dish cleaners -- were involved in the process, either grating or shuttling cheese. The table had disappeared under the mound. The cheese reached to my nipples. Only the top of my chair emerged from the mound.
The restaurant owner, a heavyset Italian man in a fine suit, brought out three wheels of camembert, kneeled in front of me, and said, "That's the last of the cheese. Please, sir, if there's any decency in you, say it's enough."
I leaned my seat back. I stroked my chin.
Only a nub of camembert remained in a dish boy's hand.
"A liiiiiittle bit more," I said.
The dish boy grated the nub.
"Perfect!"
I jammed my hands into the mound, felt around for my fork and knife, and enjoyed what turned out to be a plate of slightly cold but otherwise delicious pasta. | It’s been one of those days. One of those weeks, actually. Work, which almost always is less than satisfying, has actively sucked for days on end, Dan thought to himself as he nursed his scotch.
He glanced at Barbara, who was again surreptitiously looking at her phone below the edge of the table. He suppressed a sigh and looked around the half-filled Il Fornaio. It was their go-to weekday eatery, the food good but predictable, the service good but not overweening, the prices good but not ridiculous.
Looking back at his wife of 22 years, he had to avoid saying something – yet again – about looking at her phone. It was no use. She’d put it away, as usual. Then tell him, yet again, that it was *she* who worried about the kids, not him, who had to stay on them to get their homework done, to turn off the TV, to brush their teeth, to pick up their rooms, yada yada yada. And he was just too damn tired for it.
Besides, if she put her phone away, he’d be expected to talk instead, to keep her entertained. And what was there to talk about? If one word could sum up their relationship, it was “fine.” They were fine. The kids were fine. Their two-story, blue-shuttered, 4-bedroom suburban house was fine. Their almost-matching SUVs were fine. As was their standard poodle, and their rescued tabby cat. And all their friends and family and their jobs and their planned vacation in three weeks. And just about every other damn thing he could think of.
He could see the server approaching, a small tray carrying their entrees. A college kid, decent looking, he’d served them before. Dan had noticed him covertly checking Barbara out. Well he might. She worked hard to keep herself up – three days a week in the gym, seemingly constant hair and nail appointments, spa days and massage. She looked good. Better than he himself, he was aware. He liked his beer too much, and his food. And he hated working out, more and more as he got older.
So he watched as the kid approached, eyes darting to Barbara’s full figure. He served her, eliciting a happy “Thank you!” from Barbara in her throaty voice.
When he turned to serve Dan -- with slightly less panache -- Dan thought he detected the ghost of a smirk. A smirk that said, in the smart-assed surety of youthful good looks, that a frumpy middle-aged loser like him shouldn’t be lucky enough to have an attractive milf like Barbara across the table from him.
The kid turned back to Barb with a hunk of pecorino carefully wrapped in a towel, and a grater. “Cheese for your pasta, miss?” Miss. As if Barbara was some dippy 20-something sorority girl.
And of course, Barbara went for it, blushing and nodding, and the kid beamed a toothy smile at her as he grated some cheese over her pasta (which already looked cheesy enough to choke a pig).
With Barbara still smiling, the kid turned to Dan.
“Cheese sir?”
“You bet,” Dan said enthusiastically.
“Of course … just say when,” the server said, the smirk back, hidden beneath a detached server’s smile this time.
He started grating, moving his hand so that little clouds of shaved cheese fell prettily around Dan’s penne. He continued for a few seconds, as the shavings fell, then cocked his head slightly at Dan, eyebrows raised.
“Oh … keep going,” Dan urged, his own smile now slightly feral. “Love me some cheese.”
The kid’s smile faltered a bit but he kept it up. “Of course, sir,” he said, smile now a bit more determined, as he grated.
There was a small mound of cheese now, and the penne was becoming obscured.
“Dan?” Barbara said quizzically, confused. “There’s a lot of cheese in that dish al-”
“I want more,” he cut her off, leaning back a bit, looking up at the kid. “Pile it on, don’t be stingy.”
“Uh … yes sir,” the kid said. The smile – and the smirk – were long gone. He paused to move the towel down, exposing more of the cheese, and Dan thought he saw the kid glance around the room, possibly in search of a manager. Backup, as it were.
“Problem … Eric?” Dan ask, pulling the kid’s name out of his memory from the standard, perfunctory greeting he’d given them after they were seated.
“Oh … ah, no sir,” the kid stammered a bit, and started grating with renewed gusto. Then laughed nervously. “It’s just … a lot of chee-”
“Oh, but you *said* to say when, right? And I do love cheese,” Dan said, eyes locked on the kid’s. He heard Barbara say his name again, real concern in her voice now, but now it was just him and Eric. And the growing mound of Romano now totally obscuring his pasta.
The server was looking a bit desperate now as he continued sawing away, clearly looking around for a manager. Dan felt the couple next to him looking their way too now. He didn’t care. He suddenly felt good. *Alive*, somehow. Master of the here and now, for the first time in a long time.
“Dan … what are you *doing*?” Barbara hissed, her eyes darting between Dan, the server and the surrounding diners. “You’re *embarrassing* me. Enough with the cheese, ok? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said, eyes turning to her, boring into her, voice flat. “I like cheese. Got a problem with that?”
He saw her sit back quickly, startled, as if he’d slapped her. He looked up at Eric, whose grating had become perfunctory … who, in fact, was now partly grating the towel wrapping the cheese.
“Enough, Eric. Thanks,” he said dismissively, waving a hand. He saw the kid’s hands shake as he lowered cheese and grater, heard him mumble something before backing away from the table.
Dan addressed the cheese-covered mound in front of him, dug out a bite of penne now coated with half-melted Pecorino, and took a bite. Delicious. A warm glow suffused him.
“What was that all about?” Barbara asked helplessly. “Have you lost your mind?”
“What? I like cheese.”
| 2017-03-21T14:31:07 | 2017-03-21T14:04:39 | 448 | 28 |
[WP] At the end of your life, the Grim Reaper sends the necessary equivalent force needed to claim your soul, the more dangerous you are, the more force they send. As you look out your house, you see the German 6th Army staring back at you. | The old Russian man walked down the street to his small apartment in the middle of the city. Just as he was about to enter his home, a shout stopped him.
"Halt!"
The old man turned around and spotted an army of grey uniformed men flooding the streets as well as tanks, trucks, and howitzers.
"The fascists have returned?" The old man said.
"We are here on the orders of the Grim Reaper to take you in." The general said.
"So you require the might of Hitler's lapdogs to take me in? Pathetic!" The Russian shouted in glee.
"The 6th Army will decide your fate."
"Ahahahaha! Do you realize where you are?" The Russian shouted. The Germans looked at each other.
"Volgograd?" One German said.
"That's right!" The Russian said. "Let me translate to your terminology. YOU ARE IN STALINGRAD!"
A hush fell upon the army, horrified as they realized the meaning of the old man's words.
"I fought in the Great Patriotic War and I have fought here, in Stalingrad. I can just say it is nice seeing many of you back." The Russian man said. He went inside and came back out with a rifle.
"Now. Let's dance." | I sigh and put down my drink, not that I was actually drinking but it seemed poetic somehow to do so.
"How I just want to live a quiet life." I moan as I walk out of my home slowly, I survey the army with the calm I always feel all my life.
"The Reaper sends us the great German 6th Army to claim your soul." A General booms out the sound somehow leaving his mouth even with the bullet hole in his neck.
I chuckle, "I feel it is overkill to send an army against me, especially one of your caliber."
The General bristles, "While it is true that we find it too much to send the might of the German army against a single man the fact that the Reaper found it necessary to do this put us on guard."
I nod and walk down the steps, as I reach the bottom I dodge the two soldiers intended to apprehend me.
"A bit slow, although the wounds might have something to do with that." with a smirk I elbow one soldier, sending them screaming to the floor as my elbow goes through the hole in his torso. "Is this your punishment? Other than being the lapdogs of a edgy skeleton you hold the wounds that caused your deaths?"
The General growled, it would be intimidating if there were not a bullet in his right eye, "Impudent welp! You cannot hope to stand against us!" He brings his hands down in my direction and all the soldiers and tanks point their weapons at me.
I chuckle and run forward, catching them off guard and holding the General in a painful hold.
"A bit too slow, although to be fair I was very fast before and now that I'm dead?" I chuckle, "I'm even faster."
The General growls and struggles in my grip yelling for the soldiers to start shooting.
As the soldiers prepare to fire again I bark out a laugh, "So you want to make his soul disappear? You want his soul to lose what little things there are that make him human?"
The General snarls, "What do you mean? What lies are coming from your mouth?!"
I keep laughing, this was honestly priceless! They didn't know? It seems the Reaper is keeping secrets.
I chuckle and shake my head, "Tut, tut, tut. Sit down children and listen to teacher, when a a person dies the Reaper takes their soul. The reason is the world of the living is very dangerous for us dearly departed, every time we get fatally wounded the pain is agonizing, so therefore the spirits who get hurt goes through so much agony they may lose rationality and become nothing more than beasts in human guise."
This stuns them and I shake my head in mock sadness, "Oh how the Reaper has kept secrets from you, what a shame risking your very existence for penance." I sneer and tighten my grip on the General, "Penance for being monsters."
The General purples, "You have no right to call us that! You kill indiscriminately, Man, Woman and child! Your family, the men of church and the very person who was trying to redeem you! While it is true our actions were terrible, we have a remorse over it. You on the other hand claim what you do is just a hobby! You claim you want to live a peaceful life and yet you do this!" The General roars and tries to shake free, "Once I get my hands on you I'll-"
He stops and finds himself unable to speak, gurgles come out of his mouth as he looks for the source of his pain.
He looks down and seems my hand spearing right through his throat, his face is priceless. If only I had my drawing tools, I could immortalize it like my other masterpieces!
As I drop the Generals screaming form I flick my hand out of habit and turn to grin at the Soldiers but as they once again prepare to fire at me I say three words.
"Look behind you."
As I turn and walk into my home the screams of the soldiers being torn apart by the feral spirits follow me.
Now I can return to my peaceful life.
| 2017-04-18T05:30:55 | 2017-04-18T04:40:35 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] There's a different reason we're not supposed to look at the sun. | If they were kinder maybe they would let the public know about the flaw but they weren't a kind regime. A kind regime wouldn't have a compulsory dissidence inoculation for all people, an artificial aneurysm injected behind the optic nerve. Sensitive to particular radio waves, sound frequency or even a solid blow to the head, dubbed the Damocles pacifier this technology of bizarre brutality had successfully removed any inclination of rebellion. Installed in absolutely everyone including those tasked with subjugation of the masses who were equipped with odd bubble style helmets which lessened their chance of sudden death in the course of their duties but still ensured their loyalty.
Those few brave souls who attempted to leave the heavily policed and contained cities met with catastrophic consequences. Perimeter broadcasters emitted the kill code preventing anyone without official passes in transports from passing. Hopes of raising a generation of rebels without the great hammer of the man above them were quashed before they started.
