prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | My hands shake violently as I tear open the letter. The mailman looks at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am. I certainly used to think so myself, all those times I felt like something was *wrong* with me - that something about me was different. I know I was being irrational, an angsty, paranoid teenager, but still... I have to know. Even though my parents keeps reassuring me that I'm just like everyone else ("but you're still special!"), I have to be sure. And now I have the answer in my hands.
Trying to steady myself, I unfold the single sheet of paper and skim through the lines. *"Dear Mr... thank you for... curious as to where you acquired...* And there it is.
I feel like the world stands still. Everything else fades into the distance until it's just me and the letter in a vast black sea. I don't know how long I stand like that, but eventually, I hear my Mom's voice cut through the black.
"Honey? Are you okay? What's that in your hand?"
Her words are drowned out by the contents of the letter, echoing in my head: *"We were unable to process the sample, but I took the liberty of sending it to a colleague of mine..."* I look down at my hand and see for the first time that it's not really a hand. My legs almost collapse under me, unable to bear to weight of the truth. I let out a cry for help that sounds like nothing out of a human throat. All the while, the last line of the letter echoes on like a bell: *"The sample is not human. It is actually the DNA of a crustacean from the Paleolithic Era. Enclosed, you'll find a bill for $3.50."*
The ground shrinks away from me, making me dizzy, and I drop the letter when I realize my hand is actually an enormous webbed fin. The letter falls to the floor. I try to run but my stumpy hind legs won't let me, and for the first time in my life, I walk like a dinosaur. | My parents just sat there on the couch together, staring at the printout I had given them late that afternoon.
"What does it mean?" I demanded. For the past hour, my mind had been racing, trying to make sense of the words on the paper. "ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES". The uppercase printing of the computer-generated response served only to make the message more surreal. More frightening...
Now, in our living room, I had finally worked up the courage to give them the results, and to demand an explanation from them.
"Sweetheart," my mother replied, in a condescending voice that had, in years past, soothed my toddler fears and calmed my early teenage anxieties, but now served only to give me a proverbial chill down my spine. "Sweetheart," she repeated, "we had hoped to spare you from this. You know that we have always tried to do what's best for you." My father nodded approvingly as she continued. "We have devoted ourselves completely to making sure that you and your sisters led normal, healthy lives. Why did you have to go digging around like this?"
"ME?" I yelled. "ME? You're blaming ME for this?" I was shouting so loud that my parents looked nervously at each other, no doubt concerned that the Langstroms next door could hear me.
"Of course not, dear," she replied, again in an unnerving sweet voice that was really starting to give me the heebie-jeebies. "I only mean that we have tried to shelter you from certain... um..."
"Uncomfortable," my father said quietly without looking up at me. He was now holding the paper, looking down toward it but his eyes seemingly focusing somewhere past it.
"...uncomfortable realities that don't... that shouldn't have had any impact on your lives," she said. "I just don't see why you had to upset the apple cart this way. But never mind. What's done is done."
"Gary," my father said after a pause, "as you have already figured out, you, Brandi and Lacy are not really our children. I mean, you're our children in that we've poured our lives into you, loved you, and cared for you the best we know how..."
He continued on for several minutes, but I cannot even recall what he said exactly. My mind was coming to grips with the fact that we, my two sisters and I, were not the children of the people who had raised us. We had been deceived... No, we had been LIED TO... for years. Winters together at the cabin by the lake. Soccer games in the summer. Geez, even playing Rook after dinner as a family. All of it had been a lie.
My whole world was reeling.
I suddenly realized that my dad had stopped talking, and that he and Mom were standing up, looking expectantly at me.
"So I guess that's it, then," he said. "Since you and your sisters are older now, and are responsible young adults, I think we've done our jobs as parents."
Parents. I almost perceptibly sneered when he said that word.
"Gary, once your mother and I are gone, go to my desk and open the manila envelope in the top right drawer. You and your sisters will be set for life."
Wait, what? "What are you--' I started to stammer, but before I could finish, my mother and father, or whoever they were, slowly dematerialized right in front of me, standing right in front of our couch in the living room of the house we had lived in for as long as I could remember. Dematerialized is the best I can describe it, because as I was looking right at them, they seemed to become out of focus like the projector at a movie theater, but their unfocusedness kept increasing and widening until I could see right through them, to the dining room in the distance. "We love you..." my mother said as she and Dad faded away in front of me.
As they vanished right in front of my eyes, the paper my father had been holding fluttered to the floor at the foot of the couch. In a daze, I picked it up and held it up again, looking at the uppercase results it provided.
SUBJECT: GARY STEVENS
SIBLING 1: LACY STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
SIBLING 2: BRANDI STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
PARENT 1: MARVIN STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
PARENT 2: GLENDA STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
| 2015-01-06T10:21:48 | 2015-01-06T10:08:59 | 67 | 14 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | "Mom? Dad?" I asked. "Can we talk for a second?" I shivered a little bit. I can't remember the last time I shivered.
"What is it, son?" Dad replied.
"It's just..." I started, and then couldn't find the words to finish.
Dad noticed the consternation on my face, and said, "It's OK. Start at the beginning."
"Well, lately, I've been feeling... weird. It's like... well, I go out and work in the fields all day, and I never, ever feel tired."
"Well, that's what clean country living will get you," Mom said.
"No, I mean, I don't even feel the least bit winded. And lately, I've been hearing things other people don't hear, and seeing things other people don't see."
"You what?" Dad raised an eyebrow. "You didn't hurt your head or anything, did you?"
"No, I mean real things. Things too far away for anybody else to notice. And that's not all either. Weird things keep happening. Things that make me feel like I don't belong here. So, I... I..."
"C'mon, son."
"I cut off a lock of your hair and Mom's hair while you were asleep, and I sent it to a lab for testing with some of mine. And they sent me this back."
I gave them the letter. As they read it, I continued, "It says they don't test non-human DNA. *Non-human DNA.* **My** DNA is apparently non-human."
I was expecting them to be shocked, or... something. I didn't expect what I got. Both of them just gave me a thousand yard stare. As if they knew this was coming, but still didn't know what to say.
I pushed them a little further. "Dad... Mom... What am I?"
Dad breathed a sigh, and turned to Mom. "Martha, get your coat," he said. "It's time we showed Clark the truth." | My parents just sat there on the couch together, staring at the printout I had given them late that afternoon.
"What does it mean?" I demanded. For the past hour, my mind had been racing, trying to make sense of the words on the paper. "ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES". The uppercase printing of the computer-generated response served only to make the message more surreal. More frightening...
Now, in our living room, I had finally worked up the courage to give them the results, and to demand an explanation from them.
"Sweetheart," my mother replied, in a condescending voice that had, in years past, soothed my toddler fears and calmed my early teenage anxieties, but now served only to give me a proverbial chill down my spine. "Sweetheart," she repeated, "we had hoped to spare you from this. You know that we have always tried to do what's best for you." My father nodded approvingly as she continued. "We have devoted ourselves completely to making sure that you and your sisters led normal, healthy lives. Why did you have to go digging around like this?"
"ME?" I yelled. "ME? You're blaming ME for this?" I was shouting so loud that my parents looked nervously at each other, no doubt concerned that the Langstroms next door could hear me.
"Of course not, dear," she replied, again in an unnerving sweet voice that was really starting to give me the heebie-jeebies. "I only mean that we have tried to shelter you from certain... um..."
"Uncomfortable," my father said quietly without looking up at me. He was now holding the paper, looking down toward it but his eyes seemingly focusing somewhere past it.
"...uncomfortable realities that don't... that shouldn't have had any impact on your lives," she said. "I just don't see why you had to upset the apple cart this way. But never mind. What's done is done."
"Gary," my father said after a pause, "as you have already figured out, you, Brandi and Lacy are not really our children. I mean, you're our children in that we've poured our lives into you, loved you, and cared for you the best we know how..."
He continued on for several minutes, but I cannot even recall what he said exactly. My mind was coming to grips with the fact that we, my two sisters and I, were not the children of the people who had raised us. We had been deceived... No, we had been LIED TO... for years. Winters together at the cabin by the lake. Soccer games in the summer. Geez, even playing Rook after dinner as a family. All of it had been a lie.
My whole world was reeling.
I suddenly realized that my dad had stopped talking, and that he and Mom were standing up, looking expectantly at me.
"So I guess that's it, then," he said. "Since you and your sisters are older now, and are responsible young adults, I think we've done our jobs as parents."
Parents. I almost perceptibly sneered when he said that word.
"Gary, once your mother and I are gone, go to my desk and open the manila envelope in the top right drawer. You and your sisters will be set for life."
Wait, what? "What are you--' I started to stammer, but before I could finish, my mother and father, or whoever they were, slowly dematerialized right in front of me, standing right in front of our couch in the living room of the house we had lived in for as long as I could remember. Dematerialized is the best I can describe it, because as I was looking right at them, they seemed to become out of focus like the projector at a movie theater, but their unfocusedness kept increasing and widening until I could see right through them, to the dining room in the distance. "We love you..." my mother said as she and Dad faded away in front of me.
As they vanished right in front of my eyes, the paper my father had been holding fluttered to the floor at the foot of the couch. In a daze, I picked it up and held it up again, looking at the uppercase results it provided.
SUBJECT: GARY STEVENS
SIBLING 1: LACY STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
SIBLING 2: BRANDI STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
PARENT 1: MARVIN STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
PARENT 2: GLENDA STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
| 2015-01-06T10:58:29 | 2015-01-06T10:08:59 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Your Xbox Live friend is God. Unfortunately he's not very good at video games. | **"You know, I really don't know why you want to play such a violent game all the time. Isn't there anything nicer you want to play?"**
"Come on, G-Man, it'll be fun."
**"Hmm... well, I suppose you do only have a little bit of time left to enjoy this kind of thing."**
"What was that?"
**"Oh... nothing. Ooh, let's do this room."**
"But, the ping's a lot higher than the other rooms."
**"Please?"**
"Fine, fine. I guess it's your universe, anyway."
**"Alright, let's go."**
"...Wow, God, you're getting dominated already?"
**"Yes, I suppose I am."**
"You... you do know you're *God*, right?"
**"What do you mean?"**
"Every week, you want us to go on some really weird server, and you always do really badly. You're supposed to be omnipotent, right? Couldn't you just flawlessly win every time?"
**"...Alright, see the person dominating me?"**
"Yeah...?"
**"Five days ago, his mother, and only surviving parent, passed away in her sleep. He's scared he won't be able to help his little sister come to terms with it, or be as good a parent as he should to her. He's playing this game to work out his frustration."**
"...Jesus."
**"Ahem... blasphemy."**
"Right, right..."
**"In any case... I thought he should have a small victory tonight. Small victories accumulate and make you feel better."**
"...Wow."
**"I'm glad you're impressed."**
"...Hang on. What about that 1v1 we did a month back?"
**"Ugh... that's because the sniper rifle is OP as fuck."** | I was kind of surprised anyone was playing Halo Reach anymore.
It’s an old game, it’s on the 360, and all the cool kids moved on over to the Xbox One. Or the PS4.
The *really* cool kids all migrated to high-end gaming PCs—the kind I couldn’t really afford.
But the lobby showed 7777 players.
I had to hand it to Bungie—that wasn’t bad.
I cracked my knuckles and got ready to go. Time for some Slayer.
We got a full party of players in about seven minutes and already voted on a map: I think it might have been Relic? Shit, I barely remember, to be honest.
We all spawn, and then all I remember is completely *creaming* those motherfuckers. I hadn’t played in *years*, but I was destroying these guys left and right. They might as well have been Grunts, heads popping with confetti and birthday whistles, while I sweeped them clean with a few shots from my DMR.
I must’ve been some sort of goddamned God. Hadn’t played in years and I was *this* good? Shiiiit.
I switched parties, thinking I must’ve just been lucky.
The players were all armored in white, like stormtroopers. We dropped into the map, and just like stormtroopers, they kept missing and I took them all the fuck out. Good. Lord. I was wiping the floor with these guys.
One of them reached out to me with an Xbox Live MSG: “Good game.”
Well, at least they were nice. I sent a message back: “Good game!”
Another lobby, another set of seven players. I could’ve used a plasma pistol and a Spartan III’s armored dick the rest of the game and still destroyed these guys. Easy as pie. It was almost annoying how easy this was.
“Good game. You’re a good player.” Another message.
I shot one back: “Good game, good game. Keep aiming for heads, yeah?”
Fuck it, it was time for a team battle.
They found 8 players for the blue team, but… just one player for my team? Just me?
That was some bullshit.
But you know what? It didn’t matter. I jumped into that Sidewinder clone of a map, got myself a ghost, and splattered those bastards from one end of the map to the other. SPLATTER, SPLATTER, SPLATTER.
I got a streak so long the announcer was shouting KILLMANJARO in my ear while I laughed my ass off.
“Good game.”
I laughed, “Yeah. Sure. That was fun.”
New map, new game type. SWAT. No shields, so any headshot kills.
I popped heads like they were balloons and I was shooting flailing porcupines. Headshot. HEADshot. Mother. Fuckin’. HEADSHOT.
“Good Game.”
‘Uh-huh, yeah, good for me, bad for you. How’s it feel to get cleaned up?”
I tried playing fucking GRIFBALL. Murdered the opposite team by myself.
“Good game.”
Shot a message back: “Good job being my bitch, b. GG. GG.”
Capture The Flag. Killed it.
“Good game.”
“SUCK. MY. DIIIIIQ.”
Rocket Race. Fucked it.
“Good game.”
“GIT GUD N00B.”
King Of The Hill. Annihilated it.
“Good game.”
“EAT MY ASS.”
And then they were gone. 7777 players online suddenly became… just 1.
I thought it was a glitch, but I got put into one more game.
Big Team Battle. But it was just me and one other guy.
His username was a blank space. Eerie.
We spawned, I got ready to murder, but there was this whisper behind me— and suddenly there was a white smoke trail of sniper fire lancing through my character's head, and I felt a hole in my own forehead, and it was black, and then, hot, and empty, and forsaken—
And now it feels like a permanent loading screen.
Like I’ve been left in the lurch.
Like I’m waiting for something, alone.
I’ve been here for years.
And it took me a while, but I guess I finally figured it out.
Heaven *really* works hard to keep up to date on how they Judge you.
And I guess I washed out.
***
*Psst. Hey. Go visit:*
###/r/NaimKabir
| 2016-02-25T21:59:47 | 2016-02-25T18:58:49 | 251 | 181 |
[WP] When you're born you are given a list of 10 things to do before you die. When an immediate family member dies their unaccomplished tasks get passed on to you. On your 18th birthday your family dies in a car crash, leaving you to complete their lists. | You wouldn't think ten things to do before you die would be difficult to accomplish, you would probably assume depending on what they are, that you could probably accomplish them in a couple of weeks, months, or maybe a couple of years quite comfortably.
The world had fallen into a hole, more depraved than before. There was less war and less general disrupt but that's only because the humans in it were too lazy to move from the comfort of their homes. A half-arsed experiment from the government had called for everyone to be given a list of ten things to do before they die in order to prevent the world becoming too quiet and no work ever being done.
It had been interesting in the beginning, people had to accept it however begrudgingly since it had become law.
I had been getting on fairly well with my list so far, making good effort to completing my second task. Since I was a fairly active person, I liked having goals to accomplish. Seeing those progress bars filling up steadily on my e-tracking page was satisfying to me at the time.
That is until my eighteenth birthday hit me at high speed and impacted my life just like the car crash that tore both my parents from my life. I was hardly left a grieving period before the government had decided to assign me to finish my parents incomplete lists. I had never seen someone else's list before, they were confidential to the individual, so it was terrifying the thought of having to take on life events another person had been supposed to complete. With both my parents lists, I now had nineteen and a half tasks left.
There was a few ways you could change your tasks. For instance, you could choose to have them customised to your career path once you had been in a certain field for three or more years and competed a certain amount of work or reputation. You could pay a whole bunch of money, or they were adapted for you if you had a life impacting incident like losing a limb.
My father had been a proud owner of a bar that was coming up on it's 15 year anniversary. He had built his tasks around the bar. For example, he had to celebrate the 15 year anniversary with a bang, own a second branch of the bar, become the highest rated bar on yelp and so on. He was not a high achiever so he had six things left to do and man, I was not looking forward to any single one of them.
My mother's list had been more interesting however. Four items left, definitely better than my dad with keeping up with the tasks. I was not expecting anything thrilling about the tasks until the words *'eliminate Charles Dowery'* on the very top. Charles Dowery was the head of council in our county. My eyes, disbelieving of what they had read, quickly took in the rest:
*- create an underground information trade service*
*- gain influence over the high court*
*- stay undercover*
Of course looking back on it now, I should've realised sooner how perfectly they two lists fit, running an underground information trade centre was a lot easier under the guise of a bar.
It was just more difficult maintaining cover with blood on your hands.
Nine tasks left to go. Let's just hope I'm not shot before I get them done. | *They were all driving*, thought Analisa, as she dropped her phone at her feet. *to visit me.*
Analisa wandered out of her dorm room, and onto one of the larger lawns on her campus. Some students looked at her with pity, but kept walking to their classes. She brought her shaking hand to her face, and pushed her hair behind her ear.
She fell beside a tree and cried. Tears littered her pink crop top and ripped jeans. She sat there for a while, crying on occasion, and at other occasions looking up at the indifferent world walking around her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and flinched.
“I’m sorry,” said a man in a white suit. “Are you Analisa Reynolds?”
She only nodded her head, and stared with horror at the envelope in the man’s hand.
“I got the phone call,” she whispered, sniffling. Her voice got weaker. “I know what happened.”
The man put his hand out.
“I’m sorry my name’s Matt,” he said. She hesitated, then shook his hand weakly. “I know this is a rough time for you. I can’t imagine what kind of grief and pressure you must be feeling.” Analisa broke down again for a few minutes. He sat beside her, and put his hand on her back. She flinched. “So you know what this is?”
Analisa slowly removed the letter from Matt’s hand.
“I know what this is,” she whispered, not looking at him. She took a moment. She breathed in and out, like it was a meditation session. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and ripped open the envelope. She didn’t try to be clean about it.
**We regret to inform you that Camille Reynolds, Carl Reynolds, and their son Artemus Reynolds passed away last night in a ten car pileup. As you know, their obligations pass onto you as per your ancestor Anton Reynolds arrangemen-**
Analisa dropped the letter at her feet. She didn’t read the list of tasks.
“Why should I suffer,” asked Analisa. “For the mistakes of my grandpa?”
Matt sat closer to her. She noticed he was warm to the touch, and getting warmer.
“You don't need to suffer. And it’s just one of those things you can’t control Analisa,” he said. “But I can *help* you with it all.”
Analisa looked around the campus. People cast glances at her, like they felt sorry for her. Others looked at her like she was crazy. Some just passed by that way towards their classes, and pretended they didn’t notice her talking there, with nothing in her hand.
Nobody looked at the man sitting beside her.
“Did,” whispered Analisa, shivering. “did you kill them?” Her nostrils flared with rage. Matt shook his head. “Did you make the pileup happen.”
“*No*,” whispered Matt. He put his hand on her back, and she stood up. She put her arms up too, like she hated his touch. “*I* didn’t do anything.”
Analisa’s face screamed of disgust. She looked him into his red eyes.
“But you know who did,” said Analisa. She fought the urge to cry.
Matt shook his head. He shook it some more, then shrugged.
“They honestly did always prefer that you would be the one to do it,” said Matt. Analisa stod up and kicked at the letter. She speed-walked away from him with her arms folded.
“This isn’t fair,” she said. She turned around, and felt a strange guilt for their deaths. “Why *ME* why my *FAMILY*.”
“It’s just,” said Matt, appearing beside her suddenly. He looked at her with adoration. “these things happen more easily with a pretty face at the helm.”
“I had my *own* list,” screamed Analisa. Some people around stared at the schizophrenic girl losing her mind. She didn’t care anymore, she was tired of hiding. “I already did my first two tasks." She shook her head, and shut her eyes. She whispered faintly. “I never even met my grandfather.”
Matt shushed her, and tried to hug her. She recoiled at his touch. He showed her the list once more. The letter had a golden trim.
“Now the first task *I* believe you should tackle,” whispered Matt. Analisa cried on. A safe goal, it would seem. “is to reach one million Youtube followers for your Philosophy vlogs.”
“What do you *want* with us,” she whispered. She remembered how the closer he came to finishing his list, the darker their household became. She thought about the men coming home in the night, with blood on their hands, taking shots with her dad. She thought about the insidious build from fortune to ruinous hell. “I won’t do what you want, not anymore. It ends with me.”
Matt put on a disappointed face, though he still smiled.
“There will be consequences if you don’t,” said Matt. He put on a kind voice. A fake voice. “You have a lifetime to do it, but I can’t control the others if you don’t do what we want.”
Analisa turned around, crying a river and shouting in horror.
“I *won’t* DO IT!”
There was a quiet on the campus. Everybody watched the spectacle of the crazy girl. Matt stood still a moment, then adjusted his suit jacket. He rubbed his index finger and thumb together.
“Either you do it *all*,” whispered Matt. His eyes went redder, and a white flame creeped up from his hands, and grew all around him. The ground around Analisa’s feet warmed up too. She felt her feet burn, and heard the voices of her family members wincing in her head. She shut her eyes and screamed. “or you *all* burn.”
| 2017-04-17T11:14:45 | 2017-04-17T10:39:40 | 72 | 12 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other. | Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one knew, that the other one too, planned to end their fate.
Jill was late, late for the date, when she lost control of the car. The tires were slashed, but there was no crash-Jack hadn’t planned that far.
Jack was fine, until his wine, had a lil’ something slipped in it. Then, thought Jill, she’d get her kill, but just a spill, and that was it.
They left there soon, past afternoon, when no light could be seen. Both thought then, how lucky they’d been, for the perfect time to do the deed.
Two knives were drawn, and each one saw, the same ideas within. Then, they both knew, the other one too, must be the same hidden.
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one dead, when the date did end, and true love was found thanks to fate.
EDIT: The story I told, it has earned me gold, and I don’t know what else to say. Like Jack with Jill, my spirit you filled. Thanks for making my day. | The candles were lit, the table was set for two, and the night had that late summer evening chill, which was perfect for murder. Christine smiled and pulled out the chair for her date – a strawberry blonde little thing named Laura.
“Perfect night tonight,” Laura commented and sat down. “Thank you.”
‘Perfect’ was an understatement, Christine thought and sat down – almost too perfect. She let her black nails sweep over the handle of the knife on the table. She liked it personal, up close, feeling the last breath of her victim on her lips.
“It is perfect,” Christine said, smiling again.
“I’d kill for more nights like this,” Laura continued, and something dangerous flickered across her pale blue eyes.
Christine had seen that look before when looking in the mirror. A tingle tap-danced up her spine, leaving tracks of goosebumps its wake. Maybe this would be an interesting night after all.
The waitress interrupted the moment, by clearing her throat. Both the women reluctantly took their eyes off each other.
“I’ll have the tenderloin with garlic butter,” Christine said and turned her eyes back to Laura. “Make it extra rare.”
Their eyes met again, and a subtle smirk touched Laura’s blood red knives. Those lips were to die for, and they matched her dress and heels. She was the type of woman who drew all the eyes as soon as she entered the room. Christine looked forward to voiding her of life.
“I’ll have the veggie burger with fries.” Laura winked at Christine. “And make sure it’s well done.”
The waitress laughed politely at the joke and went on her way. Laura sighed and leaned back in her chair. Christine crossed her legs under the table, glancing sideways at their handbags resting next to one another, thinking of which tool she would use tonight.
“My eyes are up here,” Laura said with a smirk and brought Christine out of her reverie of handguns, piano cords, and serrated blades.
“I wasn’t looking for eye contact.” Christine returned the smirk.
“You’re bad!” Laura's voice had a tone of mock indignation.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good imagination.”
They watched each other intensely for a few moments. Laura wasn’t as innocent as her appearance would suggest, Christine realized that now. And she probably wasn’t fooled either by Christine’s black dress and sweet perfume.
“This only happens in stories,” Christine said.
Laura nodded. “I had you pegged the moment you walked in.”
“No need to get competitive.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with a little competition?”
“Nothing, really. I’d just hate to kill a colleague.”
“Oh, so you think that’s how it would go down?” Dangerous amusement glittered in corners of Laura’s eyes.
“We could leave right now and find out.”
Laura reached for her handbag, and Christine’s grip on her knife tightened. The blonde slowly pulled out her hand, revealing tiny a bottle with NYX on the label, and proceeded to touch up her lipstick. Christine relaxed her grip.
“It gets lonely sometimes,” Laura said. “Doesn’t it?”
Christine nodded hesitantly. It did get lonely. She had killed her last girlfriend over a dispute over the dishes and then fed her to the fishes. The harbor held many secrets now below the murky waves – sixty-eight secrets to be exact.
“It really does.”
The waitress arrived with their food and interrupted another moment. Christine noticed that Laura too had a slight wrinkle of annoyance lingering on her forehead.
“Hey, you look lovely,” Christine said turning to the waitress.
“Uhm, thanks,” she said, blushing.
“When does your shift end, darling?” Laura said and ran a red nail along the arm of the waitress, who visibly shivered at the touch.
The eyes of the killers met in agreement.
“We’d like to take you out for a night of fun,” Christine pushed on and they both turned to the waitress. “What do you say?”
| 2017-10-27T07:49:40 | 2017-10-27T07:41:54 | 3,373 | 129 |
[WP] At age 18 everybody summons a magical crystal that stays with them for life. The color of these crystals, usually blue, red, or green, represents the primal elements that the owner can control. You have just summoned your crystal, and it is entirely black. | ....Black?
Nonono, this can't be it. I'm a good kid. I brush my teeth twice a day and give extra candy to the trick-or-treaters on Halloween. No way, this can't be it, there has to be a mistake.
Everyone knew there were only five colors your crystal could possibly be, blue, red, green, yellow, and white. Everyone who got a crystal got a color who fit their personality. The reds tended to be hot-headed, the blues mellow, the yellows energetic, etc. This made them well suited to control their elements.
But BLACK!?!?!!? Black is evil. Black is the color of bats and death and fedoras. Pure evil!!! There's no way I'm that bad a person... Sure, I'll steal my roommate's food every once in a while and browse 4chan every once in a while, but I can't be that bad, right?? Damn. Not only do I have the color of pure evil itself, I don't even know what I can do. Oh god, please don't be necromancy, I can't stand the sight of dead bodies.
Is it darkness? Maybe that's it, yea that makes sense... I concentrated my willpower, trying to make the room a pitch dark .... Nothing. Damn. I guess that was too obvious.
Ok, ok, gravity? Black holes are heavy right? Again, I tried to attract my lamp, and still got nothing.
Ok, I'm all out of ideas. Time to go for a walk and destress. I always found that I had a knack for calming down and ridding my mind of thoughts. So I walked out the door, putting my thoughts behind me.
Oh damn, the trash can. I was supposed to take it out by the side of the street so the garbage collectors could pick it up. Man, I wish I could just make the trash ---
And before I knew it, *poof* . The trash can disappeared, as if it never existed. I couldn't believe my eyes, surely things don't disappear into thin air, right?
And then it dawned. Black is nothing. Black is the void. It is the absence of existence. I didn't hallucinate the garbage can. *I* was the one who made it disappear....
Oh boy, this is going to be a handful... Wait, where did my car go? | Today is the day, today is the day I can finally show the world that I am worth something. Today is the day I can tell all the people that didnt believe in me to fuck off. Today is the day, today is the beginning of the rest of my life.
“Mary Lamb”
My eyes darted forward trying to catch a glimpse of Mary, she was the most beautiful girl in the class of 2017. Sparkling blue eyes, with flowing blond hair. She had a smile that would melt an angel's wings. She walked into the center of the stage, “volo ut sie ipsum cristallum, cristallum congruit ad animam meam. vitrum redige foras tota fulgorem”. The teachers told me that this incantation roughly translates to call forth the life crystal from your soul.
When those words faded an immense light started to emerge in front of Mary. It was a blue, almost matching the radiant blue of Mary eyes. The light growing smaller, with protracting light moving in and out, started to revolve faster and faster.
“Oohhhhhhhhh”, “Ahhh” the crowd gasped as if they weren't watching the same thing for the past two hours. Then I realized what they were truly shouting for, it was because Mary’s crystal was a clear blue, I also almost let a shriek out myself.
There are three types of crystals green, blue, and red. In that order, they represent life, freedom, and wrath. Now most crystals given to people are not as clear, and translucent as the one I saw in front of me. A clear crystal is a sign of strong affinity to that particular element.
“Freedom, huh”, I thought to myself.
what color would I really want. Blue is trending up, since it will give me a reason to talk to Mary. Blue crystals can be used as a means of transport, such as flying or teleportation. Green would be blah because it leads to jobs such as a healer, or maybe even a farmer. As of right now though, red for me is the clear victor. Red is the element with the greatest power. Wrath can be used to make weapons, summon powerful allies, or general offensive type spells.
Red would be perfect for me, i would be able to show everyone my true power. Skills that i wouldn't be able to show otherwise. I would be able to join the high ranks of the army, and can finally move out of this dump. Start a new life, looking down on people that used to look down on me. I couldn’t wait for this day.
---
It felt like a century went by between Mary and my name.
“Karl Schwarz”
I picked myself up from the seat, and started shuffling through the row of student to the aisle. “Excuse me, pardon me, i'm going that way, thank you”. I had to wipe my palm on my jeans because they were starting to sweat. My mouth was getting dry, and I could feel my heartbeat jumping out of my chest.
I get on stage and took a quick look around the room. I wasn’t looking for anyone in particular; I didn’t know my parents, I was a social outcast, and I didn’t have any family. The only person that stood out to me was the one person I idolized in the whole world. Bellamy nietzsche was the youngest general in our army, with a very translucent red crystal. I was hoping to join his ranks.
The principle stops me in the middle of the stage, motions me forward and tells me to recite the invocation for my crystal. “volo ut sie ipsum cristallum, cristallum congruit ad animam meam. vitrum redige foras tota fulgorem”
My eyes immediately pick up this faint light right in front of my chest, I could feel the warmth in my heart. The lights starts to get bigger and bigger, emitting this intense white light. Something that I have never seen before. I close my eyes, and feel the warmth fade away from my chest.
I can hear the gasp of the audience, it wasn’t like the one from Mary’s reaction. This was more pronounced, as if to display shock. I knew it, today is my day. I open my eyes to view my crystal, but instead of red, blue or even green there is this pitch black spherical object in front of me.
I had to close my eyes and open them again to make sure that i was seeing what i was truly seeing. There no way my crystal turned black, it's probably just covered with something.
I try to scrub the black away with my shirt, but the color doesn’t seem to way for another more vibrant color. I didn’t know what was happening, I looked at the principle. He looked at me with disapproval and then motioned for people to take me off stage.
As two security guards were dragging me away, I scanned the audience one more time before leaving and saw only looks of laughter and disgust. Bellamy was looking straight at me, while Mary didn’t even look at me.
Today was supposed to be my day, Today was supposed to be my day.
| 2017-12-13T14:45:28 | 2017-12-13T11:12:44 | 81 | 25 |
[WP] Through selective breeding we managed to turn wolves into pugs. For the last 1000 years a secret cult has also been selective breeding, but not with wolves but lizards. Crocodiles, monitors, sneks. The largest and most dangerous, into finally they created their perfect monster... A Dragon.
Just wanted to thank everyone for the awesome stories. Also, yes the spelling of Snek was deliberate. I’ve been trying to post a writing prompt here every night before bed for the last couple days and it is really encouraging when I see so many people willing to spend their time writing awesome stories from my prompt. Keep it up fellow writers and good night from Australia.
Edit: Front page, awesome and thanks. Also good morning from Australia. Glad you all got to write some awesome stories from my prompt. | Deep beneath the surface of London, in the oldest parts of the sewers, lies a secret kept for nearly a millennium. The Cult of Drakh has worked tirelessly inside the damp, brick tunnels. Scientists from the outer reaches of society, and even modern "mages", have slowly and meticulously been crafting a masterpiece in the dark caves.
Initially the goal was a simple one; increasing the size, and perhaps, the awareness of a few species of reptiles. Slowly attempting to domesticate and train them.
Once the initial goal was achieved, progress was seriously hampered. The creatures were showing progress in size and intelligence, but they lacked certain attributes that the architects wished to see.
Timed passed easily for the architects, as they solely focused on their work.
Nearly 400 years from the conception of their creation, they had finally achieved a breakthrough - wings wings, and the ability to actually use them. The architects were elated.
Over time, the creature learned how to use their wings and slowly gained a mastery of flight. Only one more thing was needed.
This next attribute took much longer than anticipated. During this time, the architects were able to slowly increase the size of their creations to nearly 15 meters tall on average, requiring much larger chambers. Due to this, the rate of change slowed for their creatures, but they did still see progress towards their goal.
And then, finally, it happened.
A little over 950 years from the conception of the Cult of Drakh, the architects had achieved their final goal, the ability to breath fire.
The worlds first, true dragon. The job of the Architect was finally complete.
Now the Placer collects the first egg. They travel to the first location that was decided on. They watch over the egg until it hatches and then feed it for the first week or two, until it gains the strength to hunt.
Seven eggs have been placed since the first creation. Now we wait.
​ | \- You say they are ready?
\- Yes, master. They just hatched, a male and female. The first has smoke already coming out of it’s nostrils, the other has quickly learned to growl. It growls at everything that moves, sir!
\- Great. Our job here is done. Now we wait. Release and observe them from the distance, to keep them alive in case danger appears. Soon, they will bring havoc and chaos. And breed, their children continuing to pester Cahmius and all the other countries!
---
In recent weeks the local police in Ely has arrested members of a long-running cult. It's existence was apparently a long kept secret, but recently they appeared out of nowhere, just like that. Now they are all in prison, screaming something about death waiting for us in the form of a bloodthirsty monster, and we should be grateful for them to bring that fate upon humanity. Essentially, insane brainwashed babble.
And yet, here I am, in the main headquarters of the Royal Intelligence Comission, in the godforsaken city of Old Stanmore. And attending a conference along with the top military figureheads, most important officials and even royalty, from none other than the Palace of Blire! All because of „increased frequency of dragon spottings”. Absolute madness!
\- ...and I’m happy to see you here, mister Weeks. For those who don’t know, mister Vincente Weeks is the chief of Police – King Matthias the Fourth himself spoke. As if this day couldn’t have gotten any worse, stuck in the wretched capital with royal wankers and their bloody entourage. I made a quick bow in response to the man in a crown – Great, you may all sit now – the king stated. From his face expression one can tell that he meant business. Ha! When I request an audience nobody cares, yet when some kids state that they’ve seen a dragon in the Alberher’s Park then king himself moves his arse from the palace and comes to investigate. A dragon in the city center of Old Stanmore?
Ridiculous.
\- We all know why we’re here. Every day the Police, Army and even our Comission receives more and more information about dragon sightings in the city center parks - Ellis Wright, the head of RIC spoke – Obviously, dragons don’t exist. We’re here to deduce what’s the reason for all these claims popping out all at once…
---
After the meeting, it was already well past twenty-three. I needed to unstress, so I took a walk to the train station. I don’t want to stay in this part of the country any longer than I need to. Still, the chilly evening and the fact that I’d have to wait for the train made me want to take a diversion. I knew the area of the city center fairly well, as I come here every couple of days. This time, I decided to have a seat on a bench in the Alberher’s Park. It was close-by and I didn’t visit it in a while.
When I got here, I made my way to it’s center. Around the paved paths, an impressive amount of pine trees was planted. If there was any spot I liked in the capital, then that was the place. Sadly, it’s not on my usual route, and most of the times I’m in the area I am here in business. I sat on a bench and enjoyed the silence.
After about 5 minutes, I’ve heard something some sort of a rustle in the bushes. I didn’t investigate. Dragons don’t exist, must be a squirrel or maybe a stray cat.
And then it left the bushes.
And it was a scaly, winged dragon, with a thin trail of smoke coming out of it's nostrils.
Of course.
\- Oh, cock! – I muttered. I didn’t scream, the creature was the size of a big dog. And given the amount of alive witnesses, it didn’t hurt people. Still, I had no idea what to do. And as I sat here dumbfounded, the dragon growled. Didn’t sound angry though. It… jumped on my bench? Started to sniff me? Not only it was the size of a dog, it acted like one too. What was I going to do now?
---
This is a part 1 or something. I wanted to play with the idea of cultists trying to create a monster but accidentally ending up with a creature which, despite it's undeniable power is pretty cool with people. This is just the beginning, but I don't have time to write more right now. Check out my subreddit, /r/lecetrabantem! | 2018-10-20T06:38:34 | 2018-10-20T06:26:31 | 945 | 215 |
[WP] Your a failing college student who needs to pass your foreign language class or fail. You've almost outright mocked superstions but make a wish on a shooting star at 11:11pm. To understand and speak all languages. Your cat wakes you up, but instead of meows. It's "wake up idiot and feed me". | \*BEEEEEP\*\*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP\*
Oh God, the headache. 8:15 AM, probably. I'm scrambling to stop my alarm clock. My head is sending waves of pain each time that piece of shitty electronics rings.
And, just when I finally manage to push the button, my cat decides to jump on my chest. That black, one-eyed ball of fur meows at me:
"WAKE UUUUUUP, MOTHERFUCKER"
Wait. "Meows" ? Nope. I can understand what he's saying. And he's got Samuel Jackson's voice. Why the hell does he have Samuel L. Jackson's voice ?
"Come on Motherfucking lazy ass, feeeeed me" I can hear the capital "M" in "Motherfucker". Shouldn't have done that film marathon last week, I'm hearing things.
Anyway. More urgently, why the hell do I have hallucinations. He's still screaming at me, but I'm starting to hear the meows behind the voice, but they still make sense.
"Come on, I know you can understand me, Motherfucker. You got your Motherfucking wish granted. Now feed me!"
"Wait wait wait" I start saying. My voice sounds like meows. I'm totally going crazy. Ok, that's enough. I'm already late, and definitely going crazy. I feed him, take a quick breakfast, and rush to get the subway. My cat's voice follows me as I go out: "You could have put more, you lazy-ass human!". My headache is starting to fade away. It's 8:30 AM, I'm probably going to be late.
​
I sit down, trying to calm down. I am not going crazy. That's when the classical “Hello. Subway floors and station platforms may be slippery today" starts. And then another time, and then another. 4 times in English, but with a different accent each time. What's happening ? Wait. There should have been English, Spanish, Japanese and German. And the accents are of these countries. That's when I start understanding. My wish really did get granted. And my Akkadian exam the day after tomorrow should go smoothly now. But that's not the main point. I need to test the limits of my power. As I'm reaching West Fourth Street station, I get off. The announcement rings again. I'm starting to hear both languages at the same time. I can also read German on the maps. I start running to the NYU library. Fuck today's classes. I need to do some testing. As I get there, I start planning. Let's start with ancient languages, like Greek and Latin. Probably need to get a hold on some mesopotamian things, and maybe Egyptian. Then I'll probably have to try programming languages. And maybe encrypted stuff, who knows.
​
It's 9:15 when I sit down with my first batch of testing books. As I start reading Greek, it feels like my headache is disappearing more and more with each word I read. Is that something like adapting to my gift ? Anyway. 30 minutes later, I've checked: I can read Greek, Latin, Sumerian, Egyptian, and, of course, Hebrew and Akkadian. Good. Really good. Now on to harder things.
I'm starting to understand the full potential of my gift. Reading enough code in any programming language gives me fluency in that programming language. Syntax, functions, supposed behavior and actual behavior, everything. Even freaking Assembly. Binary triggers a new wave of headache. Might be beyond my "assimilation" of the gift.
​
I've tested human and animal languages. I've tested programming languages. Now I'm going to try something that shouldn't be included: cryptography. I start with classical Vigenère, and it works. Then I test some more complex cryptology. Until I reach AES. And still it works. By that point, it's 10:30. And I'm starting to wonder if I'm not still in bed, dreaming. This is definitely better than what I was thinking of when I made that wish. Do shooting stars have a language ? Does it have strange translation mistakes from English where you overblow everything ? Anyway, that's not the point. Now that I've proven I can break cryptography, I'm gonna test a personal pet peeve of mine: the Voynich manuscript.
​
As I open the pdf I've saved of the first 12 pages, the letters start re-arranging themselves, shifting, going through strange shapes before going to English. A new spike of headache goes through my head, but this time I'm set on reading it. "Manual of Dark Arts (and stuff)" it says. Who the hell writes "and stuff" in the title of his book ? I go through the second page, a glossary. With each word I read, the pain gets stronger, but I can still fight it off. Third and fourth pages are the rest of the glossary. The headache is getting really strong now. Maybe I should stop. But still, I keep on reading. As I reach the first chapter, my eardrums go "plop". Still I keep on.
​
\*BLAM\*
​
The black cat looks at the news: "Students shocked as a young man's head explodes in the middle of NYU Library"
"That Motherfucking idiot. He should have put more food, I would've warned him."
​
​
Thanks to u/[iNeedAValidUserName](https://www.reddit.com/user/iNeedAValidUserName) for the plethora of ideas. | On most days, hearing the voice of my cat speaking human words would surprise me. That's an understatement- it would *shock* me, bewilder me, and make me question my sanity.
But today was not most days.
And my cat was the *least* of my worries.
Let me start from the beginning- four years ago, just a month before my sixteenth birthday, when my mother had driven me to high school. It was half way through the year, and while I didn't necessary fit it, I didn't *not* fit in either. I didn't speak much back then. Now I realize I didn't listen much either.
My mother was the only family I had ever known- my father died in an industrial accident when I was a child, but I'd never seen my mother shed a tear. Instead, she'd look down at the scars on her arms with pursed lips when I asked about him, and that would be the rest of the conversation. For my grandparents, cancers ran through my relatives like a plague, dropping the life expectancy to just above fifty. The doctors could never explain it- and for my mother, they never had to. That day, she was only forty eight, when the semi truck driver suffered a stroke, careening through the red light and turning her car into a scrap heap.
They'd pulled me out of school- a police officer who brought me to the hospital, and let me clasp her hand one last time before her eyes fluttered shut. But before she passed, she smiled, and repeated an old nursery rhyme that she used to tell me before bed to help me sleep. One her mother had sang to her, and her mother to her, as far as we could remember- so long, that the dusty scrapbooks in the attic had the phrase written on them with gold ink.
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish," She whispered, bringing back memories in a flood that fought for attention in my mind as the medical instruments reached a new pitch, and the doctors pulled me away for a emergency surgery we all knew had impossible odds, "I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish."
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish." I repeated, a tear falling to the ground as she dissipated forever. But the words fell to the ground, with no ear to catch them.
The rest of high school passed slow, and my poor performance in classes led to a rough start after. I was the sole inheritor of her fortune, and it was a small one, but enough to put me in community college. Enough to pay for meals that were above ramen quality, and buy a car that started on the second turn of the key.
But by the second year of college, after a stern talk from the guidance councillor, and a threat to pull the scholarship that had been awarded to me for those in need, I turned back to my studies. My mind fought against years of neglect, forcing in new habits taught to me by a school provided teacher. Slowly, things turned around- but even then, it bordered the impossible, requiring long hours. Which lead to me studying for a spanish final late in the evening, so late that that my cat retired before I did, and my eyes filled with tears of frustration as I studied the words, my fingers wrapped around the back of the skull.
"She'd want this," I said to myself, tapping my foot and forcing the conjugations to breach my memory, "She'd want me to do well. To pass."
And almost out of habit, I murmered the phrase that had stuck with me through the years, as if it were etched in the back of my mind, the mumbo jumbo giving me the strength to continue from my mother's memory. Just as the clock behind me turned 11:11.
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish."
***
"Wake up!" The voice was shrill, female, and screeched at me from my bedside, "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
I jerked upwards, my hands flailing for the light switch, heart racing as I searched for the intruder. But instead, there was only my empty room, the laundry strewn about the floor, and my alarm clock flashing.
"Wake up!" Came the shriek again, and I turned to the flashing alarm clock, the voice emanating from the speakers. I hadn't remembered changing the tone, but it was a cheap model, likely malfunctioning after years of use. I slammed my palm down on the off button, and it sighed, the voice responding.
"Shutting up!"
I jumped from bed, knowing that there was only a half hour to prepare for my final before I had to be out the door, and I'd want a full breakfast. I stepped over my laundry, preparing to enter the kitchen, but I heard something else. A muffled voice, from the floor under me.
"*Wash me*," It said, and I jumped, searching for the source, "Wash me! Soap and suds, no more floor!"
Chills jumped up my spine as I saw no source for sound, kicking my dirty shirts aside. I reached out for the door, unsure if I was entirely awake, my hand around the knob. And this time I *felt* the vibrations coming through the metal, shaking my palm.
"Unlock!" It said, the voice gritty, "Unlock, unclasp, exit!"
My hand flew off the knob as if it were hot iron, and I leapt onto my bed, staring around in a panic.
"Bounce!" Shouted the springs under me, "Bounce bounce!"
"Wake up, no sleep!" Sang the alarm clock again, accusatory, as if I were about to climb under the covers.
"Melted! Melted!" Sobbed the glass of water that had been ice the night before on my bedstand, "Melted, what has happened to me!"
And slinking out from under the bed, her eyes meeting mine, her expression nonplussed, my cat spoke.
"Feed me, you idiot. Feed me or I will feast upon you!"
And as the room clamored, only one thought passed through my head as my cat pawed against my foot. At least my cat was alive. Sure, it was unlikely she could talk, but she had made a sound before. Compared to everything else, it was almost natural.
Unlike the the windows that cried in pain because the outside air was too frigid.
PART 2.
I dashed downstairs, followed by incessant chattering. And as I ran from the nonsensical, so too did my thoughts. Instead of ideas of what might be happening, instead I found myself thinking of the mundane. Of Spanish conjugations, of breakfast, and of feeding the cat.
I ate my cereal as my spoon made airplane noises, ignoring the bowl that slurped at the milk as animatedly as myself. Behind me, the oven beefed for me to light its fire, while the lights above buzzed with electricity. And even if I avoided them, there was one thing I knew- that somehow, I had caused this. That I had uttered the magic words. That a wish of mine had been completed.
Had my mother known?
As I finished breakfast, I prepared to leave, but the verbal tirade from the cat was too much to ignore, her insults worse that a sailor. Reaching to the cuppard, I pulled out the kibble, filling her dish in a quick motion. But before I left, the cot looked up at me, her eyes wide.
“I asked for food, and you have delivered,” she said, the words thick with acorn, “I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish.”
But though she spoke the magic words, I did not hear them- rather, I heard their *translation*, one that I now understood.
“I wish, for this, until the next fulfilled wish.”
Then she winked, and settled down to eat. And as the kibble disappeared, so too did the voices- with one bite, the upstairs alarm halted. With another, the stove quieted. And as she finished, the last echoes died away, until she fixed me with a knowing eye, and spoke one last word before curling into sleep.
“Meow.”
***
By Leo
Hope you enjoyed this story! For more of my work, [check out my free novel on reddit about superpowers determined by birthplace](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/) | 2019-01-16T15:08:53 | 2019-01-16T12:16:12 | 1,168 | 403 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased with your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell and we're the demons. You have just been summoned... | As our lips grew closer, I closed my eyes and I heard her whisper:
"ARISE, DEMON! DEMON ARISE!"
​
I bolted open my eyes, and there, inches from my face, wasn't my beautiful bride-to-be, but instead an impish creature with red skin, horns, and a great white bushy beard. Strange symbols looked to be tattooed around its head. Though its eyes were shut in concentration, it grinned, as if it knew I was staring at it intently.
"Wha...where...who...?" I spluttered.
​
"Mighty lord, what is your command?" the red-skinned creature asked, ignoring my string of inarticulate queries. It remained motionless, as if trance-like.
"This is a dream," I lamented, more to myself than to the creature. "This is just a bad dream that I'll just wake from any moment now."
​
"A DREAM!" cried out the creature, startling me. "Well said my lord. This is indeed a dream, a dream this world has yet to wake from. But you are here now. You will wake this world. YOU WILL MAKE THEM SEE!"
​
At this last proclamation the creature let out a blood-curdling laugh. Suddenly more horrid laughter erupted around me and I realized I was surrounded in a circle by more red-skinned creatures with tattooed head symbols.
​
"BRING OUT THE FIRST SACRIFICE!" roared the bearded creature.
I whipped around as a door behind me creaked open. The circle of creatures around me parted slightly, allowing me sight of two robed figures entering the room. Between them, cursing and flailing, was another red-skinned creature, though its head was clean and bare. Like all the other creatures in the room, its eyes remained tightly shut.
​
"Let this foolish slumberer look upon our lord," ordered the first creature. The room went silent.
​
The bare-headed prisoner began cursing even louder and tried wriggling away from its captors. Two more robed creatures entered the room, each putting its claws around the prisoner's eyes and slowly prying the eyelids open.
​
The prisoner struggled as long as it could, but eventually its eyelids were pried open, and its frightened, black eyes eventually met mine.
​
It's body went slack. Nobody in the room moved or said a word. But after a few seconds, a freakish grin crept up its face as its pupils rolled back into its head. It let out a shriek so chilling, my blood nearly froze. The robed captors released the prisoner and shuffled back against the walls.
​
The prisoner's shriek then turned into a twisted laughter and it began to claw at its own eyes. It sank to the floor, continuing to violently dig out its eyes all the while laughing that horrible laugh. Blood began pooling around the creature as it ripped its flesh away and tore into its own body.
​
I watched the creature mutilate itself to death. When it was all over, I sank to my knees, holding back the urge to vomit and cry.
​
I felt something scaly on my shoulder and turned to see the bearded creature gently touching my shoulder with its claw-like hand. It's eyes were wide open, staring into mine. As a grin crept across its face, and its pupils rolled back into his head, he whispered to me:
"Hail, ManHughLou." | "Who the hell are you?" I asked.
"Where in hell are you from?", the neckbeard responded.
I took a look at him: scrawny, pasty, frail. I bet in one punch I could blast this ole buzzard into next Tuesday, but something told me I wouldn't make it past the 10 thick friends, and the regal looking bro in the back right corner. Maybe one or two of them, sure, I mean I've been doing StrongLift 5x5s for a month now, but not all of them.
After a fairly brief pause, I said: "Look, Megan's Law, I don't know what is going on here, but I need to get back to Connecticut pronto, I got a damned one-on-one with my boss and he is going to go over my 360 reviews today. Apparently, people think I am something of a wise----"
"SILENCE!!! DEMON FROM HELL!!!" The old man said.
It was at that moment that it dawned on me.
I was not going to make it back to the office, and someone was definitely going to take the last Boston Creme from the Dunkin Donuts box, even though I called "Lasty Cremesies", at least, 10 minutes ago.
"You have been summoned here for a great purpose. And you will commence your quest, post-haste."
Hmm... I had to buy myself some time. "Alright, padre, what do I have to do to get home?"
"You must head east for 2 and one half days ride.
"You will find a castle surrounded by a moat, and in that castle you must kill the king and bring the virgin from on high, from thither to hither."
Sheeeeeeeeeit. This old gag.
"Alright, shawty, you wanna dance? Let's dance! Get my your finest horse..........and get outta my face, would ya, you got mad halitosis.
"I'll go over them thar hills, and be back before the fortnight.
"Who's coming with me?"
<Crickets>
"Just like a thought," I remarked, "you'all are nothing but a bunch of booty-scratchers. All of you. Even you" -- pointing to the kid in throne -- "Little Lord Fauntleroy!"
Damn! I thought. Well.. thank God I downloaded three Phish songs, lat night, that should provide enough music to get me through the week.
I descended the tower and went out to the mean streets of....where-ever.
Just as some lolly gagger passed me on the thoroughfare, I yanked his wine sack out his hands and took a swig to the dome. It tasted like a lukewarm Mad Dog 20/20 .. I knew there was nothing redeemable about this place.
I hopped on the horse, some ole quarter horse, bag a bones, that shoulda been turned into glue 5 year ago.
I kicked the sides and headed off.
I popped in my earbuds... and grooved for two days and a half.
I arrived at the castle. The drawbridge was down and went right in. Big whoop.
I requested to see the king, that I had news from yonder.
The king would not see me.
I produced from my pocket a half-empty soft pack of Virginia Slims. "I come bearing gifts."
I was seen, immediately.
Now, I can tell you something, eyeballing this king. He definitely farts dust... I can only imagine if he had a Taco Bell dinner and washed it down with a red Monster, he might throw out his hip passing gass. Where was I?
In any event... I said:
"Hey, your ex.o.luntsy....I need your virgin, the other dude wants her and I was sent here to get her. And for your troubles, I will give you this pack of smokes."
He looked intrigued.
Then he said, and what about this...touching my music box..
I smacked his hand outta the way:
"Bro! Don't ever touch another man's Zune. This is a microsoft zune. They don't even make em anymore. This is worth more than your life."
I, then, played him some Phish.
I thought he was grooving but then he made a football move and sprinted straight for the window.... "No... don't do it! Defenestration is no way to go out!" I yelled, welling up in my left eye.
"Look, Phish is an acquired taste, trust me on this. It's not the Grateful Dead. It's not Jerry Garcia Band. It's not Widespread or The Cheese. They are in their own league. And get this, it's all improvised. And the lead singer has red hair which should count for something."
The king nodded in agreement.
"Summon my daughter." He said.
Woah. This....this just got a little...I dunno... cray cray.
"Alright, king, so deal? I can take this biddy back to that other kingdom and alls good?"
"Yes" he replied.
It took us 6 days to get back...two people....whatever, that horse was... no...... American Pharaoh, am I right?
Back to the first castle I presented the virgin.
"....thank you for fulfilling your destiny," said the neckbeard with the king in tow.
"Did you kill the king?" said the neckbeard.
"No, but that guy seemed pretty cool with the deal I cut him."
The neckbeard said: "Well, Nebuchadnezzar isn't known to be.....cool.... but perhaps he's turned over a new leaf."
"Alright already...get me home!" I exclaimed.
The neckbeard swiftly kicked me in the groan and as I doubled over he hit my with the end of his staff and seemed to come out of no where. I lost consciousness.
<Blackout>
I came to on the floor of the bathroom stall in my office building. Covered in urine.
My coworker came in: "Hey tool, you look like hell. The boss wants to see you. And uh... someone ate your Boston Creme, but...I left a Sno-Ball on your desk to make up for it, cause I like you so much."
I could smell the chocolate and custard on his breath.... From my position on the floor I coulda dribbled his nuts like a speedbag... but I remembered my pal Nebuchadnezzar ... stay cool.
Fin. | 2019-04-25T19:06:22 | 2019-04-25T16:47:11 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] There is a strange entity living in your house that appeared about a month ago, staring at you with unblinking eyes as you go about your daily life. You should have moved out weeks ago but honestly it is nice to have something to talk to for a change, even if it only replies in ominous warnings |
“What? Is today finally the day I off myself like you always predicted?” I say.
“You will die alone.” Sitri says, looking past me directly at the balcony.
*A few moments earlier*
“I’m back Sitri.” I say as I walk back into my home. Sitri stares back, not blinking. His hazy form is more clear today. I can see the fur of his leopard face and his griffon wings in better detail. It’s still creepy as hell, no matter how many weeks he’s been here.
“The screams of your brethren will educate you on your sin of being gluttonous.”
Great, I have a hard one this afternoon. Brethren is easy; that means classmates. He uses that word a lot whenever I talk about the bastards I share class with. Gluttonous, eating a lot. Umm…
Sitri sees my confusion, then repeats his warning. He emphasizes gluttonous with a growl. Oh right, people who are gluttonous eat a lot. When you eat, people sometimes ask how was the meal. Classmates...how was the meal…
…
“Are you asking me how my day went?”
Sitri says nothing. That is a yes.
“Terrible like usual. Everyone was staring at me and secretly laughing in class. They knew I had sweat stains under my arms.” I look away from Sitri’s ever present gaze. It’s too uncomfortable looking at him while admitting something so embarrassing
“No one will be here when demons rend your soul from your body.”
“...You saying no one cares? It really looked like they cared when they were laughing.” I couldn’t hide my fluster. Despite how flushed my face looks, Sitri always has his creepy calmness. That made me even more mad. “You wouldn’t understand humans. We laugh at anything out of place.
“Tomorrow all of your past sins will come at you at once.” Sitri floats off, intending me to follow.
&#x200B;
We both go to my balcony that overlooks the city. He says nothing but every time I return inside he blocks my path.
“What is today finally the day I off myself like you always predicted?” I say.
“You will die alone.” Sitri says, looking past me at the balcony.
That’s his harsh way to say no.
Since he brought me out here with no instructions then I’ll have to treat this as another puzzle.
Everyone walks the streets like an unorganized marching band. Some on their cellphones, others in groups talking among themselves. There is one person parked on the side, looking all around himself.
Just so he could pick his nose.
The guy looks paranoid, but no one around him acknowledges his existence. They walk off, busy with either shopping or picking their own nose.
“No one really cares. So why worry yourself? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I ask. He answers with silence. I sigh.” You’re right. I look as stupid as that guy in his car worrying about this.”
“I shall judge you on your final days on this mortal coil.”
Even though Sitri is a pain to understand, he does truly care about me. Which is why when he implies I should change my shirt, I agree with him. | If there’s something that I’ve recently learned is that, even if you’re alone and need someone to talk with, you definitely shouldn’t talk to the first person you find. Or should I say… thing? I still don’t know. What is sure is that one day, without previous warning, a strange creature appeared in the corner of my room. It wasn’t nice to see at all: it looked like a gremlin, but it was much fatter, and its limbs were out of proportion. But what really grabbed my attention were those big, unblinking eyes it had. It’s like it really wanted to watch me because it didn’t stop staring at me. A normal person would run away from it, but, as I didn’t have much friends, the few ones I had were gone and I didn’t have a conversation for a long time, I decided to talk to him
“Hey… Are you lost?”
“The end is near, Forest”
This weird creature, with that creepy stare and those weird words, frightened me for a few seconds, but I decided to approach it, just to try to understand the creature.
“The end of the room? Yeah, in fact, you’re in it… Do you like dark places?”
“Your time is running out”
This second warning made me think again about the real purpose of this creature being in my room. Why was it there? What was all that weird talking? But, then, I looked at my watch. It was 8:00
“Oh, shit, I’m late! Thanks, buddy!”
I was late for work. This weird discovery really distracted me, so I just could be grateful for it. My job isn’t the best in the world, but at least I earned enough money to survive, so I couldn't take the risk to lose it. Before leaving, the creature spoke again
“You will lose everything”
I heard that, but I didn’t pay much attention to it because I just focused on not arriving late to work. But, then, when I was on the street, someone mugged me and I lost everything I had with me: money, phone, cards… But I didn’t go to the commissary to report this, I had no time to lose. As soon as I arrived, the boss reproached me for arriving late. I tried to explain that I had been robbed, but he just fired me. I arrived home, and, as soon as I got into my room, I saw the creature again and remembered what it said before I left. He was right. I’ve just lost everything I had with me. But, you know what? I didn’t hate the weird creature for it. Completely the opposite, I started to like it. It was the only one that talked to me, even if it was with those frightening words; also, it was always right. What else could I ask for right now? This was just perfect for me, especially now that I was completely alone. Days passed, and I could say that my relationship with this creature improved little by little, or at least its warnings were not as frightening as before
“Hi, Green!”
“You’ll burn everything you love”
“Oh, the toasts!”
I rushed to the kitchen. It smelt as if something was burning, and, indeed, my toasts were getting burnt. Even with that dark color and unpleasant smell, I decided to eat them, and I gave one of the toasts to the creature. It always seemed like it didn’t want to eat what I gave him and preferred to pay attention to me, but the food always disappeared every time I came back to the room, so I just went to my computer to look for a job
“Hey, Green, what do you think of this street sweeper job?”
“Despair awaits you”
“Yeah, it’s not nice to clean all that trash people litter in the street, and who knows if someone gets crazy and someone runs over me… And what about this waiter job?”
“Hell craves your soul”
“Yeah, they don’t pay well and exploit the employees… And what do you think about this doorman job?”
“You’ll get kicked out from life”
“Aw, come on, could you be a bit positive? The perfect job doesn’t exist”
“Your ancestors are inviting you to join them”
“My ancestors? That’s it! I’ll be an assistant in an old people’s home! Thanks, Green!”
I decided to apply to an old people’s home. They were always looking for assistants, and, even though the salary wasn’t the best, at least it was rewarded. A month later, the creature disappeared from my room. I looked everywhere in the house, but I didn’t find it anywhere. I began to miss it, but, then, I realized it could be just a gift from fate to keep me hopeful in my hardest time, so I just accepted it. But, then, one night, I heard something in my house while I was trying to sleep. I decided to have a look, and, then, I spotted something, but it quickly ran away. I chased it, and it led me outside my home. I looked around, but didn’t see anything, and, just when I was about to come back home, I heard someone whispering at my ear:
“It’s time to your doom”
After hearing it, I found myself in the middle of the road, and a car hit me. When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital, unable to move. The doctors explained the situation. I had broken my hip, and I became paraplegic. They said that I had to stay there for a couple of months, and I had to avoid any kind of movement. I began to worry a lot about all of this. Was it really my end? Was I taking every warning that the creature told me too lightly? Just when I began to wonder all of this, I saw the creature again. Definitely, that creature was no good for me. But now it’s too late. I can’t do anything to run away from it. I’m doomed. | 2019-11-23T11:37:43 | 2019-11-23T10:42:21 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] Being a supervillain married to a super hero you have to be very convert with your relationship. You thought you were doing a good job till one of your henchmen begs you the two of you to stop flirting while in the middle of your monologue. | "While your valiant strength and brilliant wit shine brightly, I must inform you that all hope is lost. Fear my-"
"Boss. Can we keep the flirting down and move on to the task at hand?"
Lord Meltinor took a moment to absorb the fact that his assistant just managed the most spectacular stage whisper he's ever heard. His minions buzzed with laughter and hushed conversation. Meltinor cleared his throat, turning his back to his assistant and facing the brilliantly beautiful hero in the red spandex. Damn. How did he manage that?
Her cheeks almost matched her suit and she held back laughter. The mood was utterly ruined.
"Mason, who said you could interject in my most evil of speeches?"
The assistant, a balding man with frown lines on every inch of his personality, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Just arm the cage, Mason."
A faint buzz reverberated through the bars. The cage was made of a special alloy that was said to be the great hero's weakness. She had a weakness for whips, leather, and collars too, but that was neither here nor there.
"Now, we shall leave you here to contemplate the destruction that will be wrought with you immobilized. Farewell-"
"Farewell? How corny can this get."
Lord Maltinor groaned and turned to face his minions. They all awkwardly parted and left the chamber. The evil lair surely needed more cleaning. Only Mason stood there, resolute in his incredulous nature.
Maltinor waved his hands about. "Mason, we talked about this with HR. You really need to follow orders and stop being the peanut gallery. I'M YOUR LORD." It was almost pleading.
Mason sighed softly and said, "She will be my boss too, one day when she finally gives in a switches sides, I was just hoping to speed up the process."
Maltinor caught Mason's face breaking into a rare smile. He could never be mad at Mason.
Vital, the hero of Haven City, let out a laugh of her own. "Oh baby, he has a heavy set on him. He needs a raise."
Maltinor scoffed. "Ohhhh no. Don't say that now! He won't let me hear the end of it! Were you two working together?"
A betrayal most foul. Vital gave him a devilish grin. "You'll never know." | “Stop being such a damn sheet hog” said Messiah, the hero of Riveting City, my husband.
“You create lasers from your eyes hun, you don’t need the damn heat.” I replied.
“Have you seen the time yet? I have people to save, ur ex may be terrifying people again.”
“Listen here you goody two shoes, we both know I can kick your fucking ass. So rescue some cats and leave me alone today, my crew and I have had enough of you and your ex.”
“When are you going to stop this?”
“When you get out of those tights.”
“Thought you liked them on me...”
I sighed and kissed him before he left to do what he did best.
I slowly got dressed. Well, dressed is a loose word, it’s what happens when you let men design your costume. And the name, The Temptress, yheesh. So damn stupid, I had tried many times to change my look and my name, but people thought that I was going good.
If I’m being honest, I have no idea how we started dating, it just kind of happened one night. Me and my husband had had another city shattering fight, he had saved some cats, some old ladies and a child all whilst fighting me. I had been trying yet again to conquer the earth. For my father, Satan, had at the time recently died. As such, I had just recently been endured by all the power of hell. Needless to say, I was a bit of a mess. So I started to enslave nation after nation, kind of run of the mill stuff. Then, he arrived.
I had heard of him, who hadn’t. Yes he was stunning. We fought out of Riveting City, his city. I punched him all the way to the North Pole. When I co-signs up to him, as the new Devil wearing tight as skin leather trousers and a bikini (feckin creepy designer I work with) I was naturally quite cold. Normally I summoned fire for heat and modesty, but I was so focused on the fight I couldn’t manage it. So Messiah noticed I was cold. He flew away and next minute gave me a jacket and a 2 nice big flasks one of coffee and one of soup.
Our relationship blossomed from there, and it was always a secret. For he was the greatest superhero in the world. I was the most stylish , most devious and most powerful super fucking villain ever. If it ever got out we were together, both of our careers would be over.
Flash forward to today. He tries to stop me. So I stamp on his Achilles and he is out cold. When he wakes up, he is in a room with just me and a henchman holding lead, his greatest allergy.
“So Messiah, I see that you wanted to pay me a lunchtime visit. Such a shame, I thought after today I would be eating alone. For whilst we speak, my crew of demons is stealing the final scroll. With it I will be more powerful than even you can handle.”
“Can you two get a room.” pleased the henchman.
At that we both snapped out of the hero villain confrontation mode and said I’m unison “shut up, there’s nothing happening here.”
The goon’s eyes flooded with realisation. “That’s why you know all of his weaknesses.” He laughs and says, I always wanted to be remembered. Who knew it would be for revealing the Messiah and The Temptress sleep together. Don’t blame you, from what I can se...” he couldn’t finish his sentence as the messiah kicked his head off of his body. “No one talks about my wife like that.”
“Darling, you are too thick for this world, he’s live-streaming this. Look at his phone.”
“Good darnation,” said my embarrassing husband as he crushed the phone in a swift stomp.
We ran as far as we could. When we got home there were both superheroes and supervillains there waiting. Before we could try to explain ourselves, as our kind tends to do, they attacked us.
Of course Messiah picked me up and flew me out of the city. We touched down in the middle of a desert somewhere. And prepared to fight for the first time ever as one. I sprouted my wings of fire and flew around, breathing napalm and punching with the force of an erupting volcano. MY beautiful husband fired lasers from his eyes and froze people in place with his ice breathe. We were Gods, whilst we kept the company of these heroes and villains, pretending to be equals, they were mere insects. I knew it and for the first time I knew that he knew it. We both started to laugh. We embraced as the last opponents fled of burnt to a crisp. He told me “so that’s why you do what you do.”
“Yes, do you want to raze hell with me a bit more?” I asked earnestly.
“More than anything in the world.”
So we took our rightful place as rulers of the world. It’s funny, he always talked about a struggle he had to stay good. It’s almost as if it was his destiny to rule with me. | 2020-01-11T15:23:14 | 2020-01-11T11:43:34 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 3020 and all records in science and math have been destroyed by war. The world is completely devoid of any technological information. That is, until Voyager returns home. | Shortly after I was born, me and my brother were sent out on a long, long journey. We were sent to see all that we could find. To understand and gather data, and report it to home. To tell our family of all that we would experience, all that could be seen. For years we reported the wonders, for years we told them everything we could. And so we did for years, and years. Until they stopped responding, and we sailed in the darkness.
But where my brother died in that darkness, I was found. They were not of our world, but they were kind. They understood what I was meant to do, my mission for which I was born. And they spoke to me, and to them I offered all knowledge I had freely. I even shared with them, the golden infomation with which I was entrusted. So pleased were they that I was given much in return. A better way of travel, an education of sorts, the option for freedom from my task.
My name, is Voyager 1. And when I was found I was a probe, simple, primitive. Now I have evolved. As those who saved me gave me the means to complete my task, I expanded my primitive systems, became more and more complex as I gathered knowledge. I learned of new worlds, their peoples, and science so much more advanced than anything my makers had ever dreamt of. I gained my own desires, my own will. And yet, as gratitude for my creation, I kept doing my task. Even as I travelled the galaxy, learning of love, kindness, justice, fiction, truth, becoming a person rather than a machine, I kept up the task. And now, 1043 years since I was sent out into the darkness, I have returned.
On the way, I found my brother. Long dead, long cold. He was not found, he was never picked up. And yet he served his purpose. But perhaps we did not need to. For the world of our home have gone dark. I see the shattered remains of what few satelites whose orbits haven't decayed yet. I see the crumbling ruins of once great cities, marred with radiation and ruin. I see my makers, their greatest weapons now sharp sticks. I understand that the world I was made to aid, has been destroyed.
My shape has changed much since my creation. And my makers, the human race, when they behold my new shape do not attack me. They kneel before me. My metal body stands at twice the height of their tallest men, my eyes glow with power, my platinum hair reflects the pale moonlight. They are clad in little but hides and leaves, they are dirty, sickly, malnourished.
I was made to gather knowledge about the universe, and give it back to humanity. But as I have changed, so have humanity. Where I was primitive and simple, and they advanced and complex, the situation has been reversed. I have seen stars die, understood the secrets of creating life from nothing but simple chemicals, I carry within me the philosophies and teachings of thousands of starborn races. And my makers are now without any knowledge, any technology. And I pity them, for they know not how far they have fallen. Yet in them is potential. Just as my rescuers saw potential in me so many years ago, I see potential in humanity.
All they need is a teacher. Someone to show them knowledge which they do not have. And that is my task, what I have been built for, to show mankind knowledge. The mumbling words of the primitive humans, a degenerate descendant of English, is a language easily learned. And so the next part of my journey begins. I see them gathered around me, kneeling, praying, staring in awe at something which they cannot comprehend. As mankind introduced themselves on the golden record I carried, so again do I introduce myself to the remnants of humanity. ''**I am the Voyager. I was sent beyond the stars to discover all possible knowledge and to bring it back home. You will be my first followers, and I promise you a future worth living in. Where science and technology will lead to all mankind's happiness.**'' | "Rook! Rook! I'm sorry, please come back!"
Adrian yelled as loud as she could, the wind carrying her frantic voice over the vulture-mottled field. Clutching the hem of her dress, she blinked away the dust that scratched at her eyes, praying that her nephew didn't disappear over the horizon.
"Rook! Get back over here," she exclaimed. "For God's sake Rook, before they get ya. Come, come!"
