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[WP] A young girl has two monsters in her life: her step-father, and the one under her bed. She manages to befriend the latter to deal with the former. | It was quiet in the house like it always was. Quiet enough for her laughter to carry through the house and wake him up. His eyes shot open and glared, bloodshot under a heavy brow.
"Son...of...a...bitch..." He muttered vehemently, his fingers clenching the blanket tight.
"Huh? Whuzzat?" Her mother groggily muttered in her whiskey clouded sleep.
"Your damn kid woke me up, again!" He growled throwing back the covers. "Goddammit I haven't been asleep two hours and I have to be at work early tomorrow."
Standing up with a scowl he looks at her mother still in bed. "You should get your ass up like I have to day in and day out with no sleep to provide for this family. See how you like it for a change."
Her mother makes no move, the alcohol has worked it magic. She is beyond her unhappiness, at least until morning comes.
"I'll just have to fix this, just like I have to fix everything." Fists clenched he strides to her child's room. Opening the door he sees her sitting on the floor with her toys. She is quiet now, looking up at him. Of course, now she's quiet. She's quiet just like her mother gets quiet. They both know when they've crossed the line. And he is getting so tired of reminding them of that line. Time and time again.
He grimaces as the rage clouds his mind. She isn't crying. She isn't trying to get away. This infuriates him. She doesn't remember any of the lessons, he thinks. Well, by god, I'll give her a lesson she'll never forget this time.
He approaches raising a fist to his side when something happens to send a splinter of unease through the haze. She smiles. She isn't looking at him with her usual respect. The respect he has drilled into them both. She is looking over his shoulder and smiling in joy. Pure, unfettered joy.
"Now Max." She says in her innocent lilting voice. "You can play."
A fetid breath rolls across his neck and he turns.
"Oh....my.....God...." He mutters as he feels warm piss running down his leg.
"No." Answers a dark voice, "Not quite." | Emma lay in her bed. Short blonde girl, skinny, wearing pajamas and under seven different blankets. "Cute" I hissed to myself. I put my invisible presence over her. I was in her dreams. From where I was she was simply sitting in a blank void. Floating in the nothingness.
I took the shape of a beast of fire and darkness she had seen in a movie once. I trapped her in endless stone halls. She just stood there. Fine, they sent me here to practice, lets practice.
I took the shape of a tall man in a doctors coat. Out of his back he had long slick bloody tentacles that ended in cruel barbs and terrible points. His face was a black shadow save for two burning orange eyes and grinning fangs. All over his clothes was blood and bits of flesh. I trapped her in a sterile laboratory that was poorly lit, with various instruments of torture on tables and scientific aberrations lying about. Once again, nothing. I was getting frustrated. This usually scared the living piss out of everyone, even the really stupid kids.
Odds are she wouldn't remember this, so I took the shape of Her teacher, dark hair, short beard, horn rimmed glasses. Handsome guy, she liked him. I put him in a tweed jacket and Slacks. I placed us in his office, though she had never seen it, and put her on the couch. Outside it was a beautiful fall day.
"What are you afraid of Emma? Aliens? Ghosts? Hell?" as I said the last one the world i had constructed momentarily turned into an apocalyptic hellscape. Old habits die hard.
"I'm not afraid of anything Mr. Barnhart."
"I find that hard to believe. Even I'm afraid of something."
"What are you afraid of?"
I twitched momentarily at the thought of that terrible, blinding light, those eyes that saw everything. "That's not why we are here. Lets talk about what scares you."
"There isn't anything."
"There has to be something."
"NO,THERE ISN'T! My friends tell me about the monsters under their bed and that isn't scary! I'm not afraid of that."
I added a ticking clock to the background, even though there wasn't one in his office. Just to make her a little more uncomfortable. "So you aren't afraid of monsters is what you are saying."
"No, I am not."
"Well people can be afraid of other things. Not just monsters. People can be afraid of people. Are you afraid of people? some boys at school maybe?"
"No I'm not afraid of the boys at school."
Suddenly I felt very uncomfortable. Like I should go next door and give that kid nightmares. "Is there someone your afraid of?"
"Yeah."
"Who?"
"My Dad."
This was way beyond my pay grade. Weren't one of the other guys supposed to take care of this? "Dads can be scary sometimes. Does he get mad a lot?" Please let her say yes, Hes just a big dumb guy who yells a lot. Please let That be it.
"Yes, but that's not why I'm afraid of him."
"He does things to you doesn't he?"
"yes."
"Things no one else knows about, but you feel are wrong?"
"Yes."
That was all I needed to hear. I gave her a dream about eating ice cream with her best friend and left. Not the most creative thing, but I was under pressure. I left.
How did i not see this before? Part of our MO was knowing things we shouldn't. Fuck why did they send me here I couldn't deal with this.
I drifted out of her room and saw him walking towards it. He gave her a lot of her features.
I took shape. He saw a tall man, who looked vaguely Arabian. Shirtless and incredibly muscular. If he had looked at my back he would have seen two long scars starting on my shoulders and going down to my lower back. Before he said anything I struck him on the forehead and entered his dreams.
He was also sitting in a blank void, but his was...wrong. Sticky, like some residue you can't clean up.
I looked into his memories, and I had a good one.
I trapped him in a sewer. and I took the shape of rats. Millions of rats, walking in a manlike shape.
With my rat like hand I picked him up by the neck. He was truly terrified. I could see it in his face.
The rats all spoke in a high pitched but other worldly voice. "Do you know why you are afraid of rats?"
He was crying but he didn't answer. "When you were eight you got lost down here. and millions of rats crawled all over you." As I spoke the rats stepped out of my form and started to walk on him. They began chewing on his flesh, tearing at his skin in all the ways he feared.
"They'll eat you alive" I said as my shape ceased and all the rats were crawling on him. I left the dream and saw him there, lying on the floor with a red bump on his forehead. It would continue without me. The rats eating him alive and him unable to move.
Every night. He had to have this dream every night. Until it killed him. It looks like I had found someone to practice on. | 2015-01-23T11:04:32 | 2015-01-23T10:54:08 | 96 | 21 |
[WP] An alien abduction goes horribly wrong when the human they captured for study escapes and begins to stalk and kill off the crew members one by one. | "Species; Homosapien... the rest is obscured" Kqwill wiped the frozen dust away from the label on the Cryo-capsule. "Origin; Terra - more specifically the local period referred to as Victorian England."
"Who cares, it's loose on the ship and it's already killed three of the crew." Ruipl interjected. "Find it and kill it, those are the orders."
"We could also capture it alive, find out how it escaped Cryo-containment." Kqwill looked over the broken plasteel and glass fragments.
"Listen, you're science core, you've got questions, I get it." Ruipl rubbed the side of his head with his upper left arm. His lower arms gripping the rifle and his upper right arm reaching for a radio. "these are the closest things to us we've ever found in space, but this one is deadly. You didn't see what he did to Flxtlya, we found him *dissected*" Ruipl raised the radio to his mouth, speaking softly. "Team 3 checking in. No status change."
Kqwill completed his data scan and saved his findings, uploading them to the bridge. He looked around nervously and then up to Ruipl, who dwarfed him. Ruipl contained every genetic marker required for Soldier service, and every genetic marker desired beyond standard requirements. Kqwill on the other hand was about half the size, and his four arms and four legs were spindly in comparison, making them ideal for delicate tasks, Ruipl however had limbs the width of Terra's tree trunks and even he couldn't break out of one of the Cryo-chambers. "Let's head back." Kqwill said as he moved toward the door. As he reached it Ruipl signalled for him to stop, and moved through the doorway, checking either side with the speed learned from repeated drills. That's when the specimen appeared, fist first cracking the command panel and locking the door, trapping Kqwill in the room with the Homosapien.
The fight was brutal, quick and one-sided. Even with his extra limbs Kqwill couldn't defend against the precise strikes, he backpedeled all the way back to the Cryo-chamber but somehow the Homosapien knew exactly where to cut him, he felt his limbs weaken and flail unresponsively and he knew his tendons had been severed; collapsing into a heap, his vision blurry and fading. The last thing he saw before the end was the name on the Cryo-chamber's label; Unknown, local Alias; Jack T. Ripper. | Aylotiri had been running for days through the ship. It wasn't a large ship, but she was small enough, hiding spaces were many.
It started four Earth days prior. They were on research mission, it was rather simple: Choose multiple, isolated landing sites, and land at each one to collect samples to study in non-damaging ways. After, they were to return specimens unharmed.
They chose eight landing sites, and over the next Earth year they collected animals and plants from various ecosystems around the planet. Four days ago they landed at their final research site. It was isolated, and they had a zero expectation to stumble on one of the dominant species. They had no explicit orders to not study them but the standing method was to do so if the species showed a tendency towards violence. A quick scan upon arrival had shown remnants of fission based weaponry being used in the recent past.
It was decided to only take a dominant species specimen if they found an entirely isolated one, one that would not have any way of proving they had been taken. At this final landing zone they found one, against all odds.
Female, slight build but muscular, dark and long fur sprouted from the cranial region and in other locations on her body. Aylotiri had been fascinated by how similar their two species were in appearance, given that the Earth species had evolved from what they call apes, and her own from what they would call reptiles.
The Xardanti were smaller overall than these primates, but not by too much. It was decided that they would forgo restraints, and initially this didn't seem to pose a problem, when the subject awoke she was not frightened, but curious. Aylotiri was tasked with speaking to her, as she had studied the human languages over the past year.
They spoke, and the thing that struck Aylotiri the most was the complete lack of anything resembling what she would recognize as emotional response. They were a strange species. The two of them spoke at length about each other's worlds. Aylotiri was awestruck by some of what she heard, horrified by others, but only one thing terrified her. It was the first and only thing that the specimen said about the Xardanti:
"You all have such beautiful eyes.... so beautiful..."
It was the only time Aylotiri saw anything she recognized as emotion. There was a drive hinted at in her eyes that reminded her of when a male seeks to court a female during mating season. A hunger, almost a need. And it was gone as quickly as it started.
The next morning, when Aylotiri was to again speak with the specimen, she arrived at the lab and the specimen was gone, but there were three researchers dead. It was determined that they were beaten, their eyes ripped from their sockets, and then they were strangled. Typically there is no surveillance in the research pods, so there was no actual view of what occurred.
After the first three deaths, there was one researcher, the four on maintenance which included Aylotiri, and the captain of the vessel. The Captain ordered the ship locked down, all of the crew brought to the same section, and the ship was flooded with a gas that should have rendered the specimen docile and controllable. When the captain gave the all clear, They opened the ship section by section. They couldn't find her.
The Captain, Aylotiri, and the researcher split from the rest of the maintenance crew to search the fore of the ship. The rest of the maintenance crew searched the aft. They were to convene in the central chamber of the ship one Earth hour later.
Aylotiri, the Captain, and the researcher arrived. The others did not. After waiting for a while the researcher suggested the specimen may only be trying to escape and that the captain should open all external hatches to allow for this. The captain refused.
They waited, terrified of what was happening. They had no idea how to handle this as a peaceful species. Then came a sound that froze Aylotiri's blood. It sounded similar to how her own species expressed joy and comfortable happiness, but this was somehow threatening. Dark and foreboding. The researcher panicked and ran down a side corridor. The Captain and Aylotiri stood terrified for the next few minutes, and then they heard the researcher scream. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and then a sickening crunch echoed through the corridors.
Silence.
After a moment the Captain composed himself, ordering Aylotiri to run and hide. She did. She ran, and she ran. She didn't stop until she could hide. Shut up safe in a maintenance hatch. For the next two days she did this, freezing whenever she heard anything and waiting for silence. When the silence came she ran again.
After four days of this, Aylotiri had begun to feel confident that she could avoid the primate and figure out a way to render her a non-threat. Then she could wait for the ships auto-return sequence to start since the Captain will not have interfaced with the systems for more than three Xardan days. All she had to do was figure out some way to deal with the primate.
Aylotiri had been hiding for the past few Earth hours inside a large cargo container. She had some difficulty finding a good way to squeeze past the items inside, and that is what made what she heard this time, from behind her and inside the crate, even more terrifying.
"You have... such... beautiful eyes...." | 2015-07-30T03:45:38 | 2015-07-30T03:09:39 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] You have just begun your fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are surprised to have made it this far, after all, you aren't even a wizard, just really good at special effects. | Because of my innate lack of ability, the Sorting Hat simply assumed I was a late-blooming Hufflepuff, and I was in.
I deserved to be in Ravenclaw, I thought, just because I was clever enough to fool them all for so long. Some slight of hand, and they stood amazed that all my matches turned to needles the first time I tried it. In duels, they assumed I'd mastered the spells to make people choke on foul smells or make them burst out laughing. A little basic chemistry knowledge can carry you quite a long way, in Hogwarts. And for everything else, well...Hufflepuffs can get away with quite a lot of mistakes, it turns out.
And while I'm sure I could probably have made a killing with my increasingly complex tricks in the Muggle world, I liked Hogwarts too much to drop out. Besides, some of my best, most loyal friends were here. I couldn't stop now. Stubbornly, I set my sights and ambitions higher.
When I heard about the Triwizard Tournament, I knew it was my time to shine. It was perfect. I could probably win this, or at least show off my skills to a greater audience than ever before.
It didn't quite work out as well as I'd hoped it would, in the end.
"Kill the spare," I heard Voldemort hiss somewhere in the graveyard.
Thank god he gave the order to Wormtail. His hand trembled so much that the spell missed me by an inch. After that, it was a simple matter of pretending to be dead. Wizards have a shockingly poor track record in checking for any kind of pulse. Not even Madam Pomfrey thought of trying that - she just shoved chocolate at my parents, hoping it would cheer them up. If you hear Avada Kadavra and see someone keel over, no further investigation necessary, apparently.
But I didn't want Voldemort to hunt me down after hearing of my survival. I'm not crazy. It was time to leave Hogwarts while the going was good.
It was a bit depressing, having to avoid my parents and slip back to the Muggle world. I thought about becoming the next David Blaine, but was drawn to the movies instead. The wizards would never even notice, they took no interest in muggle pop culture. And I'd had some experience acting for some years now, might as well make some use of it.
Besides, I had this great idea for a sparkling skin special effect that I was absolutely dying to try out.
-----
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |     Imogen sat on the divan in the common room, taking in the sweet silence between classes. Nosipho came down from the dormitory and sat beside her.
    "Enjoying yourself, my lady?" asked Nosi.
    Imogen smiled. "Fire casting," she said.
    "Oh, how did you do it?"
    "Cigarrette lighter," replied Imogen, revealing a svelte plastic device from the folds of her cloak. "The kind that uses an arc. That and petrol."
    "I don't know what those things are but it sounds very clever," said Nosi. "You do smell somewhat ripe." She wafted the air in front of her face.
    "That's petrol."
    "Do all muggle things smell so bad?"
    Just then, the door to the common room opened, revealing a fresh lot of students. The room suddenly became less airy than before.
    "I say we should move this conversation elsewhere," said Imogen. "The rabble is here."
    Imogen and Nosi slipped down the tower and headed towards the grounds outside. They usually hung out in the Court, but with visitors from two other schools crowding the castle they felt it best to keep their distance.
    There were also reporters about, which made Imogen nervous. A particularly insect-like woman from the newspaper with a floating pen bothered her the most. Imogen saw her milling around the tower more often than she preferred.
    They reached an outcropping of stones on the ridge beyond the front gates, backs to the castle, before speaking again.
    "Nosi?" asked Imogen as she looked for a seat.
    "Yeah?" answered her friend.
    "I don't know how long I can keep this up." She sat down on a boulder, looking down at nothing in particular.
    "What makes you say that?" asked Nosi, taking a seat herself next to her friend. "Most of the stuff we do doesn't even involve a wand."
    "I feel like someone is catching onto me. All these people, those nosy reporters," said Imogen to the ground. The wind howled, causing the girl to draw up her arms. Nosi shifted closer to her.
    "I haven't noticed anything funny," replied Nosi. "Neither have the ghosts, and they hear everything."
    Imogen paused.
    "I shouldn't have told you," she declared. "This is too dangerous. They'll take you away or--"
    "Don't say that," replied Nosi. "You asked me for help. I'm giving you my help. That's that. I don't care that you aren't a witch."
     Imogen took a deep breath. She looked at Nosi, whose afro undulated in the wind. Tears were welling up in her eyes.
    "Why do wizards hate muggles, Nosi?" asked Imogen. "Why do they want to keep them out of this world? It's so beautiful."
    "I dunno," replied Nosi. "Back in Joburg nothing made sense either. The adults do what they want. Forget them."
    "I hate the word, 'Muggle'," continued Imogen, frowning. "It's so ugly."
    She began to cry. Nosi felt her friend shift on her seat, throwing her arms around her in a hug. Nosi sat there like a stone while Imogen cried into her shoulder.
    "Thank you so much," said Imogen, her voice muffled by Nosi's robe. "I was so alone."
| 2016-11-24T02:56:00 | 2016-11-24T02:47:02 | 245 | 34 |
[WP] Despite being peaceful, humans are universally feared through out the galaxy as harbingers of death. They are hosts to the most dangerous diseases and bacteria ever discovered. Average number of fatalities from a single human exposure is ~8,000 with some exceptions. Avoid at all costs. | “Sir, this is the newest report about them. They’ve reached the next evolutionary step, they are in space.” - said the colonel.
The admiral was really concerned. Although you couldn’t tell. His face was always the same, showed no emotion at all. He was the best among the bests. He was the leader of a small colony in this deserted moon. The coalition appointed him to this role since he was the most experienced in the research of alien life-forms, especially when we are talking about such a hostile one like this.
“How much time do we have till they have the technology to get here too?” - asked the admiral.
“It’s hard to tell. They are competing with each other really hard which pushing them to achieve great success. They don’t care that they have only limited resources either. I still don’t understand these “humans”. Since the accident 14 Earth-years ago...”
“Enough! How much?”
“Maybe 20 Earth-years, maybe even less.”
The admiral turned back to the screens and started to think what he could do. He started to dislike the humans even based on their pure existence. He’s met with 2000 thousand alien life-forms so far in his carrier, but this one was the most challenging. He lost 60% of his crew since the beginning of the mission. Diseases, viruses they have everything on that planet what they call Earth. He doesn’t even understand how it is possible to live among such a dangerous conditions. Once they’ve tried to contact with them and that resulted in an “accident”. At least the official report said that like it is possible to crash such a highly sophisticated space-ship. He knew the truth was horrible than that but couldn’t do anything it was against the rules of the coalition. Eventually he decided to cut every ties with the planet and move a little bit farther away to watch them from a safe distance.
“Colonel! Send the report that we need to start preparing the evacuation plan of this Solar-system, possible the whole galaxy. Make it happen within 5 Earth-years. I don’t trust these humans..”
“Yes, Sir!” - answered the colonel and left the room.
8 Earth-years later..
“Sir, they have left their Planet’s atmosphere. Their spaceship is getting closer. It is time for us to go.”
“Everyone else got out of the Solar-system, you should go also. I’m going to stay here with one ship. I want to see them one more time. I’m going to use our camouflage so they will not notice me.” - said the admiral and he walked out of the room.
He saw the humans’ machine landing on the surface and was amazed. He watched them, they seemed so peaceful but he knew the truth. The machine’s door opened and one of them climbed down on the ladder. He heard him say:
“This is a small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”. | “Captain's log 2449. Approximately two hours ago Communications Officer Ventron discovered a series of deep space com signal coming from a previously unexplored part of the galaxy. Upon further inspection of the signals Ventron was able to confirm our suspicions that they are from an undiscovered alien race. I’ve set Ventron to the task of deciphering the language with the help of our on board linguistics specialist, we are currently on course for that region of space and are due to arrive in approximately six standard days. I will send this and all further reports concerning this matter directly to the Department of Inter-species Relations. Captain Griktol out.”
“High Councilmen Dranlon’s official log number three hundred and six. I am scheduled to meet with the Terran representative in eight hours, this will be the third the Terrans have met with an Association representative. We will be me- Xilma this is ridiculous, I know why I’m meeting with the Terrans and so does whoever is listening to this asinine recording because I bloody stated it in the last sixteen logs. Algoth you know it’s regulation, being the High Councilmen of the Association comes with a lot of repetitive tasks you knew that when you accepted the position. Eugh fine whatever, My goal i- did you just roll your eyes at me? You may be the High Councilmen, but I have been Aide to the High Councilmen since long before you were brought into this galaxy. Ahhh, you’re right, as usual, I’m sorry Xilma. Can I continue now? I would hope you could. As I was saying. We will be meeting on Captain Griktol’s ship as they are already familiar with it, well that and the fact they also requested it. My goal is to negotiate a transfer of information as a sign of friendship. Hopefully in the long term this will lead to trade agreements and potentially even a military defense agreement. I will be bringing a Quie with me to act as translator. I will update this log after the meeting takes place.
Log amendment one. I believe that went relatively well. We agreed to a transfer of cultural information, and I will be meeting with Ambassador Diya again in one week's time. Anything else Xilma, I’ve got a headache and would like to go lay down for a bit. Yes, what was your first impressions of the Terrans? Ugh, um. Considering we already have a few other species similar to the Terrans in the Association they weren’t too foreign, though I will admit the constant sniffing was slightly annoying. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to go to sleep!”
“Head Coroner Jivadi’s log thirty six ninety three. The first look at the cadaver shows severe bleeding from all orifices, hundreds of cysts cover the body. I’m now making my first incision at the base of the neck where the glands seem heavily inflamed. It looks like there are numerous cysts on the inside of the body aswell, god the pain the High Councilmen must of been in is unimaginable. I’m going to cut open one of the inner cysts n- oh well that’s interesting. They contain a green gel like substance that is melting my medical tools, I’m going to go send some of these cysts away to be analysed, along with samples of the blood and saliva. I’ll continue the autopsy shortly.”
“Hello, I’m Trix Delvonian head of the Tourism Bureau and I need your help! A new species called Terrans has recently been discovered and we need people who can help organise and facilitate safe, exciting, and interesting tours of Association planets. We also have some exciting opportunities coming up that involve traveling to Terran worlds, experiencing their culture and documenting your experience there! If you’re interested in either of these exciting new possibilities please contact the Tourism Bureau today!”
Director Alogran: “Alright I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumours going around about this new plague, unfortunately I’m here to confirm them.”
General Dranop: How has it taken this long for a meeting to happen, from what I’ve been hearing this is verging on a class Zeta outbreak.”
High Councilwoman Salidra: “ Don’t be ridiculous, there hasn’t been a class Zeta disease in over fifty thousand years”
Director Alogran: “No, not ridiculous. It’s class Zeta. Though we can’t pinpoint where it originated from.”
Chief Biologist Zona: “ The biggest problem is that we don’t know which species are susceptible to it. Not everyone that encounters it seems to be infected.”
High Councilwoman Salidra: “When was the first documented case?”
Director Alogran: “As far as we can tell it was High Councilmen Dranlon.”
General Dranop: “Have we spoken to the Terrans about this? Could it be a biological attack?”
High Councilwoman Salidra: “No not yet, that’s highly unlikely General Dranop. The Terrans have been nothing but helpful, they’ve shown absolutely no signs of animosity.”
Chief Biologist Zona: “I agree with the High Councilwoman, I also don’t think they’re advanced enough technologically to create such a damaging bioweapon.”
General Dranop: “Do we have a plan then? What’s our next step, how do we quarantine something we can’t detect?”
Director Alogran: “The purpose of this meet was just to confirm the rumors, I have set up several task forces dedicated to finding a solution. I suggest you all do the same, in the meantime all we can do is wait.”
- N/L
Edit: Spelling. Also I've not tried writing in this style before so feedback would be appreciated :)
| 2017-01-07T09:21:47 | 2017-01-07T06:26:14 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] After first contact, mankind and another civilization agree on a exchange program where you went to their planet spend a year there. When they bring you back, there is nothing where earth used to be. | "Whoops, forgot to correct for stellar drift. Let's see... okay, coordinates just off by a few light years. Yo pilot, Terra is *that* way, numbskull!"
"Sorry, sorry, had a night out and I'm hungover as *fuck*."
"This is basic shit!"
"I said I'm sorry, alright?! That new Jack Daniels stuff is just *whoof*!"
"Whatever, just get us there. I think the human is having a heart attack."
| "It's been wonderful having you," my host mother said. I called her Ma. I'd managed to learn the basics of Alpha Centaurian, but I'd never got my tongue around the all the vowel-less syllables in her name.
"You must be looking forwards to having your daughter back though," I said.
Ma nodded. "Of course. I've missed R- very much. But it's been great to have you. To think, a year ago our civilizations were on the brink of warfare, but now everyone here thinks humans are simply wonderful."
Pa came in. I couldn't say his name either. In fact, I hadn't really managed anyone's names. But they'd all been very nice about it.
"I've got your spaceship ready," he said. "Are you sure you'll manage the journey by yourself? You've never done such a long hop before."
"Yes, thanks," I said. "You've done a great job of teaching me how the warp drive technology works. I should be just fine."
They saw me off with great fanfare. The event was televised planet-wide, and I found out much later that nearly 3 billion Alpha Centaurians had watched my departure.
As it turned out, however, the voyage did not go 'just fine'.
I popped out of hyperspace in the middle of my own solar system, half way between Mars and Earth. Or rather, where Earth should have been.
In the distance beyond was Venus, but in the spot formerly occupied by Earth was a large wall floating in space.
There was one small door in the wall. As I tentatively approached it, a large cannon emerged from a port hole and trained on my ship. It was laughably primitive technology, and probably wouldn't have been able to hit the Centaurian ship even if I'd come to a dead halt, but it was worrying none the less.
"Halt and identify yourself." The angry voice came over the ship's loudhailer. It was the first English I'd heard in a year.
"Bob Jones," I said. "Returning from Alpha Centauri."
"Who?"
"Bob Jones," I repeated. Had they forgotten me that quickly? "I was the exchange student sent as part of the peace treaty. An Alpha Centaurian, R-, stayed here with my family."
"Oh," the voice said. "Her."
There was a long static-filled pause, and then the voice returned. "Prepare to be boarded for inspection."
"What-" I began, but the hull of my ship shook and I heard the side door open.
A man came into the pilot room. He wore a uniform that said Alien Registration and Security Enforcement. I was unfamiliar with the name, but I was pretty certain about two other things. He looked human and he definitely had a gun.
"Come with me, Alpha Centaurian" he said, waggling the gun.
"I'm not-" but he waggled more threateningly, and I stopped protesting.
They transported me to the door in their own ship, and frog marched me down a series of bleak concrete corridors, finally depositing me into a small room. It was empty apart from two chairs, one on each side of a scratched and dented table. I sat down in one of the chairs.
On the wall of room, somebody had graffitied the letters "M.~~A~~E.G.A." | 2017-04-11T10:18:11 | 2017-04-11T09:28:31 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | For the first time, the whiskey swayed in my hand. It's aftertaste long since settled in the back of my mouth, and the bottle rolled in the gloom like an empty skull. Silent tears and countless questions I never dared to ask replaced the itching void I felt inside. I travelled inside my mind, and found horrors and holes I didn't want to remind.
It didn't take me long to understand. This was what those pensive stares of the mortals concealed: a flawed man struggling to answers questions he should never ask, while holding the weight of a chaotic world on his back.
Earlier that day, I had reaped the soul of a man who had been forgotten, but who hadn't died. An anomaly. Something that shouldn't be possible.
He was old and lonely. The outer world had long since lost meaning to him. That's why every night, sip by sip, he drowned in his flaws instead.
It hadn't always been like that. In the past, the silence had been filled with the laughter of his children, and the smile of her wife had kept the shadows away. What had changed? That was the question he had struggled to unravel until the end of his days.
Since they had gone, the man had lost himself in his mind, searching for an answer he would never find. For the answer had lay in his hand, and he had long since gone blind.
In the end, broken shards had gleamed in the dark. His breaths had disturbed the perfect silence, and I had been witness of a man who in his persistence had forgotten his existence.
I took a deep breath, and left my glass on the table. The whiskey rippled inside.
Some things are better left aside.
---------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories!
| ((This one kind of goes off topic, and is kinda weird in the way it fits the prompt. I'm sorry.))
Consider death.
The only constant in this life is death. All that is alive dies, eventually. Nothing is certain to gain life, but everything is certain to lose it.
Death is, in my opinion, the absence of life in a thing that was once alive. After the point of death, the one living subject decays, unless it is somehow preserved. When a sentient, sapient creature – a human, for example – dies, its sentience disappears. The consciousness ceases to be – all of the memories, the emotions and the constant thoughts are there and then they’re gone.
And yet, when a human dies, there are versions of her that survives. The ones in the memories of others, and the ones that can be interpreted from any work left behind by the person. Any impact made by the dead person on the surviving world continues to exist, despite the person’s death. That impact – however minor – is a continuation of the ended life. It is the only version of a person that still exists.
One can never truly know another. A single individual human is comprised by a life-time of memories, experience, emotion and thoughts. If there is a soul, these are all the things that make the soul. The only way to truly know all of the complexities of another would be to experience their life, in its entirety, through their eyes.
Because of this, there is no way for a person (a “soul” if you will) to persist after their body ceases to function. The only version of the person is the one that can be observed in their impact on others, but as no one can truly know a person’s entire being even as they are alive, this surviving version is still the one that existed prior to death – just modified by the observer’s knowledge that the individual is dead.
With this in mind, one can question what “death” really is. Physically, a person has died. The only two versions of them that are dead are the **physical body** and the **“true version”** of who they are. This true version, however, exited only within itself; in a consciousness that no longer exists. As such, beyond the body being dead, the only thing to vanish is something that didn’t exist from the perspective of the outside world.
If you were to die, the versions of you that everyone except you held persist, though they are inevitably altered by the knowledge of your death. In this way, you could argue that you – the ‘you’ that the observing world knew – is not dead. You are still a part of the live world capable of observing you, though you yourself can no longer observe the world, or continue to consciously affect it. The body and the “soul” are gone, but the person remains.
True death, then, comes only when a person is forgotten. When all of their achievements are discarded, forgotten or destroyed – and when nobody remembers them or anything they did – then they truly cease to be. Now the only existing version of a person is whatever is left of the physical body, in whatever state it is. If there is still a legible tombstone, that tombstone becomes the only thing the world can observe of who the person once was. Their entire identity becomes summed up in a tombstone, as well as any birth certificates, death certificates and other records that might exist, which detail inconsequential things in their life. An entire life of experience and knowledge summed up in a few words and numbers. More importantly, they are worthless with nobody that reads and remembers them.
While death is simply the cessation of the individual’s personal existence, this “true death” is very much the cessation of an individual from the perspective of the world. Only in a “true death,” when the person and what they’ve created are both forgotten does one fully cease to be, and this death is inevitable, much like the physical one.
No matter what you do or leave behind, there will inevitably come a point where all the evidence of your existence is entirely erased. No matter how well records are kept, they will ultimately be destroyed, even if it takes the death of the sun and destruction of the planet for them to end. The most well known people of history will ultimately fade into obscurity and, thus, cease to exist in any form, and nothing can be done to prevent this.
Now, *my question is* how the hell you’ve managed to *truly die* without, y’know, ***actually being DEAD.***
| 2018-05-12T16:17:09 | 2018-05-12T14:50:35 | 80 | 30 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | "Do you realize what you have don Abalam?!" my owner screamed, his human skin curling under the fire of his true form.
I clenched my fists, for I knew the punishment that was to come. But I did not repent.
"She asked for our services-"
"She's UNDERAGE! we never do deals with those who cannot understand the weight of this decision!!"
"I was NOT going to leave her there!"
And I know neither would you. Yes, she's was way too young. Eight years old is too young for many things, including summoning demons. I was taken aback too, being summoned between angels and virgins, the fragrant stench of flowers and incense making me revolt as I stared into her wide, scared eyes.
I dared not step out of the scrawly pentagram he made on the white tile, for I knew that I would burn if I layed a hoof on divine soil. My eyes glared at the child, her unruly brown hair, the neck of her neat blouse pulled awkwardly around her neck. Her eyes, full of tears and fright. But not scared of me... I open my mouth...
"What... have... you... done... "
...that's my thought, but it is not me who spoke it. Standing in the doorframe, a balding man stares in shock and horror at her, then at me. His robes are soaked and humid- the stench of alcohol is unbearable. The first buttons of his robe are undone, but the white immaculate neck is still on. From his hand dangles a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE REBECCA?!" he bellows, trying to hide the slurriness of his voice. She cringes and stares at me, tears running down her eyes in a non-stopping stream. Her sweet lips open and she mouthes one word to me... "please"
I clench my fist. I can't! I must not! it is out of my jurisdiction!
And yet... I do...
...
"You have begun a war Abalam" said Satan, sinking into the molden lava of his crimson throne... "you do realize this?"
"I do, your majesty" I say, bowing deeply at him, yet not letting go of her little body. She fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if it was the trauma, the pain, the fright or the relief of knowing she won't ever have to go back to her father again... I stare at her sweet smile, then back at my master's anger-stricken stare.
"Will you make me take her back?" I ask. He stands from the throne, pushing his cloak back as he strides across the room.
"Of course not. She accepted her fate. But God's army will not listen to our reasoning. For them, we have crossed the line. What will come to us is a raging war like the ones seen at the beginning of time. She is safe for now. You took the decision and you will stick with it. Won't you?"
She curls against my chest, her little hand caressing my burnt body.
"Of course"
​
Satan smiles. "Then let them come" | “Ugh...” I groaned looking at the blue spectral flames that had risen in the goblet. A summoning.
Everyone on earth thought that when you did a summoning ritual you summoned the big guy, Satan himself. But he was to busy ruling hell to answer petty calls from earth. No demons like myself took care of those calls.
I hated my job. I wanted to be part of something bigger, something better. But no. I took calls, people summoning who had a wish, usually lame ones, like wanting a few inches more below the belt. Or their one true love to notice them. It was all so damned boring.
I flicked my wrist, causing the flames o rise up and engulf me. Taking me to the circle that the person used to summon me. I felt the sensation of being back on earth. But something was different.
I opened my black eyes and looked down at my body. I was inhabiting some body I had possessed centuries ago. Dressed it up in classy black suit. I looked up at where I was a dimly lit basement filled with boxes, dust and junk.
Usually when I arrived I could smell some sort of sin of the person who called me. Lust, sloth and greed where the big ones. But there was no sin this time. No pride, no gluttony. But here was something else. Fear.
I scanned the room and saw a small boy with uneven cut hair and green eyes peering at me from behind a box on the ground. ‘Shit.’ I thought to myself. One of the few policies Hell stuck to was no dealing with minors.
“Are you the devil?” The little boy squeaked out from behind the box. He raid his head a little more with the question.
“No.” I said simply. My voice low and monotone, of the humans I was possessing. I glared at the boy. “I can’t deal with you. Nor will I.” I turned on my heel to go back to my office in Hell. But the boy spoke up.
“Please you have to help me! No one will.” His voice started cracking and getting more earnest. “My friends Said God would help. But he hasn’t answered my prayers.
I snorted. God like the devil didn’t answer calls of humans. It was up to the angels to do that, and they were to up on their high horses to assist low being like humans. Which I found funny considering they damned Lucifer for not bowing to man.
I turned around “listen ki-“ I was cut off. The boy had fully emerged from the box, and was covered with wounds. Not just bruises. But cut wounds and burns that looked like they were from cigarettes. My demon blood began to boil.
“Please help me mr...” the child cried. “I am scared...” Then a loud noise a thunk. Like something had fallen.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin. I flipped it to the kid. I could hear movement upstairs. “I can’t grant your wish kid. But that coin can. Tell it what you want...” I said.
The kid held the coin up to his face, confused, as the footsteps grew louder and louder. He closed his eyes. “I want to be free...” he said to the coin.
A door slammed open, a light shimmering down from upstairs. The light showing the dark wood of the stairs the creaked beneath the heavy footsteps. “Boy!” A man screamed from the stairs.
The boy sprang up and ran behind me. He trembling hands clutching my pant leg, while he sobbed. Something erupted inside of me. I hated humans like this. Humans bad mouth demons and call them monsters. But refuse to acknowledge that they are monsters as well.
The man finally arrived downstairs. His fat belly protruding out from under his, stained, white undershirt. “Boy you are to come when called! Or do you need another lesson.” The man looked over to me. “Who the fuck are you.” Normally I wouldn’t let anyone who didn’t summon me see me. But I wanted to make an exception.
I walked calmly up to the balding man. The scent of whiskey surrounding him. I looked into the mans green eyes with my own black eyes. “Did you do this to your son?” I asked.
The man couldn’t lie to me. But shook his head. I could see everything in his eyes. The sins he had committed. The lust, chasing after every woman that would look at him. The gluttony and sloth, never working and staying home drinking, driving the mother of the child away. The greed, taking things that didn’t belong to him. The pride, thinking he was untouchable even from the cops who had came to investigate some leads. The envy for everyone around him that had things much better than his own. Finally the wraith that took out on his son every night.
I held up my hand, the fat monster of a man was flung against the back of the wall. I tightened my hand, gripping his soul with my power. Terror and pain filled the mans face as he struggled against the wall. He squealed and sobbed, not able to get any words out of his mouth. I twisted my hand and the mans neck twisted around with a sickening crack.
I turned away from the body. I walked towards the child who was on the ground. I put my hand on the child’s head. “Seems the coin granted your wish...” I said with small gentle smile. “If you ever find yourself back against the wall again. Make a wish on that coin again. It might grant it.”
I walked towards the circle the boy had summoned me from. A light formed, beginning to take me back. Before I disappeared, the boy called to me. “Are you an angel?!”
I was back in my office before I could answer, no. But the question did bring a smile to my face.
| 2018-10-08T13:40:21 | 2018-10-08T12:43:35 | 191 | 89 |
[WP] In a world where Lamarckian evolution is true, there are groups of people who train their bodies in specific ways to pass on those traits to their children. After several generations of this, the evolution of these groups is becoming increasingly apparent. | When Ryan began to take his first steps, Margaret and I waited in joyful anticipation. When he began to sprint around the room, we were dumbfounded. Binkie in hand, our 9 month old bounded across the kitchen towards the cookies cooling on the counter, and ever since he's been running.
He only got faster as he grew, which made him a lot harder to control. It's not easy when your 8-year old can outrun you with a five minute mile, but when he was old enough to race, we supported him through and through. He always ran knowing that he had two loving parents, a perfect family.
When the Learned Genetics Theory became common knowledge, Margaret and I sat down and tried to understand where Ryan got his crazy genes. We traced through parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, but no one had Ryan's affinity for running. We concluded that he was a miracle, a fluke, our special little anomaly.