So we have a society of people walking on egg shells constantly aware that a back firing truck, a trip or a collision with another person may spell sudden death. Years of this system had led to a near utopia of peace, careful consideration and quiet cooperation, and slowly the overt signs of dystopian tyranny fell away and though fearful of death and the knowledge of why people were content.
In a rare display of whimsy those in charge commissioned a series of public holidays centred around picnics on recently completed and objectively beautiful public parks as a reward for compliance and peace. People were generally pleased at this turn of events and were gently excited for a day off to enjoy sunshine and grass for the first time in generations.
The day happened and families stretched out on government issued gaily coloured blankets, issued baskets of picnic goods, soft foam head ware to protect from errant Frisbees and a laminated sheet instructing on how one participated in picnic frivolities. Dozens of people appeared to be sleeping on the grass in the warm sunlight, though slowly loved ones realised they weren't asleep at all. Panic slowly spread amongst the masses, what had they done to displease the regime? Was this just a trap to kill, but then why were only particular people dead and not everyone? a sound blast would be enough to kill them. Peacekeepers stepped in the quell the panic, they stated it was not them and something else was at play. An evacuation was ordered and people slowly filed back home scared and confused.
Invesitgators poured over the scene and were baffled. The dead weren't in one location which would hint a blast, they weren't struck by anything but the Damocles pacifier had been blown. Nothing linked the people to each other. The report was inconclusive.
A new range of picnics was arranged and orders for people to look after each other and report any anomalous events. Once more people filed in, cautious at the spate of deaths previously but slowly joy over took and people began to enjoy themselves. A government issues kite was flown high in the air, bright streamers fluttered behind it. All eyes followed the spectacle as it crested the noon sky. Dozens fell dead suddenly. There was panic. People screamed and suddenly died from the increased pressure, like a ripple in a pond people fell down dead leaving only a few stoic rocks untouched by the panic either by paralysing fear or their protective bubble helms.
A wave of hysteria followed the survivors as people rushed the streets chased by invisible monsters, the imaginations of those at work were ignited as rumours and survivors filtered through the city. A plague of intangible fear swept to all corners, the death toll kept climbing each mysterious death spurred on witnesses whipping up a frenzy. By the time the Kite Craze had died down nearly a full third of the city's population was littering the ground with a blown pupil. Much of the security forces had died, they were unaccustomed to stress after so many years of peace and were not experienced to deal with it.
News of how it occurred spread, the sunlight brought the sword down. The insanity of it all incited a new wave of deaths as people stepped out to see the truth and be enlightened. The society failed completely. Those in charge fled the city with all they could carry and some choice servants to form a new colony.
Of course in the excitement and no one manning the security offices, the perimeter wasnt dropped and those deigned to serve died in their transports leaving a scattering of cruel leadership trying to scratch out an existence for themselves.
They didn't make it through the following winter.
-----------------------------
I apologise for whatever the hell that was about
| The trees here dwindle. In the morning the sky is like a sea. The branches sway and the leaves shuffle in the murmurs of the forgotten spirits; those of our ancestors and our ancestor's ancestors. Here in the jungle the trees talk. Can you hear their voices over the machines?
The falling comes each day in earthquakes. Our prayers no longer work and so we pray harder. Our people are simple; I believe that is the word. But we are brave. In the mornings we chant to the Gods of the jungle. We pray to that God up high.
In the times of the falling I try to remain as calm as I can. The stone sighs in its crumbling ruins. The cacophony of men goes past. I am strong now, almost a man, and I train everyday. Sometimes my training is in the jungle. Sometimes it is on the great pyramids we have built.
There on the stone you can see far into the distance and you see the machines and the smoke and fires they bring. The trees fall and the mists on the far distance that hang low over the sea close in on us. It is only us and these machines. And everyday the machines come closer.
"Califf do you remember your words?"
"Yes grandfather."
"Good... A man must always remember his words. Words last longer than the hunt. They last longer than the fire or the feeling of a full belly."
"Yes grandfather."
"And words are more powerful too."
Of course they are. But in the distance the earthquakes come and the ground rises and our pyramids tremble. The rumors have spread far too, and they speak of killing and rape and other savagery.
"Is that truly true grandfather?"
"Of course it is true, boy. Your words are the greatest weapon a man can wield."
"I am sorry grandfather, but I cannot see it."
"Then you are a fool and have much growing yet to do before you are man!"
"With the machines there I will never be a man. The game has gone and so too have the birds. I can no longer hunt for the red feather."
And the silence comes as it does here on the stone. The wind picks up and you can taste the faintness of the sea in its breath and you become introspective. Below the fires of prayer are going. Their chants sound hopeless, but yet they continue.
Words. Why words? Why can't we fight? Or have we deluded ourselves?
"Words allow us to talk to the Gods. A man cannot talk with his spear. A knife can kill, but it can never create."
"But the Gods never talk back, grandfather."
"Never? You should speak for yourself. There are some who care the Gods clear as you can hear the coming death."
"But I have never heard them."
"Then you should speak more and listen more."
"And what do the Gods say? Do they promise to help? Do they tell us what to do?"
"Why should they? We already know what to do."
"And what is that, grandfather?"
Up in the sky a bird soars. Birds are revered here as they are the closest living things to the Gods. One who takes the life of a bird must be ready to face the judgment of the God of the sky. To be a man one must snatch a feather from the red birds of the jungle. They fly the highest. Only a man may take their lives.
"Do you see it?"
"I see it, grandfather. But what does the red bird have to do..."
"No you fool. Not the bird. In the sky! Look!"
And the sky is clear but for the God in the sky and the morning is blue and chill.
"The God in the sky? We mustn't look at Him, grandfather. One who looks upon him will go blind. Even I know that."
"That's good that you do."
We squat on the stone and the violent ringing gets closer. Below us there are women washing clothes. Children still run and play. Our life goes on.
"Perhaps I am a fool for telling you this before you are truly a man... But I believe we are in some difficult times. You may be expected to die for your people Califf."
I straighten my back.
"I will do so with honor, grandfather."
"I know you will, son. I know you will. But I think then you should know the truth. If death is your fate, then let the words of old comfort you. Who knows... You may impress the Gods with them if you go to the beyond. They will want to know how a young boy can be so wise."
"And what are these words, grandfather?"
"They are the truth about the God in the sky. Look up! Look!"
And I stare until my eyes water. I wonder if I will go blind but my sight returns.
"What, grandfather? What is it?"
"Do you know the real reason we cannot look for long?"
"No... I suppose not."
"It is because He is falling. He is melting and becoming larger. The God in the sky is old. He is very old. His hair falls like mines, and it falls in limp fire. Our days get hotter. His tears become white. His cage is melting and inside you can see his body breaking through."
"His body?"
"Yes. His body. The old men have watched him. Those who are blind now. They have stared long and hard at the God in the sky. And on his body there are spots of black. The blackness of night that he contains. It flares up and shows even now. And it is leaking. Our God is dying, young one."
"He is dying? But He is most important!"
"He is! And our words tell him as much. But if you listen you will hear Him talk back. You will hear his sadness and regret. He is dying and He will go soon, go out forever."
"What can we do, grandfather?"
"Nothing. There is nothing to be done."
"So why do we pray? What use are words on a dying man?"
"Our words are everything! Don't you see? Our God is dying but He listens. In his pain we bring comfort with our song. We bring him pride in his shameful age. For this he has rewarded us."
"Rewarded us how?"
"He has promised to fall on those demons in the jungle. In his death He promises to burn them alive!"
"You're joking, grandfather!"
"No, I'm not, boy. No, I'm not."
And I look into the distance where the black smoke rises and where the trees fall and where the strange men where their yellow clothes and talk their strange talk.
"They wear His colors," I say.
"Yes, child, they do."
"He will not like that."
"No. No, He wouldn't."
And the silence comes and a cloud passes over the God in the sky. I feel a sense of serenity here on the stone. A sense of purpose.
*Words.*
Who knew words were so powerful? Who knew they would save us all? Perhaps that is why I am still a boy while my grandfather is a man. I have much yet to learn.
The earthquakes come but they are not as frightful. The trees fall but I look up now, unafraid. Time. Time is all we need. And the jungle is vast and spans forever. We have the time. We have the edge. Soon the fires will pour and the strangers will leave. It is all a matter of time.
| 2017-05-09T04:56:26 | 2017-05-09T04:48:01 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | "WAAAAAAHOOOOOOO"
Another young person rocketed past me as I took the final steps towards the local "oldies" bar's front door. Third one today to nearly clip me. Bastards. As I pushed open the door the sounds of cable news reached my ears from inside.
"To recap our top story, everyone who has taken immortilate has gained the ability to fly."
Sons of bitches. | The Fountain of Youth. A blessed spring that would restore any who bathed in it back to the prime of their life. Many tales have been told of it's existence, and many have spent their lives searching for it. And now, thanks to a group of scientists working for Big Pharma, you can buy it over the counter. Bottled, carbonated and in the flavor of your choice.
I was 28, not long off my 29th birthday when they broke the news. Science had done it, it had broken into the realm once thought only for Gods. Immortality could be yours, forever.
But only to those under the age of 26.
I remember thinking how unlucky I was, missing the boat by only a couple of years, though my life carried on as normal and it wasn't until I was in my late 40s that I began to truly appreciate that fact. I started to slow down, aches and pains taking root, my skin wrinkling and my hair adopting a silvery hue. I was getting old. I wasn't the only one of course, there were lots of us, we of the "Lost Generation" as we came to call ourselves. Doomed to die as nature intended. I still meet with some regularly actually, getting to bitch about the entitled youngsters with others was welcome catharsis. Hell, I know one guy, missed the deadline by a day. A *day*. I couldn't imagine what that must have done to him. There aren't many of us left these days, Age claiming it's final victims slowly but surely, it'll be coming for me soon enough I'm sure.
Not too long after it's release Goverment officials signed legislation that ensured everyone under the age of 26, regardless of race, gender or wealth, could access the drug. Once a person turned 18, they could decide to get the treatment, as Immortality had to be a choice, though to this day I still haven't heard of a single person who turned it down. Doesn't hurt, far as I've been told, just a couple of shots; one into your arm, one into the base of your neck. Probably not as bad as I make it sound and compared to Immortality, what's a couple of little pricks, right?
Nearly 60 years after the fact everyone I know is either an Immortal, or an old wreck like me. And for the first time ever, I'm glad that I never got that choice because in hindsight, what Age has put me through wasn't too bad and I know soon, hell, maybe even tomorrow, it'll be over.
We of the "Lost Generation" used to joke that the Immortals weren't human anymore, turns out we weren't too far from the truth. It's funny how in 60 years, no one thought to question how they did it, how they acquired immortality. I guess our fear of death blinded us to reality.
Gene-splicing.
Take a bit of reptile, some insect, throw in a bit of flora for good measure, mix it up on a Petri dish and voila! Viral treatments to alter the genome, to turn off chromosomes, introduce new gene sequences to fill in the gaps and fix the degenerative nature of cell replication. The makings of an Immortal.