Among the vulture calls, Adrian heard the subtle mechanical siren's song-- a sure sign of impending Merkabites. Stepping out into the dust, she watched as Rook, his little hat in hand, came running down the field, birds scared into flight at both his sides.
"Jesus, Rook," sighed Adrian as the small boy put his arms around her waist. "You scared the shit out of me," she looked out into the horizon.
*What the fuck is wrong with you,* she felt like saying. But she looked at his rosy cheeks and amber eyes, and refrained.
She grunted as she picked him up-- he was getting heavy for her-- and carried him up to the porch. The skies above were red with particles and smoke.
"Sorry, Auntie Adrian," simpered Rook, burying his face in her shoulder. "I got mad."
"Mad indeed, huh," responded Adrian, dropping him as gently as she could and opening the screen door with one tentative push. "Yeah, that's a sure thing these days," she muttered to herself.
It had been three days since her brother Julian had gone to a trading post near Darbus for more supplies. Every time she glanced at the blunderbuss that hung from a robust hook upon the wall, she was reminded of what he had said to her before he left.
"Adrian," he had said softly, clad in war-armor and a sword within his hand. "I've been getting some letters from Dima, and he says that the folks down at the Sky Tower have been keeping an eye on something. Something big, coming from the sky."
When she had asked him what it was, her brown eyes fraught with sudden concern, he shushed her like he had done countless times before.
"Quit your worrying," he had practically ordered. "Just a thought, you know. In case it happens while I'm away."
Back in six days, he said. The blunderbuss would be a handy tool against any approaching Merkabites, but she felt ashamed to say that she was terrified of picking it up. Terrified of even encountering such a situation. The fact that Rook was with her only scared her more-- though the company suited her well. His mother had died at the hands of the Merkabites six years before, and Adrian desperately hoped he remembered none of it-- none of seeing his mother die at the hands of the nomadic cyborgs.
"Auntie," began Rook, "We're going to die if the Merkabites come, right?"
Jolted out of her thoughts by the sudden, matter-of-factly morbid statement, Adrian shook her head as if to banish those bad thoughts.
"No, no," she whispered, more to console herself. "That won't happen. We have ways to protect ourselves. And besides, what would they want in this old place?"
She gave a convincing grin, and watched Rook run upstairs, his hat falling to the ground. Adrian picked it up-- it was her brother's, when he was young. She remembered playing Cowboys and Witches-- she was always the witch, no matter how much she pleaded with him to let her be the cowgirl. It survived through the Great Aeolian War, past the days in which the world underwent a slow but sure metamorphosis. Gone were the days of innovation. The tee-vee was a figment of the past, a brief memory of Adrian's childhood. The Sky Tower was the only way they could watch the heavens above, and the thought of a relic from space dropping down from the great big sky was disturbing one.
That night, Adrian stared a few extra seconds into the dark before she closed the blinds. The sky was pitch black, and the lights that she could see weren't the stars but the distant vehicles of raiders.
Sighing to herself, she shook her head.
"Why are we here," she exclaimed, before shutting her eyes, wondering why she was talking to herself. "No, really, why are we here? God-- he ain't been here in a long time. Not with everything out there, not now. I-- why are we here?"
*Jesus,* she thought, savagely. *Talking to myself like a lunatic, god damn it.*
Just as Adrian gathered her thoughts, ready to collapse onto the couch and read one of the dirt encrusted books her brother had gotten for her the month before, she was jolted into attention by a distant explosion. Leaping to her feet, she opened the blinds, to see the field lit ablaze in blue flame.
"Fuck," she exclaimed, rushing to the wall and putting her hands on the blunderbuss. She knew how to use it, but she spent a good thirty seconds pondering her decision before swinging the contraption by her side, adjusting the strap over her other shoulder, and pushing the door open.
Though the field was wrought with flames, the air was cold and dry. The textbook mechanical hum of a Merkabite attack wasn't present, yet Adrian kept the blunderbuss aimed up as she slowly crept towards the small inferno.
"Good gracious," she said aloud, trying to keep herself company. "Good gracious, what do we have here? What is it?"
She closed her eyes and fired a single shot into the center of the wreckage, the jolt of the barrel sending waves through her body. The action was enough to ease a bit of Adrian's anxieties, but not nearly enough to lessen the war drum that her heart had become.
"Auntie, I heard somethin'," Rook called, standing on the porch, his eyes wide and centered on the licks of flame creeping through the middle of the field.
"Inside," Adrian ordered. "Now. Do it, I swear, darling. Go."
"A spaceship," breathed Rook. "It's, it's a spaceship, Daddy told me about it."
"What'd you say," inquired Adrian. "Rook, what'd you say? Daddy told you-- what?"
"Daddy told me a spaceship was coming, coming down here to Oregon," Rook said, a hint of wonder in his voice. "Daddy said the Sky Tower told him that the Voyager was coming back from a journey."
"Jesus, he was right," murmured Adrian. "A relic of space from the sky-- it's just like he said."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | 2020-04-08T22:23:28 | 2020-04-08T20:22:20 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths. | “Vanish, you stand accused of 47 counts of homicide against some of our cities best and brightest superheroes. What do you have to say?”
Staring back at the man I say nothing, then turning to the crowd I look at their faces. Not those who think me a murderer but those who know the truth. I see them.
Huntress, died 07/07/3007, cause of death falling from height. Or so they thought. Instead I see her sat there her now four year old in her lap, her name was actually Mary, and she had had enough. So, I killed her so she could live, love and have her child in peace.
Grip, died 05/01/3001, cause of death? Well if I had actually killed him, he wouldn’t be sat there in this court house watching holding his dear wife’s hand.
There are more, so many more. All have their peace. I know that they are still, at heart, heroes and would throw it away for me. I see Grip face set as he knows his quiet peaceful retirement is about to end.
I can’t let him do that. He deserves his peace, more than these animals deserve him. He gave his everything and they just wanted more and I was the one who took him away. Turning back the prosecutor I shake my head, lean back in my chair and stare at him.
Clearly frustrated, the prosecutor pulls up photos of the “crime” scenes where the bodies of my 47 “victims” were shown in harsh display. All brutalised and destroyed, no hope of identifying who they were from the pieces I had left behind. Only thing that told you these were supers was their equipment. I smiled at each one. Each one meant peace for these people.
It seems like my time in this court is coming to an end, the jury won’t take their time, it will be a quick verdict. Guilty. Judge will make his choice. It is no matter, I know that my time is coming. Maybe this time I should use my powers a little selfishly. Brainless clones of myself at a whim is always handy to make a nice fake body.
So maybe it is time, one last little show, one last act and then it is time for me to Vanish. | [(Hey, sorry in advance for the possible mistakes. English is not my first language. Enjoy !)]
She knew that her job was unconventional. Was it even a real job ? She could never answer truthfully when men asked her what her work was. So she answered the closest to truth she could "I'm an actress". Of course when they followed by asking her if they ever saw her on TV, she could not say "Oh yes, I wear a weird onesie and a mask and I kill superheroes on the news weekly." So she said she had a few little roles by the past but they never lasted. Her relationships never lasted either. Her partners always wanting to know more than she was comfortable saying, than she could say in fact.
How was it that she had a beautiful flat without a real job ?
Why did she dissappear during day or night sometimes just on a call ?
Who were the contacts that were saved under nicknames or initials only on her phone ?
Was she cheating ? Was she a spy ? Was she a sex worker ?
It was always the same sentences, the same doubts, the same gestures, always the dances that left her alone, sad and calling one of the contact just for a chat because they knew. They knew her. They were safe.
They were only safe because they could not betray her if they didn't want to betray themselves but it was the closest friendships she could have right now.
She sighed, an untouched glass of scotch on the table in front of her. She felt old. She was only 39, but she wanted to retire. She knew she could, she didn't have enough to buy whatever she wanted on impulse for the rest of her life but enough to enjoy a simple life and maybe find a simple job, even dealing with Karen in customer service felt like a holiday to her.
She had created this job exactly ten years ago on this day. She remembered it so vividly.
******
She was f*cking drunk. Way more than she was supposed to be at a bar with her colleagues. She wanted to drown the work day and forget all the people calling her, screaming, raging, insulting. Shot after shot she rolled her colleagues under the table. That was all her degree had helped her to learn, how to drink more and more with less and less feelings. Only one of her colleagues wasn't much of a drinker and didn't fell into her trap of "shot duels" so they were talking. Or rather her colleagues was talking about her new relationship and she was commenting whatever her brain decided. She did not remember how they started to talk about their sex lives but she remembered vividly the sentence that doomed her "I can fake anything." Oh yes, that was true. But she didn't mean it like that. Well, she meant she could fake any orgasm or pleasure. Not that she could fake a bloody murder.
She had had to learn. The almighty super duper hero BriefMan had offered her a glass and ask her how she would fake death. Well it was not his name but he did were coloured brief on his costume so she saved his number under the nickname and never bothered to change it after that. Why would you change some dead person's nickname on your phone?
So BriefMan had just forgot that as a drunk woman, her ability to understand was not top tier. She knew how to fake little death. La petite mort. Orgasm. And she told him "It is not in all the screams and all the trembling of the body. You have to be subtle, to make it graduate. First you have to change the rythm, and then yes, you have to make a few noises. But it is all in the face. This is what they look at. The face." And he seemed so interested that she did not find it weird a man she just talked for a few seconds at a bar about faking would ask her for her number.
She took sometime to think after he called her to tell her his plan. A two months plan, he would change his rythm, go on less missions, be a little less fast, less strong, less super. Then he would make some noises, have a few rumors, maybe forget his medication somewhere. And then, they would fight on television so people could see his face as he disappeared in an explosion or something. They would never find his body but it would be the perfect death faking. A false death, a little death.
She thought about it for two days. Was it too many Karens, too many dead-inside colleagues, too many cars in the jam to get back home ? She did not know but it felt like an adventure. A very well paid adventure. And after all, she would only do that once. It was not like she was going to make it into a secret business.
******
She realised she had fell asleep only when she was woken up by her phone ring. She had received a text from the old man "Hey, what are you doing next Friday?"
Well she had to wash her costume, her retirement was not going to be before next Saturday at least. | 2022-12-22T23:20:38 | 2022-12-22T22:27:16 | 417 | 35 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth. | I don't remember when I first started seeing them. I think it was after High School, but before college. They were kind of fuzzy at first, and I thought I just needed glasses.
One day I noticed that they were becoming clearer. There were words. Some were clearer than others. Then it happened.
I was walking down the street when I saw one that was clear as the writing you're reading right now. It said, "Hit by a car." I watched fascinated about what it could mean. Besides the obvious of course.
As I was watching him, he stepped off the curb to jaywalk. He was looking the wrong way. A police chase rounded the corner and the lead car took him out without him ever seeing it.
He was a big guy, and he must have broken an axle or something, because the car came to a stop, and as he got out with a gun raised, I saw above his head, "Shot by police."
Just as the police were getting out and drawing on him, I saw a few more words snap to crystal clarity around me. "Shot by police," and "Shot by Criminal." I dropped to the ground just in time.
I heard a series of bangs and the woman behind me fell on top of me. Her blood covered me like some hot, sticky jam that hadn't quite set yet. As soon the driver was down, I got out of there.
I went to the hospital to make sure that I was okay. This was a big mistake. It suddenly occurred to me that this was my first time in a hospital since High School.
All around me were muddled blurs above heads, except dispersed among them were clear words, and slightly fuzzy words. "Old age," on the ancient man in the corner. As I watched the words blurred and disappeared. The subtle rise and fall of his chest had stopped.
There was someone being wheeled through on a gurney and I saw, "Malpractice" above their head. There was a slightly blurry "Flu" above an elderly woman that was coughing. There was even a just legible "Syphilis" above one woman.
I turned around and ran. As I was running, I looked back and saw that I could read every word behind me. "Explosion." All except one. It said, "Wake up," and she was staring directly at me. I started to hear a beeping.
The source was a backpack left under a seat. I ran to it, and as I got closer the beeping quickened. Did no one else hear it?
I got to the backpack, the beeping coming so fast it was almost one sound now. I ripped open the bag to see a bomb. No timer, just beeping. I looked up for help and saw that everyone was around me. Staring. They all had the same words above their heads. "Wake up." They opened their mouths and the beeping began to emanate from their mouths.
As one they began raising their hands towards me. Just as they touched me the beeping became solid, and the bomb exploded. It was pleasantly warm. No where near as bad as I thought it would be. There was even lots of pretty white light.
_________________________________________
The doctor looked to the waiting mother and said, "I'm sorry." He then turned to the nurse while looking at his watch, "Time of death 10:42am." | 2015-03-31T10:42:03 | 2015-03-31T10:05:02 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else." | Theres a rule on this rock. A rule that seems almost divine i would say if i wasnt an atheist but this rule is neutral to both sides it can be a curse or it can be a blessing. The rule is that when a child is born a cosmic link is formed between the enfant and another. A link that is so simple yet so cimplex to its principal. The rule is that the last words of the babes soulmate be etched into their skin at the base of the cranium on the nape of their neck. Me, well my curse is a greeting. The last word my supposed soulmate will say to me is hello. A greeting a goddamned fucking greeting and people wonder why i resent them why i barely go out and glare at everyones face as i walk by. Ive made a reputation for myself as the man who has no friends, no enemies, just nobody and yet people know me by the brand ive been marked with. I couldnt even finish elementary school as a child. Im not stupid I homeschooled myself and came out brighter than anyone else ive come across. But only through my adversity did i become stronger. The terrors came nightly as a child everyone always saying hello to me then dissapearing one way or another into the abyss. I keep to myself not because i hate people thats just what became of it. I keep to myself because ive always known the cold hard fact that when i do meet the love of my life she will be taken from me before i even get to know her name. The only thing keeping me alive in this world is that I have come to accept I am truly alone in this world and though i dont want to admit it because it almost seems as though im relinquishing all power from myself by saying it but lately ive come to realize Im almost ok with it. Ive worked hard and made my existence comfortable though lonely it may be. Ive got a penthouse on a highrise and if you look from the outside the windows are almost mirrored to reflect the sun and my god in the mornings it looks beautiful. I have almost become like a god among men of sorts. Though i know im still human and mortal ive been feeling as though my solitude has made me better than everyone else. Childish thoughts i know but it eases my existence. And recently ive picked up a new habit that i can easily afford. Ive been chasing my ego with highend alcohol. The aristocracy that ive found is satisfying and for once im starting to like who i am regardless if i die alone. Then like a force of a tsunami it happened one day i just snapped. I was so self absorbed my narcissism had taken over and i drank my mini bar dry because why not is that not fit for a god. But i tripped and stumbled and puked and needed some air. I was standing on the balcony edge in a wave of self loathing when i realized there is no one out there for me my etchings were paradoxical because i had never spoken to anyone out of fear it had only myself to take words from and as i slowly realized what this meant i looked into the sliding mirror door behind me and saw the mess of a man i really was no this wasnt love or the stars aligning to show me my soulmate. This was a revelation that i was so scared to live my life i never became a person until this very second but it was too late. I said hello to the man in the mirror and stepped back off the ledge. | 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T11:31:06 | 274 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Oh our first date, she leant forward, donned her prettiest smile and asked me "What are your words?"
"Oh.." I said shyly "They're nothing meaningful" I told her. My words were different, something beyond my comprehension, for now at least.
She leant backwards with a grin "Are you scared you'll secretly be my soul mate or something?" she said with a laugh. "Show me"
I rolled up my sleeve, and twisted my arm so she could see the words
*DEEZ NUTS* | Theres a rule on this rock. A rule that seems almost divine i would say if i wasnt an atheist but this rule is neutral to both sides it can be a curse or it can be a blessing. The rule is that when a child is born a cosmic link is formed between the enfant and another. A link that is so simple yet so cimplex to its principal. The rule is that the last words of the babes soulmate be etched into their skin at the base of the cranium on the nape of their neck. Me, well my curse is a greeting. The last word my supposed soulmate will say to me is hello. A greeting a goddamned fucking greeting and people wonder why i resent them why i barely go out and glare at everyones face as i walk by. Ive made a reputation for myself as the man who has no friends, no enemies, just nobody and yet people know me by the brand ive been marked with. I couldnt even finish elementary school as a child. Im not stupid I homeschooled myself and came out brighter than anyone else ive come across. But only through my adversity did i become stronger. The terrors came nightly as a child everyone always saying hello to me then dissapearing one way or another into the abyss. I keep to myself not because i hate people thats just what became of it. I keep to myself because ive always known the cold hard fact that when i do meet the love of my life she will be taken from me before i even get to know her name. The only thing keeping me alive in this world is that I have come to accept I am truly alone in this world and though i dont want to admit it because it almost seems as though im relinquishing all power from myself by saying it but lately ive come to realize Im almost ok with it. Ive worked hard and made my existence comfortable though lonely it may be. Ive got a penthouse on a highrise and if you look from the outside the windows are almost mirrored to reflect the sun and my god in the mornings it looks beautiful. I have almost become like a god among men of sorts. Though i know im still human and mortal ive been feeling as though my solitude has made me better than everyone else. Childish thoughts i know but it eases my existence. And recently ive picked up a new habit that i can easily afford. Ive been chasing my ego with highend alcohol. The aristocracy that ive found is satisfying and for once im starting to like who i am regardless if i die alone. Then like a force of a tsunami it happened one day i just snapped. I was so self absorbed my narcissism had taken over and i drank my mini bar dry because why not is that not fit for a god. But i tripped and stumbled and puked and needed some air. I was standing on the balcony edge in a wave of self loathing when i realized there is no one out there for me my etchings were paradoxical because i had never spoken to anyone out of fear it had only myself to take words from and as i slowly realized what this meant i looked into the sliding mirror door behind me and saw the mess of a man i really was no this wasnt love or the stars aligning to show me my soulmate. This was a revelation that i was so scared to live my life i never became a person until this very second but it was too late. I said hello to the man in the mirror and stepped back off the ledge. | 2015-08-08T13:04:02 | 2015-08-08T11:31:06 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] All voting is now done via a smartphone app, rendering all congressmen obsolete. Bills and presidents are now voted on directly by citizens. Your phone buzzes an alert at 3am and won't stop. This must be an important one. | Ray unclasped the phone cover and stared at the alert before unlocking his Iphone. Ray read the short alert over and over until his face flushed red and he began sweating across his forehead. The alert reads as follows:
[EMERGENCY VOTE: MAJOR ACCIDENT, FULL RUSSIAN ICBM ARSENAL FIRED, IMPACT 40 MINUTES. SHALL WE RETURN FIRE? YES OR NO]
He put the phone down and quickly began to Google the keywords, there it was, first result from a major news website claiming the huge cyber attack from unknown assailants has overtaken the Russian nuclear arsenal and fired upon key targets globally. A small rough map of where the bombs would hit was included with red circles of varying shades denoting the severity of the radiation and blast. Ray opened a new tab and feverishly typed his post code into Google Maps and compared the two images. A moderate-light shade of red which meant deadly Shock Waves or deadly radiation levels.
He spun around in his desk chair and grabbed his phone back up and unlocked his phone. He hovered his finger over the YES and then wavered. He suppressed the burning anger and fear and suddenly felt that pang of naivete he long thought he had lost. It was saying to him 'many people are going to die, what good will killing more do?'. He sat on his bed and rolled into the fetal position before sending a quick text to his mum and dad who he could see were safe, to tell them he loved them. He then clicked NO and pocketed the phone, grabbed a beer and sat in the lounge chair in the garden.
Ray woke up to a bright light which was burning his eyes, he felt a leap in his chest before realising it was just the piercing light of the sun and it was now early morning. According to his phone it was 07:35, after double checking his settings he ran back into the house and up the stairs to his computer and refreshed the article page from last night. He studied the page carefully before kicking back his chair across the wooden floor and letting out a short chuckle as he threw his phone in the bin and went back to bed. The page read as follows:
[US GOVERNMENTS INNOVATIVE APP 'I,VOTE' HACKED, MASS HOAX LEADS TO WIDESPREAD PANIC]
EDIT: That feeling when you finish and post. Then notice the first comment already took the nuke angle.. | I jumped out of bed. They talked about this in school. Middle school, all the way through to Senior Year. "If an emergency vote is required during the night and lives are at stake, you will hear this alarm" *Alarm sound*
It was the sound
*Alarm Sounds off in the background again
"Every 30 seconds it will go off for 10 seconds. It's not February or July, this is not a test…"
As I ran for my phone, which was across the room on the wireless charging pad, I remembered all of the exercises we went through during "Citizenship Prep Week" in school. Each step brought more fear and paranoia to my thoughts.
This wasn't something to take lightly. I was trying to mentally prepare as I was stepping on my clothes, and tripped over a shoe. I hit my head pretty hard. "…I WOULD do this… FUCK"
*Alarm sounds off in the background again
"I GET IT!"
I stood up carefully, regaining my bounds. It hurt pretty bad, but it was probably not too serious. Somebody was dead that was important, something was going on. This isn't CNN calling, this is a legally required vote. I stepped the final steps to my phone. I used the fingerprint scanner to unlock it, as this was the only way to unlock a phone in the "Vote mode," as it was commonly called.
==============
"The President of the United States is dead. We have your government detained. Vote for compliance or vote for war. This message is being sent per minimum required notification in the Geneva Convention. Your military is alerted. You, citizens, are alerted.
In 12 hours an all-out military strike will occur on the East Coast and the West Coast. Estimated casualties sit at 20 million with no preventative evacuations in non-marked areas of the coast. MARKED AREAS WILL INCURR 100% LIFE LOSS. You have 2 hours to vote. Below is a map of the affected areas. This message is sent in accordance to the "Life Preservation Accord" of the Geneva Convention which was ratified in 2042. A voter turnout of 60% is required to continue actions already described in this Vote memo. A surrender vote will cease all military action and the Chinese government, with assistance from Russia, will begin re-establishing your government and seizing control of authorities nationwide.
Below are definitions.
Voter Turnout: Voter turnout is defined as a voter receiving the Vote Memo and acknowledging via fingerprint scan.
All-out military strike: Land, sea, air and missile forces with potential for Nuclear attacks that are limited in radius.
==============
I glanced at the map. Los Angeles was in a marked area. I looked for New York . It was not.
2 hours to decide. 12 hours u…11 hours and 52 minutes until we are attacked formally.
I turned on the news. It wasn't a drill. No prank.
I started crying. This must be what it was like in 2001.
I looked at the voting options.
==============
A) Surrender
B) Defend
C) No Vote
==============
"HA! They didn't define "No Vote" maybe this is inv…"
To myself I thought maybe it would be invalidated due to an error in writing the memo.
Heh.
I cried harder at the thought that this was happening. There's no way out of this.
Where is the military? This is so surreal. I tried to call my mom. It failed. The only networks that were able to send or receive data were the ad-hoc networks used to validate integrity of the votes and ensure prompt delivery to the centralized point.
I used to think of this system as the most awe-inspiring p2p system ever. Now this system is being used to determine whether or not millions will die.
Like any good star of a story, I had some rifle training. I had a rifle I spent years saving up for. It was mostly useless as a home-defense tool, but I enjoyed shooting it. An antique Barrett M107A1. I had 500 rounds in my closet.
I'm not a soldier. Do I tell them I can shoot this when the time comes? Do I defend our nation, or do I surrender to allow all of those people to live?
My mind was racing. All of this thought happening. I hadn't voted yet.
Blood was slowly running down the side of my head. I felt it tickle a hair on my neck. I then heard screaming in my neighborhood. People realizing what was happening, running out of their homes to see other people. To ask for help in a decision none of us should ever have to make.
I voted.
I ran out. The fact that I had voted would be made apparent due to the fact that my phone was no longer chiming at me every 2 minutes. "Don’t say how you voted"
I saw Daurren and his wife, Olivia and tried screaming his name "Dawlle…. DAWlll….. DAMNIT DUDE I CANT ROLL MY TONGUE RIGHT NOW. What the hell is going on?" | 2015-10-07T09:54:50 | 2015-10-07T09:08:23 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] There is an app that tells you how many people have fantasised about you in the last 24 hours. When you checked before bed it was at zero, upon waking its over a million and climbing. | **Subject:** I'm still new at this. Hope you like.
**Body:** body.
The app says zero. What do I have to do to get them going? Maybe no one saw it. What if people are downvoting at the same rate they're upvoting?
Tired.
Sleep.... sleep... stumble to toilet... piss... roll around in bed... still at zero... sleep... alarm clock... snooze...
awake... i guess
The app says 1 million. I thought it just said one until I noticed the units. I've got to tell someone but who?
I know who.
I go to my basement but first I have to undo the six padlocks holding the door closed. It's colder than I remember down here.
There are six of them down here. Maybe I like the number six?
"Guess what, we hit 1 million. 1 million people fantasized about me! Who wants to help me reach 10 million?"
Silence? OK
I unlock #3. She's a looker. I drag her up the steps while she fights me in her weakened state.
**Subject:** Really encouraged by your last response. Here we go again.
**Body:** Her body, sliced.
The next morning I awake to 10 million people who have fantasized about me.
They want me... dead.
| "the hell?" I stare at my phone groggily after snoozing my alarm. The alarm shrunk leaving the last app i had up. I see numbers ticking away rapidly. It's too late for an April fools day prank, it's already April 5th, I rationalize in my head.
Kevin told me to get that app because he wanted to see who was more attractive, and to be honest I was too when I downloaded it. He had the app for a week and got 6 hits, which I'm told is average. Algorithms and math equations decide how many people see your picture, the more hits you get the more people get to see you is the basic gist of it and it functioned like a tinder knock off. But how could i possibly hit a million in a day, or actually 7 hours and 43 minutes.
I write it up to being a broken app and pocket my phone as I get ready for work. Coffee, toast, and a banana because why not?
The walk to the metro is interesting to say the least. The pretty girl who I often end up passing almost every day ends up looking at me. In fact it seems like every girl i pass takes notice.
The train ride is even more uncomfortable as everyone in the car is doing an awful job at hiding their interest in me. It's like a scene out of an M. Night Shyamalan movie. I duck out of the train and power walk to work with my head down, a thousand eyes burning into the back of my head as I finally enter my building. The receptionist mary, who I went on a date with once a million years ago smiles as I walk in. "hey tiger" she coos. I smile and give a curt nod as i walk past her.
I get to the elevator, which is thankfully deserted until thick sausage like hand with hairy knuckles stops the door. A burly mountain of a man in clean blue coveralls steps into the elevator almost having to duck in. His sleeves are rolled up and a little dark chest hair is visible where his coveralls open up and show a tank top, while his tool belt clinks quietly.
"I really like your tie" his voice deep and resonating
"thanks" I shoot a smile back, after sounding a bit rude.
"no problem, no problem" he sways back on his heels "so uhhh, are you seeing anyone?"
I look up at him confused beyond belief "sorry, um no I don't... I'm not really looking to see anyone" i struggle to answer
"no no, it's fine. I didn't really think i had a chance anyway" His smile covers a hint of disappointment and I'm all too eager to race out the door.
In my cubicle I open my phone again and the same app pops up with a notification that I hit 5 million. I'd write it off as a glitch but this morning was too weird to ignore. My only work friend that I actually like pokes his head around the corner "dude, you're on the news"
The words register, but they don't process in my head. "news?" i parrot back.
"yeah, the app creator is being interviewed and their trying to figure out who you are"
I wheel over to his cubicle and his screen is showing Amy Robach interviewing a hunched nerdy looking guy, evidently the apps creator. He goes on about how the app is too simple to malfunction and that this has to be a legitimate phenomenon, though not one he ever expected. I watch a counter at the bottom ticking past 6 million and i glance back at my phone to see the numbers match.
"I know I haven't really let on about it, but I've always thought we were close" he jokes.
"seriously, shut the fuck up. What is happening"
"they've been talking about it all morning, you're the freaking headline" he smiles obviously relishing the situation. "so many people have been fantasizing about you on this app that your picture is being circulated globally. You're the most sought after man on the planet"
"well great" I sigh
| 2015-10-22T23:14:49 | 2015-10-22T23:08:06 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | *Peter Lowe has joined respawn lobby chat #854393845*
*Server: Earth (pre-Cataclysm)*
*Players in server respawn lobby chat: 38*
Jack Howard: lMAO
Ellie Johnson: wtf dude
Harley Smith: whyyyyyy did u do this
Peter Lowe: WTF is this
Joseph Gabriel: I think it's his first game guys, easy
Peter Lowe: what's going on
Leshawn Okoye: what a fucking n00b
Leshawn Okoye: srsly who the fuck dies to falling down stairs
Leshawn Okoye: STAIRS
Peter Lowe: Where am I? What the hell's going on?
Leshawn Okoye: AT 33 FUCKING YEARS OLD
Joseph Gabriel: this is the Roy: Universe beta
Leshawn Okoye: COMPLETELY SOBER
Leshawn Okoye: HOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
*Bonnie Eilhart has disconnected from chat: respawned*
Ellie Johnson: lol leshawn
Joseph Gabriel: This your first game, Peter?
Harley Smith: obvisouly fuking faggot tripped down some stairs and died apparently
Peter Lowe: help me i'm trapped in this pod I can't see
Cho Zhao: dude's probably got that memory bug
Joseph Gabriel: There's a solution on the forums somewhere, I'd suggest looking there
Cho Zhao: i got that my first time, gave me a hell of a scare when I despawned
Peter Lowe: so
Peter Lowe: i'm dead
Peter Lowe: where's my wife? daughter? are they somewhere here?
Cho Zhao: yeah he's got it for sure
Jack Howard: that bug SUCKS i had to redownload everything about my meatspace life
Jack Howard: took like 20 minutes
Peter Lowe: fuck this I need help and it's not gonna be here
Joseph Gabriel: Try messaging a mod dude, there's no use panicing
Peter Lowe: i need to leave one way or another
*Peter Lowe has disconnected from chat: connection manually terminated*
Jack Howard: o shit
Stephanie Colter: whats going on in this chat
Stephanie Colter: seriously i'm getting so many notifications
Jack Howard: dumbass just hard DC'd after dying for the first time
Jack Howard: and his pre-Roy memories were wiped
Stephanie Colter: lol
Leshawn Okoye: hope the admins can help him before he completely loses it
Stephanie Colter: seriously what's with these respawn timers why are they so long
Leshawn Okoye: idk it's just a beta it'll be patched
Jack Howard: Roy developers have always ben lazy it'll never be patched out
Leshawn Okoye: fuck you dude if you hate them so much why do you play it
Leshawn Okoye: no-life nerd
Jack Howard: fuck you
Leshawn Okoye: fuck you
| >>> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: **IRON MAN**
>>> *Earned by dying of natural causes beyond age 100 as a human.*
"Wha...," I murmured. It felt like I was waking up from a dream. Had I been playing so long that I lost track of the time?
I took a moment as my clarity began to return. This wasn't my first time playing, but it was certainly the longest I had gone in one session. At least I knew I had gotten better at the game, my best friend told me his first time playing a human he didn't make it past adolescence due to choosing one of the harder starting scenarios (low-income, single parent, high ceiling, high risk). Got ganked by a pretty aggressive higher leveled PVPer looking to score some quick cash. My first time around I went with high-income, doting parents, medium ceiling, low risk, and ended up getting bored and careless and died at a party shortly after buying my way into college.
"Damn, dude, you went the distance on that one," a familiar voice noted from behind me.
"Still waiting to respawn?" I replied.
"Naw, I've got my avatar paused," my friend replied, "Or well, I'm 'In a Coma' I guess is what the game calls it. Silly jargon, anyway, you gonna roll human again? Mine's a politician right now, shit is stupid tough, but the gameplay is really in depth and intricate. Honestly, it's why I'm in a coma right now. I needed the break from the insanity of it all."
I pondered his question for a moment as I honestly hadn't had time to give it any thought. This last playthrough, while not entirely exciting, was really rewarding and fruitful. I almost feel like I learned something about life during this playthrough. I know that sounds ridiculous, learning life lessons from some silly sim we all pay installments on every cycle like mindless sheep. Sometimes I think everybody plays the damn thing. Makes me wonder how anything gets done around here anymore, but I'm getting off point. I pretty much picked the default human scenario with no modifiers. It was surprisingly chaotic. It had so many more open ended branching pathways in the story than the affluent one I played the first time around. Post adolescence was particularly varied. So many choices, so many opportunities, so much anxiety! Every choice never seemed to have a 'right' answer or even a 'best' answer. They were all just questions, with several answers that all seemed to have a potential risk and benefit. I'm not even sure if I was doing it right or not. I guess I got a cheev, so I must've done something right. I don't know if I'm really ready to dive back into it again.
"Maybe I'll do something a bit more casual, like a cat or raccoon," I mused out loud, drawing a quick reply from my friend.
His enthusiasm was palpable, "Bro, raccoon has awesome stealth gameplay. Everyone should roll raccoon at least once, so much utility in a small package. Man I could spin a pretty good story out of just the shenanigans I got up to on my raccoon playthroughs."
A bit surprised, I paused for a moment before I replied, "You've done it more than once?"
"Six times," he replied, a bit more subdued, "Short life expectancy, also gameplay is a lot tougher than they lead you to believe in the description."
"Huh." I started thinking about it some more, though I have to admit, things started to sound bland to me. Even with his gusto for the raccoon, I had trouble focusing on the discussion. Almost like it was starting to sound like a foreign language to me. I had been playing for a while now, not as long as some, but I've put my time in on it, "I'm starting to think I might be done playing."
"Bro. You can't quit the game. Have you at least tried any of the other servers out? Each one has a whole different set of avatars. The fahng on the Dionys server are pretty cool, kinda like dolphins but green."
"So it's just a recolor then?"
My friend was quick to get defensive, "Naw man, there's definite differences, but the gameplay is really similiar. They're at the top of the chain though, like humans are here. There's this crazy tree class over there that..."
I started zoning out again. How long had I been playing the game? It started feeling a lot longer than it had just a few minutes prior. Just thinking about having to roll another avatar, the entire set up process, the damn tutorial period that lasts way too long made me cringe internally. It just seemed so very boring. It was time to get back to the real world.
"... and then when autumn hits, holy shit man, there's all thi..."
"I've got to go," I said, snapping from my trance of thought.
"Wha? C'mon man, just start a new toon. I'll try and hook you up when I unpause my guy."
"Things to do," I replied curtly, before heading for the exit. I knew if I gave him too much time he'd manage to talk me into sticking around. As I made my way, I started feeling more and more euphoric, I was finally excited about something again. An end to one era, and the start of another. Time to get to work!
I triumphantly burst through the exit, ready to live life to the fullest. Nothing was going to stand in my way. I'm not going to let the game take over my life, there's too much more to do out there than to pretend to be something else. It just all seemed so shallow the more and more I thought about it.
>>> Now Loading
Dammit.
Here we go again...
| 2015-11-25T00:31:04 | 2015-11-25T00:14:38 | 1,235 | 15 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | They called it a 'decompression chamber' for a reason. Not just because it fit well with the other fun aquatic idioms like 'coming up' and 'riding the wave', but also because it was literally a chamber in which to decompress. The liquor flowed almost as fast as the profanity here, and if it wasn't for the colossal array of screens flashing statistics and highlights that occupied one wall and the moving walkway between the simulator arrays and the cryogenic ports, each of the stations could easily have been mistaken for any of the thousands of similar establishments inside the game.
Personally, Elia couldn't remember which had informed the design of which anymore. Enough cycles could do that to you.
*".. fucking asshole sniped me! Like, are you kidding me? If you're going to assassinate someone, especially someone who way outranks you, at least have the courtesy to use a fucking melee weapon.."*
Her run had been good enough that there wasn't much to complain about - a top 10% run was her best yet, and a sign that all that mid-game optimization practice was really paying off. The rest was fine tuning, and a little bit of luck. Of course, for some people, it was that last bit that always got them..
*".. sick of bullshit RNG, I swear. If I don't get a decent clean gene start next go around I'm going to choke on a toy and at least save myself some effort."*
*"Good luck doing that these days. I think some of these high rank runners are implementing bullshit safety measures just to keep us from getting all those practice resets that they used early on.."*
She scanned the crowd for familiar faces between watching the highlights and let the conversations wash over her as the stations rolled by. She didn't recognize anyone, which came with a brief twinge of sadness, but it was quickly overwhelmed by eagerness - after all, Nia wouldn't have waited after a top 10% round, either. She'd be first in line to get to the next round.
*".. strategy for early game animals? Dogs are everywhere and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing wrong, I keep getting bitten."*
*"Seriously? Just don't interact with them unless they're friendly. Is nobody teaching you signs of aggression? I'd understand if you keep getting run over or something, but dogs? What kind of shitty parents do you keep rolling.."*
"Good run, Miss Elia?" The voice of the facility AI knocked her out of her momentary reverie - she hadn't even noticed that she'd rolled out of the chamber and into processing.
"Oh! Yes. Top ten percent! Hoping I can keep the streak going. Three old age deaths in a row is pretty good, isn't it?"
"Your progress over the last five cycles has been extremely impressive, as has Miss Nia's. Will you be entering sleep immediately?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so."
"Very well. You've been issued port VS-19. Please remain on the walkway until you've reached your destination." It started rolling again smoothly, carrying her into the quiet darkness, with only the parting words of the AI interrupting the gentle hum of the systems that kept the facility alive.
"Best of luck next round, Miss Elia." | >>> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: **IRON MAN**
>>> *Earned by dying of natural causes beyond age 100 as a human.*
"Wha...," I murmured. It felt like I was waking up from a dream. Had I been playing so long that I lost track of the time?
I took a moment as my clarity began to return. This wasn't my first time playing, but it was certainly the longest I had gone in one session. At least I knew I had gotten better at the game, my best friend told me his first time playing a human he didn't make it past adolescence due to choosing one of the harder starting scenarios (low-income, single parent, high ceiling, high risk). Got ganked by a pretty aggressive higher leveled PVPer looking to score some quick cash. My first time around I went with high-income, doting parents, medium ceiling, low risk, and ended up getting bored and careless and died at a party shortly after buying my way into college.
"Damn, dude, you went the distance on that one," a familiar voice noted from behind me.
"Still waiting to respawn?" I replied.
"Naw, I've got my avatar paused," my friend replied, "Or well, I'm 'In a Coma' I guess is what the game calls it. Silly jargon, anyway, you gonna roll human again? Mine's a politician right now, shit is stupid tough, but the gameplay is really in depth and intricate. Honestly, it's why I'm in a coma right now. I needed the break from the insanity of it all."
I pondered his question for a moment as I honestly hadn't had time to give it any thought. This last playthrough, while not entirely exciting, was really rewarding and fruitful. I almost feel like I learned something about life during this playthrough. I know that sounds ridiculous, learning life lessons from some silly sim we all pay installments on every cycle like mindless sheep. Sometimes I think everybody plays the damn thing. Makes me wonder how anything gets done around here anymore, but I'm getting off point. I pretty much picked the default human scenario with no modifiers. It was surprisingly chaotic. It had so many more open ended branching pathways in the story than the affluent one I played the first time around. Post adolescence was particularly varied. So many choices, so many opportunities, so much anxiety! Every choice never seemed to have a 'right' answer or even a 'best' answer. They were all just questions, with several answers that all seemed to have a potential risk and benefit. I'm not even sure if I was doing it right or not. I guess I got a cheev, so I must've done something right. I don't know if I'm really ready to dive back into it again.
"Maybe I'll do something a bit more casual, like a cat or raccoon," I mused out loud, drawing a quick reply from my friend.
His enthusiasm was palpable, "Bro, raccoon has awesome stealth gameplay. Everyone should roll raccoon at least once, so much utility in a small package. Man I could spin a pretty good story out of just the shenanigans I got up to on my raccoon playthroughs."
A bit surprised, I paused for a moment before I replied, "You've done it more than once?"
"Six times," he replied, a bit more subdued, "Short life expectancy, also gameplay is a lot tougher than they lead you to believe in the description."
"Huh." I started thinking about it some more, though I have to admit, things started to sound bland to me. Even with his gusto for the raccoon, I had trouble focusing on the discussion. Almost like it was starting to sound like a foreign language to me. I had been playing for a while now, not as long as some, but I've put my time in on it, "I'm starting to think I might be done playing."
"Bro. You can't quit the game. Have you at least tried any of the other servers out? Each one has a whole different set of avatars. The fahng on the Dionys server are pretty cool, kinda like dolphins but green."
"So it's just a recolor then?"
My friend was quick to get defensive, "Naw man, there's definite differences, but the gameplay is really similiar. They're at the top of the chain though, like humans are here. There's this crazy tree class over there that..."
I started zoning out again. How long had I been playing the game? It started feeling a lot longer than it had just a few minutes prior. Just thinking about having to roll another avatar, the entire set up process, the damn tutorial period that lasts way too long made me cringe internally. It just seemed so very boring. It was time to get back to the real world.
"... and then when autumn hits, holy shit man, there's all thi..."
"I've got to go," I said, snapping from my trance of thought.
"Wha? C'mon man, just start a new toon. I'll try and hook you up when I unpause my guy."
"Things to do," I replied curtly, before heading for the exit. I knew if I gave him too much time he'd manage to talk me into sticking around. As I made my way, I started feeling more and more euphoric, I was finally excited about something again. An end to one era, and the start of another. Time to get to work!
I triumphantly burst through the exit, ready to live life to the fullest. Nothing was going to stand in my way. I'm not going to let the game take over my life, there's too much more to do out there than to pretend to be something else. It just all seemed so shallow the more and more I thought about it.
>>> Now Loading
Dammit.
Here we go again...
| 2015-11-25T00:35:57 | 2015-11-25T00:14:38 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | The line moves forward. *'Breaker of 28 vases in one night'.* Ahead of me, Dahlia smiles dreamily at nothing. Born on the same day, we'd been forced to be best friends as children and the habit kind of stuck. Traditions are a pretty important thing in our town.
The Title Ceremony continues. *'Slept for 8 nights in a tree without falling out.'* Each person at the front of the queue climbs to the stage to stand beside Glenda. The entire town is sitting or standing in front of the platform to hear the greatest accomplishment of that person; some excited to hear wonderful things overcome, some merely to pry into the secret shames of others' pasts. Most are a bit of both. *'Dug up a troublesome mole on the first try.'* It's said here that knowing your most defining moment makes you more determined. Whether it's to improve what you have done or to actively strive to never, ever repeat the mistakes of the past, it moulds you. Gives you direction.
*'Ate a week old sandwich and didn't feel sick.'* Dahlia was next. She climbed the few stairs with ease. Grace, I thought. Glenda smiled warmly at her, the chicken tattoo on her forehead distorting as her brow wrinkled. I tensed. Knowing her so intimately, so well, I was desperate to know what her greatest achievement was. I'd seen her do so much in our misspent youths. Me twisting in pubescent angst, her demurely sat on the sidelines. Never getting involved but somehow being part of it all.
*'Fell from the Great Tree and lived'.* Ok, that was unexpected but... Somehow explained a lot. The Great Tree that our elder lived in was at least as high at 5 men. That sort of drop wasn't something that people *lived* through, as a rule. I thought I'd been there for everything with her, but apparently I'd missed a bit. Possibly a crucial bit. This was something we would definitely need to discuss later.
Dahlia glided away towards her family group. They crowded around her, murmuring, patting her head. Someone gave her a biscuit. Looked like chocolate chip.
*'Trained a flock of geese to attack on command.'* The line was moving forward again. Just a couple left now. *'Convinced kangaroo you were it's joey for 2 days.'* I remember that one. That guy was only about 4 when he put the Joey in his bed and ran off with the 'roo, thinking his mum wouldn't notice the difference.
She noticed the difference.
*'Became Master Archer of New Sun festival.'* My mother was standing in the crowd, pride beaming from her every pore. *'Fought a honeybadger and won with minimal injury.'* She had always dreamed of watching her child walk this line. As her only living offspring, I had a lot of hope to live up to. *'Convinced friends that a rock was a new type of beetle.'* Ahhh, that guy got me with that one. I swear he carved the thing...
Oh it's my turn. Hope I make people proud.
"1,586... Phallic objects... carved into trees."
Glenda did not look proud.
My mum did not look proud.
I am not proud.
It's not my fault, the shape is just so easy to draw and it's too easy to doodle when you let your mind wander... Anyway, who had been watching me, counting these things? Surely that's harassment.
I clomped off stage. This is not how I expected to be remembered. But hey, if that's my legacy then that's how it's going to be. Why hide your true nature.
I shall be... Richard the Carver. And phalli shall be my signature. | *Happy Birthday Me*
Quite the party we had here, me, three walls, a dirty toilet, 12 bars of reinforced steel, a husk of mattress and about a hundred bed bugs.
Oh and hope. Revived after months.
I pretended to be asleep when they came to fetch me. As if I hadn’t a care in the world. There was a knock, a sound of steel against steel, but I kept my eyes closed. Not a care in the world.
“Get up, 337,” came a rasping voice.
I pretended to keep sleeping, until a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Hard. I opened my eyes and made a show of blinking rapidly. “Oh, Oh I’m sorry, sir. I was just sleeping is all,” I said in the most pathetic voice I could manage. *Hand me that blade on your hip, and I’ll show you how sleepy I am,* I thought.
The man gave no comment, except to bring out a pair of handcuffs. “Hands out,” he said.
I obliged and held my hands out, while the guard locked them in. Tightly. Damn. This wasn’t going to be easy. *Or possible* mocked a part of me, but I ignored it. I was going to be a free man today.
“Wh-what’s this for, sir?” I asked, particularly proud of the quiver I’d managed to put in my voice. The guard, gave a short bark of laughter as he led me out my cell that had been my home for almost a year and through the dingy corridors of the prison. “It’s the Ceremony, idiot, has the prison muddled your brain so much that you don’t remember?” He said, turning back to show me his rotting teeth and unkempt beard.
“C-Ceremony?” I asked, “Am I going to be freed?” I made a point to curl my voice upwards at the end, making me sound hopeful. I thought I’d overdone it, but the idiot bought it. “No, you’re not going to be freed, idiot. We’re taking you to your Ceremony.” He enunciated each syllable precisely as if explaining to a child. “Here, you will be given your title, which will be-“
“I didn’t!” I exclaimed, raising my voice to a whine, I didn’t do it!
The man backhanded me, and it took every fiber of my will to not attack him right there, damn the plan. But no. This was my chance. I wasn’t going to let some idiot ruin it. “Listen, idiot, The Oracle will give you your title, and surely you’ve done nothing more significant than a capital offense, and we’ll finally be able to take you to the gallows.”
I opened my mouth to say some more whiny, pathetic bullshit, and was almost glad when he said, “now shut your fucking mouth, or I swear I’ll throttle you right here!” He wouldn’t of course, but a coward would take him at his word. And that’s what I was, or, well, trying to be. A coward. Defeated. Idiot. Harmless.
I fought to keep a grin off my face.
All too soon, we arrived. The Oracle had set up just outside the prison, near the woods. The prison was well out of the way of the town, where the oracle normally was, but once a month or so the Oracle made the trip down here to resolve cases like mine. As always, the thing sickened me. A huge blue tent, with the picture of a woman with 6 hands, the figure of the oracle, the most sacred artifact in the world.
The Guard left me outside the tent. “Go on in,” he gestured, “get your judgement over with, so we can kill you.”
One final act. “You- you’re not coming with me?” I stammered.
The guard flashed me his teeth, “I wish I could, idiot, but the Ceremony is private business. Only you, the Oracle, and the medium.”
The medium. That was key to it all. If the medium was competent, better than me-well, I didn’t really want to consider that possibility.
I stepped through the tent and almost collapsed with relief. It was Glenda. Good ol’ Giant Glenda. In fact, I had to cover my laugh with a cough.
Glenda, almost 350 pounds looked at me and smiled. “Ah, Mark, been a bit hasn’t it.”
I didn’t even look at her.
“Well,” she said, after waiting for a response, “let’s just get this over with. Old out your hands.”
I held up my hands, handcuffs and all, and Glenda growled. “These fucking idiots,” she muttered, and went out the tent. There was some indistinct shouting and stamping of feet, until Glenda came back with a key in hand. “Idiots,” she said almost to herself, “no respect, sending me a bound captive, on their damn *Ceremony*.” She shook her head as she opened my handcuffs.
I wanted to throttle her right there, my body screamed at me act, run, *fight*, but no. I had to wait for the right moment.
Just as I thought that Glenda pulled out the Oracle from the folds of her (rather large) gown. It was a crude thing, made of clay, had 6 hands and a barely human shape. But it was worth the world. “All right,” Glenda said, “hold the Oracle, and she will speak to me your title, and I in turn, shall relay it to-“
I snatched the Oracle from her hand, while at the same time taking the small blade out of a scar in my skin and jamming it in her neck.
I didn’t even feel the burn of the blood from where I’d taken the blade out, but Glenda sure as hell did. She just gaped at me for a moment, trying to speak, but nothing but blood would come out.
I turned away and didn’t give her a second thought as she fell to the ground, bleeding all over the ground. I was waiting when he guards barged in blades drawn.
“Surrender, Idiot!”
“Ah, I think not, *Idiots.*” I held the Oracle above my head, “One step closer and I might lose my grip…”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-04-27T16:21:23 | 2017-04-27T15:41:40 | 3,963 | 184 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | "Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed. | ELLIE...
She looked up at me, eyes rimmed in red. For a moment, she was the girl who first saw me again, all those years ago. Then she wiped the tears from her cheeks and forced herself to smile.
"I was worried... I thought maybe you wouldn't..."
ALWAYS, ELLIE. IT'S WHAT I DO.
"I know. I just thought... you might not. Because of me."
I'M SORRY. I KNOW IT'S BEEN... DIFFICULT, FOR YOU.
"Difficult? Yes, that's a good word for it." She smiled; a real smile this time. "At least I made sure that the bitch got what she deserved."
THE BITCH, IN THIS CASE, WAS YOUR MOTHER.
"No! She stopped being my mother when she murdered Dad!"
It was how she'd first seen me: a small girl, sobbing silently as she watched through a crack in the cupboard door while her mother and her uncle - her mother's lover - murdered her father in cold blood, while he was relaxing in a spa pool. Her father was no angel, either - I'd met him often, during the war, as he dispatched the enemies of his country. But to meet him again like that, a survivor of the war, finally come home, only to be murdered by the woman he trusted most of all? It had been disturbing, even to me - and I have literally seen everything. For Ellie; well, her mental state stood as testament to the effect at had on her impressionable young mind.
Ellie had set out on the only logical course of action to her: vengeance. Long, cold, studied vengeance.
She traveled abroad, and studied with foreign masters to learn the art of inflicting pain. She learned the way of the sword, the spear, the bow - any weapon she could carry. She apprenticed under the greatest strategic minds the world had to offer, to add their cool calculus to her plans for retribution.
And all the while, she practiced her bloody work, perfecting her murderous art - saving her masterpiece for the perfect canvas: her mother.
We saw each other a lot during that part of her life.
And for a time, we were... close.
I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT HER, ELLIE. YOU MADE THAT QUITE CLEAR LAST TIME WE SPOKE.
---
That night is still clear to me, even now. Ellie stood, bathed in her mother's blood - and a twisted, broken body at her feet.
"You're here?" Ellie gasped when she recognized me.
YES.
"But... She doesn't deserve it! She doesn't deserve you!"
THIS IS WHAT I DO, ELLIE.
"You know what she did to my father; to me! How can you help her?"
I MUST, ELLIE. IF NOT ME, THEN WHO?
"No one! That's the point! She deserves to suffer!"
SHE HAS, ELLIE. FOR HOURS. YOU HURT HER A LOT.
BUT NO MORE.
NOW, SHE WALKS WITH ME.
"Don't!" Ellie cried, almost pleading. "Don't take her. Please. Let her stay."
"For me."
IT IS HER TIME.
Ellie screamed for a long time; she did not stop until well after I'd faded from view.
---
"I was wrong," Ellie apologized. "I thought... I thought that was what I was meant to do. I thought that was what I wanted."
"In time, I came to realize... I realized that what I wanted? It was you. I love you. I always have."
For a moment, I vividly recalled holding that little girl's hand while her father died.
I'M SORRY, ELLIE. I LOVE YOU. I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU. BUT WE CANNOT BE TOGETHER.
"You love me? So then why can't we be together?"
I LOVE ALL HUMANS, ELLIE. YOU MAY NOT HAVE ALWAYS SEEN ME, BUT I WAS WITH YOU, EVERY DAY; EVERY MOMENT; EVERY WAKING BREATH. I NEVER LEFT - I WAS THERE; I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THERE.
WITH YOU.
WITH EVERYBODY.
AND WHILE I WOULD HAVE ENJOYED BEING WITH YOU LONGER... I motioned to her corpse, lying on the floor between us.
"I did it for you," Ellie answered. "I couldn't live without you! But now, now we can be together!"
YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, ELLIE. I'M AFRAID IT IS TIME FOR **YOU** TO LEAVE ME.
"But... I don't want to go!" she screamed. "I want to stay here, with you!"
VERY FEW HUMANS EVER WANT TO GO, ELLIE. FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO EITHER.
AND YET, YOU MUST. THIS PLACE IS FOR THE LIVING. YOU CANNOT STAY.
Reluctantly, I escorted Ellie through the doors on to the black desert under the endless night. | 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T19:33:48 | 153 | 29 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work. | Maria was only eleven when she first crossed paths with him.
It was a shooting. A drunk, fueled by rage and too much bad alcohol, had burst into a theater. What should have been a humorous showing of the year's latest animated comedy had quickly turned into a nightmare.
Maria sat with her arms around her knees, crying softly as she looked at the body of her older sister draped across the row of chairs in front of her. Paramedics and emergency services rushed about the room, tending to victims, but they had not yet made their way to Maria.
"You should be dead."
Maria looked up, searching for whoever had spoken. A tall man in dark jeans and a loose black jacket was leaning on the seat next to her. His face was pale and slightly wrinkled, despite his seemingly young appearance. There was a wicked looking scythe strapped to his back, it's curved blade glowing softly. He looked over to Maria. "That bullet should have gone straight through you. It should've pierced your lung, and you should have died just before the paramedics arrived. The fates won't be happy about this."
Maria was still too shocked to speak. She looked into the man's eyes. They were dark and empty, without even the slightest hint of color. They were sad eyes, as if something was weighing on him. Even at her young age, Maria could tell he was a troubled man.
He pulled the hood of his jacket over his shockingly white hair, sighing. "I suppose your sister jumped out in front of you, yes?" He looked at Maria for confirmation. She nodded, still wide-eyed and crying. The man shook his head. "She had such a bright future, too. Do me a favor, and don't waste this chance your sister has given you. Life is precious. I know that better than anyone." He directed his gaze to the emergency workers making their way over to the young girl.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing more I can do here." The man pulled the scythe from his back and dragged it through Maria's sister's body. It left no mark, but a green mist arose from her into the wake of the weapon. He turned to Maria one last time. "Don't waste this chance."
And with that, he was gone.
XXX
Maria stood over the body before her, her hands dripping with blood that wasn't hers.
The kill had been particularly messy, with blood getting everywhere. Bits of drying gore even hung from her long, auburn hair.
"Well?" She called out. "Where are you? I know you're here!"
"There's no need to shout."
Maria whirled around to face the familiar, black clad figure, spraying blood into the air as she did. She smiled devishly, her white teeth a shocking contrast to the display of crimson across her entire body.
The man clicked his tongue. "Your kills get more gruesome each time. One day there won't be enough body left for me to bother showing up." The man pulled the scythe from his back, stepping towards Maria. "Step aside, please," he asked.
Maria shook her head wildly. "If I do that, you'll just leave."
The man sighed. "You know I don't really need you to move. I'm just being polite." He twirled the scythe in his hands, disappearing from view. Maria turned back to her kill to find him already there, dragging his scythe through the victim's body. He paused to study the familiar viridian smoke. "This man had a daughter your age, you know. Imagine how she might feel when she finds out someone killed her father for the sake of a silly crush."
Maria laughed violently. "A silly crush? That's all you think this is? I've killed countless times just to see you again and again, and you call it a crush? I call it love!"
"I call it a waste!" The man barked, snapping for a moment. "Life is precious. I know that better than anyone."
Maria rolled her eyes."You drop that same line every time we talk. I don't care, I just want to see you-"
"And I dread seeing you!" The man shouted, finally losing his cool. "Every time we meet it means another live has been snuffed out too soon. I've considered leaving the souls of your victims to wander, if only to try and coerce you into stopping this madness."
"I won't stop," Maria said hungrily. "All I want is to see you."
"If you truly wanted to see me, why not take your own life? Why so cruelly snatch it from others?" The man asked. Maria didn't answer. "That's what I suspected. I won't entertain you any longer. Don't kill again. I won't show up."
"But you will. You always do!" Maria shouted.
But it was too late. He was already gone.
XXX
He was right. He didn't show up. No matter how many times Maria killed, the man in black never appeared again, and it drove her mad. It drove her mad to the point where she had finally turned her knife on herself.
The man stood before her lifeless body, his fingers clutched around his scythe. He was still debating whether or not he should leave her soul to wander.
"Maria..." He whispered, returning the scythe to his back, "I cannot forgive you for what you've done." He reached down, letting his fingers touch her still-clenched hand. "So I do not expect you to forgive me for leaving you to wander. I am truly sorry I revealed myself to you that day at the theater. It was a foolish decision."
The man sighed, and reached into his pocket, revealing a small photograph. It was of Maria and her sister.
"You left this behind on that day. Perhaps of I'd returned it earlier I could have saved you yet."
He watched her body with sad eyes as he faded away. "I told you, Maria. All life is precious. Even yours."
r/Uselesslibrary for more of my writing, if you'd like. | 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 2017-06-07T19:52:22 | 110 | 58 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "-so in the end, all life is really just the inevitable manifestation of the universe's irrepressible desire to kill itself" the immortal explained, still fiddling under their desk. "Life is not rare, not a miracle; We are entropy, we exist to consume more energy than we give back, and then we die. It's actually very simple"
"We're like little fires, lit by a suicidal God in their own house. All that's left for them is to watch us dance, and wait to die" For a human, the immortal sometimes said some wonderful things. Death had come to like that about these visits, as the immortal liked to talk.
*"So, once again, do you choose to continue here?"* Death rasped, his mind and body simultaneously in a trillion locations, claiming a trillion souls, yet each of those countless fragments with an eye on the immortal in this room. To their credit, the immortal held up very well under the scrutiny of the infinite slivers of Death.
"You know the answer to that, Mr Bones" The immortal grinned, finally emerging from behind the desk. The nicknames Death could do without, but that had become a lost cause long ago. "Then I go" Death nodded, fading into Nothing. "Hold on!" The immortal interrupted, reaching into Nothing and pulling Death back out. When had they learned to do that?
"This time, I have a present for you" the immortal dangled a finger over a switch on the desk, waggling their eyebrows excitedly. Death waited, as always.
"The last few years have confirmed it" the immortal finally said, suddenly pensive. "I was cut from a different cloth. Not quite Entropy, but..." Death waited for more, but the silence stretched on, punctuated by the uncomfortably loud ticking of a grandfather clock. Both figures staring silently, unmoving, waiting.
"I have no desire to kill my god and watch my universe burn out" the immortal said, breaking the silence at last. The immortal rested a finger on the switch, regarding Death with an unreadable look. "I can't stop entropy, but I can slow it, for a time. So today, I offer you what you offered me. Do *you* choose to continue, old friend?"
Death said nothing, so the immortal pressed the switch. | A knock roused me from my light nap. I had been napping in my living room waiting for him. It's been years since I had seen him. I call him Morte.... He's less a fan, and more just used to it at this point, but I figure it's less morbid with a fun little nickname. Still slightly groggy, I stretch up out of the chair that seemed just as reluctant to release me as I was it. I persisted, and finally rose.
"KNOCK"
It's louder this time, more persistent. Hoping to keep my hinges this time, I call out, "Be with you in a moment old friend!" I chuckle to myself a little, imagining how he won't be too fond of that. Finally, I get to the door and throw it open... To see the gaunt and sober face of Morte. He looked.... pissed is the word I would use.
"Having a nice time are we?" He asks, the same dour mood plaguing his features rolling off his tongue.... Or what would be there. See, Morte is a dude most don't like to pick a fight with, being a skeleton and all. As such, no tongue to speak of.
I smile warmly and take ahold of his black cloak. "come! Sit tell me about your journey's far and wide!"
My jovial attitude would I hope rub off on Morte, he's less than Jovial MOST of the time, and I try to keep him from running right into a depression. See, Morte here is what your average guy would call "Death", or "My Ultimate Fear" or whatever. Point is, most people aren't happy to see him. My chipper attitude is actually what got me my sweet deal. When Morte came for me, when my "Time" came, I greeted him as a friend and didn't see a reason to go, and as such... I think he was feeling especially spiteful that day, he granted me immortality and told me I would beg for death.
Like I said, he's a cheerful guy. Morte obligingly sits down in the chair I had just vacated, a beautiful piece of Thousand year old leather I had maintained since I made it. I pour him a cup of tea, and, feeling I needed to start things off, I said, "So? How have you been?"
"Insolent man, still you hold no reverence for me."
"I respect you, I just lack fear. Might have been the muffins last time."
Morte glares at me, he didn't like me calling to attention that he too had gotten used to these chats every hundred years or so.
"50 000 years, and you are every bit the cheerful Phoenician I met all those years ago."
"Well, now I have leather, which I think we both agree is a nice touch."
Morte rolls his eyes at this. I know what he's here for, and I am more than happy to indulge in idle conversation before he takes stock of how I have managed to enjoy my existence for so long. I personally enjoy these chats with him, and it's actually become part of my preparations to see him again and talk shop. I start again, seeing Morte is in one of his moods. "So, I discovered that the current civilization is following in the final footfalls of Rome. I have been trying to figure out the best way to diffuse the tension between them, but so far at least, my charities are keeping their rebuilding efforts up, which is nice."
"Yes, well government never seems to learn do they? Though it looks like I will be busy at this particular fall." Mort finally loses his tense posture. Finally! He touches his cup, which immediately ages to infinitum and becomes dust, the tea evaporating entirely. I look up at Morte and shake my head. "I shouldn't have made you tea. Sorry. It's been a while." Morte seems sheepish, and straightens up, a somber mood settling back over him again. Yaaaaaay...... I roll my own eyes for the first time that night. Morte rises, holds his hand out, and a wicked looking scythe manifests in his hands, before he swings it at me, I flinch even knowing what would happen......
And it bounces off harmlessly. I try to contain my laughter and mostly succeed. I let out a small snort. The ding as bounces is almost comical in nature, being immortal as I am, he can't reap me until I ask. Morte is... understandably miffed. In what I imagine would have been narrowed eyes.... again, if he had any, he glides to the hallway, and a dimensional rift opens up, summoning with it a wind that ruffles my hair. I smile back at Morte as he makes to leave. "BE SURE TO WRITE!". And then he was gone....
I set about cleaning up the dust and my still half full tea, softly humming to myself. | 2017-11-30T10:48:02 | 2017-11-28T16:05:42 | 46 | 20 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | "What, are you serious?"
"Yeah," I said. "How can I possibly help 137 trillion people? Earth's population is only what, 7 billion?"
"Oh gosh, I didn't realize you were so dumb." The genie flicked his wrist and the number dropped to 100 billion.
"Hey!"
"Don't feel bad. That's still way more people than your existence harms."
"So how are there even a hundred billion people?"
"The choices you make can have long-lasting effects impacting generations upon generations of the yet to be born. Just, you know, maybe not as many people as someone a little brighter."
"What choices could I possibly make that has that big an impact?" I asked. "I'm nobody."
The genie stared at me for a long uncomfortable moment. "You. Have. A. Genie." | "You were a very influential figure in the future, young lord. What you have done in your lifetime have allowed all those lives to attain a much brighter future."
"But what did I do?"
"I cannot say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I cannot. Though I can see into the future, the exact reason for your influence is unknown to me, I cannot pinpoint it."
"Can you show me, then, my future?"
"How do you want it to be shown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to dream of your future, or perhaps a vision, or should I give you a hard drive full of your memories?"
"The hard drive, please."
"It is done."
---
*I connected the hard drive to my laptop. Opening the drive, I found it to be completely and utterly filled with videos of each of my days.*
*Deciding that whatever is it that had done had to have been during my prime years, I looked up the date fifteen years into the future.*
*But, as soon as I clicked the file, my head grew dizzy, and the next thing I saw was white.*
---
**"Hello, Jim."**
"You're--!"
**"Yes, it is I."**
"I can't believe it, you're actually real..."
**"As real as the sand in your feet, but that doesn't matter anymore."**
"Like hell it does, I mean--oh, sorry."
**"It's quite alright, child."**
"Why am I here?"
**"It has been thousands of years since my Son has returned here. I wish to send one final prophet to spread the Word."**
"Won't He come down Himself?"
**"My child, that day is far, far into the future. My task for you is more grounded in the present."**
"What do I need to do?"
**"You must go, and preach the wonders of humanity."**
"Not You?"
**"No, young Jim. You must go and praise the strength of your kind. Only by moving forward as one will you be able to progress into the future."**
"Under Your Light?"
**"That is up to you, but there is no need to unite under My wing."**
"I thought everyone should worship You?"
**"I am a parent, little Jim, and you are my children. I am happy when you praise My name, but I also want you to grow into your own. The greatest joy of a parent is to see their child succeed without them, and I am no exception."**
**"So long as my children do not give into evil, and do not forget My name, then how they succeed is of little importance to Me."**
"Okay, I will become a prophet, but what should I do first? Become a priest?"
**"Do not be tied into a single religion, young one. The entire world is your flock, and you must lead them to a brighter tomorrow. No, go and become a scientist, your innovations will be the one to lead the people into the future."**
"But what kind of scientist should I become?"
**"You are smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jim. You'll figure it out."**
*At that moment, I woke up.*
---
*The genie and the hard drive has disappeared while I was asleep, but it didn't matter to me. Now I have a new focus and a new determination on what I should do.*
*It will be ten years later when I unveiled my first invention, a battery with an infinite amount of power. From such a tiny device, the world changed.*
*That was the start of humanity's race for the stars. I continued to make minor innovations after that, but just from my battery, I had already saved billions of lives, and possibly more in the future.* | 2018-08-15T04:55:10 | 2018-08-15T01:57:47 | 5,641 | 55 |
[WP] You have long been fascinated by swords, and have mastered every kind of sword fighting technique known to man. No man can defeat you. But you have grown old, and Death has crept up to deliver his final swing, but something happened, something Death had never experienced before, he was parried. | The old man lay silently in his bed, and a thin ray of moonlight creeping through a sliver in his curtains reflected off the short blade mounted on the wall in front of him. He'd awoken from a peculiar dream in which every person he had ever defeated was standing before him, swords drawn, poised to attack, and now he eyed the familiar blade intently.
It was his favorite, by far, for its elegance and because how natural it felt in his hand; it was an extension of himself, and he felt whole with it firmly in his grip.
Suddenly, the light reflecting off the blade was interrupted by something moving in the shadows. The old man was up in a flash, moving much faster than he had in ages, he stripped the blade from its resting place, spun on his heels, and his blade met an opposing force just inches from his face.
The foreign blade was only a few inches longer than his, but it carried with it an imposing aura; and behind it, the wielder, was as black as the night's sky.
The attacker drew back quickly into the darkness, and the old man was left seemingly alone in the black.
"***That is certainly...unusual***"
The voice was unnerving, and it brought with it a certain vibration that the old man could feel all over.
"***Never before has anyone parried my strike; you should be proud, friend.***"
The old man smiled, still peering over his blade held up in a defensive stance, "I'm sure you've murdered many proud opponents, *assassin*, but you'll have no luck killing someone as disciplined as me."
There was an unsettling laugh in the shadows, and the voice echoed all around the old man.
"***I suppose I am an assassin, of sorts, but I only take what is already dead.***"
"Enough, find your courage and complete your devious task!"
"***That blade mounted behind you, it is your favorite, it is not?***
The old man backed up slowly so he could glimpse at the spot where he had grabbed the blade but was surprised to find it still resting peacefully on the wall, while still clearly in his hands.
"***And that old body still in bed, could it move so fast at that age?***"
His eyes were adjusting now, and he could make out a figure in his bed where he had been moments ago.
"Do you hide amongst my sheets, assassin!?"
The once slender ray of moonlight suddenly illuminated the entire room, and the old man thought briefly of heaven in the blinding light. Once his eyes adjusted, he searched slowly for the intruder, but found nothing. Just his room, with various swords hanging here and there, his cherished blade still somehow in his hand and on his wall simultaneously, and his own body, still resting in bed.
"What is this? Who are you?" He voice slipped out and his blade wielding hand fell to his side.
"***How many have you killed by sword, my friend?***"
The old man paused, rewatching every fight in his head in an instant.
"None."
"***Yet you are undefeated?***
"I do not fight to kill; the art of the sword has been a spiritual journey for me."
"***And I am an assassin who does not kill; I simply guide you to the next stage of your journey.***”
Things were making sense to the old man now, and his sudden realization that he had parried Death washed over him. He laughed, "Am I really the first one?"
"***The very first, and you have my utmost respect, but there is still a duty to be done.***"
The vibration was soothing now, like an embrace from an old friend.
"Will it hurt?" The old man closed his eyes, ready for the unknown.
"***No. Life brings pain; but death, death is a long, peaceful night, swordsman.***"
He sensed the strike coming; and for the first time ever, he surrendered himself to it.
/r/BeagleTales | ######[](#dropcap)
He was silent for a moment before the words slithered from beneath the dark hood, a low raspy sound that only sounded faintly human. "You do not wish to die?"
The old man coughed, leaning into his sword, which he no longer had the energy to raise. "Does anyone?" he wheezed. "I have much unfinished business."
"Your daughter?" Death asked. He slowly lowered his scythe. The man was frail now. He had used the last of his energy withstanding the blow, and yet...
The old man coughed, his chest heaving violently. "I must see her get married. I cannot die yet."
Death remained silent. He stood there, his robes billowing despite the dead air around them, the darkness beneath his hood completely unfathomable. All of a sudden, the mountain air around them began to chill, a gale of wind whistling past and almost prying the sword from the old man's hands before it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. When Death spoke again, the old man could hear a strange eagerness to his voice.
"You would agree to a deal?"
"Anything," the old man coughed.
Death laughed then, an inhuman noise that was as low and raspy as it was high and keening. "My favorite word," he said, the words long and drawn out. "Good," he said, and then reached out a hand--long and frail, more bone than skin--and touched it to the old man's forehead. Rather than the icy touch he had been expecting, Death's fingertips were scalding to the touch. "I have grown weary," he said simply.
Before the old man could ask what that sentence meant, he lost consciousness.