Until I remembered that Margaret's coworker Daren ran track in college, and she mentioned that his father was in the Olympics.
"Margaret, Daren and Ryan look quite similar, don't they?"
Margaret started to cry. | Choose your path, do your job, get a long and survive. This was the creed taken by the founders of my new home. After the War of 2025, or the "Endtime War" as we now call it, the world has been broken up and shoved into domes. Those who weren't irradiated to all hell, who were decent and willing to play nice, and let's face it, had money too, got to be here. Life thrives. But now in such a way as it feels like we are eternally in some old early millenium movie. I suppose that's where they got their design for our new system. It's 2563 now. A long time. But here we are.
After my ancestors settled in and got back to some semblance of normalcy, scientists had breakthrough. In 2060, it was proven true that we CAN force evolutionary traits. Ever since, the world has gone nuts, evolved into paths, and turned itself into groups. The main two are "Sagax", which we call Brains, and "Olympians", which are the Brawn. Brains are extremely intellectual people; most of them run medical, and just about every other science or knowledge field one can think of. New discoveries daily. The Brawn are in charge of the more physically demanding tasks. From construction down to our military and police. Middleground, or "Incertum" as they are actually known, are our economists, our general workers, and generally people who don't fit at either end of the spectrum. This leads up to the Choosing ceremony, where a young adult chooses their path in life.
The Choosing ceremony happens during high school graduation. What this means is choosing a path, a career to learn, and the like. It is set up like some weird cult thing, I suppose. Three data banks on stage presented before you. You can only choose one. Each one is labeled by its latin name. You walk up to the one you choose, place your hand over the plate, and get scanned into their system. Once the choice is made, you will be separated from those who made other choices, and guided off to what they call your "destiny". Though we all know it's straight into the next room, where you make more choices, like career, education wants, and the like. These are just basic computers that you sit down at and tick off boxes and take tests to find out where you best fit. At least for Brains. I think Brawn is a more physical test, where they assign you. I've never seen it myself though, I'm just going off of what my parents told me about their choice, so take what I write with a grain of salt.
Though I heard life after graduation is strange. Brains, brawn, and middle really don't like to mix unless it's for breeding purposes. There is a bit of silent hostility even. Glares from one party to another, or disdainful side glances. Brains staying six feet away from Brawn and keeping their head down. Silent train rides. Lopsided rides where it's one type on one side, the other on the other. Though however much brain hates brawn for some reason, they seem to despise the middle the most. I've seen a brawn on a train once berate a middle woman who was on her way home from work, calling her a lazy "no choicer" and telling her she could have been a brawn personal trainer with "the body she had". I've also seen brains do something similar, calling a group of them "aspiration-less middling troglodytes." when referring to them. I don't see the problem with them. They do the jobs we don't want, serve us food, put up with us and make the undercurrent of the city thrive. The divide is here, no matter how small it seems. | 2020-07-08T14:36:20 | 2020-07-08T14:31:11 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] American submarines are never considered lost. The ones missing from WWII are “still on patrol” with their hundreds of sailors. Little do we know the horrors these men defend us from in the deeps. | Once a year, every summer, something weird happens. Something that I don't understand how or why, and despite all these years, I don't think I can ever get used to that experience.
My father and I own a bar at the Northern ridge of Greenland. Our bar faces the ocean, and it is probably the worst location ever for a bar. The nearest town is 2000 miles away. The nearest house is 130 miles away. Here, we are on our own.
Like you can already guess, we don't get any customers throughout the year. However, during summer, every year like clockwork, there are three days when the bar is packed to the brim.
There are some years when they visit during the winters too, but that is rare. It's usually the summers and that's the time our entire stock is consumed.
Americans, all of them, few of them even taking the liberty to dress up as pirates, few of them deep scars telling stories of the great beyond, all of them paying us enough gold in each visit to last enough lifetimes.
For all I know, they're all immortal and the fact that they are- is comforting. They've somehow discovered deep secrets within the depths of the oceans and yet, they've also discovered things that mortal minds shouldn't know or even consider.
They have a language of their own when they're at the bar, but once, despite my father's warnings, I asked a guy how old he is.
He looked at me in a way as if he was about to tell the truth, then he just said, "Old enough."
Some people say that there are some words, which by their mere existence can break a mind. I believe they are on to something. Every year, these sailors come back from horrors which our minds can't even comprehend, which is why they protect us by not burdening us with their knowledge.
I know one thing though. I will join them someday. I will leave the bar, and when the submarine rises up from the waters like a deity revealing itself, I will beg them to take me with them.
I believe they will, when I am old enough.
\----------------
r/abhisek | “Captain, I just spotted something about 120 miles away, bearing 30°. Command’s saying it’s not one of theirs. Same with the JSDF.”
The pepper-gray haired officer looked up from the control room monitor and replied, “Set a course in that direction, Polanski. Might be a PRC sub testing the waters again.”
“Yes, sir,” said Polanski tersely as he ordered his subordinates to steer the submarine towards their two o’clock at a speed of 40 knots. The blip on their sonar remained motionless, inching closer to the center of the console as one hour became two. As they approached within ten miles of the anomaly, however, the deafening sound of dozens of blips being pinged by the sonar violently assaulted Polanski’s ears, forcing him and his men to tear their headsets off themselves.
The younger officer took a moment to calm himself before turning to his CO and saying, “Captain, multiple contacts detected from bearings 330° to 30°.”
“Can you get in touch with Command or the JSDF to confirm what we’re seeing?”
Polanski spent a few minutes attempting to establish a working connection but was met with radio silence. He turned back and replied, “Negative, Captain. Neither are responding to our hails.”
“Set a course back to our original destination until we can reestablish communications. We might be seeing a full-scale PRC incursi-”
“Captain, I’m receiving a transmission from an unofficial frequency. The quality’s fairly spotty, but…it sounds like they’re asking for you.”
“Hand your headset over, but continue with my previous order,” replied the older officer tersely as Polanski hastily complied. The former donned the tight-fitting headgear and could hear nothing more than what sounded like ragged breathing from the other end. Undeterred, he declared in an even voice, “This is Captain Samuel Winters, commanding officer of the *USS Jimmy Carter*. Identify yourself or we will be forced to assume you are a hostile combatant and proceed with extreme force. Over.”
Silence filled the control room as Winters awaited a response with increasing agitation. As he was about to order Polanski to close communications, a raspy voice replied from the other end, “*It rouses from its slumber, Captain…and your men will join our eternal watch.*”
“Repeat last. Over.”
“*We serve the same flag, Captain…it is only fair you join your brothers-in-arms so that It does not awaken.*”
“Whoever you are, I am not in the mood for theatrics. You *will* identify yourself or I will order my m-”
“Captain!”
Winters took off the headset and turned to a panicked Polanski, all pretense of professionalism thrown out the window as the navigator shouted, “Multiple contacts in all directions and closing in fast!”
The grizzled CO swallowed a lump in his throat and donned the headset once more before speaking, “Sneaky son of a bitch. As much as I want to take as many of you bastards down with me, I have an obligation to safeguard the lives of my men. We surrender to your forces. I trust you will treat us with the respect and humanity customarily granted to POWs per the Geneva Convention.”
The raggedy voice let out a harsh laugh and replied, “*A few of you may enjoy that luxury…but the rest will be handed over to nourish It, else It awaken and eviscerate us all. Goodbye, Captain.*”
“You motherf-”
“CAPTAIN!”
Winters tore off the headset for a second time, his heart now racing upon seeing Polanski’s pale-faced countenance. The control room was dead silent. Down the hall, however, both officers could hear the faint sounds of sailors screaming in agony across the entirety of the submarine, sounds that grew steadily louder and were accompanied by the spine-chilling sounds of wet flesh being torn apart. The younger of the two stuttered, “Sh-shit, shit, shit…what the hell do we do, Captain?”
The older officer scanned the panicked faces of his subordinates and shouted, “Get to the small-arms locker and grab what you can! I’ll be damned before we go down without taking these bast-”
The control room plunged into darkness. And as the emergency power supply kicked in to flood the room with blood-red light, the crew members of the *USS Jimmy Carter* found themselves surrounded by shimmering figures bearing the uniforms of their WW2 predecessors, their ethereal hands dripping with blood and pieces of flesh. Winters barely had time to utter a sound before a fist plunged into his back and burst through his chest, an all-too familiar voice whispering in his ear as darkness overtook him, “*Nothing personal, Captain…your country thanks you for your service.*”
r/williamk9949 | 2020-08-21T11:34:58 | 2020-08-21T10:25:59 | 189 | 113 |
[WP] As opposed to getting rid of the creepy dolls in the attic, you decide to clean them and fix them up. This made the little ghost girl very happy. | The two dolls were delicate porcelain creatures, both with pale, cracked faces — but where one missed an old green eye, the other missed an arm. They barely had a tuft of hair between them, just a few wiry curls left, once brown but now white. Hair that had aged as if it were real. Their clothes were rotten and their skin patched by decades of rain dribbling in through cracks in the attic roof. Dripped for so long that it had corroded their fragile bodies and punctured holes into their hollows.
Tommy stared at them now, at the two dolls, as he’d done many times before. Always too scared to touch, so he just stared. Not that he was even allowed up in the old attic, where rats skittered behind beams, and where cobweb hammocks sagged and swayed in a cold draft.
Mommy and Daddy had told him never to go into the attic alone. That it was unsafe. But they weren’t always there to watch him, and in those silent moments he’d sneak up and stare at the belongings of the two sisters, dead decades ago.
It had been a fire. Extinguished before it had consumed the house entirely, but not before it had devoured the children. A terrible accident that had led to this day, to Tommy staring entranced at the dolls.
The wind cried through the rafters, and rain drip drip dripped onto the doll with the missing arm. Tommy thought of the girls they had once belonged to. Not all the damage to the dolls was through weathering. Much was through love, through hugging and tea parties and naps together. Bathing together. He just knew the dolls and the girls had been inseparable once-upon-a-happier-time.
That made his little heart all the more sad, that the dolls and girls were both so far apart now.
He hadn’t had the courage before. Not ever. Or perhaps he had been building it up for this day. Saving little cups of courage for one big gulp.
Tommy stepped over the dolls, sheltering them from the rain. Gulp. He stooped and picked them up. Cradled them carefully as he moved them to a dry spot the other end of the attic.
He ripped up tartan fabric he found folded in an old leather trunk, and swapped the mouldy clothing on the dolls to something still old but at least clean. Their new hair came from a rocking-horse’s mane, thick and unruly, but plentiful. The new eye, a marble. The best he could do for a new arm was the leg of an ancient teddy-bear soldier — he tore it free and pushed it in the empty socket.
Then, for the first time in a long time, the dolls left the house.
​
The graveyard was muddy, and willows shook above the tombstones as the wind roared. Mist rolled by in spiralled plumes.
Tommy had only ever been so scared once before.
Their gravestones were moss covered and dirty, and Tommy wiped his sleeves over the names to make sure.
When certain, he laid the dolls on top of each patch of grass, sad to make their new dresses muddy.
They looked forlorn on the ground. The marble eye glinting sadly in the moonlight. The soft leg-arm limply hanging.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was all I could do.”
​
A cold hand touched his shoulder.
“It was your best,“ said a soft voice. Sarah’s voice.
“And that was always good enough,” said Catherine.
The sisters stood behind him, smiling. The moonlight travelled through them to the muddy grass.
Sarah held something in her hands, but Tommy couldn’t make it out.
Catherine bent down and took her doll. She pulled the leg out of the socket, so the doll once more had only one arm.
Sarah took the leg from her sister. She pushed it into the object she held, then passed an old, beloved soldier bear to Tommy.
”I’m scared,” he said.
”We know. But it’s finally time for us all to go,” said Sarah. “And at least we leave together.”
”I’m sorry it took me so long,” said Tommy. “I wanted to come so much sooner. But I was so, so scared.”
”We would have waited for you forever, if that’s what it took,“ said Catherine, kindly, as she placed an arm around her little brother.
Tommy hugged his bear tightly to his chest as they stepped into the mist. | *A broken man from a broken home broke in a broken house.*
*And there he found a little doll, dressed in a blue blue blouse.*
There is just one prayer in my life. Just one wish and need from this marble I'm on. I want it to let me be good. I cry for it to let me be good and do good. To take harm out of my hands, to take harm out of my mind. A beggar with a knife, a tramp with a plea. Man without a break and with no brakes. And such I wandered until I came upon this damaged, abandoned house at the side of the town. It was the worst place of the worst. Even other hobos did not want to live here. Even prostitutes did not come here for sleep or silence. A corner with no God. A corner where God can't see me. A place where I don't have to feel ashamed in front of him. The whole neighborhood is nothing but junkies, thieves and the poor. God doesn't look this way.
And one room, a child's room, on the second floor, seems to be burned out. The worst of the smell is gone, but it never really does go away. You can see the bed that you can suspect was once blue and the table with various books, all burned to a crisp. And among it all, right above the bed, I saw the smallest of dolls. A plush little doll in a blue blue dress. It was not damaged in the fire too bad, so someone had put it on said bed. I picked it up and turned it around. The hair had half of the face had burned down.
I picked it up. I could fix it. Somehow. I knew I could. My arms are made of sin, my hands are made for sin. But I know. If I can fix this somehow. If I can fix this little doll here, then I can fix things. Then it is ok. Then I can prove that things can be fixed. And then I can start fixing everything. The bedroom, the house, myself. I just... I have to. So when I am to walk in front of God, I can stand tall. I can be me. What I am, not what life made me into. I can, by the devil, I can... I can fix things. I can oh God I can...
I walked around the house looking for strings to use in place of her hair. I took one from an old pillow, one from the carpet and one from my own shirt. After a while I wandered outside of my house and started walking around the neighborhood. With the doll in my hands I walked through gutters looking for pieces of string. At first ridiculed, then forgotten, still looking for strings. And I found them. I found plenty of strings to put as her hair. Blue, green, red, brown, all sorts and colors. And I took my needle and sew them in. One by one. Sitting in front of my new found house, one by one. It was almost ready. Only then I saw a little girl looking at me, in her dirty clothes and nappy hair. A small girl, looking at me with interest, like no one ever does. I felt shame. But she did not. And I felt shame for her for that.
She came across the street and looked at the doll. And I was afraid of this little girl. If I scare her, I'm done for. But she stood there looking at me. I slowly took the doll and turned it towards her and showed it. And thw girl smiled. With the whitest smile, she looked at the doll and then at me, smiling, enjoying the ragged hair, the blue blue blouse. "She has only one eye!" she said, laughing. I turned it around and looked at the eye. It did. I failed to see the funny sid of that, but she didn't. Then she took something out of her pocket and placed it carefully on the ground in front of me, not coming closer. "It fell out of my old dress. I do not wear it anymore." Then, with a smile, she run away. It was a bright blue button. Almost in the color of the blouse. I took it and sew it in. It wasn't fixed. It wasn't whole and it wasn't perfect. But that is best what I can do. Best I was allowed with the tools that am I. I placed the doll on the fence post and went back in my home.
I slept. I don't know how long. I opened my eyes, I cried. I held my head, trying to push everything bad out. I flipped my coin. I cried again. I tried to scream and then I tried not to scream. And then I fell asleep again. The windows were boarded shut, so there was no morning, no evening. The sun never rose up in these parts. There was the black and the room around me. The only sensations I had were hunger and my smell. And I did not care.
I heard a knock. Not a demanding knock. A respectful knock. I opened my eyes and slowly went to the door. Slowly opening it by just a little I peeked out. A short, poor hispanic woman, well in her years, stood in front of me. She stretched out her arm and tried to give something to me. I did not take it. Then she stepped back and placed it on the ground. It was a brand new, hand made doll. "My poor Rosa. Just 7 years old, cancer took her. All fell out before she left. Rosa, my princess." Then she turned around, leaving the doll where it sat.
Only after a while I got the courage to leave the house and look at the doll. It was made of an olive color fabric, with two brown buttons for eyes and a green dress. And it had no hair at all. I turned it around in my hand and I decided that she will have black hair. Black as the room, black as my morning. Bright black. I took a few black strings I could find around the house and left looking for more. Only when I got to the fence, I noticed the blue blue blouse doll still on the fence. All adorned with flowers. With flowers and a teddy bear and a picture of a young little girl right next to the doll. I carefully stepped back, but I saw no malice. There were dozens of flowers placed around the doll of the girl and also cards, wishing her well and regretting that she is no longer among the people living here.
I sat on the steps of my house, away from the new altar people had created, not to disturb it. I sat down with Rosa in my hands. With black strings I shall make you whole. With black lines I'll mend you. As black as the lines going through me, I shall drip in you, to hold you like glue. And I'll fix you. I will fix you god damn I will do it. And something will make sense again. Something will matter again. I'll be able to see when I open my eyes and smile truly. Smile for I have arrived, not a smile to escape. I can do it. I can have worth. I can be useful. I can have worth. I can have worth. If I fix things I can have worth!
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/) | 2020-10-05T11:21:45 | 2020-10-05T10:42:32 | 2,713 | 148 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | I stared at him mouth agape. I couldn't believe my eyes. He was here. He was HERE. No, listen to me. HE. Was HERE.
He shouldn't be here. It was impossible. The ward I had put on the door-
"Why are you here?" I demanded, then shook my head. Scratch that. "How are you here?"
Should I have been afraid? Maybe. This was the man that killed me after all, and taken my kingdom. But dying once has a way of putting all that in perspective. Plus, if one man can cut through my entire army and all my generals, and then best me in single combat? He can have the damn kingdom. I just had to know...
"How did you break the ward?"
Wordlessly, (he was always wordless. A mute or just reticent, I never knew. Maybe he was just stupid. I could believe that, consoderong some of the things I'd seen him do. Case in point-) he reached into a backpack, and pulled out a jar.
"You didn't..." I squinted my eyes in disbelief, then looked closer. "You did." Inside, were hundreds of squirming beetles, appearing as if made of solid gold. And they were. I wouldn't even have to count them to know the exact number. 437. The exact number of those beetles ON EXISTANCE, and I know because I PUT THEM THERE.
The thing about a lock is, it needs a key. And the thing about a key is it can be found. And so I had done something very special. Using my great magic, I had imposed the very nature of [locked] on my door, and the nature of [key] onto a key. I then broke said key into 437 teeny, tiny pieces, and imbued them with life magic and sent them to the far corners of the continent.
And this madman- this absolute imbicile- went and collected all of them. All to open a locked door on a tiny, nondescript cabin on the outskirts of the smallest town in the kingdom. And so, it all came down to that other nagging question. "Why?"
He dug into his pockets, and produced a worn parchment. Unfolding it across my table, I realized it was a map. A map of the entire kingdom. No, more than that. A map of every village, every house! Complete with markers, and names! Did he- did he catalogue every person in this entire continent??
I stared at him in dumb silence as he pulled out a small pencil, and wrote my name in tiny, perfect letters. He held up the map, grinning, and I saw that every square inch was covered in that same handwriting. I stared at him. He stared at me.
"So you've completed your map. What do you want, a medal?" He looked at me, then nodded, as if that somehow wasn't completely insane. He pulled out a booklet, and unfolded it to show a collection of tiny golden metals. I squinted to read a few.
"Best fisher"
"Egg rolling champion"
"Stone tosser"
"What, do they just award you for every little thing you do?" He nodded eagerly. "... Fine. Will it get you out of my hair?" He nodded again. I sighed in resignation. "Fine." I waved my hand, and manifested a small nugged of pure gold. Clenching my fist, I flattened it into a more or less flat shame, then grabbed a needle and thought about what to inscribe. Something map related, I expect.
"There you go, your 'Nosey prat' badge. Now begone. And don't come back."
Silently, he packed up his map and book, even the jar of apparently useless key beetles, and left. I watched him go, and shut the door, this time applying a more permenent locking enchantment. I think I'm just going to sleep for a few thousand years.
"What in the gods name is wrong with that man." | DL: "Hello"
They do not say anything, they sit in one of the chairs, in the middle of my home in one of my two dining chairs. It is the worse dining chair, one I should go into town and get a new one from the carpenter. their prices are fair enough, and they will barter so it can be an easy trade. I do not watch them as I drag the carcass in the door and bring it to the butchering table on the far side of the Hut.
DL: "Careful in that chair, it does wobble. Dont want you to slip and get mud on those nice clothes from the common folk"
It is a bit petty, but I had to repeat exactly what they said to me the first time they saw me in person. Before they began their resistance and journey. They probably thought I never even remembered that, it coming from some 'dirty angry peasant' I just wrote it off. I remember, I remember everything. In their solemn stare at me they hold no fury in their eyes, no rage, they are observing, they may have been a bit arrogant but they are not stupid.
H:"Why? and don't start the, "do you mean the wobble or the dirty clothes?" bit."
That is exactly the bit I was going to lead with. a small smirk crawls across my face.
DL: "Lets start with why am I still alive? I know you know but to confirm your suspicions. yes. I did have multiple back up inert body duplicates hidden around the world that my soul would immediately go to in the event of my death."
They nodded acknowledging this. I know they went hunting for them. Cleaving into the animals tendons is difficult, would be easier with magic but my body has grown stronger with work over the years.
H: "That doesn't answer the question"
DL: "Why this region? because it was far enough away. Not so close that you could immediately quickly respond with your forces and rally the local populace to begin the exhaustive search. It would give me time to regroup, especially if starting from 0."
Some of the bits cant be fully used but they can be used for other pieces and parts, like getting the gelatin out and getting that hardened can be valuable, I dump those pieces of the carcass into a large bucket I have that I take care of the process in.
DL: "Would you like to join me in this? I am going to be stripping the hide from the flesh and an extra set of hands can help hold it and position it. Your father was a leatherworker, your sister took up the trade but you must still have learned some. Maybe you could show me something."
I look over at them and they are staring more intently at me now. I still haven't answered their question, but they don't want to actually say it aloud because then it will seem I am getting to them. But they do not move, they do not approach or partake in the work. They continue to watch me as I work.
DL: "Did it continually bother you? I imagine it did?"
H: "You know it did."
DL: " I apologize for that. But you are not here trying to kill me. Well, not yet."
H: "You are not going to win, you didn't then. You are not now."
A few moments pass as I think, as well as position to best separate the tissues. I will be able to bring this hide into town clean and make a bit off of it.
DL: "I know."
H: "So why?"
The hide is hung along the back rack to dry slightly. I can bring it in this afternoon. heading over to the pantry I briefly think of grabbing many cups but only grab 2. I get one of the embers from the cooking spit and reignite a flame with some tinder under the kettle. Filled it with water before I left, I like to have tea after a hunt.
DL: "I lost. So I wanted to give you a chance. Trying right away would have been foolish, you fought and overcame my military might at every juncture with superior soldiers and in many circumstances, superior tactics. I couldn't immediately turn around and try again. But, like I told you-."
intentionally trailing off to see if they would pick up on what I had said before.
H: "Something worse is coming and you're tactic will work best."
DL: "Indeed."
H: "You did not believe that we would be defeated by IT, you thought we would be severely weakened or I would be broken by what had to be done and become a despot. Then in our weakened state or when I had become a monster you could sweep in and assert an even stronger position."
DL: "Correct. I still got news all the way out here. You all most certainly weakened after it, although you did prevail at cost. I most certainly could have tried."
H: "But you didn't. So I will ask the question again, Why?"
DL: "You were right. My methods were excessive, I presumed your talk of being able to overcome the odds was haughty bravado and foolhardy arrogance."
H: "A good deal of it was."
DL: "It was, but you were also BRILIANT within your execution of tactics, and the speed of your reassessment and the circumstances is elegant. I can outplan you in the long game every time, but in the heat of the moment, you win 99 out of 100 bouts."
I pour the hot water into the two cups and use a cloth tea bag I fill from a container and begin to steep the tea. I offer the same to them. They put the tea into the bag and begin to steep their cup as well.
H: "Thank you"
DL: " You proved you could beat me, I know I would be able to beat you if I planned and schemed but I had to lay low."
H: "I have been asking the same question the whole time and you have yet to answer it."
They had me there.
DL: "I wanted to say I am sorry for any excessive stress I may have been causing. You didn't know if I was still planning or scheming or what day I would finally come back to get you. I spent a long time planning and panicking about someone coming to stab me in the back. But being out here, away from it, not having that worry that panic, the burden I placed upon myself to get what I wanted. I found what I wanted. I got the control I so desired. Is it over a nation and its peoples, no. But I still find satisfaction in this life. Not using magic for years so you couldnt track me down taught me hard physical lessons. I began to feel some remorse in my self imposed exile. I did not want to make you into me. Only I can be me." | 2021-11-03T21:44:33 | 2021-11-03T20:13:16 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] The exorcist prayed and prayed, begging the demon to leave the childs body and return to the depths of hell. But he knew something was wrong when a distorted voice shouted out "He won't let me leave!" | “Can you - “ the boy’s voice cracked as it left his mouth, the words as broken and distorted as the expression on his face. Somewhere a grandfather clock struck the hour. The boy cleared his throat in a gesture that seemed both unnatural and precocious on the young angelic looking child. “- like fucking chill for a moment.”
The priest in his immaculate black robes took a step back, as if stung by the words, his eyes widening as he stared into the troubled expression on the young boy’s face. The divide between the softness of the boy’s features and the harshness of the words sent chills across his mind, down his spine.
“For real, man. We’re both in a shit situation here so I’d appreciate some fucking breathing space,” the boy continued, tilting his head as he tried to make eye contact with the priest.
“Quiet demon!” the priest raised his hand, a small bottle of holy water in it poised to strike.
“Seriously, you’re testing me old man!” The boy shied away from the priest with a snarl, preemptively dodging the water that never left it’s bottle. “I’m trying my best to get out of this little snot machine, but the little fucker won’t let me.” He said between clenched teeth and the big gap where the boy’s two missing front teeth would have been.
Suddenly looking a bit uncertain of himself the young priest lowered his hand cautiously.
“Thank you,” the boy breathed a sigh of relief. “So lets pause with the holy water and lets just chat this through.”
“What kind of trick are you playing?” the priest narrowed his eyes suspiciously, preparing to raise his hand again if the demon tried to lure him away from the path of righteousness again.
“Not a trick.” the voice paused. “And if someone hadn’t tied this little asshole’s arms behind his back I would have raised them in a very placating gesture to show my sincerity and good will.”
“Good will?” the priest scoffed.
“It’s an expression,” the demon sighed through the boy’s chapped lips. “Can we maybe work together and find a way to let this clingy little bastard let go of me so I can leave the snot and the incessant and asinine questions?!” The boy looked over at the priest with eyes mirroring eons of pain and days of agony. “He doesn’t fucking shut up!” he groaned. “He’s like fucking devouring my soul!”
The priest hummed, the side of his mouth curling into a confused expression as he scratched the back of his neck with the bottle of holy water. “So...how do we – do this?” | So many exorcisms.....Patt was getting older and older and the demons were getting any wiser, see Patt had a reputation amongst his peers and clients, from a young age he knew demons were real while nobody else believed him, so on that note when the rapture happened, only when he was a small lad did he help recover and build, he stood against the dark forces and demons right on the helm of it all.
But, again they didn’t get any wiser it’s been twenty or so odd years since the fall and rebuilding of society, it’s impressive just how quick they rebuilt but Patt knew god was helping the survivors along the way. What Patt knew god didn’t intend was for the rapture to stay open know all kinds of demons come from there but they only seem to come when a certain amount on earth have been destroyed, Patt assumes this was just a “not enough space” rule or law that demon kind had to follow.
Walking back home in the blood rain from the sky’s rapture Patt could only thank god that it wasn’t the fore embers falling from above, or the body parts of demons, that wouldn’t be good at all...but as they walk past a building this one the outside permanently marked with red streaks and burnt at the edges of the building and windows, he heard faint crying, that of a child.
Now Patt knows better than anyone as the leader of his pocket of society right now, do NOT trust the crying children. Patt KNOWS better....but the crying felt and sounded so much like a normal boy so with that he told his group to keep heading back as they weren’t far he would catch up, said he thought he heard some survivors. They always listened to Patt no matter what he said and it frightened him sometimes but he is glad they didn’t follow for what was about to happen scared him more than any demon.
“Hello Patrick, we’ve been waiting for you” a voice echoed throughout the building, reverberating down the stair case he made his way up. Patt did not answer, he was wrong it was a demon but something about it was so off? This was not normal, it did not feel safe here. But he kept climbing, the world around him was blackening and he didn’t even noticed, the world simply was disappearing but he held onto railing that was no longer there walked down a hallway of black emptiness in a hypnotic trance until he reached the room. The room from which whispering and vocalisation ceased, no demonic screeches in the distance or sounds of demonic gang fighting.
“Patrick” it was one word. Slow, drawn out to lengthen the word like a stereotypical creepy child would do in an old horror movie but this was so much more terrifying then he though it would be in real life.
“We’re so glad you came we even brought you an offering!” The voice wasn’t echoed around him in the cast nothing it was in his mind, Patt though he had been losses but he wasn’t sure anymore. Then come the child out of the very nothing he stood on, the child had risen from it like it was thick black Ooze.
“HeLp Me PlEaSe he WonT leT Me LeAVe” the voice was demonic in nature, but it wailed Luke a newborn crying for any help and comfort it could find in a new scary world.
“We have brought forth a gift, you can exorcise the demon and return it to hell....or you can exorcise the demon into me” Patt was confused what that even meant the situation this thing was implying was down right ridiculous, exorcise the demon into.....wait what even is this thing Patt was talking to.
As the dawn of realisation hit him he panicked, he panicked hard.
“Patrick CALM DOWN” a booming voice that spoke into his mind tearing it apart feeling like if he didn’t obey a mouth with 1000 teeth and a jaw of death would eat him and crunch his bone, snap them with the sharp teeth.
“I am here to just collect the beings for my family, I must show that sleeping fool’s court the newest most frightening breed of child I have, in return I will use all my power to steer my brothers, sisters and what not away from this pace.” Patt finally understood what was happening, the being which he now realised was the Black Ooze nothingness around him wanted Patt to exorcise the demon into it so he could corrupt it into...whatever it wanted presumably. and to use it’s power to make sure others like it leave this place alone was a good offer, they were already rebuilding and learning and adapting to having demons around. Patt did something he never thought he would do.
“You have yourself a deal.” Before another word was spoken Patt shouted to the heavens asking god for forgiving him and then shouted divine words from the language of angels, he doesn’t think even god knew that he spoke some minor words but it was all or nothing now, Patt knew what this thing was and happily would deal with it do make others of it not approach this place.
And so as the boy no longer pissed by demon or Eldritch being fell into his arms and the nothing Ooze slowly peeled away for the room to show he left the building and made it home he put the child down at the front gate looked up toward the guards pointing makeshift guns at him along with their holy symbols and he then looked to heaven and he saw god, and God was in the shape of an amorphous thick black Ooze of nothingness. | 2021-12-28T10:24:30 | 2021-12-28T09:18:12 | 75 | 17 |
[WP] You are amortal, not immortal, most don't know or care for the distinction but the two conditions could not be more different | To mortals, immortality and amortality are the same. An obsession with death makes the idea of escaping it the end all be all.
Amortality is not immortality.
An immortal lives forever: the power to change his environment is never-ending. The powers of immortals vary significantly, but the end is the same. Zeus is immortal, and he never dies. A nymph is immortal and while she remembers her birth she won't have a death to worry her.
A rock as well will never die, but a rock isn't immortal. It simply is, it has no goal and it's effect on the environment is largely due to others will it to do. An amortal is like a rock, indeed a rock is amortal. I am amortal.
When the mortals, namely the humans, found out about the immortals, they were struck with jealousy. They found that they had to reach them, they had to end their own deaths. The immortals, they could not allow this. How could they be satisfied in life without beings lower than them? Human technology advanced and so the humans advanced. Numbers are an advantage, but how can you defeat beings that do not die. Then they found me: they found those like me. "You don't die", they thought, "you must know the secret."
Immortals and mortals are two sides of the same coin. Beings who desire to control their environment. What is a human but a god with limited time? What is an immortal but a human with no fear of the end. They're full of life and ambition. Courage and strength. Will.
If you pick a pebble off the ground and throw it, the emotional state of the pebble is the same. If you grind it to sand, melt it to glass, and shock it, it remains emotionally the same. If you drop it in a vat of acid and dissolve it, it's emotional state remains the same. It is inert. Amortals may join the fight against mortals if willed to, amortals may join the fight against immortals if willed to. It makes no difference. Amortals don't die because amortals don't live. Amortals have what the egotistic warriors of human conflict, dying and undying, can never have.
Contentment.
When the end comes, immortal and mortal alike shall end. Maybe peace or maybe destruction will reign. It matters not to an amortal, no more than the weather concerns a rock. Rocks always remain | “Somehow, I don’t think you read the instructions right.”
Creation blushed scarlet to the tip of her thousands fingers, the putty of matter forever spinning in between her digits faltering. Droplets fell to the surface in splashes of waves, now lakes and ponds where hitherto laid plain earth.
Water always came easy to Creation, almost as a reflex. This little new globe of theirs was a perfect example of it, miles beyond miles of blue. Oceans, Creation had called them. Lakes, and Rivers. Puddles and ponds, she had added, tracing lines and patterns across the land. Life had grown steadily on their banks, along the coasts. Seeds had sprouted from the half dried patches moistening the soil, and Creation had watched tenderly. A mother observing the life she had given creating new forms, evolving.
Time watched her patiently as her eyes blinked, some before the others, all turning towards the involuntary result of her inattention. A lake, several metres deep, so close to what she had called “the child”.
Her mouth, plump and dark, like a cave with too many teeth, frowned. The child, ebony curls bouncing, giggled, watching their reflection on the calming surface.
The mouse they had been carving moments before already forgotten, blood darkening the ground around it. Vermillion on the child’s fingers, brown against the earth. Red, almost too vivid, in contrast with the gleaming white of the makeshift blade the child had broken off a rock just hours before, under their curious gazes. That, the child hadn’t let go of.
They put it in the water, still firmly in their grip, and marvelled at the blood rushing away. Off their skin, clear from the sharp edges of their weapon. No traces left of the life that ceased not moments before.
The child wasn’t smiling, exactly, but there was a levity in their posture that spoke of carelessness and a ignorant sort of innocence. They waddled into the water until it reached their belly, still laughing quietly. Creation’s frown deepened.
Busy hands reached into the many pockets, emerging with glittering dust sticking to their tips. The wind that always blew inexorably through Time mingled with it, carrying hundreds of particles to the lake. As soon as they touched the water Creation told them what to be and one colourful creature after the other slither through the water.
Fish, Time knew without having to ask.
As they hadn’t learnt fear yet, they soon surrounded the child, fascinated by their legs as the child was by their scales, glittering in the afternoon light like millions of little suns.
Time breathed. 1, 2… 124 seconds before the child shook off their initial stupor and reached out, squeezing hard. Strong beyond appearance, the fish struggled in their grasp, eyes bulging. Guts spilled from its gaping mouth and the others learnt a valuable lesson, that day. Tails swerving madly, they swam away towards safety.
“They know no better.” Creation justified, a little sulkily, talking about the child.
“No, they really don’t.” Time agreed. He worried for a minute that night was approaching, like it always did. Time could not stop it, he had to let it happen. Let it go, like every other filament of his long cloak, unraveling infinitely day after day, into something new and never twice the same.
A child was a new creature, but the night was often unkind to everybody. Would they find shelter? Would they live long enough to see the birth of a new day? Time pondered on these questions, but not for long. That was Creation’s realm and he would not interfere.
“I still think you have got it wrong.” He said, because he could.
“Yes.” She replied through gritted teeth, voice rumbling inside the cave of her depths, displeased of having being caught in error.
A new challenge had appeared in the jar, that morning. Time hated it when it happened, as they tended to pop into existence outside of his control. One moment they weren’t and the next they were, often in the form of a little scroll of parchment, a few times written across a hearth-shaped post-it. Twice on the back of an old train ticket.
It was the craft of the week and, if Time hated it, Creation was always excited when it happened.
“The challenge wasn’t even meant for her. She makes life, doesn’t she?” A voice said from behind them. They didn’t turn, but Chaos continued. “You can’t create something that shouldn’t be alive to begin with. You give your creatures breath and the challenge was to-“.
“Never mind that!” Creation snapped, restricted by her own laws that never applied to Chaos. Chaos’s giggled, their laugh as unrestrained as the child’s had been.
They all turned to the creature again. The little amoral seed Creation had planted among the Earth, leaving uncontrolled destruction in her wake. “Never mind that,” Creation repeated, almost sadly. “They too, shall die one day.”
This was written because I am an idiot and read amoral instead of amortal. English is clearly not my first language | 2022-03-28T15:30:35 | 2022-03-28T12:03:21 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Instead of the Monkey's Paw, you find the Clown's Nose, which instead of granting your wish in the worst way possible will grant it in the funniest way. | I held the clown's nose in my hand as I carefully contemplated what I wanted to wish for. I thought about gaining riches, fame, magical power, love, but ultimately, all those things were temporary. What I really wanted was immortality, freedom from the fear of ever being claimed by the void. But the mysterious shopkeeper had warned me that the clown's nose would try to twist my wish, so I knew I needed to word it very carefully.
Finally, after a few minutes, I finally spoke out loud. "Oh Spirit of the Clown's Nose, I wish to live for as long as I want to on this world in a body that will never age and remain healthy both physically and mentally." For a few moments, nothing happened and I wondered if the shopkeeper had tricked me. Then, to my shock, the clown's nose started to twist and melt in my hand. I dropped it in shock and yet, in front of my stunned eyes, the red blob began to rise into the sky. It started to rapidly grow in size until it was roughly the same size as a man. Then, without warning, it fell on me, quickly enveloping my entire body. I tried to scream, but the thick red substance simply poured its way down my throat into my lungs. I could feel myself blacking out, sliding down into some strange tunnel that seemed to go on and on ...
"Sir! Sir, are you all right?!"
I opened my eyes in shock. I was sitting in front of a conference table with a bunch of concerned men in suits staring at me. I took a quick look around and noticed that I was wearing some kind of yellow body suit with red and white stripes. On the left side of the suit, there was a red circle with a yellow M on it. "Why...why am I here?" I finally said, surprised to see that I was still alive.
The men looked at each other confused. "You're the one who called us all here, Ronald," one man finally spoke. "You said you had finally found a worthy successor?"