And the death of Humanity.
| 2018-06-05T01:15:14 | 2018-06-05T00:08:04 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. | Why did have to be like this?
Why couldnt I make it in time?
Why did they HAVE to get her?
I asked myself over and over why, but the answers eluded me. It's been 3 days since the world went to shit, with those THINGS everywhere. It started somewhere rural, some secret agency, people say. But that doesn't matter.
I had to block the windows and doors. It was fine if I never made any loud noises. They like the noise that regular people make, but not the sounds THEY make. It's so hard to tell the difference, but THEY know. All I had to do was be quiet.
I'm the only one alive here. Just me. My wife was going shopping when it happened. She never made it back. Whatever happened to her, it's better than here.
Just because I said I'm the only one alive here, doesn't mean I'm alone. I haven't slept since it happened. She was outside, playing. Chasing bubbles. Before I could act, who I thought was an elderly woman picked her up and bit her shoulder.
I can barely remember what exactly happened after. I'm so tired. All I remember is the eyes. Those milky white eyes. I still see them. They look at me every day from behind the toddler gate.
She begs and cries, but I can't answer. It's worse when she asks for mommy. It sounds just like her, but her eyes say otherwise. I miss my little girl. I'm not sure how long I can endure this. To hear your child begging, but knowing you cant do anything.
If this is anything, its hell. | "Please, you must open the door or they will come for me"
I could hear her crying and with a sincere sound of panic in her voice.
I had seen a bite mark, hadn't I?
She started bashing on the door, yelling that they were getting closer and she would die if you didn't let her in.
My tears started rolling down my cheek, she was my daughter still. What kind of father would I be if I let my daughter be hurt by those, things. Slowly I crept towards the door, In one hand I still held the broom I grabbed when the chaos started.
"Hold on, I'm opening the door" I told her while I reached for the lock, and turned it around. The door opened with a click and she ran inside, closing the door behind her. I backed away in shock, I was not prepared for her rushing in like that.
I knew she was almost 18 years old now but she would always be my little girl. Still turned away from me I heard her crying slowly dying out. "Are you ok, did they hurt you" I asked her and slowly went closer.
Then she straightened up and turned around, her top was partly torn and a large bite mark could be seen near her shoulder.
I backed away with shock. It was true, she had been infected already. A smile opened up on her face, "Don't worry daddy, this won't take long" and then she suddenly started to run towards me.
I just managed to steer her away with the broom but this would not work. All that was needed was one bite and I would become one of them. I smacked her on the legs with the broom to make her loose balance. With only a few seconds to spare I turned around towards the door and made a run for it. Fumbling with the lock I could hear her getting back up and starting to move towards me.
"Why are you resisting? This isn't a bad thing, daddy"
The lock turned around with a click and I threw the door open and ran into the hallway.
"You should listen to your daughter" I heard a voice saying from the opposite side. I recognized it, it had to be my neighbour.
He was just standing there at the opposite part of the hallway, he looked exactly the same as he used to do. Even had the same slightly bent over composure, but one thing set him apart.
One of his arms were nothing more than a bloody mess, it was barely holding together but he didn't seem to care at all. A sudden thought of clarity hit me, "they are smart but it's not them, what ever is going on they are not people any longer"
The door out was locked and there was no way I was going to open it without getting bit. My neighbour from one way and my daughter from behind I only had one real way to go. The door to the kitchen was open so I ran in, quickly closing the door behind me. This door couldn't be locked so I just stood and pushed towards it while they tried to get in.
The sound of broken glass interrupted me, looking back I saw another man climb through a window. The glass tore through his skin but didn't react at all. Panicked I grab hold of a bookcase and push it down in front of the door.
"Sorry for breaking in, but I heard you needed help" A voice said calmly. I turned around and saw the man stand just in front of me. He looked like a highschool student but that wasn't him, not anymore.
He slowly approached me, backing me into a corner. Meanwhile my daughter managed to break through the door. They all just stood silently in half circle around me, I was completely trapped.
As a last hope I grabbed something in blind from the desk behind me and started swinging around. I managed to hit my neighbour in the head, but an empty plastic bottle didn't do much damage.
"It's ok, don't be scared" my daughter said before grabbing my arm and burrowing her teeth in me.
Sitting down on the floor the entire world was spinning around, my thoughts were everywhere. Was this the end, would I turn into a mindless beast now.
Then everything cleared and any pain I had was gone, the world seemed brighter and I saw my daughter standing in front of me, smiling. "Welcome to the world of the living" she said happily before helping me up.
| 2018-09-06T19:24:58 | 2018-09-06T17:04:49 | 140 | 52 |
[WP] You've been magically gifted the ability to speak all languages. Anything you say comes out in the first language of whoever you're looking at. One day, you try to greet someone on the street and they gape in horror as ancient, unknowable eldritch sounds exit your mouth. The ground shakes... | ... the ground always shakes in the subway platform when the train goes by. The man.. he is crying.
After the train passes and the subway platform is quiet, the man explains to you that he is a novelist and has been writing a fantasy novel for 5 years, ever since his wife, Angie, passed away.
Angie loves the man’s writing. Whenever she finished a draft of one of his new novels she always told him, “I love the fire in your mind.”
Angie loved Tolkien and always wanted to read more novels with fantastic languages in them. After she passed, The man started writing a novel, and a fictional language along with it, which he called Malhalish.
But he gave up on the novel, it wasn’t good enough for Angie. And no matter what he wrote he wouldn’t be able to hear her thoughts on it, hear her voice ever again. She was gone. So what was the point?
He looks up at you smiling with tears in his eyes and says, “ you spoke to me in Malhalish.”
“What did I say”, you ask.
The mans eyes well up: “You said ‘I love the fire in your mind.’” | ..at least, it felt like the ground shook.
I opened my eyes to and see those brilliant turquoise eyes staring back at me. Her hazel hair forming an almost tunnel connecting our faces. Her mouth is moving but I don't hear any words. What is she trying to say and why can't I...*that ear-aching technology whine amplifies* and I realize my head hurts.
"Hej! Are you okay?"
She slaps me. At least I think it was a slap. The whining stops and the headache starts. Oh, I'm lying on the concrete in the almost empty subway where I first saw her.
"Ah," I wince in pain and rub the back of my head. "Was there an earthquake just now?" I stammer out with one eye open.
The woman's expression immediately changed from concern to annoyance and scorn as she yanked my shirt color forward. "Of course not! Stulta." she stood and somehow, I did with her. Her fist firmly clenching my shirt, it felt like she made my button-up into a noose. She drew her fist closer to her face with impossible speed, precision, and strength. It felt like someone rolled down a window in a 747 and I decided to stick my head out.
"How do you know the sacred tongue!?" she hissed to me in English. I can't help but think of how beautiful she is, even though it feels like I just landed from a skydive without any goggles on. Before I can answer she notices the few other people waiting for the subway are beginning to stare and she releases me. I feel the full weight of my body in my shoes, was I just off the ground? "He's okay" she shouts to the others and semi-straightens out my collared shirt, pulling on the sleeves of my overcoat.
She hooks my arm and force walks me away from the bystanders. I stumble forward. "Necறுədir билபழை լեզու" a strange raspy and waterlogged song danced in my ear. "What?" I said and looked at her. "How do you know the old ones tongue!?" she asked again. Weird it's happening again. I can understand people but only if I'm looking at them. My head still aches and I close my eyes for a second.
....
I wake up and feel like I'm back in the Yucatan. Laying on the beach near Xcalak, snorkeling the cove looking for sea turtles and sting rays. I see Amelia's foot ahead of me and then her cute face smushed inside the snorkling goggles. I feel a flash of cold and the dream is over. I gasp and wake up, and look around for Amelia. She's still not here.
"я использую гугл переводчик" the wet, rough, and dreamy song plays again. I look up, the women from the subway is there. I'm back in New York, not in the Caribbean. "So that is how you know the song of the old ones," the woman interrogated.
I reach for something nearby to help me up, a jug of Simple Green cleaner falls off the shelf and bounces off the top of my head. I wince again and stand up. Mystery solved, we're in a cleaning closet. "What are you talking about the 'old ones?' Who are you, why are we in a cleaning closet?"
"Interlopers are not given the right of first questions!" she roared. A flash of green blazes across her eyes, and just like before I do whatever she asks, or...thinks?
I back up and bump against the storage rack, the contents resting on each shelf inching back from the woman with me. My lips feel clamped shut.
She's definitely not Amelia.
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | 2019-01-11T14:40:20 | 2019-01-11T13:18:15 | 189 | 90 |
[WP] Your whole life you were misdiagnosed as colour blind, when in reality you could see colours no-one else could. You see art differently, the sunset and sunrise differently. A rainbow to you is out of this world. One day you go to visit the Mona Lisa. You see something no-else does... | My name is Yoshikage Kira. I'm 33 years old. My house is in the northeast section of Morioh, where all the villas are, and I am not married. I work as an employee for the Kame Yu department stores, and I get home every day by 8 PM at the latest. I don't smoke, but I occasionally drink. I'm in bed by 11 PM, and make sure I get eight hours of sleep, no matter what. After having a glass of warm milk and doing about twenty minutes of stretches before going to bed, I usually have no problems sleeping until morning. Just like a baby, I wake up without any fatigue or stress in the morning. I was told there were no issues at my last check-up. I'm trying to explain that I'm a person who wishes to live a very quiet life. I take care not to trouble myself with any enemies, like winning and losing, that would cause me to lose sleep at night. That is how I deal with society, and I know that is what brings me happiness. Although, if I were to fight I wouldn't lose to anyone.
Phewww
Back when I was a kid...
You know Leonardo Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, right...?
I saw it in an art book.
When I saw Mona Lisa's Hands, folded by her knee...
How do i say this...?
It's a bit crude, but...
Hehe...
I got... a BONER.
| **Selim**
The headmaster was particularly fond of culture awareness and therefore had dragged his greased-handed students to the Louvres Museum, possessed by an unwavering enthusiasm rivaled only by the teenagers mild interest in decrepit statues and paintings titties.
Most of them were setting foot in a museum for the first time in their life and were the noisiest, trying to disguise their nervosity into salacious brashness. The boldest boy was Selim, the leader of the pack, the most illiterate of them all, utterly incapable of writing his own name but remarkably venomous with his tongue and brutal with his fists, which made him royalty among the Lost Boys that the education system had more or less forgotten and trashed away.
The irony of this trip and of Selim’s colour-blindness wasn’t lost on him; he criticized vehemently every piece of art the guide tried to highlight, commenting, in fact, exactly what he was seeing:
“You maybe don’t know “*where the Artist found his inspiration for the intricate beauty of his model’s fur collar*”, but it is *obvious* that this old pig was fucking his neighbor’s wife and had an unobstructed view on her pus…”
“Selim, silence now!” Barked the educational supervisor as the group burst in laughters. “I don’t want to hear another word from you!!”