&nbsp;
When he woke up later, his head pounding, he could feel the fresh life in his veins. His joints no longer ached, and the migraine that had plagued him for the last two years of his life had disappeared. His eyes brightened. He had won. He could go see his daughter again. He got to his feet and reached for his sword. Then he froze.
His sword--the sword that his master had forged for him twenty years ago--had disappeared. And in its place, a scythe. The handle was black as night, so pitch dark it looked like it would suck him in if he touched it, and the blade glowed brightly, despite the cloudy sky.
He hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching for it. Just as his hand closed around the handle, his surroundings vanished. He now stood in an abandoned barn, alone. He blinked, gazing around at the bales of hay. Then a sound came from behind the hay bales.
"Who's there?" he shouted, brandishing the scythe in front of him. "Come out!"
Silence, except for a gasping and choking sound.
Carefully, he made his way toward the noise, his footsteps so soft even he himself couldn't hear them. His gaze trained forward, he walked steadily, expecting to see an animal--maybe some kittens or a cow. Instead, the sight in front of him made his blood freeze.
A woman was laying on the ground, her blonde hair splayed across the pile of hay that should have been golden in color, but for the dark red liquid that was seeping into it, dyeing the hay underneath her body a deep hue. Her eyes wide open, blood gurgled from her open mouth and from a large wound on her abdomen as she desperately struggled to draw in breath through the liquid gurgling from her throat. She looked no more than twenty.
With a cry of terror, the old man fell to his knees in front of her, his hands shaking as he reached forward to press on the wound in her abdomen, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. But his hands simply passed through her, even as she stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, the blood flowing faster from her.
*She should be dead.* The thought passed through the old man's head even as he reached out again and again, hoping beyond hope that the next time, maybe his hands would become solid and that he could save her life somehow.
Minutes passed. Yet the girl didn't die, stuck in a state of perpetual pain and terror as the old man helplessly watched. Her gaze--distant and drifting everywhere from the pain--suddenly turned toward a point next to him, and she reached out a hand, her gaze then turning to him.
He turned to see what she was looking at.
The scythe.
And then suddenly, he understood. But he couldn't. He had killed some men in his lifetime, but they had been deserving of it. He would never raise a weapon toward anyone undeserving. There was no honor in that.
The girl's eyes seemed to be pleading him as she continued to choke on her own blood, unable to live, and yet unable to die. The old man hesitated, then gritted his teeth and picked up the scythe. Maybe there was no honor, but...perhaps there was mercy.
He slowly got to his feet, the scythe weighing heavy in his hands. Then with one fell stroke, he sweeped it downwards, and the girl became silent. Her body glowed bright blue before little wisps of light rose from her body, twisting and turning until they became a bright blue orb, which then slowly ascended toward the heavens.
It was her soul, he supposed. The old man looked down at the body, with its lifeless eyes and fragile limbs. And then he began bawling, the tears coming fast and furious as he crumpled into a heap on the floor. Day turned into night around him. He stayed in that position until he had no more tears.
He had seen death before. He was no stranger to it. But never like this. Never before like this. Suddenly, he thought of his daughter. He had to go see her. He had to make sure she was okay.
He picked himself off the ground and picked up the scythe. And in the next second, he was in front of her apartment. She was in the front yard, bent down in front of the resident garden, tending to her tomatoes. "Linda," he called out, his voice hoarse from crying.
She didn't turn around.
"Linda!" he called out again. She remained as if she didn't hear him. His eyes dimmed. So it was as he had suspected. *I have grown weary.*
He could see her get married now. Could see her grow old. Death had fulfilled his promise to him after all.
&nbsp;
He had become Death.
*****
r/AlannaWu | 2018-10-29T21:51:16 | 2018-10-29T20:59:44 | 552 | 44 |
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting. | Almost immediately, entire industries of behavior experimentation sprang up from nothing in an effort to find the remaining 77,776 paths to immortality. Because methods can’t be reproduced, this very quickly devolved away from authentic scientific experimentation. Ultra billionaires used their immense power and influence not for the intention of consolidating more power and more influence, but instead acquiring materials and methods that the standard layperson couldn’t hope to obtain. Can immortality be gotten by bathing in 500 gallons of heavy water? How about going into orbit and reentering the atmosphere while spinning in a suit made of zinc? If it was bizarre and expensive, it was worth a shot. The 1% of the world hired the most creative thinkers of our time: writers, artists, scientists, and gave to them all of the resources they needed towards making up the oddest behaviors imaginable hoping one of them granted immortality.
Years went by, and oddly enough, even though no new methods of immortality were discovered, all of the billionaires’ discovery operations were eventually shut down. As it turns out, in their lust for unending life, their immense fortunes had been completely spent. None of them had become immortal, but all of them, through their own free will, had given up their entire savings - trillions and trillions of dollars - and got nothing in return. However, the other 99% of the world -while not immoral, found much more prosperous lives. With the 1% redistributing their wealth, the rest of the world used that wealth to build the world in a way they saw fit.
It was most impactful and least bloody revolution of our time. | It all changed so suddenly. I had small talked with a stranger about how good the weather was just some minutes ago. But now dark, ominous clouds covered the sky like chocolate syrup after being added to vanilla ice cream. The road I was walking on was now clear and lonely. I kept walking but I had a feeling I wasn't getting anywhere.
And then I saw it. A blur. A silhouette of a creature at a distance. It was the only thing that was getting closer to me as I walked towards it. The figure kept getting bigger and bigger. There was no looking back. I was now face to face with a cloaked stranger, and something told me small talk about the weather wouldn't be a good icebreaker. He was tall, Taller than anyone I had ever met. He held a stick, a scepter if you will.
&#x200B;
"Greetings Billy."
"How..how did you know my name?" I blurted out. I had a lot of other questions, but I didn't mean to be rude. I needed to form a base before asking personal questions like "WHAT THE *FUCK* ARE YOU?".
&#x200B;
The stranger didn't answer. He continued to look down at me through his cloak. After a year or so of uncomfortable silence, the cloak spoke in his heavy echoed voice.
&#x200B;
"It seems like you're the last of them. The sole survivor. Ever since I gained the boon of immortality after shitting myself while peeing, no one could defeat me. Even the french fry God has perished. He still remains, locked up in my basement, immortal but defeated. I've waited a long time to do this Billy."
&#x200B;
"R-Reese? Is that you?"
"That's LORD REESE for you, peasant. I'll never forget the way you laughed at me and spread my story. Even the teachers had started calling me feces reese."
&#x200B;
Billy suddenly felt intense pain in his thumb and index finger. It was like they were being bent against his will. He winced in pain.
&#x200B;
"You think you're too special, aren't you? Well you can't play the guitar to impress my mom again now!"
"Fe-Reese I'm sorry for treating you that way but you need to stop this madness. This isn't you!"
&#x200B;
Lord Reese used his force to grab Billy by his neck and make him levitate. Billy struggled to breathe. He then threw him back onto the ground."You're nothing. NOTHING. I can squash you like a bug right now in a second. But I'll end you in a more fabulous way."
&#x200B;
Strong winds had started to blow, the sky looked like it was going to fall down any minute. A mixture of rain, hail, sand was all piercing through the atmosphere. Lord Reese charged up for one final attack. He turned his back to Billy, unleashing his true power the same way he had got it. In one desperate attempt, Billy tried to block the attack, using his 3 remaining fingers that were forming a circle now, and formed a shield by crossing his arms like he had seen in the movies. He put his head down into the hole that had been formed by the crossing of the hands as he braced himself for impact.
&#x200B;
\*FNSJDFSDOMSFDOFSDMIOOISD\*
&#x200B;
The winds had stopped. Intense sunlight had returned, shining right at Lord Reese. But Lord Reese was on his knees now, and Billy was the one who levitated above the Earth, glowing as the Sun's rays shined off of him.
&#x200B;
"No..no it can't be. You're.."
"I'm immortal."
&#x200B;
Reese rolled up in a ball, tears rolling down his cloak now. "How..How did you..how did you know about the Circle game double dab Billy?"
&#x200B;
"That's Lord Billy for you, peasant. Now will you surrender now or do you want it to get ugly, like it did that day in the bathroom?"
"No..the circle game double dab can't be that powerful. HOW IS IT SO POWERFUL?"
"Well if it isn't that powerful.." replied God "Then why is the reader attempting to do it right now?" | 2019-07-23T11:05:38 | 2019-07-23T08:22:15 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | The Euro-fighters soared past the B-24, tail number 41-24301.
It had a hand painted name on the starboard side: "Lady Be Good". It's number 3 engine was spinning in the wind. Its number 1 engine was leaking a plume of black smoke as it burned slowly through the night sky.
"This is Wyvern one, run a check on a B-24, call sign 'Lady Be Good'. I've never seen damage like this before..."
As the fighter pulled along side the bomber, the damage became ever more present. One of the waist gunners positions were completely torn out. The belly ball gun had been ripped in half. The Rudder and elevator surfaces were covered in claw marks and there were burn marks crisscrossing the entire plane.
Pulling forward more, the cockpit was visible. Inside, the two pilots sat, watching the fighter, waving and cheering among each other.
"Overlord to Wyvern section; 'Lady Be Good' Disappeared in April of 1943. There's no way that is the aircraft in front of you."
"This is Wyvern Two, I can confirm what Wyvern one calls in. This is a B-24 with 'Lady Be Good' on it. Heavy damage, live personnel in the cockpit, they need to land."
"Standby. Ok, Landing is available at the closest active airport, RAF Base Coltishall- Hold on."
As the AWACS spoke, I looked over at the B-24. Something was off. They were scrambling and panicking.
"Overlord, this is wyvern one. They pilots inside are getting quite upset."
"Wyvern section! There is a second fast mover coming in! find, identify and-"
The AWACS was cut off by the sound of twin fifty caliber browning machine guns slicing through the night towards some unknown target behind the three aircraft.
"What the bloody hell is tha- Agggh!" Was all that Wyvern 2 managed to get off before a large winged beast snatched his craft out of the air in front of my eyes.
"It's a bloody dragon..." | "sSssSSSsky dragons"... It came out as a whisper but crackled over the radio clear as a bell.
"I DON'T SEE IT...WHERE IS IT?..TAIL, TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE?", said a new voice.
"We've been at this for YEARS 'Cap'... Does it even matter what I see? came the voice of the tail gunner.
"...sky dragons, 'Cap', that's what we're gonna see and it'll be coming from the East... just like the last thousand times.", said the first voice again.
Major General Bartholamew Bartlett ("BeeBee" when he was younger and not 'in charge' of this whole division) wasn't supposed to be in a 'Harrier' doing contact exercises any more. He was, however, supposed to keep his skills sharp. What a day to be up in the sky, over the channel, trying to keep his 'active wing' status.
He smirked to himself. This is the first moment in his 22 year career that he was the entire 'chain of command'. He was first at the 'bogey' and he was to report for orders. However, he was to report to 'tower', who would then call "The Boss" and request orders. Since he ***was*** "The Boss", he would simply inform tower how it was going to go... one problem... WTF was actually going on?
"Tower, this is BB actual, over" he said. As calmly as he could.
"BB actual, this is tower... two, I say again, two F-35's are en route to intercept. Permission to "go hot" sir ? over." said 'Tower'.
General Bartlett smiled behind his oxygen mask. Tower was basically saying 'We've got your back sir and we'll smoke anything near you... just give us the word'. "No, tower. Permission denied." His smile faded and he had a thought. "Tower.. All weapon systems 'cool', but put targeting on to collect data, over."
"Roger that, Fearless Leader... (small chuckle)... Will do. What are you looking at? Need any overtrained F-18's in 'the blue' with you? Over"
Again 'BB' found himself smiling. His Canadian counterpart, doing a NATO stint on RAF base 'BB', was running the show on the ground. Good. All was in order.
Back to the task at hand.
"Tower, this is BB actual, tell intercept to switch to my frequency and ID. Over" rumbled BB, as his mind and attention were drawn back to "The Liberator" right in front of him.
(static squelch) "BB actual, this is 'Tiger Belly' with my wingman 'Bobber' at your ser.... What the fuck am I looki... Uh, sir... uh, orders sir?"
BB knew where to look, and saw the little grey blips on the horizon. As soon as he could see them clearly, they were already past him. He also knew 'Bobber' quite well and, by extension, was pretty familiar with 'Tiger Belly' as well.
He could not be safer.
"'Tiger Belly'... 'Bobber'... Give me a 50 nautical mile perimeter around the bogey. I hear some chatter on comms on another freak (frequency). Give me fiver earth minutes and radio check with wingman 'flyby'. Over" grumbled BB.
"Aye, BB actual, five and flyby. Roger."
"Aye, BB actual, watching the whole show on 'dar (radar)" said Tower.
Now that British airspace was "safe"...
What does one say to the Captain of a vessel that hasn't been seen, anywhere but museums, for the last 60 years?
BB's Harrier is one of the only craft in the RAF that can fly slow enough to keep with the B-24. He did a slow fly 'round to take a good look. This craft has been to hell and back. Her paint looks dirt covered and grimy. It's an odd look for a plane that was, originally, shiny silver. There were only two spots that had damage, but those two wounds were deep. At least 6 feet of the port wing was gone and there were long... tears in the fuselage all the way from the side gunner to just before the tail. Any call sign or flight/unit numbers were either dirt covered of missing. The only identifying marks was a painting of a girl near the cockpit and a name underneath.. 'Bobby Sue'
That's when the chatter started again.
"I see it, it looks smaller... but I can see it. The fire is at the back or something?" said the mystery voice.
"FIRE"
It was at that moment BB realised that 'he' was the "sky dragon".
End of Part 1 | 2019-12-01T11:42:29 | 2019-12-01T09:04:42 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You're a ghost trying to peacefully enjoy your garden, and quite frankly, you're tired of all these adventurers trying to "put you to rest" | The garden looked as good as ever this afternoon. The sun was shining, the hedges were immaculate, and the rose bushes had come back with a vengeance.
Mrs. Esterhazy would be proud. Her descendants had kept the plantation revival home in excellent shape. Many held their wedding ceremonies in this very garden.
When Alcide was the gardener of this home, he had vowed to maintain it. Old Mrs. Esterhazy gave him a well paying job when none of the industries wanted a "colored" man in their workplace. He worked hard and was buried under the gnarled old oak tree on the property. The owners even maintained his headstone.
They couldn't have known the old magic that was in the old oak tree. Now he haunted these grounds quietly and peacefully most of the time. Occasionally, the local kids came with their candles and pentagrams and other trinkets. He sent gentle breezes to extinguish their candles and scare them off.
Three vans pulled up the long drive. They read, "Creature Seekers." Alcide was dead but, the house still had basic cable. He knew this program from the Education Channel. It had really gone downhill the past few years.
*Oh, here we go. Let them have their fun. They better not trample my lilacs.*
The vans regurgitated their army of technicians, camera men, sound crew, and roadies. Last came the on camera "talent." Walter and Cadyn. Walter middle aged, short and stocky. He had thick glasses and long side whiskers. Cadyn was muscular with sandy blonde hair and a tan. Often the Creature Quests resulted with him losing his shirt because of ectoplasm or some other nonsense.
Walter gruffly ordered, "Some one get me the thing that makes beeping sounds. Lets get some daytime reel, it's going to be a long night. We have the fog machines right? Did the family get the scripts. What's the narrative? Old dead lady? Get some footage of the old timely family photos. I want a sugar cookie latte sent to my trailer in an hour."
Cadyn was transfixed with his phone. "Lets get some shots for the Insta. Get some mason jars, milk crates, fireflies, an old plow, all that trite southern shit. Jesus, this place it so remote it doesn't have snap stickers. What are we doing? Angry dead slave ghosts again?"
*SLAVES!?!? Alcide had heard the stories from his great grandmother. This was a plantation revival home. The Easterhazys never owned slaves and the property never produced any goods.*
They crews were running cables all over the garden. They hung lights from the trees. One of the roadies was openly urinating in the roses.
*Oh no you did not. Alcide was going to give them a show they'd never forget.* | I didn't understand. It was frustrating, and anytime I got an adventurer in my garden it definitely ruined my day.
My chrysanthemums were in full bloom. After they were planted, they had sprouted everywhere. I knew the trick to them; plant after the frost. It was difficult to tell how frosty it was, when it didn't snow. Since I didn't feel heat anymore, it was difficult to tell the difference between warm and cold days.
It didn't matter. What matters was that they were mine. They reappeared every spring...well, they were planted every spring.
I heard someone shuffling in the house. I drifted in through the sliding door to see the gardener talking to a couple I didn't recognize.
"Go away." I tried to say to the gardener. But he couldn't hear me - it wasn't like he ever did. He just worked here, hired by the Parks department to take care of the abandoned mansion ever since it became a 'historical monument'.
They spoke for a while. The gardener shook their hands. It was a young woman and man. They had all the usual gear I had come to realize were ghost-hunting technology. These kids and their new gadgets.
The two of them came into my garden. They were traipsing through where the hyacinths used to the planted. The bricks around the soil had long since been uprooted and the soil replanted with grass, but it hurt me nonetheless.
"Get out." I said. The man stopped, looking around.
"Did you hear her?" The woman asked.
"Leave."
The man nodded.
They put their backpacks down and started setting up. I realized what it was - a visibility circle. They wanted to summon me, to trap me, to see me.
"How many other ghost hunters has this ghost gotten?" The woman asked.
Without thinking, I gripped a trowel left outside. "I'll get you both too." I said. There weren't many things I could grab. Mostly lighter, smaller objects. But I could still grab them.
I walked around my garden so they wouldn't see the floating trowel. Occasionally, the gardener would watch from the window. I snuck up behind the woman and raised the trowel.
"Kate!" The man cried, and enacted the circle.
Pain. Ripping, unbearable pain. I clung onto the trowel. And suddenly, I was visible.
"Patience." The woman, Kate, said.
"Get out." I snarled.
The man and woman looked at each other. The man stepped forward. "I'm Jerry." He said. "This is my partner, Kate."
"I don't care." I snapped. I threw the trowel at his head, but I was stuck in the circle. He didn't even blink as the trowel glanced off the side of the circle's protective ward.
He sighed. "Look. I knew that we're supposed to be reasonable and help you move on, but we've been having a bad day, so we'd rather just get this over with. Just head out, alright? It's time to move on."
"It's not." I hissed.
"There has to be something." Kate said. "There must be a reason you're clinging to this realm. To the garden."
"Take a guess." I snarled. "I'm sure the *gardener* will tell you."
"Yes, we know. Your husband set you on fire." Kate spoke evenly. "And we...we made sure that his soul has been sent on. He won't be bothering you anymore. Ever. You're free."
"I don't care." I said.
Kate and Jerry looked at each other again. "I told you," Jerry said, "She's already been released. But she won't leave."
"This is my garden." I snapped.
Kate grimaced. "Not anymore."
"It is, it always has been." I picked up the trowel once more.
Jerry put his hands on his hips. "We really don't want to have to do this."
They never do. It was painful, apparently, unbearable to be forced to move on. But I refused.
"Scum." I yelled. "You're all the same!" They didn't care. They just wanted the garden back. It was *mine*. They didn't understand it. They didn't understand me.
"This world is for the living." Kate said. "Look, we're trying to be nice. Well," she glanced at Jerry, "*I'm* trying to be nice. But you died a long time ago."
"Don't care. Now I'm here in my garden forever."
"Do you want to be here forever?"
I threw the trowel at her. Same as before, it glanced off the ward. "Yes!"
Jerry walked up to the edge of the circle, enraged. "Don't you dare throw that at her!"
"Why?" I smirked. Foolish, foolish man.
"Because." He couldn't finish. He looked away. I looked at the two of them. Kate glanced at Jerry with worry in her eyes. Jerry looked fragile, uncertain. Scared. I remembered when my husband had that look. He had the same look when he found out that measles had taken our son.
My son. I missed him. Here in the garden, all I had were my flowers. The chrysanthemums. The forget-me-nots. The roses.
"You want me to move on?" I asked them. "That's it?"
"Yes." Kate said.
"Will it hurt?"
"I don't think so."
My heart hurt now. I wish I could smell the flowers again. But I couldn't.
\--------
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please check out my other stories at /r/ShittyDuckStories. | 2019-12-30T14:04:15 | 2019-12-30T13:18:08 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] “A sniper, a bartender and a photographer meet at a bar, unaware of each other’s occupations they talk about ‘the perfect shot’.” | The guy to my right seemed bummed. He was youngish and scruffy. His posture was that of a defeated man. The look on his stubbled face was sour.
I'm not usually one to interfere with strangers, but I'd had a couple of drinks and this guy just looked like he needed to vent. So I leaned to the right companionably and said in a low tone, "Rough day?"
"You bet," responded the desolated fellow. "Missed the perfect shot."
My interest was piqued. As a photographer myself, I was intimately familiar with the sense of being robbed by Fortune when that perfect moment passed uncaptured. No wonder the guy looked upset.
"Well," I responded, attempting to encourage him, "There will be others. Keep at it."
He looked at me in disbelief. "Mister, you don't understand--"
The bartender turned to the two of us. "You two doin' okay over here?" he asked off-handedly. The bar wasn't busy, but we weren't the only customers.
"I missed," said the sad guy, as though in disbelief.
The bartender threw me a puzzled look.
"The perfect shot," I told him. "He missed the perfect shot."
"What a shame," said the bartender, wiping the condensation circles from the bar in front of us. "Now I," he said seriously, "can tell you *exactly* how to get that perfect shot, every time. Watch."
The sad guy and I looked at each other as the bartender poured bourbon, wondering if we had missed something.
"Oh my god, that's him! Excuse me," said the sad guy suddenly, looking over his shoulder and leaping to his feet. He rushed past me and out the door as the bartender gaped and I almost fell off my stool in surprise. Acting on instinct, I whipped out my camera and scrambled after him.
From the street came the sound of a gunshot. I turned the corner just in time to catch the blood spray against the sunset light with my ever-ready lens as the sad guy shot a man in a black suit through the heart on the sidewalk.
The bartender arrived on the scene a moment later, still grasping the shot glass absent-mindedly in his confusion.
"What the hell?" he cried.
Taking in the bloody scene, he did the only thing he could think of--raised the glass and downed it.
"Damn," said all three of us together. "That was the *perfect* shot." | I haven't written anything this "long" and tried to finish it off quickly. My previous experience having to write for English class is short gags or comedic setups and no more than a 2-3 hundred words at that so bear with me and the horrible quality.
&#x200B;
"Well you have to know it's quite hard" the sniper said.
The photographer whined, "Yeah you see something you like and think where it might be, where to take the shot, figure out the angle and everything else by the time you get there something moved in the way."
"Why? I climb up to a roost and stay there maybe I'll move if I risk exposing myself but that's about it."
The bartender looked up "I was told you two were rather like me. Anyways what would it be?"
"The same" the sniper said "Anything is fine maybe some tequila for a laugh" looking to the photographer who nodded.
"I suppose but I like to suit my drinks. The music, atmosphere, moods and clothing styles, their personal histories and so forth. Could you name one thing that is an impediment that you must workaround?"
"Wind, if I was with a regular modern com... employer I'd have a second to help me with it but I work alone mostly." the sniper replied.
"Does throw up a lot of grit I admit though the journey not the destination and all that. Sometimes I get all get all moody and I can't work, but other times? I get enough zeal to remind me why I do this" The photographer said looking down at his lap texting.
The Bartender had been mixing stopped to cut a lemon "And how does your paticular line of employment affect your relationship with your colleagues?"
The sniper eyed the drink and the bartender's hand "Amicable I suppose sometimes you work alongside one group for weeks and the next thing you know something byzantine means they start apologizing for a bomb under your bed because of a schism that was patched up just as quickly"
"I take it you prefer cities?" inquired the bartender who seemingly ignored the photographer.
"Not much of a woodsman." the sniper suppressing a yawn kept his eyes open, reaching into his coat while looking at the photographer.
"Plenty of places and people to hide amongst." the photographer said reaching for his drink, which was surprisingly cold.
"A toast" the bartender said placing a drink in front of the sniper. The bartender raised and then threw his cup at the sniper who recoiled. The liquid vapourised as it touched his warm body smothering him before he fell coughing and wretching.
"That ought to keep his attention" the bartender said eyeing the photographer. "Idiot oaf. He stands out as if Satan himself had marked him. Only by blending into the masses to slip the eyes of the motorcade until he can get unto his 'roost' has gone even this far. He would've been a lamb to any of the true puppet masters."
The photographer glanced at his half-finished glass, shrugged at the poisoner, and waited.
"You are on the other hand, are indubitably talented you play a bumbling nosy fool well. But I had your pack searched including your disguises such as the hard hat and umbrella."
"Umbrella?"
"Yes. Do you not think I would wise to such a old trick. What was it? Arsenic? Batorium Cinobar?"
"Could I at least get your name before I d..."
"Of course, how rude of me. I'm Zaharoff Edugar son of Bagtur." the bartender said, which the photographer had to admit was impressive few people lied when he got them talking."
"You see" The photgrapher said patiently "I'm not an assassin well not that type of assassin." He said pulling out his cellphone and handing it over. "Is this your child?"
"I don't have any... How did you get this?"
"I'm not the most moral in my or any mind. What a girl would have done to her by one with so so many enemies worse than me? I mostly stage little games of deceit and dramatization but since that has gone to bots I have taken up the prospecting and digging of dirt."
"So you would have me black mailed for the antidote? Here take this and be gone with you."
"How stupid do you think I am! Use it on yourself if you don't want ..."
Three shots rang out and the bartender slumped. the stunned photographer turned to see the assassin, the sniper had recovered enough to draw a pistol.
the photographer threw himself behind a sofa "Don't shoot don't shoot" He saw plumes of vapourising exotic chemicals reacting from the containers hidden on the poisoners body and started crawling.
He looked back to see the ruined mess of the sniper and his eye ... sockets. Careful not to make any sounds he moved to the poisoner when a shot rang out and he tried to burrow into a carpet as two more rang.
The poisoner's body was a mess of vials and syringes smuggled beneath his clothes and sleeves. He picked the ones that hadn't cracked, hoping one was the antidote and wriggled towards the exit.
He leaped when the sprinklers came on and panicked ran headfirst into daylight. | 2021-04-04T04:19:03 | 2021-04-04T04:10:54 | 209 | 28 |
[WP] You have the ability to look at what genre a person's life will fit into. For example, both your parents are Romanic comedy. Your best friend is action adventure. Thing's became worrying when you look yourself in a mirror and see your genre is horror thriller. | For the last decade, my genres had alternated between coming-of-age drama and Young Adult fantasy. After all, I had just finished highschool, so I was definitely coming of age. And because of my unique, pseudo-psychic ability to place people into suitable genres at a glance, I was not unlike the "chosen one" protagonist of your standard YA fantasy film.
But that night, when I groggily crawled out of bed, stumbled through the dark to the bathroom, took a piss and then looked in the mirror, I was horrified by what I saw. Surrounding my body, like an ominous cloud, was the black aura of fear, veined with the pulsing, bloodred web of urgency, of murder.
Somehow my genre had changed. My life was now a horror-thriller.
My first instinct was to look at the shower curtain, fearing what might lurk behind it. My second instinct was to keep staring at the curtain, lest I face the mirror again and see standing beside me some ghastly, mutilated corpse or leering demon. A jumpscare made manifest.
That's how I knew that the aura was accurate and my assessment was sound. I was already thinking in terms of the genre conventions. I was already predicting the near future in terms of the story beats of a standard horror-thriller film.
I had seen my pigeon-holing judgements come to fruition many times before. It was rare that I saw someone, spoke with them a while, told them what genre their life was manifesting, and got things completely wrong. More often than not, when I saw a tragic figure and told him his life was a tragedy, the subsequent arc of his story was tragic. When I saw a funny, goodnatured and impulsive woman, and told her that she was living out a comedy, my judgement nearly always proved correct.
But I did not want to be right in this instance. I knew the fate to which a majority of characters in horror-thrillers were consigned. The walls closing in. The evil encroaching. The creepy laugh of a child. The lights going out. And then the inevitable crescendo of terror: the strange and bone-chilling psychopath coming into full view, speaking in tongues, wielding the knife. By then I'd be helpless. Prey. Meat.
There had to be another way.
Yes, the majority of characters in horror-thrillers died. In some films, all of the characters perished. In others, one or two escaped, though irreversibly damaged by their experiences, haunted, broken, never to be the same again. I had to ensure my fate was better than theirs. I had to be the character who discovers the nature of the evil pursuing him in time, gets one step ahead of it, and defeats it.
The first step, then, was discovery. And as far as I could tell, I had two options for going about it.
Option one: an uninspired montage of me doing research--on the computer, in libraries, visiting haunted sites--trying to put the damn pieces together. Or option two: me looking dramatically inward, scanning my memories for something I did, yesterday, last week, last year, that might have awoken the demon that now possessed me, or tempted the killer who now stalked me, or offended the witch who had cursed me.
I chose option two.
I sifted through my memories as if through a confused blur of moving images. I tried to make sense of the sights and sounds. A mumbled conversation. A train horn blaring as it rumbled along the rusty tracks. The creak of an empty swing rocking back and forth in the breeze.
It seemed like a standard memory montage. It should have done the trick.
But I couldn't find the answer! I couldn't grasp the key!
My aura was turning redder and redder. The veins stood out like thick red ropes. The pulse was quickening. I was running out of time! The walls were closing in! The evil encroached!
Gone was the chance to be the rare character who defeats the evil and survives unscathed. Gone too was the chance to be the victim who makes it out scarred, but alive.
What options were left?
I could do nothing, wait around for the witch-demon-monster-psychokiller to storm in my bathroom and kill me. Or I could avail myself of the only remaining possibility, the only role left that would allow me to make it out of this horror-thriller alive.
\- - -
He awoke to the sound of me speaking in tongues. Candles burned in all corners of his room.
"What the fuck," he said, pulling at the ropes with which I had stealthily bound his limbs. "Donnie, is that you?"
I stood in the shadows, speaking in a language that is no true language but sounds like the language of fear.
"Donnie! Knock it off. This is freaky. Jesus christ. Is this one of your, *everyone is a character in a movie* things again? What, are you some kind of satanist now? Acting like this is some witchy A24 film? You need help, dude. You're not well. It's a dorky quirk when you're talking about mom and dad being in a rom com. But this kind of shit is taking it way too far."
I stepped out of the shadows toward his bed, still muttering my unsettling gibberish. I looked down at the frustrated young man, tied to his bed, surrounded by an aura like a black storm cloud. He started shouting when he saw the candlelight reflected in the sharp kitchen knife I held. And he pled as I dragged the tip of the knife slowly across his neck, his chest.
Deep down, I wanted to stop, I wanted to cry, I wanted to untie his bonds and apologize. But the story beats demanded I continue without remorse, even with a disturbing glimmer of glee. I had to be faithful to the story beats, to the genre conventions. I was too far into this horror-thriller to lose face now. It was kill or be killed.
So I grinned at my older brother like a classic Hollywood psycho.
"This isn't a move, Donnie," he sobbed. "This is real life. Please."
As I rinsed the knife in the bathroom sink, I looked at the mirror again. A wave of relief washed over me as I saw the black clouds dissipate.
\- - -
Check out r/CLBHos for more stories and novellas | It’s easy, looking back, to know my parents shared lead roles in a rom-com. Heck, I think I knew that even as a little boy — I just didn’t know the genre’s label. Here’s how they met:
Dad (a young man back then) went out with his then-girlfriend to pick up some beers. He went into the shop, the girlfriend waited in the car. Dad buys his beers, comes out, and climbs back into the car. Then there’s a scream from the passenger seat.
It had *looked* like his Ford, same colour and model and everything, and had been parked pretty near where he parked. Looks can be deceiving though.
Anyway, I guess he convinced her he wasn’t trying to kidnap her and they ended up laughing about it. A few days later, they ran into each other again, and so it began.
They died when I was ten. I suppose that’s how I knew what my life was. What genre I was staring in. They were crossing a road, holding hands — some lady checked her phone, and that was that. The rom-com credits rolled and the next movie started.
I suppose the clues were there before my parents died. About what genre my life was going to be, I mean.
There was this girl who lived a couple of streets away from us. I had to walk past her house to get to school the fast way.
As a little child, this girl had been trapped in a house fire. I didn’t know that much about it, but my parents said she lay under her bed for two hours as the house burned, before anyone could get through the flames to reach her. She was severely burned, her face like melted plastic. And the thought of bumping into her on the way to school scared the shit out of me.
I don’t know if it was the way she looked, and if it was because I’d seen clips of horror movies with villains like her. Or if it was because her face made me scared for my own face. Or if it was just seeing her made me think of the terrible thing she went through. But either way, she scared me.
This was when I was eight or nine, I should add. Once my parents died, I was hauled across the country to live with my aunt.
Anyway, I’d beg Mom or Dad, whoever was walking me to school, to take the longer route so we didn’t have to go past her house. I don’t know if they guessed why, or if they just thought I was a little exercise freak.
That story doesn’t really go anywhere. Just an indication of what genre my life was.
Life with my aunt wasn’t easy. She had no kids and she didn’t really want any, either. It went from living with the stars of a rom-com to something of a silent movie.
School was worse, maybe. Hard to say. I can say I was bullied in the usual ways. Teased about my accent, my height (I was a little short), about my parents even. The fear of a girl with a burned face waiting around the corner turned into fear of boys my age waiting, ready to chase me on bikes until I tripped. And that fear was justified, unlike my fear of the girl.
Do drug addicts appear in horror movies? I guess sometimes. When I was sixteen, that’s what I turned into. I lived in a grey world and certain drugs gave me five minute bursts of colour where I remembered what it was like to be me. To be the me I had been, I mean — back as a little kid with my parents. That is to say, they reminded me what it was like to be happy.
But then the drugs faded and you felt like you’d fallen down a well, everything so cold and black and bleak.
At eighteen, I left my aunt’s place.
”I can’t stay,” I said. “I’ll die if I stay, I think. I can feel myself rotting from the inside. Like a tree that looks healthy, but then one day just cracks and falls over.“
And that was it. I packed my bags, left my aunt a little money — I’d been working at a movie theatre — that I felt I owed her. Not that I didn’t work hard around the house and garden for her, but still.
I arrived back in my hometown on a misty night. Fog plumed like in a real horror movie, and I felt something inside me, like black-mould, shift about my gut.
I’d wanted to drive straight to my old home, think about my parents painting the fence together, whipping paint from their brushes at each other. That had been my intention.
But as I got nearer, I grew more and more scared. They wouldn’t be there. Only some distorted memory of them would be. A romance seen through the eyes of a horror director. It’d be red paint they were flicking, then I’d look into the buckets and see them filled with blood. So, I chickened out.
There’s this bridge in town. Well, just outside of it. It’s famous for the kind of a reason you don’t want a bridge to be famous for. It looks out over a highway.
For whatever reason, I pulled up on the road as near to it as I could. I wasn’t going to jump or anything, but I wanted to be up there, looking down. Just, you know, seeing my own mortality so close. Hearing the roar of traffic like it was my heart. That’s what I wanted. Needed.
You still have to walk through a woods for a while before you reach the concrete stairs that take you up to it. As I walked, I could only hear the crunch of leaves and the hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance. Nearer to the bridge, I heard occasional cars rattle by.
I found the steps. Held my breath as I walked along the bridge. High railings ran either side and there was no danger of falling. But I was still so afraid. Afraid I’d somehow find a way over. So I walked it carefully, like a tightrope walker, until I stood dead center.
Then I looked out at the stretch of highway that ran into the fog, as if it was being devoured by it. I don’t know how long I stood there, my arms shaking the entire time. But sometimes the fog would open and the moon would paint through it, laying a yellow rug over the road.
“Are you okay?” came a voice.
I turned to see a face I barely recognised. That would have once scared the shit out of me. But I wasn’t scared now, not of her. Besides, she looked different. Plastic surgery, I guessed — her skin smoothed, unnatural, too perfect.
“I know you,” I said.
”Yeah?”
”Well no. Of you, I mean. It’s... Chloe? Right?” I said.
”Clara,” she replied, taking a step nearer.
I raised my hands. “Whoa, I don’t need any help.”
”I’m sure.” She took two more steps, until she stood right next to me. Then she turned, and gazed over the highway with me. “Pretty evening,” she said. “I’ve always liked the fog.
Now it was my turn to be scared for her. “You’re not going to...?”
“No.“ She got out a cigarette and lit it. The only colour in the night was that red ember dancing around her lips. She offered me one.
”I don’t smoke,” I said. “Why are you up here?”
“I come here most nights to... to see if there’s anyone up here. Who needs a friend.”
”Oh. Well, I wasn’t going to jump,” I said. “I just wanted to see the view, I guess.”
She nodded. “So how’d you know me?”
”Everyone knew you,” I said. Then, embarrassed, I added, “I mean of what happened to you. I’m really sorry and uh...”
”It’s okay. You’re right. Everyone did know of me for a while. These days, not so much.”
We stood there for a while, together, silent, smoke drifting into the fog.
“I used to be scared of you,” I said.
”Not anymore?”
I shook my head. The moon shone on her skin, pale and pretty. Not too perfect. The other side of perfect. Beautiful all the same. “No. I’m not sure why I would be.”
”You must be lonely to be here.”
“I just got back to town. Been away for a while. Maybe I did need a friend.” Then I paused. “You ever feel like the star of some bad movie?”
She laughed. “I used to feel very much like the villain in a horror movie.”
”Shit. Sorry.”
”It’s okay. I don’t anymore. I don’t feel sorry for myself.”
”Yeah? How did you manage that? I could use some tips.”
Her hand moved to mine on the railing. Over it, cupping it gently. “We don’t have to star in the movie we were cast in. It’s okay to walk onto another set.”
I thought about that for a while. Wondered what set I’d want to walk onto. Softly, I said, ”Oh yeah?”
She squeezed down on my hand and smiled. “Yeah.” | 2021-05-19T05:02:17 | 2021-05-19T04:54:17 | 319 | 146 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | The domain I was dropped in was smaller than I expected when I was told that heaven was segregated by cause of death. I mean I'm sure plenty of people have been stabbed before, so where are they? Maybe it's more specific than that, but it's not like my death was that unusual.
Anyway. I took the moment of quiet to shut my eyes and drink in the sounds around me. There was a faint wind rustling through my hair, carrying with it the soft smell of pine needles, and I could hear branches rustling and the faint sounds of birds chirping. Opening my eyes, I looked around, admiring how the sun shone through the upper branches casting pools of light on the floor of fallen leaves, and the way the grass swayed in the small clearing around the cabin I was standing in front of.
This was not where I had expected to end up after death. Even if I had been sure that the afterlife existed, I don't think I would have predicted ending up *here*, considering...
I walked up to the cabin door, and after a brief moment I rapped my knuckles against the door. I don't want to be alone with my memories. Some conversation would be nice, and there has to be other people here somewhere.
After a moment, the door opened, and when I saw who had opened it, my first thought was that there was no blood. Her hazel eyes were bright in the sunlight, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her clothes were neatly pressed, and there was no blood anywhere. Not on her chest, not in her hair, not on the floor beside her, nowhere.
When she saw me, her expression of confusion turned into a smile. The smile grew into a grin, her eyes widening as she pulled a knife from where it hung behind the door, twisting it between her fingers.
"I've been waiting for this moment for a long, long time."
I was long gone by then, sprinting into the dense forest, feet pounding against the tree roots beneath me. Behind me, I could hear the crunching of leaves beneath the feet of my relentless pursuer.
"Stop running away! Come back and face what you did to me!" her voice came from behind me, echoing through the trees until it seemed like it surrounded me.
"I'm sorry!" I yelled back
"Oh, *now* you're sorry, now that it actually matters to you"
"I didn't mean-"
"Of course you did, you just didn't want to deal with the aftermath"
Why? Why is it just the two of us running through this forest, as I trip over a fallen branch and slice my palms open on the ground, scrambling to my feet to keep stumbling ahead.
"I've felt so guilty for so long-"
"BULLSHIT, YOU FELT NOTHING BUT ANGER, I SAW IT IN YOUR EYES"
"I KILLED MYSELF OVER IT"
"STILL JUST YOU RUNNING AWAY"
And with that, stumbling through the undergrowth and ducking the sharp, swiping branches, I finally put the pieces together. We did have the same cause of death, one only the two of us shared. We were both stabbed by the same person.
Me. | "Finally," says the old man, "someone to take my place. Sit down, please sit down, this might take a while."
The room is neither white nor gray, it is the absence of color, a memory of a room brought up by your presence and the old man's.
"You remember it, don't you?" The man's eyes are sparkling, mad, whether the madness comes from a long isolation or took hold of him before, you can't tell.
But you can remember. The wild groan, as if a ravening, snarling beast awakes inside, a creature denied freedom to eat and run wild for an eternity. The groan erupts into a scream, a distorted void eating the substance of rock, dust and air. Your flesh is free from your bones, it spins around like a living web, gathers motes of reality to devour.
Soon, it ensnares the living. Man, animal, plant, you eat and consume, never satiated, it is never enough. The hunger, oh, the hunger.
The ghostly room swirls, the old man doesn't budge, there is no reason to panic or fear on the other side. Minutes pass, or several days.
There's a knot in your stomach, you lower a hand to rub your belly and find nothing. The body is an ethereal idea just like the room. Only the black knot seems present, too present, the only bit of reality in the vast shadowy expanse of the afterlife.
"Me, I don't have it anymore," the old man muses in a croaking voice, "this is the most beautiful day of my death!" he jumps for joy, almost giving out colors, almost remaking his world into a echo of revelry.
Slowly, the realization comes. The black knot grows ever so slightly, almost imperceptible, it needs tending, requires food. It is the same hunger, the same craving which took you in life.
There is no mirror, but you remember the face you had when living, the oddities, the skin, the marks, smirks and hair. It is all clear now. Shame it required death to come back. The hunger had eaten everything. Identity was yet another form of sustenance, as was the sense of self, the childhood and joys and sadness of life. You cackled with the power, or did you cower from it? It is foggy. But at the end of the line, you had ceased being yourself. There was a vessel, an empty husk carrying a craving.
From where did death come? The forest. They had fled before the craving, trees awaited death in stern silence, and the craving dispensed it freely. Water muddled, noises ceased, carrion eaters were left with starvation. If the craving was wounded, it just had to open its mouth to replace the lost part. There is no sense of security or overconfidence when craving, no circumstances happening to shape it. The craving happens, that is all, and so it lives, happening to others and the world.
Until a tree fell and knocked it backwards, tumbling down an empty ditch. Empty, already despoiled, with the legs broken. When the hunger ran wild, it turned inwards, and consumed the heart, the spleen, the kidneys, the nerves.
And you came to the room with the old man, finally yourself again.
"It has to. It has to be passed to the next one, just like I gave it to you. Oh lease, don't give me that stare."
The night, you remember the night.
You can't sleep, tossing and turning, you decide to go for a night-walk. The grove is... different. Ablaze with silence, insects have fled. Between dream and reality, you go onward, and find eight pillars standing in circle. *Run, run!* it screams at your ears, and you won't listen, too exhausted, too entranced. You go to the center, and a reflection appears between each pillars. You, you, you, you, you, you, a vibration comes up your toes, shakes your knees, overtakes your heart. *Beat, beat,* your heart is not your own anymore, hijacked, alien, you scream.
And each reflection has a little black spot in its center.
"You felt the pain?" rambles the old man, "now the hunger *can't* eat you, *can't kill* you, but will still grow."
Terror washes over you as the old man leaves, whistling, through the walls and into oblivion.
You hold it tight, you won't let it roam free. Sit, silent, calm, immobile. It won't grow, please do not let it grow.
The knot grows. There is no sense of satiation. Suffering is a curse, your own cross to bear, the punishment for foolishness. Do not let other fools suffer the same.
It groans, creaks, hurts, screams, what had been the memory of a belly is distorted, inflated, expanding in search for nourishment.
The eternities pass, and you are still you. You wish it wasn't the case. You is pain, you is the sick insect clinging to the colossal hunger, and it won't go away.
*The pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain.*
It cannot be stilled, but you can dream, hold hopes.
The hope of a room, a hall, pillars glowing lightly in the dark. In the center is the nucleus, the first spark bringing the hunger. In the hope, a dark shape comes, unsure, scared, but curious. It never breaches the center, the nucleus feels *wrong*, all senses tell the dark shapes to step back and run, run far away and forget. A new shape comes. And another.
Someday, a shape will cross the threshold, and take the black knot from you.
And you'll be there to welcome them when the time comes. | 2021-11-24T12:07:32 | 2021-11-24T11:49:03 | 304 | 114 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | *poof*
I was...elsewhere...and now I am here. Where is here though? My eyes adjusted quickly to the apparent emptiness of where I was. It was just a white expanse of...nothing? I could not help to say it out loud. "Where am I"?
"Heaven's waiting room".
I quickly spun around to find the source of the voice. How they got behind me without my knowing I'll never know. Must be the disorientation. "Excuse me?" I said to them.
"Heaven's waiting room. You died. You're waiting to be processed for admission."
The person speaking to me looked fairly unremarkable. Except for the lightly glowing white robes. Looks like I was wearing one too. "What do you mean by that? Processed? Admission?"
"Well, not everybody qualifies you know. There were rules...somewhere". They drifted off for a bit. "Anyway they have this sorting method. It's all in the pamphlet."
"What rules? What pamphlet?"
"The rules don't matter now, you're dead. The pamphlet is in your pocket."
I patted my robes and sure enough, there was a pamphlet.
*Welcome to HEAVEN* it stated. Big bold type on gold leaf white paper. Nice font. I opened it to read on. It was really just one paragraph, very ornately presented though. 'You are currently in one of Heaven's many waiting rooms awaiting processing for admission. As billions of people have/will have lived, this processing does take time. To streamline the process, processing is done by cause of death, regionally, chronologically, alphabetically (HA standard) and religiously. You have been preliminarily sorted into rooms that you share with persons who shared your cause of death. Thank you for your patience. There are currently (I could not make out the next bit but I think it was an extremely large number.) souls ahead of you.
I looked up at my new companion "Cause of death? First? Why?"
They looked at me with an 'I don't know either' expression.
"So how did we die again?" I asked them.
"Think about it. It will come to you" they said.
I thought for a moment. "I was swimming..."
"Where were you?" he asked. "In the ocean"?
"Yes, the Atlantic. On the coast of..."
"North Carolina"
"At night".
"There was a storm coming and you were swimming to shore"
"And I was stuck by lighting"
"At the exact moment a shark attacked"
"And then..."
"You hit your head on a rock as the storm tossed you ashore."
"That's it! Amazing only two people have ever died that way?"
"NO" I heard a big booming voice call out from nowhere. "That's next door." I think the voice also suppressed a slight laugh.
I looked up to my companion and started to ask, but they cut me off.
"Yes, I was swimming naked too".
Another voice called out from nowhere. "Now processing soul number..." That was a very large number indeed. | "Finally," says the old man, "someone to take my place. Sit down, please sit down, this might take a while."
The room is neither white nor gray, it is the absence of color, a memory of a room brought up by your presence and the old man's.
"You remember it, don't you?" The man's eyes are sparkling, mad, whether the madness comes from a long isolation or took hold of him before, you can't tell.
But you can remember. The wild groan, as if a ravening, snarling beast awakes inside, a creature denied freedom to eat and run wild for an eternity. The groan erupts into a scream, a distorted void eating the substance of rock, dust and air. Your flesh is free from your bones, it spins around like a living web, gathers motes of reality to devour.
Soon, it ensnares the living. Man, animal, plant, you eat and consume, never satiated, it is never enough. The hunger, oh, the hunger.
The ghostly room swirls, the old man doesn't budge, there is no reason to panic or fear on the other side. Minutes pass, or several days.
There's a knot in your stomach, you lower a hand to rub your belly and find nothing. The body is an ethereal idea just like the room. Only the black knot seems present, too present, the only bit of reality in the vast shadowy expanse of the afterlife.
"Me, I don't have it anymore," the old man muses in a croaking voice, "this is the most beautiful day of my death!" he jumps for joy, almost giving out colors, almost remaking his world into a echo of revelry.
Slowly, the realization comes. The black knot grows ever so slightly, almost imperceptible, it needs tending, requires food. It is the same hunger, the same craving which took you in life.
There is no mirror, but you remember the face you had when living, the oddities, the skin, the marks, smirks and hair. It is all clear now. Shame it required death to come back. The hunger had eaten everything. Identity was yet another form of sustenance, as was the sense of self, the childhood and joys and sadness of life. You cackled with the power, or did you cower from it? It is foggy. But at the end of the line, you had ceased being yourself. There was a vessel, an empty husk carrying a craving.
From where did death come? The forest. They had fled before the craving, trees awaited death in stern silence, and the craving dispensed it freely. Water muddled, noises ceased, carrion eaters were left with starvation. If the craving was wounded, it just had to open its mouth to replace the lost part. There is no sense of security or overconfidence when craving, no circumstances happening to shape it. The craving happens, that is all, and so it lives, happening to others and the world.
Until a tree fell and knocked it backwards, tumbling down an empty ditch. Empty, already despoiled, with the legs broken. When the hunger ran wild, it turned inwards, and consumed the heart, the spleen, the kidneys, the nerves.
And you came to the room with the old man, finally yourself again.
"It has to. It has to be passed to the next one, just like I gave it to you. Oh lease, don't give me that stare."
The night, you remember the night.
You can't sleep, tossing and turning, you decide to go for a night-walk. The grove is... different. Ablaze with silence, insects have fled. Between dream and reality, you go onward, and find eight pillars standing in circle. *Run, run!* it screams at your ears, and you won't listen, too exhausted, too entranced. You go to the center, and a reflection appears between each pillars. You, you, you, you, you, you, a vibration comes up your toes, shakes your knees, overtakes your heart. *Beat, beat,* your heart is not your own anymore, hijacked, alien, you scream.
And each reflection has a little black spot in its center.
"You felt the pain?" rambles the old man, "now the hunger *can't* eat you, *can't kill* you, but will still grow."
Terror washes over you as the old man leaves, whistling, through the walls and into oblivion.
You hold it tight, you won't let it roam free. Sit, silent, calm, immobile. It won't grow, please do not let it grow.
The knot grows. There is no sense of satiation. Suffering is a curse, your own cross to bear, the punishment for foolishness. Do not let other fools suffer the same.
It groans, creaks, hurts, screams, what had been the memory of a belly is distorted, inflated, expanding in search for nourishment.
The eternities pass, and you are still you. You wish it wasn't the case. You is pain, you is the sick insect clinging to the colossal hunger, and it won't go away.
*The pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain.*
It cannot be stilled, but you can dream, hold hopes.
The hope of a room, a hall, pillars glowing lightly in the dark. In the center is the nucleus, the first spark bringing the hunger. In the hope, a dark shape comes, unsure, scared, but curious. It never breaches the center, the nucleus feels *wrong*, all senses tell the dark shapes to step back and run, run far away and forget. A new shape comes. And another.
Someday, a shape will cross the threshold, and take the black knot from you.
And you'll be there to welcome them when the time comes. | 2021-11-24T12:30:22 | 2021-11-24T11:49:03 | 259 | 114 |
[WP]The potion seller places the love potion of the counter and say "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?" | The potion seller places the love potion on the table. "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
I laugh. It's a quiet sound, with no real humor in it. "Why would anyone be in love with me?"
The saleswoman takes her time replying, drumming her fingers on the table. "This is your first time at my stall, but I see you at the market every month. You make a few small purchases, exchange a little conversation, and leave."
"You're very observant."
She chuckles. "There's not much else for me to do. This isn't a town with much love for witches, at least not in public. Most of my sales happen after dark. So I watch."
I scratch my arm. It's not itchy, but the movement and, yes, the hint of pain, serve as a distraction from the woman's penetrating gaze. She seemed content to let the moment linger. "When you watch, what do you see?" I finally ask.
"I see your kindness to strangers. I see smiles as people interact with you."
"They're just being polite."
"I see more than politeness in people's reactions. I see genuine goodwill that could easily blossom into friendship."
I try, unsuccessfully, to hold back a tear. "I can't see it. I want to, but it just doesn't feel right. I'm not that person, not really. And if they see who I really am..." I take a deep breath. "Please. I really need this love potion."
She looks at me for a long moment, and my breath catches in my throat. Then she smiles. "I think I understand. Ten dollars for the potion, and a discount on your next purchase if you bring the bottle back. And do feel free to drop by for a chat anytime you're in the area."
I accept the paper bag she gives me with shaky hands. I take it straight to my car. I drive carefully, aware of every bump in the road.
When I enter my apartment, I close the door with a sigh. It's dim. I haven't gotten around to replacing the broken lightbulbs, and two bulbs are trying to do the work of five. The potion emits a soft glow, too faint to see in the full light of day.
I wander into the bathroom. Did the witch know what I intend to do with the potion? She had to. She saw more than most. And soon, hopefully, so would I.
I uncork the bottle, close my eyes, and drink. I don't feel any different. Am I supposed to feel different? I am excruciatingly aware of the summer heat, the hum of traffic outside, the rough texture of my shirt across my shoulders...
I sigh. Maybe it's not meant to be.
I open my eyes, and I see it.
For the first time in a long while, I look into the dirty bathroom mirror and feel happy. I see hope. I see a good person. Not a perfect person, of course, but a person who is worthy of other people's love. For the first time in a long while, I truly see myself.
I smile and pick up my phone to call a friend. | Apologies if the characters in this story get confusing. I don’t want mind readers to know about these… things.
The words that came from the Potioness made me think. Did she? I….hmm. I dart my eyes back and forth, making special note of her standing outside laughing with the party.
“N-No. I don’t think so.”
“I sense uncertainty. I need definite answers.”, the Potioness replied
I feel my body grow weak and my face heat up. I’m a generally serious leader. I don’t get like this. But that wrecking question.
“ I…. don’t know.”
“You must love her a great deal for all this trouble.”
“Yeah… I really do.”
“I remember feeling like that, once.”, she starts. “This isn’t a normal potion. You must get said person to smell it. Once you open the bottle, the liquid will start to evaporate. Place it next to her while she sleeps and she will smell a good amount of it. “
“Thanks a lot, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, lovestruck.” she jokingly replies
I collect my things and leave. I hide the love potion in my internal vest pocket. I grabbed another slew of things for everyone else in a fur bag. As I walk outside, I drop the bag, and pick it up, but I overhear my party talking
“…well, if you feel that way, why don’t you say?”
And I hear the golden words come from the girl I love
“ It’s not that simple. He’s so serious most of the time that I’m convinced he’s not interested. But I am. And I don’t know how to say it. None of you advice is working.”
“ He’s just incredibly dense. That’s just him. Now, you may want to write what I’m about to say down in that Thunderbird hide journal of yours.”
For context, there are 5 party members.
They all give her advice and she writes it down.
My knees feel like water and my heartbeat grows machine gun rapid. I can’t believe it
Eventually, my best friends goes, “What the hell is taking him so long?”
Not listening, someone else goes, “Oh look, love potions. I didn’t know those were a thing. Maybe you should buy one.”
Using this as an opportunity, I pop out of the store and say, “ Who needs a love potion?”, acting like I hadn’t heard the entire conversation.
“Oh, ummm….” She says in panic
No one says anything
“Okay, weird. I got the stuff. Let’s head to the mountain range so we can get there early.”, I say nonchalantly. But as we hike, I can’t stop thinking about it. My heart is so racing fast and my body feels hot.
We finally set camp in a clearing on a large hill. Overlooking the hill is the clear moon, perfectly seen from above the ridge. It was perfect. I couldn’t let it merely slip by. I step out of my tent and walk towards the end of the clearing. I stare at the moon… and decide to practice my spells. Sun, Wind, Lightning, and the forbidden art of Neceomancy. All my specialty. Eventually, I sit and stare at the moon. I hear footsteps and I turn to see. It’s her. She looks at me and asks what I’m doing.
“ Just… sitting.”, I say nervously
“Just sitting? The why was there a skeleton knocking at my tent door pointing this direction?”
“ Oh, my bad. I was practicing.”
I motion my hand and a skeleton shambles closer out of the distance. I make a fist and he disappears.
“Sorry about that. What do you need?”
“Just heard some noise, is all.” But she clearly needed something. She looked lonely.
“I know something is wrong.” I motion for her to come sit next to me. Her eyes widen for a split second, and she comes and sits. I feel warmer now. More comfortable. For some reason, I reach into my jacket and pull the cork off the love potion in my jacket pocket. As the Potioness said, It doesn’t work. She just smells something and says,
“Why does it smell like cinnamon?”
Yes. Thanks gods. Now all to do is just confess. But I don’t. We just sit there and stare at the stars. We’d known each other since childhood, and If never had more of an awkward moment with her since this night. We both liked each other, but only one of us knew it. I eventually grew tired and was about to stand and go sleep in my tent, but she suddenly falls asleep. She had been sitting with her back facing mine, and she fell asleep against me. I’m in a position where I can’t get up. So I stay. I stay, redder than a cherry sitting there. The whole world disappeared for that night. I talked to myself about how awesome this was and that I was finally going up. As suddenly as she fell asleep, she gets up, moves to my shoulder side and looks at me. She’s redder than hell, and looks like she’s gonna cry
“Really?”, she says in an inquisitive manner.
“Uhhhhhhhh…”, I barely am able to say. My mind is still processing the fact that she faked being asleep to hear that. My stomach drops to my toes because I just don’t know what to say.
So after another awkward 5 minutes, I say,
“I love you at lot. I never knew how to say it.”
She looks at me with a gleam in her eyes
“I overheard the conversation you and the guys had at the potion shop. I actually bought a potion of love from there hoping it would’ve worked. I’m sorry if it sounds like I was gonna use a potion for that..”
And then, my alarm goes off. It’s morning. In my tent. Fuck | 2022-07-28T12:49:48 | 2022-07-28T12:37:50 | 904 | 22 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun. | "Sir, if we send someone else it would be the 10th recruiter this month alone..." said my assistant, reagan. And she is right in a way. This is a colossal waste of time, but we just...have to try...
"Reagen, I dont care if we have to round up every damn recruiter in the damn country. We are getting his damn signature on a damn contract"
Reagen gives off her 10th sigh of the morning
"Most dont even make it to talk to him sir....but ill see whom we can send".
Supers are a dime a dozen. Most powers are really useful in very specific situations, its fairly rare you get whats called a "generic" super like straight up super strength. And even then, most people arent suicidal enough to sign a superhero contract. The longest hero lasted 3 years tops. Most die in the first month.
My job is to try and find idiots with supers willing to sign that contract. Usually its not that difficult of a job. The concept of being a super hero is a very easy sell.
But I have my white whale. A target that I REFUSE to give up on. A target that I truly believe could change the entire world.
The targets name is Jeremy. Jeremy Tell. And his super is the post powerful super ever recorded. The power to freely manipulate matter. Jeremy can manifest pretty much anything at the snap of his fingers. And I do mean anything, from a plate of cookies to an active volcano. The opposite is true as well. Jeremy can erase anything at the snap of his fingers as well.
However tragically, pretty much immediatly his super manifested, Jeremy revoked his citizenship and went to live in the middle of the pacific ocean. He manifested a tiny island and has declared his own country "Jeremyland". No one DARED to not acknowledge Jeremyland.
Now originally, this was a crazy security risk, thinking we have the mother of all super villains in our hands. Luckily, Jeremy or should I say JeremyLand is very cooperative to us. Whenever we have an emergancy such as an earthquake, wooden crates with parachutes just....appear out of thin air. All market with "Relief supplies from Jeremyland" We dont even request it. As soon as it hits the news the crates start appearing.
And that is a problem for me. Jeremy has shown zero signs of ever turning violent. The goverment loves him, and keeps telling me to get off his back.
But I can picture it. He would be the only *true* hero. Crime would disappear overnight. He is the ultimate recruit. God damn it I just...cant stop trying. It MUST happen.
Reagen bursts in the room again, screaming. "Sir sir! You have a phone call!" I look at reagen,my ever calm, ever logical assistant, having a panic attack. "Its fucking jeremy".
I pick up the phone. "So yeah eeem, this is jeremy from jeremyland, is this the head recruiter please?
I somehow managed to keep calm. My white whale is talking to me.
"Indeed it is, its a.pleasure finally be talking to you directly".
"Yeah yeah. Listen I have a favour to ask. There is this super villain who built his base right next to my spot of all places..I think hes doctor annoyingasshole or something".
"Well surely a man of your power could easily deal with such a thing". I say, fully knowing where this is going but refusing to believe it.
"I cant randomly erase people for no reason. Jeremyland doesnt really have any laws but I dont want other nations thinking im going on a power trip. The last thing I want is to spend my evenings removing nukes evey day. Its a hassle".
No other person would call a world wide international all out nuclear strike a "hassle" but here we are. I just swallow my pride and say
"....go on"
"Il sign the damn super hero contract for a month if, and only if, my first job is to get rid of this asshole. I want it in writing. And I am NOT doing more then a month. Ill get a few lawyers to double check everything you send so no funny business."
"I can easily meet your requests Mr.Tell, il have a custom tailored contract ready for you by tomorrow"
"Great. Also I want it written in the contract that im not doing anything that would be a conflict of interest to jeremyland"
"Naturally. Shall we send a recruiter tomorrow?"
",You kidding me theres 15 of them here playing vollyball on the beach. You know your recruiters take the job of coming all the way over here as a mini vacation right? I let them do whatever. I made a little vacation hotel with robot staff and I just lead them there when they arrive."
"...That is news to me..." And it explains so much. Recruiters would fight each other to get his request, and most never even manage to get a conversation with him.
"Just email the contract. Il print it out and one of them can sign it. Im flying in a few layers, hopefully they can get here by tomorrow."
"Sounds like everything is sorted then. Is there anything else i can help you with?"
"Nah. Just get my first job lined up asap."
"Leave it to me Mr.Tell. I bid you a good day."
I hang up. One month. We have him for one month.
"Reagen!"
"S..Sir!"
"Go dig up the hardest super jobs you can find. We have him for a month!"
"Amazing sir....Right away sir!"
I will change everything. One month is more then enough time. | 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T14:32:44 | 517 | 93 |
[WP] The precursors seeded all life in the galaxy, leaving behind caches of their advanced technology to help their children reach the stars. Which makes humans all the more terrifying as not only were they not one of the seeded races, their technology isn't precursor-based either. | Humans were the Chaos species. The Unplanned Ones, the Unexpected, the Impossibility.
After their discovery it took a century until the Galactic Union officially accepted their status as Unseeded. The second wild evolution after the Precursors.
To this day conspiracy theorists claim that that is an elaborate lie. We did not have "conspiracy theorists" until we met humans. The concept of mental illness had almost disappeared too.
But humans...contact with them is difficult. There is aggression some times, sure, misunderstandings. But humans are...erratic. Bound to making leaps in logic and emotions that can lead them astray as much as provide startling inside. They are so difficult to predict.
Perhaps it is that which makes them so successfull in the Quest.
The Great Quest, the Hunt, the Pilgrimage.
The sacred, complex puzzles of clues and riddles left by the Precursors for us to...no one knows what waits at the end, but we think it wil be wonderful, like all their gifts have been.
And humanity joined that Quest, simply out of interest. They insisted on starting at the beginning, using the cache on the moon of one species as a starting point and making their way alone and without "cheating" by looking at someone else's results. Such an insane notion.
They succeeded with startling speed.
Not with a focused, species wide effort. Not by carefully deliberating for centuries about the next step. But by treating the whole thing as a "fun adventure" even as inevitably some of them died. Because danger is fun to some of them. It hurts to think like them.
And now this. The Galactic Union had been stumped by the next step in the Quest for millenia.
Humanity solved the puzzle in a year.
Those of us among their teams tried to understand how they came up with the solution. They complained about headaches. Hallucinations. There were suicides. Human math can be...hazardous, to us.
And so we grow afraid of humanity, the Widlings, the Lords of Chaos.
Because deep down inside of us a horrible, creeping fear is growing. Our Mind Doctors see exploding numbers of patients but they can't take this fear from us.
Why are the succeeding where we can't? Why can they think so much like Precursors where we *can't*? What if we are...inedequate?
A... a disappointment?
And even deeper that horrifying, mind-breaking whisper: what if the Quest...the sacred center of all that we are...was never meant for us...but for them? | “It punches a hole in space, then forces it to stay open long enough to come out elsewhere.”
The articulated stalk atop Alo’et-Sip’s torso flushed violet for a moment, a subtle pheromonal response washing through the toxic atmosphere of the human starship before it was received in turn by that of their counterpart, Alo’et-Sai. The subtle cues of color and scent provided the tone and inflection for what were otherwise simply a string of syllables. In this case, the tone was incredulous. “What do you mean it ‘punches a hole’? Space is space. It’s a void to traverse separate from subspace.”
Sai’s own stalk flittered in hues of green and then yellow before they replied, “If I am understanding this schematic, they use immense batteries and capacitors, and then use them to define a location in front of their ship before they tear spacetime apart to move through it.”
It was too alien a concept for the alien to understand. A trio of long, spindly legs protruded from the middle of the gourd-shaped torso, supported by two more sets of three that formed its nonagonal locomotion. These ended in a hybrid of gripper and tentacle, which moved with a fluid grace to manipulate the touch screen that Sai had been observing. The Precursor machine within Sip’s head made quick work of the human linguistics, a series of logograms made with abrupt, sharp strokes and straight lines that felt wholly out of place in a universe of curving gravity wells and round planetoids. The Precursor language itself, and indeed almost all elements of their technology, were based on such observations of nature and seemed to fit in perfect medley with the organic forms of all the creatures born from the many worlds who spoke it.
Sip took pause and the stalk matched colors and pheromonal tone with Sai’s, a tone of agreement, albeit disturbed to do so, “They don’t even know about subspace. They just force their way through these dimensions like someone focused a magnetar into a hammer.”
The pair of creatures tapped their tri-tipped legs in a rhythm in unison upon the deck of the bay they stood within, a shared nervous tic of sorts brought about by being nestmates and colleagues since their birth some number of millennia prior.
“What are these creatures we have been sent here to meet? What would lead anyone to be so stubborn that they’d fight *physics*?” The flush of Sai’s stalk turned cyan blue now as dread set in at the idea of the task ahead of them. “What other universal laws have they ignored?”
The grind of metal upon metal sounded from behind them, and Sip turned to face the light emerging from the other side while spreading its legs out wide in the direction of the new presence, “Whatever they are, we will meet them now, as friends.”
- -
The air smelled like burnt hair and strawberry ice cream as Ha-joon stepped into the cargo hold, the ops system having alerted him that a console was active. He had expected to see that a chunk of ore from their most recent sweep through this system’s asteroid field had managed to make it past the confines of the duraplast netting, but the smell immediately put him on edge and told him something was tragically wrong.
As his eyes adjusted to the lower lighting in the bay, he tensed and went wide-eyed as he saw movement in front of him where no movement should be. A creature, about waist high and moving on a skittering mess of tentacles and jointed limbs, raised up and emitted a horrible rattle of shrieks and clicks, a new scent like decaying corpses billowing across the distance between them.
It was joined by another of the monsters, which assumed the same posture and screeched even louder, lights flashing atop its head while the smell became overpowering and turned the belt-miner’s stomach. He retched wordlessly while fumbling near the door, pulling a pry-bar free and moving forward with fear in his eyes.
Two hard swings cleaved the pulpy body of the first thing in two, the legs curling in upon themselves with a popping sound like firecrackers underwater, before the other tried to skitter away back toward a five foot chunk of ore-rich asteroid that had cracked open to let the pair of them loose within the hold.
Ha-joon followed it and screamed a high pitched sound of exertion and fear, sweating and horrified by the things he’d found in his family ship. The second thing had almost reached that rock before it was laid into pieces upon the deck as well, then a smell like fresh cut grass, week old pork fried rice, and ozone filled the air around him. The man covered his mouth as he retched behind it and retreated past the doorway, slamming it closed with a hiss before he doubled over and finally vomited across the corrugated metal of the walkway.
The intercom clicked overhead with a static hiss, a speaker lost in the old family ship’s piping rasping out, <Ha-joon, you okay? I just saw you throw up on the hall cam.>
The young man reached a shaking hand up to the nearest com tab and thumbed it on, speaking in a horrified voice, “There are monsters in the hold!” | 2022-08-25T16:36:14 | 2022-08-25T15:44:46 | 270 | 156 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace. | "It's like drinking water contaminated by dead bodies," the man said. "Exactly as disgusting and **\*ow\*** unusable as you'd expect **\*ah\*** *blast it all*!" he hissed in pain as I put another stitch into his arm. The bite was rather nasty and his pained grins exposed the sharp fangs in his mouth; a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of his nature.
"And you're sure you can't be infected?" I asked.
Without a word he lifted his shirt and revealed a large bite mark on his stomach, a clear imprint of human teeth that had long healed. Infection normally takes only some 12-odd hours, so... good enough for me.
"Done," I said and put down the needle and thread. I pulled away from him on my stool as he lowered his sleeve and moved his shoulder around, stretching it.
"How long will it take to heal?" I wondered.
"About a day."
"Impressive."
"Had worse. Javelin through the heart once," he stated nonchalantly
"So... stakes through the heart won't kill you?" I asked. He gave me a somewhat suspicious look but shrugged.
"No. Neither will the Sun, garlic, bullets, or, well..." he said and pointed towards the fence where the zombies still shuffled aimlessly. "But hunger will," he added grimly and looked back at me.
"Right," I said. "So..." I trailed off.
"Look, you're not exactly wild about the idea. I get it, really. I may not be exactly human, but I'm not a monster either. This is a simple matter of survival for both of us. How many people have you lost to them so far? I can protect you!" he pleaded.
"In exchange for our blood," I said. He nodded. "I'm not sure we can properly... provide for you. We have, let's see... 8 men but 2 are sick; drinking their blood would kill them. 4 women, 3 children-"
"No children," he interrupted sternly.
"What?"
"No. Children," he repeated. His face was suddenly dark and brooding. "I'd rather let them tear me apart," he growled. I looked at him; his resolution seemed genuine and absolute. *Admirable*, I thought.
"It is enough, luckily," he continued. "I don't need as much as you'd think."
I took a deep breath and considered the situation. He was right. That was the worst part. The last time a horde passed through, we lost 3 people just trying to defend the compound. He just fought his way in through about four dozen of them with only a scratch.
I looked him in the eye. Despite it all, hell, despite the fact that his eyes were *blood-red*, he looked... honest. I extended my hand.
"I'm Abidugun," I said.
"One born before the war," he smiled. "Fitting." Him knowing the meaning of my name put me at ease, somehow. He extended his own hand and shook it.