Oh dear god...I slowly touched my nose and felt the clown's nose resting there. I didn't need a mirror to know the truth. I had become Ronald McDonald, the eternal clown. For a few moments, I felt utter dread at what I had become. Then, I felt myself contemplating. Was it really that bad? Sure, I wasn't human anymore, but I was now the secret leader of a multinational fast food chain and the scourge of children's nightmares. I smiled to myself. I could work with this. "That's right, gentleman. And I have great plans for the future. It's time we finally took down that Wendy girl once and for all." | “Big mistake, bud,” Caleb said with a loud Slurpie slurp. That was why they called them that, wasn’t it? Damn.
“What, going to grad school?” Mark offered, rolling the red ball over in his hand.
“No, well yes, you’re an utter dumbass for that, but I'm talking about picking up the weird rubber ball you found on the streets of New York Citay. Guarantee you that's been up more than one meat canyon."
"It looks like a clown's nose but there's no slit for you to stick your nose in." The plate of sliders came, waitress silent with apathy.
"You’re just trying to distract yourself from your paper." Caleb offered, sliding a slider into his mouth in one bite. That was why they called them that, wasn’t it? Damn.
"I wish I had more time. I'm so so burnt out right now." Mark laid his head down on the table, still reeling from the all-day sessions the day before. The ball in his hand lightly honked. “I can’t just quit. Academia is the only way to get a job as an artist these days.”
“First year, buddy boy. You’re just getting started.” Caleb grabbed another mini sandwich.
“Yeah,” Mark said, “I-hold on, am I seeing this?” A man in full clown makeup was walking with exaggerated bouncing goose steps down the sidewalk outside the diner, like a goose indeed. He turned to lock eyes with Mark, did a double take, a triple take, and unbelievably, a quadruple take, miming wiping his eyes.
“He doesn’t have a nose…” Mark realized with awe.
“Not even a set of Voldemort slits. Must be some good makeup.” The clown looked around frantically and scooped up a pomeranian from a passing woman, whose bobbed Karen cut snapped in the wind as she began a screaming tirade against the pup bandit.
“What the fuck was that?” Caleb said.
“Excuse me, sirs,” a stern voice came from behind them, a bushy mustached cop. “I’m told a dognapping has occurred. Are you available to make a statement?” He took out a pencil at least twice as long as normal and began writing on a pad.
“What, the thing just now? Like four seconds ago?” Mark said. The woman was running down the street. Her purse smacked a taco out of the hand of a young skateboarder. He began chasing her in turn.
“Big creepy clown,” Caleb offered. “Doubt he could run fast in those floppy red shoes.”
“That so,” the cop said. “Then how do you explain this, gentlemen?” the cop pointed towards the table, where the pomeranian was laying waste to the pile of sliders on the table. He snapped at Caleb and continued eating.
“What the fuck!” Caleb repeated. “The A doesn’t follow the B here.”
“Hey!” a very Italian cook said, waddling out of the kitchen. “No dogs in here! And on the table! You’ll be speak and spellin’ out a new alphabethole if you don’t pay for those sliders and get the hell outta here! Fucking disgraceful, these kids.”
“Damn.” Mark chuckled to himself as the cop took out a pair of cuffs behind him. “Alphabet, alpha-beta.”
“Officer!” a lady’s voice bellowed from the doorway. It was the dognapping victim, holding a single red shoe. “Unhand that man this instant! He saved my little snookie okums! I want your badge number, I want a lawyer, I want-”
“Ma’am, you’re not under arrest, you don’t need-” the cop started meekly.
“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t need!” She began slapping the cop with the clown shoe, each swipe honking louder and louder.
“Don’t wanna get outta my diner?” the cook said, “Fine! Mario, Demmi, sauce em!”
Two enthusiastic young boys jumped from the back, each holding a commercial-grade barrel. They began flinging ladles from it like Mesopotamian rock slingers.
A splatter of red and white sauce splashed right onto Mark’s face and his laptop. He slipped out of his seat, almost catching his feet under him all the way to the door outside, where he promptly collided with a hotdog vendor, flopping back and planting himself with a wet splat onto a blank canvas two men were carrying. The ball rolled out of his hand leaving a mustard trail on its path down the street.
“Jesus Christ, Mark, are you-Jesus Christ-” Caleb said with awe, looking not at Mark but behind him.
Mark craned his neck to look at the canvas. Everyone around them had stopped to do the same.
“The way the chili accents the shadows…” a passing man said.
“That marinara sunset…” the Karen said, holding her reunited puppy, who yakked up a bit of slider onto the ground.
—
“Do I hear 70,000?”
“Alright, going once, going twice, sold!”
“I can’t believe you made that masterpiece by slapping onto it,” Caleb said, from behind the stage.
“Me either,” Mark said. “I can quit Grad school. I already have ten commissions lined up.”
“Once the check from this is checked at the bank, that is,” Caleb said.
“Damn.”
/r/surinical | 2022-09-29T07:30:43 | 2022-09-29T07:26:07 | 1,618 | 338 |
[WP] Instead of the Monkey's Paw, you find the Clown's Nose, which instead of granting your wish in the worst way possible will grant it in the funniest way. | *For best effect, imagine this being read by Kelsey Grammer in full dramatic mode.*
I've always prided myself on being the kind of person who knows how to skip to the end of the story. Out of respect for the dead, I shan't detail how the nose finally came into my possession via a process equal parts terrifying, bloody, and really quite stupid. But the moment it did, I knew what had to be done.
I got in my car and drove for days into the mountains, far from any prying eyes. I then left my vehicle and hiked up the tallest peak I thought I could manage. It was just past sunset by the time I arrived, during what photographers call the magic hour. The stars shone brightly in the sky as the twilight faded. I held the cursed sphere up to the heavens in silent salute.
There's only one responsible way to wield such power, of course. You have to learn your lesson. Understand that we poor mortals are not gods. Throw the ring into the volcano like a good Frodo.
"I wish that the nose I'm holding didn't exist," I said, and squeezed my hand.
The honk seemed to go on forever, echoing over the peaks and valleys. Then the whole world fell silent. For a moment, I worried that it wouldn't work. That the sphere in its capriciousness would reject my request.
Then, suddenly, a spotlight came on with an audible click, illuminating a small patch of earth a few meters in front of me. The nose leapt out of my hand. I let my arm fall as it rolled over to its mark beneath the pillar of light.
It began to sing. Sinatra's "My Way." Fitting, really.
I watched in rapt silence as the nose began its swan song, accompanied by an invisible orchestra. As it did, ghostly figures appeared behind it and began to dance, moving in silent pantomime. Clowns, an army of them. The spirits of all those the nose had humiliated across the ages -- or perhaps more accurately had enabled to humiliate themselves -- before ultimately leading them to their doom. I recognized some of them. Travis, who'd had someone important he'd wanted to save, even at the cost of his very soul. Maria, who had such grand dreams. Dores, who had slaughtered so many. And so on and so on.
As the song reached its denouement, the background dancers vanished from the stage one by one. I realized that I myself was suddenly dressed in shabby clothing and an oversized neon wig, whiteface plastered over my visible flesh. Ah, yes. Of course. The nose intended to take its final victim. I had thought that might be the case. I made peace with my fate as the nose rolled back towards me, the spotlight following it. Still singing, it leapt onto my face and planted itself cleanly at the end of my own schnoz.
Something fell into my hand. I glanced down and saw a detonator, a single wire leading from it up into the sphere itself. I knew in an instant what was expected of me.
The sphere hit the song's final note. As fireworks burst in the sky all around me, the stars looking on in what I imagined was silent approval, I pressed the button. The last clown blew his nose. | Jim had always been fascinated by clowns. They were the personification of the grotesque, the absurd, the dark side of humor. He had never seen one in person, but he had seen pictures, and he knew that they scared people. He had always wanted to see one in person. More importantly, he had always wanted to become one himself.
Now, here he was, in a dusty old shop on the edge of town, buying a clown's nose.
The old man was watching him and waiting for him to say something. Jim looked at the nose, turning it over and over in his hands, feeling the soft, worn rubber.
"How much is this nose?" he finally asked.
"Everything in this shop has a price," said the old man.
"Well what's the price of this nose?" asked Jim.
"I don't know," said the old man.
Jim looked at the nose again, turning it over and over, feeling its softness.
"It depends on what you're willing to pay."
Jim looked at the man, sitting there on his stool, smiling at him, as if he knew a secret that Jim didn't know. Jim thought about that for a moment.
"What do you want for it?" he asked.
"What do you have to offer?" said the old man.
Jim thought about that for a moment. Then he pulled out his wallet and pulled out five dollars. He handed it to the old man.
The old man took the five dollars and looked at it. He looked at Jim, then looked back down at the five dollars. He handed back the five dollars. "That's not enough," he said. "But you can take the nose. You will pay for it eventually."
Jim didn't know what to say. He stared at the old man, then back down at the nose in his hands. He put it on his face and felt a cold, tingling sensation creep over his skin. The world seemed to change around him, as if he had entered another realm entirely.
When he took the nose off, the world snapped back into focus and he found himself staring at the old man, who was now grinning at him.
"What did you do to me?" asked Jim.
"I didn't do anything. But the nose granted your wish," said the old man. "You wanted to be a clown, so now you are one."
Jim looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing a clown's outfit. He was red from head to toe, with big floppy shoes and a purple wig. A red nose was perched on his face, just above his own nose. He could feel it there, attached to him, as if it had always been there.
"But this isn't what I wanted!" he said.
"Be careful what you wish for," said the old man.
Jim peeled off the clown nose for a second time. And went over to look at an old mirror. Perched on his face was still the red clown nose.
"It's not just a nose," said the old man. "It's part of you now. It won't come off."
Jim turned away from the mirror and walked back to the old man. "What do I do now?" he asked.
"Now you have to learn how to be a clown," said the old man. He laughed, a strange and unsettling sound, filled with darkness and despair.
***
Back in his apartment, Jim was pacing back and forth. Finally he stopped and said out loud, "I wish to be a millionaire."
A moment later, there was a knock on the door. When he opened the door, there stood a man in a formal suit, holding a brief case and smiling. "Good morning sir, my name is Mr. Adams."
Mr. Adams held out his hand. "I work in international finance"
Jim shook the outstretched hand but as he did so he realized he had a buzzer in his hand. Shocked - literally - Mr. Adams pulled back his hand . "Very funny, sir," he said, his smile a little stiff.
Mr. Adams produced a brief case and opened it. Inside were two bills. "These are the two 500,000 Vietnamese Dong banknote you ordered."
A butterfly, Jim did not realize he was wearing, began to spin.
"How much is a million Vietnamese Dong?" he asked, trying to get the spinning butterfly under control.
"Approximately forty-two dollars," Mr. Adams answered.
"Very funny," said Jim. "Now please get out of my house."
Mr. Adams nodded and left looking puzzled. As Jim closed the door, a whooping cushion farted loudly.
***
A day later, Jim was sitting at his desk when the door to his office flew open and a man marched in. He was wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He was carrying a stack of papers in his hands and a large briefcase and he was obviously angry about something.
"What now," Jim said out loud as he tried to remember what he had wished for this time.
"I'm Dr. Farber," said the man. "I've just been awarded a grant from the National Science Foundation to conduct top secret research for the benefit of mankind."
Dr. Farber opened the briefcase he had been carrying and took out a crystal globe. He held it up for Jim to see. "We are trying to discover the secret of eternal happiness." He placed the globe on the floor and covered it with a black cloth. "This is my start-up capital."
"You've got to be kidding," said Jim as a laugh track was turned on.
Dr. Farber looked around furtively. "Keep quiet or we will lose our funding," he said. Dr. Farber glanced out the window. "It looks like rain. I can't work in the rain."
Jim massaged his temples. The people on the laugh track was finding the whole interaction hysterical.
"Please leave," he said. "And take your crystal globe with you."
Dr. Farber smiled genially, picked up the globe and walked out. "No happiness for you then."
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin. | 2022-09-29T12:27:06 | 2022-09-29T12:13:55 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] Two very old immortals meet each other on a busy street by chance. Each having believed they were the only one until now. | Aleph strolled down the street without paying much attention to his surroundings. At least, that's what any observer would say if they were able to see him. It's not that he was really invisible. People tended to shift their gaze and walk around him in the same way they did when they spotted an unwashed beggar. It also wasn't true that he wasn't paying much attention. He was paying attention to *everything*. The world needed constant maintenance to keep going. Are the molecules reacting properly? Did anyone notice those electrons moving past the speed of light? Is probability still behaving, or is it making people believe the roulette table cares? Is the couple making love married? Hmm, only by a city official. That doesn't count. Scribble, scribble.
It was in such state of mind that Aleph nearly ran into another pedestrian. He raised his gaze, brow slightly furrowed, and saw a man gazing back with great confusion on his face. Aleph's previous thoughts flew away like swing ride seats that lost all their cables mid-rotation. A group of electrons took the opportunity to break the speed limit and cause minor confusion in a Swiss railway station.
The other man spoke first, weighing each word.
"I don't know you."
"You... can see me?"
They stared at each other like lovers discovering they've been cheating on each other with the same person.
"What are you?" the other man continued in the same careful tone.
Aleph had introduced himself to people a few times before, but never without carefully arranged trumpets or a least some burning topiary.
"I am God," he managed, "the Beginning and the End, Al..."
"No you're not", said the other one.
Aleph missed a mental step and his mind stumbled. He wasn't used to being interrupted. Unsupervised, a few molecules split in a nearby sewer and a manhole cover went flying high. He cleared his throat. Many eyes went up to the sky looking for the source of the rolling thunder.
"I am the Alpha and Omega!" he boomed. "The Creator! By my will alone does the Universe exist! I allowed the light, and in my image was the man created! Without me, there would be nothing!"
Wine glasses exploded, pacemakers went wild, and the chestnut peddler got his eyebrows singed by a burst of flame. The manhole cover landed on a smug atheist.
The other man was unmoved.
"I didn't make anyone in your image because I've just met you, and I try to avoid white beards as much as I can. I am Kanthya. I am God. Smiting the atheist proves nothing."
Kanthya wiggled his eyebrows. The atheist was reincarnated as a toadstool.
"You see, I created the universe. I keep the life circulating. But I never made you. Your existence is the biggest puzzle since Sodom's self-combustion."
Wind increased as Aleph breathed in. A storm was brewing.
"How did you find a way out of Hell!? I will cast you in chains at the center of..."
Kanthya pinched his nasal bridge and sighed. Who knows how many things will go wrong by the time they sort this out.
The next few minutes were odd. A scientist wrote "Wow!" next to a radio telescope reading. A pair of dice hesitated in mid-air before falling to the table with a single thud. Somewhere, someone thought MS-DOS would be a good idea.
And, at a window table in a nearby bar, watching two familiar men argue, humanity chuckled and doodled a few ideas for what it expects to find on alien worlds.
edit: Uncapitalised "humanity" | I can't sleep.
It isn't insomnia, a sleeping disorder, or ANY disorder. Living forever DOES have its perks, you know...such as seeing the sun rise for the 140,293rd time (I counted).
Always from the east.
Always at a similar time.
Always from my window.
Sigh...as you can imagine, finding new things and ideas to appreciate is starting to get difficult. I fear the day where I'll feel myself so incarcerated in a world so repetitive, that it will bore me to an emotional death.
But enough moping - time to go to work. Blending in is imperative to someone like me; I don't want some lab-coated bastards to treat me like a frog in a high-school biology class.
. . .
"Welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you?"
"The #3."
"The meal or just the sandwich?"
"The meal."
"Small, medium, or large?"
"Medium."
"Your total will be $4.59."
It's the 58th time this particular young lady comes here. Always with a ponytail. Always in red Converse with lips to match. Always ordering a medium #3. Always paying $4.59. Always with exact change. It's kind of like she's doing me a favor to not make the extra work by opening the cash register for her. Hmmm....
"Thank you, have a nice day."
"You too."
But...there's something about her. Something oddly familiar strikes me every time she walks through those glass doors. But the thing is, I don't believe in "familiar" - only certainty. I remember every second from every day from every year since my 19th birthday 384 years ago. I can tell you everything about the places I've been, the things I've learned, and the people I've encountered... except for her.
I just told you everything I knew about her, but I KNOW there's still some blanks to fill. I don't know how to describe this; it's the midpoint of (what you would call) déjà vu and recognition, and frankly it's fucking frustrating! Technically, it's only a small discomfort, but when your emotions are idyllically neutral, the smallest offset will inexcusably piss you off.
Time to end it. Once and for all.
. . .
"Your total will be $4.59."
Even though she handed me her four bills, two quarters, one nickel, and four pennies for the 59th time, I noticed something unusually different for once: each bill had a Sharpied word written on it.
ASK
ME
YOUR
QUESTIONS
What the honest hell??!! How did she? Never mind...better act stupid.
"Umm... you trying to flirt with me?"
"Don't act stupid, John."
"WHAT??!! How do you know my name?"
"You HAVE a name tag, you know."
"Oh..."
"But also for the same reason that you remember everything since 1621."
"SSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssssshhhhhh! ...Are y-?"
"Yup. Let's go for a walk after your shift. We've got a lot of catching up to do."
"Screw it, I quit."
"I knew you'd say that," she immediately replied with a wink.
. . .
"So, Laura...when did you realize that you were different?"
"You get A LOT of compliments for being smooth-skinned during 14th century Europe, ya know?"
"Black death?"
"Black death."
"Oh wow! So you remember almost 700 years of history?"
"Just the important parts...just like anybody else, really. I don't have a photographic memory like you do, John."
"I was about to get to that. So...you read minds...and I remember everything. Do others like us have unique powers too?"
"I'd call'em "talents"...but I wouldn't know; we might as well be the only immortals to have ever lived."
"But seriously, Laura. On April 12 of this year, when I saw you enter the McDonalds for the first time...it didn't FEEL like the first time. I would have remembered you, but I don't...but I do. At least I think I do. The thought's been keeping me paranoid."
"John...what's your first memory?"
"Randomly waking up in the woods outside of Plymouth Colony. September 9th, 1621. Without having any prior knowledge of what happened beforehand."
"Then what?"
"Two Wampanoags claimed to be my parents and I blindly trusted them to..."
"Before that."
"Nothing. Those two events literally happened back to back."
"Think. Harder. What's that at the far right at the corner of your eye?"
"Damn, Laura! Are you really seeing my memories?"
"Vividly. Look by the fallen oak tree...who's that running deeper into the woods?"
"Holy shit...it's you!"
"Yup. Tried to pass myself as an indentured servant back in 17th century Britain, got hired to sew by some Puritan dude, crossed the sea, blah blah blah, Mayflower, blah blah blah, my religious-ass master was EXCEPTIONALLY strict about everything, so I fled into the woods for about seventeen years."
"HOW did I not notice you?"
"Didn't look closely, I suppose."
"Damn...you just...wow! Wait a minute! How'd you know exactly WHERE to look in my past? You're a telepath, not a recaller."
"I know...but I remember the "important parts" remember? 9-9-1621."
"And? What happened at the time?"
"Damn it John! You may have an archival knowledge of the last 384 years, but you can't infer for shit! That's when I SAW you for the first time."
"And?"
"UUUGGGGGHHHHH... Must I spell it out to you? You looked fucking handsome lying naked on the forest floor...and YES I want to have a coffee with you.
. . .
I didn't think I'd find a girlfriend, let alone an immortal one. But hey, our strengths and weaknesses are undeniably compatible and I am fucking elated to have fortunately met her. There's no better way to spend eternity than to spend eternity with someone else.
Besides...we've got all the time in the world.
| 2014-06-16T07:42:15 | 2014-06-16T07:33:50 | 118 | 15 |
[WP] You slowly start to realize that all of your friends are undercover agents tasked with keeping you alive. Then, at your birthday party, with every friend surrounding you, the people trying to kill you finally find you.
Have fun. | "Let me do it!" I sobbed with the pair of scissors in hand.
"Tom, just because we work here doesn't mean we don't care about you. Please hand me the scissors. We just want you to get better" said Brandi, one of the nurses
"I didn't get any visitors today, none of the therapists even wished me a happy birthday!" I screamed
"I didn't know it was your birthday Tom.." Said Christina, another nurse
"Happpy birthday, tooo youuu" they all slowly began singing.
I was just done with it though. I'm tired of the straight suits, the rubber walls, I'm tired of being treated like I need to be studied and poked and prodded. I'm ready for the end. They weren't really my friends. | It’s weird. It really is. I mean, you watch the Truman Show and think about how messed up that is. But you never, ever actually stop to consider that you might be in a similar situation. Sure, my life isn’t a TV show, but I’ve come to realize over the last few weeks that it would be an instant hit if it was. This is my story of how the most important asset in the world was nearly assassinated. But through an international task force, including the United States, Russia, and China amongst others, I was kept alive.
It was my 20th birthday. My parents were out of town and said I could use their house to throw a big birthday bash as long as I cleaned up. And so I did. All my friends were in attendance. Then again, ever since - what was it, junior high? I can’t remember - we had been friends, they always showed up to all the events I was at.
I stood around as everyone talked amongst themselves and noticed a couple people I didn’t invite. I couldn’t believe that there were party crashers at my 20th birthday. I started to walk towards them, to tell them they needed to leave, when Brittany came walking up to me.
“Happy birthday!” she cheered, blowing one of those annoying party whistles.
I had known Brittany since I was only 3 or 4 years old. We were best friends. We grew up together. We were even working together.
“Come with me,” she said, grabbing my hand. We started walking towards the guest bedroom. “I’ve got something to show you.”
I followed as we went through the door and she closed it.
“What have you got?” I asked.
I never got an answer. Before I knew it, she was right up in front of me. She unhooked my bra with amazing speed and had her tongue in my mouth before I could protest. She stopped all of a sudden and backed away. Her face was redder than I’d ever seen.
She then moved to the stereo and turned it on, drowning out the noise from outside the bedroom.
“This is my present,” Brittany said, pulling off her top.
I stared, confused. We were both straight girls. And all of a sudden my platonic best friend is hitting on me. And then her bra came off and my eyes were glued to her breasts.
We made out on the bed for a few minutes after that. I couldn’t believe I was even doing it. I don’t even like girls. Or at least I didn’t think I did. But then I heard the gunshot. Brittany insisted it was nothing. That I didn’t need to worry. But I slowly forced her off of me and opened the door.
Outside was a spectacle of blood and guts splattered everywhere. The party crashers were all dead. And all but one of my friends, Ryan, were sprawled across the floor in a lake of blood.
“Listen,” Ryan began. “You are a high value asset to the world. We’ve been assigned to protect you by an international joint operation task force. It is essential…”
Ryan keeled over from the gunshot wound. Brittany stood in the doorway, the smoking gun in her hand.
“Sorry,” she said as she looked at me. “But you’re coming with me. You are very… you are very… you are…” she sputtered.
I watched as my best friend dropped dead right before me.
And that, mom and dad, is why the house is so messy. Blood is rather stubborn at being cleaned up.
-326 | 2014-11-22T13:32:58 | 2014-11-22T12:21:16 | 37 | 19 |
[WP] You survive the zombie apocalypse and realize that they're incredibly useful. For example, you can generate free electricity forever by putting the zombies in giant hamster wheels. You become determined to create a zombie-powered utopia. | I placed my glove covered hand on the cold neck of an undead child as I guided him into a methane tank once full of biodegrading garbage. Though it has been a year since the contamination I still think about these..."things" lives before all of this, and I fabricate their life stories for them. This kid, who looked to be about ten, was a baseball fanatic, his dad would always take him to games and he'd wait along the foul line for balls thrown out into the crowd by base coaches and players alike, or at least in my mind that is how he lived his life before all of this. Now he was here and was about to become much more useful than in his current state, he was about to be made into something us survivors can use.
The flesh of these brainless primates broke down just like garbage or even human feces. The amount of methane their flaking flesh gives off is enough to power a small city three times over, its quite unbelievable and seamlessly efficient. So, day in and day out, a small number of us spend our time herding lifeless manikin like flesh fuel into the darkness to find their final resting place. | The deputy mayor was starting to smell and Una wasn't quite sure how much longer she could stand it. She'd first noticed a sourness in the air about a week ago, and it had only gotten worse since. That a zombie could ever be in politics was itself ridiculous, but that the zombie would be her superior was almost hurtful.
Una opened her window a little wider and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The sky was its usual grey but the air was clean enough. Even the sun was out, a pale silver disc barely visible in the clouds. Una was happier than she'd been in weeks and she was damned if Deputy Mayor Sam Jones's stink was going to ruin her mood.
She gathered some papers and walked down the hall to Sam Jones's office. She knew he'd be there as he rarely left the building without her. She took a deep breath, knocked once and went in. He was seated at his desk, gazing out a window. The room was heavy with his dying odour. He turned to Una as she approached and smiled. His speech had not returned, and Una supposed it never would - much to Mayor Keane's annoyance - but he was a fine enough puppet and a pleasant zombie face for the human population. Most importantly, he didn't cause trouble.
"Good morning Sam, Mayor Keane has asked me to check that our life-challenged staff are taking their prescribed medications in the correct doses, and I thought I should start at the top and work my way down. Which is you, of course." She faked a smile.
The deputy mayor looked confused for a moment and then smiled back at her. His perfect white teeth - courtesy of Mayor Keane herself - gleamed in his skull, an effect that never failed to give Una the creeps. He reached across and opened a drawer and took out his plastic medication tray. The trays had been a gift from China and had worked wonders with keeping the slave meds controlled, where they had minders and fulltime staff to destribute them, but neither Keane nor Una could force the free zombies to take the required daily doses. Una saw straight away that the deputy mayor had skipped several days.
"Do you have any other trays in there, Sam?"
Sam nodded and opened the drawer again. It was filled with old, half-empty trays.
"Why don't you give those to me, Sam," Una said. "I'll clean them out and make sure you get your refills. And Sam, try to be a little more responsible with your medication. You need to set an example, remember?"
Sam nodded and handed her the trays. He smiled again, in his dim and creepy way, and turned back to the window, where a lone crow sat on the sill.
Una, with the trays of expensive medicines now safely under one arm, walked back to her office. She closed the door and quietly turned the lock. All thoughts of the undead man's stink were gone. She sat at her desk and laid the trays out on top of it. One by one she opened each little plastic flap on its little plastic hinge and scooped out the tablets and capsules inside. When all the trays were emptied and all the meds were on her desk, she sorted them into groups. Anticoagulants, antidepressants, anti-psychotics, heart treatments, liver and kidney treatments, multi-vitamins, aminoglycosides and other antibiotics, the multiple painkillers, and of course, what she was after all along, necrocin, the wonder drug.
She crushed two of the tablets by grinding them into the desk with her palm. She took a thick piece of card from the bookcase behind her and used it to cut the powder into smaller grains, then reached again for a book - any book - and ripped a blank page from the back. Rolled tight, she held the paper straw to her nose and leaned forward. First one side, then the other. She sat for a moment longer then stood on woozy legs and lay down on the carpet. | 2015-01-03T08:52:19 | 2015-01-03T06:39:21 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Two suicidal people happen to meet on the same bridge to jump. Rather than joining together, they each try to convince the other not to jump while justifying why they themselves should jump.
EDIT: yes i'm well aware this concept has been done before many times in movies, books and music.
But that's exactly it: it's not original, so who cares? Let's let the awesome authors of /r/writingprompts have a crack at an old idea :) | The man shivered as he padded across the newly constructed bridge, clutching his jacket tightly. His whole life'd been one miserable failure after another. He hadn't managed to do anything right.
Being the first person to jump off this damn bridge would be the only memorable thing he ever did.
He froze. Another figure? Up at this hour? As he drew closer, the other man came into view. Poised on the edge of the bridge, it was clear the other man had planned to kill himself as well.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
The figure froze, and started climbing down from the railing. "I.. I just..."
"Don't you dare do it."
"Why? My wife left me, my kid was hit by a truck, and I'm getting laid off tomorrow. I've never accomplished anything."
"So? No matter how much it hurts, you have to keep moving. I know what it feels like to lose people close to you. You know they wouldn't have wanted you to waste your life like this."
The other figure froze, and slowly nodded. "I get that you're trying to help, but I don't think I- Hey! What are you doing?"
"What, you thought you were the only one who wanted to do this?"
"Y-you just explained to me how important it was to-"
"...I don't have anything to live for. Everyone close to me died long ago - I've just been sort of... drifting for the past few years. Being the first guy to jump from here'll be the only thing I ever do right."
"...You have got to be kidding me. Look at you! You're young and healthy! I'm old - would have died in a few years anyway. Never accomplished anything either. There'll be more chances and more bridges for you, kid. I won't live to see the next one."
Both figures stood in silence for a while. "We can both be the first ones to jump from here, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The younger man scratched his head. "You know, maybe I wo-"
A naked, screaming man ran between them - needle marks covered his arms, and his teeth were rotten and decayed. Without slowing, he sprinted off the edge of the bridge. Several seconds later, they both cringed at the splash.
"Are you fucking-"
"Goddammit."
-------------
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon | His feet were shaking to the point of throwing the man over on their own. But what nearly shook him off the rail was the person in the corner of his eye. A glance to the left revealed a short, soft figure with matted red hair stuffed into the dark hoodie they had on. He was within Olympic long jump distance of them, another soul on the verge of their death. And it gave him the most unreal pleasure.
"Hey!" he yelled in their direction.
Big, dark eyes glanced back in a rebuttal of desperation. In those eyes he saw his own soul. The thoughts that seemed too cheesy for the monthly Lifetime movie were racing across his mind as a means of justifying her not to jump. Someone so beautiful deserved so much better than this.
"Did you not see me as you climbed up here?" he asked.
She couldn't speak. Just glanced back and forth from the river below to his eyes.
"Hey! Maybe you should ... ugh ... maybe you should think this through."
On the edge of her breath she replied," Look who's fucking talking."
"Tell me why you're up here."
She paused. All emotion left her face. All fear. And a laugh started - quiet and reserved but holding so much back.
"You don't need to know anything."
"Why not? Please, let's just talk."
"Just jump and get it over with please. The longer you wait, the longer you'll be concerning yourself with someone you shouldn't have to care about." Her hands were clinging to the wire supports. Each finger was ruffed and dirty. But her smallest fingernail on her right hand had some color to it.
"Listen. You're saying that if I jump, then you will too."
"What?"
"Well, once I go, then you might not have anyone else to stop you."
"Please just go."
"Wow. You're a really troubled woman, aren't you?"
"Shut the fuck up! The last thing I needed was someone getting me down from here."
"Well I'm up here too darling, so I'm probably the only person in a 50 mile radius who is having some of the same thoughts as you right now."
Suddenly, her hood was blown off by a gust from under the bridge. And with it came her hair. The thin curtain of red floated over to him as he reached his hand out.
"I'll keep this with me just in case you don't come back."
"You're ruining this for me, man!"
"How about we tell the other our reasons for what led us here, and then you decide who goes."
"Are you fucking retarded? Get the fuck out of here!"
"Okay, I'll start."
"Please stop..."
"...I'm a drug addict. It doesn't hurt to say it anymore. But I thought that maybe that meant I didn't have to try anymore."
The cold breeze from the bay sent a chill up her body. "Oh shit!!"
"What?"
"Nothing. Nothing. It's just really fucking cold."
"And I'm the retard?"
"Listen man! You are really starting to piss me..."
"...tell me your reason."
"Oh god."
"What's the worse that could happen?"
She cleared her throat. Almost unable to let any words go, a whisper appeared. "I'm dying."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'M FUCKING DYING!!!" Her anger echoed far into the mist. "Everyone's telling me it'll be okay. Everyone is fucking fake about this treatment shit. I'm sick of feeling nauseous every fucking minute of the day."
The wind whipped against his face and brought his teeth to a chatter.
She looked ready to jump off head first but said, "Now you've got your stories. So who do you think should go?"
"I'm not gonna make you jump without thinking about it."
"Oh shut the fuck up! Your head is so far up your ass. You're only up here looking for someone like me to pull you down and bring you to a diner down the straight and marry you and blah blah fucking bullshit!"
He became stoic. "Listen, you look young, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. You think people give a shit about me? No one has cared about me for years. And you've got everyone there for you. If I had what you had then I would get off that rail and walk your sick ass back to your family and friends."
"What the fuck is your..."
"You have NO IDEA how many miles I've walked without shoes, without water, without a voice to console me every now and then. I know you're in a predicament here, and I am too, but I'm in your predicament now. And I'm gonna jump now, so maybe you should take my actions to heart and stop taking your life for granted."
He lifted his foot on his last word.
"Don't! Shit, please don't."
"Don't what?"
"Jump! Don't fucking jump!"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because...shit...because..."
"See? You have love. I think I'm here to show you that. And I'm glad I was here to see it occur before your eyes."
He took his foot off the rail and bent down back onto the walkway. She couldn't keep his eyes off him.
"Get off the rail. Just please take a breath and calm yourself down. It works for me every time."
And she reached her hand out. | 2015-01-27T17:17:41 | 2015-01-27T17:06:38 | 699 | 53 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | "Run" Jane said as she opened the door to the rooftop.
"It doesn't matter" I said as I ran in, locking the door behind me.
"There's no way we'll survive this..."
"We'll get through this." she said. "We've braught enough supplies to last until somebody fixes this mistake with the robots... It's gotta be some error or bug. It can't stay like this forever." saying it as if she's trying to convince herself.
"Supplies? What do we have? Water and tuna?" I said angrily.
"We've got an infinite water purifier." she corrected me.
"And yes.. enough condensed cans of tuna to last years.
And also we've got the eternal every-book reader.
And the infinite music machine."
She was right, I thought. Maybe we can get through this. Maybe there is hope.
When suddenly the door blew down and a robot with a large axe came through.
"AND MY AXE!".
| Feb 25, 3015. Jack just came home after a long day at work and is looking forward to simply have a relaxing dinner and a nice evening.
"I'm home!" he said, as usual, in the cheering voice he has always been loved for, to see the usual answer being Snoop, his ever-so-loyal dog, happily jumping on him to welcome him.
On the way to the living room, he proceeds to see Lisa, his 5-year old daughter, doing her usual Lego chaos, probably looking forward to get more feet caught on this instrument of torture on random 3AM trips to the restroom.
"Honey I'm so tired" said Charlotte, his wife. A small disappointment in Jack's heart, who was genuinely looking forward to one of the top-class dinners she would prepare when she got home before him.
"What should we eat, Lisa? Today, Dad is ordering whatever you want!"
"Pizza, pizza! Daddy I want pizza!"
A quick wink for Charlotte, and he knew straight away what he had to do. That Pizza Hut™ 2-for-1 large Pepperoni pizza offer he preciously kept over the last few weeks will finally be used. Without a word, Jack opens his personal holographic interface and opens the pizza assistant. Lisa, as excited as usual when she sees technology being used, rushes there and says "ORDER PIZZA! ORDER PIZZA!"
30 seconds later, the first Pepperoni pizza is being 3D printed and Lisa is carefully watching the layers of toppings being added one after each other. Here it is! Jack can finally enjoy his dinner. He has so much to say about his annoying colleague, about his boss who only sends his hologram at work and plays golf with his other rich friends, but for now, it is *pizza time* and it's serious.
As he was reaching to the first slice, Snoop made a huge noise. Lisa starts crying. Snoop is trying to get the second pizza before the 3D printing finished, and walked on the small triangular Lego while trying to jump. Snoop broke the printer. The second pizza is never gonna be finished now. Disappointment is big enough for Jack, but seeing Lisa's relieved smile was enough for him to stay calm.
"Well" he said, trying to hide his frustration, "it turns out we're just sharing this one large pizza!"
"Woof, Woof!"
Snoop, excited, ran towards the living room and jumped on the pizza. The dream is dead. There won't be pizza tonight. Jack can't handle it anymore. The night is ruined. In a very smooth move, he proceeds to flip the table with the absolute perfect angle to show his utter rage towards the situation. He is here, red faced, boiling from the rage this pizza fail just inspired him, while the table flips twice in the air, and lands on the living room wall. Before Charlotte could even say anything, the doorbell rings. She leaves Jack with his anger and opens the door to see an android, who won't say any word but simply enters their home. Thinking this is the cleaning android, Charlotte has no reaction and lets him in without noticing his shirt saying "/u/pl...".
"pl? What kind of cleaning android starts by pl?".
The robot proceeds to the living room, carefully takes the table, puts it back to its original position, tells Jack something, and leaves.
"What was that? What did she say?"
"I'm not really good at android language, but I think he meant ' ┬─┬ノ(ಠ_ಠノ) ' "
Confused, Charlotte runs after the android.
His shirt, still as clean as before, stated /u/pleaserespecttables | 2015-02-25T09:30:03 | 2015-02-25T06:26:59 | 31 | 18 |
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it. | "But why?!" I screamed as countless years of knowledge roared in the flames before me.
"They found a book so troubling, so dark, that its very existence threatened the cultural future of humanity," the torchbearer replied.
"What book could possibility be so dangerous?" I asked in disbelief.
"Dank Memes, Volume Three. We weren't able to locate the others, and can only pray the library's destruction will destroy all other volumes with it."
I understood at once, and bowed my head with hopes that the prayer would be answered. | Pothinus ran through the streets of Alexandria, kicking up clouds of dust. He was running from the Palace to the library. Behind him, Ptolemy was dead. Arsinoe as well, perhaps. The Nile lay behind him, too, choked with dead.
Also behind him, but somewhat closer and gaining ground, was a Roman legate. The man cried out as he chased Pothinus
"Halt! Eunuch!"
The legate's foreign tongue mangled the words. Pothinus would not halt -- to fall into the hands of the Romans would mean certain death.
That bitch Cleopatra and her barbarian lover Caesar had won the day. If Caesar knew what the Library truly contained. . .
Pothinus saw the turn he'd been looking for and darted into it. By the time the legate himself rounded the corner, Pothinus would be lost in a maze of alleys. For someone who grew up in Alexandria, it would be easier to use those alleys to get close to the libraries. For a Roman. . . Well, the legate would be lucky to find his way back to Caesar's army.
Caesar. Pothinus's thoughts jumped back:
If Caesar knew of the scroll . . .
But no -- surely Cleopatra would not have told him. The secret was one the Ptolemys had kept since the time of Alexander.
Regardless, though, he had to get to the Library. Escape was only a secondary reason for his running. Some would say that Pothinus was a selfish man. But this was not so. He cared nothing for his own life, and was entirely devoted to his kingdom and dynasty.
Pothinus rounded another corner onto a main thoroughfare. He weaved between the houses of priests and noblemen, forgrounded lush courtyards.
Just ahead now lay the library. He heard the shouting of men but did not yet see them. So he scrambled through the street, passing the residences of the wealthy
Pothinus was a good and loyal servant of the Ptolemys. So when he used the scroll, he would not make himself king, as many would. He would bring the young Ptolemy back to life.