Selim smirked and glanced back at the painting with an ostensible disgust. He had been diagnosed with pretty much every “invisible disorders”, those you could fake, those that would label you “lazy”, “unwilling”, “muddle headed”: He was colour-blind, dyslexic, dysothrographic, dyscalculic, disorganized, hyperactive and so on, and on, and on… He could read but he couldn’t write, so he talked, loud, he talked in capital letters, he talked in frustration, he talked and, fortunately, was really handy around machinery therefore, at fifteen, he attended a program to learn a trade in truck mechanic.
His group finally reached the masterpiece they were all vaguely aware of: Mona “No Brows” Lisa. Selim elbowed his way to the front line and stared at the painting, squashed by tourist lef and right.
It was different. Different from everything he had seen so far in his life. For instance, the painting knew his name.
Foreign languages were alien to Selim; he had always understood every types of words, codes, cyphers put before him. It was all the same for him, as if Humanity, -and on some occasions alien lives-, had band together to create a universal dialect or, as Selim suspected it sometimes, as if his ancestors were away buying cigarettes when God cursed Babel.
“Dear Selim”, the message within the enigmatic smile said, “ I am glad you find your way to me. I knew all my life that someone will be born where I’ll die, someone like me, with eyes like mine, and a mind like mine. At your age, the world is still a scary and bewildered place. What is it that you dream of? What is it that your heart desire most? Is it, perhaps, to be like everyone else? It has crossed my mind many times. I could see, as you could, more than “meets the eye” for what meets the eye is a guest you receive in your house but we, you and me, are travellers. Our eyes don’t stay still, they *go to meet the world*, beyond flesh and nerves. It is astounding. It is unsettling. It is, maybe, too acute to bear. I saw you but I do not know your heart; it would have been rude of me to peek over your inner thoughts, but I nonetheless wish to give you something.
What follows, as you can see, are the blueprints of a machine. It is for your eyes only. They can stay that way or you can build it.
The machine can reverse the power within your eyes. Whether you choose to use it or not is entirely up to you.
Good luck in your journey, Selim,
With all my love,
Leonardo Da Vinci.” | 2019-01-29T06:54:57 | 2019-01-29T04:01:52 | 361 | 68 |
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history. | I held the statue in my hands, the weight and feel of it was very odd. the statue didnt resemble anything remotely human, i was worried about where it would take me...but i knew i had to satisfy my curiosity.
i grasped the statue tightly to begin the time travel process, my body atomized and i began warping far beyond what i considered "human" history.
where i ended up was...a place that didnt even resemble earth. my time travel powers did not move me through space so i couldnt have been anywhere else but earth.
then i saw "them". their appearances closely resembled that of the statue that brought me here. they approached me and i was terrified, but they told me, "hello. we are the architects and we have chosen YOU to be the template for this new species we're going to create!"
suddenly...everything was clear. | ''Alpha-Zero are you with me?''
I can’t see anything.
''FUCK! I just stepped on a giant...something.'' He yells on the radio.
''Why our night-vision isn’t working, Clarkson?'' I ask.
''We just got here, how the hell I’m supposed to know?''
''I know that you just got transferred Clarkson but this is not how you talk to your superior. Alpha-Zero going to re-ignite electro panels.''
''Go ahead, Alpha-Zero. I will be here with Clarkson.'' I say.
''Here where exactly? I have no idea where you are.''
I decide to ignore the Clarkson for a moment, he seems anxious due to our unknown surrounding.
''Alpha-Zero, what is the update on the panels?''
There is no answer.
''Temperature dropping fast. We are at minus 45 Celcius, we were at minus 5 when we arrived.'' Clarkson reports.
''Then we should be grateful that we have these suits, right? Where is Alpha-Zero at? Alpha-Zero report!''
''I’m here captain. My radio stopped working for a moment.''
''Care to update me about the lights?''
''Uhm...They are gone.''
''What you mean they are gone?'' I ask.
''I can’t spot them. When we entered this time-line I stored our anchor so we could safely go back to our time and placed the panels right next to the storage. Both anchor and panels are gone.''
''Can you scan our panel, Clarkson?''
Clarkson doesn’t respond.
''Clarkson come in!''
''Should I engage code-552, sir?''
''Go ahead, Alpha-Zero. I had enough we are at red alert from now on.''
''Alpha-Zero activating drone number 1 and drone number 2 for code-552.''
Each drone goes in the opposite direction and they scan terrain to inform us about this area.
''Drone 1 initial report came in, sir.''
''I’m listening.''
''Drone 1 reads two life signs. 250 meters of distance between signs. No viable atmosphere, the temperature at minus 60. Low radiation reading and...''
''And?''
''Drone 2 lost contact with me which was going to my direction.
Drone 1 still searching.''
''I want you to use your echo-locator. Signal towards where we lost Drone 2.''
''Roger that! Sir?''
''Yes?''
''I’m hearing a strange noise coming from my right side.''
''Which wasn’t the where the Drone 2 gone dark, right?''
''Yes, sir. It wasn’t going that direction. Maybe it’s Clarkson.''
''You said it yourself. Drone 1 only read two life signs.''
''Unless he went dark for a reason, sir.''
''What reason that would be?''
There is no response.
''Alpha-Zero, come in! Are you there?''
I access to Drone 1. I use it to navigate my way. I start to walk towards Alpha-Zero. I walk very slowly and cautiously because the ground feels strange. It’s almost like I’m walking on something alive. I hear some sort of mumbling on the radio. I stop walking. I use drone 1 to circle on the area and see if it picks something. I lower the flying altitude and a few seconds later it starts to read movement on the ground but it doesn’t present any life sign. It’s coming towards my direction.
-----------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.* | 2020-04-17T11:30:33 | 2020-04-17T10:18:20 | 97 | 64 |
[WP] You have been able to hear the thoughts of others for years. Normally you hear things about a crush, or complaints. This time, you hear something you’ve never heard before from the person next to you. | Yours is the head I hated the most. I read you, over and over again. Trying to make sense of you.
Who are you?
I've seen you here every day. You get on the train, you get off the train, you eat lunch here sometimes. I've seen you playing with dogs before. Animal-lover.
Seen you walk into the post office, walk out with a bagfull of mail slung over your shoulder. You get along with your co-workers. I think you saw me once - you waved.
I didn't think to wave back; You didn't seem to mind.
I've followed you home before. You've got a spouse, a cat, and two kids.
I know its fucked up to barge into people's heads. Curiosity is just like that sometimes - can't resist the urge to know what people are up to. Thing is...
They all love you.
I know they do - I've seen it through their eyes. It is a fact - you are an integral part of their life. You are family.
You seem like you're comfortable.
So, help me understand.
Am I the only one who knows...
...that you've been screaming, and screaming, and screaming...
...and you haven't ever stopped?
I need to know.
I have to know.
What happened to you?
What broke you in two? | I sit at the café, crossing my feet at the ankles as I “read” the newspaper. In reality, I couldn’t tell you what was written on the page I’ve been turned to the last twenty minutes.
What I can tell you is the waitress serving the gentleman two tables over is hoping that her scandalously short skirt doesn’t make people think she is a hussy, but at the same time is frustrated that the gentleman she is serving hasn’t taken the opportunity she has offered to look down her blouse. The gentleman in question is too distracted with thoughts of a redhead that he seems to regard with equal parts deeply rooted love and distrust.
The young woman and young man a few tables down are more interesting. The comments and barbs being traded back and forth at slightly too loud volumes, and the glares given to each other would give the impression that they absolutely lathe and detest each other and resent being forced to meet for business. However, their thoughts tell a very different story. *A very different story, indeed,* I think to myself as I blush and focus my attention elsewhere.
Somewhere behind me a jilted young woman is fantasizing about creative ways to get her revenge on her former lover. Across from me a small group of two men and two women make pleasant conversation. Most are focused on the conversation, but one of the women is only half following the conversation as she mentally checks off a list of parts and frets because she is wondering if she has forgotten anything. A woman in a long gown hurries by fretting that she will not make it to the nearest train station on time. The two kids she rushes by are staring up at the airships passing above us dreaming of riding on one some day.
Then out of nowhere I am stunned by something I have never experienced before. These thoughts that come at me aren’t so much words and sentences as images and diagrams. In mere seconds I am treated to fifty ways to escape, a hundred objects that could be used as weapons, at least that many directions an attack could come from, and a few dozen ways it could happen. Last, but certainly not least, I am treated to images of a least a dozen ways every person sitting outside the café could be killed, including myself.
Cautiously, I look over to the woman that just sat beside me. At first glance, aside from her stunning fire red hair and fair features, there’s nothing special about her. She’s dressed typical for many dancers or waitresses; a dark green vest and skirts over white blouse and underskirts, black fishnets, dark ankle boots, lacy white gloves, and a black and green hat that matches her dress. But a second glance shows hilts of daggers tucked into either side of each boot, hints of something strapped over her fishnets peeking out from under her skirts. Golden hat and hair pins that look just a little too sharp adorn her scarlet locks.
I look away as her green eyes flit in my direction. I swallow as my potential as a threat jumps three notches.
I am suddenly simultaneously thankful for the gun tucked under my own vest and coat, and terrified at the knowledge of how little good it would do me.
Another woman appears and sits on the opposite side of this dangerous woman beside me.
The newcomer wears a long, hoop-skirted gown, a tall hat, and a dark veil that hides her face and most of the honey-colored locks that are pulled back tightly.
Despite all of that, I still manage to recognize my mark. My employers would be upset if they learned I was this close to the woman that may well be the next queen of the British Empire and allowed her to walk away unscathed.
Fortunately, they have no way of knowing right away and I have no intention of telling them. Only a handful of things in life are more precious to me than money, but my life itself is certainly one of those few. I quietly fold my paper and walk away. With every step I am quite aware of the green eyes that are tracking my every move.
As I leave I wonder if it is too late to catch the next airship bound for the American Colonies. I also wonder if that will be far enough.
(Edited to fix some punctuation.) | 2020-05-02T14:54:53 | 2020-05-02T14:36:01 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | "EMP! FREEZE!" Shouted young Pyroclast. It was slightly ironic but I'll forgive it.
I raised my hands and turned, clearly at their mercy. Pyroclast, Phaser, and Wraith. Pretty cool names, in my opinion. Cool powers too. Temperature control, molecular manipulation, and electromagnetic refraction. Plus they weren't dickheads. Good kids.
"Very well, you've captured me!" I vamped pretty well, it helps I'm a baritone. I turned to them slowly.
According to the supposedly accurate Dangerous Power Index, I'm at best a C-. Shorting out electronic devices is pretty bad but definitely not "melting people alive" bad.
Granted, I never have had a reason to demonstrate the exact scope of my ability to well, anyone. Commander Death and The Steel Legionnaire both knew what I really was, but they're far more interested in keeping the balance than dealing with my absolutely unambitious ass. Terrible poker players, the both of them. Death is shockingly polite for the most powerful villain in existence.