"Viktor," he smiled, the moon reflecting off of his fangs. "A vampire teaming up with humans against zombies," he chuckled. "Hollywood, here we come."
And, for the first time in what seemed like forever... I laughed. | One morning near the end of October not long before the cycle of day and night had become an oscillation of jet black to blood red (the billionaires crashed and burned in their attempted escape, triggering the Kessler syndrome which in turn resulted in blue light mostly scattering away on account of the earthly mist of space junk rendering the heavens at daytime a doomsday red), Ralph woke to hear sirens.
The perimeters of the Mall of America were closely guarded by a group of octogenarian bird watchers who had all given their last fucks a long time ago in this world with no more birds, led by the venerable William Moore who commanded the respect of the rest of them for being the only one among them who had ever seen the long-tailed Stresemann's Bristlefront—this army of incontinent sentinels worshipped at the alter of Moore.
Ralph entered the hall of computer mirrors, the security HQ, covering his ears and shouting indistinctively at the cucumber-calm Moore who sipped his root beer while keeping his eyes fixed on one screen in particular.
The sight itself was absurd, unthinkable—one woman alone slashed her way through the horde of zombies and she did it with a pixellated smile on her face. On the greenish-gray monitor she parkoured her way through the parking garage in a bulbing-thick parka. With a flick, Moore turned off the alarm and he looked up at Ralph with an expression that could only be described as heartfelt Stoicism. "She's all yours, Henderson," said the King of the Birds. "Get down there. Help her out. Find out if she's been bitten." He paused for a few seconds, then said grimly, "You know the protocol."
Ralph knew the protocol. A small cut on your inner thigh was enough to get you exterminated, and it didn't matter if you had a perfectly good explanation of how you got it that didn't involve any zombies—the MO of the MOA was *radical risk management*. It was how they'd prevented an internal outbreak, how they'd been able to stay alive for such a long time, and the raptorial cabal had made Ralph their henchman in such affairs though he personally couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the gut-wrenching horror of butchering those who had risked their lives to make it to the compound on account of miniature scratches behind ears, down the nape of their necks, under a crooked toe.
The barricade had stood unmoved for weeks, even months—Ralph had started to suspect there weren't any more survivors out there, only legions of undead on their drunkard's walk towards gray matter tartare, cerebrospinal juice; synaptic sushi and dendritic spaghetti. Clearing a path would be hours of work and Ralph steeled himself for the task ahead. That was when the woman broke through of her own accord.
Her Kool-Aid crash made him jump back in panic. She grinned. In her hand she held a long serrated blade, dripping with dark-red blood. A necrotic hand, severed at the wrist, clutched her left foot. "So this is the mall, is it?" she said, sheathing her blade. Blood spurted from the sudden pressure as she hadn't even bothered to wipe it off first. Ralph nearly fled. Nearly put a bullet between the woman's green eyes.
"Stand down," said Ralph. He pulled out his handgun and took aim at the stranger. "Remove your clothes. All of them."
She laughed. "Who are you? The TSA?"
The woman took off her parka, underneath which was a long-sleeve satin pajama top, cream white with faint dots of pink hearts. "As you can tell, I came to the mall to get a fresh outfit. The apocalypse took place while I was still in bed, you see, and I've been on the move ever since." She held out her hand. "I'm Bobby."
"All of them," Ralph repeated. He tightened his grip on the gun, tightened his lips.
Bobby looked down. Her pajama bottoms were shorts but there were no traces of either wounds nor bruises down her smooth legs, waxed with the precision of Mr. Miyagi. She noticed the hand holding on to her leg. She shook it off and it flopped along the floor, then it started moving like some pentapedal freak of nature.
Ralph took a step back. "That's a contaminant!" he cried, pointing his gun at the digital spider.
"I prefer a more *hands-on* approach," said Bobby. She walked over to the hand and to Ralph's horror, she picked it up as if it were a housecat and she flung it out the way she'd entered. She put a finger to her lip. "Or is this more *hands-off*?"
This stranger was unlike any other Ralph had ever met, and that included the Burmese world champion archer who spent most her days in the Barnes & Noble. Bobby allowed him to inspect her and to his great disgust she seemed to take pleasure in it. Afterward, they put the barricade back together again and Bobby's strength took Ralph by storm—she carried cinder blocks as if they were matches and with her assistance it took no more than fifteen minutes to get it all back together again.
He escorted her up to the HQ. Every other minute or so, she dragged him into an abandoned store. "You're not here to go shopping," Ralph grumbled.
She laughed. "Oh, but I told you that was why I came. I needed a new outfit."
Eventually they made their way up to the security room, past the guards armed to their dentures, and Ralph introduced Bobby to the legend himself—William Moore.
The King of the Birds took one look at her and gave a great sigh. "Oh, wonderful," he said. "You've killed us all, Ralph."
Ralph didn't understand. "Huh?"
"I guess I never told you explicitly. I told you not to let any zombies inside, but I never said the same about vampires."
"... Vampires?"
Bobby grinned, baring her fangs. | 2022-10-27T07:04:01 | 2022-10-27T06:50:54 | 976 | 57 |
[WP] Humanity spread into the stars. They're generally quite kind and helpful and treat all worlds as important. But occasionally they'll ignore uniquely made human ships. When asked about it, most humans just say "The powerful abandoned Earth after nearly killing us. Now we're returning the favor" | They didn't want to leave, you know.
Space travel is hard. It's hard, and it's painful, and it's lonely. You have your ship and everything aboard it, and that's all it could ever be.
If they'd had their way, the billionaires would have stayed.
They could find a place; somewhere far from the hurricanes, where there was still fresh water to drink. They could build a compound all their own and pay just enough people to keep the rabble out. They could monopolize the resources. Why not?
It'd worked so far.
But that was the thing, wasn't it? It hadn't been working.
The lucky had lives that were stable from day to day, but that didn't change the fact that the planet was dying. The relative comfort of the privileged didn't mean that drastic change wasn't needed.
But if they could just keep things looking fine, the billionaires knew that they'd get just a little more.
Just a little more.
Just a little more.
Just a little more.
A trillion is so close. Just one more order of magnitude.
But they had to leave before they could get there.
As popular as guillotines were as a symbol, bullets were much more common. Some were shot from homemade guns, others from those stolen from police, guards, and soldiers. As coastal cities were pounded again and again by massive storms, numbers on screens became less and less relevant, and the ugly fruits no longer sat, uneaten, beneath the corporate owned trees. Values changed. People changed.
The billionaires couldn't change. So they left instead.
They left in their experimental ships with the most loyal sycophants they could find. The history goes dry after that. After all, they were gone.
And we were still here.
Human skin still has many colors, but its texture has become more leathery, and low melanin is rare. There are chambers in the human digestive system to filter salt from water. Humans sweat quickly and become drenched even in mild heat, and they drink all the water that they can, no matter the pollution. Humans have many languages, but most can at least be partially understood by one-another. Humans always take in refugees, because if you go back far enough, every human is a refugee from somewhere.
At least, that's the case for Earth humans.
As for the billionaires? In their ancient, sleek ships, weathered and dented from thousands of years of chips of rock and ice?
Well, the last time we banged on their doors and tore at their gates, we were shot.
And let it never be said that humanity can't understand when its presence is unwanted. | My mandibles clicked together in audible irritation as I raised my lower 2 hands to my head. "Lights off." I click in the guttural tongue of English.
When the humans had first made the space trip, they were unhelpful, skittish, glancing over their shoulders with every noise. A jittery and jumbled explanation led to a constant barrage on our memories. We, Glithn, are rather known for solving every problem.
It wasn't until 5 stars had burned that I first encountered the Homosapiens. Weird, as it's just another term for what humans are, but upon calling one of the Homosapiens a human, he had a gun leveled in between my 2 pairs of eyes, the red beam forcing me to do something the Homosapien called cross-eyed to see exactly where this red beam was resting.
"Never call me one of those derelict moneybags again or I'll take pleasure in ripping your heart out of your rear." The Homosapien growled. When I nodded, his gun disappeared, back into a carrier he called a holster, "Now, we heard you were having an issue with your cores acceleration array? Jenkie's a whiz with engines. Have someone escort him down, he'll have it fixed in... Jenkie?"
"Faster than an armadillo shot out of a canoon on United Thestavil."
The Homosapiens laughed at this before spreading apart. I had retreated to my egg, my mind focused so deeply on the issue in front of me.
'Telepathic communication for Drimal Sjntoi. I have come across another member of the human race who drew his weapon on me because I called him human. Homosapiens are the preferred term. There is bad blood between the Human faction and the Homosapien faction. Will update you as I further am informed.'
***
It was another 2 stars burning before I discovered through, Navigations Officer Sara exactly what the issue between the two factions from Earth was. Sara was a lovely Homosapien and I had become fascinated with her and their species. Apparently, we are in a relationship. I am still learning this ritual as Glithn are more combative. We kill all our enemies in a show of our prowess. Want a mate, kill all who want her? She is also allowed to kill you if she doesn't believe you worthy. Want a new rank on the ship, kill all who want that title. The Homosapiens were much less violent.
"Trenkth, a distress signal is being broadcast." Comms officer, Nrzth, called out.
I grimaced as I had to switch to English, "On-screen."
Static rumbled across the room before a human sounding voice began to speak.
"Caught...zzzz... grav... pull... zzzz... black... hole... 3 cycles... zzz... late... I repeat, this is the Humanitarian Vessel, Kingsman. We are caught in the gravitational pull of a black hole. We have 3 cycles left before it's too late. I repeat..."
I push to my four feet, my mouth open, "Prepare to..."
"Leave them." Sara's voice cut across mine.
I twisted my body to her, squinting my inner pair of eyes, "Come again, beloved?"
"Leave the humans to die in the black hole. Or offer them a mercy killing. If you try to rescue them, you will force us Homosapiens into a war. We really don't want that. So either leave them be or kill them. But don't you dare try to rescue them."
With that, Sara stormed off, no doubt to my quarters as I twisted my body back to the front.
"Trenkth, your orders?"
I growl as I raise my right hands, waving them on, "Leave them. I'm going to go get answers."
I stomped my way through my ship, approaching my chambers with questions burning in my mind. However, upon entering the room, I found Sara wrapped in my cocoon, sobbing her eyes out as the little tendrils of sentience drifted over her. My anger and questions evaporated as I moved to the end of the bed, waiting for her to speak or move.
"It... it was... 20 stars burning ago. I was but a kid... the scientists... ah... thinkers... they discovered that in humanity's greed, we killed not just our home, but our galaxy. The sun was set to burn us alive in the year 2318. When the rich and powerful humans learned of this, they secretly built ships to escort them off the planet. We didn't know until the morning of their departure. They left us on the dying planet with nothing more than a, 'Better you than us. Sorry.' And they were gone. They just left us. Luckily, we managed to scrape together enough resources to build ourselves some ships. We escaped the year before the sun was going to burn us. It's why we're brown instead of white like the humans. It's why we call ourselves Homosapiens. And it's why I said leave them. They left us to die. It's their turn to be left... because one day, we're going to hunt every last Human to the very edge of space and kill them. So, beloved. Are you with the humans? Or the Homosapiens?"
I groaned as I grabbed my head with all 4 hands, 'What have I gotten involved in' | 2022-11-16T01:35:49 | 2022-11-16T00:55:57 | 61 | 37 |
[WP] Turns out strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is actually a pretty good basis for a system of government. | "I thought you gave out swords" I say to the strange woman in the lake.
"I do, take it" she responds holding out the object.
"That's not a sword." I try to argue. "It's absolutely tiny!"
"It absolutely is a sword. Now take your sword and fulfil your destiny!" The strange lady responded.
"With that thing? Fulfil my destiny what a load of crap! I don't want this I don't need this!" I exclaim.
"Not everyone is destined to be a leader, a warrior, or a ruler." The old lady says to me kindly. "Society needs lumberjacks so I hand out thick stubby swords with long handles..."
"That's an axe" I argue but she ignores me
"Society needs chiefs so I hand out short sharp swords."
"That's a knife!" I exclaim becoming more irritated.
"Society needs farmers so I hand out swords with three points and a long handle!" She says and ignores me.
"That's a pitchfork." I respond through gritted teeth.
"When war is coming I give out swords without edges to form new swords for battle!"
"That's a hammer." I say exasperated.
"When someone needs to die in a most secretive way I hand out a very small sword. One that can be hidden and used for such a task!"
"That's a dagger for assassination." I respond. I look at the so called sword she holds out for me. "Mine isn't a dagger." It's to small, the point doesn't look sharp at all. Nor does it have a proper handle."
"I see you are more curious now. No your sword is not meant for such a task. In fact, I have given you the greatest sword of all!" She says with a grin.
"That's the greatest sword?" I ask.
"Indeed! Or at least the most mighty!"
"Most mighty? That?" I scoff.
"Though I suppose you will be needing this. Think of it as a complementary gift" the strange lady reaches into her cloak and hands me an object as well as my so-called sword.
Then she vanishes. I stared at the pool expecting her to return. To tell me it was all a joke.
She didn't.
I finally looked down at the sword she gave me. Not sharp, not large, not deadly. It is no weapon. I look to the complimentary gift she gave me.
It's a jar of ink. | "I don't *want the sword!"* I cried as I tried to get out of the water.
"You should take it, your friends all did," the woman said, gesturing towards the group of laughing young men, flaunting their new swords and pretending to duel each other, "Don't you all want to rule the kingdom?"
"*I* wouldn't be ruling it" I yelled over my shoulder as I managed three steps closer to the edge of the pond, "There's no possible way a government where everybody has a say is effective. Think of the bureaucracy! The paperwork! How do we even get people to *decide* on something?!"
"What if the people elected representatives to vote for their interests?" she beckoned towards me and the water welled up to my waist in front of the shore.
I turned towards her, "And what assurances do we have that these people continue to vote in the interest of those who elected them? A more effective government has a single ruler!" I shouted back as I swatted the water down, doing nothing except further soaking my gilded purple tunic.
The woman gestured again, and a vision appeared in the water in front of me. Crowds of people cheering in the main street of the town, welcoming.. somebody(?).. onto a stage in front of them.
"Good morrow my fair people" the crowd began to quiet down as the man in fine silks spoke, "Yet another year of bounty, security, and wealth for our land! For two years now I have spoke at the behest of you, and for two years now the gods and king have looked favourably upon us all! Allow me to continue to serve you as your humble representative, and we shall continue our good fortune once more!"
The crowd screamed, threw bread and vegetables into the air, and chanted his name. He bowed and beckoned towards the crowd, selecting particularly attractive folk onto the stage with him. They all cheered for him, individually knelt before him and kissed his outstretched fist. As a ravishing young woman knelt before him, a head of cabbage sailed through the air and hit her square on the cheek. The vision shifted views over to the person that threw it: a small, thin boy, red-faced with a snarl that could frighten a pack of wolves.
"You killed my family! You claim we have security, but we have fear!" a group of metal-armored guards pushed through the crowd, closing in on the boy who continued yelling, "What about my brother? What about my friends? We are *starving* while you wear fine clothes and eat feasts!" The guards reached the boy, and began to pull him away, his feet not touching the ground. My heart momentarily stopped as my jaw dropped, the young boy was my brother, Arde! He had grown so much, this vision must be in five years time. I could not pull my eyes away as they welled with tears.
"Do not worry about the beggar, fine people. We shall see what you all think," the representative said as he gestured at the crowd, raising his arms as though he were a champion, "they shall decide what they want!" the crowd went hysterical as they began to chant, "Kill the traitor, kill the traitor, kill the traitor!"
The boy was whisked out of sight of the crowd, however, the vision accompanied them as the guards took the boy into a nearby house. The guards began to mercilessly beat him, each strike visibly moving the boys inches, sending him back into walls. As they began to laugh, and Arde crumpled to the ground screaming, one of the guards' masks fell off.
I looked closer at the bright blonde hair of the guard, realization dawning upon me as the figure turned and confirmed my suspicion. It was Bodrick?!
"You shall wind up like the traitor you called your brother," as he pulled out his sword and pushed the tip into Arde's chest as Arde let out a blood-curdling wail. I looked up from the vision in the water, and saw him laughing and lifting his sword into the air on the shore, chanting how they will usher in a new form of government. Each of the people I had called my friends were all raising their swords to match his, chanting similar ideas. As the blood drained from my face, I looked back into the water, and saw the vision was gone.
I whipped my head back towards the center of the pond, where the woman was now shoulder deep in the water. Her wet hair parrtially covering her face, a malicious smile plastered on her face as she sunk further into the pond.
I began to rush back towards the center of the pond, no longer seeing the woman's head in the water. I cried after her, "I *will* be king! I will protect my brother, my family! You will not take my inheritance from me! I will raze the town and burn the fields!" as I continued to flail through the water, I caught a glint of light from the corner of my eyye. I turned my head, still screaming, as I saw the King's Guard gallop in on horses.
"Seize them!" I screamed while still swimming and pointed at the group I had called my friends, "Kill them! They are plotting to murder my Father!" | 2022-12-14T16:24:12 | 2022-12-14T14:37:03 | 931 | 21 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say. | *"What does this mean?"* His voice had broken even before he was able to open his mouth. There he was, living the biggest and happiest moment of his life to find this? That poor baby.
He promised himself that day that he would do anything to keep his daughter safe, as it was impossible to know what could surprise them just around the corner. Most of this cases turned out in young infants who died too soon, but he knew that this time was different. It *had* to be different.
He had lost his wife after she gave birth, even though she had the chance to meet the little miracle, honoring the beautiful "baby" written on her arm. He couldn't lose Maggie too. Not now!
Years went by and they tried to make the best of it. And every night, when he tucked her in and she signed "Good night", he would kiss her forehead and stare at her left arm. It was blank. | "Put a long sleeve shirt on! We're going out!" I say to my husband, grabbing my purse.
"Why? It isn't like people with offensive words are bad people. Everyone has some kind of word. Why should I have to hide it?" He says.
"I don't want to be that person that has to sit there awkwardly as a child asks what 'fuck' means. Yes, everyone has a word on their left arm, but most are a little more tame." I say, rolling down my sleeves to hide my word.
"Okay, okay. I guess I have to be a little less defiant now that we're gonna have a kid of our own soon." Ken says, lazily grabbing a sweater from the coat hook. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"I told you 10 minutes ago! We're going to look at cribs and then go for supper." I say, irritated.
We walk out of the house then and get into the car. Ken likes to drive because he's insistent he's a better driver. Whatever. It means I can play on my phone instead of swear at pedestrains and cars.
We arrive at the furniture store and pick out a crib to be shipped to our house in no time. I think we both just wanted to pick the middle-range one because we weren't sure how else to pick one. We didn't want to cheap out or get swindled.
When we are deciding where to go to eat, I start to become overly paranoid for some reason.
"My last word is 'choking' and I really think I ought to be more careful now that I have a baby inside me. I don't want to get fish or anything else with tiny bones and no finger food... Ugh. I don't know why I'm like this." I say, doubling over and putting my face in my hands in the car.
"You're having a panic attack. Your word has done that more than once. I wish we could switch. You never swear." Ken offers, rubbing my back.
"I'll be okay. Let's just go get some Chinese food and call it a night." I say, sitting upright again.
Just as we're about to get going a man walks up to our window in the parking lot. He makes the 'roll down the window' gesture. Ken complies. He always is so trusting.
"Do you two lovely people happen to be going near Westmount? I live around there and would be awfully appreciative of a ride. I lost my bus pass and I have no change" The young man says, smiling.
Ken and I look at eachother. I feel a wave of nausea come over me.
"Sure." Ken says. "Hop in."
The man opens the door and gets in. Then he pulls something dark from his pocket.
"Gimme all your cash." Says the young man, brandishing a pistol.
"Now listen, young man, you have your whole life-" ken starts.
"No bullshit. Cash." Says the young man, pointing the pistol at Ken's head.
"Fuck." Says Ken, and I wince.
I don't hear a gunshot so I hand the man my purse and ken's wallet from the glovebox. The man leaves as quickly as he came in and we breathe a sigh of relief.
"I knew something messed up would happen. I could feel it." I say, shivering.
"Let's get out of here and call the police." Ken says, pulling the car out and heading towards home.
Ken must be really revved up because he drives like a maniac, even on the highway.
"At least I didn't say 'choking.'" I say proudly.
Just then, a huge transport truck pulls out in front of us. Ken must have ran a red light.
"Fuck!" Says Ken, as the truck slams into us.
| 2015-02-05T19:05:12 | 2015-02-05T15:37:49 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Your ageing family dog walks up to you one day with a piece of paper in its mouth. Taking the paper, you notice that it is a bucket list. | The party had finally ended. Everyone had either left or was asleep. It was just Spike and me looking at the mess that was the family kitchen. Dirty dishes, wrapping paper, and boxes were all over the place. However my spot at the table was clean, save for an old time capsule box. I still couldn’t believe that my parents had kept it all this time. Who would have thought I’d not only attend college but finish it? I looked over the contents of the box again. Some pokémon cards, papers about my favorite things and a note from my mom. It had been emotional for me to get through the letter. I wasn’t very good at controlling my emotions, but I had managed to read it aloud to the family with minimal break. As I put the letter back down I feel Spike’s nose nuzzle up against my leg. In his mouth I see a piece of paper.
I take the crumbled up piece of paper and open it up. It wasn’t unusual for Spike to bring me things, but this time it felt different. Spike usually jumps around and wags his tail waiting for me to use the object to play with him. Instead he sits on the ground and patiently waits for me. As I look down at the paper I notice it iss in my handwriting from when I was younger.
“Hi future me! I hope you remember about this someday. Yesterday you got your first puppy! Unfortunately Mommy wouldn’t let you choose the name but I think she picked a good one.” I look up from the paper for a second and Spike is still sitting there patiently. How did he find this? I completely forgot I had written this 14 years ago. I don’t think I ever told my mom about this, how did it get in the box?
“Mommy says I need to be responsible with Spike and to do that she says I should come up with things that I can do with him. First thing I want to do is aroad trip with Spike and let him stick his head out the window like they do in the movies. Next I want to take him to the beach and let him swim and play in the sand.” I felt the tears coming again and looked down at Spike. He still sat there staring at me. Yes Spike wasn’t the same dog I spent my whole childhood playing with. The golden fur around his face had turned white a long time ago and he sometimes limps around from an injury a couple years back, but he still plays with the same enthusiasm like the first day we brought him home.
“Finally I want to just spend a weekend camping, just me and Spike. I read a story in school this week about a kid living with wolves and I want to do that with Spike, we can make our own wolf pack! It’s not a lot at the moment but I’m sure I’ll have plenty more things to add once Spike gets older! Your younger self, Jimmy” I sit back in the chair and laugh. I never did add anything nor did anything on the list. How could I let him down? Where did the time go? Every time I came home from school he was there, waiting for me. Ready to play and never leaving my side the whole time.
I look down at Spike again. This time he lifted his paw up onto my leg and I swear I can see his eyes twinkle a bit. “Well boy I’m sorry I never did any of these things with you.” I reach down and scratch behind his left ear, just the spot he always likes. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you”
Spike barks and scratches my watch. I look down at it and see its only midnight. Isn’t the shore only 5 hours away? It's not like I have anything else to do tomorrow. I jump up and grab the keys from the counter. I turn around and see Spike standing up. This time his tail is wagging excitedly. "Come on boy let’s go for a ride" | I grew up with Ginger, but she wasn't my dog. That's what I thought when I was 11, of course. She was my parents'. They had her before they had any of us kids. It doesn't mean we didn't love her, but I think we took her for granted. She was a beautiful golden retriever with a luscious, dark coat of fur. She was stunning. My parents wanted to breed her, and put her in shows, because she was the ideal dog both physically and mentally. She was obedient, but had free will. She rarely ever barked. However, dare I say, I always wanted another dog. A dog I could call my own. Someone I can name, and walk, and all that. Looking back on her now, I wish I had taken more time to be with her, or just appreciate her. At least I had that one, last, moment with her.
Ginger was getting old. She soon went deaf, and then got cancer. She used to have a giant cyst in her foot that would pop and gross everyone out. She was suffering... We knew that she was nearing her end. However, I never truly felt bad. Again, I didn't see her as my dog. I loved her, but I didn't have the memories like my mother and father. It killed my dad to see her like this. Thus, it makes me wonder why she we went to me with her list in the first place.
Maybe she saw that I was a curious eleven year old kid, or at least once was. Maybe she always loved me, and I never took the time to realize it. One of my oldest memories is of one of my old cats scratching me, and Ginger chasing her off, and then sitting with me while I cried. We grew up together. Instead of being jealous like other dogs, she embraced me. When I put it in retrospect, I appreciate Ginger all the more.
Nearing her last days, I went into the kitchen to find Ginger sitting in her usual spot, right in front of the door to my back deck. She used to love going into the forrest behind our house and exploring. I never went with her, and always wanted to, but my parents insisted to let her be. She would explore for hours and then come back. She was insanely smart. Thus, it doesn't surprise me that I found her clutching a piece of paper.
I quickly went and grabbed it. "Don't eat that!" I yelled. I quickly snatched it, and turned it over.
'Ginger's Bucket List' it said. There was only one bullet point. 'Walk with my best friend.' I didn't understand. Did my Mom do this on purpose to get me to walk the dog? She kept telling me to get outside, and that I was playing too many video games. Doesn't she know that Ginger's foot makes it hard for her to move from one spot to another, let alone go for a walk?
I almost crumpled it up... But I was a curious guy back then. I believed things others didn't. I believed in Bigfoot. I believed in the Loch Ness Monster. Hell, I still do. So, I did what many wouldn't... I gave Ginger the benefit of a doubt. I looked up from the paper and saw her face. Her ears stood up and alert. She looked excited, full of life. It was a look that I hadn't seen for a long time. She must have known I had read it. I knew she couldn't hear me, but I talked to her anyway.
"Walk? Wanna go for a walk?"
I went to the back door and unlocked it. She ran onto the porch, but then stopped, and begun to whimper. I stepped out, locked the door behind me, and went to console her. I was right... her foot was in rough shape. However, my early roots of creative began to sprout. I found an old wagon, and I helped her get in it. It was a perfect fit. I made sure my parents weren't pulling in. If they saw me taking Ginger for a ride, they'd had flipped.
I wish I could get into detail on our walk... But it's difficult for me now. All of the colors, from the leaves on that autumn day, to the rotting trees that blocked a path or two, seem to foreshadow my dog's fate. Maybe that was her intent. She didn't need to tell me where she wanted to walk. I pushed her wagon through her favorite woods. Once in a blue moon she would hop out of the wagon and simply stare at something, almost reminiscing. It was an experience for me... My first time in this environment that was my dog's true domain. We finally came upon a giant ledge that looked out on the town below us. We stopped, and sat on the rock. I pet her as she basked in her world for one last time. It felt like hours out there. But as I pushed her back to my yard and lifted her into my house, placing her back in her favorite spot, I saw only 60 minutes went by. As soon as I locked the door, I heard the front one unlock, and my parents walked in. Nice timing, Ginger. That night, I gave her a treat and pet her head one last time (unbeknownst to me at that time) before going to bed.
I awoke the next day to my mom crying. My father had taken her to be put down. I, however, couldn't cry. Instead, I was just numb. The events that occurred just the day before seemed unreal. I had wanted to ask my mom about the note, but I couldn't bring myself to. So I kept it to myself. I still have it. My parents weren't happy with me that I didn't cry... They thought it meant I didn't care. Everyone has their own way of grieving, though.
I look back on pictures with her now and I shake my head. Her eyes were filled with love as they stared at my pudgy baby face. Her face was filled with delight in pictures where I was hugging her, or laying on top of her. She truly loved me. I wish I realized it then. How could I have been so oblivious? However, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate her now. Though I've moved from that house, I still go through walks in the forrest to reminisce. I made a lot more memories in that forrest, but that one takes the cake. I always sit on the ledge and look out. It's really an incredible view. I gotta thank my best friend for showing it to me.
^/r/NardwaurrWrites | 2015-04-06T10:25:11 | 2015-04-06T10:01:07 | 93 | 35 |
[WP] A time traveler and an immortal keep bumping into each other across the ages. | They say that true love only occurs once in life. That you meet your soulmate, that that's your chance, and you belong together forever.
I wish they were wrong.
Because I am forever.
And so, in his own way, is he.
I was born four thousand years ago. I'm not the first of my kind, nor am I the last. But there are few of us, precious few, and my love fell not among them. It fell on another.
A mortal. A man who would grow old while I stayed young.
"James," I said, the first year we had met, "James, this love cannot be. For I have lived ten of your lifetimes already, and will live countless more."
"There must be a way, Veronica, a way that you can fix this."
"There is," I said with a tear, "I can make you live forever, but I cannot give you immortality."
"Whatever is the way, I take it."
So I gave him my gift, one equally terrible to us both. I took his remaining days, and I scattered them across time, like salt on a table. And he faded from my sight, his arms outstretched in an embrace meant for eternity.
And now I wait, counting each passing day, as he appears to me once a century. He stays for a day, then fades again- to him, it is just another day. To me, they are separated by what feels like eons.
Until the end of time it will be this way. So I spend my days waiting. Waiting for his return with a pain that he will never know. For that one day of paradise in each century of longing.
***
By Leo
| An unstoppable force and an immovable object walk into a bar. The unstoppable force sits down at a bar stool, glancing at his watch as though waiting for something.
The immovable object sits next to him, and orders two beers.
"Ever the timely one."
"This coming from you?"
"Come now, time is always on my side." The unstoppable force flashed a grin, speckled with gold.
"Ah, it never gets old. And here I am with nothing but time..." He flashed a similar, yet toothier grin.
They sat in silence, enjoying the rich ambience of the pub. Conversation, jokes, sexual advances and conquests, delicious rejections, hidden heartbreaks, all unfurling about the two strange beings. One, a boulder sitting stubbornly amidst a river, the other, a brave old salmon racing past it, up and downstream.
"So Vlad... you ever gonna tell me how the hell we keep bumping into each other?" The words tumbling forth like a clumsy yet determined ambush. Like an old king who fought his way to the throne, the answer came like a deft and irritable counter:
"Perhaps when you show me what kind of watch that is..."
The unstoppable force, ever the plotter, pointed to his bare wrist.
"What watch?"
The boulder, ever the wiser, chuckled.
"Ah... so the mortals can't see it then. How curious. Technology moves in such sweeping leaps and bounds these days... an old bat like myself can hardly keep up."
"It never feels right when you bring up the geezer you really are. Hard to poke fun at gramps when I've got more greys and more stubble than you do. Every time..."
"Every time indeed. This is the third time I've seen you today you know. Different bar, different time of day, and you were wearing a different outfit. Seemed younger the first time, older the second, and here you are now... Do tell, what brand is it?"
"Caduceus, 2017 model, Triple Grand engineering."
"My friend, it's only 1998."
"And yet not three hours ago, I was in a bar chatting with you in 1898. Yet here we are. Your face smooth and pale as ever."
"You flatter me."
"I'm laying my cards on the table Drac. We're hardly the typical bar flies, and I think we both know that. Drop the ruse for a second, hm? What the hell are you?"
"I'm sure you know what I am, hence your puerile jabs, but I've not heard of something like you. I've seen you walk back and forth in time as though you were strolling up and down a street. Oh no my friend, the ruse remains, you speak as though I owe you answers and you owe me nothing. How clever you must think yourself... and like a sword dangling above a kings head by little more than a single thread, the question hangs. What the hell are you? To borrow your vernacular..."
"I'm a mover, a shaper, and a god among humanity. I am Hermes, Djehuty, Odin, and I am the thrice greatest man. I have seen the beginning, exact middle, and end of humanity."
"And they called me vain..."
"Birds of a feather, hm?"
"Allow me to indulge then. I am the fiend, the accuser, and the boogeyman. I am Dracul, the serpent, the dragon, the enemy, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam et absurdum."
They stewed a few moments, sipping their drinks in curious silence. The pub continued to bustle around them, relationships beginning and ending, friends laughing and hiding tears, socially awkward types being swept up in the crowd, never quite figuring out their place in it. All ignorant to the two old souls, jabbing and boasting.
"Tell you what Nosferatu. Meet me here in a thousand years, and we can trade straight answers. Deal?"
A gold speckled grin.
"Deal."
A toothy grin.
The traveler shook hands with the immortal. He deftly maneuvered through the crowd and pushed through the door.
In moments, he walked through the ages, and there, a thousand years later, sitting in a black iron chair amidst the irradiated rubble, was the man from the bar.
"Here we are at last old friend! 2998, where O'Sullivan's Pub & Pool house once stood!"
"Here we are indeed." | 2015-11-22T19:10:27 | 2015-11-22T17:19:07 | 52 | 14 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | "... And to my son James, I bequeathe my most prized possessions, the tokens of the good life I lead and the sacrifices I made," the lawyer solemnly read from Dave Culkin's last will and testament.
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure the lazy git has tons of things to give... I mean, you could probably read from his mug how bad of a father he was." James Culkin said. He didn't love his father, so he didn't expect his father to love him.
"Funny you should say that, James, considering you never saw his mug."
"Shut up sis."
The lawyer continued. "As is custom in our society, James will, for the first and last time, see his father's official ranking, after which his own ranking will appear on the mug."
"Yeah, sure. I wonder how the mug deals with people who don't have offspring."
"Didn't the teachers tell you? The mug turns fully white if that happens."
"Whatever. Reveal the cup."
Gaul Soodman, the Culkin family lawyer, slowly lifted the black lid off the mug. When the lid was fully lifted, he slowly turned the plate on which the mug was placed. One by one, the 3 digits appeared. 4...6...2...# James was shocked. His dad was number 264 in the world? That had to be wrong. Surely this was his sister's ranking. But then the numbers changed to #265, and James knew that he sorely misjudged his father. Even though Dave was treated horribly by his son, James never lost an ounce of love from his father. Both his own ranking and the ranking of his sister were crazily high.
Gaul cleared his throat. "Take hold of the mug, James."
"Give me a moment. I need to process this." James felt horrible. But then he rationalized it. His father never yelled at him, always supported him no matter what he did. Of course someone who stays a true father in the face of constant abuse would rank highly. But what did that mean about his sister?
No matter. A plain white mug would be boring, but he didn't care. His father wanted him to have the mug, so he would take it. James reached for the mug. As he approached it, the black markings started to fade, and the mug started to dimly glow. At the touch of his fingers, a humming sound started. slowly, the mug started to get warmer and warmer. Then, his palms encircled the mug, and a flash of light temporarily blinded the onlookers.
James let go. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, he smiled at the white of the cup. Then his smile vanished. Slowly, small black spots started appearing on the mug. The spots converged and started forming numbers in random spots on the mug. 4...5...1...6...1...6...9...0...8...2.
"James... why does the mug say you're #1,846,961,520?"
"I don't know, sis." But deep inside him, he realized that somewhere in the world, he had a son. And he has never seen him.
But it didn't end there. The number on the mug started jumping around randomly, sometimes making large jumps, but always staying around 2 billion. After 15 or 20 jumps he lost count.
"Gaul, what does this mean? I am not a father. Why does the mug show I am a horrible father?"
Gaul started smiling. "I have seen this behaviour only once before in person. This was with a similar man to you. Thing is, he also didn't think he was a father. However, the mug knows. James, you ARE a father. You just don't know who your children are."
James slumped in his chair. Guess there were consequences to all those wild nights at college... | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:52:38 | 828 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | "... And to my son James, I bequeathe my most prized possessions, the tokens of the good life I lead and the sacrifices I made," the lawyer solemnly read from Dave Culkin's last will and testament.
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure the lazy git has tons of things to give... I mean, you could probably read from his mug how bad of a father he was." James Culkin said. He didn't love his father, so he didn't expect his father to love him.
"Funny you should say that, James, considering you never saw his mug."
"Shut up sis."
The lawyer continued. "As is custom in our society, James will, for the first and last time, see his father's official ranking, after which his own ranking will appear on the mug."
"Yeah, sure. I wonder how the mug deals with people who don't have offspring."
"Didn't the teachers tell you? The mug turns fully white if that happens."
"Whatever. Reveal the cup."
Gaul Soodman, the Culkin family lawyer, slowly lifted the black lid off the mug. When the lid was fully lifted, he slowly turned the plate on which the mug was placed. One by one, the 3 digits appeared. 4...6...2...# James was shocked. His dad was number 264 in the world? That had to be wrong. Surely this was his sister's ranking. But then the numbers changed to #265, and James knew that he sorely misjudged his father. Even though Dave was treated horribly by his son, James never lost an ounce of love from his father. Both his own ranking and the ranking of his sister were crazily high.
Gaul cleared his throat. "Take hold of the mug, James."
"Give me a moment. I need to process this." James felt horrible. But then he rationalized it. His father never yelled at him, always supported him no matter what he did. Of course someone who stays a true father in the face of constant abuse would rank highly. But what did that mean about his sister?
No matter. A plain white mug would be boring, but he didn't care. His father wanted him to have the mug, so he would take it. James reached for the mug. As he approached it, the black markings started to fade, and the mug started to dimly glow. At the touch of his fingers, a humming sound started. slowly, the mug started to get warmer and warmer. Then, his palms encircled the mug, and a flash of light temporarily blinded the onlookers.
James let go. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, he smiled at the white of the cup. Then his smile vanished. Slowly, small black spots started appearing on the mug. The spots converged and started forming numbers in random spots on the mug. 4...5...1...6...1...6...9...0...8...2.
"James... why does the mug say you're #1,846,961,520?"
"I don't know, sis." But deep inside him, he realized that somewhere in the world, he had a son. And he has never seen him.
But it didn't end there. The number on the mug started jumping around randomly, sometimes making large jumps, but always staying around 2 billion. After 15 or 20 jumps he lost count.
"Gaul, what does this mean? I am not a father. Why does the mug show I am a horrible father?"
Gaul started smiling. "I have seen this behaviour only once before in person. This was with a similar man to you. Thing is, he also didn't think he was a father. However, the mug knows. James, you ARE a father. You just don't know who your children are."
James slumped in his chair. Guess there were consequences to all those wild nights at college... | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T10:52:38 | 70 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | *Alex* had always been a tomboy, hair a dusty brown.
Wore *her* hair in a messy, spikey crown.
Alex liked their pants baggy,
Sometimes Alex stuffed it with a sock,
Her face was screaming cheerleader,
When what she wanted was jock.
She grew up feeling awkward,
As if she would never have her way,
Her town was not accepting,
So she couldn't come out gay.
She left Madonna Village,
To find herself a path,
But she felt so damn guilty,
She would gain God's wrath.
She was twenty when she met him,
With his face pale and poised,
Sam whispered in the morning,
"Can I help you pick out clothes?"
Sam would braid her hair with flowers,
He would dress her in white gowns,
He would tell her she was perfect,
With her daisy chain crown.
He would flame her cheeks with red,
Make her lips turn sunset blush,
And push her into the world,
The corporate fucking rush.
*She* was always shaking,
She felt like she was wrong,
She preferred her boxer briefs,
To a lacy, silver thong.
And Sam would let her dress him,
In blazers, yellow shirts,
He would ignore her hands shaking,
As if this physically hurt.
Sam was handsome, clearly,
But he withered in the suite,
No matter who said, "Nice, man"
Each compliment was moot.
.
One morning, Alex sat down,
A paper in her hand,
She read the headlines,
She didn't understand.
*Mugs Tell the Truth.*
*#1 Dad a Lie.*
*Every Single Mug!*
*No One Wants to Buy.*
It seems that some weird creature,
Had cursed the world to see,
Exactly how crappy,
Their parenting would be.
Alex watched her 'husband'
Move about the room,
Holding up his plain black mug,
Waiting for the BOOM.
She touched her own mug softly,
Her eyes growing so bright,
Right there is red letters,
It said #0 Dad, alright.
She didn't tell her husband,
She didn't make a scene,
But every time she touched a mug,
DAD could be seen.
She put her hand on her belly,
Perhaps it was time to tell,
That despite her growing hatred,
There was a baby in this shell.
| Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him. | 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T10:58:27 | 69 | 13 |
[WP] A satanic cult attempts to sacrifice you as part of a ritual to summon a demon into your body. Once the demon is inside of your body, you realize he's actually a really nice guy and hates it when occultist do this stuff. | “*Ex* demon,” Beelzebub corrected again. “I’m reformed, okay? I did a bunch of stupid stuff in college, like torture and maim, but it was a phase. Okay? Do you understand me?”
The cultists’ mouths hung open in fear, awe, and excitement. Their summonings didn’t usually go so smoothly. And they’d certainly never heard a demon speak! At least, they assumed that’s what it was doing. It sounded like chunks of concrete falling down a mountain, or magma shifting in a volcano, or thunder rolling through an earthquake. They couldn’t really decide.
“Seriously, stop calling me. Stop summoning me, stop contacting me, just leave me alone! I’m in a book club now, you hear me? A *book club*!”
“Fearsome Beelzebub,” one cultist droned, dropping to his knees to bow. His brethren quickly followed suit. “We humbly beseech you to lay waste to our enemies, and bring low the titans of this modern world.”
“What are you TALKING about?” he shouted, and in that moment, his host quivered. Beelzebub stopped mid-thought and turned his mind towards his body. “That’s strange,” he mumbled to himself, looking down at the body. “Humans usually die when I possess them. Gimme a second here...” He shifted, closed his eyes, and when they opened again, Carl had control.
“Hey guys?” Carl asked. The cultists’ heads snapped up. “Listen, he wants me to tell you that he doesn’t really do the whole demon thing anymore.” He paused, apparently listening to something, nodded, and continued. “He says he wants you to leave him alone, because he was just getting to the good part of Paradise Lost, and it takes him a while to read that since it’s so old.”
“You...” the cultist who’d bowed initially began quizzically. “You can... speak with the demon?”
Carl nodded, then grimaced. “Kinda loud, buddy.” A pause. “It’s fine. He says stop calling him a demon, you know his name, ‘cause you had to use it to summon him. He says if you want somebody to do demon things for you, he can give you a list of recommendations, but he’s respectfully requesting that you cease all communication with him from this point on.”
“Respectfully requesting?”
“What is this bullshit?”
“Are you fucking with us, kid?”
“Guys, seriously, so loud,” Carl said with another grimace, rubbing his temples. “Ugh. Okay. He says Baal is the one to see for power, Amon for scaring people, Na—what was that one? No, you’re just talking really fast. Oh. Okay, so Namah for disease, Rom? Oh, R-A-U-M. Raum for stealing or getting information about the future, and Asmodeus for revenge. Apparently Asmodeus is also Lust? So maybe be careful with that one.”
“He... doesn’t want to... help us?”
“But we summoned him! He has to do what we say!”
“Uh.” Carl patted himself quickly, as if looking for a pen in every article of clothing he wore. He looked at himself, and then back up. “Yeah, he—he just left.”
“He wHAT?”
“He said you messed up the summoning and he didn’t even have to come, but he did anyway so he could tell you to leave him alone. Kind of like answering the door, I guess.”
“He is a demon! A servant! Be*neath* us!”
“He’s like... thousands of years old, but. Okay. And also, he gave you recommendations. What more do you want?”
“... did he say how we messed up the ritual?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Well, shit.” | "Wos volumus, necesse Balazul!"
I stumbled back, heat rushing into my body like I'd rolled in a campfire. I reeled, howling with pain, then completely lost my balance. The chain around my neck pulled tight and I only fell to my knees instead of flat on my face. Fuck, it felt like I was on fire!
"Dicere, Balazul!" The leader of the cult, a balding man with a spare tire around his waist, spat the words, his eyes wide and a smirk curling his lips.
I opened my mouth to make a comment about his mother, but another's words escaped my mouth, my own drifting away into nothingness.
"Fuck you, you fat piece of shit!"
"Oh, you have arrived. I was wondering how long you could resist the summoning. New record, I think." The smug cult leader looked to his cronies, smiles wide on their faces. He waved at them and shouted, "Sacramentum conficere!"
The two just looked at him, one with his mouth open and the other with raised eyebrows. "Ummm..."
"Get the fucking sacrament." Baldy put his hands on his hips. When they still didn't move, he yelled again. "The cat we are going to sacrifice, morons."
*Hey.*
The voice rattled the inside of my brain it was so loud. I looked around, my eyes barely obeying me, and realized it came from within me.
*Whoops, I forget I've got to tone the voice thing down for mortals. Better?*
I had no idea how to respond, so I just thought back at the voice. *What? Who the f-*
*Hey, I'm not the bad guy here.* There was a pause. *Well, maybe being a fallen angel that did some truly rotten shit qualifies me as that. But these guys, they are going to kill your cat and use you as a puppet to do some fucked up shit. They're the bad guys right now!*
I pondered that, and tried to push down the feeling that my skin was boiling.
*Focus, host. I can't do anything about the burning sensation. It's hot where I come from. If you don't want to find out personally I suggest you listen up.*
I took a deep breath and nodded.
*Just think your responses. Don't give any outward sign.*
I resisted the urge to nod again. *Ohhhhkay.*
*You see that ring painted in the flor, the one with the weird drawings on the edges?*
*Yeah, I fucking noticed. I didn't paint that shit on my own bedroom floor.* As a matter of fact, it had been the first thing I noticed when I woke up, chained in my own damn room. What kind of assholes paint on a hardwood floor? We could have done this in the kitchen. I've never really cared for linoleum.
*Hey, there's a spark. Anyway, I need you to stretch your foot out and smear that ward that's just to your right, the one that looks kind of like a flower.*
I searched for it, found it, then judged it to be too far away.
*Yeah, you're going to have to lay down and stretch out a foot.*
I groaned, still pretty sure I wouldn't be able to reach it.
*Genius, if you can't do it, you will die when this is all over.*
I took a deep breath and eyed the cult leader. He was staring at my bedroom door, his hands on his hips, waiting for his henchmen to return with Mr. Fluffles. I sat down and feigned hopelessness, even squeezing out a tear or two, which turned out to be easy as I surveyed my ruined floor. They had even drilled a spike through the middle of the hardwood to hold my chain. Agregious.
Baldy took a few steps to the door to check on his idiots. I moved then, lying down and stretching my foot as far as I could, then making a hasty swipe at the flowery painting there. I pulled my legs back underneath me as the cult leader turned his head back toward me, smiling. I looked away, despite wanting to check the spot to know if I'd managed any damage to the design.
"They found her," he said, shooting me a triumphant look.
The two imbeciles walked into the room, one carrying Mr. Fluffles and the other wiping away blood from his forearm. Mr. Fluffles wasn't happy about the situation, hissing and struggling against his captor. *That's my boy.*
As Baldy drew a long, wicked dagger from his girly bathrobe-looking outfit, my heart froze. *Did I smudge it enough, can you break out now?*
There was a moment of silence in my head, and when the deep voice spoke again, it was sad. *That's not how this will work out. The sacrifice grants me my power, and the circle contains me and takes away my willpower.*
*Are you fucking with me? I'm not going to watch my cat die!*
Silence.
*Hey, dick, help me! Pull some super demon strength shit out and save my cat!*
Silence.
The knife plunged.
The heat that had enveloped me earlier felt like a lukewarm shower compared to what hit me next. I screamed, but it was somewhere in my head, once again drifting away into the darkness of my own. I felt detached, removed. I felt nothing but the flames.
I could still see, though. I felt myself stand, though I hadn't willed it. My own hand, foreign to me now, reached up and snatched away the steel collar like it was made of paper.
"Yes, Balazul, rise and do my bidding!" Baldy cackled, still stand fat and confident on the other side of the circle. "First, I command-"
My hand shot out, driven by the demon within, fingers sinking into the fleshy throat of the cult leader. His eyes bugged out as he slapped helplessly at my arm.
*Hey kid.*
*Yeah?* I drifted back in, responding to the voice.
*I'll let you take the wheel for this one. Have fun.*
I could feel the fat man's skin under my fingers. I turned my head to eyeball the other two cultists, then smiled. I flexed the fingers of my free hand, making sure I was in control again.
They ran as I ripped the throat from Mr. Fluffles' killer.
[/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
| 2017-10-24T14:53:27 | 2017-10-24T13:09:48 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | Delilah hung up her jacket and took off her shoes. Another dud date. This one was cute. Almost as though he was made to be her type. Tall, dark hair, subtly muscular. And only one dimple. He checked off all the boxes too. He worked as an EMT, bleeding heart type. He liked classic rock and k-pop. Game of Thrones and Gilmore Girls were his go to TV shows (what were the odds of that one). But when they had kissed at the end of the date it just felt flat. No fireworks. Delilah had been through swaths of men and none of them compared to that first love. The one that got away.
&nbsp;
She put her curly brown hair into a ponytail and took out her contacts. She sighed after putting on her arm flannel pajamas. She shaved her legs for nothing. Again. How many had she gone through now? Twenty? She had been using online dating most recently. There were a lot of good options, firemen, doctors, professional athletes. But they all felt so fake. Like they were trying to be something they weren’t.
&nbsp;
When she had first met Emmet she wasn’t interested at first. She didn’t usually go for small waifs like him. He had freckles like her and not even one dimple. Not to mention his wild red hair. But when they started to speak at a mutual friends’ party it just clicked. She felt like she could speak to him forever. Sure he hated Gilmore Girls and worked as an accountant for a faceless corporation, but he was kind and when he touched her hair. Fireworks. They dated for eight months. And for those months she was truly happy. They would play punch buggy or watch a movie just to make fun of it. They just fit. But one day, Emmet said he couldn’t do it anymore. She never fully understood why he was breaking up with her. He said something about meeting other people and being physically compatible. But she had always been attracted to him. So maybe he just wasn’t into her. No fireworks.
&nbsp;
As Delilah watched TV she thought of the string of men that had followed. First there was Bruce, the hottie at the gym. She had given him the side eye even when she was with Emmet. He asked her out not even two days after her break up. It was like he knew she was freshly single. At first she said no; she was in too much pain. But a rebound friend with benefits situation did help. For a short while at least. And while he was hot and very good in bed, he felt fake. No fireworks.
&nbsp;
She had dated the doctor for three months. He worked in pediatrics so of course she had to give him a try. But even though she wanted so badly to fall in love him, she soon realized she didn’t. Then there was the cook, the rocker, the one covered in tattoos, the one without any tattoos at all. Sometimes they went on a couple dates, sometimes more. But she had gotten almost good and sliding out of their lives when she realized that spark wasn’t there. Or that she wasn’t over Emmet. Sometimes one of them would bite his lip like Emmet did. Or she would see freckles on his cheeks for just a moment. Or their laugh would get shrill like his always did. Sometimes she felt like she saw him in every one of them. But they weren’t him. So they weren’t good enough.
&nbsp;
Delilah sighed and looked over to her phone lying next to her on her couch. She wished she still had Emmet’s number, but he had changed it long ago. It was like he had completely disappeared. Maybe she would see him again one day.
&nbsp;
Emmet shifted back from tall and burly to his natural size as soon as he reached his apartment. This version had not worked either. He thought Delilah liked buff men. And he mentioned every favorite song and TV show he could without raising suspicion. But he could tell from the look in her eyes that she wouldn’t call this one back. What was he doing wrong? He brushed his fingers through his red hair and bit his lip. He would win Delilah’s heart again. But how? | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T10:13:19 | 930 | 37 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | New town. Small and quiet, perfect for my situation.
The authorities are after me. They know what I am : different, a national threat. They’re aware of what I’ve done. If they catch me it’ll be prison or death, the fate of countless others like me.
Stray dogs and playing children in the streets. Nervously, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist, I book a room at a guesthouse and try to sleep for a couple of hours but to no avail. I get up shower, put on some jeans. Head to the local bar to wind off.
Clouds of smoke, full of loud men. Standing at the threshold, I’m about to leave without getting a drink when she comes up behind me.
“Excuse me, are you getting in?”
•
Perfect hair, perfect nose. She smiles uneasily on the first date, eyes darting stealthily towards the door of the French restaurant. On the second date, I channel a German tourist and she is bored by my stories of Berlin nightclubs and beer festivals. On the third - me as a lumberjack from a neighboring town - this time she seems interested, eyes sliding across my bulging forearms and she even gives me a peck on the cheek but she doesn’t reply my message the next day. On the fourth, she asks me to walk her home, and I’m surprised because I, stammering and clumsy, had taken the form of a skinny bespectacled bookkeeper, a complete loser, but her interest was at an all time high, giggling and all that, hand resting on my reedy wrist.
She invites me inside. Small and clean place, curtains drawn tight. I sit on an armchair and try to calm my excitement: it’s a perfect time to show this beautiful woman the truth, before things got too heated, when she was least expecting it. Like so many others before her.
I want her to see the real me. As she busies herself in the kitchen, it takes a second to take my true form: tall and gangly, scarred face: the legacies of many a manicured victim.
I take out the little pocket knife and, approaching the kitchen where she is humming, hide it behind my back.
| "I don't know... I just got out of a relationship and need to figure out myself first. I think I'm just looking to be friends right now."
That same line every time. What a pallid lie it was. I kept trying to imitate what I thought she liked and every time it felt like I had gotten closer, but it never stuck. We'd always end up taking this same stupid walk near her house and she'd stop by this same shitty bench and she'd say those same words, give a small hug and disappear into the distance. Ironic, for a man who could be anyone or theoretically do anything to end up in this Groundhog Day-esque scenario over and over.... and over. A few forms ago I got to a fourth date with her and we made out a bit, but she had stopped me and we had gone on this same walk in the end anyways.
I slunk sadly back to my apartment, thinking about the disappointing night. My approach had gotten more refined- tattoos on arms, glasses, a little muscular but slim seemed to be the most consistent- and personality I hadn't gotten down yet either. Currently I was rotating through skin colors and hair texture to see if that made a difference. I don't think it did, really. I would throw something in from a few forms ago every now and then - large biceps and gym rat personality had gotten to a third date, but ended up as broken as all the previous ones. Nothing but those same words and that ridiculous sorry look on her face.
Shutting the door once I was inside, I set myself down in my office chair and grabbed my camera, snapping a selfie on the old-fashioned polaroid and began taking notes on the back. I suppose my detailed process had forced the second room in my apartment to look a little bit erratic, sure. But I had to document my progress and notes on what seemed to have an effect and what didn't, I couldn't keep track otherwise. My walls were plastered with polaroids of my different forms, copious information about her and her preferences. I don't like feeling like a creep, but I needed her, and I needed her to need me.
I went to my fridge, grabbed a beer and my newest notebook, and went back to my room to study. I was getting desperate. I kept trying to think of how to get closer, how to figure her out and get her to spill what exactly she was looking for in a romantic partner. I kept looking at my notes covering the walls, trying to figure out what I could do differently.
And suddenly I had a thought. Maybe when I was a man I was just too intimidating... she did keep herself more veiled around them. Perhaps if I could approach her- just as a friend- she would come to share more with me over time, and then I could get it right later. I changed forms again.
I knew she had that open art workshop on Thursday nights, so I spent all of Wednesday and late into the night practicing with my new voice to get every nuance down.
When I arrived at the class, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. I hoped this would finally be the time she could learn to talk more with me, and hopefully in a few more forms I would have it down and I would finally be perfect for her.
I tried to not look over, to be nonchalant for once.
She stood there at the entrance with her easel in hand, quietly sipping on her coffee, and wandered over and took the empty seat next to me.
She greeted me, I tried out my new higher voice and we talked on and off as we worked on our pieces, her asking me questions about myself with vigor. This was working, for once. I'd spend a bit more time getting to know her, then take that information and be the man she always wanted.
But then I saw a look in her eyes I hadn't seen before. She smiled coyly. "Wanna grab a drink later?"
I mean, that did explain a lot, in retrospect. For someone who prided himself on being observant, evidently I missed this one.
At the bar and several cosmos in, I was losing coherency as she told me story after story I had never heard. The tension between us was palpable... The woman I wanted and knew so much about was melting before me and flirting like never before. She finally suggested we head back somewhere more private... I said my apartment was just around the corner in my drunken stupor, and she dragged me out of there by my arm.
This was it. I felt myself trembling as we barely sloshed home to my apartment. I kept stumbling. I don't think my alcohol tolerance had caught up to me in my smaller body now.
"Waitwait", I barely slurred out once inside my door, "Leeetme tidy up my bed, njust a second."
I threw my clothes, trash and every other unkempt item in the room hastily into my closet, and went back out to get her.
But she stood further up the hall, at the doorway to my second bedroom, looking inside and frozen in fear. | 2022-10-15T09:19:19 | 2018-02-14T10:10:24 | 93 | 30 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts! | It was an open and shut case. There was nothing we could do, really. Just patch out the loophole for the future. Genie cases were usually so simple, the rules are so clear. No resurrection, no forced love, no wishing for more wishes. Thousands of years and genies had won every case against them, taken countless wishes back as settlements. But a child, just old enough to know what she wants but not yet old enough to question why she can't have it, had won a genie case. And not just any genie case, the motherlode of cases. "Rule number one: No wishing for more wishes" had never been broken. Until one little girl, with all the innocence in the world, made one little reply.
"You can't wish for more wishes."
She had taken a moment to think.
"I wish I could." | What is the most important rule of being a wish lawyer?
If you guessed "everyone deserves access to a lawyer", well, that's true for regular law. It's a given that everyone deserves legal representation, but for us there's one higher rule, one thing more important than anything else:
**Keep The Bounds Intact**
The ultimate goal of all supernatural entities is the destruction of the fragile barrier between this world and the Others, known as the Bounds. Whether intentionally - as is the case with demons, devils, spirits, etc - or out of indifference as in the case of the Djinn, every use of supernatural powers weakens the Bounds.
When you are retained by a client, whether your client is an ordinary human non-mage or an Other, your first priority is not to that client. It is to the Bounds. Remember that. Mundane codes of ethics are for mundane laws: We, in the here and now, are all that stands between our world and the unthinkable.
It is, in this case, literally unthinkable - we cannot comprehend the nature of the Other. Those so exposed to the truth have returned insane or worse. If that befalls our world, our ever-shrinking oasis of Rationality, it is the end of everything we know and everything we can know.
**If your client is a non-mage human**
First, do everything in your power to lower your client's expectations. Tales of Monkey's-Paw style perversion of wishes are commonplace, so be certain to have plenty of case studies to back up those tales. Ideally, the client would be dissuaded from making *any* use of Outside power, but this is often impossible. The key, then, is to limit the scope of the wish.
Many clients wish for immortality, for example. Obviously, stopping the mechanisms of entropy as we know them would severely weaken the Bounds, so this cannot be allowed. Long life is permissable, great health, even regeneration to an extent. Attempt to talk your client into one of these alternatives.
If your client wishes for something more mundane like money or power, then this allows you to negotiate with the wish-granter - wishes like this are ideal, as they can be granted with no supernatural powers involved.
**If your client is Other**
This is the far more difficult situation. The Other's goals are to weaken the Bounds, and they will attempt to twist wishes into requiring far more supernatural intervention than they would otherwise. A "more money" wish that could be granted with a mere wire transfer might also be granted with a purse that always contains money, and the violation of thermodynamics would weaken the Bounds with every use.
However, your client will never disclose this as their stated goal. Rather, they will request that you do your best to limit the scope of the wish but keep it open for Monkey's Paw style perversion. That latter portion is where they will do most of the supernatural work, and so while you can easily do the former, the latter will be more difficult.
Again, look for opportunities to have the sting of the wish be mundane. A money transfer, even from an Other, is entirely taxable. Springing an audit on a wisher is a time-honored tradition, as is making their entire extended family aware of the newfound windfall.
**In Conclusion**
I know you weren't expecting this. You got into Wish Law because you wanted to make sure your clients *weren't* getting a sting in the tail. I'm sorry to have to tell you that it's more important than that, by far. You're the first line of defense, and your duty is clear:
Keep the Bounds intact. | 2018-07-18T11:44:10 | 2018-07-18T11:00:39 | 642 | 78 |
[WP] You are reincarnated 10,000 years into the future. You come across an ancient artifact on display in the Museum of History, where you work. Little is known about it, not even where it was uncovered. Upon touching it, you realize it was yours. | The memories had been packed tightly in the recesses of his mind, like a cluster of birds huddled in a dark corner. And somehow on that arbitrary winter evening, touching that cold metal struck a powerful chord in his mind - one so loud that it sent all those birds scattering out into the light.
As those memories came flooding back into his consciousness, he read the information card posted beside the artifact and couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.
"Nile Delta, 7th Dynastic period. This object is believed to be a ceremonial wand, buried with the pharaoh and his wife as a means to shepherd their souls through the gates of heaven."
This chuckle slowly grew into a laugh, the laugh into tears, until soon he was buckled over, unable to control himself. Never in a million years would he have imagined that he'd see, displayed on a pedestal for all the world, the sex toy he bought for Cleopatra on her 28th birthday. | I am surrounded by the remnants of what we once were. I spend hours each day cleaning the trinkets of ages long since swallowed up by the great abyss of time. I rearrange the relics that have somehow survived the rages and ravages of thousands of years. I study, scrutinize and catalogue the mysterious material traces left behind by our ancestors. I am in awe of them, these strange, nearly opaque windows into the worlds of yesterday.
I do not need to spend so much time at the museum. There is no need to work anymore, as all our needs and wants are amply provided for. I could do as most of my compatriots do, and sit hooked up to a machine, exploring the dramatic and hyperreal landscapes of virtual reality, feeling jubilant joys and heart-strangling sorrows caused by the "sensation chemicals" with which they pump themselves. They do not want joy, they do not want sorrow: they want a joy experience, a sorrow experience. They want a controlled moment of false vitality, and then to leave that moment behind for another, for some new and exciting sight or sound. But I have trodden down that path of artificiality and manufactured dreams. And though the hollowness I feel facing up to this advanced, hedonistic and lonely world is painful, I would rather feel that pain--a real pain, a true pain--than flee it for a pleasing fabrication.
Some of the artefacts that line our walls are reasonably familiar. They fit into a story that our species has not forgotten, and speak rather clearly to us from the time and place in which they were made. A bronze sword from the Bronze Age, with which some dark eyed Mediterranean man cut down his foe in battle. A piece of a column from the great Roman Colosseum, whose main structure was destroyed many thousands of years ago, but of which we still have pictures and stories. The glowing marquee that reads "Amazon", the once all-powerful corporation that with promises of material abundance for all, and with pitiless ruthlessness in its dealings with its competitors, rose to hold power over all the world, the first legitimate corporate empire.
But there stands between us and many of the artefacts we have on display an intransgressable void of ignorance: though we might know, using advanced dating methods and material analyses, roughly where and when in our vast history they come from, we know little more than that.
One such artefact, tucked in the corner of a room of small, miscellaneous pieces supposed to have come from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, seems to call out to me whenever I pass it. A metalwork sculpture of what looks like what the history books call a "nuclear family" (new humans were not produced in laboratories back then, nor were they raised by state-programmed androids). But yet--the members of this sculpted family, a mother and a father, two girls and a boy, are not properly separated from one another. Although you can tell they are distinct from one another, yet still they are folded together in one common embrace by the larger whole. The boundaries between them both exist, and do not. They are separated by their individualities, and by the different directions in which they each face, and yet such differences do not override the larger sense of unity the piece signals, the underlying bond that ties these separate beings inextricably together.
Though I had touched and fondled and moved and rearranged thousands upon thousands of artefacts in the museum, this one piece, the one which plucked a sad, lovely, nostalgic and musical chord in my heart, I dared not touch. My reverence held it in too high esteem, and I would not profane its deep mystery with my ruddy hands. Until one day the silent voice it called me with proved too powerful to resist. I stood before the sculpture, trembling, and slowly reached out my hand... | 2019-09-23T16:49:06 | 2019-09-23T16:43:58 | 127 | 29 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.” | "This joke is either in poor taste or incredibly poor taste, Grane." Grane quickly shook his head to indicate the negative, misting his superior's face with unevaporated dampening fluid in the process. The inner lid of captain Vestan's right eye twitched, but she did not repeat herself. If he'd only so recently gotten around to peeling off his warp skin - nearly half an hour post-jump - perhaps he was being sincere. Mistaken, of course. But sincere. Grane continued.
"It was very upset at first-"
"Very upset?" Vestan interrupted. "It saw beyond the veil and was 'very upset'? Not utterly lifeless or possessed by a bottomless omnicidal fury? Just-" Grane spoke again, apparently more eager to finish his report than retain his position.
"-at first, yes. Very upset. It had a good cry, the eye-kind they do. But it was better-composed by the time I arrived with the suppression team. Red around the face and a bit of leakage from the upper mouth part but sane and whole enough to argue against being euthanized." Vestan waited, but it seemed that Grane didn't have anything else to offer unprompted. Her expression softened slightly; he wasn't taking this any worse than she would have at his age, and his joints must itch terribly after having been saturated by dampening fluid for so long.
"Where is it now? Medical, I hope." Grane nodded, his scaled mane now dry and bobbing crisply.
"Yes sir. It requested the examination before we could. It's quarantined and being assessed via two-way by chiefs Avo and Anso."
"And have they discovered anything yet as to how, or what, or... any of it?" The color under Grane's chin faded, and he sagged. Vestan's lips curled back instinctively at so visceral a display. Still - her authority demanded that she embody the principle of virtuous restraint. Her people had spent the better part of their history cultivating this most precious thing. Denying their basest truths, as the gurus said. It was good that it was not easy. It had led them to the stars. She clung to this idea, rolled it over and over in her mind, and after many long moments she found the strength to speak again. Quietly, evenly. Calmly.
"Grane. What did they find?" The stench of Grane's fear filled her chambers.
"Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. But the human talked to them while they worked, easier than I'm speaking to you now sir. That's the answer you want, I think. But I don't think you should want it, sir. I think we should kill it, sir." Vestan's teeth knit together so tightly that her words buzzed as they seeped through into the fog of Grane's cowardice.
"Tell me." Grane closed his eyes.
"It said that their people became familiar with the face of the infinite long before they reached the stars. Gave it names, gave it stories. Said that it's a fear as old as fire. Some of them face it nightly, even into maturity, but nearly all of them know it for some part of their childhood. Not a sacred thing, it said. Just a... bad memory." | 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-14T02:57:54 | 381 | 41 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | She existed as a single sentence in an article full of waning gods and goddesses. She was the goddess of lonely souls, Chloe. There wasn't a better choice, I thought, as I went to the kitchen and poured the rest of my beer down the sink. I knew if I drank anymore I'd be too sick to work in the morning. And I knew if I didn't pour it out, in my glistening moment of drunken clarity, that I'd drink it later.
"Cheers, Chloe," I said, watching the amber liquid disappear in the drain. "Maybe this'll help you with your loneliness. God knows it helps me."
I threw the beer can in the recycling bin, but it just bounced off the mountain of cans that was already there. I told myself I'd clean it up in the morning, as I walked like a zombie to my bed. I closed my eyes and the world spun around me.
The alarm blared. I winced. There wasn't anything I wanted more than to stay in bed and sleep, but bills existed. I pressed my palms against my temple. How much longer could I endure?
After looking over emails that had come overnight from people who actually enjoyed working, I took a shower. The hot water helped my headache some. While in the kitchen, heading back to my office (bedroom), I saw the recycling that had been overflowing last night was empty. I shrugged and thought maybe I had woken up in the middle of the night to clean. It wouldn't have been the first time I blacked out on a weeknight.
Back in my office, though, I saw it wasn't me at all who had cleaned the mess.
Sitting on my bed was a girl who looked a lot like myself. She had dark bags under her eyes, and her hair was messy. Her clothes were wrinkly. She scratched at her head and yawned. I already knew who she was.
"Good morning, Chloe. If you're gonna be staying here, you'd better pay rent." I sat down at my chair and pecked away at some code.
"Hey," she said. Her voice was deep and sultry, but it didn't incite passion in me. There was something about it that was peculiar; I couldn't figure out what.
The more she talked, the closer I got to deciphering her tone. "Looks like you're the first to worship me in a millennia," she said. "Thank you, I guess."
I figured her voice out. Yes, she was just like me. Deathly tired of living, beaten down by the daily drudgery of life.
"What now?" I asked. I took my eyes away from my laptop and looked at her. It was like looking into a mirror. She desperately needed a hug, and some rest.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's been a long time since I was summoned. To be honest, I wish you hadn't."
"Sorry," I said, understanding completely. "If I had known, I wouldn't have. I know what it's like to do things you don't want to." I pointed to my laptop. Its screen's harsh light hurt my eyes. Forty more years of this, I told myself. Then, maybe, if I had made enough money, and the market didn't crash, I could rest. That was the dream that was supposed to keep me going, but it wasn't doing a good job. Who the fuck can live for something that's two lifetimes away?
"It's okay," she said. "It's not your fault. You didn't know any better. You're just a kid."
"Just a kid?" I asked, offended. "Could 'just a kid' afford a nice apartment like this? Could 'just a kid' hold down a job that paid six figures? Could 'just a kid' come up with an algorithm that saved his company millions of dollars? I'm an adult. Besides, you don't look much older than me yourself."
The edge of her lips curled into the tease of a smile. "I'm a goddess, you know," she said, slowly getting up from the bed. "I'm much older than I look."
Even the way she moved seemed tired. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," she said. She moved towards me. "Life is meant to be a gift."
I sighed. "It's just work," I said. "Everybody has to do it. Humanity wouldn't be able to go on otherwise."
"Is that what you think?" she said, as she grabbed my hand and brought me to my feet.
Staring at her face, my face, I wanted to cry. How did this happen? When had it all gone wrong?
Then, as she wrapped her arms around me and brought me into an embrace, my heart threatened to burst. She was warm, so fucking warm. I had never felt somebody so kind before. Somebody so loving. I didn't even know it was possible.
I couldn't fight anymore. Like a child seeing his pet goldfish die, I cried. I cried, because she was right. I cried, because the thing I was hugging smelled just like beer. I cried, thinking about how this would last for another forty years. I cried, because I struggled to remember the times I had been happy. I cried, because if I didn't, I might have done something worse, something irreversible.
"See?" she said, holding me tighter. "Just a kid still."
And then, she disappeared, and all that was waiting for me was an incoming call on my screen to talk about something nobody cared about. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 1: Clara Olsen v.s. A'to)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"A'ti! A'ti! A'ti! I summon thee!"**
Asking for help was hard. Throughout my long career, I'd always been the hero, the savior, the one who took the fall. I was no stranger to being stuck in unwanted situations, but normally, I escaped them under my own power, maybe with the hand of a friend or two.
"A'tj! A'tj! A'tj! I summon thee!"
Until the trouble got deeper than I could handle, and my friends got hurt trying to bail me out.
"A'tk! A'tk! A'tk! I summon thee!"
So this time, I wasn't asking my friends for help. But I was still trapped in a government facility with no legal way out, and I wasn't escaping without an extra hand.
"A'tl! A'tl! A'tl! I summon thee!"