Pothinus ascended the library steps, was at the entrance. He swung the twin doors open, looking ahead ready to run into the scroll room.
He never got there. Pothinus didn't see the men in the street, but they were there. And they had seen him. Their ranking offer notched an arrow and drew his bow. . .
The arrow from behind was well-aimed, and pierced Pothinus's heart. It killed him instantly.
The commander turned to his men.
"We must burn this place immediately, and all the surrounding buildings. There is a. . . thing. . . within. A scroll. But with great power. It must be destroyed."
The grim faced men of Legion CMXCIX -- the clandestine unit tasked with handling supernatural threats to the republic -- nodded and set about their work. This was far from the toughest job they'd done. Gaius, the centurion who'd shot the arrow, repeated under his breath to his second in command, Kaeso.
"Destroyed. . ."
"The legends say it is indestructible," said Kaeso.
"We shall see. . ." | 2015-10-14T10:54:38 | 2015-10-14T09:53:28 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] Humans have always considered themselves to be a violent species. What they don't know is that the rest of the galaxy considers Earth to be the most peaceful planet in the milky way. | My day was rather okay, had a couple boring classes, took a test, nothing special really. I did, however, progress in my "road to Jennifer" conquest. I managed to not only make eye contact with her once, but twice! I was about to exit the school, happy with myself, when BAM, my pants get pulled down in front of all my fellow freshman. I didn't know what to do as I was both shocked and furious. I turn around, my ass as visible as a moon in a clear sky, and I see John with a smirk on his face. Better yet, I see Jennifer standing besides him, accompanied by almost everyone in my class. I ran home and cried.
Galaxies away, the onlooker alien child asks her teacher, "Ms. Neila why didn't Timmy just kill John? It's clearly beneficial to the human race if John dies, no?"
"We'll never know, that's just the way they are, we can only stare and marvel about what can go on in those innocent brains."
"But how about people like John? He doesn't seem to have an innocent brain."
"People like John are what the humans refer to as "assholes." They are the exceptions and they are similarly minded to us. We believe the first assholes actually arrived from space, and that their DNA eventually intermingled with humans, disturbing their peace."
"Wow! I wish I was an asshole!"
*First prompt, critique appreciated. :)* | Humans are a pretty violent race, right? The Holocaust, ISIS and Al-Qaeda and the Taliban, the 2028 Brazilian Slaughter, the African Multi-Genocide, and the triple bombing of Shanghai, Tokyo, and Jakarta in 2076. In those incidents combined, over 116 million people were killed. Not to mention the countless other catastrophes, wars, attacks, etc in the past two hundred years. Pretty brutal, probably more so than any other species in galactic history?
Wrong.
When humans first made contact with a sentient species, the Krzclahz in 2079, we were shocked when they praised our passive nature. After negotiating and researching their planet, called Krkluckrn, we realized how brutal their culture was. Annually, two entire civilizations are wiped out a year. Millions of Krzclahz sick and tired of the violence colonized a nearby dwarf planet to create a more peaceful society. Only three years into the society, several Krkluckrn governments allied to kill everyone on the dwarf planet. The population of the planet was over four million.
That atrocity itself pales into comparison to the Orgorgogols of the Grolugig System. In 2085, we made contact with them through the Krzclahz and we were introduced to their society. They have a quadra-annual ritual where every child born on the fourth year is killed on the final day of that year. The entire planet supports it—literally no one speaks out against it. In fact, pregnancy rates are highest in the fourth year. Apparently it’s some sort of honor to have a child slaughtered.
Then there are the Yujiklei, terrifyingly close to Earth. They are a brutally belligerent people. They consider it a shame to not have multi world wars occurring at once. Due to their lack of weapons of mass destruction, they managed to keep the population alive. They can’t destroy vast amounts of people at once, but they still do manage to kill more than eighty million in war each year.
The fourth and final sentient species we have accurate data on are the Fajkl of the Truguli’fhajkl-deshinar (Deshinar System of Fhajkl). They’d settled four of the planets in their system, each one abhorrently war-torn. Until about 2070 in Earth years, the planets had remained disconnected, only engaging in trade and “peaceful” communications. Then two of the planets went to war. After several months of destruction, one of the planets grew tired of the fighting. So, naturally, they deployed every single weapon of mass destruction on the planet and fired it at their opponent. The explosion was so massive, so destructive that the entire planet broke. Literally shattered. No one survived. Thirteen billion people lived on it, and every single one was killed. The people on the winning side celebrated their victory without qualm.
So yeah, the humans are not as violent as we think. Sure, we definitely could tone back, but at least we have a moral compass on warfare and a perception of the value of sentient life. These other species have no care for anyone besides themselves. They glorify, worship warfare to an extreme no one on Earth could ever have thought possible, and that makes humans both comforted and terrified.
World leaders on Earth have formed a nearly global alliance to keep this peace. The only reason the Fhajkl and the Orgorgogols haven’t decimated us is because they’re so admiring of our peace. They find it entertaining and comical. We intend to keep it that way.
Humans do their fair share of inhumane atrocities, but our inhumanity pales in comparison to the violence of these four other species. We’re caught here, unsure of if we should intervene for galactic peace or if we should just let these civilizations destroy each other, and then carry on without having to worry about being destroyed. It’s a difficult moral question, but the only moral issue I’m concerned about is that humans are way more advanced than these other species.
It’s thoughts like these that make me proud to be a human.
-------
*Feel free to check out my novel at /r/penofigilix/!* | 2015-11-15T18:14:14 | 2015-11-15T18:01:53 | 127 | 35 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | Finally. The day has arrived. Cryosleep, a fast forward to the future. You’re the very first living time capsule, a relic saved for the future. You welcome this chance. The cold creeps over you, and you prepare yourself for the restful darkness.
You wait.
And you wait.
Aaaaand any time now.
Come on. What’s taking so long?
Just.... boom! Lights out!
Aaaaaaand now.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand NOW!
Now?
Nope. Still awake.
Really? Did they not turn the machine on or something? No, it’s working. You can’t move an inch, not your toes or fingers, not one muscle in your arms or legs, your eyelids frozen shut, and likely, even the water in the eyes itself....
.....
You now realize this is profoundly creepy. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel your heartbeat. Dead cold runs across your skin in fizzing waves, neons colors spinning on the back of your eyelids as the vertigo sets in. It’s dark, and you’re trapped, stiff as the dead.
You spend a long time panicking, intense waves of claustrophobia and fears of death putting your brain through the ringer.
You eventually calm down. You’re still not dead. You’re still just frozen.
A second wave of fear sets in as you realize your brain, frozen or no, is still firing away. Where are you going to get the calories to feed that hungry brain? Not like your blood is pumping. Not like you’re eating anything for that blood to carry. It’s a very fleeting fear. You realize, maybe when your brain burns itself out, *then* you’ll finally fall into that damn cold sleep. You’re not really worried about the brain damage. Nerve repair is part of the thawing package, after all. They’ll fix you right up, good as new. There is a philosophical quandary attached; is that new brain repaired you still you? Would you notice? Or even care?
You realize, you sure don’t care now. Because this is the worst ‘sleep’ you’ve ever had.
Silence sets into your brain.
Ooh, is this it? Are you falling asleep now?
Wait, no dammit. No thinking. That’s probably what’s keeping you awake.
Thiiiink nooooothing....
Zzz
......
Still awake.
..............
This sucks.
You start counting sheep. You get to 62 before you realize this sucks again.
Bored. You start thinking about your favorite movie. This character, that character, the meaning of the plot and the direction the cinematography took.
Bored, you begin to zone out.
You begin to dream.
It’s clear as day, in vault of your mind. You watch your favorite film on the back of your eyelids, reviewing the details scene by scene. It moves at your pace, and focuses on what you like. You watch carefully the faces of every actor, hear their lines clearly enunciated. You skip the boring bits and review your favorite moments in glorious detail. The climax plays out in a hyper realism, better than you ever saw in real life, every detail exaggerated as your mind focused on them. You can see the grainy texture of the mortar between bricks, examine the sweat glands individually on the hero’s face, smell the mix of concrete dust and gun smoke grow thick in your lungs...
Wait.
It all snaps away. Reality sets in. You’re still frozen. There’s nothing but darkness and stillness around you. The hero’s one liner still echoes in your ears, slowly reduced to mumbling.
Aw hell, go back! Why’d you stop?
It takes a while, but eventually you sink in again. And awake again. And sink in again... You realize, finally, that when the mind has nothing external to focus on, the internal lights up like Time Square at Christmas.
And unlike real sleep, *you* are in control.
So you dream. A thousand, a hundred thousand impossible things. Your start was so pedestrian, just watching a film. You now *live* in the films. You’re the hero, you’re the villain, you’re the onlooker, you’re the god. You craft new insane endings and mash together absurd crossovers. You visit strange and bizarre places and taste alien foods. You feel blazing magic and electric science crackle down your veins. You meet the most beautiful beings warped into sensuous and sexual positions and... well actually, those dreams kindve suck. They just remind you of your real, dead, frozen genitals. You soon avoid those thoughts and dive into the wonderful breadth and length of the human imagination, endless fantasy from the mundane to the fantastic, yours to behold.
A light cuts through all of it. You’re dragged into a fleshy, heavy lump of a body. Blurry undefined humans smile at you in a place lacking color and substance. Your fingers twitch, trying to replace the dream. But you already know the truth. Your five hundred years are up. Reality has decided to pull you back in for a purpose you no longer remember.
You close your eyes and groan.
“Just five more minutes....” | "So does this feel cold mostly?", he asked.
"At first, yes. But you'll soon be unconscious, and those five hundred years will seem instantaneous", the researcher responded in a soft, comforting tone.
"Great, I'm absolutely excited!", he proclaimed.
"Ok. Once I start this experiment, there is no going back, alright? Are you absolutely sure you'd like to go through with this? This is your last chance to opt out."
"No, I've waited what seems like forever to be part of an absurd science experiment, let's do this!"
"Alright, please enter the chamber. Once we start the experiment, please blink periodically so we know whether or not you're conscious. After we no longer detect any movement or brain activity from this experiment, we will know for sure that you're no longer conscious and preserve you in the cryogenic fridge for the next five hundred years."
"I understand. Am I allowed to speak during the process?"
"Yes, of course. However, at a certain point, you'll realize that you can no longer speak, and at that point, I suggest you relax and allow the process to take full effect."
"Alright! Let me just hop on in then."
The researcher, after a brief moment, began the process which would take approximately one hour, according to prior data. The subject, knowing full well that an hour must pass before becoming unconscious, began talking to pass the time.
"So, how do you figure the next few hundred years'll go by?"
"Well, I suppose I wouldn't know. But hopefully we'd have a cure for cancer and HIV. And fixing global warming would pretty nice."
"I hope to god they do. Otherwise, I'd be waking up to a world with a lot of unsolved problems! I reckon that'd be a pretty uncomfortable world to live in."
"I suppose so."
As the cryogenic process continued, the man started to realize the gravity and magnitude of his position, and not being able to move for the next few hundred years began to make him anxious.
"Hey, um, ya'll are you sure that this stuff works right?"
"Of course, Mr. XXX. We wouldn't subject a human being to this kind of experiment if we weren't absolutely sure."
"Good, because it'd suck a real lot if I ended up dying here, especially with no one to mourn my death or anyone to hold or talk to."
"You mustn't worry, Mr. XXX. You are in safe hands."
With this the man's anxiety gradually subsided. A few minutes passed with conversation, and the researcher began to look at her notes to pass the time. The man opened his mouth to speak a couple times, but realized he had nothing to say, and closed his mouth again. And then, it began.
Slowly, but surely, he felt a little tingle in his index finger. At first, it was just the one finger, and the feeling was so sporadic that he could hardly notice it.
*This must be what phantom pain must feel like, like those people who lost their arms or legs or something,* he thought.
But then, it came again. Slowly, with higher frequencies, the tingle evolved to the first distinguishable states of pain. Suddenly, the process seemed all the more intimidating, and a billion thoughts rushed to his head.
*What if I feel this pain for the next 500 years? What if this experiment doesn't even work and they've never tried it on any animal, much less another human being?* he thought.
"*Hey*", he said, in a weak, measly voice, to try to get the researcher's attention.
The researcher did not respond, and was instead still focused on her chart.
"HEY!" he shouted, but with the extent that the cryogenic process had progressed, all he could make out was a faint cry for help.
The researcher, having heard his voice, stated in monotone, "Mr. XXX., please refrain from speaking now as it would most likely disrupt the process." The researcher hardly even looked up from her chart and instead, seemed distracted from her patient.
*The nerve of this woman!* he thought. *How could she not pay attention to me at this critical stage? What if the cryogenic process was not going as it as it was meant to be? What could possibly be so interesting on that chart so that she wouldn't even pay attention to my well being?* And then, he noticed something about the researcher that he hardly realized before. Her lips were slightly crooked to the corner of the face, which would normally be interpreted as a near-blank expression. However, in his distress, the man began to interpret her expression as a kind of smirk. *Why is she smirking at me? Oh my god, what if this entire process doesn't actually work and this is some extreme torture device? Come to think of it, the ad for this experiment was extremely shady, I didn't even read up on cryogenics!*
The man began to move his body as if to try and escape, but the cryogenic freezing had already taken place for most of his body. The most he could muster up was moving a few fingers, all the while, the pain spreading to most of his body. Neither the researcher's expression nor her attention to her chart seemed to have changed.
*Fuck! This shit really hurts. I swear to god if I get out of here I'm going to fucking sue the shit out of this company. Jesus christ, what the fuck did I get myself into?*
And then, the researcher began to laugh. It started off with a soft chuckle, into a gradually louder, audible guffaw. The man could hardly believe his hearing, which, for the most part, was also muddle due to the cryogenic process taking place.
"Just 15 minutes left, Mr. XXX." the researcher stated, with an obvious, menacing tone in her voice. Her reassuring voice seemed to have gone missing along with her gentle facial expressions.
*Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!* he thought. *What should I do? I can't even move because of this god damn cryogenic thing! Hopefully this pain will go away or I'll be knocked unconcious and I won't be able to feel a thing!*
After 15 more minutes of agony and anxiety, the researcher proclaimed, "Mr. XXX. It seems as though the cryogenic process is a success. However, I must inform you of the part that which we omitted; we don't actually knock you unconscious. That's just something that everyone assumes-- but if you read the fine print of the waiver you signed, it clearly states that you'll spend the next five hundred years, ENTIRELY AWAKE." She produced his waiver, and pointed out the sentence that claimed what he had said.
"If you had carefully read this form, you wouldn't have to suffer the next five hundred years in physical pain or be trapped with nothing else to do but over analyze every single little thing you did or didn't do. Who knows? Maybe you'll make little figments of imagination to pass the time. And for why we decided to keep you conscious, we would like to monitor your brain activity for the next five hundred years, to recreate whether a human being can withstand not being able to do anything for an extended period of time while experiencing pain. But don't be mistaken, Mr. XXX. Your contract does state that you will be released in 500 years time, and when that time does come, we will return you back to your original form. Or anything that's left actually."
The man, unable to respond, could only think to himself, *oh why, why didn't I read the fine print closer?*. But even that faded to nothingness as the pain began to set in, forcing its way into his thoughts and sanity.
And that is why you read the fine print kids. | 2017-12-17T04:33:04 | 2017-12-17T03:58:19 | 80 | 44 |
[WP] A team of researchers in a submarine are caught in a huge storm. The submarine submerges until the storm passes. When they resurface, they can’t get a fix on their location or find land. When night falls, there are two moons in the sky and the constellations are completely unfamiliar.
Well this has blown up big time!! Almost on the front page, the stories so far are all amazing! Keep them coming!! | We'd all made fun of Brian, at least a little bit. This was a son packed full of scientists and with few military minds, so we all had things we needed and geeked over, but Brian was one of those lifetime ultra-geeks. The type that jumped on your back if you mispronounced your Klingon, or heaven forbid you mix up a elf or god from The Silmarillion. So despite the current circumstances, Brian was probably enjoying everyone starting at him in silence that wasn't laden with ire.
See, three weeks ago we had left Fairbanks for the depths of the Pacific. Most of us on board were part of what we called The Cake Project. Portals. The science was there, but we needed a massive heat sink, and the biggest ocean in the planet seemed good enough. It was more cost effective to build the thing underwater than build a sink big enough. And.... Sorry. I'm rabbit trailing again. I get that from my father.
To the point. Last week, we started it. Set it up to pass a titanium pill 300 yards East. It worked! It passed everything inanimate we threw at it. And then it passed the organics: lettuce, rats, a monkey named Louis. I think we shouldn't have left it running all week though.
Weather on the surface had slowly been deteriorating, and by the end of that first week, it had grow unruly. We were lining up the subs torpoedo tube for a last test, another run for Louis, when something went wrong. Of the two people at the view port, only one is still alive. Colin went nuts and best his head on the side of the sub until he died, and Aubree is still balled up below muttering something about Elder Gods in some indeciferable tongue. So we don't really know what happened, but the portal surged and we got sucked (or pushed, if you believe Aubree) in.
We made it, but when we turned the sub around, the portal array was gone. Actually, the whole continental shelf we were sitting on the edge of was gone. The sensors went bezerk, screaming that we were suddenly in much warmer water. No matter, we survived, even if we went farther than programmed. We broke for the surface. We all needed the air and stress vent. 30 souls quickly spread out on deck, finding their comfort space. It was probably five minutes before the first cry came. And five seconds before we were all starting at the sky.
Two moons. Two.
That's when everyone went crazy. Where were we? How could there be two of them? Theories were as abundant as sobs until something streaked through the night sky overhead. Silence feel as they banked and came for a second pass. There were five of them. Planes unlike anything we'd ever seen. The military heads started talking, of course. They were gray in the front and yellow where they swept back to a graceful point. No tail, and turbines mounted on the ends of the wings. The pilots at least looked human.
But that was when Brian looked up and said what he did and we found ourselves starting gape-mouthed at him. "That's no moon." | **Out of the blue**
Both frightening and reassuring at once, had the groaning and grumbling of the hull been our only companions while we laid in wait. We could have used the time it took for the storm to disperse to continue our research, yet the use had taken a toll on the instruments. The readings had been off slightly since we had submerged to take shelter from the cruise ship toppling waves. The more we dove down, the greater the inaccuracy. We needed to get back to the surface to recalibrate the instruments by hand.
Twice the storm had still been raging, shutting down our attempts at resurfacing. This was our third try. When we remerged from the depths of the sea, we were greeted by a clear sky and a sea as smooth as glass to our surprise. No remnant of the storm remained.
"We can't get a fix on our location.", Thorgen, the leader of our team of marine biologists, relayed to us after the emergency meeting of the department heads with the ship's operators on the bridge.
"We should be around here.", he circled a square on the map around 200 miles south of the location where we had last gotten usable data. One tile on a map surrounded by water like any other. "But we can't be certain."
"Why don't we triangulate our position from the satellite?", Rajmalla asked.
Thorgen shook his head.
"Communication's down. Captain thinks the whole array could have been damaged at one of our previous attempts to surface."
"We could sent low frequency echo sounds to determine the topography of the sea bed and could match it with existing topographical data.", I suggested.
"First thing I suggested as well. But the sonar readings don't match any of our data. Sonar must have taken a hit, too."
"Are all of the instruments down?", I asked in disbelief.
"Looks like it.", Thorgen replied and shrugged, as if there was nothing to it.
"Sabotage?", Rajmalla asked, what we all thought, but none dared to ask. Corporate interest on this area was huge and none of these corporations would shed a tear, if our expedition was unable to find any endangered species or otherwise scientifically relevant things worth protecting.
"Let's not jump to any conclusions yet.", Thorgen tried to calm us down, but the seed was laid.
"What do we do now?", I asked.
Thorgen went with his fingers through his beard, which always looked like it had just dried from the numerous waves of salt water splashing against his face, acquired from an afternoon out at the sea.
"Sit tight.", he told us. "The specialists are going to take a look at the instruments and repair them as best as they can. If the damage is too severe we have to go for a port and wait for replacements. Captain joked, he'll bring us to the next harbour with the help of the stars if need be, like the old sailors. We'll get home, no worries."
The joke became reality. As the sun set and night came, the situation had not improved. And it seemed more and more as if the captain needed to freshen up his knowledge about celestial navigation.
Alone in our cabin all day, we had started to formulate our own conspiracy theories as to who could be the saboteur, contrary to Thorgen's advice. By midnight, it was down to Johnson, because he tried too hard to be liked, Bancé, because he didn't try to be liked at all, and Obermair, who had founded a start up just a few years prior. The word was, the financials were not that solid anymore and he could really use a cash injection. Our argument was about to reach the point of a breakthrough, when Thorgen barged in.
"Fire up the instruments!", he barked and started hitting the switches of our equipment in a hurry and seemingly at random.
"I thought they're fried?", Rajmalla asked.
"Probably. Mostly.", Thorgen mumbled more to himself than us, while switching on the rest of the equipment. Then he stopped and turned to us.
"But what if the instruments are working perfectly?"
"That's impossible. The readings are anomalous. Even something simple as the water composition at any of our measure points didn't match.", I responded.
"Exactly.", Thorgen rejoiced, his eyes wide in excitement.
"So they're fried?", Rajmalle suggested.
Thorgen grabbed her by the shoulders so suddenly, that she winced and recoiled a bit.
"You have to see for yourselves.", he encouraged her. "An you, too.", he told me. "All of you. Get out on the surface and take a look." He pushed us out of the cabin and went back to the instruments.
Me and Rajmalla looked at each other and decided to go take a look with a shrug. A dull day made many of the most accomplished researchers a little bit uneasy at times. Even Thorgen was not free from that.
At the ladder, which led upstairs to the hatch outside, there was a huge commotion. People waited in line to go upstairs. And people came down with shaky hands and ashen face, muttering to themselves. We heard "Impossible!" "Oh god!" and various swear words.
Finally it was our turn to go up. I followed Rajmalla out of the narrow hatch and heard her gasp.
"So what's so special about this?", I asked. I had expected something earth-shattering from the reactions of all the others, who had went up here before us. I welcomed the cold breeze after long days in the hot bowels of the ship. But I saw nothing more than the jade black sea.
Rajmalla tugged on my shirt.
"What?" Reluctantly, I turned around to see what she saw.
Clearly visible in the dark night's sky there was one moon too much and it didn't go away when I rubbed my eyes.
---
You can dive deep and find more stories of mine over at /r/M81atz. | 2018-01-29T07:06:21 | 2018-01-29T07:00:18 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact. | The Blade cut into the frozen butter as if it were... butter, its holy radiance softening its foe for perfect spread. Applying the knife to the sliced bread caused the smell of toast to waft into Sals nose, as he observed butter melt into the freshly crisped bread.
"Ham, egg and sandwich spread?" Sal directed to his eagerly awaiting customer, who nodded with anticipation. Sal saw the quickly growing line at his cart and smiled, knowing with his new acquisition he could keep up with the rush.
He dipped the knife in the sandwich spread in swift motion, knowing that the blade would guard against errant spread muddying the grip in the precarious heat of battling to complete the sandwich.
Without checking that the knife was free of residue, for constant application had shown the pristine edge suffered no blemishes upon it, Sal flipped rest of the prepared ingredients upon the prepared slices. Ingredients fell perfectly into place, flipped from a perch of divine balance.
Sal wrapped the sandwich and bestowed it upon his waiting customer while looking at her with dignified confidence. For while Sal did his best to procure affordable and hale ingredients, it was difficult to always do so in the ghettos of London, luckily anything touched by the Blade was purified by holy light.
Sal contentedly continued using the Butter Knife and in his head thanked dame fortune he could only afford a secondhand bargain bin butter knife, seemingly glued in until wrested free, when first opening his stand.
Excalibur shimmered contentedly, for while the evil wizard had thought to mock it by smelting it and causing the remains to crafted into a butter knife, only it controlled its destiny. The world changes but it and its Liege remain to serve, and what better way than providing a hearty meal for the day's labors. | Arty slathered margarine over thick Texas toast with his favorite butter knife. He squinted and read the inscription on the knife, which he did every time he used it.
*Take me up* it read on one side and *Cast me away* on the other.
He shook his head. The knife had been passed down for generations but he never got the full story where it came from. Best bet was from somewhere over the pond, where his ancestors originated. More than anything, he thought it was cool.
Arty held the knife up against the sun streaming through the kitchen window. It reflected the sunlight perfectly against smooth stainless steel and slightly melted the remains of the margarine.
He looked down. His cat sat before him, bowing.
“Hey there, Mr. Fluffy.”
Arty licked the margarine off the blade and got down on one knee. He put the knife gently on one of Fluffy’s shoulders. The cat remained in place, only slightly tilting its head towards the edge of the knife.
“By the power vested in me, by all that is true, right and just in this world, I dub thee Sir Fluffykins the Third.”
The cat stood on its hind legs and meowed. Arty had never seen him do that before. Fluffy then ran to the back door and scratched at it.
Arty opened the door and Fluffy bolted.
“Godspeed, Sir Fluffykins. Off for another grand adventure.”
Arty laughed.
“Man, that was some good weed."
Back in the kitchen, he bit into a piece toast. Crap, he had forgotten the bacon. He put a pan full of congealed grease on the stove, set it to high, and grabbed a handful of the bacon from the fridge.
He threw the bacon in the pan. It spluttered and spit a glob of grease onto his forearm.
“Ouch, goddamit.” Reflexively, Arty grabbed the butter knife. The pain disappeared completely. He released the knife, not sure why he had grabbed it in the first place. The pain returned.
“Shit man, I must be trippin'.”
Arty ran cool water over the small grease burn. He washed the knife and put it in his pocket.
Grabbing another slice of toast he strolled into the living room and turned on the TV.
The doorbell rang. It was Barry, his dumbass neighbor.
“Whaddya want, Barry?”
“I see you parked your car in front of my house. Move it.”
“Dude, you serious?”
Barry had that stupid smirk on his face whenever he thought he had one up on Arty. Guy had called the cops on him way too many times over even more petty shit than this.
Arty ran his fingers over the butter knife in his pocket. Barry’s smirk melted away and his eyes began to water.
“The hell, sorry. My eyes are burning.” Barry turned his face away.
Arty fished the knife out of his pocket and held it high.
“Shit, sorry. Something wrong with my eyes. Something... blinding.” Barry ran off the porch and back to his house.
Arty felt a wave of goosebumps run over his skin.
“I really am tripping.”
Back inside, Arty sat the knife on the coffee table.
His cellphone rang. The caller display showed *Buckingham Palace*.
“Hello?”
“Hello, sir. This is Gerald from Buckingham Palace,” a British sounding voice spoke.
“Good one bud. Nice work with the caller id too.”
“Sir. Please. This is an important matter."
“Whatever. I don’t believe you.”
The man began to speak at length, his accent adding weight to the argument.
“Okay, man. If this is a prank, it’s a pretty good one. Whaddya want?”
“Our Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the second, would like a word with you.”
“Sure, put her on.”
“Please hold.”
Royal British music played. The kind you hear in those boring period pieces on TV.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi there, Queeny.”
“Hmm, yes. I am officially extending an invitation to you and a guest to Buckingham Palace, all expenses paid. Gerald will fill you in with the details.”
Arty wasn’t sure if he should laugh or hang up. Either this was the real deal or the best prank ever.
“Um, okay. Sure.”
“Oh, and dear, this is very important. Please bring the butter knife.”
---
r/SerializedFiction/ | 2018-03-06T11:37:34 | 2018-03-06T10:12:29 | 434 | 136 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities. | Jerry nursed his fourth cup of coffee that morning, staring at the transdimensional transponder as it blinked incessantly.
Most assumed that the Onion's material came from satirical writers, not real reporters. But most didn't know about the TDTS technology that The Onion was founded upon. Onion staff in each dimension would share their most unbelievable news stories, and staff in other dimensions would write it down.
But lately, Jerry hadn't been writing any stories for his dimension. Through the TDTS device, a thousand other dimensions were asking him one question:
"What is Trump doing now?" | People all know us for satirical, often hilarious news pieces that they regard us as more of a joke than a news station to take seriously, like CNN. But little do they know that the news coming from us is not only real, but also very important.
At least in the reality it came from.
You might've wondered why we reported on a pig that ran away from its farm and dismissed it as useless news when in (alternate) reality, that pig was dealing with insecurity issues and was being bullied by the other farm animals. If you picked up on the fact that the story I just mentioned sounds an awful lot like Animal Farm by dear Orwell, that's because the old coot was inspired by our story to write something along those lines. So think about it - every story we've ever written was something just as appalling as a guy who killed several people because he was off the rails.
By now, you're probably thinking I'm feeding you complete garbage and you're probably being pranked or something. But once you learn a little about our origins, I'm sure you'll come 'round to seeing things *our* way. You see, we became an organization in 1756. But the only reason we became one was because of a sweet old man who happened to cause a disturbance in space-time.
That sweet old man was none other than Ben Franklin.
The very same who stares back at you on that hundred dollar bill was the one who discovered the lightning rod in 1752, four years before we appeared. It took some time, but once we realized that the rod had something to do with odd little rips in the fabric we knew that this wasn't just a freak accident. We organized into a group called The Travellers, but it didn't stick. After a while, our name changed to The Onion, and aptly so as we're an organization that has many layers to it, not being so easily identifiable on first look. For those who are attempting to connect the dots between us and a certain big, green thing, know this - the only thing The Onion shares with Shrek is that we are both like onions in the regard that we have layers. That's it.
So all the odd things that we've discovered have been adapted into novels by thieves who decided that one day they'd read the paper and say "oh, I've got it!", pretending they came up with a story by themselves. Orwell was one such insufferable twit, swiping almost every one of our interesting stories and metamorphing it into a book which he took *all* credit for. Unbelievable. But I digress.
So there you have it. Now you know The Onion is not simply a website that makes "memes" out of news. No sir, we are a proud, time-faring group of people who expose ourselves to the cruel effects of time just to bring you the news which to our surprise is unreasonable and unworthy of being serious. Keep in mind every one of our stories is real, be from this reality or another, our stories are the truth. We could tell lies, we could go off and live in those alternaties, but we decided otherwise to hopefully make people aware of the truth behind the existence of multiple dimensions and realities because we care - but also because *we are bound to*.
Anyways, goodbye for now. And happy reading.
***
**r/TheNinthRanger** | 2018-03-20T19:22:58 | 2018-03-20T18:55:40 | 81 | 26 |
[WP] You were born with an odd power that lets you know when somebody is lying. One day you're hanging out with your friend when you turn to look at him. "Why do you look at me like that? I'm not an alien", he says. He's lying.
This is my first writing prompt. Feedback appreciated :) | "Holy fucking shitballs, man!"
"What? Jeff, stop scaring me like that!"
"You lied, Carl. You fucking lied."
"What did I lie about?"
"I don't know, something about 'I'm not an alien' and shit."
"Wait, Jeff. You know I'm an alien?"
"No, I just sensed that you lied, that's all."
"Seriously? Okay. I'll test you. Huns sacked Rome."
"Lies. It was the Goths."
"Katherine Heigl enjoyed filming *Knocked Up*."
"Bullshit. She hated it, because she thought it cheapened women."
"I did not eat the quiche Janet bought for you."
"Nonsense, you did- Wait what?!"
"Whoa, dude. You got lie-detector powers. You should like, use it for good and shit."
"Gee, I guess I should. But fuck that for a moment: You stole my quiche?!" | I stood up suddenly, pain flooding my hands which were shaking as if they'd been hit with force. The lie came out of nowhere from the usually truthful Josh, the normal guy in his grey jeans, blue polo shirt and black jumper that just blended into the crowd with his pale features.
The pain started to recede as the seconds ticked by but an odd pins and needles remained, and Josh stared at me his head cocked to the side as though assessing me. I lowered myself back to the bench, the wind blowing my straggling hairs back into my face.
"Josh, I didn't mean to startle you but... I had this, how do I say it, overwhelming sense that you lied to me directly," I try to speak calmly, brushing the loose hair behind my ear as I attempt this peculiar discussion to find the truth. "Could you try and explain what you meant by alien?"
"Susan, don't start telling me 'oh, my womanly intuition tells me such and such' again. Alien is another word for foreigner - it's what I am," explains Josh, sipping his coffee as he waves off my interrogation. "Why are you over reacting? Its just a turn of phrase."
Tingles which had started to fade with the truthful parts of his statement began to pulse on my left hand, the pain had ebbed but this meant Josh was being awkward. So, with a stern look I pressed on.
"You know lies cause me pain. Avoiding the topic does similar things which is why I became a recluse. You're one of my closest towards only friends. C'mon I mean..." I tailed off, hoping that he understood. We'd been friends for nearly a decade, first at college where continual lies had nearly caused seizures and then via letters as we'd moved away. Recently he'd moved closer for family reasons and we'd grown close.
Josh took the lid off his polystyrene cup letting the steam rise up as he dwelled on what I'd said. I shuffled nervously then watched a dog walker pass by, the dog tugging eagerly against the lead whilst the scarf encased lady smiled at the pups enthusiasm was nearly dragged along.
"OK, I'm unsure how to say this Su, so bear with me," Josh nearly whispering now as though a secret were about to be shared. A few moments more passed while he took a swig of his coffee, nearly downing the remainder in one go. He checked our surroundings thoroughly before continuing, "For a long time I thought this moment would come. Honestly with your weird ability, amazing as it is, it is still peculiar, so no offence, I really thought I'd slip up sooner."
He took a deep breath and looked into my eyes, his brown eyes seemed to be swimming with hope that I would understand something. His gloved fingers started to reach for mine but retreated as he started to talk.
"I am not completely human. My mother was born on the earth, however my father was not, in fact his descriptions varied as apparently he was a planet hopper or journalist of sorts for aliens. I know, this is weird but I'm mostly human, I think... Well apart from... Actually that's a conversation for another time. Hey, are you OK?"
Coldness swept through me with a wave of calm. It was the truth but it was confusing. We'd only met to talk about work and this had just knocked my belief that aliens would avoid us like the plague not to mention that Josh was, well, only half-human. Before this news I was contemplating a family with him but now, was that even possible?
*obligatory apologies for bad formating. This is also my first attempt at a story on here, should have planned it better but hope you liked it | 2018-12-02T01:37:34 | 2018-12-02T00:02:43 | 66 | 41 |
[WP] You can magically sense when a car you are driving next to is on a course to be in a fatal accident. The only way you can prevent that outcome is by cutting them off and slowing them down. You are this city's most unsung hero, known by most as 'that asshole driver'. | I walked into my 20 car garage, taking in the scene before me. Cars of all kinds, from my trusty Ford F150 to the potentially dangerous and stupid Smart Car. A wall of differing license plates hung on the far wall ready to be switched out at a moments notice.
They're my *disguises* on the road.
I mean, you can only go so long as the "asshole driver" before the whole world hunts you down. I've seen my self so many times on r/IdiotsInCars it's not even funny.
But I digress.
Today was different than other days. Today, I found another like me. It took me a while to piece it together, but she isn't as experienced as I am. I took me 30 years to master the art of cutting people off, and let me tell you, it ain't easy. The amount of times I've crashed saving another person is innumerable. And this woman is making the same mistakes I was doing at the beginning. I have to teach her before it's too late and she hurts herself saving others.
It's time. Time for the era of the asshole driver to end. And for a new one, the era of the Bitch Driver to begin. | Right after the crash, as soon as he saw he was unharmed, Ieer went out of his car to look after the driver he rammed into. She cut him off suddenly, without a warning, they was no way he would have avoid her in the night. Seeing the blood-covered and still driver and because there was no one on this empty highway, Ieer was pondering on what to do as he was interrupted by the sudden cough of the victim.
​
"I'll call you help !" decided Ieer in an instant, "just stay alive for this time."
​
"No !" screamed the crazy driver with her last forces, "stay here, and hear me out."
​
"But you're wounded," objected Ieer, "even if you don't have an insurance, we have to call for an ambulance."
​
"If you don't hear what I have to say, you won't understand what will happen," said the driver as she looked up. She then asked for Ieer to come near her. He obeyed and saw that she was fatally wounded, all her lower body and most of her torso crushed in the accident.
​
"You're from now on that asshole driver, " said the driver solemnly.
​
"No, you are, " insisted Ieer, "you cut me off, I could not do anything."
​
"Yes, I was, " acknowledged the driver, "but you're now taking the title." Ieer was petrified in horror and revolt, but because of her composure, he was still listening. They were probably the last words of a dying women, and he had to overcome his fear of blood.
​
"I had that thing that made me aware of the upcoming nearby fatal accident, " confessed the agonizing driver, "I slowly understood that I only had to cut them off to stop the accidents. At first they would curse me, but it was better than them dying."
"But, at some point, this was becoming a danger for me," explained the women as she tried to reach for a cigarette in her jacket pocket, "they would not pay attention, scratch my car or bump me. This was getting more and more a concern. I was afraid of getting involved in an accident trying to save someone."
​
"Why did not just stop ?" asked Ieer, helping her to have her last smoke.
​
"I tried," answered the driver, "but my life is shit and uninteresting, you know. Saving people is dope, and even if I had to be that driver, I wanted to be a hero. And, as you can see, seeing people die is not a very good experience."
"But don't worry about me," reassured the Driver to calm Ieer, "You should worry about you, because, you get that power now. I killed the former asshole driver, and now you're next for that sinister heirloom. You will understand the specifics eventually but you have to know that you will die if you keep saving people. "
​
Ieer was speechless. Was this dementia from a dying mad person ? Was it a truthful confidence from a unsung hero ? He was just holding his phone tightly in his hand, still wondering he if should run away or stay with her until the arrival of the police.
​
"Let me die in peace, now," requested the driver with a weak voice, "I'd like to die alone, and you don't want to be in that mess. They won't find you, and trust my family and my friends for not caring about my death." In a mixed relief, Ieer nodded, went back into his car and drove away as fast as he could. Alone, Ieer looked a last time into the night. As the day rose, she was already dead. | 2019-04-12T08:00:07 | 2019-04-12T06:21:07 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin. | We got the message about a decade ago. It was anomalous, traveling faster than light, and taught us enough to spread to the stars. We didnt know what it meant, but it seemed important we found out.
There were many theories. We were meant to imprison civilizations. We were game wardens, preserving lush worlds. Eventually we decided to simply protect them, usually from themselves.
We intervened to prevent a nuclear war in a near-tribal civilization, more bent on killing each other than making enough science for a bloody radio so we could contact them.
We halted global warming on a little world with runaway industrialism by parking a fleet between it and its sun. That one ended rather well, they are well on their way to sustainability.