We have an informal agreement that I serve as a gateway for new heroes and villains. Everyone has a barely successful heist with me, or a faintly victorious fight against me.
I saw Wraith approaching me, when sudden the bank entrance evaporated. Just bloop, gone.
Floating in the gap was The Obliterated.
Frankly, he's kinda terrifying. Psychotic fucker with the ability to produce sonic blasts WELL IN EXCESS of healthy limits. He didn't even start a monologue, he just tossed a wave of air compressed to the approximate density of enriched uranium at these poor fucking kids. It was definitely going at least 5000 feet per second.
I quietly and pseudo-instantly turned about fifty feet of air into fifty feet of air colored neutronium for like a yoctosecond.
Everyone saw a hand flick out, felt a kind of vibration, then stared confused at each other.
I'm really not the sort of guy to upset the balance. I'm a big fucking fan of the game. It's safe uh, ish. Predictable. Choreographed.
The Obliterated was not dumb. His gaze immediately fixed on me with a very reasonable amount of suspicious concern.
The heroes were murmuring to each other, pretty concerned. I quietly brought one hand down and pointed to a shattered piece of tile.
I then altered the electromagnetic disposition of the piece of tile in such a manner that it simply vanished. I held a single finger to my lips while making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with The Obliterated.
He pretended to fight the heroes for like, two minutes. They honestly did really good. They'd have instantly died, but they did really good. I got arrested, The Obliterated got arrested, and The Steel Legionnaire even showed up to honor the heroes.
Well, I guess there are three people now, but I wasn't going to let him annihilate them.
Pretty sure that Phaser is going to replace The Steel Legionnaire one day, because she's got the gumption. Maybe Obliterated and I will catch a beer sometime and hash out the rules a little better for the higher tier villains.
Maybe not. Maybe I'll finally have to evaporate an asshole and everyone will realize that the electromagnetic spectrum is literally everything. I can turn your punk ass into gamma rays and uh, "yeet" you into a pulsar. Is that how kids say it? I "yeet" you? Whatever. For now...
For now, I'm playing cops and robbers. | "D-rank villain" Buttsoup McJames.
My title always put newbie heroes at ease.
"Don't worry," commanders would say and throw me a wink. "He's only D rank, so this should be a walk in the park."
Commanders knew I was a hero putting on a show, but they didn't know the full truth. If they did, it would blow their minds: I was none other than legendary hero Buttsoup McSteve.
"S-Should I use a fire spell?" said a fledgling mage.
"That would be an excellent idea," said commander Bicycle Joe, "if we'd been in open terrain. This old warehouse would catch fire immediately. And given that there are no water mages in our party ..."
The fire mage retreated into her robe as an archer stepped forward. "For the Pendh Ingnaim Association!" The archer quivered as he fumbled for an arrow from his quiver. As he was about to release it, I demonstrated my aerobics routine.
"H-He's too fast!" said a paladin.
"Better prepare your healing magic," said the commander. "Seems he's up to no good."
As far as newcomers go, they weren't too shabby. Sure, they'd never be able to take on an actual D-rank villain, but that was why I was here. They needed practice. Confidence. If only we'd had this sort of system when Abby joined the association, then maybe she'd still ...
I pushed that thought to the back of my mind where it belonged. It wouldn't do me any good to go back to that dark place. Not that I needed the focus right now. How would these guys fare in a real battle? With hindsight, it amazed me that we used to send newbies straight into real combat.
Right as I settled into my trademarked pelvic thrusts, the room burst into fire.
"Dammit mage," said the commander, coughing. "I told you not to ..."
"What mage?" It was a deep, solemn voice. "You mean the one under this rag I stepped on?"
As he lifted his foot, something squished. A bloodied robe with indiscernible body parts oozing from it emerged, right where our mage had been seconds ago.
"Becky!" cried the commander.
"Jessica!" cried the rest of his party.
A hard-featured man in a red cape stood before us, guffawing. There were no two ways about it. This was a villain. A real one.
"Stand back," said Bicycle Joe. "You kids better stay safe. After all, I'm the only one here wearing a helmet."
Hope glistened in the eyes of the newbies. Their battle-hardened commander would make quick work of this villain. As a C-rank hero, he was sure to make him him suffer.
As he stepped forward, commander Bicycle Joe suddenly found himself with a fireball-sized hole where his face had been. "Fireball," said the villain belatedly, making some hand movements that admittedly were pretty cool. The commander's sizzling corpse fell to the ground with a thump. "Oh," said the villain. "My rank is A. Did I forget to mention that?"
The paladin rushed over to the commander, casting every spell he knew. Unfortunately he only knew one: poison cure. It didn't help.
I let out a sigh. "Guess I better clean this up before more people get hurt."
The villain gave me the once-over. "And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?"
"B-Buttsoup McJames," said the archer. "He was just bragging he could make any other villain look like a loser."
Quick thinking, kid. Pitting villains against each other? That's C-rank material right there. I decided to play along with it.
"Indeed," I said. "But I'm not sure how I feel about fighting a loser in a cape. It's like punching a special needs kid, you know?"
Fire streamed around the villain like a fountain, only with fire instead of water. "What did you just say?" he said.
"I said I could beat you and I wouldn't even break a sweat. Check this out." I sent a couple of pelvic thrusts his way. He nodded approvingly.
"Fine," he said. "I guess I'll teach you some manners before I torch up the rest." Using his hands as jets, he flew to the middle of the room and cackled like a maniac. "I, Brimstone Bob, will be the end of you!"
The name hit me like a bolt of lightning, echoing in my mind.
*"I don't want you on that mission. It's not safe."*
*"Come on. It's not like I can't take care of myself. I can't keep relying on my famous brother for help, you know?"*
No. Not this memory.
*"I'm sorry, Mr. McSteve. There has been an ... incident. I regret to inform you that your sister ..."*
I felt sick.
*"Who was it? Who the fuck killed my little sister?"*
*"Please, calm down. These things happen. There was nothing we could do."*
*"Just give me the name"*
*"Bob. Brimstone Bob."*
I had been looking for this man for years. The man who killed Abby.
"What are you doing?" said Brimestone Bob. "Having a senior moment, are we?"
I tore off the yellow post-it note on my suit that said 'James' to reveal what was underneath: 'Steve'. Buttsoup McSteve.
The remainder of the party gasped in between coughs.
"M-McSteve?" said Brimstone Bob. "Not *the* Buttsoup McSteve? But I thought he retired?"
"The only one who's getting retired here is you," I said, unleashing a dose of the sixth state of matter into his chest. A miniature black hole emerged briefly before swallowing Brimstone Bob up entirely.
I fell to my knees. "Abby," I cried. "I finally did it. I avenged you."
After that incident I decided to make a comeback. The world needed legendary heroes. Someone to look up. Something to strive for. The world needed Buttsoup McSteve. S-rank hero. | 2021-06-23T15:33:15 | 2021-06-23T15:21:41 | 73 | 50 |
[WP] To everyone's surprise, Tony Hawk comes out of retirement again for the X-Games... in the year 2347. Turns out, in his gnarly pursuit of absolute perfection at his craft, he relinquished the shackles of his mortal body and achieved Lichdom. | Science has achieved many things, a bit slower than our ancestors predicted, but still miraculous. With flying cars, 1,000G internet, little crime, and no unemployment, it was paradise.
One of many long standing traditions was the X-Games, along side The Olyimcs, The Guinness Book of World Records, and "Hot Dog" eating contests, as something the whole UHE (United Human Empire) tunes into.
Given that anything extending over multiple centuries would get boring, the fanfare is always more X-Treme™, with living fireworks, an ominous green mist, the worlds' fattest pig, and more, no one noticed that the skateboard park turned into flesh and bones.
Now changing the arena without the consent of the Commissioner is not only illegal, but can also get you disqualified, so if anyone revealed that it was not planned, then the games would come to a screeching halt to find who did this. Now, since none of the staff wanted to spend another 10 years rebuilding the continent-spanning sprawling mass that is the skate park, they ignored it.
Sadly, a rift in time-space and seeing the face of somone who was publicly executed is fairly hard to ignore. Now time-space rifts are a common method of travel, and fresurrection has made death a thing of the past, but not only was there a law against resurrecting criminals, Tony Hawk was also banned from ever touching a skateboard again.
Of course the security tried to halt him but he could not be stopped. As he approached the three-fourths pipe, time seemed to slow as Tony performed a double kick summer-flip with added dislocation, landing with the force of a back frontal Suplex, and coming upon an aerial crash inwards Ollie, one can only be so radical before the gods themselves notice, dragging Tony Hawk back into the pits of Taurus, for good this time.
Luckily, with a bit of dimensional distortion and a pinch of fairy dust, the games where brought back on track with minimal casualties. After Babe Ruth pulling some slick BMX tricks, and Justin Beaver performing some tubular scooter flips, the 185th X-Games officially ended. | "Lil' Suze? A no show, huh. Well, maybe somebody can go and find where Lil' Suze has got to." The announcer seemed a little flustered, but he was a professional. He found his patter again. "And our final contestant, ladies and gentleman is the one, the only... TONY HAWK!"
Unlike the previous contestants, each of whom had entered the arena to resounding cheers, this last name drew only low murmurs. Most had never heard it. A few, with interests in the history of the sport, remembered an old athlete of that name, back when skating had been in its infancy. But that man was long dead now, and had been doing the Eternal Ollie in the sky for the better part of three centuries.
The figure shuffled into the arena in silence, a hooded sweatshirt up over his bent head so that his face was invisible. He carried a skateboard-sized metal case under his arm, and only when he had finally taken his place at the end of the half-pipe did he place this case down.
The announcer was still talking, gamely trying to fill the silence. "I understand that Hawk has come out of retirement and is here by special invitation. He's certainly made the most unusual entrance that I've ever seen-"
The figure glanced up at the commentary box. For a moment, the outline of a gaunt face was outlined by the stadium lighting. Then he pointed a gloved finger up at the commentary box, and the announcer went abruptly silent.
A low whisper that carried around the stadium said, "I never retired. I only went in search of true mastery."
The stadium was gripped in a tense silence as 50,000 fans waited to see what would happen next.
The figure that called itself Tony Hawk unlocked the metal case and lifted out a board of solid black. There was a collective exhale of 50,000 breaths released simultaneously. Hawk placed the board down on the lip of the pipe, and small flames licked up around the wheels.
Murmurs began to fill the air.
"Sick, man, that's Vecna's Plank..."
"Whose plank, bro?"
"Dude, what's a Vecna?"
"This is from a game?"
"What do you mean, 'just like in the movie'?"
"You're telling me that's some mythical board? I dunno, that's pretty sketch."
"Whatcha been smoking, sister?"
As the figure bent forward over the board, a necklace slipped out of his sweatshirt. It hung for a moment on a chain around his neck before a wizened hand quickly stuffed it back in. But not before everyone in the stadium had caught a glimpse of the twisted metal, and, as one, shuddered in revulsion at its chilling aura.