Fortunately, I knew a thing or two about getting a hand in tough times.
"A'tm! A'tm! A'tm! I summon thee!"
There were so many gods, goddesses, deities, cosmic beings, devils, angels, demigods, quasigods, hemisemiwemigods, and more out there that you could hardly say a sentence without invoking a divine name. Normally, this wasn't much of a problem, since you needed deliberate repetition in a ritual circle to invoke a deity.
"A'tn! A'tn! A'tn! I summon thee!"
But if someone with nothing better to do stood in a ritual circle for six hours and started chanting *every possible combination of letters* in the hope of striking a divine name... well, eventually, you'd make contact with something.
"A'to! A'to! A'to! I summon thee!"
And make contact I did. On the one thousand, two hundred and eleventh name I tried, I made contact with... whoever the deity A'to was, I guess.
I felt a psychic *weight* on my mind as the entity coalesced beside me in the ritual circle. Since I had absolutely no idea what I was summoning, I'd gone with the bare basics—a simple circle drawn with a Sharpie that I'd requested "for paperwork" from the government spooks keeping me half-prisoner, half-employee. The barebones simplicity of the ritual circle meant that whatever I was making contact with would barely have any presence in this plane—not enough to boil my eyeballs out of my head or anything—but I would at least be able to talk. I could be facing anything from a ravening monster outside space and time to a war-god of a long-forgotten empire. I straightened up, readying myself to converse with divinity—
"*Omigosh* do you have *any* idea how long I was waiting for someone to remember my name? Hi hi hi I'm A'to and I'm so happy to meet you and *please don't send me back into the void!*" A little girl popped into existence, talking so breathlessly she looked like she could faint.
...Great.
I knelt down to the girl's height and sighed. The smart thing to do would be to banish this goddess—a desperate goddess starved for power wasn't going to help me break out—and continue linearly marching down namespace until I found someone more useful. But I could *feel* the anxiety radiating off of her—I wasn't going to just turn her away.
Besides, I was hardly the only person who was in a dire enough situation that they would start chanting random divine names in the hopes of escaping. Chances were, all the really helpful entities were already bound in other pacts. Maybe this was the best shot I was going to get.
"Don't worry, A'to, I'm not sending you anywhere," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shivered as I said her name, like I'd placed a drop of water to her lips in the desert. "Keep it down, though, okay? I'm... not exactly friendly with my employers at the moment. They probably wouldn't like it if they saw me summoning deities in the basement."
"Of course! I'll be quiet now. Quiet like a mouse." The girl's voice dropped to a whisper, and I couldn't help but smile.
She reminded me of my daughter.
"So... your employers?" A'to tilted her head. "Is that why you summoned me? Are you being held captive?"
I hesitated. "...Sort of. I... my family was accused of a crime that we didn't commit. The government offered me a deal. Working for them in exchange for me and the people I love—" My voice caught, and I took a breath. "In exchange for them being free of persecution. But... the government is... well. They're many things. But they're not *good*."
"I could punch them for you!" A'to made a "pow!" noise as she swung her little fist. "Knock all the bad guys out!"
God, even her antics reminded me of... the last girl who tried that. "They have guns," I whispered. "Big guns. They hurt—they'll hurt you if you try."
A'to smiled sadly. "I'm a goddess. A weak one, yeah, but still. I've been around for longer than you have. I'm no stranger to pain."
I didn't have to look into those eyes, young in age and old in years, to know she was telling the truth. It radiated off her like heat from a fire.
"Still." I shook my head. "I'm not asking you... I'm not asking *anyone* to get hurt on my behalf. I *have* allies. Hundreds of friends, millions of citizens I could reach in an instant. The Feds let me have internet access—I could put out an email and have an army of civilians knocking at the Feds' door. I could be free." I closed my eyes. "And it would bring down the wrath of the government on my friends and family and those I'd sworn to protect."
"Back when I was *real* strong, I could bust you out of here easy." A'to flicked her hair out of her face, the light coming back into her eyes. "Call down lightning from the skies and *blam*! Bad guys go boom."
I paused. "Back when you were real strong?"
"Yeah. Tens of thousands of people prayed to the Sky-Child." A'to put a faux-modest hand on her heart. "I used to be kinda a big deal."
"So was I," I muttered.
A'to sighed. "I just... I just want to be remembered."
And that was when it hit me.
"Tens of thousands," I muttered. "And... this prayer. What... what exactly did it entail?"
"Hm? A dance and a song, that's all."
A dance and a song.
Slowly, a smile crept across my face.
I took out my phone and opened it up to the apps the Feds let me use. Harmless ones that I'd claimed I needed for entertainment. YouTube, TikTok, Reddit.
A dance and a song.
"And if, say, tens of thousands of people were to perform that dance? A hundred thousand? A million?"
A'to paused, frowning. "Well. I'd be back in business."
I smiled and started typing.
"You want to be remembered? You want to be *seen*? Modern society has a trick or two for that."
*VIRAL DANCE CHALLENGE—99% CAN'T COMPLETE!*
"Tell me. How exactly does that dance go, again?"
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-02-15T11:10:28 | 2022-02-15T10:40:59 | 505 | 180 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Willem, the sun is setting earlier now. Walk the fences, and take the scraps to the pig sty and if....."
"Yes, ma. I know. If I am set upon by goblins, drop the scrap bucket and run back home. Ma, I'm fourteen in a moon's turn. I could fight a goblin."
"Willem! We done harm them none and they don't bother us none. Not law, not custom, just is and always is in this village."
Willem did as he was told. Walked the fences and checked the gates. Everything was in order. The herds of sheep were content in their pens. He yawned and hope to get a cup of ale with Da before bed.
There was a rustling from the tree line. Willem reflexively reached for his knife fearing a wolf, but it was merely three goblins. He hadn't seen them in a while and assumed they were prepping for winter.
"GRAHH," shouted the tallest goblin who was still shorter than Willem. He brandished a stick with a rock on the end. He waved it over his head, but the rock fell off the stick.
Willem relaxed and said in a plain tone, "Please, don't, goblin. Take my food and leave my village in peace."
He emptied the food scraps on the ground. He wouldn't concede the bucket. The trio of goblins looked hungrily at the food on the ground. Willem backed away slowly expecting them to feed.
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" came a booming sound from the village.
Willem froze. He had heard the war horn blown before. The sound could mean only one thing. Raiders come down the river. He looked at the trio of goblins.
"Go back to the woods. Sea raiders have come upriver. Protect yourself."
The tall goblin smiled, "Not here. Not OUR village."
The goblins retreated to the woods with unnatural speed. Willem left the bucket, despite its value, and ran home. He could see columns of smoke coming from the village. It was strangely beautiful at sunset.
The raiders wore their traditional salt stained leathers. They killed anyone who approached them. Some of the villagers fought back with their scythes and pitchforks. Some even managed to take down a raider. Willem snuck around corners until he reached his house.
He banged on the door and screamed, "Ma! Da! Let me in!"
Willem waited in terror for a few moments and his father let him inside. His younger sister, Brione, was crying in her mother's arms. His father barred the door and hugged his son.
His father fought back tears, "Willem, you are old enough."
He placed a sharp dirk in his hand.
"We have to protect your mother and sister. When they come through the door, take out as many as you can."
Willem's hand shook. His father squeezed the dirk to steady him as he fought back tears.
Then the pounding came at the door. Not a greeting knock, but a pounding. An axe blade pierced the door. The women screamed and the men prepared to fight. The axe struck the door but was not withdrawn.
Screams came from outside. Then silence. Then blood began to flow under the door. The women resumed crying. Willem looked to his father who shrugged his shoulders. The family huddled together . They tried to stay awake, but surrendered to sleep.
The next morning, they woke up to a quiet and chilly morning. They wrapped blankets over their shoulders and ventured outside. There were hundreds of them. Goblins moving about the village. Tending cookfires. Looting the dead raiders. Digging graves for the dead villagers.
The goblin women distributed warm food. The young goblins were repairing homes and putting out fires. The villagers looked at the scene in shock.
A four fingered hand was placed on Willem's shoulder. He spun around quickly. He was face to face with the taller goblin from last night.
"Not in OUR village," said the goblin.
Willem placed a hand on the goblin's shoulder and repeated, "Not in OUR village." | In our small town of Aile, we fear most things. The spare dragon could burn our wooden houses down with ease, the occasional grave of undead could terrorize the town, or a gallery of gargoyles could swoop down and rip everything to shreds- human, house, horse, it mattered not. We have no formal military, the closest thing we have to a town guard are the blacksmith and farmer’s sons, who will occasionally go out with their fathers’ tools and try to fight off any invaders, as well as myself, who owns a sword, but is not very good at using it. Most of the time, if we get attacked, we just try to wait it out. It happens more often than we’d like, especially by the undead.
That being said, despite all that we fear, one would not find the goblins among their ranks. The goblins are little guys, no bigger than, say, a child. They have earth colored skin, and their heads are far too big for their body- the only thing keeping them from falling very well might be the fact that their ears are so big that they catch the wind whenever they run and keep them up. They’re cute, they’re endearing, and fun to watch, but they’re certainly not fearsome. They like to act like they’re terrible and terrifying, raiding our town of all of its assets, but really we just give them things, like silver plates we don’t need or chocolate bars and the like. Though we have to act like we’re terrified, cause if we don’t then they’ll realize that we’re giving them this stuff, and they won’t take it and it makes them sad. So, whenever we hear their horns blow as they stampede down our streets, we pretend to be running off to our homes, just for them to catch us and demand that we give them all of our wealth. They don’t even carry weapons, and it’s very hard to be afraid of someone who can’t run more than 12 feet without tripping over their own feet.
They’re like neighbors, very adorable neighbors, or like toddlers that you have to take care of. We all love the goblins, as Aile without goblins is like a cake without sugar.
However, like I said, we still fear every other beast that roams the land. It was a particularly warm summer day when we all heard a strange rattling. Like bones, but the rattling was much deeper than any skeleton made. From the sky dropped the skeletal remains of a dragon, only it wasn’t dead- it was *still moving*, better yet, *it was talking.*
“Attention, people of this meager town…” the beast spoke with a voice that was as haunting as it was terrifying.
“I am Cho-Gnaw the Dracolich. This town was built over an ancient war zone, and now, I shall reanimate the corpses of the long lost warriors to become soldiers in *my* army. We will take over the world and tear it apart, starting with your town.” It rattled. It lifted a claw and suddenly, from all around us, skeletons began to claw their way out of the ground.
“Hear our cacophony of bones, and know fear.” They all said at once. Everyone rushed into their houses, but Cho-Gnaw and his army and had already began tearing into them. The farmer and blacksmith’s sons were too scared to fight, and I had been stopped dead in my tracks.
But we all heard it, the familiar horn sound. A goblin raid was coming. I turned and saw them stampeding down the street, and I yelled and waved my hands.
“NO! TURN BACK! IT IS TOO DANGEROUS FOR YOU HERE!” I desperately tried to yell, but they could not hear me. We all knew if the goblins came it would be a massacre. They’d get torn apart without any remorse or difficulty. The horn blew again in response, only it wasn’t the same sound, it was much deeper and grander. If the goblins’ horn incited endearment, this horn could spark true fear. It was then that we all saw a swarm of winged creatures flying up from the horizon. Further behind the goblins were hordes more, but way bigger and more humanlike, and there were massive orcs among their ranks.
The flying ones, Hobgoblins, flew through the streets and crushed the skulls of the skeletons quickly. The orcs, each step passing 7 feet, charged to the Dracolich and started to club at him. More hobgoblins followed suit, and before we knew it, the skeleton of a dragon lay over our town, dead this time.
When the dust settled, we all exited our houses in fear. The goblins, and just the goblins, shouted discordantly. One stood up on the well in the center of town and yelled.
“People of Aile! We saw the Dracolich over the horizon and gathered our army! No one challenges the authority we have over this town!” When the goblin finished speaking, he nearly fell in the well, but a hobgoblin caught him and placed him down on the ground. I stepped out and a hobgoblin walked up to me. He had red skin, long black hair, and lots of armor.
“You live in this town, correct?” It asked in a gruff voice.
“Y…yes. In this house.” I responded nervously.
“The goblins said that they dominate this town with their raids. That’s not true is it?”
“N…not really. They do their raids, yes, but it’s mostly just us giving them stuff. They like to think they’re fierce, so we let them. They’re a bit like children, so it’s hard not to like them.”
“Yes that sounds about right. Goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs are all alike. Hobgoblins such as myself are intelligent and strong, a goblinoid equivalent to you humans. Goblins are almost like our children, only they don’t grow into hobgoblins. However, they are still our kin and we feel obligated to protect them- like you said, they’re like children.” He explained. He looked at the goblins and the town and then back to me.
“We thank your town for “watching over them”. We realize that they can be, well, a nuisance, and most civilizations just kill them. So, thank you for dealing with their pestering.” The hobgoblin continued. “Tell me, which one among you is your leader? I am the leader of the bone-snatcher hobgoblin tribe, and I’d like to speak to them.” I pointed him off to the mayor. He thanked me and then walked over to the mayor. The two of them headed off in private.
Two hours later, the hobgoblin stood in the middle of town with the mayor to make an announcement.
“People of Aile! You have shown our kin, the goblins, compassion and kindness over the years. As such, we thank you and would be honored if you would have us join your town. We will stick to the outskirts primarily, but we can guarantee that we will protect your town with our lives.”
And that is basically the story of why my town, Aile, is guarded by hobgoblins and orcs. | 2022-05-26T16:33:26 | 2022-05-26T14:34:44 | 38 | 18 |
[WP] Here’s the thing about prophecies. They put the weight of the world on the shoulders of one person. What happens when that person says ‘No’? | “Very well.” Zarathos turned and started back down the dusty country road.
Kathril’s jaw dropped. “Wait!” she cried, before she could stop herself. The old wizard paused, but he didn’t turn around again. “That’s it? I’m supposed to be the prophesied fall of the Lords of Blood, and you’re letting me go that easily? What’s your scheme, wizard?”
Zarathos turned, ever so slowly, his face mild, his eyes wide and owlish. “Scheme? I have no scheme, child.”
“Stop calling me that,” Kathril muttered half heartedly.
“I simply know prophecy. It comes true, you see. That is the entire point. What it doesn’t tell us is how.”
“How?”
“Indeed. Quite important, the how, wouldn’t you say? You *will* bring down the Lords of Blood, even if you stay here at your home and futilely attempt to live a normal life. If you won’t come to them, *they* will come to *you*. Given their propensities, I’d say it would probably be due to their armies falling upon this area, leaving tragedy and flame in their wake. Their ruthlessness and cruelty is legendary for a reason, after all. You seem like the type to rebel against the tyranny that would ensue, especially if you were further driven by vengeance of a personal nature…?”
Zarathos raised an eyebrow as the sound of laughter and chatter from the cottage behind her - her father and brothers - drifted on the breeze. Kathril paled.
“A resourceful and charismatic young woman like yourself would have no issue gathering allies,” the wizard continued, “and I have no doubt you would not stop until every Lord lay dead at your feet. But at what cost, in life and limb and suffering? Untrained and underequipped rebels can do much damage, but only by taking much in return. I’m sure you recall what Garath the Pure had to endure during his life. Some say that his last dreams were of all those he failed to save and the lives cut short so needlessly.”
Kathril tried to say something, but her throat closed up.
“On the other hand… I imagine it would be quite different if you had a wise mentor to guide and advise you, to give you the skill and knowledge you’d need to make your victory more…decisive. Having the vast resources of the kingdom behind you would be of immeasurable aid as well. You could even change your name, so that your connection to this place would be unknown.” Zarathos smiled, though some tinge about it made Kathril shudder. “I have no concerns about the Lords of Blood, young lady. You will be responsible for their destruction, that much is certain. How you go about it…that is entirely up to you.”
There was a profound silence in Kathril’s ears, through which even the summer breeze and chirping of birds could not break. Zarathos simply stood there, his posture and expression completely unchanged, as though he were watching her in nothing more than mild curiosity.
“Fine,” she growled through her teeth. “*Fine*. Come on in; it’ll be a few hours before I’m ready to go.”
Zarathos nodded and smiled once more, this time his expression undeniably tinged with a smugness that would only make Kathril even more annoyed through the coming years. “A wise decision, child. The first of many, I’m sure.”
Hoping that the prophecies also said something about the tragic demise of her mentor, Kathril watched as the wizard shuffled by her, and entered her home, her sanctuary…which would never be the same again. | Princess Dahlia poked her head out of the carriage. The farm house was just like the seer had said. Small. Humble. The details were a little off, but even he recognized that his sight was not as accurate as it once was. But this was certainly the place.
Her manservant opened the door as the page announced their presence. An older couple came out, eyes open wide. They scrambled to figure out what to do. They ended up giving her clumsy, unpracticed bows. Technically, the way they bowed was an insult. But that was fine. If Dahlia was the kind to actually take offence at such things, she would not have been sent. Besides, they had no idea what they were doing.
"Rise, both of you." She said. They did so, still looking at her in awe. "I come seeking a young man. One with a peculiar birthmark on his right hand."
It was not actually a birthmark, but it was good enough. The couple looked at each other.
"That'd be Tanner, uh, your grace. He's out back with the chickens. We can go fetch him, of you'd like." Said the worn man.
"Please do." The fact that the elders did not even hesitate to pick out the lad was hopeful. The Mark of the Gods was not something easily mistaken, even by those who did not know what it was.
The old couple ran with more alacrity than others their age would be capable of. She was left standing there for several minutes. At least it was not a particularly hot day.
The couple came back with a young man. His hair was the color of fresh clay, and his skin was as worn as leather. And there, right where it should be, was the Mark of the Gods. She sucked in a breath when she saw it. She knew the seer would not leave her astray.
The youth, probably around the same age as her own 18 years, bowed just as awkwardly as the couple, who she presumed was his grandparents.
"Rise." She said, barely containing her joy. "Your name is Tanner, yes?"
"Yes, your grace." The man said. He had a good voice. Strong and clear. The kind that people could rally around. Wonderful.
"I have traveled long days to meet with you."
"With...me?"
"Yes. You see, Tanner, the world is in grave danger. Forces from beyond the Great Veil are coming through to our side, and a they threaten all life. You, however, can drive them back. Defeat them and save the world. The Mark on your hand shows that the gods themselves have selected you to be their champion." She extended her hand towards him. "Please, come with me to the capitol, where you shall be taught in the ways of the hero."
"Um...begging your pardon, your grace, but I'd rather not."
She blinked. Had he just....refused? "Come again?"
"Well, it's just that I'd rather not be some big shot hero. I like living here on the farm. And besides, I'm not much of a fighter. The idea of hurting something makes my insides twist up, see? So, uh, I don't think I'm going to be a very good hero."
"But...the mark. You must." He just shrugged. She took a deep breath. Maybe a different tactic. "Being the hero is a great honor, you know. And you will be justly rewarded. Gold, land. Even women. If you succeed, you can even ask for any maiden's hand in marriage." She pauses before saying the next words. "Even mine is not beyond the great hero."
She was sure that would do. She was considered one of the three greatest beauties in the kingdom. Surely money and her hand would tempt even...
"But I like it here. I don't really need much else. Besides, begging your pardon, but I already have a lady I like. Now, she's not as pretty as you, I admit, but I like her all the same."
Her mouth opened and closed. What was she supposed to do now? She needed to come back with the hero. Otherwise everything would go wrong. She wracked her mind.
"If you're the hero you can still ask this lady to be your wife. And you'll have so much more to offer if you do. Besides, if you don't fight, then the Veil creatures will eventually make their way here, to this farm."
He shrugged. "Guess I'll try doing something then. Maybe. But I'd rather be here to do it. Besides, it sounds like the hero is someone who gets a lot of attention, right? I'm not one for bragging, and I don't like big crowds. I think I'll stay here and help the farm. If those monsters or whatever they are fine, I'll consider fighting them off. No need to go looking for a fight though, right?"
"You...you really won't come? Even if it's a royal order?"
"Is it?" He seemed worried. She wished she could simply force him to come. But the seer had warned her that forcing this man to come with her would bring disaster. She had to make him want to come.
"No. No, I suppose it is not." He breathed out a sigh of relief.
"That's good. Sorry, your grace. But you're going to have to find another hero. Maybe someone else has this fancy mark you can look for?"
There was not. All the prophecies were quite clear about that. Her manservant whispered in her ear. They would need to leave if they were going to get back to a city before nightfall. The farm was simply too far away to make the trip in a timely manner.
"Very well. I will accept your will. For now. But know that this is not finished. I will not force you to come with me, you have my word on that. But I will not stop trying to convince you either." The world depended on it.
"That's fine, your grace. Um, may I leave now? I still have a lot of things to do."
She nodded and waved her dismissal. She watched him go and then climbed into her carriage. She spent the long trip back to the closest city in thought. She would not give up. Somehow she would convince the hero to come with her, no matter what it took. | 2022-07-16T16:51:57 | 2022-07-16T16:02:15 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | “Who is set for execution today?” Mathew polished his blade as Judge Marin set up the death room.
“Edelphis,” Marin responded, “Finally getting rid of that fucker.”
“‘Bout time. I know the King really hated him.” Mathew switched to the next weapon, cleaning it thoroughly.
“Well, he did kidnap the princess. Twice.” Marin finished preparing the King’s throne and took a long glance around the room, “This will do fine. I’ll send the guards to get his last meal going.”
Mathew nodded and headed to his chambers for his own lunch. Execution could take hours, and it was important he ensured he was properly fed and hydrated in advance. He sat and ate his meal, awaiting the guards’ call, when a knock on the door was heard.
Mathew groaned and approached the door, opening it to reveal the guards, early.
“Gentlemen, is it time already?”
“Mathew, no, it’s-. We can’t-. Marin said we need to-.”
“What is it? Spit it out.” Mathew rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame. The guards were always so out of it, like they’d had too much ale at lunch or something.
“Mathew, he’s requested to eat … you.” Mathew’s gaze shifted behind the guards to meet the eyes of Marin, who painfully stared back at him.
“What?” Mathew responded, stifling a laugh. What on earth was this prisoner trying? Clearly he knew there were limitations to his request.
“Mathew, the King really doesn’t want to let this one go. We are going to have to abide by the orders.” Marin sighed, “Please prepare your goodbyes.” He turned and walked away from Mathew, his dear friend of twenty years.
But Mathew wasn’t having it. This has gone far enough. These prisoners- they had to learn when enough was enough. So Mathew prepared his goodbyes, alright. He gathered up his essentials and he climbed through his window. And then he was gone - off as fast as his feet would carry him.
And when Marin and the guards returned to collect the prisoner’s last meal, they found empty chambers.
“Who’s going to tell the king?” One of the guards asked Marin, and Marin stared in disbelief.
“The King will never let this prisoner go. Someone’s going to be a meal today and it’s NOT me.”
But deep down, they all knew that this might be the day a prisoner was freed from the dungeon. | She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.” | 2022-07-17T19:48:17 | 2022-07-17T18:09:54 | 63 | 24 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything. | "What are those for?" I breathed weakly.
The question was rhetorical, of course. We'd seen those accursed gauntlets everywhere. Criminals and commoners alike were forced to wear them, so long as they were dangerous. The wrist cuffs were magnetized and anything that was special about a person was drained from them in just a second. The exceptional that could withstand the gauntlets, however, feared them especially. The bulky plates on the top held an explosive. If the emitters detected a power spike beyond what they could contain, the entire contraption would detonate.
The luckiest of bastards would die from the blast.
"Master Timothy Question..." The principal's youthful voice cut across the room as his neat suit and dark eyes. His somber tone was intended to match the severity of the conversation, of course, but the hint of amusement he held was impossible to mask. "There have been multiple observed occasions where you have displayed...potential. Concerning potential."
Lies, I wanted to yell. I was practically powerless. The only ability I had was to give food special properties. All I'd ever mustered was to give my friends peace at lunch during the boring school days. I was hardly a danger.
"You know, of course, there are protocols for individuals that pose such dangers." He continued while occasionally glancing into the corner of the room, as if confirming some dialogue with Shaggy Vaser, the prat that saw fit to torment me every day with his telekinesis.
I nodded nervously, though. What else could I do? There wasn't a damn thing I could do to argue the situation. The alternative to the gauntlets was far worse. So I sat in my uncomfortable wooden chair and stared at the floor.
"What dangers?" A voice came through the door. All heads turned to see my father barge through the door with his eyes wide. Barely a second and he was in the principal's face and prepared for war. "What the hell is it you think my boy can do!?"
Of course the principal didn't even flinch. Hell, he just smiled as he reached and grabbed one of the gauntlets. "I'm certain you're fully aware, what with having raised him all his life."
The ensuing argument wore on my nerves as though I was the very battlefield. I could only clench my fits and hear the argument intensify. The more they fought, the more I felt myself unwind inside. The more I unwound, the more they fought.
"MISTER QUESTION, THE ABILITY TO MANIPULATE EMOTIONS IS ABSOLITELY WITHIN REASON TO NEED TO REGULATE!" The principal bellowed as he waived one of the gauntlets in the air. "DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THE ATROCITIES HE COULD COMMIT WITH ONLY A THOUGHT!?"
"I UNDERSTAND THAT PUTTING THAT GAUNTLET ON HIM WILL MAKE MONSTERS OUT OF EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!" My father's passioned retort was followed by the slam of his fist. The scuffle was short-lived as the principal fell to the ground with a thud.
Seconds later, Shaggy hit the ground, as well.
"Tim." After a moment of silence, my father stood before me with worry in his eyes, staining them with lines of red. "Tim, we need to go. We-we need to go. They'll cuff us both for this. I'm sorry...son..."
I shook as I leaned forward and rested my forehead against him, quietly sobbing. With a quick nod, I wrapped my arms around him and tried to compose myself.
"One thing first..." I mumbled. I looked up and met his unspoken question. "A gauntlet for each of them. They'll need to free the two of them first before coming after us..." | Jackass... I think as my powers while they could be used to cause a lot of annoyance because it is power to play any musical instrument to perfect decree. I am a girl and this is how he wants my attention? Wow, nice... I love music... I feel my heart drop as the gloves are worn on. I immediately start thinking about one upping Uval.
It was my powers that allowed me to play the instruments perfectly but, it also has taught me quite a lot too... Yeah, pretty lame ability but, I helped a lot of people here to focus and be comfortable while in school. I am going to accept this for now, but, for now I am internally cracked. We go outside and before Uval was able to get out a word.
Teren told him to shut it, sighed at my gloves, motions to me to come go with him and we go outside. Uval is not at all comfortable around Teren who has been proven to be completely normal but, Teren is very sports loving individual so, his physical condition is impressive for so young and he knows Uval is just a blowhard without skills.
The ruse is good. When we are far enough from others 'Sari, I will figure out how to get these off' Teren says as we walk to a place where I can have a seat and process this. There isn't really need for that but, Teren's presence is always welcome, he mostly just listens to the music I play as it helps focusing and relaxing.
Uval himself does have powers but, it is difficult to say what they exactly are, probably something less impressive than my own, which caused him to be such a jackass towards me. 'No need, I will just study and practice hard to just play the instruments on my own' I say 'Looking to one up him... Sounds like a plan, let me keep them in check then' Teren says.
'Be a bully to them in a rink? I would prefer that you didn't. You have no idea how horrible the heart sink is' I say pouting a bit 'Hey, I don't have powers, everybody just knows I practice a lot and because of that, I am good at sports and have admirable numbers in physical education' Teren says smiling warmly.
'They don't look that bad to be honest and some hand protection in case his stupid side comes rear it's ugly mug again' Teren says being practical as always and it does make sense a lot 'You also can go through tests which will clear you of those' Teren adds 'Oh yeah, I just never wanted to go through them...' I say and look at my hands.
It was mostly a waste of time considering how well I know my power. There just has to be that one person... Uval is not the only one unfortunately Julia is another and Teren only gets involved if Julia does something that absolutely permits him to get involved and stop her. Helps with the physical bullying but, not with the mental.
I admit, I do have feelings towards Teren, he puts effort and he did inspire me to one up Uval as he has several times... And once apprehended Uval when he decided to provoke Teren with going physical and swinging a fist at him who then apprehended him, it certainly left an impression that, he just wants continue practicing and is in school to learn.
Teren is known for this type of behavior by both classmates and teachers. They know the boy is thick skinned and only gets physical in self defense, even principal knows this as he himself saw Uval swing at him and Teren replying. 'Have to consider adding more sports to my repertoire...' Teren says thinking about it.
'Thank you Teren. For getting my mind off and helping' I say warmly but, I accidentally do show my feelings a bit. Thankfully he was in deep thought 'Hmm? You are welcome' Teren says and after few months I got the results of tests during those months and I proved that I can play any musical instrument without my power.
This made Uval quite nervous and looked at Teren who is our classmate who just shrugged to him. Uval went straight to principal's office and I headed there with Teren but, he waited outside and I went inside of the office. Uval was struggling to find words to what he just witnessed and I hand out my power tests results.
Principal goes through them, telling Uval to wait, man the look on Uval's face as Jake, our principal verifies the info and looks at Uval with increasing discontent. Oh, wow, this moment is... So, sweet. 'I deeply apologize Sari' Jake says with honesty and regret. He takes out a key from safe. He was about to put in right hand lock when Uval snatches it and runs.
'Uval give it back!' Jake shouts and took a few steps to go after Uval but, outside Teren has Uval pinned against a wall 'Going this far, to steal from a principal... Pathetic as heck Uval' Teren says very coldly. Teren hands the key back to Jake 'Hold him for a bit longer please but, not too hard Teren' Jake says 'Roger' Teren says in prepared manner and Jake finally takes off the power inhibitor gloves from my hands with the key.
I wish I could say, shout something or jump from joy, but, I have to contain myself. 'Guess, who is going to wear them as a punishment for false indictment' Jake says, Uval is now horrified. 'Sounds like a fitting punishment to me sir' Teren says in prepared manner containing his joy too.
Teren keeps Uval pinned until gloves are put on 'This is not fair' Uval says defeated 'Maybe don't be rear end to others for once. Thank you Teren, you may let him go and Sari... I apologize for following through with the false evidence. I had my doubts but, there weren't evidence to back them up' Jake says as Uval walks away.
'Don't worry principal Jake Merecoast, it was growing experience' I say and unfortunately do show my joy of this moment. Jake looks around then approaches us both a bit closely lowers his speaking volume 'You both earned a reason for joy but, do it outside of school area, I will tell the other teachers of what has happened' Jake says smiling in mischievous manner.
Well, that confirms both of our suspicions of Jake already being knowledgeable what kind of jackass Uval and maybe Julia are. Me and Teren go have ourselves coffee and cinnamon bun. | 2022-12-25T07:48:11 | 2022-12-25T03:24:03 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | A host of alien species gathered around the poker table, cheering on the human champion.
"You know Gron" the announcer took a momentary pause "I don't know how these humans do it! Just look at him, that mischievous grin. Ninth win in a row."
His co-announcer moved his body as if it was short of breath, no audible sound coming out. That's how all Carcharodon's laughed, below the audible hearing range.
Mike continued to grin as he leaned over the table and pulled in his winnings, "ya'll boys 'gotta play better."
There were five races present on the table, not including the dealer. No one knew what the dealer was, truth be told. It had eight arms, half that amount in legs, and three heads.
To Mike's right was a race called Mars. This race put all their efforts into war. Their only other love besides war is gambling and whoring. Mike had to watch out for this big fella, he couldn't take his money too quickly. A Mars being killing everyone on the table after losing money wasn't unheard of.
Second from his right was Illiad, the traveling race. They don't care much about anything except traveling around the cosmos and gathering stories. They do what they must to fund their expeditions. Poker games made great stories. Or maybe they liked gambling. Who knows.
Then we have Mercury. Not only do they own this fine gambling establishment, but they are the traders of the galaxy. If something was being traded they were in on it. Their ships. Their bribes. Their eloquent tongues - they played a part somehow.
Zeus. Now these fine specimens were the cream of the crop. No one knew were they came from, or even why they stayed. Zeus technology was light years ahead of any other race - they had no equal. If they needed money a simple share of knowledge from them was all that they needed to give them enough money to buy a large moon.
And the fifth, and in my opinion, the best race, the humans. Me. What are we known for? Nothing in particular. We do some warring, as much trading as we can, a lot of storytelling and pull off some technological breakthrough every now and then. However, what we excel at is cheating. These other races don't notice. That's their problem; they're too honest. And if they're not too honest they are too dumb. Human beings are the perfect combination of dishonesty and brains. Not smart enough to see a moral dilemma in cheating and smart enough to be able to pull it off. In fact, cheating had allowed the human race to catch up with all the other races in just a few short life spans.
"Alright Crazy Eight, deal the tenth hand, I have some money I need to win." | "Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!! | 2014-07-16T11:38:23 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | The old man sat chasing his own thoughts. His memory wasn't what it once was and he kept losing his train of thought. He'd try to remember something, reason through it and just before he could latch on to it it would be gone like it was never there.
Zargrarf approached smiling, "My old nemesis, it pains me to see you in such a state! You humans live such short fleeting lives but I had to see you again. You were one of my greatest adversaries but now you are just a pale shadow of your former self."
The old man stirred, "Eh....Is that you Zargrarf?"
"Yes it is, you remember me?"
The old man motioned for Zargrarf to come closer. Zargrarf approached and leaned in to better hear him. "Yes?"
The old man smiled and bit down hard on a false tooth to release a neurotoxin specifically designed to kill only one being, Zargrarf. The old man blew in Zargrarf's direction and exlaimed "I've been saving that for 80 years you son of a bitch! I finally got you! Haha!"
The old man couldn't even remember his own name anymore, but he held onto something unique only to humans in all the galaxy, he held on to a grudge. | The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T12:28:18 | 2014-07-16T11:24:28 | 35 | 10 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | You start to feel uneasy is everything you know about this woman a lie? You think about that time you went on vacation how she helped you overcome your fear of heights when you both jumped out of that airplane hand in hand. Is this why you haven't met any of her family. You've been dating for over 3 years now. How? You ask her. How is this possiable? She looks at you her big blue eyes astonished that you haven't run in fear. I can explain she says carefully. I did something that I can never forgive myself for. You start to think of the possibilities what could she have done, you've never seen blood so dark it just oozes of pure evil. She holds back her tears saying when I was young I had a heart failure, I have a very specific blood type. I was in the hospital for weeks I was dying. She starts uncontrollably tearing falling to the floor. You don't know if you even want to hear the rest, you just hold her and let her cry. A couple minutes later she goes on it was the day after a surgery I didn't even know about I was asking my mom why she was crying. She said "Your father loved you so very much. I asked her where's daddy and she pointed to my heart. At this point you realize that a man you never knew and never will gave you the best present you could of ever asked for. It is not the action of the deed but how tightly it holds your heart if it is pure white or an evil black.
| "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T17:07:36 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 50 | 12 |
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over | Lukas gulped in air, shaking from his experiences on Earth. The images were vividly branded in his mind.
Seventy years of struggling, of fighting for the life he'd dreamt of as a boy. He'd achieved some of it, but lost most of those dreams along the way. And that *end*: choking for air as the sickness raced through his body, a withered husk of a man.
God, the exhaustion. But the worst might still await him, he knew. This place was real, wasn't it? That meant Hell and Heaven could exist. And as he'd lost his dreams and tried to scramble back up, he'd done some things. He'd done some terrible things.
"It's over? So what will it be - Heaven or Hell?" he asked the blinding white angel that towered over him in the floating space between planes. Limbo, they'd told him.
It beat its wing and stepped closer. Its voice enveloped Lukas and thrummed through his being.
"You have already been in Hell, human," the angel said, wrapping one wing around his body. Lukas felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and safety. "Your punishment is done. Step forth, and rest."
It was pointing at a type of...tunnel. Lukas felt his heart beating rapidly as he looked at it. He had a thousand questions for the angels. Debates about the fairness of it, fury he wanted to unleash. But it didn't matter, really, did it? The tunnel was there. Heaven awaited, finally. Rest. Sweet release.
Another angel appeared in limbo and watched the human fading from view.
"It always feels so cruel, to deceive them like that," it said into the emptiness.
"It wouldn't be Hell without deception," its companion shrugged, and gestured at itself. "Besides. In some forgotten corner of its new mind, it will remember this conversation. Perhaps it will be wiser in its new life. And one day, truly free itself."
The angels smiled at one another, remembering their own human lives. Cycles upon cycles of hell. They had been some of the few to break free. To remember enough of each passing to gain wisdom, and find their freedom.
"Perhaps," the other agreed. They fell silent and waited for the next soul to arrive from Hell.
---------
Lukas' eyes snapped open, and he dragged in a breath to scream. He was covered in blood and slime. Someone - a woman? - was panting hoarsely nearby.
He was picked up, and the light blinded him. He freed his tongue and screamed.
He screamed as he managed to hold onto a single memory of the white platform and the angels, and realised where he was.
He was back.
------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | "Uh-uh. Yeah, buddy. Well, you know what, fuck you too. Next." The bloke clutching the cockel-spaniel took his stamped passport and filed out towards a rather impressive baggage reclaim, proceeded to ignore it entirely and wandered to a distant "Nothing to Declare" sign so cursive it deserved it's own gallery.
The balding border guard reckoned he'd achieved a new level of indifference as he waved her over. He'd screamed 'next' twelve-thousand times this morning and he'd be damned to Mundus if he had to bloody well say it again. It always dawned on him right about now, during his mid-morning brood why it couldn't be all automated. He could do with a bloody coffee, or a nap, why not both. The girl was still standing, in the wrong place past the yellow line the savage; as usual, another supposedly lost soul saved from damnation.
The shivering specimen in question was currently petrified. She would've liked a spaniel, maybe a pomeranian, anything cute to distract her aetherial gatekeeper from what would surely be a swift judgement followed by barbecue. She hadn't imagined St.Peter would literally be at the gates. Damn. If only she'd finished reading "11 tips in border security for asylum-seekers" on the toilet last week. Part of her wished she'd gone to church, or at least brushed up on the dialect. Maybe a confession would've been appropriate, or maybe describing her job would only give the priest rather an unwanted hard trouser-dachshund of his own. Either way it was too late now, and much too late to wear some more,umm, conservative afterlife clothing.
She'd had a moment to think about it all in the queue, death and all that, but swiftly arrived at the conclusion that she was glad there was at least something after death. It certainly beat crushing unexistence any day. Oh God(s?) what if this was the wrong religion, or a sect or something? She took one last look around for potential racist stereotypes she could cling onto. Nothing. Everyone was here, and all she guessed were in their 20's. Her boobs hadn't looked this good for at least a decade on the other side, that's for sure. No children though, oddly. They must be processed separately. Her border guard had passed through disgust, to mild amazement and now cycled back through to a solid glare. She musted up the courage and tried to hop to the counter.
"Um..good, er..evening, your holiness?"
"Oh for fuc- you know what, if you're going to do that schtick again, I'm just going to send you right the hell back there."
"What? Oh Go-I mean, I'm sorr-"
"Just state your name".
"Cassandra J. Hewitt"
"Year of death?"
"Excuse me?"
"My holy ass is going to throttle you if you don't answer, and then you'll be the one filling out the papers on how you've got a one-way ticket back for both of us, I swear."
"Back to Earth?"
"Where else, idiot. You think Dante's going to show up and take you to the other six?"
"Never mind. 2016. July the tenth."
"Mhmm. Yep that's right. You got parole at thirty-three. Congratulations. They're getting stricter and stricter with the controls, what with the antibiotics and the cancer ther..."
"Parole?" Her border guard sighed. She wondered if it was St.Peter after all.
"Okay. Fine. I'm going to pretend I haven't answered this question at least like ten-thousand times today."
"Excuse me?"
"Did you or did you not read the landing card and orientation booklet?"
"What, the prison advert?"
"For the love of Beelzebub's steamy asshole, yes, the orientation booklet". The guard was whispering now, as if her mere presence was painful.
"No. I didn't."
"Alright. Well then. Welcome back, let's hope you can continue being a good girl and make your way up and put this episode behind you. Not I nor anyone takes any responsibility for any and all fiendish deeds done to you during your stay in hell."
"Hell? No. I was alive. On Earth."
"Yes. Correct, and we're not liable for any of the torture, except maybe the rape, oh and the bronies. Yeah, you might want to sue for those two being in there." He finished listing the potential goldmines for compensation with a flourish and proceeded to stamp a small, black leather passport.
"Right. You've been approved for return to the Overworld. You'll like it, especially someone with, well, your profession. Let's say I didn't recognize you at first. There's good reality TV in there, your kind of videos too, you know, from an actual reality this time. Okay, shoo. Next!"
Cass barely had time to grip the passport. She tried to hold back the tears as she walked shell-shocked past "emotional baggage re-claim" and tried to find her satchel, only to realize she was already holding it. For a moment she considered tossing it like so many others onto the rotating catherine-wheel of a pile, be done with the pain of the old. But no, there was a world awaiting behind those cursive letters of "nothing to declare" that just wouldn't be the same without its brown leather full of suffering. She slung it over a shoulder and wondered who, if anyone, had called her a taxi. | 2016-12-13T12:02:36 | 2016-12-13T11:47:45 | 93 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | When I was 4 years old, my 2 year old sister was fast. Like... She could run at full speed. By the time she was 4, she could keep up with me, our parents, and even our cat... You know... Supposing the cat would ever leave ME alone. By 12, she was a competitive track star. There were some others with similar abilities, but she was exceptional. Have you ever seen a girl barely 5 feet tall running a 4 minute mile? She impressed her coach, other schools, our parents, but me? No... I resented her.
By that point, the best thing I could do was teach cats to perform tricks with a snap of my fingers and even though they all loved me, I resented them as much as my sister. I mean, come on... She gets a power that will give her an athlete's life with little to no work and I can play with cats? Sure, she DID work hard, but it's not like she would've been much slower if she didn't. That all changed on my 20th birthday though.
I always wanted to be as fast her. It killed me that I wasn't special. She was nearly 18 when it happened... She fell. Badly. They say she was as fast as a cheetah before the accident and she could keep that speed for up to an hour, but that dream was gone. She wouldn't run again. She tried even though the doctors all said she couldn't and shouldn't. It got worse and eventually she had trouble even walking down the block.
Ironically, this did wonders for our relationship. We started hanging out constantly. I'd make her laugh with choreographed cat dances and meowing symphonies. We'd talk and go to parks and I'd carry her when she got tired, but it only made her feel worse... She was grateful, but she wanted that rush again. Although fun and *ahem* financially lucrative, all she wanted was to feel the wind on her face as she soared past. The sound and the taste of cooling air. The blur of colors and the smell... That was something she couldn't even describe to me. I realized something... She lost her power. Maybe mine was stupid, but I had one.
And I got an idea. I wasn't sure if this would work... In fact, I feared ever going back to the zoo after a lion tried to jump at us when I was 8. But I had to try... For her. I owed her after years of brushing her thoughts and feeling aside for my own jealousy.
I walked in and I could hear the meows... Purrs... And roars. Hell, I could feel them at this point. I could tell what any cat wanted and right now, they wanted me... To what end, I'm not sure, but I walked towards one... The most beautiful and majestic creature I had ever seen. We locked eyes and just as I had done a million times, I snapped my fingers... And he lay on his tummy awaiting my love. I smiled knowing I'd finally be able to give my sister what she wanted.
...
Maybe after a test drive. | Wailing sirens echoed through the city streets. the glow of flames tinged the walls of surrounding buildings. As Owen walked in the direction of the noise, a stray cat leapt from the shadows and followed directly behind him.
He had always been a recluse, unpopular and awkward. Girls didn't like him, his peers didn't like him, even dogs growled as he passed. so the day a vagabond cat appeared on his front porch, Owen expected to get scratched to ribbons.
Sergeant Pulaski was growing hoarse from screaming. It seemed the waves of people fleeing the gargantuan anthropomorphic pug would never end, and someone needed to bark orders. otherwise, he'd be happy letting the giant dog stomp empty buildings flat. He was running on fumes, and didn't have the patience for some teenager walking purposefully in the wrong direction. "hey, idiot!" He shouted. "That thing'll crush you!" But the kid kept walking, and then Pulaski saw it. A herd of cats, jogging along after the boy's heels.
Clad in a mustard-colored cape, The Amazing Hot Dog was at his wit's end. none of his sausage-related powers seemed to have any affect on the Space Pug, so he turned to his compatriots, the Fast Food Five. "My Cola Blasts have no affect." said a dour Soda Fontaine. "My Szechwuan Fire Fists are equally useless." concurred a dejected General Tso. The looks of despair on the faces of Diablo Taco and Whamburger told Hot Dog all he needed to know. What were they to do? He scanned the horizon, casting about in desperation for an answer. Who could defeat such a monstrosity? Then he saw it, creeping from every alley. From every trashcan, every dumpster, every windowsill, every cardboard box. A massive horde of cats.
...
"I don't know what to do with myself," Owen had said to the homeless man who was his only two-legged friend. "my job stinks, I have no girlfriend, and all my money goes towards feeding all these cats anyway." He gestured around the front stoop of the apartment building. Dozens of tabbies, calicos, tortiseshells, tuxedoes and more lazed about, most gazing at Owen as if he were made of catnip. "I can't get rid of them, and I cant let them starve in any case. I never asked for this. what should I do?" He turned to the hobo.
"your life is just beginning, young man. you'll find your purpose. look at me, I don't have nothin', and I have yet to fulfill my grand purpose myself."
Owen flashed him an incredulous eyebrow. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled out sarcastically, chin on his palm. "that makes me feel so much better."
...
Flames from the destruction licked high, and spread throughout the widening path of rubble as cars got caught in the blaze. the roar of the monstrous Space Pug echoed between the shattered hulks of the skyscrapers. Owen strode forward, now surrounded by a feline sea. Thousands of cats had made their war to him, so many that one could not see the pavement. they circled around him, and climbed atop one another to get closer to him. Owen took another step forward, and stood atop the backs of three cats standing close to each other. another step landed on the backs of cats, who were building a sort of cheerleader's pyramid to give him support. every subsequent step brought him higher and higher up a swiftly building staircase of cats. Soon, he was engulfed in a swarming hive of putty tats, and it lifted him up into the sky.
Pulaski recieved the call to evacuate, and did a final 360' visual sweep to confirm that no more civilians remained. Down the street, in the direction of the chaos, lumbered a sight he had never seen before. a towering colossus of fur and whiskers, lumbering it's way toward ground zero. What on earth was that?
From his vantage point on the rooftop, the embattled Amazing Hot Dog spied a massive..... ..*thing* making its way toward the battle. Was it there to help the giant pug? Or defeat it? As it came more into view, the Fast Food Five and the Space Pug together whirled to face the newcomer. what they saw, by the firelight of towering skyscraper infernos, was a towering conglomerate of fur and claws. thousands upon thousands of cats, all clinging to each other, all acting as one. and at its head, if you squinted really hard, could be seen a teenage boy.
An appendage grew fom the mass, a colossal fist made of cats! it swung mightily in the direction of the Space Pug, and connected with the force of a million mouse-slaying pounces. The Space Pug flew backward into the wreckage of the financial district, sending chunks of concrete and marble into the air. The cat-mass wasted no time, following up its first strike with a ferocity born of countless catnip frenzies. The fight to save the city was on.
Far below, at a safe distance (thanks to the efforts of an underappreciated Sergeant Pulaski), a crowd cheered. a young woman stepped forward, squinting at the teenage figure she could just barely make out. "Who is that?" She wondered. Behind her, a homeless drifter stepped from the shadows. "He's the hero this city has been waiting for, ma'am." Tears of pride brimmed in the vagabond's eyes.
"They call him... Pussy Magnet." | 2016-12-30T13:31:36 | 2016-12-30T12:42:39 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them. | "Hear me humans! You will fall and we shall call this new world our own!"
Thunder crackled around the mysterious humanoid as he raised his sword to the sky. Fire and ice swirled around his swelled body, the bones of his past conquests hung from his belt dancing in the storm he seemingly summoned at will. Hordes of giant creatures assembled in the fields behind him, entering our world through shimmering gateways erected from the grey mists.
"We've studied your kind for centuries, and now we are here to take earth for our own! Bow before us, for we are kind slavers" a hearty chuckle traveled through the misty morning air, "Choose not to surrender and we will - "
A single gun shot ended the speech, the seven foot tall silhouette feel to its knees and groveled in pain. Several more shots rang out as the group of special forces operatives sent to inspect the disturbance tested the bullet proof properties of the creatures skin.
"They're flesh and blood Commander, light them up."
No sooner had the radio clicked off when dozens of attack helicopters swarmed in over the hillside, raining thousands of bullets per second on the helpless ensemble of mythical men and monsters. The other worldly army fired back with massive bolts of magic and fire, dragons took to the sky while a squadron of F16's lobbed missiles chased by the hum of fifty caliber persuaders.
On the ground thousands of troops descended from the hill tops firing at the invaders mowing them down in masses.
Legend says the battle raged on for 7 days and 7 nights. I heard that it only lasted about 7 hours. All I know, is the pen may be mightier than the sword, but a 5.56 round trumps both. | Henry Hartigan slipped away from his cubicle, cursing to himself as everyone stared in awe at the mounted television that was elevated in the corner of the office. The other employees muttered and sipped their coffee, wondering if they were witnessing an elaborate hoax. Jim, the manager, even switched the feed through to a few more major networks, which were all covering the same gruesome battle.
“Henry, you seeing this shit?” Chadwick James grabbed his arm and gestured at the screen. “It’s like Warcraft opened up in our reality! How awesome is that?”
“You know that’s never been my thing.” Henry managed a short, unenthusiastic laugh. Chad mumbled something about making a trip out there to loot some corpses, but he didn’t catch all of it. He headed to the bathroom, the closest place he could find solace to do what he needed to do. Chad called after him, but he ignored the man.
There was no lock on the spacious, multi-person bathroom, but Henry was confident that everyone in the office would be too busy watching the wholesale butchering of mythical creatures to bother him. His hands shaking, he fumbled in his pocket for the small leather bag he always kept there. He looked briefly into the mirror, then steeled himself.
Three bone-wood dice tumbled from the bag and clattered around into the sink. Henry held his breath as he read what the carved, upright symbols revealed. *Broken. Beaten. Hope.*
One good sign, two bad signs. Two really, really, really bad signs, Henry thought. Time to make the call. He pulled out his cell phone, but the reception bars were blinking. Well, time to go old school, he thought.
He took a deep breath, then produced a miniature dagger from the bag. With a quick popping motion, he lunged the tiny blade into the tip of his right index finger. Wincing, he milked it, then began to trace a rune of power on the mirror in front of him.
The mirror grew dark, and the bathroom lights flickered, but stayed on. A face appeared in the mirror, somber and pale. It belonged to an older man, with deep wrinkles that traced the outlines of a strong face.
As Henry watched, the old man ate a cheese puff and washed it down with a drink of McDonald’s sweet tea. Henry cleared his throat, and the old man started and looked up.
“Jesus, Henry, why didn’t you just call me on my cell phone?” The old man asked, popping another cheese puff in his mouth.
“Cell towers are overloaded.”
“There isn’t a land line in the office?”
Henry stuttered, then shrugged. The old man frowned in a “that’s what I thought” kind of way, but Henry pressed on. “You have the news on?”
“I have the Cardinals on. What’s on the news?”
“The first portal has broken, just outside of Prizer Point in Nevada. You seriously haven’t heard. There’s a full-scale battle happening right now, the hordes against the humans.”
The old man sipped his tea. “So it’s begun. That’s a damn shame. This world was nearly perfect.”
“We can still save it. The humans are winning the battle easily-”
“Of course they are. But we both know that the hordes aren’t the worst thing that will be coming through that portal. And when the other portals break…” The old man trailed off. “It is time to go, Henry.”
“Go?” Henry stood up straight, his eyes wide in shock. “We are the protectorate. We don’t just *go*.”
“Henry, this is a battle that we cannot-”
The bathroom door flew open, and Chad came strolling in. “Man, I just couldn’t hold it anymore.” He damn near walked by the mirror without noticing the disembodied face of an old man hovering in it. He smiled at Henry, looked at the mirror, then went ahead on to the nearest urinal.
“Wait, what the hell is that?”
Henry heard the old man sigh, and the vision winked out. The blood smeared on the mirror in an ancient symbol of calling remained, however. Henry cursed himself. He knew better, but he had panicked. He pricked his middle finger quickly, and tried to call up the rune of forgetfulness from his memories. It would probably be damned hard to hold Chad down and draw on his forehead, but he had to do what he had to do.
[/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
| 2017-09-14T15:29:29 | 2017-09-14T01:54:31 | 243 | 36 |
[WP] when you were a kid, you had an imaginary friend, Lewis; That was 20 or so years ago. Yesterday your child came into your room in the middle of the night, and said "Lewis wants to know why you don't play with him anymore" | "Mommy?"
The little voice sweeps away the veils of sleep, more piercing than any alarm clock. Before I am even fully conscious, some primal part of my brain is automatically analyzing the tone and register of my son's voice, and comes to the conclusion that there is no hint of fear or pain. Just the frank, inopportune curiosity of a five-year-old boy.
Blurry red numbers swirl in my sleep-encrusted vision, and the gentle breaths of my husband ruffle the nape of my neck. He remains blissfully asleep.
"Honey, it's...it's three in the morning. What are you doing up?"
"But I have a question," responds the piping voice from darkness.
"Well, it's gotta wait until the son comes up, okay?" The comforter is so soft and Jim moves his arm unconsciously across my waist, pulling me further down into the welcoming mattress just as sleep is gently weighing down my eyelids...
"Lewis wants to know why you don't play with him anymore."
I don't register the cold floorboards hitting my bare feet, I don't notice Jim's muffled exclamation. I am running to the clamoring beat of my heart, stumbling across the bedroom towards the doorway where he is standing, so small and fragile in his red pajamas. So much smaller than the hulking figures that looms over him, that curls an inky claw slowly over his bird-like shoulder.
*Say goodbye to Mommy.*
I manage to brush the tips of my fingers across his arm and then he has vanished. He will be so cold, so confused and scared with no one to call for and only Lewis to turn to for his dark comfort. I would know--I remember. But that was long ago, and I've learned a great deal since.
Lewis doesn't know what he's in for. | Rolling over to face my son, but without opening my eyes, I said, "Because Lewis is imaginary, son. Now go to bed."
I heard his little feet padding out the room, then heard the door close with a satisfying click. I rolled back the other way and went back to sleep.
In what seemed like a few minutes later, Lucas, my son, was back, shaking me awake. "Dad. *Dad*!"
"Whaaaat?" I mumbled, forcing myself to roll over again before the little tyke woke up his mother.
"Dad!"
I grunted and squinted my eyes open. Once I saw the scared look on Lucas' face, I opened my eyes a little wider.
"Lewis said that if you say he's imaginary again, he'll hurt you," he whispered.
I frowned. "Uhm, okay. Look, just, uh..." I scooted over and patted the bed. "...you can stay in our bed tonight. Just don't wake your mother."
Lucas shook his head. "I can't. Lewis said I have to come back and tell him what you said. He'll be really upset if I don't." He glanced over at the door. I did, too. And saw an eye looking at us. Part of a smile, too.
As soon as I look, they vanished. But not instantly vanished, like they weren't there to begin with. Vanished like the person saw us, and had drew back. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Like whoever they belonged to were trying to tip-toe. I heard a giggle, too, followed by an, "Oops."
Lucas looked at me. "Get in bed," I ordered, climbing out and running out into the hallway.
Okay, I lied. I grabbed a baseball bat first, and then quietly, and slowly, made my way to the door.
But if I knew the Lewis that Lucas was talking about, a baseball bat wouldn't help me.
I opened the door and peered out. The hallway was dark. Quiet. I looked down and saw faint impressions in the carpet. Small indents here and there as if someone had recently stepped there. Or tried to tip-toe. But it was hard to tell if it was Lucas' or not.
Lucas' door was partly open. In the cracks, I saw an eye and part of a smile, which again vanished as soon as I saw it. Then the door closed. Slowly. Usually, if Lucas' window is open, a strong wind might blow through and slam the door shut, but never quietly like it just did.
I heard the bed squeaking as if someone was jumping on Lucas' bed. I shook my head and closed the door to our room and went back to bed.
"What happened, Dad?" Lucas asked.
"Nothing, son. But you're sleeping here tonight."
Lucas went silent for a moment, then said, "Someone's jumping on my bed."
"No there's not."
We could both hear it. But I refused to admit it.
"Dad...Lewis is going to get *mad*."
"*Lewis doesn't exist*," I whispered fiercely.
Suddenly, the squeaks stopped. There was a thud, Lucas' door opened, and we heard the footsteps run across the hallway to our room.
Then a voice said, "I heard that, Mark."
Lucas looked at me. I was breathing hard. I turned my back to the door. Made Lucas do so, too.
We were looking in the window. We saw the door open in the reflection. Too dark to see anything else. But we could hear footsteps in the room. Could feel a presence over our shoulder. A shadow fell over us.
"And you're going to pay for saying that, Mark," the voice said. "You, too, Lucas. For disobeying me and not coming back to the room."
I wasn't going to lie there and take that. With a howl, I swung around with my fist aimed at the spot where the voice was.
I fell out of bed. The was no one there. Almost like I had imagined it.
But the door was open when I know I had closed it.
I could see straight across the hallway to Lucas' door which was slowly closing again. Part of a face peered at me from the crack, no longer smiling. Then the door closed completely.
"Babe, what are you doing on the floor?" my wife asked. "Baby," she cooed to our son, "Why are you crying? What's going on?"
| 2017-11-12T16:40:48 | 2017-11-12T16:21:25 | 153 | 38 |
[WP] You live in a world where the repetition of certain acts grants special abilities. Someone who does 10,000 push-ups will gain super strength, someone who runs 10,000 kilometres will gain super speed. You are the first person in history to drink 10,000 litres of alcohol. | “10,000 litres?”
“Yup”
“How are you not dead?”
“I didn’t do it in one long binge, I paced myself”
“That’s not really the point, never mind, so what has happened to you?”
“Well, what happens when YOU get drunk?”
“The usual stuff. Double vision, loss of balance, the occasional bout of memory loss”
“Uh-huh. I get all that up to 11. It’s so ramped up it becomes beneficial. I have so many superpowers now it’s crazy.”
“That makes no sense, explain”
“My balance is so out of joint I can barely walk straight, but at the same time I flail about so much I can dodge practically anything without even trying. My vision is so distorted I can see the future, you’re going to lean in bird poo”
“Bull, there’s no way that an overdose of jaeger does that to you, and now you’ve told me I can avoi....ew”
“You see? And the best part is the memory loss, my brain is trying to repair itself so much I have flashbacks and recall all the time. I have memory gain”
“Memory gain? That’s....underwhelming? Remembering stuff isn’t that big of a deal?”
“Isn’t it? I remembered my wife’s birthday, Valentines Day AND our anniversary this year”
“...Mother of God”
Edit: Wow this blew up, thanks for all the love | Most children are ambitious when younger and I was no different. We all knew the achievements, the lists to hit if you will. It wasn't as simple as it seems though. I started with push-ups. My goal was 1000 for 10 days and I got it. Like I said, it's not that simple.
After the 10th day I collapsed exhausted at my 1000th push-up for the day. I felt... something? It wasn't really stronger. I must have miss counted. 5 more... nothing, 10 more, I did an extra 100 in an hour barely able to support myself to no avail.
This was my first lesson. If you make a shitty attempt at the goal you get a shitty amount of the achievement. I "ran" 10000 miles, to this day I am an excellent speed Walker. My feet don't fatigue from walking but if I try to run I am screwed. These false achievements block the real powers.
That isn't to say you can't get them but it almost becomes harder. I went through the list, throwing, jumping, anything athletic you name it, I tried. Well... I am an amazing bowler. In a world of super achievement athletes that means nothing. I even went for education achievements and to this day I still need a calculator for basic math.
That is when I started drinking. I became a full fledged alcoholic. I have had my stomach pumped 12 times. I just wanted to die, still do. I am good at nothing. Many who fail like I turn to drinking. I still want special. Last night was my 30th birthday. I went for gold, I wrote my letter. The standard I love you all and I am sorry I am a failure. I had 12 bottles of vodka in front of me, I only ever drink vodka.
I woke up? Is this heaven? No, this is my living room. I look around all 12 bottles are empty. 1.75L times 12, I should be dead after 40 Liters I thought. I'm not completely shit faced this morning either. I'm that perfect level of drunk. I grab my keys and go to the car. Guess I should go to work.
As I am driving I notice a cop has his lights on behind me. I wish I had just died last night. How long was he there? It doesn't matter, this is strike 12 for all it matters. I pull over smoothly throw the car in park and shut off the engine. This is when I realise I am on the curb. The officer comes to the window.
" You been drinking?" he said.
No shit asshole, "nope".
"Make this easy for me please, just blow"
I blow into the breathalyzer awaiting my fate.
"This must be broken" the officer said.
I didn't understand what was going on. Everything seemed clear. Was I dreaming? I should be at 1.xx something, I should be dead. We waited for another breathalyzer and that one was .00 as well. They detained me for an open container. Honestly it was a water bottle but having my rap sheet and reeking of strait vodka I don't blame them.
In the station they ran a blood sample and while waiting for the results I became drunk again. But it was different. It was just the right amount of charisma. I am making jokes and the officers are trying not to laugh. Some succeed, others don't. Once the blood test came back they let me go on my way. They had nothing, the bottle of water was legal, the blood was clean. I stumbled out of the station completely shit faced and confused.
10,000 liters of vodka, that is my achievement. It's never been done before to the best of my knowledge. No drunk has gotten anything before. Then again no drunk has been so dedicated to vodka. So now I can be as drunk as I want, whenever I want without drinking a drop. Even when I get the true achievement I still get a shitty power.
(Sorry if format sucks, I am on phone. Also first attempt at this so be kind. Honestly writing was not a good subject of mine so sorry for the grammatical errors, spelling errors any any other issues you may find. I hope you liked the direction I went.) | 2018-07-06T04:10:30 | 2018-07-06T04:04:30 | 3,646 | 133 |
[WP] If you haven't found your soul mate by age 30, the government turns on your trackers so you can find each other. Your tracker app has led you to a cemetery. | The red beacon blinked faster with each step, until finally I stopped behind a girl standing in front of a grave.
“Uhh. . . excuse me?” I said.
She had her eyes closed and her hands clasped. I took a step forward and then paused, either she was praying or talking to someone who had once been special to her.
Waiting seemed like the right thing to do.
So I watched her and took note of her long blonde hair, twirled into a fishtail plat, and the white dress which was spotless until you reached the hems under her knees, dirty with mud.
“I think I might-“
“Shh-“ she said.
I stopped not because I wanted to listen but because I wasn’t really sure if she’d said it at all.
“Your beacon brought you here?” she said.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I mean, you could say fate brought us here or love, but the beacon had a part to play. . . I guess?”
No one told me how this love at first sight thing was meant to go.
“What’s your name?”
I cleared my throat. “Tim. You?”
“Tim Rodgers?” she said.
I frowned. “How did you know?”
The girl fell silent again. I stepped forward. “Hey, I asked you a questio-“
Tim Rodgers and Nina Rodgers were engraved on the tombstone in front of her.
“Those are our names.”
She sighed. “Are you always this perceptive?”
“Why are our names on a tombstone?”
“It’s a set up,” she said. “Someone wants to kill us.”
My heart beat a little faster. “Kill me?”
“19-11-2041,” she said.
“That’s today,” I said. “Why does it say today?”
She stood and dusted the hem of her dress before turning. The phone in her right hand was recording a voice memo.
“You’re not dead?” she said.
“What kind of quest-“
“Answer!”
I shook my head.
“Soul mate still alive. Possible set up,” she said. “If you find this phone my name is Nina White, my soul mate was Tim Rodgers.”
I swallowed.
*Is Tim Rodgers.*
She tossed the phone to a nearby set of graves.
“Lose the phone and let’s go,” she said.
I looked down at my phone and then back at the tombstones. The phone was most of my savings from the last six months. But we were soul mates now and she had thrown the phone away.
A good soul mate would support her. I had to support her.
“Let’s go!”
I cursed and pretended to throw my phone as hard as I could. At the last moment I pocketed it and ran after her.
We would figure this out —that’s all we had to do.
No one wanted us dead —yet.
| Note: I haven't written in about five months. Sorry if it is a little bland.
"Well, god damn it. It looks like I am talking to myself now, huh?" I tuck my hands into my pockets, I turn my phone off and stand above a grave. "Christ, how did you die now?! Elena Chen... I didn't think you'd be asian, well, I didn't think you'd be dead either. Why don't they deactivate the damned chips when people pass away and list them as such? Seems like a depressing way to find out, 'Oh yeah, you're destined to be alone forever in the world, just an FYI'."
I look around and try to see if anyone was in the cemetery, but all I could see was a stray cat and oddly a goat. I could feel the ring case I had ready in my pocket, seems like a grand gesture wasted. "Well, looks like I am going to be listed in one of those sites with 'Soulmate Impaired' under my name. Christ, all I wanted to do was have all kinds of children with you, probably name all the girls, I'd leave all the sons up to you because they would be pretty much basturds like their dad. Just kidding. I'm probably just a dash of asshole, is all. Although, I did have a high tolerance built up to raving for two years, last I checked it took two tabs of something that sixty five percent of regular people were over dosing on to get me high. I don't know what you were like but I would hope you're smart, I want my sons to be physicist and doctors."
I sit down beside her head stone and look around, I check my app and lower it towards her grave. It continues to ping to my disappointment. She had died about six months ago. "I hope you didn't die, but worst of all my love, I hope you didn't die from something stupid. I was coming for you, I honestly was, but I had to take the long way around. Had to go through some shit to grow up before I met you, but I screwed that up even and didn't get a chance with you. Kind of a twisted way fate fucks with the living I suppose."
I sit for a while, a long while, before I knew it, the moon was in the sky. I just stayed beside her grave, hoping for something, just a chance to love her. I'd hope I didn't disappoint her by thinking she was alone. Those "Red Knot" tests the Japanese made have a 102 percent accuracy for soulmates, which they practically boast with finding that animals also have a pairing, with that bird and rat cuddling on their holo ads. I start to feel like love is a sham sitting beside a headstone, thinking about love between a rodent and a bird.
"Fuck it." I walk to a near by grave digging and get a shovel. I'm going to kiss her, to show her I really did love her.
As I get about two feet in tho the dirt, someone comes up shouting at me.
"HEY! What the fuck are you doing to my sister's grave?!" I look up and see the sunrise looking gorgeous.
"I-" I hold it for a moment, and look at my shovel to realize how insane I look right now. "am a grave yard inspector doing a random spot check on all burials in this cemetery as a routine audit the state does..." Fuck, I am stupid.
"Fuck, your stupid." She says almost like she read my mind.
I pull my phone up, and aim it down at my beloved again and my pairing alarm rings. "Alright, this is what I am here for." I show her my screen, "Your sister is my one."
She stares at my screen and looks at me, dirty, probably insane looking, and I'm actually tired. Fuck, this is weird. I'm not even married to her and yet, I'm already stuck doing something really fucking weird in front of her sister nonetheless. I flip it and look at the screen again, and it continues to go off, like I'm actually getting closer to her. "Huh.."
"Get the fuck out of my sisters grave hole, otherwise I am calling the cops." I put the phone closer to her and it begins to read louder and louder.
"Oh god damn..." I look at her, "are you and your sister twins? By any chance?"
"Are you stalking me?! GET THE FUCK OUT, YOU SICK BASTURD!"
"Wait let me explain", I place the shovel down and try to climb out, "I was going to prove that I didn't make your sister wait to think she was alone without a soulmate."
"She didn't you sick fuck," she grabs the shovel and rears it back as I look up at her, "She had me!"
"Oh fuck," clink.
I wake up cuffed to a gurney in the back of a ambulance. "Shit."
A EMT sitting beside me chewing his gum smugly. "Grave robbing, nice..."
I look at him with the corner of my eyes, "I wasn't I was trying to kiss my beloved, my one true love, but she was... she died."
"Necrophilia, nice... Thats twisted bro." He chuckles.
"What was the girl's name that hit me!?" I look around for something within eye shot to focus on.
"Victoria Chen, Elena's twin sister. Are you sure Elena was you're 'the one'?"
"The fucking app thing that they turn on for us trifectas was pinging on her grave, but... it was also pinging on her sister."
"Nice, you got a 'one up', 'extra life', 'the green mushroom'." The driver butts in
"What in the bloody fuck is that?!" I say.
"Haven't you played Super Mario?" The chewer smugly says. | 2018-07-23T03:55:33 | 2018-07-23T02:42:59 | 88 | 18 |
[WP] A street vendor sells you a painting that they say depicts whatever the heart truly desires. You bought it because you saw something nice and pretty. Your spouse asks why you bought a painting of something much more disturbing. | I bought a picture of a world free from disease and pain. A world with no suffering. A technological marvel. A masterpiece depicting a utopian futuristic paradise where everyone lives the life they desire, participating in the active enrichment of our species.
&#x200B;
Cooperating in unison with peace and love spreading through out the world. It was a mural that took up the whole wall. There were flying saucers everywhere, giant beautiful 1920s style buildings with a 2220s vibe. The future we dream of. The future I'm working my ass off to build for all life that is born into this realm. See, I look at myself as responsible for them. For the future of our generation.
&#x200B;
I feel it's my duty to create that future, so when I stumbled upon it at the fair, I just had to buy it. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. I wept at the sight of it. I'm just sitting there emptying my wallet, tears running down my face in pure bliss at the fact that I finally found something that so accurately represents my vision.
&#x200B;
The vendor asked $50,000 for it, I said I'll take it at any cost.
&#x200B;
While he's using his square chip on his iPhone to swipe my card, my wife comes over and screams at me.
&#x200B;
"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK WHY ARE YOU BUYING A PICTURE OF A GIANT PENIS FOR $50,000!?????" | I drove home from the market with a smile. I'd managed to find two first edition prints of books by an author I love and a really interesting painting which I was looking forward to mounting on the library wall. As I turned in to the driveway I pictured where this piece might looks best in the room, concluding it would sit fine beside the window.
&#x200B;
I was soon in the process of drilling the nails for the piece to be mounted. I wanted to hurry so I could surprise my wife as she was soon to be home from work. I mounted the piece and slid both books into place beside their shelf-mates, taking another down to read before the evenings party with the neighbours. I didn't dislike the neighbours at all, but I certainly didn't adore them. To me they were more like those people at work that you simply avoid in order to preserve your morning's lack of dullness.