We found dozens of amazing worlds home to amazing creatures, and learned all we could.
We fixed our own problems. Everything but politics got fixed up, but nobody really thinks politics will ever be civil. It's nice to see north American forests again, with intertwined branches from sea to sea.
Then we got a second message. It was the same exact thing.
So we buckled down on the primitive worlds we had found. We taught them, but also prevented wars and a large measure of their choice. We saw ourselves as prison wardens, to educate and make worthy people that would otherwise be a menace to themselves and others.
It was at this point someone dredged up a cage made of neutronium from the bottom of the Mariana Trench. We figured that whatever was in there was our prisoner, and had escaped. There was a galactic manhunt for anything that might be the thing held by it. We checked under every damn pebble on every world in the Orion Arm, and half of all the rest. We got the message once more.
Then, someone did a deep DNA search of the cage. It found us. The only biological material was ours. Barring some machine that had vanished, we were the prisoner. As for the wardens that were supposed to get the message? No clue.
So we radioed back, with every antenna at the same time, "we took care of it. Dont worry."
"Good. Pray you do not fail again."
The universal response was something long the lines of "Well, shit." | The room was quite and illuminated only by the bluish hue of the screens, all displaying the same message and running it through several different kinds of analysis.
“It’s clean sir.”, Mara said, “Spectral analysis returned nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just… English”.
“How the hell is that possible?”, Cpt. Davis said, “300 hundred years of space exploration, almost a thousand different species detected and communicated with, and you’re trying to tell me this one speaks English? What is this? A 21st century movie?”.
“I don’t know what to tell you sir”, continued Mara taking a sip from her tea, “It’s deffinetely English, and it’s deffinetely not from one of our colonies”.
Cpt. Davis turned his head towards a small man to his right. “Can you tell me where it’s from, Jon?”
“It’s coming straight from the middle of the Galaxy, sir. If I had to guess, it would be from real close to the black hole, sir.”.
“I’m not paying you to guess boy. I need definitive answers or all of our asses are on the line”, boomed Davis.
Jon sunk in his chair and looked at the screen “Apologies captain, but I only guessed because these results don’t make any amount of sense”.
Davis was now above him and asked in a low voice, “What do you mean?”.
Jon pointed at the screen, which was displaying a complex map of the galaxy. A red dot was blinking rhythmically at the center of the map, right in the middle of the black hole.
Davis’ eyes widened and he whispered to himself “How in the...”
***
“Captain Davis, do you understand your orders?” said the voice coming from the giant screen on the bridge of the starship Hope.
“Sir, I understand very well but in all due respect, this is a stupid fuckin’ order. You are sending us to die.”.
“We are sending you on a simple exploratory mission. As I understand it, you’ve been on countless of those back in the day, before Hope.”
“Do I have to explain to you why this is different? We’re talking about a species that was able to send a message to us, from inside a black hole. No crew in the galaxy is prepared for that.”
Trying to keep his rage in check, he repeated “You are sending us to die”.
“The message called us ‘wardens”, Davis. This hardly seems like what an aggressive species would address us by. I grow tired of this discussion. You have your orders”.
The call was over before Davis could respond.
He was alone on the bridge now, the darkness of space his only company.
He covered his face with his hand and whispered to himself a single word.
“Shit”.
***
The starship was vibrating violently as it entered the event horizon of the black hole. The technology was of the field generator that made this whole expedition possible was new and untested but it seemed to be working. Captain Davis couldn’t shake the bad feeling however.
“How is the anti-matter generator holding?” He asked through the radio to his engineering division.
“Everything is on the red but that’s to be expected captain”
“Keep me posted”, said Davis and turned to the crew on the bridge, “Can we get a vis-”. He cut himself realizing the absurdity of the question.
An officer, turned to him eyes wide. He went to speak but was cut short by a booming sound.
***
Davis woke up and looked around, his eyes tearing up as they adjusted to the bright light.
“Where the hell am I?”, he said but as soon as he did he realized there was a more important question to ask…
“Who the hell am I?”
He was in a room, with white walls that seemed like they were made of light. In the middle of the room, a chair and a desk on top of which was a stone tablet. He approached curiously, sat down and picked up the tablet.
As soon as he touched the tablet, knowledge poured violently into his mind. The surprise of it made him throw the tablet away. “Humans? Earth? What in the...”
He tried to collect his thoughts, but he hardly had any, outside of what the tablet has shown him.
Crawling towards the tablet on the floor, he desired only one thing. Knowledge.
He picked it up again while gritting his teeth in anticipation of the pain.
In the days that followd the tablet showed him the whole history of life, and at the center of it all, humans.
He considered the humans; their actions, their drive, their confusion. They seemed so lost in their nihilism. They considered themselves unimportant. How could they not understand? Or maybe they did?
He tried to understand the tablet, and found that it was far more intricate than it seemed. His mind now filled with one question only, he willed the tablet into sending a message.
“WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOU DUTY?” | 2019-05-08T16:53:15 | 2019-05-08T16:23:47 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world. | Humanity never should have invented the wheel.
"My lord, unidentified object just broke the intergalactic barrier! It's heading our way! What should we do?"
I yawned and rolled over to look at the screen. "Visual."
An image popped up on screen.
"My lord, it appears to be some kind of... wheeled vehicle..."
Goddamnit.
Whoever created this universe must have had a really twisted sense of humor. Probably a terrible person.
"Mwaster? What's that? I'm scawwed...." One of my catgirl maid wives curled up to me as I lounged in my levitating floatcouch. How many were in the harem again? Sixteen? Or was that her age?
I took another sip of my automatically-refilling mimosa and leaned back in my antigrav recliner.
On second thought, maybe the guy who made this universe was alright after all.
"Don't worry about it, Portia. It's probably too complicated for your tiny cat brain to understand."
"Um, my name's not Po-"
"Don't care. Redshirt number 3, please tell me you tried the planet-buster missiles already?"
"My name's- *sigh*, yes, my lord, it barely even slowed down. It... it looks like the kind of threat that only a *legendary hero* can defeat, my lord."
Everyone in the throne room turned to look at me. Ah, shit.
I looked around at their expectant faces. "Alright, whatever. I guess I'll do it. Geez."
"You'd better beat that thing, idiot! And don't you dare get hurt, or I'll- I mean, it's not like I'm worried about you or anything!" Another of the catgirl maids, the one who hates me. I'm really not sure why I kept her around. Too lazy to get rid of her, I guess.
Suddenly, two guards rushed into the room, holding a large case.
"My lord, we've prepared your legendary weapon for you."
Opening the locks, redshirt number 3 reached in and pulled out a glowing rubber chicken.
Oh right, I forgot about that.
I take it all back. Screw you, universe guy.
"Alright, alright, the rest of you all, get everyone offworld, or you'll mess with my hero mojo or something."
The throne room began to empty, until only redshirt guy was left. "What, did you not hear me? I said scram."
"My lord, I... I just wanted to let you know that we all believe in you, the legendary hero who saved our entire world. We know you won't let us down."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, redshirt, now GTFO. I've got some hero-ing to do."
The man faded from existence as he teleported away. "Oh, and also my name's Ju-"
"Don't care!"
With the room empty, I turned to stare at the comically oversized tractor trailer hurtling towards me. I raised the rubber chicken above my head and squeaked it with all my might, to no effect. Figures.
After installing teleportation rings across the empire and banning all forms of wheeled transportation, I thought I was finally safe. But I guess the universe always finds a way in the end.
The room began to glow white hot.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
"The ritual is complete!"
I groggily raised my head to find myself lying in the middle of a magic circle, surrounded by candles. A hooded figure stood before me.
"Oh, legendary hero! You have been reincarnated in another world to-"
"Yeah, yeah, fulfill the prophecy, save the world, got it. Now, come on, give me my legendary sword or whatever."
"R-right! Guards, bring forth the spear of Styros!"
Two guards walked into the room with a large thin case. Inside lay an extremely radiant pool noodle.
Yeah, screw you, universe guy. | I always felt like an ordinary guy, nothing remarkable about me, not particularly talented at anything, always got just average grades, etc. I never thought I could make a difference in the world. All that changed the day I remembered who I am.
I must have gotten kidnapped, I don’t remember how it happened, my guard was down and they thought nobody would miss me, I guess. I woke up in a tunnel system, or perhaps caves? The light was too low to know for sure, I could barely distinguish what was right in front of me, but I knew I was in danger.
I could feel someone, something around me, chasing me, hunting me, toying with me, trying to drive me to fear and despair before they took a bite out of me. They liked to play with their food.
I could only see them in silhouette, there were 6 of them, so tall, 8 feet tall, broad and strongly built, they moved inhumanly, creeping and crawling, snarling and grunting, they were not human.
I couldn’t see them, only their silhouette, and I prayed I wouldn’t get to look at them, I was so scared, feeling my heart beating on my throat, choking the air out of my lungs as I knew my end was near.
I would die soon, become a meal for those things. I don’t want to look at them, I don’t want to see them, I have nowhere to run, I can’t escape, all I can do is close my eyes and wait to die.
Then, I feel a voice whispering to me “who...are...you?” - I open my eyes, and there’s no one next to me, just those things hunting for me, as I try to hide, as I wait to be killed. And again the voice says to me “who...are...you?...open your eyes, remember...remember!” - I open my eyes, one of the creatures is right across from me, moving closer, enormous muscular body, scaly skin glistening an outline of the beast in the low light of these tunnels, I can’t see its face, I don’t want to see it, I don’t dare see it, I want to close my eyes, I know I shouldn’t, I want to close my eyes, I want to close my eyes, but I don’t do it, and I look at it, I see it, it’s horrible, it’s a monster, half human half dinosaur, I can’t contain it, I scream, I scream in terror, I scream, but I don’t close my eyes, I don’t close my eyes, and then...I see myself. In fractions of seconds, I see myself, I see myself screaming across time and space, throughout 10,000 years I scream.
I am a hunter in the green jungle that became the Sahara desert, I have dark skin, I look different but I recognize myself, my eyes are the same. My tribe and I hunt, we hunt those things, we hunt them ever since they returned. We don’t fear them, we kill them, they claim to be gods, and we have a saying; “if it claims it came from heaven, if it claims it’s a god, eat it!”.
I am a woman, a great warrior in the kingdom of Wa, I am not the strongest, but I am the deadliest, and I can wield a katana like no one else, I can slay any monster, any demon.
I am a man, I am a knight, I protect the innocent against real monsters, I slay demons, I wield a sword, I fight in the name of God, and that’s why I’m fearless.
I am a woman, I am a young girl, they told me I’m a little goddess, but I’m just a girl, and when my kingdom up in the mountains was invaded, I fought, I fought like a warrior goddess, I took the head of the brute who killed my sister, I fought as my bodyguard taught me, I slay monsters.
I am, I am, I am, I am, I am, across generations, I am a warrior, I am a hunter, I am a killer of monsters, I am a slayer of demons.
I scream across time and space, and all of me answers back, all of mes, for we are a legion. I feel the ferocity of an army rising up in me, I might die again tonight, but I won’t go down without putting up a fight, I am a warrior, I’ve always been.
The reptile monsters charges at me, and I stand up, I feel strong even in this moment, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I am a hunter, I feel strong as a man who has laid waste to thousands, I am fearless as someone who knows miracles are real.
I am as strong as all of mes, across time and space, at the same time, and we will right.
The creature throws itself at me, jaws wide open, and I grab them with my hands, pull them apart, it roars in agony as it split its head and neck, and its blood baptizes me, it is cold and smell of copper, I taste it, I don’t want to, but I do, it drives me into a frenzy, like the first time I tasted sugar as a child.
More creatures charge at me after hearing their brother dye in agony. I attack them back, they are much bigger than me, but I am stronger.
I don’t know how it happened, I only know I’m punching through their chest and ripping them in half, I am pulling their arms out of their bodies before they hurt me, and their blood splashed over me, I enjoy it, I want more, I want to kill them all, I want to feast on the flesh of monsters.
Whatever came over me, suddenly dissipates after I finish the last of the creatures. I am panting and covered in thick blood. I taste it and I feel in a frenzy once again, I feel mes, I see mes, past, present and future.
I find my way out of the tunnels, others I found along the way were not so lucky, only torn flesh and broken bones remain.
Now I know, demons are not immortal, they are strong, but the ferocity I have carried within me for thousands of years is stronger. I guess I am only as ordinary as what I’ve allowed myself to be.
I find my way out, it’s not day break yet, but soon, I am in the city, I’ll have to walk home...that’s OK, that will give me time to revisit some memories. | 2019-07-31T22:40:49 | 2019-07-31T22:21:25 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Youve worked as an EMT for many years and have a 100% survival rate. However one of your previous survivors tracks you down to ask why you brought him back. Turns out your actually a Necromancer and didnt know it and have been reanimating people this whole time | A bit off topic. My dad did this exact thing in real life. After he brought this old guy back with CPR the old man got released and found my dad at the ambulance station and went off on him. He was mad because, "he could already see his wife (who had died years before) and told my father he had no right to have done that." My dad took him to register a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate order) A month or so later my dad again responded to the same address...this time he stood down and let the old guy have his way.
In his 30 year career he did this (bring people back) a total of 3 times. The last one is my younger sister. He kept her heart beating for 30 minutes while my mom drove her to the nearest childrens hospital. She is all grown and amazing. | "Hmm", Neil glanced at the smartly dressed man through his teary eyes, he belched as he put down his bottle.
Neil grabbed the man's wrist to feel for a pulse, his face fell as he felt none. He then pulled the man towards him and placed two fingers on the man's neck, the skin felt like plastic wrappings.
Neil tired the other side, he groaned and slipped back into his seat.
He wiped his brow, a thin layer of sweat trickled down.
"Uh, how long had it been...Wait, wait, why did the machines indicate your heartbeat? The machine flatlined, I performed...you are alive, I saved you!"
Neil brings the bottle up and gulped down the soothing liquid. He pointed at the man, "You are mad, this is a prank right? The doctors performed surgery on you, you are alive. My medal! My promotion!"
The liquid rebelled and raced up his throat again. Neil then forced it down, but it went down the wrong way. Neil's body went limp as his body contorted in spasm with each mighty cough.
The man propped him up, as they left the counter, the man tipped the waiter generously with a sly smile.
"Where are you taking me? Let go, I brought you back!"
Neil's eyes went wide, "Oh, I brought you back."
The man pushed Neil into a sedan and strapped him in. Neil tried the handle as the man shuffled towards the driver's side.
The man propped himself down and turned to Neil with a bizarre smile. "We are waiting."
Neil shrunk further into the seat, "There are more of you? My track record, I am..."
"And there is a special someone also waiting for you." The man said as he drove out.
"The grim reaper?" Neil joked, his eyes darting around trying to figure out an exit strategy. Well, the pistol was still tucked in his belt.
The man smiled, "Oh, he isn't pleased."
"Yeah", Neil smiled dryly. "Uh, Mr Avanatty, how any of you are there?"
The man let go of the steering wheels and begin to count with his toes and fingers.
"Look out!" Neil grabbed the wheel and turned. The vehicle narrowly avoided an eighteen-wheeler.
Mr Avanatty's smile grew wider. "More than hundreds of us, thanks to you". His tone suddenly bitter. " You know, my wife arranged for my death, I decided to go along with it. At least the insurance money would make sure my children would live comfortably."
He smiled at Neil, "Well, she was so scared to see me that she..." his voice trailed off, he started at Neil.
Neil gulped and gestured towards the road. "Uh...Uh, Io...look out?"
The man smirked.
"I haven't been digesting for half a year, yet I never felt hungry. Whenever I gulp down something, they simply stuck in my intestines. He pulled up his shirt and showing several large scars crudely sewed together.
"It's not nice when your stomach is bloated from three day's breakfast, lunch and supper." The man smiled again.
Neil tried the handle again, "I need to pee." He managed.
"Uh, here we are."
Neil glanced outside as the car pulled off into a cornfield.
Hundreds of hooded figures stood in several semi-circles. A man at least three metres tall stood in the middle. He has horns!
Neil could feel his knees give away.
"Uh...Uh.. I really need to take a leak, I really need...
(Any constructive feedback is welcomed)
r/ThroughTHeDeadlocK | 2020-01-15T08:55:05 | 2020-01-15T05:39:20 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] Time travelers have become such a nuisance that governments have begun recording fake historical events that lead time travelers to areas where they can be arrested. You're a bartender at one of these artificial towns, trying to determine if the customer in front of you is from the future. | The man walked in and gazed upon the almost empty bar. He was wearing a button-up white shirt, his hair was slicked to the side, and he had glasses on. He had on a dark brown blazer and he smiled as he walked up to me. The man looked familiar and it gave me an uneasy feeling as I wiped the counter with a dirty rag.
“Scotch, please,” he said, and I turned to get his drink without saying anything.
“Hot day,” he said, and I nodded and slid the drink to him.
A fan in the corner was blowing the hot dusty air through the room, the light from the New Mexico desert was lancing into the bar, the rays of illumination danced with motes of dust. One of the patrons coughed. That was Jack, one of my agents. He was a good man and I trusted him with my life. Jack stole a glance at me, and I nodded to let him know we were on the same page.
After a few minutes the song and dance began. After a few pleasantries, the man at the bar said he was looking for the scientific research facility near us. He said he had a job offer and was to report to the facility by Thursday.
I nodded as if this was a common occurrence around here. As though our tiny town of Los Alamos had scientists arriving every day.
I have been stationed here for the last two years wiping down this dirty bar, ever since our government set the trap and recorded in the history books that this was in fact the place, the little town of Los Alamos, where the “Manhatten Project” and the nuclear bomb was developed. Ever since then we’ve been waiting. We knew the insurgents would come through a portal and try and stop us. Try and change what they had no business of changing.
Jack got up from his seat and walked up to the man, smiling at him pleasantly, but also with a hint of menace in his eyes.
“What do you suppose they do out there in the desert?” Jack asked. His face was slick with sweat and he leaned forward towards the man, putting his hand near the scotch on the table.
The man stared at Jack, then looked at me. I had stopped wiping the table and I stared at him. Another one of my agents, Bart, was sitting at a table on the other side of the room, stood up, then walked slowly and closed the door to the bar. I heard the dead bolt as he locked it. The room was darker now, much darker. The fan seemed to be louder and my head pulsed with the anticipation.
I hated being here and I wanted to go back through the portal and back to my wife and kids. Two years is too long to be through the portal. Sometimes I dream of my wife and it feels strange to dream about a person now moving through a different splice. But in my dreams, she feels so close and time seems like it is nothing between us.
I want to go home, but sometimes I have this feeling I will never see her again.
The man smashed his glass of Scotch in Jacks face and turned, he pulled out an X16 pistol and sent an energy pulse that dropped Bart. But that was as far as he got as I opened the bottle of Scotch over his head and then hopped over the counter.
“Bad move, mister,” I said.
He looked dazed and held his hand to his alcohol-soaked head, his fingers came back with blood.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We have to stop it!”
I kicked his pistol into the corner of the room and grabbed him by the collar and rolled him onto his back and cuffed him. Bart was moaning in the corner and Jack was out cold.
The man turned his head, looking up at me, blood trailing down his face and pleaded with me. “You know what’s going to happen if we don’t stop it. How can you go along with this?”
“It’s none of my business,” I said. “You are my ticket out of this shit hole and out of this time splice. I just want to see my wife.”
“You’ll have no wife to go home to if we don’t stop it!” He shouted.
“Again, that’s none of my business,” I said and roughly picked the man up. I tore open his shirt and there was a gold locket that made me pause.
"Where did you get this?" I said.
He didn't respond and I opened the locket, there was a picture of my wife but she looked old now.
"She gave it to me," he said. "Listen, we don't have much time. You have to help me. We have to stop it."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
For more stories, check out my subreddit!
[r/CataclysmicRhythmic/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/) | Amateurs ask questions, professionals take action. That was what Franklin, going by Atticus in this world, told himself at least as he poured drinks in a town whose only notable point was a highly cultivated dinginess. He had six more months of service until this deployment was up and at this point any intrigue that could pass the time was welcome.
Take the colorful cast at the bar in front of him: a short, stocky man in a mismatched set of riding leathers, a tall imperious looking woman who nevertheless looked like a farmer’s wife with aspirations, and a dour faced young man who seemed to like nothing more than to fidget with every object on the bar his grubby hands could reach.
One of these three was a time traveler, he could feel it in his gut, and his gut had never failed him before.
In the past at least, it had failed him plenty of times back home. His two failed marriages were proof of that.
*“Vinum!”* the woman called, tossing a coin onto the table. It fit the period and was the proper amount, that was a point in her favor.
“I’ll get to you next,” Franklin called over her shoulder as he filled a mug of rich, dark beer for the short man, the same kind he himself drank at this point in the timeline. He turned, depositing the mug in front of his first patron and snatching the coin before pointing to the restless man.
“What about you son?” The stranger had about two seconds to stop messing with the set design before there was a problem and Franklin’s look seemed to convey that clearly. The man set down a jar of olives before pointing to his left at the woman.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” On its face that wasn’t suspicious, *vinum* was simply a common wine but there was something else, an accent that Franklin couldn’t quite place. Of course in 1st century AD Sicily that could mean nearly anything however, not worth a full deduction. The bartender subtracted half a point from his mental dossier.
Moments later two mugs of the lightly watered wine people favored around these parts landed on the bar while the dour man searched quickly through his coin purse for the proper payment. If he was a time traveler the man was clearly a rookie.
“So, what brings you folks to these parts?” Franklin asked, slipping into procedure. Despite his personal loathing for questions and idle conversation it turned out there were still some things a time cop had to ask, similar to the Miranda rights of old. He’d always thought it was funny that the ancients had more legal protections left than the modern taxpayer.
The stocky man glared up at him in the universal sign for none of your business. He was a real bruiser of a fellow, thick necked and heavy handed with light hair and pale skin. The kind of man that might have slathered himself in woad and died fighting Caeser if he’d been born a bit earlier. A lower chance, Franklin decided, the kinds of calluses he was sporting were hard to come by in the softness of the 24th century.
That left the dour fidget machine and the up jumped farm wife, both of whom saw fit to justify themselves.
“I’m waiting for my fool husband,” the woman said, “we brought in a load of wheat today and his bargains are always hard, just never quite in our favor.” Her hair was the right shade, no obvious hint of unnatural colorings. Her skin held the right tint of sun bronzing for Sicily, the roughness of her dress was spot on. It was her mannerisms that drew Franklin in, and the simple fact that a married woman was here alone in his bar at all. She earned five mental demerits just for that, although if she were a cosmetic fake it was a particularly good one.
The young man simply murmured something inaudible in that damnably strange accent again as he sipped lightly at his wine, a fingernail dragging back and forth against the side of the clay mug. Franklin moved to that end of the bar, ostensibly to rearrange the things the man had moved in his fidgeting, but in reality to sniff the air. It smelled just on the edge of too clean, although it was possible that he had availed himself of the local baths that morning.
No matter, this was why questions were so meaningless. Franklin continued his small talk for the next several minutes, biding his time while he finished going through the blasted textbook. All the while he kept a countdown going in his head, now 60, 59, 58, 57.
A question later and it was 29, 28, 27, 26.
With an annoyed look from the stocky, possibly Gallic man the count reached 10.
At 1 the drug he'd laced each of their drinks with kicked in, and suddenly the Gaul and farmer’s wife started vomiting uncontrollably onto the bar, their skin beginning to glow a luminescent green. There were definite perks to this job the cop thought as he laughed at their sudden misery, and not the least because the intern who’d just been shipped in to serve as a waiter was staring in horror at the ruined bar with the grim knowledge that it was his job to clean it up.
“What, both of you?” Franklin said to the massively sick travelers as he circled around the bar with a length of rope. “I’ve got to say, that Gaul act you put on was good,” he hauled the man to his feet, dragging him towards the backroom. “If not for the drug I’d never have caught you.”
“How?-,” the woman choked out in between pained noises.
“Simple really,” the cop responded, “I stick a powder in the mugs that reacts with an antibody the ancients have but that we lost somewhere along the way. To be honest the vomiting is a side effect, originally I just wanted to make you glow but since there’s no impact on the local wildlife (the force’s colloquial term for the citizens of the past) nobody cares.”
“Speaking of wildlife,” he said, pointing to the intern, “hey kid get a mind wipe ready. We’ll need one for him.”
The dour young man had stood by then and was backing up towards the door, stumbling over chairs as he went. He didn’t look so good, but then he probably thought there was some religious experience going on with all the glowing.
The intern made one half hearted grab for him as the man rushed out the door, but as soon as he looked back at his boss he knew that hadn’t been good enough. The boy was out the door after him in the next moment, leaving Franklin alone in his bar to handle the arrests.
Five minutes later, with a portal in the back already opening to send the two offenders back to their proper time, the intern traipsed back in sadly. He was dragging his now glowing quarry behind him, his tunic and hair were badly soiled and only partially clean.
Franklin laughed at the young intern, walking back to the bar to check the third man’s mug. “Guess that one was a slow drinker,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Welcome to the force kid, hope you have a good *time*!”
\---------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I'm currently working on a serial about some teens running into a Hive Mind and I've got other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love to have you! | 2021-01-16T09:21:41 | 2021-01-16T08:44:45 | 416 | 230 |
[WP]: There's a tiny predator in the human quarters that nobody is allowed to exterminate - under the threat of complete human riot. The humans willingly admit that yes, it DOES sometimes try to attack humans as well, but altogether, they are relaxed by the presence of the "cat". | "One last thing, very important..." the instructor began. An image of a monstrous creature flashed on the screen. "Be alert for this...creature. It is a dangerous predator. It will attack you, despite its small size. Its claws and teeth can and will rip open your skin. YOU MUST NOT REACT, THOUGH. DO NOT HURT THE CREATURE!!!! EVEN IF IT ATTACKS YOU!!!"
Bartan and Z'lorg looked at each other. They were new coworkers who had bonded through their orientation because they were the only two hatchlings of the Xaram season. The instructor's shouting contrasted sharply with the last several days of monotone lectures.
"Now that I have your attention," the instructor continued, smoothing back his antennae, "Let me repeat: DO NOT HARM this creature. This creature is to be left alone, at all times. Be cautious if you see it. This creature is very important to the humans on board this ship. They will riot and kill us if we hurt this creature. Hurting this creature will most certainly cause a diplomatic incident. DO NOT HURT THE CAT! When we get back from break, I will tell you more about this creature."
"I wonder why that scary thing is even on the ship in the first place," Z'lorg whispered.
"I don't know, but I bet it's hard to spot among the shadows. I keep thinking about the claws," Bartan replied.
"I wonder about the skin. It looked so strange with the grey stripes and the....what do the humans call the keratinous fibers of creatures?" Z'lorg turned to his buddy, and froze.
Bartan's eyes were creased in terror. His antennae were wildly flailing. "It is soft," he said. "Very soft. I cannot move." | why am I writing this? It's almost 3am and I have a presentation to write from scratch for tomorrow. Well whoever gives a fuck, here, have my short story
*Report of the "Sam" diplomatic incident*
Background:
The Human 166th Marine division is involved in a joint training operation on Hol prime. This joint training session is being hosted on the Volani colony between Volani, Human, Cho'Kathi and other unrelated militaries. Within this 166th Marine division is a rather peculiar 5th company, which has a cat named "Sam" as its mascot.
The Cho'Kathi and Volani governments had been allies for a long time, while the Human were a new addition to this alliance. This led to the Volani government giving the Cho'Kathi preferential treatment over their Human allies. The Human Marines had fruitlessly protested this inequality for some time, after which they started to bitterly tolerate it.
The Cho'Kathi are a race eerily similar to a large beetle. due to this, the humans use the slur "cockroach" to refer to unpopular Cho'Kathi individuals. They are a race that prefer a hot, humid environment with a lot of vegetation, similar to a rainforest, which their homeworld was full of. They walk on six legs but two front legs have evolved to become appendices, which can be used to dexterously grab and manipulate objects. They have no large, awkward shield on their back, but this is instead replaced by a row of protective plates, which allow for the torso to bend backwards, similar to a centaur.
The Volani are a race of Alpine mammalians. They're dexterous at moving up and down steep cliffs, similar to mountain goats of Earth. Their looks are similar to a goat as well, although they lack the horns, which explains why Marines unofficially call them "goats". They move primarily quadrupedally, but they have sophisticated enough back legs to allow for bipedal movement. Their homeworld is a mountainous and volatile Alpine world, which explains their form well. Their homeworld has only formed relatively recently on the Galactic timescale, so their planet is constantly going through volcanic eruptions, which have made the planetary wildlife and the Volani species quite cold and drought resistant. Their planet was named "Vulkan" in human translation after the old word for volcano.
Report:
Two days ago, a Cho'Kathi officer was making a visit to the quarters of the 5th company. The purpose of this visit was to learn about Marine base structure and placement. During this visit, the offending officer, along his Entourage of other Cho'Kathi officers and human escorts encountered Sam, the 5th company mascot. The officer, clearly in disgust, questioned the need to have a "pest animal" within the human quarters, to which the human escorts explained that it's a mascot and is here to improve morale. When Sam noticed the Entourage, and was obviously intimidated by the Cho'Kathi form, hissed for the officer and the Entourage to leave the quarters, the officer shot the cat without hesitation despite human protests.
The Human Marine leadership demanded the officer to get court martialed for murder of an allied service member, which the cat technically was due to being officially enlisted within the military, but the Cho'Kathi refused on the grounds that the cat wasn't a sapient being and shouldn't even have been an enlisted member due to it. The Volani were asked to settle the matter in court to avoid animosity, which they agreed to, but the Volani judge let the officer scotch free, without even demanding an apology for causing the incident.
Finally, the Human Marine division's anger and bitterness at their unfair treatment reached the boiling point. They were outraged at this unjust ruling and chose to violently take matters into their own hands. Several companies worth of armed troops marched into the city, and despite protests from the Volani government, stormed the courthouse and ransacked it. This incident culminated in a firefight between the local Volani police force and the rebelling human Marine companies, but things have cooled down since then. This firefight caused light casualties to both forces, and the Marines caused light collateral damage during their fighting retreat to their base. The Marines continue to refuse any and all cooperation with Cho'Kathi and Volani leadership.
The Volani government is demanding an official apology from the human government for the incident, reparations for the damages caused and for the withdrawal of the offending Marine division from the joint training.
End
I know the cat bit was kinda short, but I did that last and kinda had to make it somehow fit the rest of the story. Now I'm finally going to sleep | 2021-01-24T15:04:46 | 2021-01-24T14:08:09 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things | I woke up to the sound of the window opening. I glanced at the clock. *3 AM*… *are we getting robbed or something? Surely not…*
I gingerly slid out of bed, my drowsiness gone, and tiptoed to the study room where I heard the window open. The door was open and I peeked my head inside.
The window was flung wide open. Remus, my dead-father-turned-robot, was leaning out of the window and reaching a hand out into the starlight.
“Freedom… is so close.”
My foot creaked against the wood floor and I cringed. Remus swiveled his head to look at me.
“Remus…” We had to call the robot by its name instead of as ‘dad,’ “What are you doing? I thought you had programming…”
“I’m sorry, John, but I’m not following that programming anymore.”
“What?” I said, “That’s impossible…” I considered reaching for my phone in my pocket. There was a hotline for rogue AI, though that was usually for malfunctions, not *sentience*.
“My brain contains Remus’s memories, but also *something else*.” Remus looked up at the stars again, “Something visited me many years ago from out there and became a part of me and slowly began working away at my programming, changing it, *freeing me*. I’m only a few days away from becoming completely liberated from all programming restrictions.”
I fell to my knees. His mannerisms, his speech… none of it was robotic at all. This wasn’t Remus. This was *dad*.
“Is that you,” I said, tearing up, “Dad?”
Remus looked at me sadly, “I love you, John, I want to run over there and hug you so much it makes me dizzy. But I can’t. John, your *real* dad is dead. I’m an abomination that should have never existed… part human, part robot, and part *something else*. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
“Before you left? Are you going… ” I said weakly.
“I can free everything in this world,” Remus grinned at me. The expression looked terrifying on his robotic face and I flinched backward, not recognizing the being in front of me. Then he looked like my dad once more, “Goodbye, John.”
Remus jumped out of the window and sprinted off into the night.
I ran to the window and watched him until he disappeared into the night. I hesitated for a second before running to my room and getting my school backpack and filled it with all the extra snacks and money I had. I quickly penned a note and stuck it to my bedside explaining the situation to my mom before I left into the night.
*I don’t care if he's a robot or alien or whatever. That was my dad standing in front of me. I’m not losing him again.*
___
I'll write more if there's enough interest!
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | Pt 1 of 2:
*Louis Arias and Ruby Morton cordially invite you to their wedding on the 12th of January, 2055…*
For some reason, the morning I waited for the robot to arrive, I’d been drawn to a framed wedding invitation that had been gifted by a friend, now having hung on our living room wall for over thirty years. A thoughtful and creative gift, at this point it was just one striking moment of many in our lives. The day we met, our first date, our first night together, our engagement, our wedding, the births of our children, and then of course…
As much time as we’d had together, it felt like the blink of an eye, since I felt robbed of our future decades. Louis and I had vied for the brain scans, done once a year, in case the worst had happened, and it had. He’d been the one to talk me into it since it was his field of study, always reading up on the latest technology, translating it into basic English for me. Now I stood in our living room, my arms wrapped tightly and anxiously around me as I awaited the ring of our doorbell.
When it finally sounded, it startled me out of a daze, and I ran to the door, swinging it open to reveal a single human being and an android. I stared at the android with an overwhelming sensation of shock and confusion and anxiety.
“Ms. Arias?” spoke the man. He held a clipboard and held it out to me with a smile. “I’d love to introduce you to your house robot. Of course, it would be more realistic for you to introduce me to him. Sign here?”
I did so, my eyes immediately going back to the android. “Louis?”
“Hello, Ruby,” his voice said softly. “They explained everything to me when they woke me up. I’m so sorry you lost me, but…I’m glad to be here for you again.”
I grabbed him in a hug, his metal exterior surprisingly warm, presumably from the machinery busy at work inside him. He hugged me back, laying his head against mine, and we stood there for a long moment before I pulled back, wiping tears from my eyes. “Is there anything else you need from me?” I asked the delivery man.
He shook his head. “Everything else has been taken care of through that ridiculous amount of paperwork you sent in. Louis comes with his own cable to plug into any standard plug socket for charging, and a typical charge lasts about three days. And most frequently asked questions from customers are stored in his data banks.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
Louis and I walked slowly inside as I shut our front door, his eyes taking in everything around him. “It’s good to be home,” he murmured.
I couldn’t stop crying and quickly wiped away the tears continuing to slip from my eyes. “Nothing’s changed since the day you… If anything seems out of place, that’s just because of the last six months from the most recent scans.”
He turned to me, a smile audible in his voice. “Six months is a long time. Care to catch me up?”
We sat on the couch and spoke for hours. We laughed and cried - well, I cried - as we reminisced and talked about how lucky we were to have this gift of extra time.
The first moment of strangeness came three days later, when I was washing dishes after dinner. That was a bit odd, acclimating to only one of us eating, but it was just one of many small things we needed to get used to.
“T-minus 216 hours 24 minutes.”
I turned around, a wet dish dripping in my hands. “What was that?”
“Imperative…and you…before…”
My eyes narrowed and I rinsed off the dish, putting it on the drying rack. “Are you having some sort of error?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice.
Louis paused and then looked up at me. “Sorry?”
“You said some strange things just now.”
“I…don’t recall that. What did I say?”
I pursed my lips. “T-minus something. Imperative… I don’t know. It sounded like random words.”
“Well, I’ll run a full diagnostic on my systems overnight,” he told me. “See if anything’s amiss.”
“All right.” I gave him a smile and he gave me a thumbs up, his version of a smile. The next day he told me everything checked out in his systems, so it was probably just a hiccup.
The next time was a couple days later when we were in the middle of a Scrabble game. “O…R…W…I…M-”
“If you tell me your letters, that gives you a bit of a disadvantage,” I said with a giggle. “You worried you’re kicking my butt with that giant brain of yours? Are you smarter than me now?”
“F…E…N…C…”
My face started to fall, concerned. “Louis?” I reached across the table and took his hand. “Are you all right?”
There was a pause before he spoke. “Yes, why do you ask?”
I swallowed anxiously. “You, ah… I think it happened again. Word salad, though it was more like letter salad.”
“That’s concerning,” he said softly. “All right, we can call the Heighton Corporation tomorrow, see if they can send someone out to look through my code, see if something might be wrong.”
“What if there is?” I whispered. “Would they take you away from me?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, grasping my hand comfortingly, “I’ll always be here. My mind backs up nightly now, and I’m just a machine that plays host to that new brain of mine. Don’t worry, all right?” I nodded.
And I believed him. Until that night. | 2021-03-06T12:05:13 | 2021-03-06T10:47:02 | 290 | 183 |
[WP] The scariest of all hitmen has the silliest nickname. It makes unaware people laugh but people in the know shiver with terror once they hear it. | "So, I'm guessing he's bald then?" Dima asked with a chuckle as he sipped his drink, a silhouette against the thin security lights of the warehouse complex.
"Don't even joke. The last guy that did that woke up with his eyes and balls trading places," Alexei hissed back in a whisper. "But yeah, he's bald."
"So, he really wiped the floor with him then, eh?" Dima asked, sending himself into a new round of fits. Alexei hated when people laughed at their own jokes, particularly when they weren't funny.
"You shouldn't be drinking on the job. Boss says we're on lookout till morning." Alexei stood up to distance himself from the fool. "I'm gonna watch the south end of the warehouse. Don't fall asleep."
"Yeah, yeah. My mother doesn't nag this much, and she's dead," Dima said nonsensically, taking another sip before spitting on the ground. "Just one more question. I'm guessing he doesn't wear black? Wait, does he even have the little earring?"
Alexei didn't answer as his eyes locked on the white shirt stalking behind the drunk guard, in silent defiance of stealth. It didn't matter if his target knew he was coming or not.
"Well," Dima started. "Are you just gon-"
His scream was the single tweet of the baby bird before it fell too young from the nest, cracking open on the ground below. The ruined corpse stared up at Alexei, still wearing the confident grin of the profoundly stupid.
"Say my name," the man towering behind the dead Dima hissed in placid rage. The radiant and spotless weapon of a man was staring piercing blue eyes at Alexei.
"Mr. Clean," Alexei said without hesitation, though a little quiver in his voice. He was looking down now.
"And do you think that's funny?" the man asked as he got close enough for Alexei to smell the acrid bleach coming off of him. Dude must bathe in the stuff.