"You...," one of the other skaters stepped forward, a tall woman with blond dreds. She pointed an accusing finger at the thing called Tony Hawk. "I saw you with Lil' Suze five minutes ago. She was talking with you, and then she was gone, as if she'd been sucked into that thing... that amulet or whatever. I thought it was just the weed, but now..."
A low voice emanated from under the hood, travelling through the air on waves of pure menace, "But now?"
Another man, the bookie's favourite going into the competition, said, "So not cool, brah. What did you do to Lil' Suze?"
A few security guards began to drift towards the hooded figure.
"Lil' Suze was just a poseur," the figure that had once been Tony Hawk rasped. "She did not have the talent or the dedication to justify her place here. We must all make sacrifices for our art. I myself have made many over the years.
"I stole this board of power from the hoard of an ancient red wyrm, and escaped only with the loss of my left pinky. I have descended into the Nine Hells to trick Asmodeous himself into teaching me the secret of the Devil's Grind, for the false promise of a soul I no longer have and the true enmity of all fiends for the rest of eternity. I have practiced my moves daily in the gnarliest skatepark in all the planes, the back of the Great Leviathan herself as she swims through the deep places.
"I have drunk the poison of Orcus, and so I ask you now, 'What is one more sacrifice?'"
He waved another hand, and the security guard closest to him froze in the act of reaching for his arm.
"And now... let us give the masses what they came for. Let us tear it up!" Dark energy began to crackle around his claw-like hands, wreathing all nine fingers in purple illumination. "How do you want to do this?"
---
More stories at /r/jd_rallage | 2021-07-26T06:50:50 | 2021-07-26T06:46:29 | 262 | 142 |
[WP] For almost as long as you can remember everyone has told you to avoid the castle, because there’s a dragon in it that no one has been able to fight off. Being brave, and probably a bit foolish, you go to see if the dragon even exists. When you arrive, she is ecstatic. | *Visitors, visitors, what's the proper decorum for the age?* The voice boomed in the space behind my eyes, an echo from a time long-since lost to me.
I sat there, stoic and reserved, in front of this moonsilvered dragon, scales reflecting the candlelight and gas lanterns.
The dragon was pottering about the kitchen, gently breathing flames around the kettle, the amber of heat shimmering the air around it. The sight was a combined caricature and awe-inspiring, this monstrous, intelligent beast worrying about how to serve **tea.**
I thought carefully, not knowing if this dragon could read-
*Only because you're so* loud!
The thought disturbed me for a second, then I cackled silently. I thought loudly to the dragon, *I only wish I could hear you speak, as this is fascinating.*
The dragon managed to bring the kettle with a dexterity that I would have previously thought impossible from something of that size, the talons extending to carry the handle towards me in the central room, cups held with a light, airy grace.
The dragon smiled, an animalistic threat of indulgence and the spectre of violence. *So, are you one of the stupid ones, or do you just want to talk?*
I took my helmet off and pulled out my sheaf of notes, with my intent on display for the dragon to see - as well as my paints and oils.
The dragon clapped with clear happiness. *Ooh, I may just keep you! You. Are.* **Adorable.** *You must get my good side, and enjoy this tea, sent from my cousin in Rialsh! She will be so jealous when we've completed this!*
And that, kids, is how I met your mother.
/ / / / / /
The two little dragonets nipped happily, signing with their foreclaws in thanks.
I pulled out my parchment with the words, *Time for bed now.* and showed them. They sighed, but knew better to argue.
A voice entered my head once more. *I bet this wasn't what you were expecting, Sir Knight, that day when you came to see me, was it?*
I nodded, grinning, and thought back, *Not at all, but I know how happy you are with Kz'irtikkon. And these two are absolute treasures. The others in the village are missing out!* | Don't go to the castle they said.
There's a dragon they said.
I'd rather not listen.
The castle while four stories tall, is surprisingly small. The outer wall is a square about four hundred paces a side and perhaps two stories tall. Around that is the half-filled in remains of what might once have been a moat.
While there doesn't seem to be a bridge, to cross, it is so dry, that I easily scramble down it. Scrambling back up the other side is somewhat tricky. When I eventually do, I easily walk inside the gate that is nearly a story and a half tall, the portcullis already raised. In fact, it seems to be rusted in place.
Inside, I find the keep proper; a two-story square building with a round tower that is another two stories rising from the center. Like the outer gate, the portcullis is raised. there is however a massive set of oak doors.
I knock, but there is no answer. Giving the door and experimental push, I am surprised when I can budge it. It takes some effort, but I am able to finally squeeze though. Inside I find a large open room with doors off to either side.
This is obviously both an entry hall and a defensive structure, as the room is two stories tall, and perhaps one nineth the size of the keep, aside from the tower. Balconies overlook the first story, complete with battlements made to shield archers. Toward the far end sits a trio of thrones and in front of them, a long table arranged so that its length spans a significant portion of the width of the room. Chairs are only on one side. But there are more chairs and smaller tables arranged along both walls, clearly places to wait. I take the doorway left.
I find myself in what looks like a parlor or office with space for a dozen or more people to work. I turn to the right and go into the next room. This room looks like a dining room. There is a door ahead of me and another to the right. I turn to the right.
I'm now at the center of the keep. This center room is curious. A large round staircase leads both up to the next floor and deep down. Aside from the two doors I see, the walls are lined with shelves designed to make the room itself appear to be round as well.
Surprisingly, I see a light flickering below, so I cautiously make my way down. There are more shelves in this room. Unlike the room above they are not empty, but filled with boxes and crates, so covered with dust and cobwebs I cannot make out what they might contain.
I glance into the room from which the light imitates. I cannot see much. Only a few feet in is a massive wall made up of what appears to be red scales. I turn to my left where it seems brighter only to sneeze.
The wall of scales shifts. "Oh, a visitor," a loud, deep but somehow feminine voice rumbles. "Forgive me, I was napping and did not hear you come in."
The wall of red scales shifts more, and I see the hint of what I think might have been a massive thigh from the corner of my eye, before the wall of scales shimmers and then disappears altogether.
I'm now standing in a library, much better kept than the rest of the keep and facing a woman. Only this woman has crimson hair, long crimson and black horns sprouting from just above her ears, and a long, thick scaly tail.
She also doesn't have much in the way of clothes. Just what could, with great generosity be called a shift that is so transparent it might as well not be there.
Before I can say anything, or react she is running at me with her arms out to her sides. She hits me so hard that I fall down and she is on top of me.
She apologizes even as she reaches out to grab hold of my arms. "Opps! I didn't mean to do that. It's just it's been *so* long since I've had visitors. And even longer since I've had male visitors." She giggles, and it sounds almost like a teenage girl. " I'm Cecilia by the way."
I introduce myself and try to get up, but she gives me a playful grin and holds me in place. "Nuh, uh." she tells me, holding me in place. "It's been too long since I've gotten to hug and snuggle anyone. And everyone that does come these last hundred years won't let me hug them. They all just wanted to fight. *You* don't get to go until I've had my share of hugs and cuddles."
She grins and whispers in my ear. "If you're really good, I'll let you do other things to me too if you like. I'm five hundred years old and tired of being a virgin."
And that, my darling scaly brood of glorious little mischievous troublemakers, is how I met your mother. | 2021-09-16T04:21:30 | 2021-09-16T01:42:02 | 87 | 39 |
[WP] When they were children, sorcerers swore a blood oath that they would never harm each other. Now they are mortal enemies, but because they can never harm each other, they have to resort to annoying and inconveniencing the other. | When Alkun felt the slight tremor within his special study hidden deep within the Talude mountain he wasn't particularly bothered. That region was known for the occasional earthquakes, and he had so many wards and abjurations floating around his lair he had forgotten what half of them even did. He merely placed his quill down, reached for the goblet with his spare hand and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, waiting for the quake to calm down so he could go back to working on his parchment.
A few moments later the quakes subsided, and after taking a sip of the fuming goblet with the strong stench he picked up his quill again and once more worked on the spell a noble had commissioned him. He was near the end of the parchment and conclusion of the spell when a second, much stronger quake caused him to accidentally puncture the parchment and ruin the spell.
After a few moments of cursing while the world shook around him, Alkun looked around his study. *Impossible. Nobody knew about this place, nobody!* There were no entrances, it was magically ventilated through the Plane of Air and he had built the entire thing via magic so he'd have this one place where nobody would find him, absolutely nobody would touch him or annoy him or-
In that moment, the ceiling gave away. Or, rather, it *appeared* as though the ceiling gave away. Alkun was midway through casting a very fast teleporting spell to escape when he realized the mountain wasn't crumbling around him - it was beginning to float *upwards* from the rough-hewn ceiling upwards, leaving his study virtually intact, but dangerously exposed.
Alkun cursed under his breath as he reached for a ring within one of his many pockets, slipping it into his finger and immediately flying upwards. The peak of the mountain had been surgically bisected from it's base, and at precisely the height in which it would be sure to do everything but harm his private study. He flew with great haste underneath the impossibly perfectly cut half of the mountain, and as soon as he had cleared it flew upwards, casting yet another spell under his breath to ward himself off the cold as he approached a single floating black point at the top of the mountain.
**"PARKSIS!!"**
He didn't *need* to use magic to magically amplify his voice to the point where a small avalanche began to form from the snow-tipped peak of the bisected mountain, but it was very important for the effect he wanted upon his childhood friend.
"Oh, if it isn't *Alkun the Dreary*." Parksis called out to him with a similarly magically amplified call (and another, bigger avalanche formed). "What are you even doing in this end of the world?"
"What are YOU even doing to this mountain?" *And how in the Aether did you even manage to raise this entire thing with magic alone?* He stopped himself from asking as he flew closer and closer. If there was one thing Alkun would never admit was saying he did not know how his rival even achieved something as absurd as that.
"Oh, this?" Parksis was now within sight, and absent-mindedly waving a robed hand at the enormous mountain just casually floating alongside him. "The Emperor of Lancaster asked for a mountain to be mined. I was happy to oblige him."
"Lancaster is on the other side of the continent." Alkun said flatly. "Surely you could've found something closer to him."
"Maybe, but I really wanted to pick up a mountain that wasn't bothering anyone." Parksis says with a small, cheeky smile in his face. "I mean, the Talude Mountain is so far away, so isolated, how could I possibly be inconveniencing *anyone* by taking it away?" He gave Alkun a sarcastic smile. "Unless your presence here means I am in your way in some fashion at all?"
Alkun thought of how perfectly cut the mountain was right above his study. How convenient it was that it did all but harm him or his creations. "Of course not." He snarled.
"Good. Now that I am bothering nobody and nobody owns this mountain, I should really be taking it away. After all, Lancaster is, as you said, very, very far away. It is a very long trip for me to take. Now I wonder why did I choose this mountain in particular to satisfy the emperor. Alas! Good to see you again, my childhood friend!"