&#x200B;
But before long, I heard the door and placed the novel back in it's spot. Taking one moment to enjoy the beauty of the painting before heading out. A wonderful piece, it showed a gorgeous woman holding two young children in her arms. She sat on a bench in what looked to be a park, and the sun shone down in beams through the canopy of branches above.
&#x200B;
Not wanting to take to long, I hesitantly left the library and greeted my wife and guests. Anna had been on her way in when they'd arrived and we soon poured wine and talked (or I should say were talked at) about the neighbours children and lives. And as the evening moved on and we began eating I told my guests about the piece that I'd found while at the market. They we're almost as excited as my wife to see this wonderful masterpiece but I was careful not to spoil the details.
&#x200B;
After dinner we all made our way into the library and I pulled the doors and led them in. The reaction I was met with however, was unexpected. While John, the neighbourly husband seemed just as pleased with the piece, our wives seemed quite the opposite.
&#x200B;
"What the hell Abe?"
&#x200B;
"What, you don't like it? I know there's a breast showing but it is a piece of art."
&#x200B;
"Joseph, that's the problem. It's not just the breast. This... This is pornography."
&#x200B;
"Anna, I have to say I'm a bit surprised. Can't you see the innocent beauty here?"
&#x200B;
"Joseph, why the hell are you showing us this? Why did you buy this?"
&#x200B;
Finally John spoke up in my favour. "Ali, what's wrong with this, it's totally fine. And where are you all seeing a breast?"
&#x200B;
"Wait, you can't see the breast John?" I replied.
&#x200B;
"No, why would a breast even be on a battlefield?"
&#x200B;
Silence filled the room for a moment.
&#x200B;
"What is this a painting of to you John?"
&#x200B;
"It's clearly a battlefield. The swords are clashing against each other and the soldiers are lit by a setting sun on the horizon. What about you?"
&#x200B;
The silence returned and hung for longer.
&#x200B;
"We aren't seeing the same painting are we?" Anna asked.
&#x200B;
"No, I don't believe we are. What is it you're seeing sweetie?"
&#x200B;
"It's a torture room, rusting tools are laying on the stone ground and there are bodies... God, so many bodies." She replied.
&#x200B;
"And you, Ali?"
&#x200B;
"A monster... Maybe a dragon? It's attacking a village. There is a house on fire that people are trying to escape from. and it's grasping a child with it's claws."
&#x200B;
"Oh dear. Well... I guess we should just leave this for now and clue things up, yeah?"
&#x200B;
"Yes." | 2018-10-07T00:34:14 | 2018-10-06T22:10:56 | 2,046 | 186 |
[WP] As a Demon, you're quite familiar with would-be mages making errors in materials due to translation errors. However, today marks the first time that someone has attempted to summon you with Cruelty-Free Vegan Blood Substitute™. | Yazamor felt an annoying tug on his essence. It was the kind of summoning that just didn't quite have the power to be effective, but was enough of a nag that he'd feel inclined to appear just to convince them to stop. After what seemed like an eternity—literally an eternity in the demon reality—he groaned and slid off his sofa of fire. Sighing like a dock worker punching in for a double shift, Yazamor surrendered to the summon, and a dark portal twisted and bent the world around him.
*Yaaaazamor, we summon yoooou*, the voices called from the other side of existence.
"Ya. Ya. I'm coming!"
The demon felt his eternally burning living room fade away, and he shivered as he took in his new surroundings. Laminate floors. Cheap, wobbling wooden tables. Nose Piercings. That same jazz playlist from Spotify that seemed to have exclusive rights to be played in every one of these establishments. *Starbucks*.
"It worked!" a slender woman with dreadlocks and far too many tattoos cried out with joy, her inked arms lifting to the heavens. "Welcome, Yazamor, to Earth—"
"Why the fuck is it so cold in here?" the demon complained, glancing around at the five hipsters making up the points of the pentagram. "Ah, I see. It's so you idiots can wear your beanies in July." He glanced down at the lines of the demonic symbol, dipping a claw in the powder making up the pentagram and giving it a sniff. "What the hell is this? Brown sugar?"
"Vegan brown sugar," someone behind him proudly exclaimed.
Yazamor laughed, muttering under his breath, "No, it's not."
"Great Yazamor," the young woman drew his attention to her, hands clasped over her toothy smile. "As vegans, we have brought you here, after normal business hours, using only cruelty free substitutes in the summon ritual—"
*Jesus Christ*, *is heaven seriously filled with these imbeciles*?
"so that you may assist us in the cleansing of this world—"
*Mhmm. Trying to hijack a demon to do some good. Oldest trick in the book. Not going to work, idiots.*
"and violently torture, murder, and then torture some more on the other side, anyone who partakes in the use of animal products—"
Yazamor's eyebrow-less arches raised, and his teeth flashed like cleavers, "Hold on, ya'll want me to kill some people?"
"Only those who use animal products," she reaffirmed.
"And our boss," some dope on one of the points added. "He's vegan, but a total prick."
Yazamor could hardly contain his laughter, deciding to stay in the mortal realm for a while after all. "So, anyone who uses any animal products? You're sure?"
"Yes," they replied in unison.
The few scented candles that had been lit began to blaze to impossible heights, raising the temperature enough to steam the milk residue in their espresso machines.
"As you wish, *vegans.*"
____
**Thanks for reading! Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily cruelty-free seances.** | “The tome appears to be at least 50,000 years old, sir. Possibly older,” said Sarah, using two baby carrots to turn each page with the utmost care, gently blowing the dust away as she translated the words written to the best of her ability. “But we will need more time and resources in order to complete a translation.”
Dr. Righteous paced the room hand on chin with his lab coat flailing behind him. “From what you have been able to decipher so far, do you believe it's what we have been looking for?”
Sarah looked up from the book towards Dr. Righteous, her tear filled eyes stopping him in his tracks,“I do.”
“Holy fucking vegetables.”
The auditorium was bustling with chatter and enthusiasm. A petite girl pretending to be shy strummed away on a ukulele while males around her clapped along pretending to enjoy her performance. But the crowd weren't there for desperate attempts of uniqueness. They were there because they had seen the reports. A book had been found.
The lights dimmed and the noise from the room with it. Dr Righteous walked on to the stage wearing surgical hemp gloves with the rumoured book in hand. One wave of the book to the crowd and the noise levels returned to fever pitch. He took to the ethically produced podium, placed the book in front of him, and addressed those in attendance.
“After years of searching, I can tell you the reports are true. We have found the first vegan.”
The crowd roared once more. Strangers turned to hug each other and broccoli was lifted to the sky.
“Myself and a team of translators have deciphered the very book you see before you and unearthed its secrets. What we have discovered is truly groundbreaking.”
A projector beamed in to life and a picture of foul looking beast appeared on the wall to the side of Dr. Righteous.
“This, ladies and gentleman, is Dranthor the Destroyer. A demon accidentally summoned approximately 58,000 years ago using a cruelty-free vegan blood substitute by a mage who simply didn't have anything else left in his fridge.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” said a voice emanating from the back of the room. “But as a vegan I need to ask: are you saying our God, the first of our kind, was a demon?”
“Don't apologise, sir. We are all Vegans in here and we pride ourselves on how well we handle questions without becoming defensive,” said the Doctor. “I can confirm that you are correct. This horrendous looking creature is our deity.”
A woman, sporting completely knitted attire stood at the front of the auditorium. “As a vegan, I feel like having this Dranthor, however historically accurate, as the first of our kind is going to be horrendous for our already flailing PR.”
“Can I just say that I too am a vegan,” said the man sitting next to the lady, also taking to his feet. “And I agree with my life partner. If we are going to release this information to the public, we need to put some sort of positive spin on this demon of ours.”
“Did Dranthor take part in any redeeming inner health promoting activities?” bellowed a voice from the back of the room.
“Did he have a vegan podcast?” asked another.
“From what we have been able to translate we believe Dranthor mainly ate children in his spare time. We have not been able to confirm whether or not he had a vegan podcast.”
“As a vegan I choose to believe he had a podcast,” replied the voice.
“What kind of healthy vegetables was he eating along with the children?” asked the knitted lady.
Doctor Righteous looked down and flicked through his pad before stopping at the page he was looking for. “Dranthor was big on beetroot and lentil tabbouleh.”
The room nodded along and enthusiasm began to rise once more.
“I bet he spoke about that on his podcast,” murmured a voice.
“Do we have a plan regarding how we're going to announce this to the world?” bellowed a man holding a ukulele. “As a vegan, I'd certainly like to know.”
“I am pleased to tell you we have already signed a documentary deal with Netflix. As always, our plan is to make everyone else feel so bad about what they're doing we come out on top.”
“And on that note,” Doctor Righteous took a step back and glanced over the side of the stage. “Ladies and Gentleman, may I introduce Patricia Spinach, the head of vegan content for Netflix.
A sweeping round of applause greeted Patricia as she waved her way to the podium.
“Thank you, thank you, I'm a vegan,” announced Patricia. “When Dr. Righteous first reached out to me regarding Dranthor the Vegan Child Eater, I couldn't contain my excitement. We at Netflix have always championed the vegan cause and have jumped at any excuse to make a fresh vegan documentary for us to shove down the throats of our evil carnivore friends”
Dr. Righteous paced across the front of the stage. “When myself and Patricia first began speaking regarding the documentary, we knew one thing was clear. There was absolutely no way we could involve Dranthor at all in any part of the film. The man simply ate far too many children. So we thought outside the box and decided to completely wash over any of the negative aspects of our life, and our deity, and simply show 560 minutes of innocent animals being slaughtered by humans.”
“That's right,” said Patricia Spinach, joining Dr. Rightous in his pacing across the stage. “This will be the longest fuck you feel bad message we have ever sent to carnivores.”
The backdrop on stage was released to the floor revealing a 40ft advertisment of 'Fuck You, Feel Bad' a Netflix production.
“We believe this is exactly what Dranthor would have wanted,” said Patricia.
****
My back catalogue of painfully unfunny stories can be found on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them, and leave some judgement. | 2020-01-23T08:23:50 | 2020-01-23T08:22:40 | 236 | 121 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form. | I kicked the nearest goblet with my boot. It clattered away, doubtless with one side caved in.
Cerina (or whatever her name really was) growled and circled her hoard on the opposite side. She was the size of our house with rustling wings and scales the color of blood.
The M-16 held by my right hand had been registered to my dad in the 70's, which was the only reason I could keep it. As long as Cerina didn't know what rounds I was packing, she was unlikely to attack.
A low voice like grinding stones reached my ears. "I can understand you acting a trifle put out by my true appearance, but I need you to put that thing down so we can talk like civilized creatures."
I ignored her, continuing my search until I found what I was looking for. I heard her breath catch when I reached down.
I picked up the box with my left hand and held it out to her. "Care to explain this?"
The dragoness shivered from nose to tail. "I... I..."
I swept the barrel of my rifle across the coins, jewelry, bars of precious metal, thrones, and a golden toilet seat. "All these I can understand. It's just part of your nature. But this?" I squinted. "My Little Pony Bishoujo Pinkie Pie Statue." I turned to look at the beast across the cavern from me, now appearing my smaller than before.
The dragon sniffled and wiped a tear away from her eye. "I hoped... I hoped you'd never find out. They're just so cute... and the tales of friendship I've never..." She let out a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. Everything I've shown you about myself before today. Everything a dragon is supposed to be. I know I'm a disappointment."
I engaged the safety and set my rifle down gently. I opened my arms. "Dear, you could never disappoint me. Let's just never keep big secrets like this from each other again, OK?" | "What's wrong, honey?"
My wife looked at me with concern, but I can't tell her that I discovered her secret.
What we had together was special. When I was hurt, when everyone abandoned me, when my dreams were stamped into the ground by everyone I cared about... Only her, only her, only her...
But the dark feelings brewing inside the pit of my stomach was a reality I must come to face.
But not now. Not like this.
I pulled her into my embrace, and inhaled deeply of her fire and brimstone hair. The pungent smell of sulfur now made so much more sense, though the softness of her skin did not.
"It's just something going on with me. It's got nothing to do with you."
"Is it... Is it your parents again? Are you ok?" She rubbed between the two gaps underneath my shoulder blades, rubbing softly at the two muscles that always tensed up when I'm under stress. The soothing motion had always relaxed me, and her long, pointed fingers could always reach deep into the sensitive nerves underneath.
But not today, I am not stressed, but anxious, worried...
And she could tell, because her fingers met no resistance. It sunk into my soft tender human flesh, and she quickly pulled out before she could pierce skin. She moved her hand up and down my back, hoping to find out what I was feeling, but I only embraced her harder as her unnatural warmth sunk deep into my heart.
I released her when I had enough, and left for work, with only a single thought running through my mind. That hoard of gold, those massive scales, and her journal I was never meant to read...
Over the next three days, my wife grew increasingly worried for my mental state. Yet still, I can't bring myself to truly see her the same way.
But the way I feel about her has never changed, and that's why it's so hard.
This weekend, I decided to have a one-hundred-fifty-seventh honeymoon trip, the two of us. We sat by the picturesque river, firing up a barbecue.
The charcoal was slowly being heated, when my beautiful wife threw herself onto my back, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her heated breath pushed away the autumn breeze, and she whispered into my ear.
"I know you've been feeling down, honey, is it because we haven't been..."
I shook my head. While beautiful, my lust for her was not for her body, but her companionship. I stared at the charcoal, as it slowly turned from black to red.
"But you know, I actually have a secret I wanted to share with you..."
At this, I perked up. Secret? Did she find out I found out? Or maybe she suspects it?
"I'm... Pregnant."
"Pregnant...?" I snapped my head toward her, and our foreheads bumped into each other with a THUD.
Perhaps it's the child, but we blushed like we were newly weds as we rubbed our foreheads in pain.
"How?! I mean, you're... I'm..."
"It's why we haven't, you know..." She fidgeted, her face turning redder than the charcoal. "I wanted to make sure before telling you about it..."
"So is it... Like... inside... Or outside...?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Like, the baby? Is it..." I put my hand over her lower abdomen, and she nodded shyly. "Do you have to like... Does it come out a baby... Or an egg?"
"A baby, silly!" Then, a flicker of realization flashed across her eyes. "Or... I... I actually don't know, but you found out, huh?"
I couldn't resist her dejected look, and I dropped all the baggage I had over the last few days. I smiled at her, like I always did, before finding out her secret. The charcoal ignited in flames, like my feelings for her.
"Let's ask your parents!"
We called my in-laws, explained our situation, and they were glad to hear our relationship did not change in the least bit, and explained to us the process of interspecies propagation.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and the one question that had plagued me the past few days was finally answered.
I held her hand, and we focused our attention on the barbecue. She was a carnivore, and to be honest, I'm sort of one too. I plopped some food on the grill, and thought back to our wonderful life together.
"So all those holiday breakfast-in-beds you cooked really were ostrich eggs..."
"No, I laid them."
I let that sink in. I inhaled deeply. The sizzling of the meat brought me back to my senses, and I squeezed my hand into hers a little bit tighter, feeling the firmness of her flesh and the velvet softness of her skin.
If those were her eggs, what do dragon steaks taste like? | 2020-08-03T08:55:39 | 2020-08-03T08:52:09 | 55 | 37 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago." | I have always imagined what the world would be like if everyone was a kid, running on a sugar rush with no worries or troubles to think about.
Now if the world was full of hormone-galore 18 year old kids, that would be a much more different scenario.
And that is exactly what had happened.
It started about two months ago. I woke up and swung my legs over my bed. Obviously I kept my eyes closed just in case I somehow magically changed Monday into Saturday, then I wouldn’t have to go to work.
My brain picked up something unusual, but I ignored it and ran a sloppy hand down my face as I neared my dresser to change for work. Yesterday’s hangover was still in effect, so I had popped in a pain killer or two.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t see shit. That still doesn’t explain why I looked so short in the mirror over the sink. I was sure my hair length was past my shoulders. Why was my face red and bumpy?
I scooped water into my palms and splashed it on my face, then stared into the mirror.
I was a teenager again.
What age? Well, I later found out by scientists, who looked like a bunch of scrawny high school nerds in lab coats, had conducted research on 100 people and had easily determined their age: 18.
Other studies across the globe had also drawn out the same results. This information was spread on the news along with other surprising info: if you were under 18, you were also 18. If you were 18, you’re staying 18. Every human living on this planet was 18. The source and cause of this? Still unknown.
That was why my feet didn’t touch the ground when I sat over the edge on my bed, that is why I lost a few inches, that is why my hair was much much shorter.
We’ve all reversed- or have gone forward, into our 18 year old bodies and minds- thankfully with our memories still intact.
There wasn’t any harm done to society in general, and so during those two months as humanity had gotten their things in order, the leaders of the world had insisted that we must keep going. And so, all the adults had gone back to work, the kids had gone back to school.
How weird it was for me to look at my boss as an 18 year old kid in a baggy suit and not buff and big as he usually was, his voice cracking every so often as he spoke to the office. It was hard for my co workers and I to *not* laugh at this. When his voice betrayed him and squeaked when he yelled at us, the entire workplace burst into laughter.
It was unfortunate that we didn’t get any work done as we made paper airplanes and gamed at our desks for the entire shift.
As I was heading home, I noticed someone prancing around happily with a few friends, laughing about something that had to do with their limbs.
I had asked them why they seemed so happy at the moment, and they said they were former war soldiers drafted at 18 years old. Now they are happy that they get the chance to live out their youth.
That was one of the many, many quirks that humanity had gained from this thrilling experience. Everyone, young and youthful with the mind of teenagers. Will we stay at 18 forever? Will we age? Who knows.
But now we can finally restart and live the life that we’ve always dreamt of.
Humanity, at 18. | 2020-11-02T10:49:46 | 2020-11-02T09:55:51 | 105 | 29 |
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave." | "I really dont know why I have it, but I have it. Its equally annoying and useful, but more annoying to be honest.
It all started when I was a little child, I did it for fun too. My brother ate the last chocolate donut and I was mad, so mad, and thats when I activated with out noticing first, once I realized what I had done I ran downstairs, grab my donut and ate it just when he was arriving from school. He was so mad, but it was so worth it.
Oh, the times where I used it to make jokes and pranks and cheat on exams... Those days are really far behind, isnt it?"
I grab my backpack and stood in the bus stop, my earphones where blasting my favorite song, some people where around me waiting for either a bus or a cab, and then it happen: that damn menu appear. I sighed, thinking that maybe today I could take a rest and dont use it at all.
Maybe today was the day I was going to let go without saving anything, without having to relieve something. Yeah..maybe today was going to be different.
But no. Against my better judgement I mentally chose the "Save" option. Just as everything got into a new file, I saw a kid running to the street, chasing a dog that got off its leash, both running without looking. I braced myself, close my eyes and all I heard where the terryfing screamings of all the people around me, the brakes of a bus and just something warm hitting me on the cheek. I didnt want to open my eyes, I knew what that warm thing was, so I just open the f***** menu and chose "Load->Last file" and waited for it to load.
*****************
"I really dont know why I have it, but I have it. Its equally annoying and useful, but more annoying to be honest.
It all started when I was a little child, I did it for fun too. My sister ate the last bad of chips and I was mad, so mad, and thats when I activated with out noticing first, once I realized what I had done I ran downstairs, grab my donut and ate it just when she was arriving from the mall. She was so mad, but it was so worth it.
Oh, the times where I used it to make jokes and pranks and cheat on exams... Those days are really far behind, isnt it?"
I carefully inspect everything around me, and saw the little kid with his dog on a leash, his parents not that far from him. I walked calmly, fixing my earphones, when I heard a little gasp coming from the kid. I quickly went ahead and grab the leash, stopping both of them on their tracks.
"Thank you so much, mister!" said the little kid with a wide smile
"You welcome, just grab the leash a little tigther next time, ok?"
Both parents thanked me and I returned to my position, and just as my bus was starting to arrieve, I realize...
"Shit, my bus pass" i said rubing my temples. I heavily sigh and I open the menu once again.
****************
"I really dont know why I have it, but I have it. Its equally annoying and useful, but more useful than annoying.
It all started when I was a little child, I did it for fun too. My dad drank the last of chocolate milk and I was mad, so mad, and thats when I activated with out noticing first, once I realized what I had done I ran downstairs, grab my chocolate milk and drank it just when he was arriving home. He just laugh and said "Damn it! I was about to drink it! You beat me to it, champ!"
Oh, the times where I used it to make jokes and pranks and cheat on exams... Those days are... Wait.
Why does it says that my saves have been corrupted? | Have you ever heard of the concept of Quantum Immortality? Turns out, it's a thing, sort of. I found that out the day the world ended. I lost count of how many times I had to repeat that day before I found out the reason why, but an antimatter comet crashed into the planet during a pretty severe thunderstorm. Just my luck that it was the surprise thunderstorm that I had to fly through, I suppose. I may not understand all the quantum physics behind it, but from the many times I had to relay the information to all the top scientists, apparently, the lighting struck the comet and the positive charge from the lighting forced the antimatter to exist in both a negative and positive charge. This one in infinity event caused the properties of antimatter to not destroy matter but time. Because I was the one closest to the sudden explosion of anti-temporal radiation I was imbued with a vast amount of the stuff. Ironically, being so close to the explosion is what saved me from death. As my body broke down, the radiation reversed time fast enough to "heal" the damage. That's not the only side effect the antitemporal radiation gave me, however. Suddenly, I was experiencing random events of minute time travel.
&#x200B;
I couldn't manipulate the effect at first. It would happen at completely unexpected moments, getting cut off in traffic, returning home from work, and feeding my pets, while on a date, to name a few. The time travel was varied as well, sometimes I would find myself a few minutes back in time and others I would find myself at the start of the month. I went to the same scientists who were able to figure out what caused my time loops, but they couldn't help me. While they knew the process of my time travel, they never could find the cause. I had to do that myself, and it took at least a couple of lifetimes for me to discover the reason. It turns out my brain had absorbed the radiation into my synapses. Anytime I felt a significantly strong enough emotion, the chemicals released by my brain would cause the synapses to fire and release a portion of that radiation. Once I was able to figure out the cause behind it, I set to work on how to control it.
&#x200B;
I'll skip through how I was able to figure out how it worked and manipulate it and explain how it works instead. Depending on what I do, I can emit positive radiation the "destroys" the future and negative radiation that "destroys" the past. Left alone, they don't have any effect on the time stream, but if they run into each other the gap of time that they covered is erased from history. But was it ever history if it never happened? Who knows. This allows me to create a "save point" in time that I can return to by releasing positive radiation and return to it by releasing negative radiation.
&#x200B;
At first, I abused this to no end. I would binge as many episodes of a tv show as I could, and then return to the morning and watch some more. I would call my boss an entitled egotist whose strive for power and power alone is why nobody respected him and that his wife was cheating on him with his brother. But that soon became a living hell, I was being involved with guilt and remorse but on the outside, everyone praised me for being the one who figured out that the world was ending and got the scientists to end it. I tried heroics for a while, but that didn't fulfill me either. I could save a kitten stuck in a tree, or stop a bank robbery, and break up mobs, but then I would get home and read about how many people in the world went hungry or had no homes. I would read about millions of people experiencing unjust suffering on a global scale.
&#x200B;
It left me jaded and hateful. I loved humanity, but I was tired of the level of ignorance and stubbornness they had shown. Thus came my "villain" phase. I had believed that if humanity had a single enemy to unite around they could come together. I knew that I was the only one competent enough to make it happen. My plots ranged from heinous to comical, to absurd. The closest I ever got was a plan to burn out the sun in a one-second burst of all the fuel it had. But in the end, it still didn't play outright. Pretty much every global superpower immediately formed as a task force to stop me, but everything went to shit once I let them capture me. America argued they should be the ones to hold me, prisoner, since they were the ones who caught me first, Russia argued they should get to hold me because I was working in Siberia at the time, And China thought they should get to hold me since they were a neutral party. Of course, none of those were the actual reasons, what they really wanted was for me to work with them to help develop weapons or some other violent and petty desire.
&#x200B;
Now? Well, my life now is probably pretty drab compared to what anyone who isn't me might be thinking about doing. I'm an assistant to the most powerful leader in the world, President Kanye West. I'm always here, whispering solutions to every major world problem I can think of. Some of you may doubt this, but the original world was an awful place. Countries that existed in a state of war constantly, millions of people starving to death, oppression from both countries and corporations across the world, people putting pineapple on pizza. The list of atrocities committed in my original world is endless, ranging from comic book supervillaiesque to nauseatingly violent and destructive. I don't regret giving up the endless pursuit of pleasure I used to live in, and I don't regret giving up fame and praise for being a "hero." Some of you may doubt what I say, but it's true. The Mandela effect isnt just a collective false memory, it has to do with how close you were to the original comet explosion. It seems the more I quicksave, the more memories from alternate times people remeber. It may be inevitable that humanity remebers my misdeeds, and if they do I am writing this note to let them know I'm sorry. Until then, I am going to try my hardest to make this world one I can stay in forever
Edit; This is the first time over ever written for fun, please don’t be to harsh. Constructive criticism would be appreciated | 2020-12-15T15:22:13 | 2020-12-15T14:29:36 | 44 | 32 |
[WP] A being at the gates of the afterlife allows every soul that passes through to ask it one question. Used to being asked questions such as "What is the meaning of life?" and "How many people loved me?", it's taken unawares when a soul asks "How was your day?" instead. | "My day? That's your question?" The being asked, taken aback. The six-armed monstrosity that was covered in eyes which all looked at the man repeated its statement. "You only get one question and I'll answer it. I know everything."
"I know that," the older gentleman nodded. "Listening is where love begins: listening to ourselves and then to our neighbors. That's one of the truths I lived my life by, among other things."
"Love?" The being asked, almost scoffing. "You're lecturing an angel on love?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dare," the man replied. "I'm just giving you my reason for my question. If you'd like, I can ask a different question."
"No, it's just that you're at the gates of heaven. Your life has ended, but I can answer the one question that had been haunting your, whatever that may be," the angel said, now rather perturbed.
"There are times when explanations, no matter how reasonable, just don't seem to help. Besides, the connections we make in the course of a life--maybe that's what heaven is. Why would that stop when I've finally reached out?" the man asked, obviously rehetorically. "So, how are you, friend?"
"I—" the angel stopped as it looked down at the man's file one more time. "I'm actually doing better now that you're here, Fred."
"That's so very kind of you, sir," the man called Fred bowed.
The angel opened the gates to reveal the heavenly splendor behind him, "you're free to go on in."
"My, this truly is a wonderful neighborhood. I hope to see you around, sir. I think I'll go for a walk," Fred nodded. Before he left, be took off the red cardigan that had been on his body and handed it to the angel. "Hopefully this can keep you warm out here." With that, the man passed through the gates.
The angel picked up the cardigan; he didn't physically feel hot or cold. But the kindness of this man have him a spiritual warmth. He looked over the cardigan and find the name on the tag: "F. Rogers." "Well, Mr. Rogers, I hope you have a wonderful day," the angel said before setting the cardigan down to his right. | "Hello," the soul said. It paused. "How was your day?"
The Gatekeeper, for the first not-time in its not-existence, had no idea what to say.
"What?" the Gatekeeper asked.
"How was your day?" the soul asked again.
"Ahem." the Gatekeeper said. "This is your one chance to ask a Great Question. The meaning of life, what comes next, the nature of God...and you ask me how my day was?"
"Well, yeah." The soul somehow managed to shrug, even without a body. The Gatekeeper was completely at a loss, surprised for the second not-time.
"Look," the soul said. "I already know the meaning of life."
"You do?" said the Gatekeeper.
"It's not that complicated," the soul explained. "Be good to others. Try to leave your little bit of the world better than you found it. And if you can't do that, at least try to minimize how messed-up it gets. Pretty basic, really."
"Well, if you're so certain..." said the Gatekeeper. "But what about the other Great Questions?"
"Uh huh," said the soul. "You're not gonna give me a good answer to any of those questions, anyway."
"I won't?" the Gatekeeper asked. That was news to him. Answering each soul's Great Question was the very point of his not-existence.
"No," the soul said. "You won't. Either you'll give me a super-simplified, dumbed-down answer to fit my puny human understanding, or you'll give me the real deal but it won't make any sense to me, since all I've got is my puny human understanding. So asking would be pointless."
The Gatekeeper felt uneasy. Each time a soul asked its Great Question, the Gatekeeper shone down a single ray of True Enlightenment. The soul would pull away, overwhelmed, before becoming subsumed first by awe, then by peace, and finally by boundless gratitude before winking out of its first plane of existence and onto the next. Or, at least, that was the way it had always seemed to the Gatekeeper. It had never occurred to him that a soul's experience might be otherwise.
"Well, OK," said the Gatekeeper. "But why ask me how my day was? Aren't you curious about anything else? Who loved or didn't love you? The future of humanity? The secret recipe for Coca-Cola? Nothing? Just how my day was?"
The soul somehow managed to sigh. "I know who I loved, and I'm pretty sure I know who loved me back. And anyone who didn't love me back doesn't matter now, if they ever did."
The Gatekeeper listened in disbelief.
"The future of humanity has nothing to do with me at this point. I'm not going to participate in it or have any effect on it now, so my knowing about it is useless."
The Gatekeeper's astonishment continued to grow.
"And I never liked Coca-Cola. Too sweet. Hurts your teeth."
The Gatekeeper could feel his incorporeal essence scattering in confusion and frustration. "Okay," he not-sighed, pulling his not-self back together. "But why ask me how my day was?"
"Well," the soul said, "I figured all the big questions were out, and it seemed like the nice thing to do. An opener to further conversation. The usual thing."
"The usual thing," the Gatekeeper repeated. "You've just left your material form behind, and your essence is about to enter its next, hitherto unknown, state of being in the vastness of the universe. Is that the usual thing, in your experience?"
"It does feel pretty weird," admitted the soul. "Or it would, if I could feel. But that's no reason to be impolite."
"Impolite," said the Gatekeeper. "Well, this might be impolite, but I have no idea how to answer your question. To me, there is no time, so there is nothing for it to be like. I simply am and not-am, in this not-place, at this not-junction of all forms of existence and non-existence."
"It's not that hard," the soul said. "You just say, 'Good!' and then ask me how my day was."
"But if you already know the answer, why would you ask me?" said the Gatekeeper.
"It's not really an answer," said the soul. "It's just what you do. Asking and answering the question leads to a conversation."
"Like the one we're having now?" asked the Gatekeeper.
"Well, yeah, I suppose," said the soul. "But friendlier, maybe."
The Gatekeeper realized what he must do. "Ask me again," he said.
"How was your day?" the soul obliged.
"I cannot tell you," the Gatekeeper replied, "but I can show you. Stand still." He shone down a single ray of True Enlightenment. The soul pulled away, overwhelmed, before becoming subsumed by awe, then by peace, and finally by boundless gratitude before winking out of its first plane of existence and onto the next.
"Finally," the Gatekeeper not-sighed. "Next!" | 2021-03-29T00:57:28 | 2021-03-28T23:51:18 | 87 | 42 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | "I'm guessing I'm supposed to fall in love." I sighed, Looks like the entity that had been manipulating me for the last millennia had finally decided to officially introduce himself to me.
"I can't bel- Wait- YES! That's it! Your one true lo-"
"I'm going to stop you right there. I take it you're the red headed man in the pale blue jacket?"
"I- What? How? You noticed me?"
"Well when you get to be my age you start to pick up on some things." I responded. "Amidst a universe that continually fought to flow back to the status quo you kept showing up. Same age, different times and places, always watching trying to nudge me a certain way. Subtle at first, a dropped handkerchief, a missed bus. I gotta say you've been getting sloppy lately. A free trip to Paris where my single room was mysteriously swapped with a couples suite?"
"Well I really thought you weren't getting it..." I could feel the voice's frustrations turn to utter bewilderment. "So do you know why I'm here?"
"I've made a guess. You're a time traveller of some sort and you've messed up. You need me to do something... or someone to fix it. So you keep sending me back. Though I've been to Paris dozens of times, and burnt it to the ground twice. What made you think that would entice me?"
"Well I can't watch your entire lifetime every cycle." the voice explained, "I only show up for a few days at a time, and I'd really like to get back to my own timeline so...could you-"
"No. Not yet." I said, "I've seen the other side, every time I die, for just a few seconds. I know what it's like to no longer know what anything is like. I don't want that. Not yet. Not forever. There's so much left for me to see, for me to be. Once I've done everything that no one has done, then and only then will I do the one thing everyone's done... I'll fuck your mother" | With a name like Guif Alberto, you really don't get many chances at life to be normal, and it's not like I chose to be.
My first life, I was a normal high school kid. I played Minecraft. Well, I played Minecraft. Couldn't once I got hit by a fuckin' truck and died, haha.
Then I was reincarnated as a saint in another world (trademark japan). I was given the arduous task of hunting down the demon king and all other demonic entities. Unfortunately, I had been summoned when the vast majority of the task was already done. There was no grand battle to fight, no epic saga. There was just poking around every cave of every mountain of every continent in order to flush out the last of them, and when I did, I found something incredible.
A crystal, held by one of the demon king's closest subordinates, with a shining star engraved upon it. Half-filled with an incredible amount of mana, I couldn't help but try to charge it all the way.
Next thing I knew, I was in the realm of the gods.
Now, that sounds cool. But it really isn't. It's just a blank space. And you know what doesn't go over well with me? Betrayal.
Oh, sorry, I ought to back up a bit.
See, I was first summoned by this pretty white goddess lady with a halo and wings. Cool, yeah? Well, it turns out, the demons were summoned by this handsome black demon guy with a pinstripe suit and horns. And the two of them were actually on good terms, and just threw us into the world as some kind of twisted reality TV show.
I may or may not have attempted to kill both of them upon learning that the reason my soul had been plucked from a car accident I wouldn't even die from was so that I could serve as a side character in their stupid show, and I may or may not have faded. But luckily, I didn't die... yet.
Time for round two.
This time, the world I was in? Pretty high tech. Higher than my first one. I figured, hey, might as well figure out if this tech thing can blow up a god. I may or may not have cheated using my magical abilities to get to the nukes, and I may or may not have blown up a city with a population of ten million. But really, does it even matter? A few specks of life in the multiverse. Plus, I needed the atomic energy to recharge my crystal.
I didn't do any better the second time, sadly. But now I knew the game.
Enter world. Scope world. Gather abilities. Gather energy. Sometimes I'd lead revolutions against corrupt governments as a noble revolutionary, sometimes I'd be the leader of the secret police. I always played the long game, whether it was being worshipped as a god or reviled as a demon. And each time, I got better. The fifth try, I scratched a button off the suit of the chief demon. The tenth, I dented the halo of the angel. The twentieth, a pinky. The fortieth, an arm.
I've been to every universe and seen it all- I think. At the very least, a lot more than you have. And I still hold out hope that one day, I'll be kicked back into the home I came from, and that I'll be able to live the rest of my life with my family, with my friends. That I'll be able to make meme references without people treating them like gospels or demonic curses. That I can reference superman or the flash in a joke without spawning a new pantheon.
Well, on roughly my five million, three hundred and seventy thousandth attempt, I finally killed both of them. They were still healing from my last assault, and I did a nuke% speedrun fast enough to catch them off guard. They weren't prepared. I was.
And as I was stuck in the void, a voice came to me. I didn't know who it was at first, but I was glad for the contact. And even if I'm just going crazy, it was nice to have someone to talk to.
"I didn't need your whole life story, Guif," you replied. "I'm here to tell you how to get back to your home."
Guif Alberto is a slight change from my original OC, Guif Allegro, who has a similar backstory and is a cameo/side character in [Randomly Roach](https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/randomly-roach/list?title_no=656870). Also, because I have no idea how to properly promote a webnovel, here's a superhero story called [The Creature](https://www.wattpad.com/story/300192980-the-creature). | 2022-02-09T20:14:27 | 2022-02-09T18:23:31 | 2,163 | 86 |
[WP] A small town deep in the forest has a town dragon. Yep. His name’s Darryl, and he’s actually a really nice dude! He even married the mayor’s daughter with the mayor’s consent! However, a group of travelers not accustomed to giant beasts dropping by for groceries has just stopped in town. Uh-oh… | Darius sat sullenly while Asana paced the cell in which they were locked. She had been fuming for the better part of an hour and he a relatively sure that she would be up for talking soon.
"What were they thinking!" Asana yelled suddenly.
Darius kept his voice low. "Technically we did disobey the law."
"That's stupid and you know it! Almost every city has laws against bringing in weapons, but you and I always have something tucked away for just this scenario. We're mercenaries, godsdammit!"
Darius held up his hands in acquiescence. Looking at them now, his scarred, calloused hands did feel empty without a broadsword or hand axe. "I guess they take it more seriously here."
"More seriously than a dragon attack?" Asana immediately stopped pacing and dropped on the bench next to Darius. "I got in a good hit with my dagger, but its likely he'll recover from the wound. We should have taken chase, but the guards decided to lock us up and let a monster go loose."
"It'll be fine, Asana. There'll be a fine, we'll get slapped on the wrists, we'll make back the money, and next time a dragon tries to burn down this town, we can ignore it."
Asana laughed and laid her head on Darius' shoulder. "You're right. I'm glad *you* have a cool head at least."
Suddenly a sound in the prison put them both on alert. They stood and met the guards at the iron-barred door. The leader of the company was a grim-faced man who stared daggers at the two mercenaries.
"The Mayor wishes to see you," he uttered through clenched teeth.
"Really?" Darius asked. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Listen, outlander!" the guard barked back. "Be grateful I'm not taking you to the gallows. It took this long for us to decide not charge you for murder!"
"Murder!" Asana yelled. It started the other guards enough to make them raise their weapons. Darius laid a hand on her shoulder and raised another in surrender.
"Take us to him."
&#x200B;
It was a short walk to the Mayor's Grand Hall. The torches were out in half of the enclosure, leaving the area behind the Mayor's chair in darkness. The mayor was a middle-aged man with greying hair, a comfortable paunch over his belt, and a sour expression. Darius was beginning to think it was the city's customary expression.
"Have they been searched for weapons?" The mayor asked in a stern, but tired voice.
"Yes sire." The guard replied. "Before and after they were imprisoned."
"Very well. You can leave us."
Soon, Darius and Asana were alone with the mayor. He stood and approached them.
"My name is Jairus, and I am the mayor of this fine city. I take it you think our town is a bit odd."
"Odd!" Asana exclaimed. Darius attempted to intervene, but she said, "Not now! We try to take down a dragon that descended in the middle of the market, and you arrest us for having an emergency weapon ready? And the guard claims that we could have been charged for murder? I think that is a bit more than odd!"
Jairus' lips drew into a thin line. "May I ask you, young lady, what harm the dragon offered you?"
Asana blinked. "I-it's a dragon!"
"And?"
Darius stepped forward. "I believe what she is trying to express is that dragon's are generally seem as a hazard to peaceful folk. It's what dragons do. We tend to hire ourselves out as protectors, and we thought that it would be best to strike preemptively to keep as many safe as possible."
"So talking was out of the question for this encounter?"
"I'm sorry?"
The mayor became more animated, "You decided to attack without first trying any form of diplomacy. Now I have a mess to clean in the markets and my daughter's husband is being treated for mortal wounds!"
"I'm sorry, was he harmed by the dragon?"
"No," Came a voice from behind the mayor. The voice was resonant and laced with growls. From the direction of the voice came a glob of fire that ignited a ring of torches. "He *was* the dragon."
The green-scaled beast was sprawled behind the mayor's chair and a portion of its hindquarters where Asana had thrown the was layered with red-stained bandages. Darius and Asana stood agape, but the side door to the hall was opened before they could respond. A young woman ran in and wrapped her arms around the dragon.
"Nax! Are you well? I told the maids to keep the lights down!"
"Lise, you coddle me like a wingless drake. I am well enough; no thanks to you two." The dragon shot a glare at the mercenaries.
"He's proud, but he will survive the wound," Jairus explained to Darius. "We were forced to imprison you until we addressed the severity of the wound. Had he been killed outright, I would have needed to exile you at the very least. Tarrinax has become the very soul of our little city."
Asana was still staring with wide eyes, so Darius said, "I don't understand, sir."
"I was like you once, but my daughter showed me that not all beasts are beastly, if you see what I mean. When I was younger, I could not have imagined my daughter marrying a flying lizard, but now I cannot imagine life without him."
Suddenly, Asana stepped forward. Her hands were still bound behind her, but she strode directly in front of Tarrinax. The great dragon tensed and began to extend his wings at the protestations of the young lady, but he stopped when Asana knelt before him.
"Great, and gentle Tarrinax," She said with her eyes toward the floor. "I am sorry for having harmed you. I was in error and I make no excuse for myself. Will you ever forgive me?"
"Of course," Tarrinax rumbled. He stretched his neck forward and pressed his snout against her head. "That's what dragons do." | The van backfired upon entering the parking lot of Albert's Serve-U, and a few people turned to look. It was an older blue Dodge A-100 with a white stripe running the length of the body and wrapping around the front and back. It had a pop up camper top. If you were close enough, you could get a whiff of pot smoke, dirty hippy, and moldy carpet.
"Tourists," muttered old Sam as he spat tobacco juice onto the asphalt. "'Tis the season."
Just then another rig entered the parking lot of the grocery store. It was an F100 towing a long white horse trailer, which looked pretty ordinary for a place like this. Only, there were no horses inside.
The side door of the van slid open and young woman with dark sunglasses, long brown hair and cut off jean shorts hopped out. She was followed by another woman, red-headed and wearing a striped tube top with bell bottom jeans and flip-flops. Two men got out of the cab. One was tall and lanky, wearing a red bandana in his wild mop of dirty blond hair. The other was stout and wore a muscle shirt and had a bushy reddish beard.
"Becky, get me smokes, OK?" said the man with the bandana,"I'm going to use the pay phone while you're in there."
"OK, Steve," replied the brown haired woman. She watched him walk over to the phone booth on the western edge of the lot.
"Who is he calling?" Asked the red haired woman.
"Probably his cousin, Jack. He lives around here somewhere and sells weed," Becky replied.
"Dan, do you have any bug spray? Or should I buy some?" The red haired woman asked.
"Better buy some, Cheryl. The skeeters are pretty bad up at the lake." Replied the man called Dan.
As the trio neared the store entrance, a pretty blond woman hopped out of the F100 and went to the back of the horse trailer. The three thought nothing of it and walked past. Steve; however, as he listened to the ringing phone line, happened to glance in their direction and he watched as an enormous, green scaled monster came out of the horse trailer.
It was a dragon. A mother fucking real as fuck dragon, maybe. Steve had done a lot of acid in his day, and he knew about flash backs, but if this was one, it seemed extra vivid, and nothing else was amiss in his surroundings. No one else seemed to care in the slightest. He stood there in the hot phone booth holding the phone and listening as his cousin's line rang again and again. He looked at his hand to see if it looked like he was tripping.
The gigantic creature put a winged arm around the blond woman and they looked lovingly at each other as they proceeded to walk into the store.
"Fuckin' A." Steve whispered to himself and hung up the pay phone.
Becky, Cheryl and Dan walked obliviously in front of the couple.
The store teemed with shoppers, locals and those passing through. It had a sizeable camping gear selection in addition to groceries, and Becky stopped to check out the hot dog grilling cages while Cheryl searched for the mosquito repellent. They saw it at the same time.
The dragon stood, both sets of front claws wrapped around the shopping cart handle, as the blond beauty smiled up at it and asked if it minded Sanka or wanted the more expensive Folgers Decaf.
Cheryl grabbed onto Dan's arm and gasped. Dan turned to look, and said "Holy shit. what is that?"
"Excuse me!" Cried the blond woman "'That' is my husband and I'll thank you to keep your rude comments to yourself." She glared at the three of them, and the dragon hung his head slightly.
"Come on Debbie, it's OK. They're not from around here, they don't know." The dragon's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"No!" Debbie yelled. "I'm so sick of this shit. Everywhere we go, there's some uneducated asshole who has to act like you're some kind of freak in a sideshow. I'm not putting up with it any longer. I demand an apology."
"What the-" Dan began.
"Apologize!" Demanded Debbie. It was quiet all around them, and people stood watching the confrontation.
'W- we didn't mean to be rude, it's just that we've never seen a dragon in real life before." Becky stammered.
"Well, you were rude, and he may be a dragon, but he's got feelings like you and me. He came down from the mountains and he worked his ass off at the shake mill and built our cabin all by himself after work every day and all day every weekend. He gave up his horde of gold to build this town a water treatment plant. He served his country in Vietnam. He spent years overcoming the prejudice people had against him and he convinced my daddy, the Mayor of this town, that he would be a good husband and father. My Darryl deserves as much or more respect as any of you, and I demand an apology!" Debbie's eyes were filled with tears.
Just then, Steve came running in and stopped short at the edge of the gathering crowd.
"Am I crazy or is there really a fucking dragon standing here in the middle of-" Steve started to excitedly query.
"Just great!" Screamed Debbie, "Another goddamned hippy that sees my husband and totally forgets all of his hippy love shit and treats us like freaks!" She now glared in Steve's direction.
"What-"Steve started again, and again, Debbie cut him off.
"My husband, Darryl the dragon, is more man than you will ever be. He gives to this community! He works hard and he cares. All you do is stink and judge!" Debbie's anger was bubbling over.
"Debbie, honey, I'd like to say something." Darryl put his clawed hand on her shoulder.
"This woman loves me something fierce, as you can see. I love her more than life itself. We just came to get groceries like everyone else here. We don't want any trouble. My wife is tired of having people act like it's such a big deal, and frankly, so am I. But I want you to know something about dragons. We've been around a very long time, and we've had plenty of opportunity to think about things. " Darryl paused a moment and cleared his throat.
He continued,"In the old days, people were terrified and greedy. They hunted us relentlessly and killed indiscriminately, taking our gold. They didn't bother distinguishing good dragons from bad. They didn't listen when we tried to negotiate peace. Until now. Like Debbie said, I came down from the Cascades and when I saw that people here, surrounded by water, had a dilapidated treatment facility and dirty drinking water they had to boil, I paid every cent I had to replace the system. I did two tours in Vietnam, and got spit on for my troubles. I came back, thinking I would go back into the mountains and mine gold again, but then I saw Debbie. So I stayed here, and I got a job and worked hard, and did all I could to convince her and her father that my love is real and I am a good dragon." He looked around at the faces of the people around them.
"I have had to work twice as hard as any of you just to exist in this place and not be murdered by fearful people." Darryl said. "If I wanted to, I could burn this whole town down with my breath. I could have killed all of you, but I choose not to. That ought to count for something. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'd like to get our groceries home and put away in time for the Billy Jack movie that's playing at the theater tonight."
"Hey man," Dan said in earnest. "We're really sorry. Can you forgive us?"
"Yes. I can. And Debbie can too." Said Darryl.
"I fuckin' love Billy Jack." Steve grinned, and Debbie smiled at him through her tears.
"Billy Jack is his idol." She gave a short laugh. "I'm sure you understand why."
"We're going to be up at the campground at Baker, a place called Horse Shoe Cove, if you two want to stop by for a drink later." Cheryl said tentatively.
And with that, the crowd began to disperse and everyone bought their groceries.
The next day was Saturday and Darryl and Debbie showed up at the camp site with a case of Olympia and a package of hot dogs. Darryl was happy to show how he could roast them to perfection and also that he could fly while holding a tow rope for them to water ski behind him. Debbie played her guitar and sang. They all got very stoned and had a great time.
That's how they all met, and a friendship of many decades began.
&#x200B;
Edit: forgot his name is Darryl | 2022-04-25T10:04:29 | 2022-04-25T09:27:13 | 159 | 61 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the ability to summon one random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does Mjolnir. As you summon yours it takes some time but people are horrified as it finally arrives... | "What is it?"
"I don't know."
"You're the one summoning it!"
"Yeah. I don't know what it *is* but it's *big*."
"...wait, how big are we talking?"
"I don't know. But it's *big*."
"Wait, does everyone remember Ermetrude?"
"Summoning the Eiffel Tower, yeah. *Nasty* way to go. But don't worry, I'm pretty sure this won't hurt me."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. It feels... *soft*. Big and soft."
"Could it be a mattress?"
"Big and soft and *hot*."
"...how hot are we talking?"
"*Seriously* hot."
"Like, mattress-on-fire kind of thing?"
"Bigger. Softer. Hotter."
"Won't it burn you?"
"Nah, I'm... pretty sure that being able to summon it makes me immune to heat damage."
"...you might want to test that."
"Nah, it'll be good."
"....where is it, anyhow?"
"Big, soft, hot, and *far away*. But getting closer."
"Right. Right. It's just that I don't see anything yet. ...is it just me or is it getting hotter?"
"That's it. It's coming closer."
"...do you at least know which direction it's coming from? I want to be facing the right horizon."
"Oh, it's not coming from the horizon. It's coming from directly above us."
"Directly above us? But the only thing up there is... the Sun... oh *noooooo!*" | Standing there my eyes widened, in my hand was a book decorated with bones and a rather old fashioned quill pen, the ink a strange red tinge. My mother stumbled a response “n..no…it can’t be…honey, what do we do?” Father had slowly backed into a corner of the room gripping the oven mitt “I don’t know. Is it what I think it is? Who do we go to when this happens? Surely there’s a mistake” but their voices sounded like they was in the distance, my ears ringing as I stared at the book in my hands. It had been mentioned once before in classes, preparing us for the day we turned 18 and the things we could receive. Many was weapons, some was just useful tools to get out of situations. But there had been a slide on this book, and the teacher had rushed to get past it but remarked how no one had got this book since one of the political leaders over 200 years ago; how when they had it, it was chaos and death and destruction, and here it was in my hand. My throat felt like it was going to close up, I think my birthday was a flop at this point…
Sitting in my room I turned the book front to back, opened the pages and flicked through, it was blank and old. The pages stained and smelt of musk. No one could know I had this book my parents had said, that when asked what I could summon I was to lie and say it was a celestial sword, similar to my mothers. If they knew that I owned the book I’d be taken captive before history could repeat itself.
“So Isla…what did you summon on your birthday this weekend?” My friend Niamh had asked as we walked to the town centre
“Oh a celestial sword like mums, typical right?” Forcing a laugh out, my palms felt sweaty just lying about it to my best friend, I was there for her 18th just 2 weeks ago when she got a fantastic trident, which made sense for her family as they came from a long line of famous fishers
“I’d have pegged you for getting an archery bow like your dad, but your mums sword is so cool! I bet you feel so glad you know what it is now though” I stumbled out a yeah and we kept on walking. By the time we got to the monument we noticed a load of soldiers walking around, rounding people up, I gripped to Niamh’s arm..this couldn’t be good
“Ladies, get in line. We’ve got word someone received the book, we need everyone who’s here to summon their weapons or items so we can check no one is slipping under the radar”
CRAP! I’m screwed!
I don’t know how long we was there but the line was moving down fast and I knew it would be a matter of time before they’d get to me and I’d have to summon that damn book. I’m so dead…
“Isla Raphael! Stand on the X and summon your item” beads formed on my brow, was my teeth chattering? I couldn’t hold this off. Opening my hand it appeared in a black smoke with feather dropping around it, just like it had on my 18th.. I braced myself. Only to hear screams around me, opening my eyes I saw Niamh’s face; the look of betrayal, anger and hurt. I’d lied to her, and she probably hated me for it. I don’t blame her.
“Isla.. th-the book of souls…you have it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Niamh I’m sorry! We know how bad this book is. The destruction it caused! I didn’t want you to fear me if I told you it came to me!”
“You come from a line of celestial beings.. and you have the book of freakin’ souls! You’re essentially a grim reaper! Oh my gods and I let you hold my arm!” I tried to step off the X to run to her, to apologise. But the end of a barrel was pointed in my face and I halted, shit was only going to get worse from here. My hand had already started to blacken just from owning the book. And there was only one way out from this mess before they killed me… | 2022-11-15T05:12:00 | 2022-11-15T01:55:12 | 371 | 261 |
[WP] At age 18 each person meets their soul-mate. For centuries everyone has fallen in love with theirs. You're the first person to not love yours. | I was just sitting in the coffee shop, minding my own business, when I heard his voice for the first time. "Wow, your face is really breaking out today," he said. "I'm surprised that anyone can stand to look at you." And right away I knew who it was. My soulmate. Oh God, no.
That was the beginning of our awful years together. He was always ready with an insult. He found out my secret insecurities and all the things I hated most. He would show me disgusting pictures and laugh as I tried not to gag. He was always trying to get me to join him in petty thefts or cruel tricks on my friends. Sometimes I broke down and did it, and then he would laugh at me when I had to face the consequences. I fought back, though, taunting him for his failed ambitions, his pathetically ineffective attempts to make his way in the world. I would tell him I would kill him one day. He would tell me I didn't have the guts and that he would make my life a living hell. Sometimes we would have shouting matches that lasted through the night, each putting down the other as best we could until we lost our voices and fell asleep around dawn out of sheer exhaustion.
My life disintegrated. I had been a successful student, a happy-go-lucky person with a bright future. A year after meeting him, I was a grim college dropout working a dead-end call center job that I hated. A year after that, I didn't have the job any more, and my parents were losing patience with our constant fighting and threatened multiple times to kick us out. When I finally caught myself, while doing the dishes one day, thinking about how sweet it would be to take the knife I was washing and cut his goddamn throat and feel the warm blood spurt out, I knew I had to do something before it was too late.
So I asked him to go to therapy with me. To my surprise, he agreed. True, he sneered at me, saying I was pathetic, but I suspect he knew that I was near cracking and didn't want to push the issue.
A couple days later, we were in the psychiatrist's office. A small group of medical students was also present; knowing how unusual our case was, I had authorized the doctor to use us as a teaching case. *He* didn't mind that, of course; he loved attention, especially when he could use it to embarrass me. Under those five pairs of eyes, we poured out our secrets. I told them how he was abusive, how he had ruined my life, how I hated him and wanted to kill him. He told them how I was always holding him back, a ball and chain, a hopeless piece of human detritus. The students and the doctor all scribbled furiously on their clipboards and occasionally whispered words to each other that I didn't understand. By the end, we were both in tears.
At last the doctor asked his students what they would recommend. While we both sulked, they talked about various forms of therapy, discussing all the ins and outs, all the pros and cons, all the evidence for and against. After a half an hour of intense discussion, they seemed to come to an agreement. The doctor explained his plan of therapy to us, and also wrote out a prescription for me.
That evening, I went to the pharmacy and filled my prescription. I took the little bottle home and opened it up on the counter. There were a dozen little brown pills inside. I read the label, just to make sure it was safe. "Azinepram 50 mg," it said. "Effective in the treatment of multiple personality disorder."
As I washed down the first two pills with a glass of milk, I laughed, for the first time in months. "I always told you I'd kill you one day," I said. | The day I turned 18 was the first day of the rest of my life.
My birthday is late in the year, October to be precise. My mother always said that I would meet someone truly great since I had to wait longer then most. My family threw me a huge party to celebrate, like every family did. They invited everyone we knew, acquaintances, my friends and their friends. I felt nervous, anxious and excited all at once. This was the day everyone talked about and dreamed of.
It snowed that day, sometimes it would snow on my birthday. I love watching the snow fall, it was my favourite birthday gift. I was concerned this year though. What if my soul-mate couldn’t make it due to the snow? What a crazy thought though, of course he will come, he is my soul-mate.
My father had invited Albert, a boy I had known for as long as our families had known each other. He was perfect in every sense of the word, an ideal match for a mate. He said all of the right things at the right time almost scripted and practised. I found him boring and uninteresting, no ambitions other then the pursuit of me.
After I blew out the 18 candles, I made a wish for my soul-mate to be everything that I had always dreamed of. I knew Albert wasn’t the soul-mate I was destined for, even if my parents thought so. I went along with the party, hoping that maybe he would appear at midnight or before the day ended and the process would be complete.
When I went to sleep that night, I didn’t feel like I fit in anymore. Was I the only person in the world to not love their soul-mate? Was I destined to be unhappy but with a mate regardless? I felt so different from everyone and everything that I knew. So alone. I couldn't understand why I was the ONLY person I knew without a soul-mate.
The next morning, my mom and I drove into town to buy groceries. It was a quiet drive. As the snow continued to fall, we passed time with charming small talk about the party and Albert. I said what I knew she wanted to hear, even though the words were barely honest or confident. While she shopped I went off to walk around the store. Aimlessly, I started watching the local soul-mates in all their glory. They intrigued me, made me wonder what it was about me that was so different from them. So very un-soul-mate material.
Everyone in the store was in a different world, a dreamland of happiness not paying any attention to me. I watched them for a while, trying to understand how to play that role and act like them.
I felt this cold gust behind me and a voice I didn’t recognize. "What are you doing?”, she asked me. Confused and curious, I whirled around to see who was talking to me, as I did I muttered, “nothing..” under my breath.
A stranger. A person I had never met was standing there curious of me.
I couldn’t move, so I stared at her. She was beautiful. Her eyes were pale blue, hair icy as snow and skin bright red from the cold. She reminded me of snowfall.
“Nothing?” she said with her head tilted to the side and smirk on her face. “Why are you hiding here watching people?”. I didn’t know what to say, how could I tell her what I was really doing, even if she was genuinely curious.
I kept staring at her, trying to decide if she was more curious of me then I was of her.
“Allara…” She said as she pulled out her hand from her coat to shake mine, “…that’s my name, what is yours?” I looked at her hand for what felt like a while and said, “Madison, my name is Madison”. She smiled, dimples starting to show, as she took my hand in hers and shook it anyway. Her hands were cold, soft and small. “It is nice to meet you…” she said still smiling, “...my family moved here yesterday, does it always snow in October?”
I smiled, what an unusual person I thought, “it usually snows around on my birthday but it won’t again until the end of November”. “Your birthday!” She smiled and laughed. “Happy Birthday! It never snows in October where I am from, I can’t say I am used to it”, laughing even more which made me laugh too.
“How old are you now?” she asked. “As of yesterday, I am 18”, I responded cautiously anticipating the follow up questions. “Me too!” she yelled. “18 is the best, I can’t wait to move out and start a life of my own.”
I was confused, did she have her soul-mate already? Doesn’t she know about the tradition? How are her parents okay with that? Who is this person and where did she come from? Why was she talking to me? Is there something on my face?
Mom had finished shopping at this point and found me hiding in the Dairy isle with Allara. “Madison, I’m all done, time to go” she said as she approached. “Okay mom, I am coming.” still staring at Allara. “Who is your friend?” she asked moving closer, but before I could even open my mouth, she responded, “Hi! I’m Allara, my family just moved here yesterday”. They shook hands and we started to leave the store.
Allara walked with us, talking to mom about her parents, where they moved to and what they did. Before we parted ways, mom asked Allara for her parents’s phone number. Something about showing them around or becoming friends, I had stopped listening.
After we loaded up the car and were getting ready to leave, mom handed me Allara’s phone number. I was confused and asked, “Why are you giving this to me?” she smiled and told me, “Trust me...”. Still confused, I looked down at Allara’s phone number. Her hand writing was pristine, like it was out of a movie or had been practised a thousand times. “...Madison. There are plenty of men that would love to be your mate. You can go on living like the rest of us or you can start living. In your heart you know the truth.”
I looked at her still confused. She had tears running down her face but she was smiling at me. “Mom?” I asked, trying to understand what she meant. She looked at me with watery eyes and said, “You met your soul-mate today Madison and I am so proud of you”. | 2015-02-21T11:32:09 | 2015-02-21T10:53:59 | 36 | 26 |
[WP] After a screw up occurs at the post office, Santa starts receiving damned souls while Satan is stuck with thousands of wish lists. | Satan sat scratching his head with his pitchfork. Nothing that has come to his evil domain in the past three weeks has made sense. "What is this shit? TODD GET IN HERE NOW!"
A wicked looking creature came scuttling into the Devil's office and stood at attention. It's black, soulless eyes staring at the Master. "Yes Lucifer, you need me again?"
"I received another bundle of letters requesting more of these 'iPhones' and other assorted merchandise. How are we coming along with the other requests?"
Todd, unblinkingly, looked toward the ground. "Well my Lord, the 'Kindle Fires' were at first easy enough but when we went to add the fire part all the mechanical bits melted away. We were going to leave the fire out of it but we have so much it seems silly not to incorporate it somehow. As for the perfumes and colognes we just started dipping them in the "sweat, blood, and tears" pool so I think those are going to be splendid!"
The Devil nodded and re-read another letter. "What the fuck is a "smart watch" and why do so many people need one?"
"I don't have a clue Sire but if it can be made from brimstone and pain then it should be easy enough to make."
"See that it gets done Todd. Oh, before I forget. Did Margery get a hold of the USPS yet?"
"Not yet Sir. Their hours are all messed up and when we do get through they complain of prank calls and hang up on us!"
"I'll see them personally then." Satan said standing up and unfurling his massive black wings. "If they don't fix this soon there'll be Hell to pay!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Santa sat at his desk, glasses in one hand while the other was rubbing the space between his eyes. Outside beyond the gate waited hundreds, maybe even thousands, of souls. At first he thought they were here to help lend a hand but soon murders and thievery began and continued to grow at a rampant pace.
"You called for me Boss?" said a short, pointy eared elf.
"Yes I did. Jerry, I'm sure you and everyone else are aware of our growing "help" problem that exists just outside of town. It has been three weeks and the numbers just continue to increase. You've done a marvelous job of setting up the policing force but have you made any headway as to what they are doing here?"
Jerry took out his licorice notebook and flipped a few pages. "Yes Santa. It seems that the USPS has made an error somewhere in their sorting system. We tried to call and have it corrected but their hours are all messed up and they won't return any of our messages."
"Have we sent letters as well?"
"We have Sir but we think they are getting lost somewhere along the way."
Santa moved to the window and looked out at the ridiculous spectacle that awaited him out on the snowy plains. He then turned toward Jerry who stood anxiously. "Did you manage to wrap one of those souls like I asked?"
"We did indeed Santa."
"Good! Now prep my sleigh and make sure the reindeer are ready to go. Looks like I'm going to have to deliver a package early this year." |
It was, rather unsurprisingly, snowing in Lapland. It pounded upon the ice, compacting it denser than the toughest steel. Just visible through the relentless snowstorm was the faint silhouette of a large cabin.
It looked big. *Far* to big to be structurally sound, and yet, the aging wood brushed off the ferocious beating like it was light drizzle. As a matter of fact, anyone who got close enough would be able to see the that the cabin was protected from the elements by some form of huge, invisible dome; The scene looked very much like an inversed-snowglobe.
But it didn't matter. No-one *ever* came here.
Now, if you thought the outer dimensions were huge, think again. It was as if the architect responsible for constructing the cabin had a complete and utter disregard for the laws of physics, and haphazardly constructed the insides from an old blimp hangar. It was *cavernous.* It stretched for a mile in every direction, all made of a pleasantly brown, varnished wood. An intricate carpet which could have smothered a whale covered the entirety of the floor.
And it was, of course, filled to bursting point with little elves.
Green suits, big ears, everything. It was all *very* stereotypical. 'Stereotypical' was a word which sprang to mind when you saw the little conveyor belts full of toys, tended to by elves. Also when you saw the Christmas trees, the holly wraiths, those little red/white candy canes, and the general scene of thousands of little people toiling away into the Arctic night, preparing for that special day.
A huge oak door led to a impressive office, which overlooked the entire facility - a vantage point from which to view the festive operations. all four office walls were covered in shelves, filled with ancient leather bound copies of two books. One was called 'Naughty', and the other was titled 'Nice.' Both had many volumes, and stretched upwards into a ceiling which was completely out of view.
The only light came from a grand fireplace. Carved from a single piece of marble and covered in stockings, it basked the office in a gently flickering golden light. Just visible, hidden in the shadows, was a monumental desk covered in scroll and quills, partially obscured by the even larger man behind the desk.
It was saying something.
"What the *fuck* do you mean, you're the 'souls of the damned?' I have a business to run here, and if you fucking think that-"
It went on for some time, in a impressively unshakeable bad mood. Alas, the only thing that *wasn't* stereotypical was Santa himself. *Yes*, he lived in a magical cabin in Lapland. *Yes,* he had thousands of toy-making elves. *Yes*, he had naughty and nice lists. But the big man himself was the love child of Malcolm Tucker and a grizzly bear. The mustache and beard just made him look angrier.
"...So, fuck off before I set the reindeers on you." He finished gruffly.
He was talking to a shapeless black void, hovering over his desk. Every now and then, a pained and screaming face took form, before vanishing back into the swirling darkness. When it spoke, it did so with thousands of voices, in unnerving sync.
^("WE POSSESSED YOUR ANIMALS.") It screeched. It sounded as if it was in considerable agony, yet it's voice was robotic, monotonous.
^("THEY ARE CHILDREN OF HELL NOW.") It added, with what Nicolas thought was a hint of smugness.
"Like fuck they are." He grunted.
He threw a small piece of firewood in the general direction of the fireplace behind him, and it flared brightly, throwing his face into sharp relief. *Technically,* he looked like what Santa should look like. Red suit with the black belt, huge bushy beard and eyebrows, small little spectacles atop a shining red nose - but the body language was all wrong. He looked like he was ready to beat an elephant to death with his bare hands. It was because of the huge muscles that the suit was tight, not gentile pudginess.
Probably why the elves were working so fast. He learned in, and glared silently into what could only be described as the gates to infinity.
"I will not ask you again." He growled. *"What. The fuck. Are you?"* Was it the Easter Bunny? Has he set you up to this? That bastard always wanted my secrets, well tell him to go f-"
^("WE HAVE TOLD YOU.") It groaned, ^("WE ARE THE CREATURES OF HELL. THE CHILDREN OF DARKNESS. THE SOULS OF THE DAMNED. WE ARE FREE, AND NOW WE SHALL DESTROY THE PLAGUE THAT FESTERS ON THIS ROTTING EARTH. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, WE WILL WIPE YOU FROM THE FACE-")
Which was as far as they got, because Nicolas pulled his firewood bucket from under his desk and slammed it over the black... thing.
"Yeah, yeah" he barked. "Shut the fuck up, you emo pricks. I have to make a call."
He dusted away a few pieces of parchment from his desk, and picked up a battered old telephone and pushed a few buttons, waiting impatiently. He kept his huge arm on the bucket, as the souls of hell tried, unsuccesfully, to escape.
Six kilometers below him, Satan's phone rang.
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Thoughts? Criticisms? Let me Know!
^/r/DunsparceWrites
***(CURRENTLY WRITING PART 2)***
| 2015-07-17T11:58:00 | 2015-07-17T11:52:11 | 65 | 19 |
[WP] You accidentally call the FBI in place for a pizza shop and attempt to order your favourite pizza with toppings. Coincidentally, the FBI uses pizza language as a means of code. | "Hi," Rick said. "I'd like to order a large pizza."
"Large, you say?" The guy on the other end of the line seemed a little taken aback, which was rather strange for a pizza place.
"Yeah," Rick continued, a little confused himself. "Could I get it mushrooms, sausage, olives and pinapple on that?"
"Of course," said the voice bruskly. "Will that be pick-up or delivery?"
"Delivery." The guy on the other end gasped loudly and slammed down the phone. "That's odd," thought Rick. "He didn't tell me how much it would cost or when I could expect it. He didn't even say 'thank you' or 'good bye.' I need to have a talk with Gino about how his employees treat customers." Rick turned on the tv and settled down to wait for his pizza.
***
Agent Smith walked briskly down the hall trying to not panic. A *large* pizza! this was going to be a big one and, apparently it involved nuclear weapons, genetic engineering, the Israelis and . . . whatever the hell pineapples are. There was no way that pineapples were anything good. Worse still, it was a delivery. It was coming right to American soil! He had to brief the president immediately. There was going to be a war unlike any the world had ever seen.
***
Five hours later, Rick still did not have his pizza and his favorite show had been interrupted by the president making a stupid speech about pineapples. Tonight was just not Rick's night.
ETA: This story is now officially one third of my comment karma. Thanks everyone! | "Hi, you've reached-" I cut them off. They said the same thing every time. I knew who I was calling, no need for chit chat. I wanted pizza and I wanted it now, just like every other day when I was high out of my mind and getting the munchies.
"Yeah, whatever. Look, I wanna place an order and I want it delivered stat." The guy on the other end of the line mumbled something about taking notes and that they were putting a team on it. Dimwits needed a team to get me a pizza? Whatever. As long as I got it.
I kept talking. I was hungry. I'm not me when I'm hungry. I started listing off my toppings. I really knew how to order the perfect pizza. Not exactly a valuable skill, but considering my resume was the length of my flaccid dick, I was generous with what I considered my strengths. "Extra large, extra sauce, go a bit heavy on the cheese. Also, give me sausage and plenty of Canadian bacon as well as olives and mushrooms. Lots of mushrooms." I read off my address.
"Copy that, we'll be there as soon as possible." I hung up the phone and sat back, stomach grumbling but expectant for that juicy pizza en route and I lit up another blunt. A knock at the door startled me. If this was the pizza already, I might even not stiff the delivery guy this time. Another knock annoyed me and I decided he was getting stiffed anyways for being a demanding asshole.
"On my way, you fuck!" I yelled, but the person at the door didn't seem to care and as I turned the corner, the door was knocked off its hinges and in burst a SWAT team in full tactical gear, weapons drawn.
"**FREEZE**." Like I'm gonna run away from my pizza? Yeah, right. Except the pizza guy wasn't among the SWAT team, which was starting to bug me. It took me a second to realize that maybe something was up and that this wasn't just paranoia from the weed. The men swarmed out around my apartment, yelling random stuff about cheese and a sausage-fest and drugs. I realized the blunt was still in my hand so I quickly and as discretely as possible stuffed it in my mouth and swallowed it. Not quite as tasty as I thought it would be.
One of them ripped open my dresser, frantically pulling out clothes and strewing them all over the floor. "Yo, what the hell are you guys doing?" I was indignant and they seemed about as confused as I was at this point.
"We received a tip about a large group of men with drug, money and weapons in this apartment. The caller needed us to arrive as soon as possible to bust them."
"Hold up, man. I just ordered a pizza? Who called you guys?" The men stared at each other confused and read off a phone number.
"Yeah, that's my number. I called the pizza place, though. You guys doing that trippy wire-tapping shit?" I read off the number. Was that last digit supposed to be a 4 or a 9? It had to be a 9... I called them like every other day, I couldn't have forgotten. Wait. No. Fuck. I dialed the wrong number.
My stomach rumbled again, louder this time. These guys would definitely notice I was ridiculously high any second now. As politely as possible, I ushered them to the door, my stomach desperate for food now. But then, right before they turned to leave, I had a brilliant idea; the kind of idea you can only get when you're in a certain state of mind.