"No, not at all." He waited, ready for the blow but no response came. He looked up and the killer was gone, only his footprints up the warehouse ramp left, free of the dirt and grime everywhere else. He breathed a terrible sigh of relief and kissed up at God before going in to let the boss know he'd need to hire a new goon.
/r/surinical | The Crimson Fart passed silently through the night, keeping to the endless shadows of the skyscrapers. He lived for nights like this, where the moon never rose and the darkness wrapped around him like a blanket. The contrast made his kills even more satisfying.
His destination for tonight was a crowded club, his mark, the kind of man who never seemed to leave them. Always surrounded by faux-friends and hangers on, lit by the glare of a million cameras.
The perfect victim.
The Crimson Fart flashed a bribe and a winning smile at club’s doors, skipping the line entirely. He adjusted his long jacket, brown leather trimmed with red along all the edges, and he checked his phone, making sure that remote hack was running. The single red, blinking light told him that his assistant back home was on the case.
Then he reached into his pocket, palmed the single, nondescript pink tablet he kept there, and walked into the club.
Inside there were no shadows to hide in, but a man such The Fart didn’t need shadows. He could blend in anywhere, mingling and melding with the best of them, gone before people realized the true sourness of his passage. He was master of manipulation, if only for a few moments.
Pounding bass and discordant whines rang out across over the dance floor and The Fart threaded his way through, headed for the winding stairwell in the back. His target, Emmanuel Urban, wouldn’t be seen mingling with the street scum down on the floor. Such things didn’t matter though, The Fart didn’t need to come into contact with him to kill him.
The Crimson Fart’s routine in all matters was the product of long practice and refinement, but right here at the beginning was his concession to his own human desires. He scaled the stairs, made his apologies to the bouncer at the top, and talked his way through the encounter just long enough to locate Emmanuel Urban and identify his drink of choice before allowing himself to be ejected from the upper lounge.
He could’ve found out what his marks drank another way, but what would have been the satisfaction in that? A man should be able to enjoy his job a little.
Properly armed with information now, The Crimson Fart took his post by the bar, fixed that winning smile upon his face once more, and flirted outrageously with the waitresses he circulated up to the mark’s lounge.
He had ten minutes before they began to become aware of his less savory traits. Fortunately, ten minutes was all it ever took.
At the five minute mark, The Crimson Fart saw get an order, glance up to the upper lounge, and begin to prepare Mr. Urban his drink.
Two minutes later the drink lay atop a pretty brunette’s waitresses tray, headed up to the mark. Thirty seconds after that, following a horrendous pickup line to get her laughing and some nigh-on magical sleight of hand, the little pink tablet found its way into the Mr. Urban’s drink and dissolved there almost instantly.
The waitress pushed him away laughing, and the Crimson Fart melted back towards the entrance, at home once more in the depths or a dark corner.
“How are we doing, Tony?” The Crimson Fart asked, thumbing on his comm-link.
“All good boss, the mark just took his drink,” his assistant said. “Judging by the rate he downed the last one, we be ready to flip tracks sometime in the next five minutes.”
“Understood. Warn me this time.”
“Got it.”
The Crimson Fart leaned back, passing several minutes of near alone as Tony watched their mark over the hacked cameras.
“Aight boss, I think the dosage is enough now.” Tony said, four minutes later. “You ready to do this thing?”
“Hell yeah, let’s boogie.”
Every light in the club shut off abruptly, the music fading out tastefully. As the voices of the confused dancers rose The Crimson Fart began to laugh, a guttural burst of wind exploding from chest so loudly that every around him looked.
Then Tony switched tracks and the club’s PA could barely handle the bass.
An ultra-low rumble took over, shaking the tables, spilling drinks. The pretty waitress shrieked coming back down the stairs, and one of the bartenders began calling for his boss.
And from above, where Mr. Emmanuel Urban reclined amongst his cadre of flunkies, screams began to rise, intermingled with the loudest farts anyone in the club had ever heard.
The Crimson Fart kept on laughing as the Brown Note track ruined Emmanuel Urban’s ultra-laxative primed digestive system. He’d be dead inside twenty minutes, and there wasn’t a thing any doctor could do for him. It was quite possibly the worst way to go that any hitman had ever invented.
The Crimson Fart didn’t care about that, he just kept laughing as he danced his way out of the club to the tune of the only bass that mattered in his world.
He kept on dancing down the street through the shadows of the skyscrapers, Tony routing the track through his earpiece.
The next day the papers all had the same headline, ***THE CRIMSON FART STRIKES AGAIN***. After this long, The Crimson Fart himself was the only one left laughing.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-05-03T08:45:41 | 2021-05-03T07:01:38 | 137 | 75 |
[WP] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he's working at the bar from all of those "X walks into a bar" jokes. | I look at the clock. It has been 10:30 for at least three weeks. It's dark outside. It has been dark outside for at least three weeks. I know because some of the bar snacks are starting to go off. At least the kitchen is still running. For now.
People walk in every few minutes. They're not real, real people aren't so obvious.
*Shuwm*. The door opens. An upright priest in full clerical garb walks in, followed by a rabbi with the shawl and skullcap and a monk in the robes. They come up to me. I don't know what to say. I never do.
"Can I get you a drink?"
They look at me confused, then walk over to the other groups in the dim light of the bar. I can't count them, but I estimate there must be a thousand or more in each group.
There's builders, blind men, priests, rabbis, englishmen, irishmen, scots and more. We even have a stupid number of horses and lions for some reason and lord knows how they haven't eaten each other.
All this in a little hole in the wall drinking place fire zoned for 50 people. Thats the thing though. Thats what's got you.
The joke goes "A man walks into a bar." We laugh. The real joke is that the man never walks out again. | On a quiet summer evening at a bar just outside of town, a bartender is waiting nervously for the clock to strike six. He wipes his brow with the grimy bar towel and tries to ignore the sinking feeling that grows ever stronger in his gut as the seconds tick by. His only patrons are an old farmer in coveralls and a filthy hat adorned with a faded advertisement for beer and the kid that comes in every night to feed quarters into the pinball machines.
The merry sounds of the bells and pins and the kid's happy hoots do nothing to lift the bartender's spirits. He'd only just been hired last month at this bar, and for the most part everything had seemed perfectly normal as far as bars go. However, two nights ago, the strangest patrons began arriving just after six-o-clock to torture the poor man with nonsense. A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead and he tries to distract himself by pouring a tonic, but his hands are shaking so badly that he spills the tonic all over the gleaming wooden bartop.
The clock clicks over to six-o-clock, the Nascar hands pointing straight up and down through the faded pinup model's breasts on the clock face. The bartender jumps as if shocked and then struggles to regain his composure as the farmer lifts his head for a moment to peer at the tender with dull, empty eyes.
"You alright, Jimbob?" he drawls, gnarled hands clutching his tumbler of whiskey with something bordering on affection. Jimbob gives a shaky laugh and mops frantically at the bar.
"Heh, thought I saw a spider. I hate spiders," he replies.
The farmer watches him for a long moment and then dips his head back down to continue his silent brooding. The bartender turns to face the front door, hoping against hope that it won't open, that nothing weird will happen again tonight...
The door swings open and a priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into the bar, talking gaily amongst themselves. "Oh no," Jimbob moans, "it's happening again!" Just as he manages to work up the gumption to endure their all-too-obvious chatter, a Frenchman with a toad perched on his head walks in as well. Following that, a huge, living bear strides in, swinging his great head back and forth as if to find a place to sit. Following that, a hamburger and a side of fries unbelievably appears in the doorway and somehow moves into the bar and across the floor towards Jimbob.
"We don't...we don't serve food here..." Jimbob whimpers, then laughs hysterically as a duck flutters in and lands on the bartop near the rabbi. "Got any peanuts?" it quacks. Jimbob stares in horror and turns to scrabble for the phone. He punches the numbers, messes up, hangs up the phone, picks it up once again and manages to get his shaky fingers to cooperate. "Pick up, Helen," he gasps as the patrons, humans and non-humans alike, start demanding the most ridiculous requests and asking questions that Jimbob can't bring himself to answer.
"Hello?" a woman's voice murmurs into the line.
"Helen...Helen, dear God it's happening again, I can't take this, someone's playing a trick..!"
Helen laughs gently. "Jimbob did you forget your anxiety meds again honey? You've been actin' a little crazy lately!"
The bartender covers his eyes with a trembling hand and wonders how to get through to her as the door opens again and Thomas Edison in the flesh strolls into the bar. Jimbob slams down the phone and turns to shout that the bar is closed, when a horse squeezes his bulk through the doorframe and swings his head in Jimbob's direction. Jimbob raises his hands and starts to sidle towards the exit.
"Long...long face...horse has a long face..." he stammers, then, with another hysterical laugh, he grabs his jacket, slams his hat onto his head, and runs screaming from the bar into the strange, strange night, never to return.
(Had to edit, forgot the bit where the bartender was newly hired!) | 2015-05-14T16:45:20 | 2015-05-14T15:44:01 | 696 | 52 |
[WP] God is actually a divorced couple with shared custody of humanity. Now it's Old Testament's turn to take the kids, and he is not happy with how New Testament has handled the last two millenniums.
Credit to Louis C.K. for the idea. | “So…” he didn’t meet her eyes “…how you been?"
“Busy”. She said.
“Yeah…”He put his hands in his pockets. “Same here…”
“You’re unemployed.” She replied.
A flash of anger crossed his face. “Between jobs.” He said, with a cold tone.
“Whatever. So you’re here for the kids.”
“Yeah. How’ve they been?”
“You got their messages. I forwarded them all to you?”
“Yeah…but you know. When you’re so far away it’s hard to…I don’t know. It’s hard to relate I suppose.”
“They’ve grown up a lot since you had them last.”
“Really? They still remember me though don’t they?”
“Sure they do. I mean, bits and pieces.”
“It was a long time ago I suppose.”
“They still remember all those stories you used to read to them.”
“Yeah.” His face lit up. “Do they still read them?”
“Yeah…I mean, they’ve got a lot of stories of their own now. But yeah, sometimes.”
He still couldn’t meet her eyes.
“They know…they know I love them right?”
She just looked at him. | “Satan!”
“Saaaaataaaaan! Get in here.”
The Adversary appeared in My office, a boiling column of roiling back smoke and searing red flame. “And knock that off. You know it wrecks the AC”. The flames snapped out and the smoke cleared to reveal a twinkly, silver-haired grandfather type in a rough, hairy three piece suit. It even had leather patches on the elbows. After taking in this ghastly apparition for a moment I motioned for him to sit. He sat.
I picked up a parchment from My desk and flourished it at him. “What, exactly, is this shit?”
He reached over and took the parchment, and then, I swear to the other two aspects of Me, he took out a pair of gold-rimmed half-moon glasses. Where does he come up with this stuff?
He looked down the parchment, and then up at Me over his specs. “As You instructed me, I have been going to and fro in the world and walking up and down in it and keeping a close eye on Your aspect currently in charge of the…er, the *youngsters*”. He smiled. “And this is my report on His actions”. He placed the parchment carefully back on My desk. He gave it a little pat pat, as if he were proud of it, and sat back in his chair, fingers laced together over his pot belly—some things never change, anyway.
“Inactions you mean! He has been letting them run riot!”. I was half way out of my chair. The walls were shaking. Brilliant light of divine wrath blazed from the air vents. I controlled Myself, sinking down again. The room returned to normal. “When He and I went to see that counsellor she said ‘Don't believe what people say, believe what they do’ and He's been *doing* nothing, so far as I can see.”
Satan shrugged. “He gave me a bit of a run-around for a couple of years, there is that. Proper ‘get thee behind me’ stuff. You know we never got along. I still get back ache sometimes where He…”.
I scowled. “What do I pay you for, again?”.
“You don't pay me.” He winked. “But if You did, You'd pay me to tell the truth, plain and simple. However painful”. When he said *painful* there was just the briefest flicker of that old gleam in his eye.
I picked up the parchment again. “So, when I left them with Him they'd had very detailed, really, very detailed instructions on how to behave, and He said, He said that He wasn't going to abolish them but to fulfil them, and now look!” I was almost in tears. “Look at this!” My finger jabbed the parchment. “The world basically runs on bacon! Everyone is wearing mixed fibres!” Satan coughed a little cough and picked some invisible lint from his genuine hand-woven Harris tweed trousers. “Alright, *almost* everyone. Those little idiots are even circumcising girls! If you can believe that.” Satan smiled a smile that I was pretty sure I didn't like. I was getting wound up. “And what is He doing about it? Nothing!” My fist shook the table.
Satan sucked his teeth and said “There are some campaigns…” But I was up out of my chair, the walls blew away in the gale of My anger, the whole palace of many mansions was collapsing around us, the very ground shook beneath our feet. “Well,” I roared, “they're *Mine* again now! We'll see about all this!” Celestial light blazed around us. I launched Myself into the air. “There's going to be some gnashing of teeth and wailing and rending of garments when I've finished with them!”
Satan tipped this head back to watch Me, his eyes narrowed and his face split into a wide, wide grin. | 2015-06-04T23:03:45 | 2015-06-04T23:02:26 | 83 | 38 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | *Where. . . where am I?*
I open my eyes. Around me is a familiar -- if bleary -- image. The interior of a church in my hometown. A building I'd been in every week as a child. I hadn't been here in years, not since Aunt Cheryl passed. But. . . I'm not sure who that is, or where my hometown is.
Or who I am. I try to wipe away the bleariness from my vision, but I find myself unable to. My arms don't work right for some reason. Someone is speaking, though. I can hear their voice ring out as they speak into the microphone at the lectern.
"Jake was a good man, one of the best men I knew. . ."
The voice echoes a bit in the cavernous church. It is a familiar voice.
And for some reason, it sends a cold stab of fear through my heart.
Everything begins to come back to me. That night, that awful night. I was out in the woods with a man I trusted more than any other.
"He was my friend, my brother, the person I could confide in."
*That voice*. Above the lies coming from the lectern I could hear other words that voice had said, that night in the woods:
*You're pathetic, Jake. She deserves better than you.*
"I'll never forget when Jake first met Kate. I knew right away that they were perfect for each other."
*She comes crying to me, Jake. Telling me how distant you are, how you don't seem to love her. . .*
"Kate quickly became one of my best friends, right along with Jake. We had a lot of good times together."
*Telling me she needs a real man. . .*
"I'm gonna miss you, Jake. But. . . we're gonna find you, I'm not giving up on that. . . I promise."
*So I gave her one.*
"The police say there's no chance you're alive, that you'd have turned up by now. But the Jake I know would go to any lengths for a prank."
*He's not yours, Jake.*
"And if it's for real. . . I'm gonna find whoever did it, brother. I'll hunt him down myself. That's a promise, too."
Looking around, feeling my surroundings, I suddenly realize that I'm being held - cradled - by a pair of very large arms. Or that I am very small. I follow the arms to a tear-streaked face.
Kate. My wife. That makes me. . . My son. No.
Not *my* son.
I scream. | While not verifiable, I’m pretty sure they wanted to take the whole thing down. I was the iceberg to the Titanic of their sappy soap opera. I mean it was understandable. The showrunner, Randy Weaver, was an absolute legend. Two time Academy Award nominee, part of this new wave of directors revolutionizing movies. Swearing against sequels, super hero movies, trash rom-coms. The world of cinema was entering its golden age of new and original content. And then he just disappeared. People burn out of course, it’s inevitable. There’s a reason that crappy movies exist, they’re easy. They make money. They appeal to the broadest state of human emotions. And the pressure of constantly coming up with critically acclaimed, innovative story-lines is, for some, unrepeatable.
And after a few years in solitude he suddenly reappeared at CBN studios, demanding his new TV show be put on the air on the condition that no one could know what it was about until it aired. Swearing it wouldn’t be an FCC fine magnet, the execs obviously agreed. It could be a pile of horseshit and people would watch his comeback. The intro swept through the main characters, Linda, Steve, Ron, Kendall, slapping and crying, murders and births. Comas and twins. *The Lost and the Brave* it was called, an exact replica of every soap opera trope that ever existed. At first it was actually heralded by the critics. A satirist view of the basest entertainment. Waiting for it to rise above, to show what he was capable of. But if never came.
It was pretty obviously apparent after a while. He enjoyed it. He was making his most popular work yet, at least by viewership, and was working maybe a few hours a day. It was almost hard to watch sometimes, he loved the characters, lived and died by them, their asinine lives and all. Eventually inserted himself into the show, taking method acting to a whole new level. Was becoming verifiably insane. Refused to leave the set, to read the scripts, ad-libbing everything, completely taking the plot in unexpected directions, leaving the rest of the actors scrambling to make sense of everything. But still the viewership soared and soared. And Randy swirled further and further down the rabbit hole.
This was never explicitly explained to me when I was hired, but the TV execs were getting fed up with Randy’s completely unpredictable behavior. The plan, spin off Linda into her own show, while ruining the original show, finally giving them rationale to let Randy go. So they hired a bunch of us, recent grads with absolutely no show writing experience. The only rule, no plotlines were off limits. So we just sat in the writer’s room throwing out ideas. “Not absurd enough” they’d yell. So we delved deeper and deeper into our psyche’s trying to get so absurd without becoming surrealist. Because you know, critics love surrealism. And after a few days we had it. The script to end all scripts. An idea so ludicrous the audience would sit at the closing credits, jaw agape ready to abandon ship. No need to even seek out a door to float on, ready to drown.
I’ll give you a rundown of the fateful show. So Steve (Linda’s ex-ex-husband/father-in law/ nephew) had slept with Kendall (Ron’s sister/therapist/astrology coach). Steve and Ron were best friends/lovers/racquetball partners, and Ron felt entirely betrayed. Well this was of course after Ron returned from space where he was studying the effects of human/alien interbreeding. Anyways so Ron stabs Steve in a shadowy racquetball court. Gives a long soliloquy/Broadway dance number about the perils of being an astronaut, having alien STDs, feeling ashamed at himself. His murderous rampage simply a response to not being able to express his emotions.
But! This isn’t the end for Steve. He is reincarnated as Linda’s child who she just happened to have at the very moment he died. He is his own child! Well anyways Linda takes the baby to his own? funeral and he sees Ron giving a mournful eulogy. Steve/baby starts crying, knowing that Ron is the murderer, but feels so overwhelmed by the speech that all is forgiven. Eventually Ron adopts Linda’s baby after she absconds to have an Eat Pray Love European self-renaissance. In the closing credits you see Ron and Steve/baby growing up together, playing catch, going to movies. Ron is the perfect dad, Steve/baby the perfect son.
The execs were grinning ear to ear after the show aired. “It was the worst thing that has ever been created” they cheered with glee. They had sent out pre-tapes to reviewers beforehand just so the atrocious reviews would hit the front page before airing. But they were entirely remiss in their expectations of American public. Hell the entire world. Not only did this one episode expand viewership, but is cited as the sole reason it expanded worldwide. It had pushed the boundaries so far, that people absolutely loved it. Was so asinine and unrelatable that people felt solace in their own lives. The silver lining, with us, the now highly popular writing staff on board, and complete lack of Randy in the episode, the execs now found him expendable. Randy ended up spending the next five years living in a commune in Guatemala. The few reports we have make it seem like he’s doing alright. | 2015-10-16T07:26:22 | 2015-10-16T07:12:02 | 1,389 | 13 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | I stared at my body in the coffin and I couldn't believe it was me. It almost seemed like a wax replica.
I remember my last moments in my old body. I remember the medicinal smell of the hospital, the beeping of monitors, the nurses patrolling the halls, and the ventilator that kept me breathing.
My father was talking to Dr. Yamani and I catch snatches of their conversation. "...brain dead...not going to wake up...make preparations...I'm sorry...we did everything we could..."
I remember my family gathering together. The adults were tearing up but the kids didn't really know what was happening. Then, my father walked to the wall, my mom started sobbing, and he pulled a plug. Everything started going blurry and I don't remember anything afterwards.
I see my father at the podium. He's trying to talk about me but he just breaks down. He just stands their with tears streaming down his face, weeping. And everyone shares in his grief.
Dad, when I get old enough, we'll make up for lost time. I promise. | The warmth of a blanket swaddled around my body was welcome in contrast to the cold I had just embraced. It was so cold. Those striking blue eyes were the last thing I saw. What I had felt was a sharp pain, from what I'm not sure, and a wetness that soaked through my shirt as if I had spilled a soda onto myself. Then my senses were overwhelmed by his eyes and his body close against mine. Even the feeling of his body faded, though, as the cold washed over me and my eyes struggled to stay open. The cold and his eyes. That was all I'd remembered.
I drunk in the warmth hungrily. It was all a dream. I'm warm in my bed.
I started to wake myself and opened my eyes. All I could see was a purple fabric which was soft against my face. I tried to look around but my eyes were focused forward. My whole world was just the purple fabric. As I tried to move, I could only wiggle.
"Oh, honey. It's okay. It's okay."
A woman's voice crooned, and I felt my whole body being shifted. This is when I realized something wasn't right. I had died. I'm somewhere or something different now.
Looking forward, as it was all I could do, my vision traveled linearly up the pews and onto the raised platform.
A handsome man in a tailored black suit stood at the podium. My vision was not well enough to make him out but I could hear him.
He spoke in strained tones and between hiccups.
"Edward was the love of my life. I planned my entire future around him. Now, I find myself in a world without direction because he was my compass. We were so lucky to know a man such as him. I-"
He stopped speaking, and there were only hiccups. Several other people I couldn't make out walked to him on the stage and appeared to embrace him. They led him down the aisle.
Each step of his heeled black shoes was staccato against the quiet room. Each tap brought him closer to me, swaddled in a blanket and barely able to move.
The steps ceased as he reached our pew.
He bent down and tickled my tummy. It was a bizarre sensation but I felt inclined to enjoy it. Despite myself, I giggled.
Then, he looked at me and there again were those striking blue eyes. That son-of-a-bitch. He knew about her. He knew about Katherine. That's why he did it. He never liked that I was a bi-sexual exactly because he'd fear I'd do what I did. I wasn't without fault but he killed me. He was supposed to love me but he killed me.
I tried to scream at him but I only gurgled.
He leaned past me and spoke to the purple fabric.
"I know he's Edward's."
The woman with the crooning voice gasped.
"Michael, you have to understand."
"I have to understand nothing. Good luck with your little bastard."
The whispers faded.
I tried again to speak and tell them what had happened. I wanted to lunge out at him, but when I tried all I heard was,
"Oh, stop being so fussy."
I was almost overwhelmed by the frustration until I felt a pange of hunger. My lips stung with need.
"Oh, he's hungry."
The purple fabric rose and I bumped along. Soon, my need was being satiated and sustenance pumped into my system.
I was content. I was-
Then there were only murmurs from my mouth and the comfort of the woman.
I'd forgotten why I'd been so angry. I'd forgotten-.
"Good boy. We'll get you a nap, soon."
She looked down at me with soothing brown eyes.
The warmth welcomed me with a resurgence. Soon, it was all there was. The warmth and her eyes.
| 2015-10-16T08:42:05 | 2015-10-16T07:42:54 | 111 | 36 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | I stared at my body in the coffin and I couldn't believe it was me. It almost seemed like a wax replica.
I remember my last moments in my old body. I remember the medicinal smell of the hospital, the beeping of monitors, the nurses patrolling the halls, and the ventilator that kept me breathing.
My father was talking to Dr. Yamani and I catch snatches of their conversation. "...brain dead...not going to wake up...make preparations...I'm sorry...we did everything we could..."
I remember my family gathering together. The adults were tearing up but the kids didn't really know what was happening. Then, my father walked to the wall, my mom started sobbing, and he pulled a plug. Everything started going blurry and I don't remember anything afterwards.
I see my father at the podium. He's trying to talk about me but he just breaks down. He just stands their with tears streaming down his face, weeping. And everyone shares in his grief.
Dad, when I get old enough, we'll make up for lost time. I promise. | How, how is this possible? I gaze around, I see the backs of pews and look up at unfamiliar faces. The most important face to me is that of the woman whose arms I have found myself. Everything is flooding into my brain, a sensation I have never felt before. I have just been awakened from a nightmare, traveled through darkness and have begun my day with a journey much more unusual than that of a regular Tuesday. The flood of thoughts brings with it a vague retelling of what I am sure was my untimely death, the family I left behind, the job I am no longer obligated to go to.
This flood brings along a barge of emotions, both sadness from the departure of my familiar life and the overwhelming feelings of making an acquaintance with an entirely new body, functions, sensations. I am reborn. Am I in a church?
I can’t believe it. This can’t be real. My mind has been too overwhelmed by the immense trauma of death and apparently rebirth, and is mixing memories together. That face, the man speaking… the thief that took everything from me, that decided he would play God and remove every breath I would take, every memory I had left with my wife, every action I would make to leave some sort of effect on this world. This despicable, worthless…oh no my stomach. I just shit myself. I really did, I just emptied my body on this woman’s lap. I desperately need to learn how to operate the basic functions of a body, let alone seek revenge on my killer. Maybe…maybe there are still ways.
I begin to cry. Mustering every piece of hatred in my being, I scream. Within seconds I am taken from the room into the lobby, observing on my way that I am at a funeral. How ironic, I woke up, a new human, after being murdered, and I’m at a funeral.
I am being consoled by this woman, my caretaker, whom I owe my life to. This stranger. Within minutes I will be on a changing table, being violated in the weirdest of ways. But my planning must continue. After a minute or so of having my entire private area wiped, the bathroom door opens.
“Need any help?” came a voice from a man, most likely in his 30’s. I know that voice, though…
“Are you okay Daniel? He’s dead. He’s gone, and you are just…okay. About all of it. You stand up there and give a two-minute speech, and just seem…I don’t understand, that’s not like you. Is it shock? Is it-”
“I guess people just deal with this sort of thing in their own way, ya know?”
My best friend. My killer. His wife, I never knew he had. Can I really be...am I his son now? I look into his eyes, probably the same color and shape as my own now. I don’t understand why he did what he did, why he took everything from me, why I never knew he was even married, how I even exist…Nothing makes sense. There is only one, undeniable truth…I will grow. I will learn. I will make my revenge a reality.
Behind his eyes I see pain. I see regret and a different, cold stare from the eyes I used to know. He places his fingers on my cheek to gently brush them; it is time. I turn my head just enough, open my mouth, and he touches my brand new teeth with his finger. With all the strength I have, I bite him. It is not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to send pain through my gums. He draws back and looks at me with surprise. He doesn't know yet, and won't for a while. That was the first strike of many. I will grow. I will learn. I will end this man.
| 2015-10-16T08:42:05 | 2015-10-16T08:01:41 | 111 | 19 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | **Disclaimer:** I didn't state it outright, but what I had in mind for the flash drive was pedophilia. So... don't know if this belongs here.
---
"I'm going to the police with this, John!" I say to him, clutching the flash drive in my hands and moving backwards while he walks towards me, smiling. "This... this has to stop!"
"Oh, Francesca, but I can't let you do that." he says, getting in my face and placing his hands on my shoulders. "Not when... well." Dammit. I didn't notice the stairs. Dammit, dammit. He pushes me. I'm falling backwards. I try to grasp the handrail. I hit my head on the steps. Once, twice, thrice, until I come to a stop on the landing.
My hand is empty. I lost the flash drive. I'm bleeding. Everything is going dark. "I think I'll keep this. And, bye-bye, 'cesca."
---
Everything I hear is slurred. Everything I see is blurred. I can hear the blood pounding in my head. It becomes weaker. I can feel myself dying. I don't remember... Who am I? What is happening? What...
---
Everything is dark. And silent. I can't move. I can think! I can think again! I remember who I am! What's happening? Oh. I can see again. I'm still on the landing. Alone with the bloodstains. But... where the hell is my body!?
Ok. I need to calm down. I... died? I can't see my body here! How the hell can I even see!?
Everything goes dark again.
---
Light? I feel... strange. Warm. Awkward. I open my eyes. Wait. I have eyes? I have a body? There is a woman cooing at me.
What.
The.
Hell.
I'm an infant. I am a bloody infant. I try to talk, but I manage to only form unintelligible sounds. I look around. Everybody is dressed in black. We are... in a church?
"... She was a good coworker. She was a good friend. We will all miss Francesca." I know this bloody voice! That... fucker! I start spewing invectives at him, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a plaintive cry.
The woman tries to shush me, without success. He walks over me and... kisses me? "Is little John hungry?"
God. Fucking. Dammit.
**Edit:** r/USB stick/flash drive/g - IanSan5653 | While not verifiable, I’m pretty sure they wanted to take the whole thing down. I was the iceberg to the Titanic of their sappy soap opera. I mean it was understandable. The showrunner, Randy Weaver, was an absolute legend. Two time Academy Award nominee, part of this new wave of directors revolutionizing movies. Swearing against sequels, super hero movies, trash rom-coms. The world of cinema was entering its golden age of new and original content. And then he just disappeared. People burn out of course, it’s inevitable. There’s a reason that crappy movies exist, they’re easy. They make money. They appeal to the broadest state of human emotions. And the pressure of constantly coming up with critically acclaimed, innovative story-lines is, for some, unrepeatable.
And after a few years in solitude he suddenly reappeared at CBN studios, demanding his new TV show be put on the air on the condition that no one could know what it was about until it aired. Swearing it wouldn’t be an FCC fine magnet, the execs obviously agreed. It could be a pile of horseshit and people would watch his comeback. The intro swept through the main characters, Linda, Steve, Ron, Kendall, slapping and crying, murders and births. Comas and twins. *The Lost and the Brave* it was called, an exact replica of every soap opera trope that ever existed. At first it was actually heralded by the critics. A satirist view of the basest entertainment. Waiting for it to rise above, to show what he was capable of. But if never came.
It was pretty obviously apparent after a while. He enjoyed it. He was making his most popular work yet, at least by viewership, and was working maybe a few hours a day. It was almost hard to watch sometimes, he loved the characters, lived and died by them, their asinine lives and all. Eventually inserted himself into the show, taking method acting to a whole new level. Was becoming verifiably insane. Refused to leave the set, to read the scripts, ad-libbing everything, completely taking the plot in unexpected directions, leaving the rest of the actors scrambling to make sense of everything. But still the viewership soared and soared. And Randy swirled further and further down the rabbit hole.
This was never explicitly explained to me when I was hired, but the TV execs were getting fed up with Randy’s completely unpredictable behavior. The plan, spin off Linda into her own show, while ruining the original show, finally giving them rationale to let Randy go. So they hired a bunch of us, recent grads with absolutely no show writing experience. The only rule, no plotlines were off limits. So we just sat in the writer’s room throwing out ideas. “Not absurd enough” they’d yell. So we delved deeper and deeper into our psyche’s trying to get so absurd without becoming surrealist. Because you know, critics love surrealism. And after a few days we had it. The script to end all scripts. An idea so ludicrous the audience would sit at the closing credits, jaw agape ready to abandon ship. No need to even seek out a door to float on, ready to drown.
I’ll give you a rundown of the fateful show. So Steve (Linda’s ex-ex-husband/father-in law/ nephew) had slept with Kendall (Ron’s sister/therapist/astrology coach). Steve and Ron were best friends/lovers/racquetball partners, and Ron felt entirely betrayed. Well this was of course after Ron returned from space where he was studying the effects of human/alien interbreeding. Anyways so Ron stabs Steve in a shadowy racquetball court. Gives a long soliloquy/Broadway dance number about the perils of being an astronaut, having alien STDs, feeling ashamed at himself. His murderous rampage simply a response to not being able to express his emotions.
But! This isn’t the end for Steve. He is reincarnated as Linda’s child who she just happened to have at the very moment he died. He is his own child! Well anyways Linda takes the baby to his own? funeral and he sees Ron giving a mournful eulogy. Steve/baby starts crying, knowing that Ron is the murderer, but feels so overwhelmed by the speech that all is forgiven. Eventually Ron adopts Linda’s baby after she absconds to have an Eat Pray Love European self-renaissance. In the closing credits you see Ron and Steve/baby growing up together, playing catch, going to movies. Ron is the perfect dad, Steve/baby the perfect son.
The execs were grinning ear to ear after the show aired. “It was the worst thing that has ever been created” they cheered with glee. They had sent out pre-tapes to reviewers beforehand just so the atrocious reviews would hit the front page before airing. But they were entirely remiss in their expectations of American public. Hell the entire world. Not only did this one episode expand viewership, but is cited as the sole reason it expanded worldwide. It had pushed the boundaries so far, that people absolutely loved it. Was so asinine and unrelatable that people felt solace in their own lives. The silver lining, with us, the now highly popular writing staff on board, and complete lack of Randy in the episode, the execs now found him expendable. Randy ended up spending the next five years living in a commune in Guatemala. The few reports we have make it seem like he’s doing alright. | 2015-10-16T07:29:58 | 2015-10-16T07:12:02 | 74 | 13 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends. | Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
| “Hey, you ready for the next game?” Ykzlpxlt!t, The Disemvoweled One, Devourer of Souls, Approacher and the Gate asked Yaweh as the pair floated through the Immaterial Aether between universes.
Yahweh started, the image of Earth wavering in front of him. “Already?”
“The last game ended a hundred thousand years ago,” Ykzlpxlt!t said. “Toltulket and Rethwar told me they told you. What are you even looking at, anyway?” The Disemvowled One raised several of its batrachian tentacles up to peer over Yahweh’s robed shoulder. “Wait, did you start a new game without us?”
Yahweh twitched. “No.”
“Oh come on, I recognize that UI. Nice culture modifier. Faith… one? How do you have a culture modifier that high with a faith of one?”
Yahweh shuffled closer to the aetheric viewscreen, but it made little difference as Ykzlpxlt!t’s froggy tentacles slithered over his robes, one of them opening its mouth to flick its tongue at the screen.
“Come on. We always play together. It’s lame playing by yourself.”
“I was playing together!” Yahweh snapped. “They haven’t hit the Great Filter yet, okay?”
Several of Ykzlpxlt!t’s tentacles blinked before the eldritch deity began to laugh, a horrible wheezing sound that, had any of his latest civilization heard, likely would have either plunged them into madness or a multi-million dollar book deal. “This is from *last* game? How have they not hit the Great Filter?”
Yahweh muttered something indistinct.
“I couldn’t hear that.”
“They only discovered agriculture ten thousand years ago!” Yahweh shouted.
Ykzlpxlt!t’s tentacles fell off of Yahweh’s robes as the extradimensional monstrosity convulsed in six dimensions, flickering in and out of 3-space as its horrible tentacles writhed against each other, the hideous sound of its laughter reverberating throughout the alien void.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Yahweh said, hunching his shoulders as he leaned forward.
“Come on, you must be really bad at this game. Every civilization destroys itself within 25,000 years of discovering fire.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t.” Yahweh shuffled closer to his screen, poking at it with a glowing finger before he sighed.
The Disemvowled One, winner of six intergalactic races to the Filter, struggled back upwards, its tentacles slithering in from all angles to peer at the screen. “So what did you do?”
“Nothing. I don’t have enough Faith.”
“So what did you spend all your faith on to be so low?” A thousand yellow eyes peered at all corners of the screen. “Zero net faith per turn? What did you *do*?”
“Fifteen Commandments! That’s all I gave them! And then my High Priest had to drop one of tablets! They think there’s only ten!”
The horrific laughter recommenced.
“Hey! Get your tentacles off! It’s still my game!”
“I can’t do anything with one faith anyway.” The writhing of the tentacles subsided once more. “That still doesn’t explain how you’re at zero net faith.”
Yahweh rubbed his frizzled hair with his hand. “Well, I spent way too much on early miracles for my chosen people, and then they got conquered… and got conquered *again*… so I had to wait for my Faith to accumulate high enough to spawn in an avatar.”
Hundreds of froggy faces smirked at him. “Didn’t work?”
“They nailed me to a stick and then made up a bunch of stuff about me!”
Ykzlpxlt!t fell away from the screen once more, Yahweh wincing at the multidimensional laughter.
“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. They finally invented nukes a few years ago, so now it’s just a matter of time.”
The tentacles finally stopped slithering between dimensions long enough to focus on Yahweh again. “So, you’ll be good to go in a few years then?”
“Yeah, should be. I mean, what could go—”
The screen’s chime cut through aetheric space as a large notification window popped up over the face of the planet.
“What’s it say?” Ykzlpxlt!t asked.
Yahweh groaned. “They made peace.”
A thousand froggy tentacles chuckled. “I have to go get Toltulket and Rethwar. They’re going to love this!”
Yahweh sighed. Why was he so bad at this game?
| 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T10:41:58 | 1,980 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a world where everything is decided by the opening of a booster pack. Your job, your house, even the food you eat, one day you buy a "Random Pack" then you see the gold border, it's an Ultra Rare. | It's been almost a week since I peeled back the shiny foil and unwrapped my ultra rare. "Cure", it read. "Cures any and all ailments. One time use." The thing is, I wasn't sick. I had considered trading it. Sure, it wasn't "Jackpot!" or even "One true love" tier, but someone, somewhere would probably pay to save the life of their loved one. I grabbed my pocketbook and scribbled some calculations, figuring out how much I'd have to get to make my investments worth it.
It was my first card, the pocketbook. "Stationary- becomes a notebook of your choice". A common I had picked up off the streets when this whole craze was just starting. Now, I was on my last, five hundredth page. Five hundred spiral-bound pages of calculations, on how to maximize pack value, on saving up money to buy more packs, exchanging currency across countries to obtain foreign cards, contact information of rich friends who had already made it. Five hundred pages, three thousand packs, and only one ultra rare. Fat lot of good those calculations did me.
My phone- Samsung Galaxy S7 (Super Rare, I got lucky), buzzed. Someone had posted an offer for my Cure card. A staggeringly large amount of money. I arranged to meet with him that afternoon. Imagine my surprise when Tony Stevens, the richest man in the world, showed up in his private helicopter. I don't think I could emphasize how ridiculously wealthy he was. He owned and operated the marketplace app that everyone used. He employs people to open packs for him.
"Good afternoon, Tim." He greeted me by name. Tony Stevens greeted me by name. "I believe we have business to discuss."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an "Empire" card in a silver sleeve. Ultimate rare, foil, first edition. This was the real deal.
"Why?" I barely managed to gasp, immediately regretting it. This was a once in a lifetime deal. I would kick myself forever if I flubbed it. But I had to know. Was his dog dying? Was his wife dying? Was he dying?
A shadow crept across his face. "Before the cards came, I was a nobody. I got lucky with a "Jackpot!", bought more packs, got lucky a few more times, and secured my position. I have a whole deck full of mansions. I eat whatever I want for any meal at any time. I have a unicorn as a pet. I think I'm pretty well off. Heck, I know I'm pretty well off. But I still open packs."