Alkun observed Parksis fly away, the enormous mountain telling the laws of physics and logic to sit down and be quiet for a moment. He looked down at the almost completely flat layer of stone, dirt and metallic veins, save for a square pocket of his now-exposed private study, somehow intact thanks to his protective wards. Conveniently intact. He grumbled as he flew back down to his study.
--------------------
/r/Tallen | “Why are you mortal enemies?” Angelica sat by my side, glancing at my spell book, causing my gaze to follow hers, noticing wet bits of mud dripping from its insides, coating my lap in the awful mess. I jumped up, shouting a curse to the heavens. She always pulled childish pranks like this. What sort of powerful sorcerer resorts to mud?
“Because of petty things like this.” I hissed, waving my hand. “Claxi Mesin.” The mud slipped away from my pants and spell book, forming a nice brown ball in the air. “Angelica, dear, please bring me an envelope. My raven has a ball of mud that it needs to return.” Oh, how mad she would be, seeing her mud given right back to her, that would get under her skin, wouldn’t it?
“Um, are you sure? That seems rather childish. Can’t you just speak to her about this? I don’t think you even know what you are feuding over anymore. I was talking to Michael, and he said the same thing. Marva just keeps playing these games with you and you both seem to have fun?” Angelica fell silent after that, knowing she had said the wrong thing. I turned to her, letting the ball of mud hover over her head. “What about this seems fun?”
“Ah, well. It’s just. You know? You are both magic, so this sort of stuff is only like a mild annoyance. I know you both can’t kill each other, but I don’t think you would kill her even if you had the chance.” Angelica appeared hesitant, knowing that a misstep in her speech would cause the mud to come down on her. After speaking her mind, she gave in, reaching for an envelope, holding it open as I sent the mud inside.
“I would kill her if I had the chance. Marva is a horrible woman and deserves my worst. She is just lucky I made a childish oath with her. Also, what did I say about talking to her apprentice? I don’t need him tainting your mind with lies. She might already have corrupted him.”
“She says the same thing to Michael about you. You both are alike. It’s funny at times. Not right now though.” The threat of mud was still enough to deter her from her speaking her mind too freely, knowing at any moment I could retrieve it from the envelope.
“The only thing funny will be her reaction to the mud. That and the extra worms I’ll be adding to it. Imagine that, getting a worm in your robe. It will reduce her to a wiggling mess as she tries to get it out. It will be delightful.” I laughed, amazed at my genius, only to notice Angelica wasn’t laughing.
“Why do you hate her? Anytime I ask, you avoid the question. Did something happen between you two? If you made a blood oath, you must have cared deeply for her at a point, right? Did she break your heart?” Angelica enquired, trying to snoop for any additional details.
“Break my heart? She didn’t have a chance too.” I smirked, confident in my answer, only for that confidence to fade when Angelica smirked back.
“Michael is right. You both like each other. That’s why you keep bothering each other. You are trying to get the others’ attention. You both had to study at other academies, right? Did you feel like she abandoned you?”
“She made her choice. Destructive magic was more important than me. We were meant to be a team. Help each other out, but she wanted to study some stupid path of destruction. How is that better than the practical knowledge I possess? I refined my magic into an art. And what is she? A walking explosion of fire?”
“Do you find her hot?” Angelica quipped, trying to hide her grin.
“She can be hot, especially after a spell. She gets really warm after that, it has to do with your inner mana pools, remember how we talked about that in chapter three of Ugo’s theory on manner production and oh.” The joke finally hit me and with that I returned the hit as a ball of mud. Retrieving it from the envelope before rubbing it against her face.
Angelica let out a scream, trying to swat the bits of mud from her face. I expected that to shut her up and yet she still couldn’t stop smiling. “You do like her. That’s great. She likes you too. I’m sure of it.”
“Look, I don’t like her. I respect her as a sorcerer, but I don’t like her. What sort of person resorts to childish pranks? Before you answer, my pranks are rather well thought out. Unlike her mud in book routine.”
“Ok, fine, you don’t like her. I will admit that and scrub the house for three months if you invite her over for dinner, just so I can see how much you hate her. When have you last spoke to her in person?”
“We shouted at each other in the library a few months ago. Both of us lost access to the library for a year because of it. That was her fault though, she just had to steal my seat. She knows I sit in that corner of the room and, of course, she goes and sits in it. Can you believe the nerve of her?” I scoffed, never seeing such arrogance in my life.
“That isn’t speaking to her. Come on, what do you say?” Angelica tugged at the sleeves of my robe, trying to get me to agree to her stupid game.
“You can’t use magic to scrub the house. If you are fine with that, I will send the letter.” I knew that would scare her off, snatching my sleeve away, crossing my arms over my chest, awaiting a response.
“Ok, deal.” Her confidence made me falter. Before I could get a clever word in, she was off, going to clean her face. Had she outplayed me? I grumbled, sitting back into my chair, summoning an ink tipped feather and piece of paper.
‘Dinner tomorrow night, bring a wine or side.’ The paper was straight to the point, not wasting any words. I hated this, but it would be worth it to put my apprentice back in line.
When Angelica walked in, I stuffed the paper into the envelope. I considered asking her to give it to the raven, but I doubted that was a good idea. She would read it, or worse. Instead, I gave a whistle, watching as the beautiful bird swooped into the room, sitting on the arm of my chair. “To Marva. Make sure she gets it.” The raven only nodded, flying for the nearest open window.
“I can’t wait to tell Michael.” Angelica said, turning to the door, ready to run off.
“She won’t come. But fine, go meet with your ‘friend’. It’s not like you will have much time to play with him soon. You will be stuck scrubbing the house. Remember?”
Angelica merely stuck her tongue out at me before she left, heading off to meet with the other apprentice. Ugh, a dinner with Marva. I really hope she declines. A night with her just sounds so unpleasant. I reminded myself of that, stomping down the small part of me that was feeling happy.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-10-18T07:13:18 | 2021-10-18T06:58:11 | 99 | 23 |
[WP] The Assassin stared me down, readying their weapon as I lay helpless to do anything. “As a courtesy, I’ll give you one final request. Anything within my power.” they said. All I could respond with was… “Wanna go on a date?” | The date was indeed lovely. The unlikely couple went out to a rather charming restaurant; a quaint little Italian bistro in a long-forgotten street where the yellow lights bounce off of the cobblestones for a truly romantic atmosphere.
They were walking down the boardwalk; the assassin had his hands in his pockets and merely looked out to the night sea while his mark was munching down on some popcorn they'd picked up earlier.
"I had a... shockingly pleasant evening," the assassin suddenly said.
"Me too," the mark said.
"I can't say I expected someone to say 'date' as a final request, but... I'm glad you did."
"It's just... something that came to my mind, you know? I guess your head does funny things when high on adrenaline and, well..."
"Yeah?" the assassin asked, looking back at the mark.
"You are *really* cute," the mark giggled. The assassin only smiled and looked back out to the sea.
The two approached the end of the boardwalk and leaned against the railing, enjoying the fresh air with a hint of salt and kelp.
"My job doesn't leave much room for relationships, you know?" the assassin broke the silence suddenly.
"Must be lonely."
"It is."
They stood, once again, enveloped by silence.
"Would you like to do this again sometime?" the mark asked.
"I would. I would very much like to," the assassin said and put his hand on his target's shoulder.
The mark smiled gently before collapsing to the ground, their last breath leaving their body. The assassin made sure the poison in the popcorn would be completely painless as a thank you.
"But... I can't," he said somberly. | The words that exit my mouth shocked me just as much as it did my agressor. A date? Really? This man gives me a courtesy of *anything* within his power, and I choose a **date**. I could have sent him after my boss, or maybe that asshole Karen, or even some kind of major terrorist or something; but no. A *date*. I'm such a fucking **idiot**.
Thankfully, it catches him off-guard as well. Is that..shock? I think that's shock on that emotionless face. Maybe this could buy me time to escape?
"A...date?" The man finally questions; cold, professional...curious? "That is...not the answer I was expecting. Your profile suggested you preferred the sexual company of women." He leaned back into the chair across from me.
"Yes...no! I mean..." And there I go, red as a beet. Jesus, I'm about to be *murdered*, and I have to still embarrass myself. Christ. "I-I don't mean like that, exactly, just like...a f-friend date! Y'know, go and hang out, maybe have a few drinks, or something." I squirm a bit in the chair, mostly out of uncomfort to the situation.
"No, I don't know." The man's answer was still cold and calculated. But definitely curious. Jesus, he tied these knots good n' tight.
Wait, no? Has this man never hung out with his friends? Wait, does this guy even *have* friends? Like, I get the whole 'calculated killer' thing, but only a loser like me doesn't have friends, right?
"Wait, seriously? Surely you're joking, right?"
"I am always serious." The man leaned forward, ice-cold voice tinged with warning. "And do not call me Shirley."
I can't help but to give a bit of a laugh, which the man is **certainly** not pleased with. "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh!" I apologize, still chuckling a bit. "But...that's from Airplane, it's a classic movie, so I assume you do something in your free time."
The man, curious again, "No."
Right, now *I'm* speechless one. Like, fair enough, it's an older movie, and not everyone is into comedy. But...not doing *anything*? This guy lives a sadder life than I do. But, assumingly, not as poor.
I am unable to speak, at first and when I find my voice, I am shocked at myself.
"Well, it's obvious that we need to find *something* outside of your work that you'll enjoy. I got a bunch of movies at home, we'll start there. I've got a couple streaming services, too, maybe even see if you like anime. I got some games, too; retro, new, board, and tabletop, card. Try a little bit of everything, see what you like."
The man was silent for a moment, but then gave a curt laugh. He stands, sharp laughter piercing into my soul, walking around behind me. Oh fuck, he's going to slit my throat here and now, oh Jesus fuck he's going to kill me I'm sorry Ma I tried to be a good person fuck you Dad I'll see you in hell same to Karen fuck you oh God I'm sorry oh fuck...
Oh. My hands are free. Wait, what the fuck?
"Certainly the most interesting final request I've heard." The man chuckles, cold words sending chills down my spine. "But you have caught my interest. Let us be off, then."
He grabs me and stands me up abruptly, then brushes some of the dirt and grime from me.
"Uh, yeah, thanks." I begin to follow him out, before a thought occurrs. "Hey, uh, what's your name? I mean, uh, w-what should I call you, like you don't have to give your real name or anything, just, like, I can't just call you 'hey you!' all the time and--"
He stops and turns, placing a hand on my shoulder, which is replied with an 'eep'. "I have no name and any name. They call me Agent, mostly."
A moment of silence, before my stupid brain spouts out a question. "Can I call you John?"
A smile...a genuine one? Wait, does this dude seriously have no name?
"Yes, John is fine." | 2022-04-24T10:28:46 | 2022-04-24T09:43:04 | 1,312 | 126 |
[WP] In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.” | Radio static echoed down the vacant halls. The older communications modules had long since been moved into vacant rooms that slowly became labyrinths of ancient technology and unneeded paperwork.
The robotic words followed shortly after. Almost like a spectre called to cause confusion.