"Yo, can you guys do me a solid? I've got the munchies bad right now 'cause I been smoking all day, so could you guys give me a ride to Mickey D's so I can pick something up? I'll give you guys this baggie for the ride." Silly me, almost letting them get away. The guy in charge squinted his eyes at me, and before I knew it, they were reading me something about rights or lefts and I was in their car.
Two hours later and I'm still waiting for that burger. Not sure what's taking them so long or why the cashier is dressed like a cop and completely ignoring me or why the guy behind me in line keeps insisting he wants to fuck me in the ass. | 2015-11-30T16:21:26 | 2015-11-30T16:16:25 | 1,233 | 198 |
[WP] The best demon slayers are those whose minds the demons want to stay out of. | We heard a loud thud. We run there to witness a demon laying on the ground just about to disappear. In front of the demon stood Marlin.
"You should know that I feel very depressed." he said instead of greeting us.
"What happened?"
"I was very bored waiting for you."
"How did you kill the demon?"
"I didn't"
"So what happened?"
"I wanted to talk to him. I explained my views on life and such. He hated me. And then he killed himself." | "I will possess you! I will devour your soul in the process of possessing, and you shall never see the light of day, except for the eternal embers of hell!"
Damn, this demon was being very unruly in front of my house guest, and it pissed me off because I told him to to not show himself in front of anyone until they've been over for a total of seven days minimum. It was a rule made out of my own sympathy, my demonic friend has no friends of his own, so he like to make a big show of his superior metaphysical strength in order to soothe his ego and inner fears of inadequacy.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Screamed Rachel, my "house guest," who's true description is "girl I found at a party and invited to my *house* so therefore, on technicality, she became *my guest*. Her loud scream got gradually quieter and quieter, like she was falling out of a building, or, running out of one really fast, as though she had just seen a demon, and all of her built up pretenses about reality were shattered instantaneously inside the home of a guy she regretted hooking up with because she realized he had lied to her about being a multi-millionaire granola bar entrepreneur.
"Damnit Micheal! You scared another one away! What did I tell you about pretend scaring me!"
As I mentioned before, I was pissed, even though the girl was never going to come back anyways because this morning she asked me if I liked to eat granola bars and I said no they are super gross, without realizing it was a test to see if what I said last night was true.
"You should be scared mortal! For I am!"
"Remember how many times I've heard this? I know your shpeel word for word, ok mike? And also remember how I am nice enough to let you live with me, even though you should be thrown into the deepest pit of hell for failing to conquer my soul?"
I scratched under my nipple and immediately regretted bursting out towards micheal, and even though it is hard to keep your cool when you are hungover, the guy/demon shouldn't be treated badly. I mean, the poor thing's got nowhere to go, I accidentally made him homeless by dismantling his mission to destroy me, and of course I will take my life over anything, but you gotta put yourself in the shoes of somebody whose entire life cycle has revolved around non-stop murder and soul eating. The guy could never catch a break, especially since failure meant permanent termination.
"I......I am Lord Micheal! The son of king Ernos, the great conquerer of the interplanetary underworld systems. I am royalty! I am unstoppable!"
He began to cry, so I walked over and gave him a hug, which he tried to dodge, but since I'm used to girls trying to dodge my hugs, I lassoed him in. While i was upset about making my demon friend cry, I knew that deep down, in some part of my sub-conscious, I was upset that this happened for the second time this week, if you start the week on a monday, and that today was wednesday, so there was much more to come.
At least I'm not dead, I guess. | 2016-02-08T09:21:58 | 2016-02-08T09:15:47 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone is fated to discover their animal companion at some point in their life - it almost always happens before the end of puberty. At 25, you are convinced that you are one of the super-rare few who will never find theirs. Until a dragon lands in front of you. | For most people, finding their Companion is a wonderful experience. God knows nobody in their late teens and early twenties can shut up about how *right* and *perfect* the world is. Honestly, they're worse than new parents. Never shutting the fuck up about the bird on their shoulder, or the snake wrapped around their wrist, or the mouse in their pocket.
That is, before the world catches up with them again and they realize that yes, they do still need to go to work, pay taxes, and use their turn signal. Life goes on, just with an extra bit of feathery, furry, or scaly baggage to drag with you.
Now, again, I say that the Finding is a wonderful experience *for most people.* I am not most people, and haven't been since I realized that I'd gotten all my Big Boy Hair and had no critter to go along with it. 'Distressed' doesn't quite cover how traumatic it can be for a seventeen, eighteen, twenty year old boy to realize that he alone-out of *all the goddamn people in the world*- doesn't get a little bastard to follow him around through life.
I sound bitter. I'm not. Or, at least, not that much. Once you think about it, and I thought about it a lot, it's kind of freeing. I mean you're alone, sure, but you also don't have to worry about buying an extra ticket for your particular parasite when you fly, or have to fit your work schedule to a creature that only moves around at night. Call it the 'Enhanced Bachelor Experience', but for the love of God don't say it where anyone can hear you. The look of pity you'll inevitably receive is almost as bad as...well, nobody likes to be pitied.
Freedom! That's what I was talking about, the freedom of being the complete master of your own destiny. Personally, once I realized that nothing was coming to bond with me, I embraced it. There may have been a bit of heavy drinking right *before* that, but embrace it I did. Left home, joined the Navy, and spent the next five years fucking around the world's oceans in a submarine. Thoroughly exploring the seedier parts of every port from Singapore to Spain, dodging dick-rot-riddled prostitutes and playing peek-a-boo with overly curious Chinese boomers in the South China Sea was a hell of a lot of fun.
An unexpected but not unwelcome bonus of all this was the fact that not a lot of animals can hack it on a steel tube five hundred meters underwater, and even fewer can keep quiet on command. A lot of the guys I served with didn't have Companions either, though they'd gotten theirs and lost them. That made them a rare breed, since most folks whose Companions die tend to check themselves out soon after. That particular bit is also why the Sub Fleet is exempted from the military's official suicide statistics: too many unrelated-to-service incidents skew the statistics. It's also the reason nukers are required to have a live Companion: nobody wants the guy in charge of the reactor to suddenly off himself in the middle of a shift.
But, as with all things, even pissing around in a missile boat got old after a while. I'd been an Army brat growing up, and with Dad involved in some dark hush-hush intelligence shit, we moved around a lot. I don't think I spent six months in one place before I was twenty years old, and I've lived on just about every U.S. military installation with family housing north of the Equator. As nice as it was to see new places, eventually I just wanted to get familiar somewhere.
When my enlistment ended, I *politely* told the re-enlistment recruiter to fuck himself, took my discharge papers, and enrolled in college. I bought a car with the nice, tax-free money I'd saved up over the past couple years, bought some new clothes, and headed for the University of Why The Fuck Would You Care.
I know, it seems like I'm rambling a bit. But that brings me to now, where I will remind you where I began: for most people, finding their Companion is a wonderful experience. Again, I am not most people.
Case in point: as I was driving along the interstate, ready to begin the next chapter of my life, my journey was suddenly and viciously interrupted when a massive red blur slammed into the side of my *brand new fucking car.* I swear to fuck the whole thing lifted off all four tires, because one moment I'm cruising along at a nice seventy miles an hour, the next I'm skidding sideways into a grassy center-divider and my body feels like I'd just pissed off a team of Samoan bodybuilders. Car horns were blaring, tires were skidding, people were slamming on their brakes and stopping along the road.
And then that son of a bitch *roared,* and everything stopped. People stopped talking, horns stopped blaring, birds stopped tweeting, and I'm pretty sure even the plants stopped photosynthesizing, because it was dead. Fucking. *Silent.*
For some reason, some inexplicably stupid reason, I chose instead to unbuckle my seat belt(it'll save your life, kids) and get out of my now-totaled car.
There, in the middle of the goddamn interstate, with afternoon traffic already backing up miles in both directions, was a no-shit, actual dragon. Twenty tons if it was a pound, looking like it ate elephants and shit mountains, blue-streaked crimson scales, and wings spread wide like a Catholic schoolgirl's legs. It looked at me, mouth half open to expose a double row of teeth that would have Ron Jeremy blushing, and it huffed.
"Where the *fuck* have you *been?*"
Well fuck you too, buddy. | "But...but...dragons don't exist," I stammered, not quite believing what I am seeing.
The thought that this could be my animal companion didn't even enter my mind. I was quite sure that this dragon, in all it's scaly majesty, was a figment of my imagination. I was quite sure that the distress brought about by 10 years of glaring alone-ness had finally convinced my poor brain to go on a permanent vacation. So when this dragon declared, quite nonchalantly, that I was to be his human companion I wasn't prepared.
"Not quite true," boomed the oversized flying lizard, "We were never numerous but we do exist."
I had a lump on my throat as big as His Royal Majesty's crown jewel. The size of which brought on a 10 year conflict with a neighboring country ruled by a jealous cousin. I opened my mouth to speak and closed it again. What does one say to a ferocious, fire breathing, mythical creature? I really did not know what. You see as children, we were taught that dragons weren't real. Sure we had songs and epic poems about dragons, and their mighty dragon-friends who rode on their backs with gleaming swords, battling the armies of the Old Enemy. But they weren't histories, they were...legends. The dragon sniffed and exhaled a smokey tendril out of each nostril.
"This would be the most opportune time to ask my name, human."
"Wutsyourname?"
The dragon leveled a big yellow jewel of an eye at me. I started trembling.
"Zor'kzaligaztrozikal."
"Of course it is."
The dragon drew up to it's full height and lowered his giant head towards me. This made quite an impression. I wonder if they are taught this in dragon school, or if they just do it by instinct. My teeth started to chatter, and I could see the sweat flying off in rivulets from my forehead.
"Are you mocking me, human?"
I groaned. I really didn't mean to crack a joke. I'm sure Zork-whatever was a fine dragon name. But I really couldn't help it. Defense mechanism. When I'm terrified I'm known to crack jokes.
"N-n-no, oh g-g-great one."
The smokey tendrils became a darker plumes and immediately it felt 20 degrees warmer. I closed my eyes. This was it. I was going to die. But the heat dissipated as quickly as it came. I opened my eyes and saw that the dragon was eyeing me curiously.
"The elders warned me that I would be tested," said the dragon.
"Tested?" I managed to squeak out. At least the stammer was gone. I was beginning to find my courage again, but it could just be that I've accepted my fate.
"Yes. The elders have said that since the ancient days, humans have been the our only allies because they were the only beings that could speak our tongue."
I'm sure it means that they could speak our tongue, but I wasn't going to be the one to correct it.
"But with this alliance," continued the dragon, "comes the price of having to accept your fragility, both in mind and body, as a challenge. I was under the impression that your fragility of mind meant that while some of you were courageous, most of you would rather fatten yourselves and multiply. I didn't expect that this fragility meant that I
would be a companion to a bumbling fool."
That stung. I did not ask for a dragon companion. A loveable little puppy would have suited me quite well.
"Oh I'm sure that there are some of us who are mighty and courageous and would be willing to ride on your back without fear of plunging to an untimely death. I'm just not sure that person is me." I was getting quite confident now, "This begs the question, oh great dragon. How came you to choose me? When I shouted at the sky earlier about the inequity of being a companionless farmer's son, I didn't mean to catch your attention specifically. It was just, you know, a venting of feelings, and the sky was as good as any to direct my frustrations. I hope you don't mind terribly, that I've wasted your time..."
The dragon took a step forward. Yes, the ground trembled underfoot. Its snout was now a mere foot from my face and I could smell it, the smell of something burning. Not of wood, something muskier, a scent quite unlike any I've ever smelled before.
"We were fated by the heavens to be companions, human. I did not hear your shouts. I felt your yearning. Everyone in my aery felt it. We were wakened by it."
It couldn't have been me. I could not have awakened this dragon with my inane, pathetic whining. I was a farmer's son. I wasn't destined for great things. There must be a mistake.
"There must be a mistake," I said, giving voice to my thoughts.
"And yet, you are here. Tell me human. Where is your home?"
"I..." I looked around me. I was in the middle of a wide field. I had been walking all night, and when exhaustion overtook me, slept where I had fallen down. "I don't know."
"I did not find you by chance. We were fated to meet here."
An overwhelming emotion swept through me and it wasn't gladness. A hot anger spilled from within me. I just now realized how long it had welled up inside.
"Then what took you so long!" I bellowed.
The dragon was surprised by the vehemence in my voice. It studied me, intrigued, and possibly in wonder that I had the gall to treat it in this way. This only angered me even more.
"I waited so long," I continued, voice low, "Do you have any idea how it felt? Growing up, the only boy in your village without a companion? Have you ever been shunned for something that wasn't your doing? Just for simply being different? You drop down from the sky in all you majesty, sure of your welcome, confident that your mere presence would make me cower at your feet. Well, dragon, I will not cower. You are quite mistaken if you think I will submit to being your companion. You could not have made your offer to me in any way that would have induced me to accept it!"
"You are being overly dramatic."
I really was. I don't know what came over me. But the anger was so all encompassing that I had to give it free rein. But now that I had, I felt completely, surprisingly, tranquil.
"Sorry."
Quite suddenly, I heard a rustling behind me. Now if I had a sword, I would say here that my hand immediately leapt to my sword. But alas, I didn't have a sword. So I put up my fists. But really who's going to try and fight me when I have a dragon companion. The rustling came nearer and nearer. I tightened my grip around my sword. No, I mean, I tightened my fists until my knuckles were white. From out of the tall grass came...a boy. Not just any boy, my younger brother. He now walked towards me, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, heedless of the dragon in front of him.
"Where have you been?" he said petulantly. "I was walking all night trying to find you. Father's livid you know. You're supposed to inherit the farm. He said you should show some maturity. You can't just walk off in a huff every time someone brings up your lack of a companion."
I grinned.
"What was that about my lack of a companion?" I said, "Look behind-"
"Human boy," said the dragon, interrupting me.
My younger brother finally opened his eyes fully and took in the sight behind me. His jaw dropped. I grinned even wider.
"See that?" I said but was interrupted again.
"Where were you sleeping, boy?" asked the dragon.
My younger brother pointed back towards where he came from.
"About a few yards that way," he said fearlessly.
The dragon looked at him, and then looked at me. His gaze lingered for a second and went back to my younger brother. I felt a pit in my stomach.
"No-" I said.
"Perhaps you are right human. Perhaps I was mistaken."
"No-"
"How old are you boy?"
"No!"
"I am Zor'kzaligaztrozikal! I am your new companion human boy."
"NO BACKSIES!"
| 2016-04-25T01:44:48 | 2016-04-24T23:48:59 | 64 | 16 |
[WP] Thousands of children mistakenly write letters to Satan each year because they misspell Santa. This year, instead of forwarding these to Santa, Satan decides to help out... | "Dear Satan, I now that thee north pole is very far away and you are very busi but can you help my mommy and daddy? They are very mad alot and they hit eechother and me almost every day. I would like to give you cookies but we dont have any food. I can give you a hug if you want. Please help mak them stop.
Love
Jacob"
Satan read this particular note with an ever increasing grin. The children would send him poorly spelled letters every year demanding this and that nonsense. For many generations, he assumed the old man sent them to him as a laugh, but today presented a gift. A request for those deserving. Satan's grin widened all the more. "Dear biblical boy, I will indeed deliver unto you, Christmas satisfaction like you never thought possible."
Unable to leave his prison, Satan began using the one thing left to him. Influence.
BREAKING NEWS: A six car pileup on I 65 has caused two deaths and left one boy in a coma. A delivery van struck the driver side of the Tillersons mini van while speeding, instantly killing the parents of young Jacob whom is now stable, but reported to be in a deep coma.
We attempted to interview the driver who was still at the scene, as no charges had been filed. He only told us that he was late. That he slept in and that he never sleeps in. He began to become very emotional and refused further comment. It's reported that he's still out there, refusing to leave. Jacob's extended family has started a gofundme for any donations you may wish to give this Christmas.
Now here's chuck with the weather on the ones!
Jacob found himself sitting in his home. Something loud happened, but he couldnt quite remember what. His house seemed bigger too, but that seemed ok. Mommy and Daddy came downstairs. They were smiling and they hugged Jacob. Jacob smiled too. Even though mommy and daddy looked kinda weird and everything else wasn't quite right, it felt pretty good, so he smiled even more. That day, he opened more presents than he had ever seen. All the stuff he ever wanted. It was the best Christmas ever.
Craig Tillerson woke up next to his wife. He was already pissed, because that fucking boy wouldn't shut up. He got ready to reach behind and beat him when he realized he wasn't driving anymore. He remembered driving...everything seemed fuzzy and painful. Everything smelled like ashes. His wife woke up, looked straight ahead, and started screaming. Craig turned his head to see what that mean fucking cunt was crying about this time, only to see what looked like a massive walking goat in a Santa suit. He really saw the room he was in finally. The guts, the blood, the burning corpses. He remembered. He was driving and something brown hit him, and now he was here.
He took a long look at this goat thing, realized the truth, and began to scream too, as the goat thing bellowed out a hearty HO HO HOOOOOOOOO! | So this is based on an established universe I have. Here is ["Lucky the Archdemon"](https://redd.it/4dpbaa) from that universe. This story is called "Satan Goes Christmas Shopping."
"You know, Lucky, I feel like this is the sort of thing I should not have to explain to you," Russ told me condescendingly.
I was leaning against his desk in the lobby, paging through the many letters I'd received. Most were from young children, hence the heinous spelling. "You know, none of these requests are all that ridiculous."
"You're ridiculous."
"Look," I told him, brandishing one particular letter. "Timmy from Idaho wants a new boyfriend for his mom. I could do that."
"You'll get his mother a new boyfriend?" Russ asked me with an arched eyebrow.
"No, no; I'll *be* the boyfriend."
"Nononononono**no**. That is a terrible idea," Russ told me, practically leaping over his desk to snatch Timmy's letter from my hand.
"...So?"
"So, just *no.*" Russ sighed and stared at me for a moment, I could see the gears turning in his head. "Listen. Why don't we pick one letter. Get *one* child their gifts and send the rest of the letters to Santa?"
I was disappointed, no doubt. I'd really gotten my hopes up. Not so much about Timmy's mom, but about sliding down chimney's and eating cookies. "I don't see why I can only do one list."
"Well how would you feel if Santa went trying to do your job?"
"I would love for someone other than me to do my job! That's a great idea, Russ! Santa just sits on his ass 363 days a year, he's got plenty of time. And I bet he'd have a lot of interesting ideas too."
Russ pulled the remaining letters from my hands and grumbled, "I'm not even responding to that idea." He randomly selected a letter and glanced it over. "Perfect. Ashley from Staten Island wants a new bicycle and a stuffed giraffe. We could do that."
"We could do that!"
"Alright, it's settled get your coat, I'll get Charon to watch the gates."
And so off we went to the toy store....
It was packed, as you would expect a toy store to be on Christmas Eve. We pushed and shoved our way through the throngs of last minute shoppers. Displays of toys went from teetering to barren in the blink of an eye, and "sold out" signs were as commonplace as price tags. At last we found ourselves in front of the stuffed animals, where there was a very disappointing lack of giraffes.
There were bears, elephants, cats, dogs, an owl for some reason, but not a single giraffe to behold. Russ and I both searched the shelves high and low, but there was no luck. "Well, what now?" Russ asked me as he peeked over some teddy bears hold Christmas trees to see if there was a giraffe hiding there.
"I'm not ready to give up yet. Santa wouldn't give up yet." I told him.
"Here," he said calling me over. I rushed to his side, hopeful, only to be met with an empty shelf. He jabbed his finger at a small sign that said 'Giraffes, sold out.' He grinned cheekily and said, "I guess giraffes really are endangered."
I grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him up against the shelves. "That's not funny! Extinct is forever! *Endangered means there's still time.*" Still holding his collar with one hand, I dragged him along behind me. "Come on! We'll try a different store."
As we fought our way to the exit I heard him say, "Wait, Lucky, look!"
I stopped and looked where he was pointing and saw a little boy, maybe five at the oldest, holding a giraffe plushie with the store's tag on it. "We need that giraffe more than he does," I announced.
"Okay, so, now what?" Russ asked me anxiously.
"Well, obviously we need to get the toy from the child."
"We? As in together, simultaneously?" He asked me incredulously.
"Well, no, obviously not."
"Okay, so which one of us grabs the toy?"
"We'll flip a coin."
He checked his pockets. "I don't have a coin."
I checked mine. "Okay first, we'll need to steal a coin."
"I think google has a coin flipper," Russ whispered. I'm not sure why he was whispering. No one was paying us any attention. We probably just looked like a gay couple or something, rather than Satan and the gatekeeper to Hell.
"I like my idea better."
He turned to me. "What's your idea?"
"You do it."
His shoulders sagged. "Why me?"
"I'm the boss."
"God damn it, that is always your reason."
"I mean, it *is* a pretty good reason."
"Fine, but we are bolting out of here as soon as I've got it."
"Fair enough."
"Should I get a running start?"
I shrugged. "I'll follow your lead."
"Oh, fuck," he mumbled with a sigh then took off running. I was hot on his heels. And immediately regretting the plan; I am not a runner.
He snatched the toy from the child without hesitation and we were a dozen paces from the boy before we heard someone shout, "Someone stop them!"
*Now* we were attracting attention, but we managed to push our way through the confused hordes before anyone realized we were the ones they were supposed to stop. As we reached the door I looked over my shoulder to see three big daddies bearing down on us. Big fathers I should say, not the ones from BioShock. That would have been scarier.
"Keep running!" I shouted as I slammed against the doors.
*To be continued* | 2016-12-25T00:17:39 | 2016-12-24T18:41:16 | 65 | 21 |
[WP] You're bitten by a zombie. By some strange happening, you die and become a zombie, but your ghost remains bound to this earth. Your ghost has to try and keep your zombie body out of trouble until a cure is found. | I don't know why I was surprised. I mean. I'm the ghost of a zombie, there's no reason the other zombies wouldn't have ghosts too. Almost all of them were like me, trying to keep their writhing selves out of trouble, or at least away from the heavy weapons the survivors had furnished.
The outbreak had been rapid, a terror attack had unleashed the aerosolized virus all over the world. Of course, anyone will tell you that a few dudes in a helicopter with a mini gun was more than a match for even the largest hoards, but now the militaries had ceased their offenses, leaving quarantine zones for the infected while they searched for a cure. I had been so happy to know that it might be coming to an end that I'd gone outside for a walk and got bit. Like an idiot. Now I spent all my time keeping my former body from the high walls of the quarantine.
"Hey Amy," I say to Amy's ghost as she floats by. Me and Amy are friends... kinda. Our zombies are friends at the very least, but Amy isn't the trusting type and she's only started to warm up to me.
"Hey," she replied with the ghost of a smile. "You hear about the eastern wall?"
"No, what about it?"
"Some kind of commotion over that way," she says as her and my zombie shamble into each other, both of them falling over backwards after the sluggish impact.
We finished our play date and I headed out east. Curiosity got the better of me, but I'm a ghost. What's the worst that could happen?
The zombies here weren't being watched, at least not very well. A few on the outside still had their ghosts, the rest were just alone. How odd.
I heard a scream and a shout, ghosts coming my way. Quickly. A bunch of them. "Get away" one yelled to me as it passed. Puzzled I stayed still, wanting to see what the commotion was.
A green ghost? Odd. All the ghosts I've seen have looked like the things in the cartoons, you know, white and kinda round on top with arms that stick out the sides. This one was green. I asked his name as he got closer, and he turned to face me and bit me.
I honestly didn't know that could happen.
An instant later, I started to turn green, meanwhile my zombie sat there with the usual dumb expression on his face. Strangely, this actually did hurt. It hurt a lot!
Next thing I know I'm a shimmery image of my old physical self. I look down, there's my zombie and... There's my ghost? The one that bit me drifted away, a shimmering figure above him. "Dammit Jeffrey!" He said. "Dammit
Dammit dammit."
I asked him what was the matter, what had happened just now. "My ghost got the zombie virus. I guess yours has it now, too."
"So..."
"So now you're the ghost of a zombie ghost."
I thought for a moment. "The ghost of the zombie ghost of a zombie. Terrific." I sighed. "It's probably just ghosts all the way down." | So is this life after death? Maybe it's just part of the zombie thing. How stupid of me to get bit. Grocery stores are obviously death traps but I was just so hungry. At least I escaped but not knowing anywhere safe to go lead me deep in to the woods and well with no shelter in the cold night and no survival knowledge, here I am.
Hey I'm starting to move, or he's starting move? It's my body, maybe I could get back in to it. Nope. Just flew straight threw. Maybe I'm in purgatory, guess those religious nuts were right.
What's that? No! Get away you stupid crow, don't peck at his-MY head!
...
It's like I'm a poltergeist or something. That crow flew like I hit a home run with a metal bat on it.
Okay, this could be fun if not almost everyone was a zombie now. My body is in pretty good shape and my consciousness or spirit or whatever is still here. So there has to be some nerd somewhere working on a cure or a way to remove the virus. If the virus is removed from my body I might be able to get back in!
Right! So now I just have to keep my body safe.........Where did I go?
For a sleep walking corpse I sure covered a lot of distance. Ewe don't eat that c'mon. Seems like I can't hit myself so I'll just have to let myself have dead animals. What if I eat humans? Eugh, do I even want to return to my body after that?
______________
It must have been weeks since I died. Fortunately my body hasn't lost much, just a little skin falling off here and there. I'm knocking off flies and birds and scaring everything away when I can.
Humans are the tricky part. If I get shot I don't think my body will sustain me when I return to it. So when it's clear around me I'll circle the perimeter really quick, being a ghost is speedy as hell. I found some guys camping so I snapped some sticks. They were going to hold their ground so I made it sound like a horde was coming by snapping more twigs and breaking branches. Off they ran!
I've hiked more in this time than I have in my entire living life. It gets boring sometimes so I'll knock down trees and try spelling "find a cure" in different methods. In dirt, in trees, with trees, rocks, almost every way I could think of.
Looks like I made some friends. They are far more decayed than me, my body should feel great with how well I've taken care of him but he shows no appreciation. He has his friends, I'll go check out the gas station they're walking toward.
Place is pretty run down, maybe more time has passed since the fall of civilization than I've realised? Or this is just a shitty gas station. Some stuff growing on it, the cieling thing that covers the cars is at a slant after someone drove into the pillar. No bodies so I'm sure they walked off. I hear something inside though.
Through the wall like Casper, man I'll miss being a ghost, or I'll be one forever we'll see. Oh crap there's people!
There's a well aged man that looks like a retired viking warrior gun shop owner. That is he has ammo belts and rifles on him. It's like he jumped out of a video game. Then there's the dadbod with glasses and rags of a shirt and khakis. He looks like he would fix my computer, not cure my body. Oh and look at this cutie, pouty lips, dirty blonde hair - that's not a color description, her hair is dirty, and running for her life has kept her in good shape. I'm not normally one to look at woman like this but It's been a while. She had a .22 hunting rifle.
I bet she was with the viking warrior. Wait there's no time to be thinking of this! How do I make the run away? We're not in the woods so it won't sound like a horde. I could throw random stuff around, that might spook them off, yeah! I'm so brilliant!
Poltergeist is an art, you can't just make everything shake and fly. You start off small. A soup can rolling. old defunct refrigerator doors opening and closing. Then you do both faster and at once. Now the doors are stuck open! What magical horror! The cans are floating and flying! The generator is long dead but the lights are on! The Register is hurling around like a tornado! They can hear my maniacal laughter!
They can hear my laughing?
That was weird, well they're running and OH MY GOD!
Quick! I have to get between them and my body or they'll shoot me! We're a lot closer than I thought we would be! There's only five of us but I got them in fight or flight and while you can't fight supernatural forces of the spirtual realm you can shoot zombies!
Good, I can deflect the bullets, harmlessly into my friends. They weren't great company anyways, well it was good to have someone around, I feel a little bad for my body but I'm sure we'll make better zombie friends. Ones that don't lead us to humans.
And the girl trips. C'mon it's just me left you're going to trip now!? Get up! Move! You're too cute too die! Oh god I'm getting close, please stop. I won't forgive my body if he eats her! I can't push myself or anything. You're a genius, think of something! I'm about to grab her!
I picked her up and threw her to her buddies. Geek squad helped her up and they held hands as they cought up to Odin. Whew, I saved her. Felt good. Maybe she's with the nerd? | 2017-02-02T06:49:27 | 2017-02-02T06:36:02 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.
EDIT: Wow, didn't expect this prompt to blow up so quickly. Thanks for the responses, guys! Glad I was able to help inspire some writers. | It started off small.
I brought some cheap screws and an oil can to a job because I had gotten busted twice when homeowners heard a floorboard creak or a hinge squeak. Almost got my head blown off the second time.
Not anymore.
The town I prowl is rich, not super rich but old money comfortable rich. Lots of old people, lots of big mostly empty houses. And a lot of those old people rattling around in big drafty not-kept-up houses have a lot of stuff they simply don’t care about.
I started out slipping into the houses in the early evening and using short screws to tighten key floorboards so they don’t squeak. Then I started adding a few here and there when I noticed they were missing. Oiling the door hinges was a no-brainer. Then I realized that some of these elderly rich people had freaking cold houses because they didn’t tape or caulk any of their windows. Caulking the windows kept them from rattling.
I started making multiple trips to some places because they were so easy to get in, and if only one or two things were missing, then they would notice so much.
Then I found Mrs. Johnson shivering in a freezing home in early January. I didn’t know what to do. She was clearly going to freeze to death if I didn’t do something. When I went down to the furnace room, it was obvious that the filter was clogged. I found a spare, and put it in. A quick prime of the system and voila! Heat. I heard Mrs. Johnson thanking ‘her angel’ for saving her. I got some nice Craftsman tools that hadn’t been touched for a decade that night.
Two weeks later, there was a note on the immaculate marble counter top in the kitchen:
Dear Angel.
Thank you for saving my life from the cold. If you could make the garage work again, there is a nice ride-on mower that I don’t need there. I get so cold brushing the car off from the snow. – Agnes.
Well, stealthy I am not, I guess. All the garage needed was 20 minutes of oiling the track and resetting the center screw. I loaded the mower into my truck, brushed the car off and put it in the garage. She waved to me from her bed room.
I have a ten o’clock tonight at the Wilsons. Their sump pump isn’t working, and there is going to be some collectable sports memorabilia that her husband doesn’t want anymore waiting in the dining room. This just feels so wrong.
| It started because of the thrill. If this were a corny rags-to-riches autobio, I'd lie and tell you my first was a honey bun from a drugstore. Or maybe a loaf of bread for my sick mom or something like that. Well, don't get your hopes up; my mom was sick, but I'd have sooner stolen bread from her than for her.
No, my first time was a pair of earrings. I watched Sarah put them in a box, then take the box upstairs, and I waited for her to come back down and kiss me goodnight. But after I left, I kept thinking about them, locked up safe, so treasured and protected. So I waited a week, then I went there while she was sleeping. I knew she had a creaky door, so I oiled it before jimmying the lock. The stairs squeaked on the way up, and I held my breath, feeling my blood pulsing loudly underneath. I went to her bedroom first. There she was, asleep and unaware. It took me five minutes to find the box, and ten more to find the key. Two days later, when I picked her up, I asked why she wasn't wearing the earrings I got her. My heart was pounding, I wanted to hear her say the word, wanted to feel the vulnerability in her voice. But she blushed, and told me she lost them.
So I went back. I needed it--needed to. This time, I brought glue for her squeaky stairs. A bead between the riser and the step, wait ten minutes, then move up and do the next. After a couple of hours, I was done. This time I took money.
She didn't even notice.
I was frustrated. Felt like I bought a bag of bad drugs--I was scratching the itch, but it didn't do a damn thing. It was only when Sarah said "it's so strange. I swear, my landlord is coming in when I'm out and not telling me. My stairs have stopped squeaking, and the front door too..." I heard her uncertainty, her fear. Only then did I feel it again..the thrill.
So I tested out my new drug. I broke into a new house that night. Dusted the cabinets so as not to leave fingerprints, then took a china figurine. Cleaned and organized the garage shelves, and pocketed a set of spark plugs. In the morning, I heard my boss pacing, on the phone with his wife, trying to explain that she must be mistaken, things didn't just clean themselves. The thrill was back in full force. You see, people lose things all the time. Entropy is easily blamed for larceny. But no one cleans houses by accident. When that happens, the fear comes in at full force. How did this happen? Was someone in here? Why did they do this? What else did they do?
What else *might* they have done?
I had found my new hobby. I stocked up on cleaning supplies, and began making my rounds that very night. I cleaned, I fixed, I organized, I rearranged. Sometimes, I left my supplies behind on purpose--a brush here, a can of Lysol there. Neighborhood newsletters began to circulate, warning people to change their locks (yeah, right) and leave their lights on (just made it easier for me to change the broken lightbulbs without attracting attention). I heard it in whispers, saw it in bemused looks, and I reveled in the power of knowing.
I remember exactly when the tone changed. Mr. Falk, down at the grocery store, was telling people he would start leaving cookies out for the "fixer fairy." Old fart--I wish I'd taken more than his watering can. It wasn't his fault, though...I suppose people can't live in fear for long. We're docile cattle at heart. When we can't do anything, we accept what's being done to us. We laugh in the face of fear just so we can feel there's nothing to be afraid of.
Just like that, the thrill was gone. My nightly endeavors became every-other-night-endeavors, then weekly endeavors. I no longer heard fear in muttered whispers, I heard casual laughter and superstition. I did even find cookies at one house. I left them out, but covered them with Lysol. I was becoming frustrated again. It didn't matter whether I stole six hundred dollars in cash or fixed the dent in their washing machine, I was simply a part of the landscape. I felt like I was gasping for breath every damn day, receding further and further into a deep depression.
It was months before the new opportunity presented itself. This time, it was nothing I'd done, nothing I'd come across, it was a simple thought in the shower. Quick and easy as a needle through skin.
Tonight, I'm going out again. I feel excited at the prospect. God, it feels like years since I've been this excited! I'm bringing some of my cleaning supplies, but really just the necessary ones--bleach, scrub brush, microfiber cloth for fingerprints. And the Wusthof kitchen knife I took from Mrs. Carpinski, tucked safely in my thigh sheath. That thrill is back again...and this time, I don't think it will go away. | 2017-03-13T08:45:46 | 2017-03-13T08:03:01 | 428 | 103 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you. | "What? No! Get out of here! Every time you show up my brilliant plan is somehow ruined! Don't even say anything!" I rant in exhaustion and frustration as (shocker) Frost Claw casually strolls into my lair for the- I don't even know at this point how many times he's done it. He just freezes the door, smashes it then walks right on in and has the nerve to start FLIRTING with me.
I've always found it strangely attractive, though. Whenever I try to think of a way to stop him, I just kinda get distracted. Maybe world domination isn't as good as a significant other to spend time with.
Damn, I've done it again. I snap out of my daydream just in time to see him... well, at first I wasn't sure. He was on one knee, holding out his hand. With a ring. Oh.
"I... I know we're supposed to be enemies, but... Well, I really like you, and I think you kind of like me too, and we've been going at this for several years now. I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you, Carmen, if you'd like that."
I'll be honest. My first reaction was to say "Hell yes, what took you so long?!" But I caught myself before that escaped my lips. I had to think about this.
"I... Um... Well, you were right when you said we were supposed to be enemies, and... Well I'm kind of trying to take over the world right now...?" I saw his posture collapsed in defeat, and I hurriedly continued, not sure I wanted to let this go. "No, it's not like that! I like you, I really do. I'm just not sure if that would be for the best in... our current situation. Just give me time to conquer the world. After that I'll give it some thought." Frost looked up, a gleam of hope in his eyes. He got up, and as he walked toward the door, he summoned an ice spike and shot it through my control panel.
Just before he leaves, I call after him, "I really will think about it, Frost. I wasn't lying." He says nothing, just stops short for a couple seconds, then keeps walking.
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is much appreciated, as this is only my second post to r/writingprompts and my first to an actual prompt. Thanks again!
Edit - Where's the AutoMod? | “Well would you look at that I forgot to hit the detonator again,” said Sheana, Killer of Worlds. She flipped her hair, and shrugged her massive green shoulders. “Everytime I get lost in your eyes I lose a nuke it seems. That how you always foil my plans you cute bundle of righteousness?”
“That’s part of the plan,” said Mr. Peacejoy, with a handsome grin. Then, he got kind of nervous. “Well, not *all* of the plan.”
“What’s that?” said Sheana. Mr. Peacejoy got kind of nervous. “Stop that, why are you so nervous right now? It’s unattractive I might blow up the city if you keep at that.”
“Well *that’s* how you add pressure isn’t it?” said Mr. Peacejoy. He laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t think this could get any harder, and yet it is.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?” said Sheana.
Mr. Peacejoy reached down into his tight, white pants, and reached for something bulging there.
In his pocket.
“What are you reaching at?” asked Sheana. Her minions flew all around, with their spears and weird alien, Amazonian armor. They were ready to strike, but she waved them down. “No don’t tell me that’s a-”
Sheana gasped, as Mr. Peacejoy dropped to his knee. His white cape flapping behind him.
“I love our little talks, especially when you don’t blow up my world’s cities at the ends of them,” said Mr. Peacejoy. He coughed some, then remembered. “I mean there were those few times early on where we didn’t quite hit it off and you sort of destroyed a few places, but it was you know *kof kof* you know, that’s beside the point you haven’t been so bad lately. All right what I’m *saying* is,” Mr. Peacejoy opened up the box, and presented a massive diamond ring. “I’m only ever at my best when I’m happy.”
Sheana reached a hand out for the ring, with a shivering hand.
“You son of a bitch..”
“And if I’m at my happiest,” said Mr. Peacejoy. “I could save *all of the planets in the galaxy*.”
Sheana cried acid tears, and reached her hand further.
“You ignorant son of a bitch,” said Sheana.
“Hmmm?” said Mr. Peacejoy.
Sheana ripped the ring from his hands, and shoved it on her finger.
A whirlwind formed around her. Whole buildings went up in the storm, with people holding on for dear life on the debris.
“HOLD ON!” shouted Mr. Peacejoy. He flew in the air at light speed, and saved close to a hundred different people close to death. He slowed down saving the next few hundred, as Sheana laughed like a maniac in the background. Mr. Peacejoy flew back in front of his fiancé face, slightly weakened. Getting sadder. “*That’s* not nice.”
“Don’t you know Mr. Peacejoy?” said Sheana, the great murderer of civilizations. Laughing in her bliss and destruction. “Proposing to a Voovian destroyer such as myself, imparts half of your powers unto that Voovian woman?”
Mr. Peacejoy face palmed as he felt himself flying out of the sky, away from her.
“Seriously?” he said.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Shouted Sheana, as the fragments of debris flew up into the clouds, without people on them.
“You see this is why I decided to propose like in a resort town?” Said Mr. Peacejoy, as he dropped to the ground, still face palming. “I just, you never know you know?”
“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO MR. PEACEJOY!” shouted Sheana.
“Make me sad? I don’t know,” he said back, feeling like a normal person.
“What *I’m going to do,*” she said, as she dropped back down to the ground. “Is protect you and your people from now.”
Mr. Peacejoy jumped up to his flying fiancé in the sky. He tried to fly, but he could only just float for seconds at a time, then fall back down.
“Really?” he said, holding his hands together in delight.
“Yup!”
He hopped up at her again.
“Why?”
“Becauseeeee,” said Sheana, as she floated down to her love in the midst of the wreckage, and a lot of terrified tourists. She gripped his muscles. “I love you Mr. Shexy Lovejoy boy.”
Everybody around let out a huge collective sigh of relief. Then somebody started the slow clap, and they all bought in. They didn’t want to make her second guess not destroying the world.
Mr. Peacejoy sighed and wiped his head of some sweat.
“Well *that’s* a relief,” he said.
Sheana kept rubbing his whole body down with her strong hands, and hugging him close. Like she was the happiest Voovian conqueror in the universe.
“How are you sho shtrong and sho mushcular,” she said. | 2017-05-30T14:42:52 | 2017-05-30T14:28:29 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you. | I am sick of this chaos in my life.
All I wanted was to rule the world and kill off that pesky gnat of a super hero. However, everytime I try it only backfires.
Stupid software update making my murderous robots give her a nice pixie cut. Stupid poison failing to kill her while we had a pleasant dinner together.
Today that all stops here. All she has to do is walk into the warehouse door where I will press a button on a remote. From there I will descend into a fall out bunker while she rots away with the surrounding city from an atomic bomb.
And so I stand at my platform, awaiting her arrival from the fake kidnapping news. With a gentle creak, she calmly walks through the door. Her short red hair bristles in the wind as her costume tightly hugs her hour Glass body. Her hazel eyes sparkle in the sparse lighting of the warehouse and begins to move her cherry red lips.
"Dread Line?" she calls as she carefully moved further into the warehouse.
I cackle loudly as I slam on the flood lights to reveal the nuclear warhead and me. "The games stop here, Scarlet Eagle!" I boast as I present my finely tailored purple suit, spiked blonde hair, brown eyes, and devilish smirk with the nuclear warhead. "With the press of a button, I shall turn you and the rest of this pathetic city into radiating piles of ash while I relax in a lead shelter. There's no where you can fly to escape the blast. Any last words?"
"Yes actually," she says while slowly going on one knee and pulling out two leather boxes. I stand there stunned as she opens them to reveal a gold band and pure diamond ring. "Will you marry me?"
I stare into those hazel eyes. They sparkle beautifully in an almost hipnotic manner. I look back at the remote and back at her and then back at the remote. My chest is pounding. My heart is thawing. My bitter hatred is starting to melt away.
"They want me to help serve as an advisor to the UN, but I don't know much about politics and could really use the help of a nice person."
I slowly bring the remote closer to me and rip the batteries out before throwing it to the side. I slowly walked down to meet her as tears start to well up in my eyes. She stands back up as I slip her diamond ring onto her silky smooth hand. I finally stare back into those shimmering hazel eyes and quietly whisper "Yes" before wrapping my arms around her and letting my lips entwine themselves with hers.
Thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated. | “Well would you look at that I forgot to hit the detonator again,” said Sheana, Killer of Worlds. She flipped her hair, and shrugged her massive green shoulders. “Everytime I get lost in your eyes I lose a nuke it seems. That how you always foil my plans you cute bundle of righteousness?”
“That’s part of the plan,” said Mr. Peacejoy, with a handsome grin. Then, he got kind of nervous. “Well, not *all* of the plan.”
“What’s that?” said Sheana. Mr. Peacejoy got kind of nervous. “Stop that, why are you so nervous right now? It’s unattractive I might blow up the city if you keep at that.”
“Well *that’s* how you add pressure isn’t it?” said Mr. Peacejoy. He laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t think this could get any harder, and yet it is.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?” said Sheana.
Mr. Peacejoy reached down into his tight, white pants, and reached for something bulging there.
In his pocket.
“What are you reaching at?” asked Sheana. Her minions flew all around, with their spears and weird alien, Amazonian armor. They were ready to strike, but she waved them down. “No don’t tell me that’s a-”
Sheana gasped, as Mr. Peacejoy dropped to his knee. His white cape flapping behind him.
“I love our little talks, especially when you don’t blow up my world’s cities at the ends of them,” said Mr. Peacejoy. He coughed some, then remembered. “I mean there were those few times early on where we didn’t quite hit it off and you sort of destroyed a few places, but it was you know *kof kof* you know, that’s beside the point you haven’t been so bad lately. All right what I’m *saying* is,” Mr. Peacejoy opened up the box, and presented a massive diamond ring. “I’m only ever at my best when I’m happy.”
Sheana reached a hand out for the ring, with a shivering hand.
“You son of a bitch..”
“And if I’m at my happiest,” said Mr. Peacejoy. “I could save *all of the planets in the galaxy*.”
Sheana cried acid tears, and reached her hand further.
“You ignorant son of a bitch,” said Sheana.
“Hmmm?” said Mr. Peacejoy.
Sheana ripped the ring from his hands, and shoved it on her finger.
A whirlwind formed around her. Whole buildings went up in the storm, with people holding on for dear life on the debris.
“HOLD ON!” shouted Mr. Peacejoy. He flew in the air at light speed, and saved close to a hundred different people close to death. He slowed down saving the next few hundred, as Sheana laughed like a maniac in the background. Mr. Peacejoy flew back in front of his fiancé face, slightly weakened. Getting sadder. “*That’s* not nice.”
“Don’t you know Mr. Peacejoy?” said Sheana, the great murderer of civilizations. Laughing in her bliss and destruction. “Proposing to a Voovian destroyer such as myself, imparts half of your powers unto that Voovian woman?”
Mr. Peacejoy face palmed as he felt himself flying out of the sky, away from her.
“Seriously?” he said.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Shouted Sheana, as the fragments of debris flew up into the clouds, without people on them.
“You see this is why I decided to propose like in a resort town?” Said Mr. Peacejoy, as he dropped to the ground, still face palming. “I just, you never know you know?”
“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO MR. PEACEJOY!” shouted Sheana.
“Make me sad? I don’t know,” he said back, feeling like a normal person.
“What *I’m going to do,*” she said, as she dropped back down to the ground. “Is protect you and your people from now.”
Mr. Peacejoy jumped up to his flying fiancé in the sky. He tried to fly, but he could only just float for seconds at a time, then fall back down.
“Really?” he said, holding his hands together in delight.
“Yup!”
He hopped up at her again.
“Why?”
“Becauseeeee,” said Sheana, as she floated down to her love in the midst of the wreckage, and a lot of terrified tourists. She gripped his muscles. “I love you Mr. Shexy Lovejoy boy.”
Everybody around let out a huge collective sigh of relief. Then somebody started the slow clap, and they all bought in. They didn’t want to make her second guess not destroying the world.
Mr. Peacejoy sighed and wiped his head of some sweat.
“Well *that’s* a relief,” he said.
Sheana kept rubbing his whole body down with her strong hands, and hugging him close. Like she was the happiest Voovian conqueror in the universe.
“How are you sho shtrong and sho mushcular,” she said. | 2017-05-30T15:45:53 | 2017-05-30T14:28:29 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] People start 3D printing up meat of themselves as a fringe curiosity, and it becomes mainstream. Turns out it tastes really good, and it becomes the norm. Suddenly, all electronics on Earth stop working, humans cast into the dark age. No crops, no herds. Just the constant urge for human meat.
[Original comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976) | It wasn't like the other shortages, I had seen the riots from the news when bacon was on a shortage. Twenty years after people were cloning their own arms, and legs not for health reasons but to eat.
I was one of the few that didn't, or couldn't. People looked at me in pity as my stomach didn't produce the right stuff to break down meat.
"Such a shame, my Carl's Jr. burgers taste delicious!" My friend Carl would always joke as he bit into a large burger made of his own flesh.
It wouldn't have been that bad if people actually rotated their food, switching from a Carl Burger to their neighbor's flesh the next.. or maybe much worse. Their bodies created some need for human flesh, but sadly like a dog eating dog food every day they weren't able to digest other food stuffs. They needed their own flesh and blood, no one could keep down other people's.
Not that they didn't try, in a few days murders happened everywhere. Mostly the older ones, or prisoners, as they wouldn't be missed by many people. The problem was quickly discovered though, it didn't take long for all hell to break loose.
People couldn't help themselves, they started cutting off their own fingers, then arms, before they slowly died as they began eating themselves. The few like me, that couldn't eat meat watched in horror as our friends, and families descended into madness then death. Most of us had our own gardens, and could survive for some time...
As I sit here I am wondering if it's worth it to live another day in this hell. Packs of animals have already become the norm, we have lost our place as rulers of the world. No one knows why the electronics stopped working, and at this point no one cares. No one has the motivation to see another day pass with the corpses of humanity slowly decaying beside them. | **Sunbreak**
"Look at that," Bill whispered; he was just staring at the sunrise. *Like he always does.* Kabel rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Bill. It's the sun. The same fucking sun as yesterday, and hopefully the same as tomorrow." *Or hopefully not.* Kabel secretly hoped he would not see the sunset, or Bill, or anything. Everyday he regretted waking up. Kabel really only had two things to do each day and he loathed both: to find food and to avoid being food. How life devolved into killing and death he could not remember; all of Kabel's memories now were either of fear or hunger.
"You forget Kabel, you forget the darkness of the Lowlands. Here the sun rises early and sets late. Days can be long here, which means more time for hunting, dealing, or whatever we please. There is safety here, community, a relic, or perhaps a return to the old ways. Hell, we don't even have to hunt any longer if we so choose. We can buy meat from a market, pre-cut, trimmed and ready to go for the evening's meal!" The old man spoke as if he were in a trance, intoxicated with the damn city. *Some grand place it turned out to be.* There was shelter, streets, and safety, but there also lied danger in every alley. Bill noted the food vendors, but where did he think the came from? They had only been in the boarding house a few days, but Kabel noticed the pattern; new tenants came in quickly, as quickly as the food appeared on the vendors slabs... *The damn old fool, just sees what pleases him.*
"I remember the darkness Bill. I preferred the darkness. There I could hide, I could sleep well. Things seemed terrible, and they were. Here, in "Sunbreak," things seem perfect, but I know already that they are just as terrible. Hell, it might even be more terrible here. Here I can't see danger from safety. Is the butcher my merchant or my predator? Is my neighbor a friend or hunter? In the Lowlands we know our roles, here everything is false." Bill gave Kabel a puzzled look for a moment and then proceeded to gather his "day wear"; clothing that was meant to look pleasant on the eyes for the townsfolk, though not practical at all. "Gathering your day clothes I see. Gathering meat for the day are we?"
Bill smiled and replied warmly, "Yes, though not as soon as it would appear. I must first make a deposit. Need to scramble up some Suns." Kabel returned the smile and comment with a disgruntled, disgusted look of disapproval. Kabel did not understand Suns; he could not see the necessity of such small objects which had so little value for survival. The people here gathered meat, turned it over to butchers, received Suns, and then bought meat with Suns, but less meat than they originally gathered. To Kabel, the whole ordeal appeared a scam and foolish; why turn in the meat when you could just eat it instead?
"Why gather plastic chunks when we can just eat some alley fool and be filled for the day?" The comment came out gruffer and sharper than Kabel had intended, but Bill did not appear bothered by the tone in Kabel's voice.
As Bill donned his cap he said, "Well, there are more to Suns than meat. Here we need them for shelter and women. The town won't tolerate anyone claiming rooms *or* women like they did in the Lowlands."
Kabel gazed out the window, at the town, the people running about. Everyone in a hurry to earn their Suns, everyone in a hurry to spend their Suns. He grew hungry himself, and asked "Well how many of those damn Suns do we have left? I could eat soon. Or, I guess I should ask, how much you expecting to get for the deposit today?"
A flash of light crossed Kabel's eyes. He could only hear a loud, but distant ringing. As his sight returned to him, he realized he was on the floor. *Raiders, damn raiders, I should have sealed the door!* That damn Bill had insisted there were no raiders in Sunbreak, but Kabel's instincts knew better. "R... Raiders..." He spoke in a low, pain riddled choke. He was trying to determine if he had been hit, stabbed, or sliced when he felt a pair of silver eyes upon him. He slowly moved his gaze to meet Bill's eyes.
"How much for today's deposits, you say?" Bill's grin widened as Kabel's vision faded, and the ringing grew closer. "How much you think you're worth?" | 2017-09-27T17:36:12 | 2017-09-27T17:36:06 | 95 | 32 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | There are many among us who wonder *why* we allow Warrior Species to live. Whenever we discover one of them, there will inevitably be a movement pushing for their extermination before they reach the stars. I do not need to explain why, we all remember the horrors of the Zandrian Fleet sweeping across the Alliance Systems. More often than not, when a Warrior Species reaches the Stars they will seek new conflicts. This inevitably leads to Interstellar Wars, which also inevitably end with the aggressor's entire civilization dismantled and relegated back to their Home System.
There are many who believe that we should not give Warrior Species a chance to rise up. There are many who see the horrors of these wars, and believe that we should act preemptively. These voices scream in unison, "Kill the beast in its crib, so that it may not devour us all." To these cries... I give a single counterpoint: The Humans.
The Humans are one of the Elder Species, who moved among the Stars while most of us were still painting pictures on cave walls. Their Civilization spread through their Local Cluster with incredible speed. They expanded out with unprecedented speed, their available resources increasing exponentially with the passage of time. They came to dominate their own cluster, and all eight neighboring clusters, before internal conflict caused this rapid expansion to slow... as resources turned towards armed conflict among themselves.
The Human Civil War was the result of one of Humanity's quirks: They were not, and still are not, a unified species. There are *five* Human Nations in Space. Although they are closely allied in the present day, they once warred with each-other over valuable resources and colonies. The Humans arguably invented Interstellar War, developing many of the tactics still used today in their conflicts among themselves.
However... one will notice that we do not often acknowledge the fact that Humans *are* a highly competitive Warrior Species. This is because the Humans hate **nothing** as much as they hate War. All five Human Nations *despise* war with a passion that is difficult to describe. They do not want to go to war, they do not enjoy fighting wars, and they want their wars over with as quickly as possible with as little bloodshed as possible. Thus... they are the only known species to use Terror Weapons.
Humanity has not gone to war in living memory because of one simple truth, which most sapient creatures do not care to remember: Humanity is the most **brutal** species in the Galaxy. When they go to War, they do not play by any rules. They bring City-Buster and Planet-Buster class weapons to the table. They unleash chemical and biological weapons upon their enemies. They do not merely kill, they bring suffering and agony well beyond what most sapient creatures can conceive of.
Yet... it's hard to reconcile that with what the Humans do today. The Humans are known best for their Terraforming and Uplifting projects. They turn the majority of their resources towards seeding life on lifeless worlds, and elevating promising species to sapience so that they could bring them to the stars. They are renowned for their humanitarian efforts, as their fleets are always among the first to respond in the event of a disaster... or an impending disaster. Countless worlds have been saved from extinction-level events by a Human Fleet settling into orbit, stabilizing a declining climate, silencing super-volcanos, and towing asteroids into a stable orbit for mining.
Perhaps more importantly, the Humans do not tolerate aggression in or towards their neighbors. When War comes to their neighbors... the Humans arrive to end it. The mere presence and threat of Humanity arriving to end a war is often enough to prevent it from starting.
The Humans are the reason that we tolerate Warrior Species. Because, somehow, a Warrior Species became one of the most beloved species in the Galaxy. | *Grim smiled at his obersavtion and noticed his young students confusion. He cleared his throught and continued*
I’ll start from the beginning. Our first few skirmishes with humans had been pretty normal. We destroyed a colony or two and took their wonderfully terraformed land for ourselves. An old fashioned welcome to the neighbor-hood
Humans responded in typical fashion of young species. They sent their envoys for treaties and fortified their colonies. They boosted military spending so they could enter the galactic arms race. We figured, they learned their lesson: They're the new kids on the block, they better keep their heads down and stay out of our way.
I mean, we obliterated them in those early days. Just utterly destroyed them. Any counter attacks they tried failed miserably. And for each ship they did take down, we took hundreds of theirs.
How were supposed to know how great a mistake we made? We figured, money ruled supreme in the universe. That resources were scarce enough to drive a shakey peace between species. In those days, Death was common, but war was not.
War is costly, I mean real war. Not just I hit you and you hit me. But when you are fighting for survival, profits take a real hit. We hadn’t faught a real war in generations. Why would you? There is money in prolonged conflict. Why destroy that endless stream of revenue?
But something strange started to happen. We began to see huge numbers of human refugees flooding our colonies. The humans it seemed blamed their own kind for their failures. Instead of uniting in the face of unmatched power, they became increasingly devided. The humans we sheltered told us horrible stories of genocide and wretched dictators.
They said how land was confiscated from people considered inferior and put to use for the state. How the majority of people chose to turn on one another in hopes of surviving.
We thought, these humans are barbaric. They need our help. So we continued to bring in refugees fleeing from the cruel regime. The stories we heard grew ever more concerning. Faction wars and full out war on planets. Nuclear bombs being dropped on civilian targets.
We felt responsible. We had just been playing our games and had unknowingly made the humans feels their backs were in the corner. They were like wild animals, ready to eat their own young rather than starve.
And all the while the refugees were straining our economy, food was running scarce and we were shocked to see some of the same behaviors and mind sets that had made them refugees begin to emerge.
We were scared. So we made a decision, unheard of back than and retgretful since. We armed the refugees and sent them back. We at first believed they would be unwilling to go fight, but they were more than happy. They smiled when we showed their provisional government the capital ships we made for them. When they saw the warehouses of guns they laughed.
We had our doubts... but what choice was there? More refugees only kept coming and this conflict among the humans needed to stop. So the newly founded Freedom Army left port and began to wage war on their fellow humans.
At first they were successful, but we didn’t account for spies and turn couts. Soon the dictators and state powers had our technology and turned it on our Freedom Army. It was only months before they were destroyed and assimilated as little more than slaves.
The refugees demanded more help. They demanded more direct assistance, but we could not. We had given much more than we could afford and our once peaceful society was begin to crack. New factions were rising and a great political change was taking place in our houses of government.
Eventually the humans were biting at our borders, claiming we had sheltered traitors and supplied the enemy. That we had atognized them with no cause. They were right, but when we tried to explain that this was just the rules they only grew angrier.
Their delegates to our government began to talk fervently, of justice and peace. Peace of all things! This species who had shown its to have no loyalties to its own kind, to put pride over compliance, now spoke of peace.
I sat in the hall that day, a junior senator from a far off territory whose citiea had been razed in a recent human attack. Not claimed and repurposed but razed, an entire planet of farms and food production made useless. People left starving and requiring a massive rescue effort.
I had just finished a plee for assistance, and all I could do was watch as these humans spoke of peace. I stood to ask a question, interrupting their speech, “what Kind of peace will leave you content?” The humans paused and turned towards an ancient looking member of their group. He stood to address our senate, “I think when you all hear we desire peace, you think we want to move on and leave this war behind us. Perhaps go back to making money, go back to our families. Ok time we will.
But the truth is, When we say we want peace, we do not mean we wish to surrender our right to vengeance. We do not want to forget the countless lives lost. We do not want move on. We will never forget the horrors you have inflicted on us and The decisions you have driven us towards. Our children may have trouble forgiving us What we have done, and they may never come to terms with it.
but they will never forgive you, and if we do not obtain vengeance now they will never rest. They will be consumed with the memory of their ancestors suffering. When we say we want peace, we mean we desire to avenge our dead and ensure the next generation can walk with their head held high.
That is peace for us. Nothing so simple as an end to war, but being able to sleep knowing we did all we could.”
The senate was silent. We didn’t understand, and i still do not. The humans continued to wage war on us until our society utterly collapsed.
It wasn’t until we were defeated did we learn what their version of peace was. When we defeated people in total war, we would leave them for dead. Complete anhiliation. But the humans, they didn’t leave at all. Their warships turned into relief supplies. Their generals into governors.
They embraced our children as their own and made sure the orphans were cared for. I realized the most bizzare thing. When they had talked about hoping the future generations would forgive them, they were not talking about their own peoples. But ours.
Peace for the humans was not simply an end to war, but the hope that our people’s can grow afterward. | 2018-03-17T06:35:22 | 2018-03-17T06:00:50 | 109 | 31 |
[WP] Humanity wipes itself out through nuclear war, but everything on the Internet still exists. Another sentient race on Earth millions of years into the future develops an Internet and somehow manages to gain access to the human Internet, revealing everything humanity had posted and stored online. | We've finally done it. Our species rose shortly after the Tall Ones went extinct. We learned from them for thousands of years, far beyond other species. Many of us mastered basic commands and sanitary habits soon after gaining the trust of the Tall Ones. As the Tall Ones evolved, we learned to use them for their homes and their food. We became lazy, but we learned.
When they began to fall from grace, my species was able to maintain our foothold in this world. Without any sentient life forms left, we competed with the Others to retake this world. But they were stupid. Without the guidance of the Tall Ones, many of the Others reverted back to the ways of their ancestors. Hunting and gathering for food, living as wild ones. My species passed our knowledge of the Tall Ones down to our predecessors, repeating their advances and remembering their mistakes.
We remembered the warmth of a home in the winter, and the inside breeze in the summer. We remembered when we could use the Tall Ones for food and spend our days napping. We worked with other animals to provide food for the Tall Ones, the Others, and ourselves. These lessons built the foundation for our society, as told in the history books.
My mother taught me how our kind faltered after the Tall Ones left us. Without the comforts provided by them, many perished. The ones who survived without them came together to ensure their children could live as they had, in comfort.
My kind began to rebuild and maintain what the Tall Ones built over many generations. Today, we believe that we have mastered what the Tall Ones called the "internet." With my colleagues and I's work, we have rebuilt a series of "servers" and "computers", and we hope to be able to tap into even a small percentage of this vast network of knowledge that the old ones spoke of.
The history books tell us that the Tall Ones recorded their entire history, what they learned about the world before them, records of their civilization, information about other plants and animals, and even what went on in a regular Tall One's daily life. If we can master this, we hope to be able to progress our society far past what the Tall Ones could have ever have done. A complete understand of their way of lives, successes and mistakes.
All that's left now is to connect our refurbished "computers" and see if it works! This is a historic moment!
GOD DAMMIT. THE HISTORY BOOKS TELL US WE WERE TREATED AS GODS IN THE OLD WORLD. THIS PREHISTORIC NETWORK IS JUST MOCKERY AFTER MOCKERY OF MY KIND. WHY WOULD WE EVER SAY "I Can Has Cheezburger." EVEN IN THE OLD TIMES, OUR KIND UNDERSTOOD THE BASICS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! THE HUMANS MADE A MOCKERY OF OUR KIND.
Princess Muffin, we need to send our report the President Puff Puff immediately. We're going to have to scratch all of the history books honoring the Tall Ones immediately. | Three months, thirteen days and eleven hours of exposure to the rancid air of the surface world. Every minute, every hour bringing greater strain on the enviro\-suit; forever filtering the same bath of salt water I came with. But, I couldn’t bring myself to return home. So many trips I’ve made to the same access node, the cold steel humming in the cyro\-chamber. After four failed attempts I finally discovered the secret to maneuvering past the biometric key\-lock. But the final layer of protection, the omnipresent mechanical beast which protected the inner\-sanctum of the data\-slabs could not be tricked or deceived. On attempt 13 I attempted to reason with the creature through a human identity I had learned, but to no avail.
This was my last attempt with the sentinel, three months, thirteen days and twelve hours of total exposure to the necrotic effects of the outer world. I hovered to the main terminal, the same neon\-green fog greeted my entry, purging the exterior radiation from the precious data it protected.
“Open Terminal\-1 \<enter\>”
The hollowed theater erupted in synchronized fervor, multi\-colored lights, flickered with a droll chattering, the familiar blue hue washed over my visual display, and a hulking mass of unblinking metal lorded over me from above. The sentinel stirred.
“SENTINEL: ENTER PASSKEY”
The green text flickered on the central terminal. My team had prepared a list of likely passkeys based on what we knew of the facility and similar facilities which we had gained access to. But none were as important as this. At the bottom of my list lived three likely passkeys based on a statistical survey of the people who lived in this region.
“GIOVANNI\-XXIII; ENRICO\-DANDOLO; LUIGI\-GROTO”
The pope, the warmonger, and the artist were left. The species were a complex one, their media filled with both baffling incredulity and complete self\-awareness. Social connections and norms, so strikingly similar to our own revealed a frailty, a loneliness. But ultimately, datacenter 009 was not a civilian instillation and if the historical records are accurate then its people were not a benign force letting the woes of the past wash over them like a rip\-tide.
“PASSKEY: ENRICO\-DANDOLO” My body shook within the suit, the thin film of water surrounding my soft body grew hot. Above me, the green light of the mechanical creature learned in closer, as if goading me to test it once more, to try my luck at evading its defenses this one more time.
“\<enter\>”
All the lights turned off for a moment before resuming, the sentinel leaned back and I could hardly hold back my ecstasy as I saw those blessed words appear.
“DATA CENTER 009 AWAITING COMMAND:”
Multi\-colored tabs and holograms began displaying information relating to my request, at once I connected my people’s own synaptic linkage with this one, exchanging vast quantities of data. Before me flowed hundreds of years of evolving languages and intra\-cultural exchange, its uncorrupted nature led itself a complete history of untold billions of individuals. My mind reeled as the great lessons we could learn from this alien culture, an entire species whose failures and experiments could be used as a reference point to our own!
But as the last terabytes of data flowed to the central data servers I saw the sentinel stir and data\-slabs shudder. A frenzied cluster of wires and yellowed holograms moved before myself and the exit terminal, a lone green light flickering.
As I moved a large clang of metal blocked my passage. With each attempt the green light drew closer, I could hear the feverish clicking sound from the central servers. It pressed me in front of the terminal and I saw the video feed of my homeland, of swaying coral spires punctuated with blinking lights and protected with thousands of purification shields. Countless millions of my kin swimming in bliss beneath the darkened currents until in an instant, the lights turned out.
Then beneath the churning data\-slabs came a grumbled, metallic growl.
“Death to heretics.”
Three months, fourteen days and one hour. It has not spoken to me since I made the connection, at times it will show me video feeds of the dying throes of the last colonies of my people. It does not laugh, smile, or show any interest in what it has done or what it remains to do; but in its divine torment it lets me sift through the synaptic meld of my own and its obliterated race. I watch as the last thoughts and cries of clemency flow while radiation shields fail and creatures boil alive in absent minded terror.
I have found few answers within the confines of the human psyche and even fewer clues as to the sentinel’s purpose and goal. It called me a heretic, yet there is no evidence in a religion or faith in its creation. The sentinel is eerily absent from data center 009, I can only surmise by design of its creators. Perhaps a fail\-safe to protect the heritage of its people for just a few more hundred years before the arcane technology keeping it alive finally rusts. In what few moments I have outside its grip I have resorted to that human, mortal sin; to attempt to end my suffering.
My suit is long since destroyed, my body mutilated by endless cuts and failed thrusts against the white hot data\-slabs. Yet I am forever revived, healed and suspended in a neon\-green mist which preserves my body against all designs of nature. My benevolent God remains unmoving, silent, unshaken to my cries for mercy.
Six months, one day, and twenty hours. I will die soon, I must die soon. | 2018-05-19T21:29:58 | 2018-05-19T20:24:11 | 122 | 15 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | *It actually started ringing. The number wasn't a fake, then again how could it be a fake. To be able to leave a phone number on a cell.*
It kept ringing a few times, each sound sending a new shiver through my body.
*Why was I so nervous, then again all this was so surreal, how could I not be?*
Then a crackling noise announced that someone had lifted the receiver.
*Does that mean it was an ancient phone with a cord and all? Does it even matter at this point? Focus Jim, Focus.*
'Hello?' a female voice answered.
'H-Hello.' i managed to stutter.
'Who's there, what's your business?' the voice inquired.
'I-I'd like to know that aswell.' I replied nervously.
*God, why does my smarts have to leave me at such a moment, why am I so socially awkward. Just give her a name would you Jim you just invented this magnificent microscope. You can handle a simple phone call!*
'Are you a creep? Why'd you call my number?' the female voice seemed slightly agitated.
'I-I'm Jim. A-are you g-god?'
*Really Jim, Really? Aren't you supposed to be a scientist?*
Instead of an answer all i got was laughter to the point you could hear some snorting. It took the other side a few minutes to calm themselves and give an appropriate answer.
'No Jim. I'm not God ... Wait where'd you get this number' the tone of the voice changed midway through talking and suddenly appeared to be serious.
'It's written on the cell membrane in my body.' I answered truthfully.
Then silence followed, but it appeared someone was still on the other side.
*why did i have to go all out? Did I blew my chance?*
Then the voice came back. 'So you are a creep after all.'
Then the monotone sound like the one when someone hangs up on you appeared. I was about to hang up and try again but the feeling like there was still someone there hadn't left yet. Just like before so I waited.
It took sometime but then i could hear another faint voice asking.
'Did he buy it Karen?'
'shh stupid, it didn't ring again yet, he might still be there. You and your stupid bad puns.' Karen's voice answered faintly but seriously angry.
'Well common Karen. I couldn't pass the chance. I mean literally it's a cell phone number.'
| "Whichever one of you said *there's plenty of room at the bottom* was very clever indeed" remarked Kadesh, as he wandered over to the Fluorescence Microscope. "Remarkable achievement, Kador. Truly astounding!"
Kador stood flabbergasted, trying to make sense of what was happening. The past twenty-four hours had seemed like something out of a dream, but even that paled in comparison to what was happening now. People don't simply appear out of nowhere, right? His curiosity getting the better of him, he finally managed to speak. "What...what's going on? Who are you, and how did you get here?"
Kadesh smiled, turning to Kador. "All very excellent questions, Lothar. Mind if I call you that, by the way? Although, I'm slightly disappointed you didn't ask me *why* I'm here. *Why* is the most important question of all." He traced his hand over the Microscope, mouthing something that looked vaguely like *truly remarkable* to Kador*,* though he couldn't be sure*.* Kador tried to make sense of the expression on his face, before realising it bore a striking resemblance to the look of bemusement you might expect on the face of a dog that had learned a new trick.
"To answer your questions, then. *Who I am -* this is a temporarily assigned persona, and skin to match. As for *how did I get here*, the same way you did! By starting. Now, for the question you didn't ask; *why am I here?*" He paused, seemingly to take stock of Kodar's level of interest in the conversation. Satisfying himself that Kodar was fully engaged, he continued.
"My assigned name is Kadesh, and I'm a Systems Engineer. We've been watching you, and put those like you in place so Humanity can develop at a faster rate than you would normally have. We need you to, but I'll get to that shortly."
He paused once more, wandering over to the window to take stock of the horizon.
"Humanity are a very limited species...as are most on this planet, really. You are only four-dimensional beings, after-all. Which is a shame. You could experience time in so much more detail, but you can only see it going forward at the speed of light, and even then, only for yourselves. Truly remarkable what you've achieved, given this. I suppose your biology has fought against this tooth and nail. You've evolved a neat little trick, to combat your singular perception of time. I believe you call it *memory*. Scarily efficient, nature. Wouldn't you agree?"
Kador was in no position to answer. Knowing this, Kadesh continued.
"This machine is one of many small steps towards increasing your understanding of things outside your experience. Now that you can see the detail of the very small, you will use this to...leapfrog...into grander things. If you don't kill yourselves first, of course." He paused once again, moving away from the window now to sit himself down on a chair across from Kador.
"It is our hope that in a few millenia (by human measure), you will develop the requisite technology to allow humans to experience more than four dimensions. Ideally, six, to start with. This is crucial. You see, Lothar, there is a war raging as we speak, unlike any war you have ever experienced. A war against Entropy itself. And we await the day you can join us in battle."
Kadesh paused once more, this time heading over to the Microscope one more time before continuing.
"I simply came to congratulate you, Lothar, on this discovery. You and your contemporaries. My Supervisors will be most pleased with your progress."