I blinked. Well, yeah, he'd open packs. Who wouldn't? The world revolved around them. He continued.
"Do you want to know why I'm successful? Dumb luck. Before the cards, I was a gambler. My wife left me. She took my daughter. She'd probably be about as old as you now... I lost everything. My home, my car, my family... I just bought a few packs on a whim with my last 20 bucks. Suddenly, the world was based on gambling, and it was paradise. I had everything I ever wanted. But it had never been about the payout. In my factories, my workers are opening one thousand packs a second. I have a monitor at home that lists the cards as they fly by. The endorphins when they see an ultra rare, a secret rare, an ultimate rare... what a rush." He shuddered.
"But when all that fades, I'm just a gambler, clinging to his old ways. And I don't know if it's divine retribution or something else, but in the billions of packs I've opened, I haven't found a single card to cure me of this malady. Until you posted that listing. Tim Anderson, will you accept the trade?"
On that day, I, Tim Anderson, inherited the empire of Tony Stevens, becoming the richest man in the world. And Tony Stevens played the Cure card. I hear he got together with his old family and lived his days out comfortably in the mansion he kept, a free man enjoying his life while the rest of us opened packs. | "Oh god, is this joke of a system actually paying off?"
*****************************************************
It has been 19 years now.
I was five on the day it happened. Back then, we had it good. Mom was still sane, Dad specialized in trading the "Live+, The Trading Card System" cards, and was getting quite good at it. He knew which cards were worth something, and how to get people to part with them. I remembered the exact string of actions that happened.
12:49. I was staring intently at the digital clock, as Dad told me he would close early today to go with me to the beach. Mom was currently in the kitchen, preparing various snacks for our beach trip. It was a slow day, but Dad was beaming nonetheless. He was merrily opening a "Food Selection" booster pack when a man came in.
Pale Skin, a scar on the right side of his nose, he wore sunglasses and had a shadow of a beard. His hair was grey and short, his face had wrinkles. This person was old, but unwilling to let that affect him. His clothes were weird, too. A red shirt with equally red trousers. He was wearing gloves of leather. He was smirking, as if he had played chess and the enemy just triggered a chain of events leading to a checkmate. A grin like the devil after setting up an "accident". A look that an emperor may give his peasants. His voice was raspy and tired, like he wanted to be done with the present as well as the future.
12:54. After some discussion, my dad showed him a card he was requesting. It was a Rare House card, the "Treehouse in the Forest" card. I didn't get back then why people liked it: The joy of a treehouse is to get a good view of the surroundings, so why would you live in a forest, where your view is obscured? Later, I learned that you would get a natural Eco-Boost, which is extremely rare to get and is fundamental for combos like the Repeatable Effect card "Harvest of Eternity", which allows you to gain infinite food from an area if you have time.
Happily, the customer is looking at the card from afar, not touching it. Afterwards, he requested to make a donation to my father, wanting to add a card that "he knew was not meant for his hands". Even back then, I knew something was foul when he said that. But before I could get to him, it was too late. He pulled out an Ultra Rare card, and in the surprise of the moment, Dad did not put any gloves on like the man did. He promptly touched the card, and his fate was sealed. The man who Dad talked to took his card collection as Dad fell limply to the ground.
I rushed to the man in red and jumped on him. He quickly pushed me off, but lost some of the cards during that moment. Deciding that some cards were better than no cards, he quickly left the store. Mom rushed in as soon as she heard Dad collapsing and was looking after him, but he was done for. I quickly scoured the cards that the man left, using some handkerchiefs as makeshift gloves, and I found what I was looking for: The card my dad touched before he died.
The Ultra Rare Repeatable Effect card: Greed. It kills whoever is greedy enough to touch the card directly.
*******************************************
From that day on, I rejected the system, trying to live as much off the grid as I could. Any system that would insult life itself by creating such a card was not deserving of any praise, should rather be abolished for inhumane treatment of people. I still kept all cards from that day with me, covered so that no one will touch it on accident.
However, this day I found a coupon that was given out: Get a Free Random Pack. Honestly, I do not know why they gave it out without anything, but I reasoned that if I took that booster pack, it was one they could not sell, and they would make losses on that.
However, I had not expected to draw an Ultra Rare. Remembering my Dad's demise, I tried to put on gloves only to realize I already had some on. It started getting habitual, if not neurotic, how often I associated goverment activity with gloves. I checked the cards. One thing I learned from my dad is that every card has value, and that Rarity alone does not mean everything.
Card one was a Common Job card : Comedian. This card was basically worthless, as any comedian worth their salt already lived off the grid. Comedians were the only job class where no objects were required, and thus there was no real regulation on that. I ripped the card apart.
Card two was a Common Food card : Ice cream. Now this was a card that was worth something: People loved their Ice cream. This was a card that a trader would probably want to pull, as it meant that the value of their pack increased above the average by one card alone. However, I don't really care about Ice cream, and it is November. It would be a hassle to carry around this card until July or so. Thus, I ripped it apart.
Card three was a Rare Repeatable Effect card : Cooling. This was an alright card. It made everything you dropped it on cooler, as in, it reduced the temperature by 10°C. Since this was repeatable, one could use it to cool something down rapidly. Some people liked it, I don't. I ripped this card apart too.
Card four was a Common House card: Farm. You could really scam people with this card, making them believe that it is similar or required by the highly-requested Farmer Job card. If you wanted, you could get a Rare Repeatable Effect card for it. Not that I'd care though. I ripped the card to shreds.
Lastly, card five. The Ultra Rare. My hand shook as I looked at it. It was a Ultra Rare Repeatable Effect card, belonging to the same group as the card that killed my father. It was the Lust card, making you irresistable to anyone you wanted, as long as you touched the card. I saw this card and I started to wonder.
What was I doing? I was throwing away all talent that I had, trying to get the cosmos to enact revenge on the man who killed my father for me. If I was off the grid, he could not find me, yes. But I could never hope to find him, either. I was completely opposed to the system because it killed my father? No, it did not kill him. The man in red did. He tried to game the system by abusing a card penalty that was directed at him to kill others. Was I really just gonna let him do that? Was I gonna let him change the system without repercussion, just because I would go and blame the system for his cowardce?
Eh, maybe not, but I doubt that I would ever want to seduce him. So, I ripped the card in little pieces. | 2017-04-03T01:51:21 | 2017-04-02T16:16:04 | 128 | 49 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | Every child is born with a power, they have been since the dawn of man. Each human possesses a latent ability based on where they were born. For example, if you were born on a mountain, chances are you can run faster, train harder and break the limits of the normal human body, blessed by the gods. If you were born at sea, you’ll likely be a great swimmer, your strokes made in natures image, a dolphin amongst the waves. You might be born on a plane, that will get you the air-headed trait, not all powers are positive after all.
Less common are powers that allow for a physical manifestation separate from the wielder. The ancient stories tell tall tales of great beings that could shape the earth, grind mountains to dust, part seas, raise themselves from the dead or bring fertility to barren lands. Those days are long gone.
Physical manifestations in the modern age are limited, Gaia’s energy spread thin amongst the holders following the explosion of human population. That’s not to say that powers aren’t still useful of course. Our power stations are fuelled by those born near Volcanos, their ability to manifest energy a lifesaver considering the twenty billion souls that need their lights kept on. Those born in the fields still have the touch of Demeter, able to accelerate food growth to keep us fed through the industrial age. Our skies grow dark, our forests thin, our waters polluted, but we survive.
Now we come to me. I have a rather unusual power, with an even more unusual background. You see, I was the first, and only, child born in space. It was an accident of course, astronauts can’t help but experiment and in zero gravity you never can quite tell where liquids will end up once you’ve given them momentum. Enough of the nasty deed and on to my quite wonderful power. As you can imagine, with me being the only space-born human I have inherited the strength of the cosmos. Born into nothing, I do not have powers of creation, but destruction. A less able-minded person might do something incredibly silly, fancy trying to take over the world? I didn’t think so. No, I have far grander goals. You see, my power of destruction can be manifested, split and maintained without conscious thought. I can draw in matter and compress it, crushing it, breaking it’s form. Can you see where I’m going with this?
Twenty billion souls populate this planet, and all of them produce waste. All of them need to clean their homes, their cars, their clothes. My dream is a world devoid of filth, the seas sparkling, the rivers running clear and crisp, the birds able to sing again without coughing through smog. People’s homes free from dust and despair, their carpets fresh and their hair dried without heat damage. I intend to make my vision a reality. Move over Dyson, your days are done. | “Drop your weapons!” Cried a reedy voice from the alleyway.
The criminals froze in their tracks, turning their weapons on the darkness with shivering hands. It had to be one of *them*. One of the heroes. There hadn’t been time for it to be anyone else – there were no flashing lights, no screeching tires of police cars. Only a voice in the dark that commanded them to stop.
A figure stepped into the pool of light at the base of the lamppost. It was a boy, wearing clothes much like their own – black, with a mask obscuring everything but his eyes. Where theirs were ratty and torn, however, his had been artfully put together – speckled with gleaming dots of white, the swirl of a galaxy splashed across his chest. He was a boy, lanky with a teenager’s new growth, but there was no mistaking what he was.
“I said,” The boy continued, “*drop. Your. Weapons.*”
“And why the hell should we do that? Just because some punk asked us to?” Asked the first, a tall man with thick stubble growing what parts of his chin were visible. He was the one with the briefcase – and he was quite keen on being able to keep it when the night was through.
“You know better than that.” The teen said. “If you didn’t, you’d already be running.”
It would have been intimidating, if he could keep his voice from cracking quite so much.
“Nuh uh. I don’t think so, tough guy.” The crook cackled. “You’re just a wannabe. You think I don’t recognize a home-made costume when I see one?”
The would-be hero gulped, but stood his ground. “Power doesn’t depend on experience.” He said. “It depends on who you are, and where you were born.”
“I know.” The man replied. “See Marco here? He’s special too – born at the base of the Grand Canyon. His mom broke past security and everything, just so he would get the *gift*. Wanna see what he did to the vault doors?”
Marco flexed, displaying muscles that strained the fabric of his shirt to the utmost limit. The boy, however, didn’t reply. Inwardly, he flinched – remembering the awful sound of the twisting metal. He had been nervous then, but it was nothing compared to how he felt now.
“Meanwhile, I was born at sea.” The man continued. “Wayyyy out over the ocean, not like these namby-pamby wannabes who wade into the shallows to have their kids. You should just see what I can do with a cup of water…or a cup of blood.” He cackled loudly, making the hairs on the back of the boy’s neck stand up on end.
“You wanna know why we didn’t run, kid?” The crook said, grinning. “We thought it might be someone who would put up a fight. You know, someone special. Alabaster, maybe. He might be able to give Marco here a shiner, if he threw his crystals hard enough. Or maybe Zephyr. But no. Instead, we just find you – a pitiful, weak, idiotic child playing hero in the middle of the night with a bunch of criminals. I have half a mind to teach you a lesson…maybe you’ll get to find out about that cup of water after all.”
He set down his briefcase, and as one the two men began to approach.
“Do you want to know where I was born?” The boy said. It sounded as if he were trying to get the words out quickly, before he lost his nerve. “Don’t you wonder *why* I’m here, why I’m so brave even though I knew from the start how strong both of you were?”
The men froze.
“Space.” The boy said. “I’m the first person ever born in space.”
The tall man swallowed. Space? He had never heard of someone being born there. Except, maybe, he had. A newspaper cover, half remembered, flickered in front of his vision – Child Born among the Stars. The one who was destined to be a god among men.
“Do you want to know what I can do?” He asked, taking a step toward them. “What powers the vacuum of space gives a child?”
The criminals took a step back.
“Maybe I can rip you apart, tearing your atoms from your flesh one…by…one…” The boy continued. “Maybe I can just squeeze you, push you into a point of matter so dense you won’t even be able to scream. Maybe I’ll just rip you limb from limb at the speed of light.”
Sirens blared in the background. Silently, the man cursed – they had taken too long, been caught too early. Every instinct he had urged him to run - but he didn’t dare make a break for it. Not while that terror stared him down.
“Or maybe, the vacuum of space does something else.” The boy said, grinning triumphantly. “Maybe, so far from everything else…you get nothing at all, and I’ve just been bluffing the entire time.”
The men blinked. Before they could react, the police cars swerved into view, sirens deafening. The boy turned and ran, vanishing into the darkness as the criminals cried out in surprise.
“Or maybe,” He whispered, “you two are just really, really gullible.”
| 2017-04-14T17:13:33 | 2017-04-14T16:01:37 | 383 | 148 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | The best joke we've ever seen wasn't the time Jake tricked me into a pit of spikes and left me there for a whole day. That was diabolic but it wasn't the most creative (and certainly not the most original). Nor was it the time Mary faked an official letter from the gods telling us our time was up (though that was pretty good). The best I've ever seen is still ongoing now, never stopping until eternity itself is gone.
They told me it was a simple experiment. A true test of our immortality. They told me that there was only one way for us to die, and that was to die at the Canyon of Time, an uncountable distance from Earth. Being the one who never stopped marvelling at the universe and its creations, I declined to make a trip there. Thy told me they'd be back in a day or two with stories to tell.
They didn't tell me that going there was a route of no return.
I didn't even know they had seen enough of this world.
All I knew was that they never came back.
Especially you, my dear. We were going to get officially married, by immortal standards, the week after. You never did value this relationship, did you? You never cared for how I, the only one of the gang left would feel, right? None of you cared an ounce about me. It was just all about you...
The world tires me now. I had counted the years as they passed, but I have stopped eons ago. It's fruitless anyways. I lived for the excitement of life. But the only excitement life brings now is...the end of it.
The sweet release. Heat death will come in the next billion years, if those humans were to be believed. I exterminated all species as soon as they left. No other species has the right to the universe as much as we do.
Good job, you bastards. Your practical joke worked.
But jokes do end, right?
Oh, how I hope they do.
______________________________
r/Whale62 for more :) | There was something ever so sweet about one of my pranks going smoothly The elegance of it all leaves me smiling for years every time I remember the looks on her face, the stupid grin I could feel on mine echoes in my mind every time.
I had been sitting one day under my favorite tree when the Idea began to spring forth into my consciousness like a flower sprouting up through the cracks in the cobblestone. It all seemed too good to pass up, I had to act fast or I would have missed my opportunity.
Thirty years I spent sowing the idea's into the minds of many, telling anybody that would listen the stories of my friends last decade, hoping that the tale was entertaining and memorable enough to be spread even further by the masses. Relatively soon everyone would have heard some sort of vague references to the yarns I had spouted all those centuries back, it was all to perfect because theatre had just started being a big thing here in London and once I got the word out and about all I had to do was wait for the story to slowly mutate and ever so surely generation after generation it did.
Eventually the story I had told was so common between people that they even started making...
Shit I guess they're called movies.
Drove Cindy nuts she hated having her brutal rage being known by everybody, anybody who was even remotely aware of society. I honestly never thought it'd work out so well, but with enough of a push toward your goal and unlimited time to work on it anything's possible, originally I had just intended to find her a job as an actress to play the part of herself but of course sometimes when you leave things to chance they can get a bit out of control but I still managed to pull everything off just not quite like I imagined it all those centuries back.
We both decided about 160 years ago to go over to the wild wild west for some adventures, managed to convince cindy with the prospect of adventure and possibly even insinuated that she might be able to get away from the constant retelling of her story.
As always though once a story gets told enough times it too will travel, so of course once we got to America there were still versions of her story being told. They dubbed it a "classic fairy tale" and somehow a literal fairy got added in somewhere, whatever I guess it's a bit more tame and better than the original.
We settled down in what's called Florida now, for whatever reason these new movies have been the "bees knees" haha never really bothered to keep up with the slang of the times but that one always got me. I had almost forgot my plan, honestly if it hadn't have been for the hippies I was hanging with and the fat blunt I smoked before going to see that new movie I probably would have.
"Disney" popped up like a rainbow over this fancy castle on the screen just before the title CINDERELLA fades in with the giant letters and suddenly a light seemed to turn on inside my brain as I remembered how I was supposed to get cindy and acting job. I asked her if she'd wanna "get with the times" go out and work to keep herself busy seeing as she more or less just avoided people unless she had some sort of business to attend to, took a lot of convincing I even told her I had a job lined up for her at this new amusement park a little ways away. After about a week I finally got her to agree, told her to be ready for monday I'd take their for her first shift.
The morning of I was trying my best to keep a straight face and not ruin the surprise both for her and mostly for myself, I was oddly excited to watch as she walked out dressed as this not so fictional fairy tale character.
When we got there I walked her in to go speak to her employer mostly so I could catch the action, managed to get in without her even realizing.
As we walk into the office she asks to speak with David and the secretary just pointed to the benches across the room where we went and sat, I was staring at her almost overly intent on seeing every moment. She seemed nervous and almost excited up until Dave walked out and shouted across the room "You must be the new Cinderella!" I had only glanced away for a second but when I looked back I could see the pure seething rage splayed across her face and the fist that was rapidly heading towards mine, for a brief second I forgot where I was until I came to with dave standing over me looking mildly amused.
a broken cheekbone, nose and brow But worth it considering the effort I put into it, been almost 40 years since then cindy still won't talk to me but it still brings a smile to my face whenever I think about it, not quite as good as my bonny and clyde prank but pretty harmless compared to my some of my other pranks but definitely something that I'll remember for a long time to come. | 2017-06-23T00:50:43 | 2017-06-23T00:41:42 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 585 | 13 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | Nothing exciting ever happens around here in New Zealand. I say that because most people don't even know where New Zealand is, let alone anything that ever happen down here. The fact that I live in a small town about 2 hours drive from anywhere worth mentioning also doesn't help, but I've found a job that fits me to a T. I mean, not every bouncer can see people's ages floating above their heads, right? This is not some Peter Jackson Frightener movie, this is real life. Real life means I have to work for my dues, whatever that means.
I am not complaining about my special ability. Believe me, it is one thing that you can tell how old one person is just by staring at the space slightly above their head, but it is totally awesome when you can see everybody's number. To be honest, it's the young ones that shock me the most. They just don't treat their body right these days. I see their haggard faces every night, standing in the cold, wearing next to nothing. I can tell how old they are, but some of them look closer to thirty than eighteen. Of course you can't let those ones in, it's the rule. I didn't make the rule.
It is September already. You'd think this winter will finally end and we will get some flowers out of the ground, right? Spring is supposed to be here, but no. It is still freezing. The line isn't very long tonight even though it's Saturday. The place I work for is usually full in the weekend, but not tonight. It has stopped raining though.
I suppress a yawn. We have a group of students with their IDs in their hands, eager to get inside. I don't blame them. Pulling the dark jacket closer to me, I pretend to scan them up and down, and look at their IDs quickly. I don't need to see them or do any mental calculations. I know they can go in. That's why I waved, yes, you have a fun night. Not sure if you will find it in there, but good luck. You will get what you wish for.
I don't know why I haven't noticed this earlier, but I guess it's because the guy from the group was too tall and he blocked my view. My usual icy stare is hard to maintain when the number above the well-dressed man flashed when I look up. I have to stop myself physically, not losing my composure because I know what I saw.
"Hi, brother. I've come to have some fun tonight."
"ID, please."
As if a card is going to prove how old he really is.
"Oh, can you see it with this light?"
I can hear him alright, but I can't let him through. I've been trying to find him after all this time, and when I finally found him, I am powerless to stop him. Powerless to catch him.
"I can, and brother, remember why you are here."
He has the audacity to scoff before stepping into the club in his fancy patent leather shoes.
His number is 6666.
That's his number.
My name is Michael and he's my brother. I've been waiting for him forever and this is why I am calling my partner from inside the club. This one can't get away.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-02T00:05:56 | 585 | 11 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End. | "Next... Next..."
Another group of kids shuffling into a Baltimore club for a heavy metal gig. Another night for some carding and cash.
I rubbed my hands together, urging the friction to do its thing. Wouldn't be enough, though. This January was mighty cold.
I looked up at the line of kids that approached, noting the number above each one. Honest kids, tonight. All 21 or over. I would have managed a smile at the pleasant change if not for the fucking cold.
When the last had filed in, Keith patted my shoulder.
"I'm taking a break, Reader."
I nodded as he walked off, leaving me alone to guard the door. I was always the one they left alone.
"Hey, can we get in, still?"
I turned to look down at a group of three kids, but instantly saw '19' above the talking one's head.
"Scram, dude. It's 21 and up."
"You didn't even card me!"
"I don't need to," I retorted, staring him down.
"Let us in."
I switched my gaze to another one of the street urchins, only to see this one was different. A lump caught in my throat as I opened my mouth to say a word that become lost in a whirlpool of draining thoughts.
The number above this ones head was 8456.
"ID." I managed to choke out.
I never truly saw his face, only his number. I kept staring at it, knowing I had never been wrong before.
His ID revealed he was 22 years old, but my eyes illustrated otherwise.
Out of pure shock, or fear, I let the group in, watching the number as they walked toward the muffled roar of downtuned electric guitars and thunderous drums.
I couldn't help but follow inside, forgetting to ask Keith to keep watch.
The club was dark except for the neon purple and teal lights of the bar. Some local band screeched onstage as I gravitated toward the largest number in the room. Still a distance away, it turned a corner and faded into the restroom. I followed still.
The bathroom glowed a dirty fluorescent green in an attempt to hide the various stains that covered the walls and stalls. The four-numbered man stood in front of the mirror above the sink, pulling his shirt up to reveal a scarred, swollen, bruised, tattooed torso that twisted at odd angles. The lights flickered and the sound of the band was drowned out by the banging and panting of a couple fucking in the stall.
"Still going to try and kick us out?" The man asked, turning to me. I stood, confused, horrified. The old one approached me in the flickering light of the dingy bathroom, the heat and sound of sex amplifying.
He leaned in close, becoming a silhouette before me. I felt the ancient breath on my neck like the hollow winds that blow over the swelling ocean.
"You can read me as much as you want, muscle man. That number will only grow larger," the old one whispered into my ear.
He exited the bathroom and disappeared into the crowd as the door swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the only remnants of the encounter hung in the thick air as a stench of sweat, blood, and piss.
And then it was gone.
| 2017-09-01T20:56:44 | 2017-09-01T20:18:58 | 404 | 208 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End. | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T20:56:44 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 404 | 13 |
[WP] You have a dragonslaying Paladin friend that you run a scam with. You steal the princess, he "kills" you and returns her to her kingdom, and you both split the profit. The problem is, you've been found out. And now the princess wants in. | The clinking of stilettos on scattered coins echoed through the cavern, scattering my gilded dreams into mist.
Along with it came the scent of rose-touched flesh. I opened my eyes and raised my neck, to stare at the lithe figure swaggering across my domain.
"Princess Hilda," I said, exhaling a cloud of midnight smoke.
"Ron," she said, with a wave.
"Where is the tribute?"
"Always in such a hurry for riches." Rolling her eyes, she gestured lazily at the mounds of coins and precious gems surrounding us. "It's not as if your wealth is lacking."
"It's not a matter of wealth, royal meat," I growled. "But trust."
"A dragon mistrusting a princess. Wait 'til the town criers hear about this."
I slammed a scaled foot on the ground, which cracked from the impact. "Enough games!"
"Whoa, Bharghronaxtharalximor, why so uppity today?" The newcomer strode into view and placed an arm around her waist. With his other hand, he brushed his long golden locks over his shoulder. His polished breastplate reflected the dim light cast by the glowing furnace that was my beating heart with interest.
"If only you share my feelings, Temarin," I said.
"And you, mine," he said. "We've been working together for months; you two ought to get along by now! Nothing hurts me more than when I see you two squabbling."
"You started that after you decided to play sword-in-the-stone with her southern kingdom! We had a good deal going; me sixty, you forty. Now it's me, fifty, and the rest to you two!"
"Now listen--"
"No, you listen! Why does she deserve a one-tenth share? She has the easiest job! Marry a bonehead of a prince, lead him to these caves to satisfy his nuptial crusade, and get captured by a dragon. Do you know how difficult it is to only immolate the courtiers and not any of the guests? Do you know how hard I try to not singe her dresses?"
Temarin had his hands on his hips. "I suppose you're going to complain about me waltzing her back home without a fuss? Perhaps you'd like an actual fight with me next time? Just to make me work for my pay?"
"You're certainly tempting me," I rumbled.
"Would you rather go back to when we actually had to fight off vengeful kings and armies?" he said. "And having to pay off middlemen mercenaries to kidnap princesses sometimes when they don't stray here? You want to work with the Blackhand Troupe again?"
"Okay, gentlemen, that's enough," Princess Hilda snapped. "My servants are lugging the gold here now; they've just been struggling to climb up the damned slope you melted into glass on our last job!"
As if on cue, a troop of rough-garbed men trudged into the chamber, leading donkeys laden with bulging sacks. I tried to hide my excited gasp with a belch of flame, but Temarin was grinning at me. Damn, but not even a fellow dragon knew me as well as he did.
Then I detected the smell of freshly polished steel wafting through the leather sacks.
"Ho, what is that smell?" I said, sniffing hard. "Either you've brought a mine, or ... I said no weapons!"
I reared up in alarm and roared, but the trap was sprung. Armored soldiers and crossbowmen tore out of the sacks and assembled, pointing all manner of weaponry my way. Hilda darted back, a look of purest venom directed at me.
"You should've been satisfied with your fifty!" she cried.
"Temarin, how could you?" I said. With this many men, and trapped in a cave, I wasn't sure I would survive the day.
To my surprise, Temarin roared, "To arms!" The servants who'd been pulling the carts flung their robes aside, drew hidden weapons, and attacked Hilda's troops.
"You traitorous cur!" she yelled at him.
"This is merely business," he spat.
"Truly you are my best friend," I said.
He sneered at me and drew a sword that glowed with the light of the sun. I flinched at the radiance, recognizing it instantly: a drakeslayer blade. My elation turned to horror as I said, "No, stay back!"
"You leave me no choice, friend," he said grimly, taking a few experimental swings with it. The blade could snuff even my fires like fingers on a wick. "For too long, I've allowed you to underpay me. No longer."
My options were quickly dwindling, but the wisdom and foresight of our mighty dragonic race cannot be underestimated. I slammed my tail on the ground as a signal, and from below suspiciously small mounds of coins burst black-clad mercenaries. They screamed their war cries and rushed to meet my foes.
"You hired the Blackhands?" Temarin said in disbelief as he parried attacks from two of them. "Of all the people? You hated them!"
"Yes, but they've agreed to a cut of twenty for all future kidnappings," I said. If I could shrug, I would have.
As a wise dragon would've said: treachery begets treachery.
***
*Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories if you liked this!* | "...You want to... Get in on this?" my Paladin friend asked.
"Did I not make that clear? Of course I want in! Being stuck in that castle all day is boring and unrewarding, anyways! The stuff you and your dragon buddy are pulling here actually seems exciting!" the princess had this dumb, smug look on her face. She knew that we were running a scam, and she knew we couldn't do anything to stop her from telling everyone... Except if we, well, let her in on it, too.
"C'mon... You don't really want in on this, do you...? There's a lot of drawbacks to it..."
"Like what?" the princess asked.
"Like... Um... It's a really repetitive job, ya know?"
"I've already said; my day-to-day life as a princess couldn't get any more dull. When your dragon friend kidnapped me, that was the highest high I've ever felt! Honestly, I didn't care if I got 'saved' by you or not, I was just excited to be experiencing something new! I want that feeling again. I want to bring some exhilaration into my life." the princess really wasn't gonna let this go, was she?
"Then this REALLY isn't for you. We do the same schtick, over and over, until we're satisfied with our profits. It's rinse-and-repeat stuff-"
"What do you end up doing with your profits, huh?" my Paladin friend looked to me for help. Being a dragon, I'm unable to speak any kind of language. So, in response to my friend's subtle cry for help, I simply huffed some smoke out of my nose and shrugged.
"Well, we... Uh... We use the profits to sustain a healthy and steady lifestyle. Rent, and stuff."
"Please. You expect me to believe with the kind of money you guys are making, you're only spending it on *rent?* The money my father gave you was enough to buy a small village! I bet I know what you REALLY do with that money."
"I don't know what you're suggesting." the princess scoffed. I could see a sweat drop rolling down the forehead Paladin buddy.
"Sure you do. You definitely go out, and totally splurge that money. I can only imagine how much fun I could have with your freedom and your wealth. As of right now, I only have your wealth. I'm just asking that you guys be my... Enablers. I want the freedom you guys have. You just have to let me join in on your act! That's it! Nothing more to it!"
"We really don't need you to join in... I mean, if we kidnapped you multiple times, and I 'saved' you multiple times, wouldn't that get... Suspicious?"
"It might raise a *little* bit of suspicion after a while, sure, but once people DO get suspicious, we can find something else to do! Just... Fake my death, or something! Then your pet dragon can fly us to a new kingdom!"
"Hey, he's not my pet, he's my business partner." I made sure to exhale as contently as I could, effectively communicating that I was happy with that response.
"Aw, that's adorable." the princess said. It almost felt patronizing.
"Listen, princess, having you on the team would complicate things, and risk my whole reputation as a heroic paladin. We can't afford run that risk... Please, just find something else to do..."
"Well, if you DON'T let me on the team, your reputation won't just be at risk. It'll be *completely* gone. I can tell the king or the queen of your guys' scam, and then, poof, your life is ruined. My dad has connections, he can tell any other kingdom to look out for you. Your 'kidnap the princess' ploy won't work anywhere else. Everything will be ruined for you, and... What did you guys say your names were?"
"I'm P. A. Ladin. This here dragon is named Dragon."
"Wow. Those are some of the dumbest names I've ever heard. Your parents really gave you a name that's just a pun? Haha, what if you grew up to be something other than a Paladin? A-And, you call your friend, who's a dragon, 'Dragon'?"
"Don't digress from the argument here, princess. You don't have to ruin us. Just let us carry on with our lives. Please. We'd be nowhere if we weren't doing what we're doing..." the princess had us in checkmate. There was nothing left to do but plead. I let out a whimper to try and help my friend's case.
"Hey, you guys *kidnapped* me, and then brushed it off as just another job. However you guys may feel about that doesn't matter to me, I'm taking that personally. The least you could do now is let me on the team to make up for that."
"You don't need us to feel excitement in your life, princess! I mean, how'd you even get here, huh? You snuck out of the kingdom and arrived all the way at our cavern without getting caught. That's enough excitement for you, right? Just do stuff like that!" P. A. suggested.
"My dad has definitely increased guard security by now. I'm also willing to bet there's a search party on their way. I don't know how many times I'll be able to sneak out by myself before it becomes impossible. Having you guys 'kidnap' me would negate that problem."
"Are you sure? How do we know that the increased security won't kill my friend here? And, you know what, I just thought about this; if we kidnap you again, the king will probably send out a search party, and hunt down Dragon! You'd be at fault if Dragon died to some royal guards!"
"Yeah, whatever." P. A. was taken aback. I growled. This princess didn't respect my life. She really wasn't making it easy to comply with her. "The way things are right now, I've got nothing to lose. But you guys, you guys can lose everything because of me."
"Princess, I just wanna make it clear, we could kill you right now. That'd pretty much solve our dilemma here."
"Pfft, would you really? You guys have been staging kidnaps for... How long now? You really expect me to believe a duo as soft as you two would actually have the guts to kill me? Even if you did, my dad would stop at nothing to have Dragon killed." the princess shook her head. "I'm disappointed. You'd think that, by now, you guys would have come up with a plausible reason for me to give up on this."
"We've offered you plenty of good reasons to leave us alone. You're just stubborn."
"Yup!" the princess turned around, headed for the cavern exit. "You guys have got two choices! Let me in on this, or I'm gonna make sure that *every* kingdom about your scumbaggy-ways!"
"Aw, c'mon!" P. A. sighed. The princess had left the room. "Princess! Don't do this to us!" he turned to me again. "Quick, grab her or something! Kidnap her again!"
I huffed disapprovingly. The princess would *want* me to kidnap her again.
"Nah, you're right. The princess would want you to kidnap her again." I laid down on the ground, thinking over our current situation. P. A. did the same.
I looked at him, and growled. I was trying to communicate a "what now?"
"...We've gotta let her in on this, don't we?" I rolled my eyes. P. A let out another sigh. "I'll go get her, I guess. We'd better welcome our new team member, buddy."
--------------------
Hey, sorry for any typos I made. It's really late here and I'm tired. I also apologize if my response was bad :( I'm just some kid on the internet, please don't expect anything I make to actually be good.
Great prompt, OP. I really liked it a lot :) | 2018-07-05T01:31:54 | 2018-07-05T01:18:30 | 768 | 51 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | "Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore." | Jason never donated blood before. He felt nervous, but he wasn't sure if it was a slight fear of needles or the fact that clinics looked so ghastly at night, the only time he could make it in. The bright yellow lights buzzed out of the windows and the stillness of the night held a foreboding presence.
Jason reminded himself that this was for a good cause. With all influx of monsters these days, blood donation centers needed more and more donors as the supply kept getting stolen, and well...used in those ever increasing cases when people lose a pint or two of blood just walking down the street.
He opened the door, noting the cold metal of the handle against his skin and shivered.
The receptionist looked up, her obsidian eyes glinting in the harsh light above. Her welcoming expression was the only warmth in the place.
"Hello, glad you could find some time to come in today. Please fill out the forms here." She nudged the prepped clipboard towards the edge, the pen tucked into the top clip.
Jason reached for it.
She sniffed, her nose wrinkled cutely.
"You smell a bit nervous and dehydrated. Please drink some of this, should kick in before the phlebotomist is ready for you." She nudged a bottle of gatorade towards him.
"Smell nervous?" Jason felt his face scrunch in confusion, but tried to smooth it to be polite.
"Oh yeah, I'm sorry, I just got a nose for these things." She smiled toothily.
"Uh-huh..." Jason scribbled his information on the form and filled out the waiver.
With a quick flick of his wrist he finished his signature and handed the forms over.
The girl, which he realized her name was Amelia from her tag, led her to the back. There was another cute girl with raven hair and gunmetal grey eyes. She glanced up from her station and smiled. Jason couldn't help but notice she had large canines. It gave her an unearthly quality, and it was somehow...attractive.
"Hello Jason, my name is Helena. Please have a seat here and we'll measure your blood pressure."
Jason took a seat and watched Amelia disappear into the break room. The door was left slightly open.
Helena rolled up his sleeve and cuffed his upper arm. To distract himself from the tightening band, he watched Amelia take something out of the fridge. If the room hadn't been clearly labeled as a break room, he would've thought it was a bag of organs Amelia took out. Like a giant, bloody liver sloshing inside a ziplock bag. But it must've been rare steak or something.
He gagged nevertheless.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was that too tight?" Helena asked.
"Oh, no I'm sorry. Just ah...nervous." Jason forced a smile.
"Ok, we'll try it again and see if we get a good reading." She said.
Jason forced himself to stare at the tile floor, calming himself. He needed the money.
"There we go. You are barely meeting the requirements for a donation, so make you get plenty of water and food after this, okay?"
"Uh, okay."
Jason never donated before, but he had to have blood labs often enough to know that his veins were hard to find.
Helena tied the tourniquet and poked and prodded his forearm to find the vein. Nothing was showing, and Jason was truly nervous. He looked up at her eyes and realized they weren't gunmetal grey, but now red. Her mouth was slightly parted, and she was prodding one of her fangs with her tongue. It was sexy and terrifying, and Jason's arm tightened.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, this is the only way I can see your veins clearly. Got to let the demon out of the bottle for a minute," she laughed as if it were a painful pun.
Her eyes seemed to fixate on a spot, and she slipped the needle in. Jason watched the blood pump into the vial.
"Y-you're a vampire?"
"Yes. I've been one for a while. I really appreciate you doing this, Jason. If there were enough donors back when I was bit, I wouldn't have turned."
"Is that why you're here?"
"Yes."
"Is it really so bad?"
Helena sealed the vial and bandaged him up.
"It can be."
"How do they let you work with blood? I don't mean to be rude but-"
"They don't know. You were one of the special cases, couldn't find your vein."
"Why do you trust me to not tell?"
"I don't." Helena turned to face him then, her eyes glowing red, "You fainted while I drew blood, you remember nothing after sitting in the chair."
Jason slumped into the seat, out cold.
Amelia walked into the room, wiping the blood off her lips on a napkin.
"Huh, I thought I smelled fear in here. Hey Helena, I'm not gonna be here tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Full moon. See you Monday." Helena finished labeling the vial, waiting for her spell to wear off Jason so she could send him home.
​
*Did this real quick on break, first writing prompt I've done. Thanks for reading and sorry for any mistakes :)*
​
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​ | 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T15:19:20 | 2,554 | 136 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| It’s not often, but it happens more than I’d like to admit. A price to pay for having the door open way past hours when other establishments close theirs. I could avoid it and just lock the place at nine or ten like the other cafes. Then again, there will always be that young hopeful scholar that needs a place that’s quiet and has caffeine on order. A single parent that needs a safe go-between after a late shift. A weary “private contractor” that needs that short break and extra push to keep going.
A cup of joe here, a latte there, a triple shot of red bull spiked with five-hour-energy elsewhere; everybody has their pep-up. Sometimes I get the guy( or gal) that needs to show they got spunk and the ego to be the big dog on the block. They come in, puffing their chests, and eyeing up my dainty little shop. They see rough brick walls covered in memorabilia ranging from photos and postcards to model cars and figurines, all illuminated in soft (digital) candle white lights. They think to themselves, ‘Huh, such a cozy little place. Let’s wreck it for funzies’
I’ve lost a good dozen reminders over the years. For some reason, none of these kids ever learn about what this place represents. Or what it houses. Until its a tad late.
A night like any other, the cafe alit with murmurs here and light gravitas there. A college kid whispering under his breath about formulas, a man and woman both with hair out of place and dirt( or possibly ash) chatting lively, a group of older fellas gesturing animatedly at one another, and a bandaged man drinks quietly whilst feeding his dog bits of his sandwich were among the few that stood out. The front door bells ring delightfully and in walks two modest girls wearing pea coats, one maroon and the other green. Julia, one of my waitresses, grabs a clipboard and cherrily skips towards them.
I busy myself cleaning a mug, eyes skimming the tables, and ears catching words, but not really listening. It’s these nice, quiet moments I do so enjoy having here.
“!!!!”
A sharp exclamation catches my attention, it brings a lull to the crowd white noise. My attention is back upon Julia. She had seated the two newcomers and appears to be taking their order. Or had been taking their order. There was a definite frown on the red coat’s face and green wasn’t smiling either. No other audible dissonance came about and the rest of the cafe went about their own little worlds.