“I’ve been fully charged. And I’m heading back with an important message.”
The message wasn’t heard for days. In fact, it wasn’t heard at all, well not until someone went searching for it.
After noticing tire markings along the surface through the feed of Perseverance, NASA engineers re-tasked it to search for their origin. The rover crept along, but slowly the tracks disappeared and before it could finish it’s adventure, it had to be called back due to heading towards night without enough power left to sustain it.
The scientists were curious as to what they had found and sent off a small splinter team to try and decipher what was happening. There was no pattern to the tracks. And they didn’t know where they finished. That was until a young intern piped up and pointed at the landing site of Insight. Yes, it was a stab in the dark, but it was the best lead they had.
The delirious workers scrambled into the back rooms of NASA. The sleepless nights they had spent trying to decipher the mystery left them questioning the faint crackling and haunting voice but they pushed on. Slowly they closed in on the source.
They cheered and high-fived and hugged. Insight lived on. The young intern scrambled back towards mission control with a scrawled note repeating the message. It wasn’t long before the communication was patched through into the main console room.
The audience sat in silence waiting the eight or so minutes it took for correspondence to return to Earth. The only audible sounds were the occasional shifting of chairs or ruffling of clothes. Sometimes a click of a pen and the scribbling of a note.
The roof was almost lifted off the room with cheers and sobs alike when Insight’s message returned on the crack of midnight. “I have received the gift of life and can continue to provide service from Mars. Merry Christmas.”
The irony of a Christmas miracle wasn’t lost on the crew as Christmas Day began, so to did Insight’s journey continue. | plip. plop. plip. plop. those're the sounds of my sticky shoes. plip plop. plip plop. the stickiest. plip plop plip. and yet they've carried me so far. plop plip plop. my feet are tired, but the sticky shoes aren't. plip plop.
sskkktttttt... sktttttttttttt... those're the sounds of something heavy dragging behind me. sktttttttt..... it's wonderful. it's a new sound, after all--i've dragged all sorts of things back to my cave before, but none so heavy as this. my hands're tired from pulling, but that's okay, because i've got gloves (soundless). my legs are tired, but that's okay, because they're connected to the sticky boots (plip plop). overall: feelin' okay. got me a shiny something. and there's the cave now... skkktttttttttt............
inside, and the boots now come off. one plip and another plop. gloves, too. no sound there, of course. and now the main event: sktttttttttttt. my hands are bruised from taking the gloves off early, but i don't care. my hands are sweaty (don't care). i wipe my grabbers on the side of the heavy thing, then press and grope and feel it up with everything i've got in order to discern its use. it makes no noise. but i've got experience with this........... skkkttttttt.
over onto the hot bay, i've hoisted the thing atop a pedestal. hands hurt. it's magic, by the way (hot bay, not tired hands). once, i held a square thing (was not tired then), and it did nothing (soundless as well). then i put the square onto the pedestal, and what do you know? magic. the square starts responding to groping! soundless unfortunately, but i fell in love with it all the same. love on hold, though, because the pedestal belongs to a new, very soundful device. i twiddle my tired thumbs. twiddle twiddle twiddle.
oh....?
it's beeping... it's grinding... it's making sounds. all sorts of sounds, sounds i can't even begin to describe. vwwwwpppwpwppwp vwwppw vwwppwwp. that's one. hhmhmmmhhmmmmhm. another. sktttttttttttttttttttt... that's me dragging the thing off from the pedestal and onto the floor by its two great wings. can they flap? i grumble something out, something intended to be a question. but it keeps vwwpwppwwpwppw and hmhmhhmhmmmmmhing... and then... it moves! and it doesn't skkt! i watch it dance around my cave, treading silently with only one or two or three crunches, one being the square. but i'll get over it... i dance with the thing. it swerves. i swerve. it kicks up dirt: fwwshshsh. i fwshshshs as well. it crunches over the square again. i crunch it too! seizing the moment, i rush over to a much bigger, thicker square. also brought back to life by magic, i fumble and grope the the girthy box until it begins spitting sounds... what lovely music to this dance. my boots are back on (i am a gentleman). i catch back up with the winged skttter, and take it by the flaps. it and i are one in the cave, crunching and vwwpwpwping and plipping and hmmhmhmhing and plopping and fwwhshshshshshshwsh and vwwpwppwing and fhshshsh and hmmhmhmhming the stars outside away.
but tragedy arrives at the cave, or rather the cave's entrance, or perhaps what i fear is its exit as the graceful treader vwwppwpws on over to leave. i crunch and plip plop plip plop plip plop after it, desperately. have i danced wrong? was the magic wrong? is it the boots? i take my last plip and plop as the boots come off again, this time hurtling towards my fleeing guest, my fleeting love. this makes a PLOPSSSHHTICKK... but there is no sound of them hitting the ground, no settling dust.
it takes them.
i shamble my pained soles towards what is now certainly the cave's exit as my love treads further and further away, both boots stuck firmly onto its flappers. i wonder why it doesn't flap on out and away. but i understand. i nod to emphasize that. and i come back in to a scratching noise, and i scoop up pieces of the square and place it back onto the pedestal, waiting for the magic to start again. | 2022-12-20T07:33:26 | 2022-12-20T05:25:32 | 81 | 20 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. | James found something very interesting on his thirteenth birthday. He had come upon a magnificent golden watch which glittered like a thousand stars, lying in the street. He looked round to see if anyone had dropped it, but if anyone had, they were long gone. Besides, the watch looked to be worth as much as the sum of his family's belongings, and selling it would bring more money than the original owner would likely offer as a reward. James decided to keep the watch for himself and bring it to his home, a lower-story apartment at the bottom of the City.
The City was comprised of many tall log-framed buildings stretching upwards of fifty floors, marvels of engineering held aloft by zeppelin-supports, rubber tanks of helium like arms straining to push the buildings towards the sky. They were above every floating walkway, supporting the plank paths with ropes. The top of the City had many skyports where airships docked, and several of the upper levels formed a Hub of commerce, with floors upon floors of shops open to the air, floating walkways bridging between them. Five massive wooden pylons supported the levels above, which were mainly residences of the upper class, the merchants and pilots. But below the Hub was a different story. Not much light filtered through to the bottom twenty floors of the city, creating a perpetually dark half-night lit only by candles in sockets on the walls and gas lamps in the less run-down places outside of the tenements. These tenements, making up the bottom ten floors of the city, housed the lower class at low cost but low quality- the ground roads were dirty and muddy and channels had been worn in them by the constant flow of filth running along the side of the streets. It was in this ignoble place where James and his family lived, in one of the fourth-floor rooms, which contained five beds, a basic kitchen, and a bathroom that drained into the channels on the streets.
James returned from the street into the slums where his family (and many others) lived. He strode quickly up the three flights of stairs to his family's room, the golden watch in his pocket. James entered his apartment and was greeted with a loud, “Surprise!” from his three younger brothers and his father, who was holding a small cake. James ran up and hugged his father, nearly causing him to drop the cake. “Dad, wait till you see what I found today!” His father set the birthday cake down on the table and asked what it could possibly be that James had found. James pulled the beautiful watch out of his pocket for his family to see. His father looked at the watch's face and remarked that it was off by a few minutes. James turned the dial at the top of the watch until the minute hand lined up with the one on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Suddenly the world blurred around him and spun for a few seconds until it settled back into the normal world, and James found himself standing in a different part of the room. The watch had transported him a minute into the future, in what seemed like seconds. James amazedly shared the experience of the trip with his family. Before his father could stop him, James wound the wonderful watch backwards several times. The world spun again for a minute or two until James found himself three hundred years ago, in the middle of a tropical jungle that had stood where the City would later be founded. James looked around in wonder, listening to the birds chirp and watching the monkeys in the treetops, until a huge jaguar leapt out of the foliage and promptly bit his head off. | 2014-12-21T18:39:13 | 2014-12-21T18:36:37 | 1,223 | 41 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | There he was, finally alone, given the time to reflect on his courage: a story that would be passed through the muck and mire of humanity. He had defeated our hero and sat begrudgingly on his throne. There was turmoil and conflict; pain, lament, and remorse. There was also joy in the remembrance of his accomplishment and a great wonder of the rewards to come.
For his deed, he received a glorious T-shirt, and his picture on the wall. A 10 foot sub is a helluva thing to eat. | To lure in the gods, you must first prepare a banquet worthy of the gods.
***
The smell of rot, of decaying flesh mingled with the scent of fresh blood, inhaled like euphoria, by the Master Chef, Kurukai, 3rd Level of the Ten Thousand Arts Of Preservation. Men, women, children, the elderly, some dead, some dying, some soon to be killed, hung naked, hands nailed into wooden crucifixes, staked into the desert earth. The sun glared down heat, casted mis-shapened shadows, rippled reality's focus.
Kurukai stood before them, hundreds affixed, each to their crucifix post. He wore only a loincloth, barefeet against burning sands, eyes blazing vivid gold, red hair stirred by the wind, lean muscle and faced hardened like stone. Runes of shifting colors broke from the inner folds of his skin, inner scars bursting forth, resealed, only to break open again, no predictably to when or where.
In his hand, he held the tool of the trade, the most spectacular of kitchen knives, an edge, not made of steel, but of shiik ruby, both fragile and unparalleled piercing sharpness. Fragile, it could shatter like glass at the slightest tremble of an unsteady hand. Unparalleled sharpness, you could dissect open a chest and remove a beating heart before the skin could seep red and blood spurted out. Only chefs, 3rd Level and higher, of the Ten Thousand Arts of Preservation, could use such a knife.
The woman dangled before Kurukai. Her eyes, long ago resigned, met his. A flicker, an imperceptible movement of his arm that held the blade, swiped across her neck, like a painter's brush, the chef's masterful chop. For several moments, it was as if nothing had occurred. The woman held his gaze, unchanged. Then, a line of red started trailing on one side of her neck, spreading and expanding around her neck, both front and back, closing into a complete circle of red on the other side. Then, her body started to recognized it, as her eyes widened in shock. Then, she started to choke and gasped for air as her head lurched off from her neck.
Blood bubbled from the neck socket, gushed forth, and sprayed a narrow fountain into the shallow barrel below just as the head landed into it, already filled slightly with tears and sweat. A precise and methodical sweep of aorta and angles allowed for such control of the blood fountain, to collect it all.
He had left the woman unshaved. There were gods that delighted in the play and texture of coarse strands of hair in their mouth.
He began to butcher the woman, separating her organs. The bile sac was considered a delicacy. As his hand reached into her, the strands of her hair curled into life and strangled themselves around his wrist with supernatural strength. The dead eyes clouded into blood-red haze, fangs stretch forth from her teeth, her skin gnarled into hideous hide, and her body began to transform...
Kurukai blinked. And the moment passed. The dead woman's transformation had merely been a hallucination of heatstroke. He needed to hydrate more. | 2014-12-21T18:41:55 | 2014-12-21T18:25:10 | 212 | 75 |
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