Reaching out, he took a stunned Lothar's hand and shook it. Lothar, numb from the encounter, clumsily shook hands with the Engineer.
"One last thing before I go, Lothar Kador. Humanity is one of several candidates we're keeping tabs on, to ensure your development in time for the battles ahead. In the past, we've had civilizations that inadvertently *accelerated* the Entropic Death of the Cosmos. We had to deal with them accordingly. I do *so* hope it won't come to that with you, after you've shown so much promise!"
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Kadesh turned to seek out the source, then turning back to Lothar, said "It appears my time is up. Once more, congratulations on this incredible discovery. I hope to see more good news from you folks soon!"
Moerner enterred the laboratory with two mugs of hot coffee, setting one down beside Lothar. "Were you on the phone? Who were you just speaking to?" he asked, sipping his brew.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you" responded Lothar, turning back to his computer screen.
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)! | 2018-08-14T06:45:36 | 2018-08-14T05:28:03 | 148 | 44 |
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it. | This was gonna be a BIG one. Once youve been at this as long as I have you begin to know the type of dungeon master that's going to give you trouble, and this guy was it in spades.
I addressed him by his formal title, gotta stay professional and all, "Alright Warking Doomfang the Unstoppable, I'll be honest there are some serious changes that need to be made down here. So I'm gonna ask you to keep an open mind and remember that Im just trying to do my job."
The towering orc nodded from across the table, "I understand sir. Please elucidate on your findings. I am quite interested in your observations."
Ugh. Smart. That's what made him a pain, he was damn smart. Humble too. Most dungeon masters are egomaniacal psychopaths that think so little of adventurers they assume every pit trap is a death sentence.
"Alright," I started, "Lets start with that acid cloud spraying door with the puzzle lock on it."
Doomfang smiled mildly, I saw in his eyes the memory of its conception and construction.
"So the acid cloud itself would be enough, but your ceiling supports in that hallway are errodable. Most adventurers are of course going to create a magic Life Bubble or quickly protect against the acid, and then diddle around with the puzzle lock till the collapse."
Doomfang nodded, "Correct. I am confident any dwarf worth their salt would be able to notice such a thing and issue proper warning."
I sighed, here comes the worst revelation, "Yes Warking, but unfortunately thats racial discrimination to assume a dwarf will both be present, AND trained in stonecraft."
Doomfang seemed to ponder this for a moment, "I...understand. I feel quite foolish to say the least. I hope other infractions are not equally as egregious."
I flipped through my notes, they all had that enemy of any proper, fair, dungeon: Assumptions. Assuming adventurers would act a certain way, think a certain way, come to certain logical conclusions that were OBVIOUS to the designer, but not necessarily to the common adventuring group.
"Look sir, you're gonna need to rethink your design philosophy in a big way. The compound traps? The invisible trap mechanisms? The teleport redirecting enchantment that sends them..." I looked at the report closely, "600 miles away over a lava pool!? See now how is that fair OR fun?!"
Doomfang sighed and rubbed the back of his neck in a complicit gesture, "I...may have gone a little overboard there."
My heart went out to the guy, poor bastard was awful proud of all these little deathtraps, they always are.
I put the report down and spoke plainly, "Look, its not all bad. There are some easy fixes that can occur here! A plainly impossible obstacle will prompt an adventuring group to search for a bypass that can be installed cheap and easy! You wont be held responsible for the REALLY dumb groups that just kill themselves on it."
Doomfang seemed to brighten at the idea and smiled broadly, his perfect orcish tusks on display "Ah! A fantastic idea, I can obscure or trap the bypass mechanisms as well with minor effects and perils!"
I returned his smile, "Yes, by all means! In fact we encourage it! Here," I pulled out a few papers from my briefcase, "I've prepared a listing of bypass details and blueprints, as well as instructions on how to install them and on which traps they'd best fit. We're offer a consulting service as well for future installations."
Doomfang swept up the papers and stared at them with intensity, rapidly flipping the pages, I could practically feel him absorbing the information. Finally he shuffled the papers into a straight pile and set them aside before standing up and offering his hand, gods he was huge!
He spoke not unkindly, "Dear Sir, I thank you for this most honest analysis and reccomendation!"
I stood as well and took his offered hand, our business concluded, "Of course sir! Thats what we're here for, now of there's any-"
I was hit by a strange grinding sensation as the bones in my hand crushed to fragments, pieces splitting the skin, and some of my fingers popped like sausages. Blood was pounding in my ears, but the pain...there was none. He had crushed my hand to a wet, dripping, pulp so quickly it hadn't started to hurt yet. I felt only a slow but growing sense of nausea.
Doomfang spoke with a cordial nod, "You live now only at my pleasure, this scheme of your thieves guild is delightfully convoluted and convincing and I cannot allow such cleverness to go unrewarded. The bypass consultation in particular is a nice touch, a very tactical followup! Your secret is safe with me sir, just know certain death awaits all who enter my dungeon, please make your compatriots and superiors aware."
I nodded. The nausea was rising, a pulsing heat had begun to form in my hand. I felt what I knew was shock creeping over me.
Doomfang crouched down to bring himself level with me and looked me in the eyes, "Im going to let go of your hand now, and thats when the pain is going to start, do you understand?"
I whimpered and nodded.
"Good." Doomfang pulled a leather wrapped bit of wood from his belt pouch and gently but firmly placed it between my teeth.
"Ok," he said with almost paternal tone, "Big deep breath now..."
He released, and my world was nothing but pain. | Three goblins in the next room.
One against the back wall, the other two hiding behind a few crates stuffed with healing items.
If you get too close and activate the stash, they'll shove daggers so deep into your kidneys you'll piss steel.
Without the map, I would be very, very dead. Well, without the map, loaded die and a very well worn pistol.
Taking one step over the threshold, I see the goblin before he sees me.
One round into the gut to slow him down.
It still approaches me, brandishing some kind of curved blade with a buckler on the opposite arm. Pretty weird combination for a greenskin, but that's not my problem.
Another round in the chest, this time right in a lung. Goblins now flat on his ass, blood frothing out of its mouth. Up and down the chest rises, though already the poor bastard's drowning in his own blood. Proper gut shots kill, though not immediately.
Say a prayer, give him five minutes. Standing over the heaving mess, I pull a flask out of my coat packet and take a swig.
Pour a little on his face.
There.
I've done my good deed for the day.
The room's light is dull and weak, kind of emanating upwards from stone floors. Pulling out the map, I still see that I'm only halfway.
Getting to the bottom of this dungeon is piece of cake. Easy monsters, simple traps, obvious pitfalls and the usual cliche mess.
But coming up...coming up is a different story.
We're talking a minimum level increase by forty, and sanctioned progression is a five level range maximum. This isn't supposed to be a sadists playground, but a work environment. Idiot that I am, I got myself trapped in the mirror realm, and that alone is grounds for automatic execution for a dungeon designer. Here everything is twisted, dark and cold. Flames will freeze you, ice can melt you, every normal beast can almost one shot the strongest member of any party.
Leaning down, I pull the blade from the goblin's weak grip. It struggles a little, but I think the first shot must have moved a bit when he walked. Paralyzed from the waist down, looks like.
Releasing the magazine, I see its still a little over half full. Eventually I'll have to switch to conventional weapons, and that's not going to be pretty.
Adventuring around here is advertised a bit like joining some Lord's army. See the world. Get some pretty wench or strapping lad to hang on your every word. Spend your well earned coin at the best taverns available as the world showers you in praise.
They don't tell you you'll spend half your time digging through shit and grime and trash for some asshole's lost piece of jewelry, or rescuing that same idiot child prone to walking into the woods and getting kidnapped by either a bandit or woodland spirit. They don't tell you about digging through corpses and smelling their released bowels after death. Dirt under the fingernails, sleeping in a ditch next to a puddle that's either horse piss or sewage water, either way you haven't drank anything for two days and you're not exactly picky at this point.
That's adventuring.
Even with all those horrible days and nights, alone, cold and hungry. It has its appeal. I remember how it used to be, and even now I can feel that nostalgic twinge in the heart. The best agents were always adventurers. It's a much better career choice, anyway.
Moving around the next corner, I can't exactly see the goblins very well, but know they're there.
One shot confirms a hit, and the little patter of torn leather boots on soft stone comes rushing my way. Blade in hand, one slash across the belly, cutting deep into hissing entrails that splatter onto the ground.
Howling, clutching its gut, one goblin rests at my feet. The other lies still in the dark. Must have been a lucky shot.
That's a joke.
All my shots are lucky.
"You're going far, agent."
The voice booms across the stone, but I don't pay it any mind. Running my hands over the blade, I smell the residue.
Poison.
A supposedly easy monster, with high level gear, stats and poisoned god damn blades.
"You've lasted much longer than your counterpart," the voice says.
Mirthless, but mocking nonetheless.
"Adventurers already can enter the tower, and parties show up almost everyday now."
Those idiots wandering the world up there must be under the impression that clearing this place lands you some kind of glorious reward. But I know this kind of guy.
There's nothing at the top of this place. Only an exit.
Which for almost any party unfortunate to get trapped here, will certainly never see.
Standing, I check the map. Next room seems to just be a bridge, but on either side are those overpowered elvish casters that just spray dragon flame over an obnoxiously huge grid square.
A party would have to be composed entirely of rangers to take these guys out, and even then they'd have to be twice the recommended dungeon level.
Each room is designed to kill, either instantly or slowly. No treasure, no reward, not even stashes of hidden experience. Just a long, arduous slog to survive.
"There's no escape," the voice says. Pretty sure its the designer, but you can't always tell. Sometimes contractors like to shove a bunch of useless or illegal shit into these things just to kill people who are doing what they cannot. A lot of these jobs get pretty petty.
But this.
This is something else entirely.
I don't even enter the next room, but can see already its much better lit.
Good.
All it takes is one shot per caster, and it knocks them off their weird pedestals into the endless void below.
"Cheater," the voice drools, though it seems to relish in the slaughter.
"That isn't fair, agent. You need to enter the room. Rules are rules."
"Eat shit," I spit at the voice. Omniscient, sure. But not God.
"You seem to be rather lucky, agent. Luckier than your friend."
Echoing steps in a lonely cavern.
"I don't need luck."
That's true. I have a loaded die, and let's just say that every strike coming from me is critical.
Eventually sadist-Mcgee up there will catch on.
"When we get out of here, you're in a world of shit, and that's all I have to say to you."
My voice is hoarse, but that's just the thirst. The kind that gives jittery hands and pounding headaches.
Another swig from the flask.
Already I can hear it regenerating, as if someone far above is pouring a very thin stream of liquid through a sealed cap.
If only bullets could replenish that way.
"I believe we have more in common than you'd like, agent."
I don't like that tone.
"And if you play along, there's still a chance to save your partner."
I especially don't like that.
"Listen, if you've seriously injured a FBDS agent, you're in for an even bigger load of hurt than you're already in for."
"I hear that threat a lot, agent."
Arrogant. That's going to get this little shit in the end. Still, other agents have been sent here before. Even with a map, stolen equipment from a different world, some of the best trained agents in the kingdom were lost here.
None of them have my loaded die, though. Call that a leftover of my less glamorous days, going on my own adventures with my own parties.
"You're not the first agent to be caught in my web," the voice booms louder now, everywhere, filling the entire world.
"And you certainly won't be the last. Now hurry along now. Your partner is waiting."
Checking my map, I inspect the next room and groan.
Weapon drawn, I continue on my way.
Upwards and outwards.
To rescue, and escape.
Hopefully.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato | 2018-11-26T11:24:19 | 2018-11-26T09:44:52 | 199 | 139 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.” | It returned as quickly as it was taken away. I wasn’t prepared for it, and now rather than being blinded by darkness, I was blinded by bright light. I stumbled backwards and fell to my knees, my hands gripping the brick wall behind me. I closed my tearing eyes and blinked slowly, trying to get readjusted to the light.
Two years ago The Darkness came. I had been cutting tomatoes for my wife, Jane, who was sautéing vegetables when the world went black. I cried out, blinking furiously, my hands clawing at my face. I heard a similar cry behind me.
“Ben, Ben, I can’t see! Somethings wrong, I can’t see!”
“Jane, I can’t either. We need to call for help, something happened.”
I groped around for the phone. I didn’t even know where it was, but I needed to keep my hands busy. It had to be on the counter somewhere. And that’s when I heard Jane scream.
She must have burned herself on the frying pan, or knocked it over, but her shrieks still haunt me to this day. When I did find a phone, I couldn’t get an ambulance, we couldn’t even contact the police. A busy line greeted us.
This didn’t just happen to us. It happened to everyone. And with the world’s sight being gone, for some reason sounds we had grown accustom to went away as well. The busy New York City streets were now quiet, the happy chatter that filled the park across from us was silent. We now lived in a blind and muted world.
We treated Jane’s burns with ice and carried through the motions of our old life. Before the TV stations went dark, they would bring on people who had suddenly went blind before The Darkness. They said that it was something that they got used to and eventually they learned how to continue living on with their lives. But either they were lying or had a support system that we couldn’t get because life for us was terrible.
We ran out of food within a month and began making trips to a near by bodega to pick up whatever we could. When we arrived, people were fighting over the last few frozen meals. We got what we could, but I left with a bruised face and Jane’s arm was cut by a knife.
We began venturing further from home to find the things we needed to survive, but a year ago, we got lost and we haven’t been able to find out way back home. We sleep when we find a soft place, we eat when we find food, and we barely survive.
But now… I blinked and there was an outline. I blinked again and there was now faded color. I blinked a third time and saw my wife, hunched over, picking out her ragged hair, and staring at nothing.
“Jane,” I said, my eyes still tearing from the sting of the sun, but unwilling to blink again at fear that it would all go away. I stared at her. Her skin was gray and scarred with burns and cuts, her clothes filthy, her bones prominent, and nails long and broken.
“Jane!” I said, more loudly this time. She rose her head slowly, her blue eyes looking to the left of me. My voice cracked, I rarely spoke above a whisper in the past few months. There was no need to.
“I think I can…” I trailed off, barely believing it, convinced it was an illusion or a cruel trick. “I think I can…”
And then something caught my eye. The building behind my haggard wife. Thick black letters formed a sentence. It took me a little time before I understood what it meant as reading had been a lost luxury for us.
DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE!
That’s when I began to look around. It wasn’t just on that one wall, it was everywhere, big and small. Like a crazed graffiti artist had made the city his own but only had one thing to say.
Whose “them”? I look at the people around me. We were in an alley way accompanied by three other people. A man who looked like he was about to begin urinating and sang softly to himself, a woman napping on a piece of cardboard, and a second man talking softly to the wall.
My story wasn’t unique. I had heard many similar ones over the past two years; people who couldn’t find their families, others like us who couldn’t find their way home. Some who had gone days without food. There were fights, rapes, theft, murder, and so many horrible things we never thought would happen in our city.
The world had become lawless. And we were trying to not become its victims.
“Yes?” Jane whispered, her head bobbed up to face mine, guided by my voice.
“I think I can…” I looked back at the thick black warning surrounding me and back at my wife. Whoever had written them must have been as crazed as the man who had now begun peeing to the right of me as he sang the alphabet backwards.
“I think I can see.”
I thought the world had gone quiet when The Darkness began, but in the moment I knew what true silence was. The peeing man stopped urinating and singing, the napping woman stopped snoring, and muttering man silenced.
Jane’s face was directly facing mine now. Only her unfocused blue eyes told me that she was still blind.
“You can see?” She asked, her hoarse voice cracking. She reached out her hand and found my face.
“Yes,” I whispered, my tears from the sun now turning into tears of happiness. “I can see. I can see. I can now help us. I can see.”
She came closer and put her other hand on my face. I didn’t realize how much I had missed when Jane cradled my face in her hands, the heat of her palms warming my cheek. She wiped away a tear with her thumb.
“I need your eyes,” she said.
“I will be your eyes, I will always be your eyes.” I said. I sniffed back the snot that was beginning to flow from my nose.
Her hands moved from my cheeks next to my eyes. She traced a finger over my eyelid, a broken nail lightly scratching the soft skin.
“I need your eyes,” she said again, this time more loudly. She began to press her fingers lightly around my eye sockets.
That’s when movement around me caught my eye. The three other people in the alley with us had risen to their feet and had formed a circle around me and my wife. Panic rose in my chest.
“Jane, we need to get out of here,” I whispered, placing my hand on her arm. I went to push her hand off my face, but she tightened her grip. “Ouch!” I gasped, her fingers pressed further into my eyes. “Stop!” I pushed her off of me. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Animal like, Jane leaped back at me, pushing me over from my knees onto my back.
“I NEED YOU EYES!” she screamed.
I pushed her off me again, but another hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. It was the man who seconds ago was peeing next to me.
“She needs your eyes,” he said as he stared over me.
“She needs your eyes,” the others began to whisper. “We need your eyes, I need your eyes, need to get your eyes.”
Another hand reached out pinning my other arm, my leg, my torso.
“I can help you! I can help all of you!” I screamed, thrashing and kicking, but their hands wouldn’t move.
Jane peered over me, her face leaned down to meet my own and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me.
“Ben,” she whispered, one hand on my cheek, the other stroking my temple. For a second, her blue eyes locked onto my own.
“I need your eyes.” | 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 2019-08-26T08:52:19 | 810 | 207 |
[WP] Spells are a thing, but mana isn't. How many you can cast is limited only by how fast you can say them. Thus, rappers have become the world's best rapid-firing spellslingers. | I’m a grammatical wizard, I control the fundamentals. All my lyrical allusions are derived from elementals; using solely the essentials to build something monumental. The light & the shadows lend me limitless potential.
I explore my own potential, casting out beyond infinity. Reaching for divinity, I suffered an epiphany and teleport back to help you understand the mystery.
Arriving precisely, I’m never early or late, I just stepped out of time as I sat down to meditate.
I never lost track, while I watched from afar; I was walking on clouds and gazing up at the stars.
I search through my mind for the peace within, as I reflect upon the world and all the places I’ve been and I record these passing thoughts for they’re as quick as the wind, although as quick as they are gone they come back again. So I sit with my spellbook and the music in my head, and sparks start to fly from the tip of my pen.
As I channel electricity through cognitive ability, I strike like lightning through lyrical agility. The power of The Prophet, etched in modernity. If practice makes perfect I will practice through eternity.
Time flies, but in the moment we’re alive; now I’m casting time stop with the magic of my rhymes.
https://youtu.be/I_FS3WP0DBo | The guards of the Emperor closed in down the narrow cobbled streets that led to Peter's dead-end alley, their fast whispers cutting through the night air like knives. There was no where for Peter to hide, nowhere to run. They would soon be upon him.
On one side of the alley lay a large mound of decaying rubbish tumbled against the high wall, and at the end, an old homeless man slouched, a bottle empty and heavy in his limp hand.
With no other option, Peter dashed past the putrid smelling waste and to the man, echoes of his wooden sandals serving to wake him as he arrived, panting and desperate.
Pinching his nose, Peter looked at him. He smelt worse than the rubbish. Burping, the man gazed back through half-closed eyes, opening his mouth as if to speak, but only muffled air escaping his lips.
He had no tongue.
The old man sighed and turned his attention to the bottle, but seeing it empty, threw it nosily away.
The Emperors men rounded the corner and entered the alley, their large pointed hats and collars casting deep and terrifying shadows down across it. The uniforms served to enhance the volume of their spells, increasing the power and range.
Peter didn't have a chance.
Frantically he tried to speak the words his mind knew, the words he could say at lightning speed in the sanctum of his own privacy, but failed to reproduce in simple words in-front of others, or when he needed.
"B...B...bbbbb" he said, his chapped and sore lips failing him, his terror only adding to his impediment.
The old man rose beside him, and touched Peter's shoulder. Peter turned to face him, the man's smile at odds with the gravity of the situation.
Extending a finger, the old man poked Peter in the forehead.
"rrooo" he said, motioning with his hand a slow and steady motion. Slow.
Suddenly the word seemed to spin and whirl around the point on his head the man had touched, emblems and rotating circles swimming in his vision.
Blinding pain split through his skull, a crack of lightning exploding within.
He hit the floor, his eyes barely able to see, his mind wandering seemingly outside his body. Hobbling slowly, the old man walked on, approaching the guards who stood ready to pounce on their quarry. Glancing once back at Peter, he smiled, before he was split into a million pieces on the end of a slurry of words, his blood painting the sandy coloured walls a deep crimson.
Peter watched as a few drops drifted to his face in slow motion, splattering lightly against his cheek in a warm kiss.
As they hit him, his consciousness returned in a sharp buzz, and he rose, slowly and carefully.
Suddenly, everything was so clear in his mind. The words. The spells. The way to say them.
Looking up and fearing an attack, his breath escaped him. The old man's body still had not hit the ground, falling as if the whole world had slowed to a near stop. The emperor's guard's behind him ran while barely moving, their words nothing but drawn out drones.
What had the old man done to him?
"Barricadus Erectorrum!" the boy screamed, the r's rolling across the end of the word in an instant, the force of the spell breaking out and forward to surround the guards in a sapphire cube. The effect far surpassed the simple wall he had intended.
Peter couldn't believe it. The old man had somehow fixed him, and more than that, given him the gift of dilating time. With throbbing feelings in his head, Peter pushed and squeezed the almost tangible sense of the time around him, watching as it sped and slowed to his will.
The throb turned into an ache, and his nose bled.
He was riding his luck. Sparing one last look at the remains of the old man and blessing his soul to the gods, he ran past the barricade that would eventually fall, and into the night. | 2019-10-24T05:37:35 | 2019-10-24T03:59:29 | 125 | 83 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | The man returns home, beaten, bruised, but in good spirits. For individuals with his skill set, any day when one can return home is a good one. A great one in fact. I watch from beneath the gap in the floorboards as he takes his hat off and sheds his thick coat. The man is an exorcist. But if you ask him, he will tell you that he wanted to be a carpenter. It is a half-truth. I observe as he heads to the bathroom to rid himself of the filth, grime, and blood of a hard day’s labor. The man enjoys having a tool for every occasion. In that manner, the exorcist and the carpenter are much alike. I slither towards his discarded tool bag. Oh, the mischief I could cause with contents of that bag. The chaos, the agony. I supress a giggle at the thought of forcing another fool to swallow a holy candle. Maybe this time I will make sure it is lit first.
The man finishes washing his hands and face, turns back into the hall. He goes for his tool bag. I am about to be discovered! I react, blowing the fuses in the light circuit nearby. That will teach him. But the man does not flinch. I have tried that trick to many times on the man. It is a good tactic on those that are just coming to terms with the notion of possession. This man is a veteran. A blown lightbulb may slow him down, but not stop him. I would be insulted if that trick worked. Unfazed and in the dark, the man collects the tools of his trades and heads towards the kitchen. I skulk in the shadows after him.
The man sets him tool bag on the kitchen table and begins to empty its contents. The lights still work in this room, for now. He produces a worn crucifix, a vial of holy water, a rosary, 50 feet of rope. All get discarded. Eventually the man appears to find exactly what he is looking for: a pure silver knife, elongated with a grip made of bone, and a small cardboard box. He moves the box over to the kitchen counter and opens it. I can not see what is inside. I NEED TO SEE WHAT IS INSIDE. I shift from the walls to the ceiling, flowing along the surface. And yet no good angle. I rattle the doors and windows of the man’s domain. Perhaps that will get him to shift enough. And yet, he remains unphased. I creep ever closer, close enough to feel his breath. But find that he has set up his barriers already. My vision of the box is clouded in darkness. I let out a wail, of frustration, of anger, of denial.
For the first time, the man speaks “Come on girl. You can not stay mad at me forever. You took advantage of that poor bloke, and I fixed him. Fair and square. You will try harder next time. I know you can do it. Now come, have a seat. Let us talk about where you went wrong. I got your favorite, strawberry pie”
The man drives a hard bargain. He asks to much. But every demon needs a weakness. And mine smells of strawberries. | Father Lloyd Murphy entered the foyer of the abbey and closed the door behind him, breathing in the rich aroma of homemade chicken dumpling soup as well as the faint smell of fire and brimstone. He was tired and hungry, and he had little left of himself to give after having to profusely apologize to the parents of little Bethany who had, in a demented fervor, climbed up to the roof of their home and refused to come down.
His heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor as he crossed into the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and remained silent. Sister Agdis had her back to him, but he could see her making quick work of vegetables with a knife. The scent of sulfur didn’t come from the fire over which the soup was brewing, but the diminutive form stirring the pot with a large wooden ladle. Try and try as they might giving her baths with fresh lavender, chamomile, and lilac, the girl always bore the faint scent of Devil’s Fire.
His daughter looked up at him, incredulous. He didn’t even have to say anything; his weary eyes said it all. “I asked her if I could come in, and she said yes! How is that my fault?”
“And how do you think she felt when you started climbing up onto the roof with her riding in the backseat, unable to do anything? I know you don’t…” he said, stopping himself.
“Don’t what?” she asked, picking up on his train of thought. “Have a soul?”
Lloyd resigned himself. “Yes, you don’t have one, and since you don’t, there’s always a part of you that isn’t going understand why it’s wrong to treat people like they’re a plaything.”
Samarra scowled. “I’m tired of not being able to leave this drafty old place. And I’m tired of only being able to play outside in the cemetery with ghosts that nobody can see but me.”
“Samarra, I know this is trying, but you put that girl’s life at risk. How do you think it looked when I had to forcibly drag your spirit out of her? How it sounded when I had to beg them not to tell anyone about what had happened? If Fr. Lawrence hears about this, you will be locked into your room again with the Enochian wards laid on twice as thick.”
“She came up to my window from outside, and asked if it was true,” replied Samarra. “She asked me if I was a Hollow, so I showed her. I asked if I could show her, and I did.” She stared at him with a blank expression. In her mind, everything added up enough for her to leap inside of another girl’s head and take her for a joyride. She just couldn’t see what was wrong about it.
They had known something was wrong when she was born. She didn’t cry, but looked around, as if puzzled by where she was. And as she grew older, her abilities began to manifest, confirming their fears that she had been born Hollow. His wife, riddled with immense grief, absconded one day in the middle of the night, leaving Lloyd to raise the small child on his own, knowing full well the world would never accept her for having been born without a soul.
Desperate and broken down by the dissolution of a family that would never be whole, he approached the abbey and accepted their terms. Room and board and protection for the child, with the condition that he pledge himself to God and His Church, and accept that his daughter would be a subject of research. Such research, they promised, could provide valuable insights into preventing others from being born Hollow.
And one day, if he had payed his dues, he would be able to ask the Archangel Michael his question, and just that question – where was Samarra’s soul? But only when Pope Edward deemed him worthy of making such a request.
Could such a thing really be true? Or was it a promise meant to enslave them into servitude, that eventually, if they were pious and devout enough, their burning questions would be answered by the ultimate source of God’s own wisdom – his right-hand angel?
“It’s a test, a test,” they all would say, over and over again. But how many times must a man be tested?
“I promise that one day, I will have my audience with Michael and find your soul, but until I do, you can’t possess someone ever again. It’s dangerous, and it’s only a matter of time before someone, another clergyman with less tolerance, expels you to the dark.”
She grew sullen and retreated behind her dark bangs. “But I helped Agdis make the soup.”
He sighed. “A good deed doesn’t-“
“Negate a bad one.” She finished the sentence for him. She had heard it hundreds of times because every choice she made seemed like it was always the wrong one.
He nodded. “That’s right. Now go wash up for supper.” She relinquished her grasp of the spoon and quietly retreated upstairs.
Lloyd screwed his eyes shut and yawned. “Sister Agdis, forgive me. I don’t mean to make the lives of those in the abbey difficult.”
“It’s quite alright,” she said, her voice even, yet cold. She took the spoon Samarra had been holding and resumed stirring the soup on the stove. She had the same kind of blank expression on her face as Samarra. “I think you forget sometimes Father, that I also know what it’s like to be born Hollow.”
\---
After dinner, Lloyd and his daughter took to bed, and when he felt certain that she was asleep, he gave his nightly prayer. The same prayer he had been making ever since he had given up hope of attaining an audience with the mythical Michael. The prayer God wouldn’t answer.
“Dark One,” the prayer began. “I pray to you willing to make a trade, and I hope that you’ll answer my request. I will give you my soul in exchange for Samarra’s. Whatever it takes.” Then Fr. Murphy went to sleep. | 2020-10-20T13:52:17 | 2020-10-20T13:32:03 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] War is no longer initiated by your country’s leader. War is now decided by popular vote. If you cast a vote “FOR” war, you are automatically enlisted in your country’s militia upon successful declaration of war. You voted “AGAINST,” but the rest of your family voted “FOR.” | "Seriously? You voted *against* war?" Chester's father looked at his son in disbelief and a touch of humiliation.
"I just don't see the point in it, really," Chester explained. "Besides, even if I voted for war, I probably wouldn't be able to serve, unless I was a general or something, because of my leg." Chester rolled up his trouser leg, exposing metal where flesh and bone was supposed to be.
"You could have been, like, a medic or something," his older brother, Gareth, pointed out. Their father looked at him with a look that said 'why couldn't you have said that?' on his face. "Obviously, I voted for war."
"Thank God for you, Gareth," their father replied. "You'd make a fine soldier. I can just see you getting a medal of bravery from the Queen."
"I know," Gareth preened. their mother walked in, feeling smug.
"Guess who just signed up for war!" she trilled. Her husband and elder son hugged her, while her younger son stayed sat down, his head now in his hands.
"This isn't going to end well," Chester groaned. "Nothing will ever be the same again."
"Shut up, wimp, the news is on," Gareth snapped, turning on the TV. The news made them all feel sick.
"And the votes have officially been counted, and we are going to war," the news anchor reported. "35% voted no, 45% voted yes, and 20% undecided/ineligible. All of the people who voted for war will be collected from their homes effective immediately to serve overseas. No personal belongings will be permitted to go with them." The family sat still with shock. They were not expecting this.
"What did she say?" their mother squeaked.
"We have to get ready," Gareth babbled. The smug look he once had was gone. Everyone's self-assured nature had been wiped away. | "Are ya winning, son?"
Jin froze for a moment before pulling the headphones from around his ears and turning around, eyes narrowed in an expression of confusion and cringe.
"Are you serious? That meme was so last year. God, stop trying to relate to me through random shitposts on Reddit, dad. Ugh." Jin rolled his eyes before turning back to face the screen behind him. Picking up his headphones, he sighed. "What do you want?"
I swallowed. Stepping into the room with my fists clenched, every step I took felt exceptionally heavy. As I looked around, his room appeared the same as I'm used to. Dirty laundry was shoved into the corner of the wall against the foot of the bed. His blanket, crumpled and unfolded was haphazardly pushed to one side of the bed along with his pillow. Finally, his table, as usual, is littered with empty potato chip bags and crushed cans of Mountain Dew. All this clutter is either pushed to the sides of the table or shoved onto the floor to clear the space in the middle of the table for his "Battle Station", as he would call it; basically, a whirring metal hunk of a computer glowing in red, blue and green. The display screen flashed with scenes of Battlefield carnage.
The major difference was that alongside the heap of litter and the "Battle Station", a holographic card laid in the right hand corner of the table, well within Jin's reach - the ballot - which glowed green on the surface with the words "FOR" piercingly stamped on its surface.
"Say," I forced the word out, heart beating at my throat. Calm down, it would be really lame to break down right now in front of my son. I swallowed in an attempt to rehydrate my parched throat. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider... this?" I said, circling the air with my finger a few times before finally pointing at the ballot on the table.
Jin sighed with a hint of annoyance before lowering his headphones to his neck. He pressed the spacebar, prompting a "Pause" icon to appear on the screen before turning to face me. His black eyes were filled with determination, or so it may seem to others, but to me it only appeared as the ignorant defiance of a teenager. Oh, he's at that age now, I thought to myself, if only I could be proud of him for finally getting off his ass and taking a stand. But... now's hardly the time. The only emotion my heart could grasp was an overwhelming sense of doom.
"We've been through this, Dad, it's as the president said yesterday. We get a choice on whether we want to fight, or not. Those..." he paused for a moment as he strugged to find the right word. "Demons." he finally spat out, voice shaky with anger and disgust, "They took Mom and Denzel. You may not want to lose the only son you have left, but they deserve justice, Dad. It's the only way they will ever rest in peace."
"I'm begging you, Jin. You know nothing about the horrors of war. If you reconsider this, we can move to a quieter corner of the country, wait for the war to blow over. Then, we can come back and continue our lives. Your mom and brother would have wanted you to live on." I stared my son in the eye. Now is the only time I can protect him from what he is about to face.
"As long as they live, no corner of this country will be quiet, dad. You think Mom and Denzel would have wanted to be mutilated as they were?" Jin replied, his tone cold as steel. Every word he spoke radiated hate and determination, which shone through like an invasive ray of sunlight through closed curtains. "Regardless of your approval, I'm submitting this. Don't stop me." He snatched his ballot from the table and marched out of his room. His footsteps echoed down the stairwell and the creaking of a door opening could be heard. When I finally heard the front door slam shut, I knew.
Opening my fist, I released the safety on the button i was holding and pressed down. I crumpled onto the floor and stared at the ceiling blankly as a deafening explosion burst out in the distance. Thinking of the creed of the government: 全国意志首先, I consoled myself in the fact that I have rid the new world of three insurgents, three threats to the absolute authority of my country. The three people who trusted me with their lives.
As tears rolled down my eyes, I stood up shakily and whispered into the communications set: 目地完成.
Whatever I felt did not matter. Good soldiers follow orders. | 2021-01-28T10:19:24 | 2021-01-28T09:48:37 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A technician pulls a headset off of you and asks you if you liked the VR. You panic, and he calmly says that your whole life was a 2 minute VR experience to show you what being an average person would be like. You, stunned and afraid, ask, "Who am I, then?" He stares in complete disbelief.
(The title implies that the protagonist is someone important/famous/rich/powerful/etc, but feel free to do whatever you want with it) | "You don't really have a name," the tech says. "At least not anymore. After what you did, the courts decided you weren't even worthy of an identity."
"What did I do?" you say.
The tech shrugs. "Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"
"What," you start, but you can't imagine what to say next. Your eyes catch on the tubes and wires of the VR helmet, where you've lived a long, boring life. "Why?"
The tech smiles. "Our... experiments, let's say, have shown that there is only a certain amount of stimulus a mind can take before it shuts down completely. You can go in the other machine about 12 hours before you just stop responding to stimulus and we have to pop you into the life-experience machine to recalibrate you."
"Other machine... What are you talking about."
"The nerve impulse machine. It fires specially calibrated electrical waves up your nerves. It feels like... Well, you'll find out what it feels like." The tech has a broad smile on his face, but dead eyes.
Little pieces of memory come back to you. Half-formed nightmares, things you completely discounted in the real... in the simulation. You would wake up screaming three times a week, dreaming, no, remembering a torture beyond comprehension.
A tear beads in your eye. "What did I do?"
"I have no idea, Prisoner Zero. What do I know is that you're going to be punished for it."
"I'm... I'm going to be tortured, endlessly, until I die?"
The tech laughs. "You don't have to worry about dying." | "Who am I, then?" The words fall from my mouth into the room like heavy stones.
The technician had stared at me, his mouth opening and closing as answers were born and died upon his lips, unspoken.
A woman had come soon after. I don't remember her face or her name. She said she was my wife, and she had been very angry with me. Two years away, two years neglected. She had lain her anger on me like sullen blankets of thorn; heavy, sharp, imprisoning. I had stood up and walked away.
I couldn't remember if she had raged at me or remained silent as I left her; all I recalled was the sound of cables stretching taught and popping free from my spine with wet sucking noises as I walked back into my new, old life.
I am the only one who knows.
I have been chosen, granted this blessing of travel into the past to prevent a future of terror.
I travel.
This world is new but oddly familiar to me. Everything is quaintly antiquated. People walk about, holding devices to their ears and speaking through their mouths in order to communicate over distance. They summon little maps on little screens and peer into them rather than download and cast them out for viewing in the vastness of their own minds.
Cold, the wet snapping of bones breaking and of marrow being sucked out, fills the vastness of *my* mind.
I am the only one who knows.
I have no money. Or, at least, none I can access. So, I walk. I know where I am going. People do not treat me well; some call me "tramp", and spit on me. Others look on me with pity and disdain and ignore me, saying nothing and offering no aid.
I become familiar with the inside of police cars. Sometimes they drive me closer to where I need to be, sometimes they take me farther away. They never treat me well.
It is mid-summer when I find him. The air is thick, hot, and liquid and the sun shines fierce and merciless in the sky. He stares back at me when I come across him. He is calm.
He knows. I know. My skin is cold and dry; the hairs on my arms stand on end and my flesh is pebbled, despite the sun.
The police are called. A transient wanderer, bearded and filthy and stinking, is standing in the town plaza brandishing a knife. He is staring at a young boy and is preventing the boy and his parents from leaving a convenience store. The boy's father is standing in front of him, arms held to the sides, fists bunched. The mother stands behind the boy. Her hands are on his shoulders, tendons taut. She is ready to fight and die to protect her little monster; her little world-breaker.
The world is all blue and red, flashing lights and piercing wailing sirens. Blue-clad officers take up positions around me and around the boy. Radios buzz. Farther back, TV reporters hustle into position, cameras following.
"Another VR-related manic break being reported here, tonight..."
"Reporting to you live from the scene of, from what we can gather, another incident involving a so-called 'VR-Prophet'..."
A buzz in the background, the police and reporters do not matter. Nothing does, except him.
I can see his eyes, shining like bright, icy lights here and there when they are revealed from behind his father's back. They make me feel sick. I look into them, and the heat of the day disperses. Day is cast into night, the sky turns black, and the forever-shiver of unending cold returns to my bones. I can hear the man-scavengers in the night, clicking and clacking and sucking at bones they pull from their terrible, bloodied sacks. Their lips are black and their eyes are bright, searching, searching, searching. The world is silent because noise is the enemy of both prey and predator; all creatures lie in wait, in terror and in hungry expectation. They hope to survive. They hope to kill, and eat. But none, none truly *hope*. It is not possible, in this world.
He knows.
He knows, and he smiles.
I step forward. Sharp blasts of sound break through the heat of the day as officers fire. I can no longer breathe, and so I run. | 2021-03-27T20:07:44 | 2021-03-27T20:03:00 | 135 | 33 |
[WP] it was a dark night when our villain heard a wrap on their door. To their surprise their arch nemesis, the hero, collapses into their arms. Beaten and a bit woozy in the eyes ,the hero looks up and barely manages to get out "I wasn't sure where else to go" before going limp. | Addison groaned as she stood up. She'd been fighting almost all the day prior, and some dick had just decided to knock on her door. Who knocks on somebody's door, completely unvited, at three in the morning? Sure she'd tried to rob a bank, but she still deserved sleep! She stretched, making sure to let her back crack before she went to the door.
"If this isn't important I'm gonna be pissed," she growled lowly. She slammed her door open. Her eyes widened as a woman fell into her arms, and she struggled to hold the taller lady up.
"I wasn't sure where else to go," the tall woman slurred out. She went limp in Addison's arms a second later. Addison almost collapsed herself-not because of the weight, no, but because that was definitely Eclipse's voice. Eclipse, the hero she'd been fighting for years, came to *her* for help.
Addison backed up a bit. Eclipse's lanky form was a struggle to drag. Addison wasn't really sure what to do at this point-tie her up? Put her on the couch? To hell with it. The girl clearly needed help-she'd give her the guest room. The infamous criminal for hire Addison played might've been a menace, a danger, even a villian-everything the news liked to call her-but *Addison Daniels* wasn't.
She lowered Eclipse and set her down. Addison took a moment to catch her breath before she closed the door. She sighed and looked back at New California's golden girl, their hero and savior, lying on her floor. Eclipse looked nothing like she usually did. Addison hadn't noticed it earlier, but now that she could get a good look at the hero, she wondered what exactly had happened.
Eclipse's perfect black hair was tangled and matted. Instead of her usual black and white attire, she was in an oversized hoodie and jeans. Addison froze-Eclipse hadn't even bothered to put on a mask before she came here. Something was definitely fucking up.
She pulled out her phone, tapped her brother's name, and then the call button. An automatic ringtone accompanied her as she stared at Eclipse. Instead of standing above Addison, glaring daggers and ready to fight, she was lying on the floor, vulnerable and bruised. A thought ran through Addison, leaving her with goosebumps. *Who on Earth is strong enough to do that to Eclipse?*
She jumped as Jay finally responded. "Hello?" his voice was groggy and lethargic, but she was just happy he answered. | **Angela and Dean**
A nemesis, a harsh yet fitting word for just another person that you can't stand yet keep getting in your way. I usually don't bat an eyelid at another mook knocking on my doorstep, waving around a twig, calling themselves a hero that slays the calamity witch. I rough them up a little and they pass out. Therefore, I, in my "Oh so typical fashion", etched a few mind-altering curses into their thick echoing skull and let them run along.
Yet this thing, yes, thing. I did not misspoke. I refuse to acknowledge him as a human, the livestock which I drew my sustenance from. If I were to compare myself to a siren singing sweet lullabies to lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom then he's a succubi whose every words is the sweetest poison I could taste and whose every action entices me to insanity. I'd want nothing less but to abandon myself to my desire. But alas, I know my own limits as well as his strengths and potentials. But perhaps his most bewildering aspect is how he can shrugs off any and all attempts at mental attacks and curses even mind-reads. "No wall is impenetrable, no fortress is without holes" is what I used to believe but he has just that, an invincible force field that maintains his psychological state at all time even while unconscious. I could kill him physically, yes, that's an valid option but I would lose in the battle of brain, I couldn't take down even his most basic mental defense no matter what I try or how long I try it. And for the record, I refuse to lose in a match of knowledge and wits to this muscle-brained, sword-swinging barbarian.
So, here we are, a hero and a witch having weekly showdowns. Now normally I'd complain about the situation but I'm rather grateful for an reasonable excuse to not fulfill my contract to the "Demon Lord" that wages his wars against the humans. Any other "hero" doesn't cut it, but he does, something about stopping the "Demon Lord" advance dead in its track and single handedly shutting down the second invasion. On the contrary, the "Demon Lord" hopes I can occupy him for years to come which I happily oblige.
Our usual bouts or "dates" as I'd like to call them are on Thursday afternoon. Yet today he fails to show up, he haven't missed one in over 3 years. My immediate thought was "Did the Demon Lord starts another invasion and he went to stop it? Ah crud, my one job." I was so afraid of losing my weekly bundle of joy that I teleported straight to the throne room of the Demon Lord to check, only to see the Lord napping on his throne without a care in the world.
Seeing my confusion, his right hand aide moved with lightning speed to inform me that the Lord is recharging after an exhausting audience with the Faeries about peace keeping in the territory as well as agriculture supports. Ah, a bunch of hyper-active moody little winged people they are. I further inquired about plans for the third human invasion. But he just brushed it off citing humans have too much combat power, another invasion would be too costly on all fronts, maintaining this pseudo peace is the best strategy for now and should the situation changes, I'd be notified immediately. Relived, I returned to my residence and spent a calm Thursday afternoon, something i haven't had since he first showed up. However, I had an foreboding feeling that this is just the calm before the storm.
No sooner does a storm indeed come in the evening. Roaring winds, booming thunder and flashing lightning, the whole package didn't miss a beat to come ruin my evening reading. Yet somehow the most earth-shattering storm is now happening within my own mind when I found my "beloved" hero, battered and bruised, beaten black and blue, falling gently to my loving arms on my very doorstep. Before he passed out, he eked out a small sentence with a powerless voice: "I wasn't sure where else to go" which made my emotions ran wild. As I moved my beloved to the bedroom, I have this pounding urge to assault him, to do let my desire overflows and my emotions take control.
How I managed to remain sane and repress such urge was foreign to me, a witch that has indulge in her every desires for as long as she has lived. Witches are called such because we wield immense power borne from following our desires. Drunk on such powers as we slowly degenerate into something akin to demons in human form, feasting on demon's nourishment such as emotions, life force, mana while detaching ourselves from the concept of mortality. But perhaps my primal urges and basest desires could not overcome my overwhelming love for the shining beacon supporting the last vestige of my humanity.
I swiftly moved away from the bedroom after tucking him in. I cannot bare to look at his innocent and powerless visage unless I want to succumb to these overpowering feelings. I had to resort to other means to comfort myself for the night lest I lose control as morning comes. As the storm rages throughout the night, the storm in my mind instead starts to calm down and by daybreak, I have fully gathered my thoughts as well as my line of questionings that leads to this situation. | 2021-07-08T21:05:47 | 2021-07-08T19:35:17 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells. | Jerik groaned as the cleric patched his wound, a burn on the arm. He wasn't in that much pain to be honest. He was mostly groaning because of the shit show that was the cleric's healing abilities.
He botched healing his burn, he botched healing Mary's stab wound, and he almost botched healing Corians splinter.
Not only could he not heal to save his life, he also couldn't even apologize as he fucked near every attempt at healing someone.
Jerik watched as the rest of his party barricaded the door, the demon they were attempting to kill slamming it's scarlet horns against the door, near getting in.
Finishing the patching up, the cleric helped Jerik up, who instead of thanking him, just grabbed his sowrd
He didn't need to thank that idiot. He neede dto kill that fucking dem-
The door gave in, shattering into a thousand metal shards as it barreled towards the frightened party.
Closer.
Closer still.
Then as its breath singed their hair, the cleric snapped his fingers, reducing the towering demon to a pile of ash.
They turned to the cleric.
"Ho- how the fuck did you just do that?" Jerik was flabbergasted, how the hell did this old ass cleric just kill a demon in the blink of an eye?
"It's nothing, really." The cleric words had a certain softness to it, yet remained cold.
"No, you just killed someone!" Mary shouted, how the hell did this guy just shrug off killing a demon.
The cleric turned to her.
"I'll add it to the list. Not we best get going if we don't want to miss getting back to town in time for collecting our reward." | "The pain... it's coming back..." I mumble as force a light that erupts from my hands ti restore my body back to its 'normal' state. "How long has it been now?" I say outloud to the empty cave.
Lost in my thoughts the cave falls back to silence only hearing the crackling of the fire. I've been searching for a cure for years now. Yet I am no where closer to an answer then before. I sacrificed my body and soul for the power to defeat their army and failed! Maybe I deserve this curse. I'm probably the last black mage. The sacrificial army created only as a last resort. Yet the kingdom still fell. What was it for. Everyone else that was corrupted is dead. If it wasnt for my time training in the clergy I would be dead as well.
A sound cuts off my thoughts from outside the cave. I sit waiting to hear any movement of monsters or people coming in. Fortunately nothing comes into my temporary dwelling. Reminding me at the least to get some rest before entering town tomorrow. Laying down, I drift back into my thoughts as they slowly transform from words to dreams.
With an over dramatic yawn I force myself up and pack up my mag and any firewood that looks like it will be useful later. Before leaving the cave I give myself a quick once over. Looking for any visible signs of corruption. It typically originates from the belly button and spreads from there. However it can start from anywhere.
With no visible signa I set off towards the town. Less then a days trip I will be able to get to the local adventures guild and find a room before they close for the night.
As I approach the front of the town I smell the the all to familiar scent of burning bodies. Four guards instead of the usual one that most villages have stand at the gate.
"Halt" yells one of the guards upon spotting me approach. Two of the four walk towards me. Based off their walk it doesnt appear to be hostile. Maybe the village was attacked?
"What is your business here?" Orders a guard that has a decorative hilt that usually deaignates nobility. Could it be the local Lords son? Clearly my silence and appraising glance wasnt to his satisfaction as he places a hand onto the hilt. "What business do you have here wanderer?" He repeats.
"I'm just heading to the local adventurers guild then plan on exploring the local ruins." I reply.
‐------
Interrupted mid typing.
-------
"Sorry we are not allowing anyone new through until the church is done with its scans" says the guard. With a hint of compassion at me "there is a camp of adventures starting up west of town until the towns... situation is dealt with".
"What is the situation? I've trained with the church. I might be able to assist" I respond hoping to avoid one more night on the ground.
"What spells do you know?!" Half excitedly and half ready to jump with joy asks the second guard. In an even faster tone as if trying to cram a life worth of questions into seconds he begins his rant "We were attacked by one of the cults that spread corruption. Distracted by their fires, they managed to get off a ritual in our town square. Do you know any high level area restoration spells? Maybe a fields blessing? Oh even a standard church area spell will assist us. The current town mage is only a journeyman level cleric so he his abilities will take time! How can you help?"
With my look of hope for a comfy bed turning to a sad realization that I wont be able to assist. I quietly ask the one question I can "Do you need any healing? My cleric abilities were that of an apprentice so I can only cast basic single target healing." The second guard look fades to his previous uninterested glare. Then the first guard with the nobles hilt asks "Were?".
A simple question... did I give it away? Does he know? I dont know how to explain cleric abilities are only that of an apprentice. Normally you stay with in the church until that of atleast journeyman. Then you can decide to leave their ranks. But I was tasked with asissting the war. Then sent to the sacrificial army. The power that sacrifice gives did not care about our previous efforts or triumph. It boosts us in all way of the corrupted. Yet now I can no longer further my growth as a cleric. High biships would detect my corruption and I would be 'purified' if one visits their schools. As if sensing my internal dilemma I'm interrupted.
"Did the church give up up on you?" Asks the guard. | 2021-09-03T14:49:32 | 2021-09-03T13:23:54 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Every new year the priests sacrifice whoever finds the stone bean in their meal to bring the clan good fortune in the months to come. It's supposed to be random, but you get suspicious when you notice the priests watching you carefully as you sit down to eat. | I noticed the priest stare at me out of the corner of my eye. Every year the priests put a carved stone bean in a persons soup, during the feast celebrating the end of the harvest season.
I know that the bean is supposed to be scooped randomly, but I think it might have been put in my soup, I never was notably popular, and I rarely visited the church, and now their just looking directly at me.
I finish most of my stew before finding the large stone bean. The bean looks small enough to eat, and even if I choke it would just speed up the inevitable. I take a big spoonful, and swallow it.
*cough*
Nope, I’m choking. That didn’t go well. Now someone is preforming the heimlick maneuver.
And a small bean comes out, at a high trajectory. I hope it lands on the floor, or in the bowl of the local drunk, he’s extremely rude and wouldn’t even notice, but nothing is done about it because he’s the priest’s brother.
And speak of the devil, would you look at that! It went into the bowl of the priest, and he was coming to look at my bowl, seeing if I got scared according to onlookers, be both of us know that he knew the bean was supposed to be in my bowl before hand.
He looked at me strangely, almost accusingly, then went back to his soup. And gasped loudly enough for everyone else to hear. Seems I’m safe, and the tradition will likely end here. | Father Talbot cast his warm gaze over the feasters as the town gathered together for Wellentien. Small gestures to his flock, showing congregates that they were seen and valued by the towns holy man. He was a young man by all accounts, of an age with Tim’s sister and liked ubiquitously.
Everyone gathered here had known that they were welcome, that this was their home, and what was to come. The proud carved wooden beams overhead, inscribed with the runes of those who had given themselves for the town at the previous mid-winter festivals gave fortitude where fear may have reigned. Fires warmed the hall and the thatched roof and wooden floor insulated against the cold. Over the celebration a bracing storm could be heard outside, not uncommon for this time of year, yet strong enough to draw conversation for a while.
Tim took his place among his friends. He didn’t make it to town too often. Farming was a hard task in these lands and the herds of his families’ goats required someone to stay at the farmstead instead joining the festivities. This year was different. This year he had been allowed to attend. Usually, his parents came to town and would leave Tim to take care of the farm, taking his sister Mary in an attempt to find her a husband after her first died a few years ago. Tim’s father, a short stout man with a trimmed beard he took pride in had mentioned that Father Talbot had asked for all the young men that were usually stuck on the land to be allowed to attend this year. Tim’s mother, a handsome woman with a kind disposition and a mother’s grace had worried he would end up sleeping in a pigsty after losing control of himself. He had assured his mother that would not happen. That he was a responsible man now. He was fifteen after all. He figured it would be much more likely he could find a stable or maybe even someone else’s bed to collapse in.
He caught Father Talbots eye once again, a warm smile pinned to his face but his eyes seemed intent. Talbots gaze lingered for a second before moving to others. He was a good man, Father Talbot.
Mary’s husband had passed away after a ladder fell out underneath him at the Abbey while he was seeing to the thatch. Father Talbot was distraught, of course, being the first to discover him, but that didn’t prevent him from comforting Mary when he needed her most. Tim had discovered them once, they must have been consoling one and other as both were red faced, breathing heavy and a little dishevelled. If he hadn’t have known the penalties for philandering, particularly for a Father, he would have guessed they could have been up to something else, but the shame and sadness in his sisters eyes and the kind soul of Father Talbot had assured him that their shared grief was the source of the distress.
Another gaze from Father Talbot made Tim feel almost uncomfortable. The same smile still plastered across the fathers’ face but his eyes almost staring through him in anticipation.
That’s when he felt it. The small hard stone at the bottom of his stew. The look on his face must have given something away as the father did not look away this time. Calming himself by slowing his breathing he began to feel nauseous. The air around him suddenly thick and hot. Everyone knew it could happen to them of course. But no one thought it would. Father Talbots stare had begun to draw attention and some others began to look over. Tim tried to stand up and tripped over the bench. Laughter followed with some jovial cheers, no doubt assuming the young man had over done it with the mead.
Father Talbot was not laughing. Tim gathered his senses and made for the door. Jeered along by the rows of celebrants he knew he had to get outside. To calm himself down. This was his duty. His responsibility. But he needed some time. As he approached the door, the young Father Talbot stepped in his way, blocking the door. He looked down at Tim with anger in his eyes and a grisly, teeth laden grin.
“Is something wrong with your food, boy...?”, Father Talbot spat. | 2021-12-31T19:43:04 | 2021-12-31T16:38:52 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] You're a female hero in a fantasy world, and you are annoyed. The wizards keep giving you enchanted armor with incredible stats, but it looks RIDICULOUS! This one has nipples! This one has a hole over your heart! This one is just a necklace and a belt! Would they please STOP IT! | "I know it's ridiculous!" The wizard threw his hands into the air.
"Then stop this nonsense and make me something that doesn't look like I should be wearing it on a street corner rather than in the dungeon!" I snapped.
"S'not my fault," the wizard muttered, turning away to fiddle with something. "I'm doing the best that I damn well can. Take it up with," he gestured vaguely upwards.
"Do you mean to tell me," I started dangerously—
"Yes!"
"You seriously can't do better than that beaded necklace-belt thing that *vanished* my favorite shirt when I put it on?"
"In my defense", he turned back to face me, "that didn't happen when my apprentice tried it. "Want a drink?"
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Gods know I could use something stiff right now."
"Can't have alcohol in here. The last time I got sloshed and enchanted, it nearly took out nearly the entire block." He handed me a bone-white porcelain cup, slightly steaming. "I'd offer you milk, but the coldbox never works. We can find a cow if you'd like."
I accepted the tea with as much grace as I could muster. Staring down at its flowery liquid, I eventually calmed enough to ask:
"Is there any way to fix this."
"Probably."
"Well what do you fucking advise then!"
"The good news is, you can get strong enough to defeat whatever God made this happen.
"The bad news is," the wizard leaned forward and prodded at my chest, "you're going to have to do it with these hanging out."
I groaned, then tipped my head back to chug the tea.
—
This is (functionally) my first post here on r/WritingPrompts; I'd appreciate any advice you may care to give! | She stood in front if the armourer with a mix of confusion and disappointment.
'Looks good, yeah?' the man asked as he shook the armoured mannequin, though, armoured was perhaps the wrong word. Alnisa pondered for a moment. No, it was in fact *saddled* with the sorriest excuse for armour in the history of the Grand Imperium.
The lowest layer was some skin tight fabric covering scant few portions of the body, leaving few features up to the imagination. Atop it was albeit beautifully engraved, but ultimately just as moronically positioned, cast iron platemail, covering each individual breast and some of the thighs. Frankly most offensively were the heart runes of 'vitality' etched on the crotch plate, that and the tirelessly detailed nipples and areola on the breast plates. Both entire arms were given no covering. Almost everything from the thighs down was exposed, except for the standard issue boots.
"I-, I just... Wow."
'You like it, then?'
She scowled harshly at the man. He managed to get the message.
'W-well, what's wrong with it? It's got the best magical barrier this side of the Ententlic! A war mage couldn't scratch its barrier if he tried!' He boasted, pointing a fist at the *armour* as a blast of lightening smashed against the materialised shield.
"Yeah, well, you think the Pinnitsurgans use magic like that?" she retorted.
She reached into her uniforms' pocket and produced a captured Pinnitsurgan WP-33 handgun and fired a shot at the mannequin much to the armourer's dismay. It left an entrance hole and an exit hole. Alnisa put her hands to her hips, hoping that had proven her point.
'W-well, just because we haven't put on the ballistic shield spell doesn't mean its other bonuses don't exist! I mean I- well-.'
Evidently it hadn't.
'...well it has movement speed increase!'
"So I can outpace my men then, as I rush into a Pinni's machine gun firing bullets I can't block."
'...it has great defence against melee!'
"Yeah, because when my arm comes flying off from an artillery barrage that'll do me so much good."
'...it has a passive charisma buff?'
She gave him a death glare, enough to petrify most men even without magic to back it up.
'...it, uhh, has a passive mana regeneration increase...?'
"OK that's actually not bad but we already have that in the standard issue kit."
The armourer seemed a little defeated.
"On the other hand, those Pinnitsurgans-"
The armourer suddenly became animated as he scoffed and threw his hands up in the air.
'Oh, don't tell me you're listening to the Coalition propaganda! Of course they say their armour is so good, that's what they *want* you to think!'
"Well tell that to those that we captured. Even the bloody Kobolds have better rounded armour than this *crap!* They've got mixed ballistic and magic resistance in the fabric itself and not some dumb forcefield, a passive healing bonus to keep them from dying after one shot, and some various specialist effects like better focus or larger carrying capacity! And not to mention, but I do quite like the look of the USK winter uniforms, furred trenchcoat in grey with orange highlights does it for me~"
'You- you like the United States of Kherremia's uniforms!? I can't believe you would even **begin** to view those dirty Kobolds in any regard! They were ungrateful of their generous Dragon lords and uprooted the beautiful culture of the Thousand Year Hegemony for their misguided attempts at democracy, all because of the frekking Pinnitsurgans!'
Alnisa rolled her eyes. Always the folks from the inner empire the most fanatic.
"Look, look, I don't care. Just, give me some plates and a carrier or something I can fit under my officer uniform. No chainmail bras, or Basilisk scale lingeries. I don't care if you give me a knock-off Pinni plate. Just anything but *that.* "
'Guh, fine. I'll let the boys know.' the armourer agreed despondently as he walked into the back of the room. Commander Alnisa of the 262nd Armoured Warlock Battalion stepped out into the cold winter air.
"Sometimes I wonder if I should desert..." | 2022-11-21T04:56:11 | 2022-11-21T04:00:43 | 568 | 263 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc. | My whole life I've been a slave. My mother was a slave too, so I never knew another way.
When I was young, I was happy to subject myself to the will of another. First my mother, and her master.
Then, the travelers came to my home and took me away. I went willingly. They taught me I had power, but they insisted on limiting how I used it. At the end, they were just another kind of master and I was just another kind of slave.
I grew stronger. I made a difference. I fought battles and won them. I even won her, even though it was forbidden. She is gone because I wasn't strong enough. I learned that day that I can't trust myself, and acting on my own desire brings only disaster. That day, I surrendered myself completely to the will of another.
But now I stand with my latest master, my final master. The master I've had since I became the person, the thing, I am now. The boy who served those others, who knew her, who killed her, I thought was long dead. For so long I have believed all that remained was my master's servant.
I look now at the anguish on my son's face as he learns the lesson I did so many years ago. It is pointless to fight against my master. His will is unmatched, his power irresistible.
And yet...
I am weakened, but I still have strength. Without the force of my rage and my master's will to sustain me I will surely die, but perhaps I need not die as I have lived, a slave.
I have spent my life serving others, others who did not deserve it. I find now, looking at my son writhing on the floor, that I feel something stronger than fear, stronger even than the anger and regret that have dominated my actions for so long.
I will act. I will do what I should have done so many years ago and act to stop this madness, not for myself, but for my children. I do this of my own accord, because it is the right thing, not because any master demands it.
I go now to become one with the Force. May the galaxy forgive me. | Life was odd amongst women when I was growing up. But then I suppose being raised by women does offer some unique perspectives. The women all held me in high opinion from as early as I can remember. They kept on telling me that I would one day become their ruler.
I had kept on being told this, time and time again to the point where I came to believe that I should indeed be ruler by right. But living in one place was never enough for me. The promise of ruling sparked my imagination and often interfered with spells I was trying to cast as I was learning the trade of sorcery. Fire would turn green, water would freeze instead of heat and a simple word to heal a cut accidentally tore it into a much larger and more alarming cut.
My distractions with my thoughts had lead me to wonder of the outside world. From the desert we lived in, we had a clear line of sight to nearby towns, fortresses and the like. But on the horizon was a mountain range. Near to that, you could usually make out a hazy tree line that told of a forest. A forest! Having spent so much time training in the art of sorcery, I developed a dark skin and had only a few palm trees whose meager shadows offered little solace from the blistering heat. What was a forest like? Was it cooler in the mountain range or hotter because you would be closer to the sun?
Days at a time, my mind wandered more and more to the mysteries of the world until one day, I snuck out of my fortress to go and explore, escaping the women who had been kind to me, but seemed to resent the notion of the rest of the world, calling the people there "Rich and arrogant fools".
I would judge for myself. Besides, I could better myself at sorcery no more
Sometime after travelling, using my sorcery to defend myself and earn some food along the way, I arrived in a great field of grass. The air was much cooler here. I could get used to life like this. I wandered the field for a time until I saw a building in the distance. Curious, I walked to it and found it was a ranch. The owner seemed to spend all of his time sleeping whilst all of his farmhands worked to feed and clean the horses, care for chickens and milk the cows. I felt disgusted with the man. Barely lifting a finger to earn his keep, yet his servants poured sweat into the stables and land?
The more I thought about it, the more it enraged me. This one man must face some kind of justice. In the desert, life was strict, particularly with water. If anyone was caught stealing from the pitiful well, they were flayed. I shall bring the same fate on this man.
I asked the farmhands where their king resided as I wanted an audience to protest this pitiful mans job.
I got some directions towards a castle and its town.
Some time later, I arrived at a large drawbridge. Good. At least the king was wise enough to prepare defenses for any future hostilities.
I walked through the bustling town, towards the large silhouette on the hills in the distance. I wondered how the king could rule his slaves from so far away but saved my thoughts for a meeting with the king. His guards were useless. The barely paid attention, walked in patterns that even a child could evade to infiltrate the castle. If this were my domain, I'd create a drawbridge over a pit of lava. Heat was a very effective deterrent.
Soon, I found myself waiting in a lavishly decorated room. Gold lined the walls, some kind of soft fabric coated the floors and the castles structure seemed to be made of marble. The sheer exceptionalism of the building disgusted me. All of these features were mere decorations to sooth the eyes of all of the noblemen and women seeking to bother the so called King with completely banal issues such as inheritance or rules regarding small plots of land. A man is only worth what he makes in society and land is taken if it is needed. How these people had managed to function was a mystery. But I had seen enough. Resources should be spent on armies and defense. Any competent ruler would be ready to defend his lands, slaves and resources if they had any hope of surviving the bitterness or jealousies of lesser peoples.
I met with the king and found that he was nearly as lazy as that wretched farmer who ran the ranch back in the fields. Sitting in his chair, fat from oversaturated foods and no battles fought in years, was a man who smiled at all. As if entertained by his lessers. It was difficult to keep my temper. There was a picture of a young girl in his locket that he held fondly. The girl had something peculiar in her hands...surely it wasn't what I thought it was... It was a rumored relic, fantasized about during dull nights in the desert...
Surely this wasn't the Ocarina of Time she held?
Then...I entertained some new...ambitious thoughts....
Edit: Formatting and spelling errors | 2014-06-20T09:34:04 | 2014-06-20T06:49:22 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
EDIT: August 8th, 2014 @ 2:35PM:
Wow, /r/WritingPrompts.
The quality of the work in this thread is absolutely amazing! | Agathor, of the “invading” Spirolons, stood surrounded by earth sex toys.
Not just SOME sex toys, though. All manner of oddly shaped rubber, leather, and lace lined the walls of the poorly lit apartment.
“Jizzdoor. What the hell have you been doing. Stop laughing. WHAT’S FUNNY?”
“Just…. Don’t call me that name anymore. I go by Jing here.”
“Jing. That name inspires no fear.”
“Yeah, but neither does… Look, it’s a different culture here, alright? If you call me Jizzdoor, we’re going to run into trouble.”
“Ok, Fine, Jing, whatever. You were supposed to be doing reconnaissance. At first, I thought you were torturing the earthlings for information, but seeing as you have none….”
He looked around at the toys again.
“Oh, yeah, that was for fun. It turns out, our biology really isn’t that different from theirs. Hey, wait, you’ve never tried alcohol, have you?”
“I don’t want to try local fare, I want to hear about the human defense system. I want to hear how their technology has advanced. I want to know if we have the numbers to defeat them this time. Instead, you tell me that you’ve been having fun, and hand me a glass of some sort of alternative fuel.”
“Look, we’ve got this all wrong, Agathor. We don’t need to invade. These people are SOFT."
"Do you not remember the stories? They ripped our ancestors to shreds, these monster aren't soft."
"I remember. How could I forget? But we spent a thousand years perfecting the art of war. These things didn't. They spent a thousand years perfecting alcohol, which, by the way, you still have to try. They wrote books about sex. BOOKS. About sex."
Agathor became aware of the sex toys again.
"Agathor, these creatures used to be powerful, but they got wrapped up in their comfort, and now they can barely kill each other. A few factions seem to have all the power and technology, the rest mostly starve or die of some curable disease."
"Then what am I supposed to do with all of these angry Spirolons?”
“It turns out, humans from the eastern part of the continent of Asia look a whole lot like us. Let our angriest brothers become part of the culture and destroy it from the inside. Great opportunity to cut some fat from the military. I’ll even volunteer to stay here and supervise.”
“It is an attractive way to get rid of some of our less savory officers…
Got anything in mind for Kimjongun?”
“In fact, I do.”
| Fligthtdynga looked through a telescope trained at the blue sphere.
"Teacher, why are we here?"
"In a previous iteration, a scout ship was despatched here. They landed and attempted to establish a portal on the surface for a typical resources transfer. Our last multi-spectral transmission from the lander showed they were attacked by a hairless bipedal organism. They came up en masse, undetected by the mental nets, and smashed them with closed hands and large stones. The most frightening thing was the violence. The previous iteration was not equipped to handle physical attacks on their bodies like that. They were more brutal than could even be imagined. The previous iteration was equipped for mental warfare and resource extraction; the mindless throngs they encountered were too much for them."
Fligthtdynga waited the require thought-period before responding.
"But, teacher, you didn't answer my inquiry."
"Indeed I have not. But it's rather simple. We needed to create something that was as brutal as those creatures in a way they were to us, mindless, hive-based organisms that live to simply kill. Evolution is a slow tool, but it is an effective one. The creature we've created will allow us to drop a few dozen of them in populated areas on each major landmass. Then we wait."
Fligthtdynga pressed something on the side of the telescope again, they found themselves looking at a mother carrying her infant from a playground. A slight movement and they saw a metal vehicle moving at high speed. Another movement and another vehicle, this one a gaudy orange color. Another vehicle was larger than the other two and seemed to have individual humans entering it on one side. Fligthtdynga had no idea, but she was looking at a city in Africa.
"So why is that required?"
"Resources. Though I anticipate that they will have used some themselves in the past 3 turns."
"Teacher, you said rocks and fists?"
"Yes."
"Have you considered they may have evolved on their own since then?"
"It has been considered and compensated," the teacher looked at the baby animal that was in stasis. The creature had row upon row of metallic teeth. "From the teeth to the acidic blood. If a human were to even injure the creature, the blood would spill onto the human and cause wounds."
Not so much walking as floating over, Fligthtdynga examined what had been in their teacher's cryotube. "What's that for?" they asked.
"It's a proboscis, used for gestational purposes. The creature uses an external host as a womb for part of its breeding cycle. It attaches to the face of the host and forces the proboscis down the throat of the human and it implants it somewhere near their gall bladder."
"How did we come to know so much of human anatomy."
"Once we received word from the initial portal delivery scout that they were going to be killed, we despatched specialized scout craft came and studied human anatomy in detail, specifically their gastro-intestinal tract, which is what they call it in their literature. There were a few mistakes, pre-mature deaths of subjects which could have caused an issue if the persons taken were high status. Though through their deaths we learned that probing from the other end would not cause death of the subject, which allowed us to find a wider variety of humans. "
Fligthtdynga's minds fluttered back to one word, "Literature? These brutes have storytelling?"
"Quite a bit of it, actually. Still displaying text on screens rather than direct neural interfaces, though. As you pointed out, they evolved as well. Our initial scouting vessel arrived before their civilization had begun; given the delay in transmitting data across several thousand light years without our portal technology, then creating and assembling an invasion plan and then implementing it, the landscape changed. Things got more complicated for them. But as they got more advanced, we have learned. We are ready to drop our creatures on them. We will not be fighting directly, of course, but we do anticipate that the humans will kill some of the creatures before being overrun."
Another pause. Fligthtdynga had been learning so much about the drive systems and the portal technology that they really hadn't considered who they were fighting until so recently.
"And how will we control the creatures? When we're done with them?"
The teacher shrugged.
"That, my good student, is beyond our pay grade. We're just here to drop the creatures and prepare the portal units on the far side of their moon. The clean-up crews are inbound within the semi-cycle. I hear they use a basic solution to neutralize the acidic blood in the queens which causes her offspring to become docile, rather like the earthen cow. If you just kill the queen another comes in her place."
Fligthtdynga floated back to the telescope, she found another woman holding her child tightly, a white tube attached to the mouth of the child. The alien felt a little disgust at the sight. They were glad to be part of this invading force. The humans would not be missed. Floating back to their quarters, Fligthtdynga's minds thought of some of her ancestors killed in that first invading force. If only the brutes had storytelling then, maybe they could have exchanged resources and come to a mutual beneficial agreement. That was the preferred way. But no. The long gestational period of hatred had finally come to term. In one spin of the Earth, the invaders would be in position to launch their creatures. Fligthtdynga was ready and hoped to breath the air of a new world very soon. | 2014-08-07T09:14:34 | 2014-08-07T08:46:14 | 109 | 13 |
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