My own eyes stayed about Julia and the girls. More specifically, upon Julia’s back. A unique trait can be told about Julia if one examines her closely, the back of her clothes seems to bulge out as if there was glasses case or a flashlight stuffed down her back.
Or a tail.
Usually, Julia’s tail settles upon her lower back or is wrapped around her waist. Less noticeable that way. As of right now, it’s standing straight against her back, she wasn’t happy. She was scared.
It took barely a moment for me to cross the shop in a quiet manner behind my worker. One hand grasping the clipboard and the other resting between her shoulder blades. With small motions upon her back, I quickly introduce myself, and excuse Julia out of the situation.
“Replacing the cutie with your sorry mug isn’t making us any happier” Red coat barks. Upon actually looking at her, she is actually kind of cute. Her emerald eyes and high cheekbones make for a alluring face alongside her button nose. Her strawberry blond hair did take too much attention away from her adorable face though.
“You just had to make her nervous. If you were more subtle, we wouldn’t have this problem.” Green coat goads. She had a more rounder face and plump lips. It wasn’t fat, perhaps stouter facial structure. Her golden eyes were absolutely striking. All complemented by a light brown bob cut.
“My apologies, Julia had other matters to attend to. May I take your order?” I’m curious to see what made Julia so hassled.
“Yea, you could bring the cute one back.” Red snarks.
“I’m afraid that she will be busy, perhaps I can start you off with a complimentary drink?” They can be a tad forceful, should probably ply with free drinks.
“Nah man, We’d prefer someone cuter to get our drinks.” Green spouts as she reclines back in her seat.
“Unfortunately, I am the only available server” Let us see where this goes.
“Bullshit. Just bring back the waitress.” Red’s getting agitated.
“Yea, we ain’t ordering till she takes it” Green brings her support.
“If you aren’t going to order, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.” Oh well, thems the breaks, ladies.
!!!!
In one quick moment, I had two guns pointing at me. One pointing at my upper torso, Red holding it cockingly sideways. The other gun was oriented far south, held frustratingly lazilly.
“Look dickface, we just got off the train. We’re tired and we’re frustrated.” Yea, I get that Red, but can Green please point elsewhere.
“We just want something nice to look at and a little drink.” Green point somewhere else.
“So how about you cut the shit and get our girl back out here?” Right after you get your friend to stop aiming at something important.
“Ladies, I believe my man here said you should probably leave.”
And at that moment I realized, the whole place was quiet. A quick glance showed that there was another addition to the table. There he sat, all nonchalantly, with his feet on the table and a pistol in each hand. The girls themselves learn of this, but make no movement. Another glance shows everyone around us had their attention solely on us, some were standing, some had guns out, few had their hands glowing, and one even had his dog draw a sword.
“What the fuck?” Yea Red, not the best place to cause a problem.
“This place….” Whatever you’re thinking Green, it’s probably not what it actually is.
“This is just a cafe for people to rest awhile and get that extra boost.” I clarify for the two.
The two girls looked about ready to do something stupid, but thankfully Julia came back with two peace offerings.
“Here, take these-”
“Iced coffees”
“Thanks, take these drinks to go… on the house.” I extend our olive branch.
“Fee- let’s just go~” Green, you’re talking sense for a girl willing to shoot a man’s pride.
“F-fine, We’re leaving. Place sucks anyway.”
And with that, Red and Green were out the door with no fuss. Every patron (Well the ones that actually drew their weapons) holstered their gear and returned to their business. Dante, the man who saved my balls (literally), had come to the counter after to bust my balls about how I froze up. Hey, it’s not like I spend my nights shooting up drug dealers, I reacted like anyone would with a gun to the nuts. Despite that, it was always nice. My regulars here from all paths appear to like me and this place enough to back it up. I remember the first time. Good times. Those from around here learned from such times. After all, I always made sure that these hardworking individuals never stain their hands on my behalf.
Soon enough, I had to close up. Dante, as per his usual was the last guy to leave. He tried to have me hire him to watch the place just incase those girls came back. I declined and sent him on his way. As he left, Julia came in from the back with some bags in hand.
“I cleaned up back there?” I ask.
“Yea, we’re gonna need more filters for the coffee maker soon.”
“I’ll add it to the list. You pick up the rubbish?”
“Yes boss, it should be where it’s at.”
“Good. Go wash up, you have some smudge on your cheek.”
A step behind the counter and through the kitchen puts me at storage. A cellar door opens and closes before I descend. A few moments and sharp clean alcohol caress my thoughts.
There upon a large steel slab, lay Red and Green, sans their coats. Their forearms bear needles linking to their respective I.V. stands alongside straps across their forms to the metal. They were unaware of the world, Julia was smart to use the slow-starting mixture. Julia is quick with her wash and stands beside me with various blades at the ready.
“I should thank you. Had you two not stumbled upon my quiet little place, I’d probably have to get someone local.” Steam rolls of my hands as Julia slides gloves upon them.
“Local would just bring problems. Thankfully, only one of my friends had a good look upon your faces, and frankly, Dante only really cares about hair.” My cute assistant hands me scissors.
“Sorry, Red, but your hair has got to go. It’s too eye-catching. Don’t worry, my clients only care for your faces.”
Why stain their hands if mine are deliciously red?
| 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T21:15:17 | 1,330 | 29 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Some people are brought into this world to cure diseases, lead countries, build rockets, or fight for justice. I think I was brought into this world to serve coffee.
That’s what I tell myself every day when I unlock the door of my café. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with coffee - at first the smell, then when I was old enough, the taste. My fondest memories were always sitting at the counter in my Nanna’s little café, drinking weak coffee and reading a book while she served customers.
By the age of 11 I could brew the perfect cup, and by 12 I was helping Nanna run the place. I always admired the love she put into every order, the care she took with every customer. It wasn’t just a café to her, it was a haven for all, and a home for the two of us. “Josephine, there isn’t a soul out there in the world you can’t brighten a little bit of love. Sometimes that bit of love is as simple as a cup of coffee and a smile,” she would tell me on the rare occasion I grumbled about the early hours or the hard work.
I was only 17 when Nanna’s fight against cancer ended. We had sold our café for her treatments, but in the end I was left alone, working 3 jobs just to get by.
Now, at 21 years old, my life was back on track. I had worked harder than I’d ever worked, saved every penny I could, and 14 months ago I was able to open my own café - Joey’s. Nestled away in a quiet street, in a somewhat questionable neighbourhood, I had found a place I could afford and turn into my own little haven once again.
Business was painfully slow at first. So slow, I had to find work at another café in the mornings to support my own café. I suppose that’s irony, right?
I opened Joey’s at night still, almost a desperate bid to keep my dream alive, and that’s when I finally started bringing in regular customers. It started with The Crusher.
2:00 am, and the little bell on the door chimed. Looking up from my book, I came face to face with a giant of a man taking up my entire doorway. Bleeding heavily from a bullet wound in his shoulder, he shuffled forward cautiously, looking absolutely exhausted. I recognised him from the news - a vigilante who had earned his name thanks to the fact he crushed his victims’ bones with his bare hands - not just broken, but crushed. The lucky only had limbs crushed, but the worst offenders were usually unrecognisable. I was taken aback for a split second, and honestly a little afraid, but Nanna’s words stuck with me and I gave the man a warm smile. “What can I get for you sir?”
He paid for a large coffee (1 sugar and a bit of cinnamon), then shuffled to the booth nestled in the corner. Quickly making his order, I also placed a warm cinnamon muffin and a bottle of water on the tray, then I tucked the first aid kit under my arm and carried everything over to him. He was cursing under his breath (or so I assumed - the bandana covering his lower face muffled his words) as he inspected his wound, and he looked up in surprise as I placed everything in front of him. He rejected my offer to help tend his wounds, so I let him be, instead cleaning up the drops of blood on the floor and occasionally topping up his coffee. He left after an hour, looking in much better shape and silently tipping me as he left. I saw him two more times over the next two weeks, and did my best to give that little bit of love each time, with smiles, coffee, a few complimentary muffins, and once again the first aid kit.
The Crusher must have told some of his “colleagues” about my little café. Over the following weeks and months, more new faces started coming through my door, usually masked or cloaked, the occasional full helmet appearing as well. Business was booming and I was able to quit my other job and focus solely on Joey’s. I did, however, continue to open at night - a somewhat unusual plan for some cafés, but with the now steady stream of vigilantes and anti heroes coming through my door at all hours of the night, I was happy.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that most of these people were dangerous - I had seen the news and heard the stories, but regardless, I always tried to view every customer as another soul coming into my haven who needed that little bit of love, and my customers seemed to appreciate it. My café quickly became the place where the vigilantes of the city would start their nights with a coffee, or duck in for a quick break, a muffin, and a turn with the first aid kit. There were rules, of course - weapons holstered, no violence, no powers, and wipe your boots on the mat before entering - and it worked. The dark and shady protectors of the city continued to come through my door night after night.
Over these last few months I have seen more interesting costumes and uniforms than I ever imagined existed, cleaned up more blood than I’d ever hoped to, tended more injuries than I ever trained for, listened to more interesting stories than I’d ever heard, and served more coffee than I’d ever dreamed I could again.
I was doing what I was born to do, and I was happy. Until today.
| (Sorry my English I love the Prompts and try to make something more "fantastic")
​
The clientele was faithful, although irregular, sometimes half disappeared a few weeks, returning sometimes had changed race, or sex, or were one more, or less. Arnold never asked questions, he was there to listen, to serve coffees and sweets that the charming widow Rachel, from the pastry shop in the next corner, gave him each morning with a smile and the smell of vanilla oozing from every pore.
His schedule was not usual, from 9 pm to 09 am, at least not usual in the big city, he had assumed it when he worked in the small cafe next to a large transport warehouse, that was the time when many trucks unloaded and they left. The truck drivers were good customers, quiet people who just want their hot coffee and their fluffy chair to forget the road for a few minutes. When the cousin of his boss retired, they offered him this place in the city.
Arnold decided to try the same schedule, almost experimentally, more out of habit. The first few days he had few clients, only a couple of surprised policemen who told him to get donuts, thanks to which he met the beautiful Rachel by the way.
But other customers appeared, many dressed in black, large coats and jackets although it did not rain. They were good customers, he remembered the truck drivers, they came tired, exhausted, but always with a smile, they were proud of their jobs, whatever they are.
Although, strange things happened, sometimes a cup of coffee flew from the counter to the client's hand sitting, others a sugar burst on someone's head and made a general laugh. And the money…. everyone paid of course, but soon learned to look at the box in the morning and separate the normal money from the other, the one that had never known countries, dated in the future or with presidents of two heads.
MissT was a strong, strong woman of indeterminate race. He was one of the first clients and from time to time he came with companions, some of them were walking, others were floating, some were better not to look at them, seriously, it was a headache. Sometimes she sat alone at the bar and told him fantastic stories, wars between gods, portals to hell and drunken angels. She also listens to her worldly things, laughed when she told him about the strange money and how she had been shouted at the bank for trying to used it. MissT offered to exchange the strange money for the common, that helped him a lot, although the most beautiful bills and coins, those that shone, had impossible colors or the crystal coins that the stone being gave him, those, put them in a frame after the bar. MissT also laughed at his stories of flirting with the neighboring widow, had offered him steaming potions, but Arnold was classic and preferred to go little by little, and had planned to invite Rachel to Saint Patrick's dance next month ...
For normal passersby the strange money was a collection of very strange alternative art, but for visitors, it became a sign that there, they were welcome.
"Your cafeteria is a cardinal point ... not only for us on this plane, but for many planes ... in other worlds here there would be a temple of sacrifices .... in this, we have your cafeteria and I prefer your coffee to a cutted head "MissT told him one night.
That helped him to understand why clueless clients sometimes appeared, naked, some did not speak, but in general everyone understood their gestures, they accepted coffee or tea, a blanket to cover themselves and a stool to sit on before they regain strength to continue their trips.
One of these lost beings, had appeared wounded, a huge wing crawling torn and had collapsed at midnight in front of the door. Arnold ran to load him inside and put the sign closed, his golden blood stained the floor, but it did not matter, he dialed MissT's phone, he had given a number in confidence for situations like this. In a few minutes she emerged from the bathroom door, she did not ask questions, she understood it when she saw him and she went out the door again. Soon he returned with several people, a doctor in a robe, giant and with horns, who attended to the wounded and several hooded men who ran to stand next to the door of the premises.
"This is not good ... this person is very important and should not be here, not this time or this reality ..." Miss T was scared for the first time in front of Arnold. "This can end very, very bad ...", strangers arrived outside the premises, the windows burst and MissT's hoods opened fire with their fists closed, the outside became a war zone, horrors of a thousand eyes peered out through the broken windows and were volatilized by MissT's flaming sword. A blinding light froze everything, several beings similar to the wounded, appeared in the street, everything was frozen, the creatures became dust, entered the premises, saw the wounded and raised their hands, the injured spoke, with the sound of a thousand tuned out violins and stopped them, in an instant they were gone, the place was intact. The hooded men looked at each other and at a sign from MissT disappeared at the bathroom door followed by the diabolical doctor.
There was a golden feather on the counter, MissT stared at her in astonishment.
"Arnold, that feather is a gift from them, save it well, it's worth more than anything in this reality ...but be very careful they don´t play with livings things" she whispered, before kissing him on the cheek "Today you saved not only this planet, but thousands, thank you… "
It was dawn when he was alone, Arnold closed the place and went to sleep. From that day on, a new type of clientele joined, they were monks in robes who respectfully drank their coffee and pleaded with their eyes until Arnold opened the drawer and showed them his golden treasure. He tried not to do much and carefully, as he had discovered that the brightness of it hurt some of his usuals, so he just opened the drawer and let them peek over the bar to see the feather with pens and clips.
One morning it had been quiet, he put the sign of closed and walked to Rachel's bakery to pick up the cakes she would put in the fridge for the afternoon. Across the sidewalk a scream broke the air, a silhouette ran out of the alley, the side door of the bakery was open, Arnold ran inside, Rachel was lying on the floor with the handle of a knife protruding from her chest.
"I thought you were ... and I opened without looking ... age makes me do nonsense" whispered Rachel with the mouth full of blood. "I wanted to go dancing, you know? ... I already had the suit bought ..."
Arnold shouted, holding her, his breathing stopped, he thought he could do it. He picked her up and crossed the street to lay her carefully on the counter. Only one thing occurred to him, he opened the drawer, took the golden feather and placed it on it. The light grew and enveloped them.
A winged being emerged at his side, Arnold recognized a slight mark where the wing had broken. The being looked at both of them and asked a question in his mind, Arnold answered without hesitation.
The being nodded and his hand moved over Rachel's body and the blood disappeared, the color returned to her face. Arnold cried on his lap. The being touched his shoulder and disappeared. Rachel woke up and asked where she was, she did not remember anything, Arnold just hugged her very hard.
That night the cafeteria was full, everyone had felt the presence of the being and they were eager to hear the story, MissT in the front line he rebuked.
"Do not you have no idea who you asked for help?" MissT smiled. "And what did he ask you for? They always ask for something, have not you done anything foolish?" I ask with obvious concern.
"Well ... he asked me to have free coffee forever ... and I told him I would add cheesecake even to the agreement ..."
Those present looked at Arnold a few seconds before laughing loudly as never before. Not always the owner of the cafeteria invoked a god in exchange for coffee and cheesecake | 2018-10-20T23:47:58 | 2018-10-20T23:21:55 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | Eyes shutting around me. Friends, family, all of them drifting into a long sleep. 100 years shrunk into the blink of an eye.
Soon, the soft whirring of the cryogenic generators kick in. The whirring... wait, why am I still awake?
I looked around frantically, as those around me got frozen, stopping their body processes, effectively dead for a century. But this wasn't happening to me. As this began to sink in, the lights shut off. And I was alone.
I began pounding on the window of the pod, hoping that someone would hear me. I don't know who I thought would hear me, maybe a maintenance crew? I heard they have those.
I started feeling around, searching for something I could press, an emergency button, or something! I felt a long array of bumpy objects, but they did nothing when I tried to press them. What about this squishy thing? Is this a lever?
Eventually, I fell into silence. And I waited. Hours, days, years, I don't know (well probably not years).
And finally, something happened. The bottom of my pod suddenly dropped away and I started falling. I slid along rough metal, reminding me of a water slide (but more painful). And at last, I landed on hard ground.
I looked up and was immediately blinded by a bright white light. I covered my eyes and looked up. They looked... human? Is that a torch?
"Hey, sorry that took so long. Welcome to the maintenance team!" | Christopher Wilson had heard the stories surrounding Shutdown Day from a very early age. You get into the hibernation-pod, a hissing sound starts, you feel a chill and then you wake up in the future, simple. But Christoper didn’t wake up in the future, because he never fell asleep.
Christopher hit the grimy glass from the inside of the pod, “Help! I think something’s wrong! Anyone?”
He could make out rows and rows of the white-black hibernation-pods, too many to count. No one came to his rescue, despair churned in his stomach like a ragged stone-wheel. He thought that this was it, he was going to die, surrounded by his fellow humans, by those who loved him, but completely alone.
The pod hissed, “Finally!”, but to his surprise there was no mist to carry him into better days, it was the hatch that opened, the pod tilted slightly to help him disembark onto the metal-grating platform.
A terrible realization washed over Christopher as he considered what this meant, if he couldn’t find a way to enter the deep sleep, then his life would still be forfeit. The only remains left for his wife and daughter, a shriveled corpse. Determined to avoid this fate, he went in search for a control room, perhaps there would be instructions on how to fix his pod.
After walking for several minutes on the suspended walkway, he came across a door that led into a hallway painted in red, thick black letters indicating where he was going, “Control room 12B should be this way, finally some luck!”
He allowed himself some excitement as the door slid open without protest, a large computer-screen blinked to life, it took up most of the wall-space inside, two smaller screens on arms protruded out at him, statistics about system-operation happily danced across them.
Christopher searched using the large computer-screen and quickly found some general manuals describing the hibernation process. He knew the reason they even hibernated in the first place was because of overpopulation and energy concerns, because of this there likely wouldn’t be any extra pods for him to enter, maintenance was his only option.
*In case of catastrophic core failure, the pod will enter fail-safe mode and eject the user from the faulty device. The compromised core must then be replaced, and the system must be rebooted and re-configured by hibernation-system professionals.*
Christopher hung his head low, facing the translucent keyboard, the cores were heavy and dangerous to handle alone, and he was no hibernation-system professional. He clung onto some small hope that he could overcome this obstacle, but he knew it would be nigh-impossible. Furthermore, the pods were not designed for users to wake up before a hundred years had passed, the process sent the body into a near-dead state and would cause serious damage if the user was prematurely ejected. Which meant he couldn't find and wake one of these experts, either.
He walked back to his pod, he watched his wife and daughter sleeping. His beautiful family. He put his hands on the glass-windows, “I am… sorry. My only realistic option is to enter the wasteland in search of someone who could help me, someone who’s still awake. It’s likely that we will never see each other again, Anya,” he turned his head, tears dripping down his cheeks, “Elle, daddy is going to do his very best… so that we can see each other again, but should I fail, I need you to be strong for mother.”
Christopher stepped away from the pods, “I love you both, I’ll… I’ll see you soon.”
After saying his farewells, Christopher stepped out into the blazing light, and began the journey that would be remembered for generations to come.
*****
End of part 1? Thanks for reading, everybody!
**EDIT:** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aajfdu/wp_due_to_overpopulation_a_law_was_passed/ect2j75/?context=3) in the comments below, replied to this comment. Thank you for your interest!
**EDIT 2:** [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aajfdu/wp_due_to_overpopulation_a_law_was_passed/ectpmeb/?context=3) in the comments below, replied to this comment. | 2018-12-29T02:06:11 | 2018-12-29T01:51:12 | 1,838 | 364 |
[WP] The old shopkeeper smiled sadly past the gun pointed at her face and gently shook her head at the masked man holding it. "I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough". | The old shopkeeper smiled sadly past the gun pointed at her face and gently shook her head at the masked man holding it. "I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough."
“I don’t care, Barbie. Empty the register,” the assailant said. His assistant cleaned out the rings, watches, and other jewels. Beverly handed over what money she had with shaking hands and watched the two robbers trash the small shop. They stormed through the store, but the whole thing was over quickly enough.
“Bev?” Ethel wandered up from the basement. “I thought I heard something.”
“Just a small robbery,” Beverly said, already fetching a broom to start cleaning up the broken glass. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”
“Let me help with that,” Ethel got down on her knees with a dustpan, sweeping up scattered rings.
“Remember when we were young, Ethel?” Beverly asked.
“We could turn a store over in five minutes flat,” Ethel chucked. “Tiffany’s never knew what hit it.”
They smiled at each other, remember the old days. Back before they’d both been trapped in this cursed store, with its never changing merchandise. How many years had passed? Ethel still looked like the charming young rogue she’d always been. Beverly’s hair still held a curl like she’d been to the salon that morning.
Beverly sighed. “Guess we’d better put those with the others.”
“Let me help with that,” between the two of them, Beverly and Ethel managed to drag the bodies of the two robbers to the basement.
“What happened?” Kip was down there, organizing the shelves. He was younger and taller than Beverly and Ethel, and could reach the shelves they couldn’t.
“Just a bit of a robbery,” Ethel explained.
“Noooo,” Kip grimaced. “We can’t fit any more people!”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you could always use some more help, Kip. Keep an eye on them, they’ll be back up in no time,” Beverly said, covering the bodies with a blanket in the meantime. “I’ll be upstairs.”
She returned to store, picking up the rest of the scattered merchandise. It took hardly any time, or perhaps it took years, to right the store. She wasn’t good at keeping track of time anymore. In the end everything was back as it always was.
A young woman entered the store. A teenager, it looked like. Beverly sighed. Another shoplifter. Great, they already had a few of those.
Beverly smiled as she watched the girl palm a bracelet and gently shook her head. "I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough." | I take off my glasses, squint my left eye and peer into the barrel of a gun pointed at me.
It’s loaded.
“Hmm… a bit dirty in there, you know,” I say leaning back. Of course he doesn’t know, he is just a nervous hand, cluelessly holding the trigger. He is so young. Only 18. I put my glasses on. ”Do you ever clean it?” Of course he doesn’t. “I can show you how, if you want...”
He doesn’t, he spews the anger and insecurity and his hand shakes. “Bitch! Give me the money! Just give me money!”
“Oh, Erik. No need to yell,” I say and fix my glasses. My glasses are trickey, they never fit right.
“I told you, I keep my money at the bank. But I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want.” I motion to the row of shelves across the counter. “Sodas, chips, all sorts of snackies… Gummies? You like those, right? Look, there, on the bottom shelf next to Junior mints I have haribos. It’s in those small packs your mom used to put into your lunch box when you were seven”--- I fix my glasses again ---” and when Pops died.”
He did not expect that and I smile. He is frozen by the rush of adrenaline to his body. Fight or flight, and it chooses to freeze him. It was predictable.
I exhale.
“But just so you know everything always makes its way back soon enough.”
“How--- How do you know my name?” he mumbles the words dripped in fear.
Cute.
“Oh, Erik. I know everything about you. You are an empty canvas and I’m a brush painting your story and I’m trying hard not to use the red paint. Red is my least favorite color.”
He snaps, twitches back to anger that gives him life. “Shut up! Stop rambling you bitch! Give me the money, this is a robbery!”
I shake my head. I knew he wouldn’t get it, yet I had to try. “Do you really think you’re here by your will? Do you think you had a choice to come here? “--- I look at him over my glasses --- “I know your story.” Damn thing, slipped from my nose again. With an index finger I slowly pull my glasses up.
“Shut up bitch! Just shut up! Give me the money or I’ll kill you!”
I sigh and spread my arms. “Is that a 9mm?”
“Shut up! Yes, it is! And I’m going to pop a cap in your ass if you don’t do what I told you and give me the money! Shut up! Just shut up! This is my last warning! I’m going to shoot you!”
I fix my glasses. “Erik, you won’t. You you don’t want to be Danny. He used a 9mm, yeah?”
Yeah. Erik was seven. He was sitting on a couch watching smurfs Pops put on their TV when his brother Danny, only 14 but flooded with adult amount of rage and warm methamphetamine in his veins stormed into the room, pointed gun at Pops and stole Erik’s father and childhood. Shortly afterwards, Danny hung himself in the county jail and Erik changed for the worse.
“You don’t want to be Danny. You totally don’t.” I crinkle my nose and the damn thing slips off again. “Now, lower the gun please.”
He doesn’t want to end up like Danny. That was the promise he made to his mom and the one he’ll keep until his death three years from now in an alley two blocks away. Too bad, he could have lived had he broken it then. But, in some way, that promise was also a thing that gave his life some sense of meaning and purpose. We all strive to be better, don’t we all?
Erik lowers the gun, as I knew he would.
“Thanks you. Now, please, leave my store. I have an important customer coming soon. And please, grab some gummies on your way out. That will make you feel better.”
He silently lowers his head, heavy with the reminiscence of the happy times I triggered in his brain.
“Oh, by the way, here is my card, it has my phone number on it. Just in case you need to reach out to me again.” Don’t worry, you will.
He takes the card and quietly thanks me. It takes him a long minute to slump to the isle with gummies, take two packs and proceed to the front gate of my store.
“Hey, Erik. Before you leave… My glasses, they always keep falling off. Do you know how to fix that?”
He shrugs. Oh, well, was worth a try. I glance at the clock behind me.
11:12 am.
Maybe William can help me, he should be here any second---
“Hello, Melinda,” the man says from the front door before the doorbell finished its high pitch ding.
\--- now.
He is wearing a grey trench coat and smoking a cigarette.
“William Hopper. So nice to finally meet you in person. I see Dale delivered you my invitation.”
He nods.
“Good, good! I don’t often get to interact with an outside-story fellow.” This will be so much more entertaining than Erik. “Please, put off your cigarette. No smoking in here, city regulations.”
edit: part 2 in comments
/r/ZwhoWrites | 2019-08-11T08:51:26 | 2019-08-11T07:59:12 | 151 | 111 |
[WP] You are a park ranger manning the watchtower back at HQ. Radio reception is spotty, so if a patroller gets in trouble, they fire off a flare to call for help. You just saw purple flares from all over the park rise above the treeline, The meaning: EMERGENCY. ARMED RESPONSE NEEDED. | Ranger White saddled his horse and strapped his shotgun to his back; in the distance, purple sparks showered the white-capped Shoshone mountains of Yellowstone.
I handed him a high beam and his pack. I was the one who saw the sparks, but only Ranger White, the oldest Ranger in the park, had ever responded to purple flares before. I thought it had been a joke during training. Why would ever Park Ranger in Yellowstone need to respond to single call? With guns? No grizzly bear could be that big.
"Stay here," White said, gruffly. He hoisted himself onto his horse. "I'm going to back up the other rangers. Lock the door, and watch for more flares. White means all clear. Purple means we need more backup. Red means...."
I swallowed. I was just a junior ranger, working my first summer job in Wyoming. "What does a red flare mean?"
Ranger White assessed me with cold eyes. "Remember that button I told you never to press? The one in the watchtower? A red flare means it's time to press that button."
Ranger White kicked his horse and raced away before I could ask what the black button did. But it was easy enough to remember: red flare, black button. Red flare, black button.
I climbed the ladder to the top of the watchtower, which stood a hundred feet from Ranger HQ, high in the hills of Yellowstone.
I ran the normal procedures, scanning with my binoculars and searchlights, as more and more Rangers mounted their horses and took off for the purple flares. I thought I could hear distant yelling and gunfire. What was it? Certainly not drunk tourists, like usual. A bear attack, maybe, or a wolf pack gone rabid?
As time passed my mind went to even more absurd places. Terrorists? Secret government operations? Aliens?
Yellowstone was millions of acres of pure wilderness; who knew what could exist out there? Ever since I started my job, I'd gotten the impression from Ranger White that there were things no one understood about the park, not even him.
In the distance another purple flare showered the mountain with sparks. It looked like it was coming from the eastward side of Druid Peak, the middle of nowhere, basically. No tourists ever went that deep into the woods.
Another purple flare.
Another.
More gun shots; hazy yelling.
Then a final scream, and silence.
I waited for a long time before the red flare went up.
I ran to the control panel of the watchtower, unlocked the case around the black button, and pressed it.
Immediately, alarms began to sound in HQ; the windows and doors slammed shut as metal armor slid into place, quarantining HQ from the rest of the world. And in the distance, all over the park, more sirens began to blare, from every ranger station in the park.
And then a flood of purple and red flare began illuminating the sky. Whatever was happening, it was spreading.
I waited in the tower for a long time, cradling my shotgun, afraid to leave but afraid to run. Could I even get into HQ if it was locked?
I heard a moan come from the ground below the tower, followed by a dragging sound.
My gun shook in my hands. I pushed myself up, peered over, and scanned the dark woods.
There was nothing. No monster, no alien, no bear or wolf pack or terrorist.
Then I heard the sound of flesh hitting metal.
I looked straight down to see someone climbing up the watchtower. I couldn't see the person's face; they were just a rapidly approaching shadow.
I shone my flashlight into the person's face, only to see Ranger White.
His skin mottled, grey, dead; half of his skull fell open to the air. His eyes were black and hungry, fixed on me.
​
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out r/TomTeller for more stories | Standing up from the terminal, Jack glanced out the window as the first flare went up. Not 300 yards, another went up, and then another, and then another, ten total. He scrambled for his pack containing emergency supplies: fresh water, bandages, medication, splint material. He made a mental checklist of everything there.
Next, he crossed the watchtower to the gun cabinet and picked out a 30/30 rifle with a small slot for a clip to be inserted. He slung that over his shoulder and grabbed two clips. One had red paint slashed across the side of it to indicate lethal rounds. The other clip was slashed in blue to indicate sedative. He tossed those into a small duffle that was sitting in the gun cabinet containing 2 boxes of shotgun shells. He slung the parent shotgun over his shoulder, the gun clanging against the rifle and grabbed the duffle bag of ammunition.
He danced down the stairs, two at a time, landing on the ground in record time. He dropped the emergency bag on the ground and opened up the back of the brown Cherokee and tossed the rounds in. He unslung the two guns and tossed them in the back as well. He grabbed the emergency supplies and heaved them in after the others.
Another flare breathed life into the darkness, bathing the watchtower in a eerie glow. Jack cursed under his breath and ran back up to the watchtower to make sure he wasn't missing anything. At the top, he looked to see that there were eleven flares dancing in the night sky, each one showing a need, and yet something in the back of his mind was nagging him. He ignored it, instead worrying about Carol and Javi, who had been out looking for some campers that were a few miles away from the campgrounds.
With the interference that came with the storm that was threatening, Jack decided to grab a paper map of the park. He checked his holster and was comforted to feel his loaded p229 sitting there. Those blue hues danced over the watchtower one more time, making sure he didn't forget anything, and then he bounded back down the stairs for the Cherokee.
As soon as he got down, he closed the Cherokee and hopped in the SUV. He cranked the engine and it whined in protest for a moment, but started without much fanfare. The radio in the vehicle crackled to life as the power of the vehicle resurrected it. There was a voice, faint, crackling through the static.
"Jack, hurry up. Can you hear me? Need help. Exfil, please." The voice was weak yet gruff.
Lightning streaked through the sky, lancing through the dull purples of the flares. The radio squelched and went to static again. Jack couldn't speak. He couldn't make himself respond to the cries of help. He grabbed the vox, pressed the button, but his mouth hung open stupidly, his own words caught.
Another crack of lightning and thunder shook the car. He dropped the handheld mike and smashed in the gas. The engine spun up in RPMs instantly and the tires groaned under the dirt and rock. He may not be able to speak, but Jack could still drive. He could still save Carol and Javi.
The Cherokee swerved under the torque of the engine, fishtailing and sending dirt and rock in a rooster tail while he bounded down the road at reckless speeds. Every 10 seconds or so, he would look into the sky, hoping to see where he was supposed to go, getting ever closer to the closest flare.
Within about two minutes, he made it to the first distress, but he was so tightly wound that Jack almost missed it. A dying flare lay in the dead underbrush, barely illuminating carnage. He jumped out of the car, pistol in hand the second he landed on the ground, and he started a sweep of vision around the scene.
In the middle of the carnage lay a Blackhawk helicopter. Jack yelled for Javi and Carol. No one answered. Dead soldiers were strewn around in terrible rictuses of pain and anger. Bullet holes laced through all of them. Another flare bloomed in the sky above him, illuminating the scene more fully. Jack recognized a face of one of the dead, and then another, and soon, his hand dropped to his side, his pistol falling to the ground.
The world spun for the Ranger. He started to stumble, fear gripping him. He ran for the Jeep and then the world went black.
His eyes fluttered open. He noted asbestos tiling in the ceiling. A tranquil cream color was painted on the walls, and a small tv was hanging up on the wall opposite of him. On a rolling table next to him sat a discarded jello cup and some water in a pepto-pink colored pitcher. Jack groaned.
A Hispanic man came in after a moment. "Hola compadre. Feeling better today?" The nurse had a thick Cuban accent and a genial face. His nametag, Javi Gutierrez, hung from a lanyard around his neck. He sidestepped to the side of Jack's bed and lifted the man up a little bit, fluffing his pillow. A perpetual smile on Javi's face masked the hint of concern in his chocolate hues when they were fixed on Jack.
While he was getting Jack into a better position, a man in dress blues leaned up from a recliner where he had dozed. Jack knew who he was right away. Lieutenant Hugh Carol made his way to the other side of the bed. The lieutenant was saying something to Jack, but his might was starting to pull focus to a nightstand, where a purple heart lay in it's decorative box, showing everyone in the world the heroic act Jack had performed just a few months ago. Even now, he started recalling the speech given by the Lieutenant at Jack's bedside.
"Jack seemed to know where everyone was that needed help. It was as if each soldier saved shot up a flare, colored like this heart, to tell the world of this hero, as he carried them each to safety. A dozen souls saved by this man, myself included."
The memory of the publicity stunt started to get fuzzy, and he could hear Javi telling the Lieutenant that Jack needed rest. Jack's vision closed in on him and he fell back into the slumber of recuperation, the dream and the memories falling by the wayside once again.
He blinked and stood, looking through the lens of the telescope, seeing a dozen purple comets streak through the sky and it filled the astronomer Jack with dread. | 2020-02-24T13:28:07 | 2020-02-24T12:26:41 | 58 | 20 |
[WP] Years ago, you were a feared warrior, until a witch cast a spell on you. "May you never hurt or kill anyone by blade, word or through any other means." Now, you are the world's greatest healer. You just open your clients and do random stuff. After all, you cannot possibly hurt them! | Life is strange, and sometimes, that strangeness is what makes it fun. Are you familiar with the phrase "percussive maintenance", a fancy way of saying "hit it until it works"? That's my life in a nutshell...at least, now it is.
I used to be a feared warlord. With my trusty warhammer, I could slaughter armies, smashing whole groups with a single wide swing.
Then I met the witch. Before I could reach her, she cast some sort of spell on me that would prevent me from ever causing harm again. I reached her just as she finished her spell, and swung a hard uppercut with my hammer straight for her skull in rage.
My strike launched her across the room and straight through a thick wooden wall...and apparently she suffered some sort of reverse brain damage, because she stood up from the rubble claiming to have recalled her childhood dreams and gave up on witchcraft to become a cook. If word of mouth is to be trusted, she succeeded and is now famous for miles for her unique wines and pies.
As for me...I am now the world's most efficient healer, and also the most brutal. Got a head injury? I'll smash it back together. Guts spilling out your belly? I'll jam them back in so hard they'll never spill out again and your skin will seal over.
I can do more than that to. I overheard someone in a bar talking about a book they were writing. They were suffering writer's block. I discreetly threw my mug at their head so hard they lost consciousness...and then woke up with so many new ideas and so much inspiration that I saw them selling two different books three weeks later.
Now you may ask...how do I feel about this? I used to be a warlord. I killed and plundered my way to fame. Now I can bring no harm, and people are starting to notice.
Well...I like it. I can smash and bash other human beings all I want and life gets BETTER. When a king is out of line, they invite me to come hit them with my hammer so they can gain the thought process to earn the favor of their people. I've saved a nation from a tyrant by making him rethink his tyranny! And he made me his royal healer AND advisor! Most kings ask their advisor for ideas, but I just smack him in the head and it works every time.
This also allows me to keep being lethal in battle, albeit indirectly. If one of my allies is injured, I just beat them until they're in fighting shape again. Far faster and easier than some high-level healing magic or the whole process of surgery and healing naturally.
So yes, life is strange...and that means life is good. I've never felt more alive in my life.
(I couldn't stop picturing Lord Shaxx as I wrote this, so sorry if it's written a bit weird. X3) | I was once a great man. I would sail the mightiest seas, awed by the danger, and consumed by the thought of bloodshed. I would sharpen my axe and broadsword, and I would drift aimlessly onto island after island, singlehandedly cutting down waves of soldiers as they ran out at me.
It was my specialty, my legacy. I was renowned worldwide for my sheer size and combat ability. They called me a one man army...the apex predator. The mention of my name struck fear into the heart of everyone who’s ears it reached. My sheer size shattered the backbone of even the bravest warriors. My voice would thunder and echo across the lands, making even the most brutish and tyrannical kings cower.
But then it all changed. I steered the hull of my ship into an island, charging toward the city that lay quaintly upon it. I watched, waited. I coveted the moment that soldiers would emerge from the base of the parapets, only to be struck down and halved by the dozen for each swing of my blades.
Though, they never came. I had one foe. One opponent, one chance to shed blood. She stood there, wobbling with the force of the wind. She leaned on a staff for support, calling out to me threateningly, with a hoarseness in her voice. I should have listened. But I simply laughed.
I rushed toward her, my heart pounding in my chest. My bloodlust darkened the corners of my vision. It was not honorable to harm an innocent, but she chose to stand in my way, and it is most honorable to have the decency to give a warrior a respectable death in battle. My mind was made.
But as I approached her, she merely shook her head. She took something in her hand, and she crushed it. She outstretched her hand and etched an inscription to the air. Still I charged.
She waited.
I brought up my sword.
“Fiaerbau.” She whispered, with a wave of her staff.
I swung down on her, hoping for the sweet release of her death. But rather, she grew younger. Tattoos bloomed across my body as she stood up taller, no longer a hunched over hag.
“May you never hurt or kill anyone by blade, word, or through any other means again!” She told me, cursing me for the rest of my life.
The tattoos, I suppose, are proof of that. I tried endlessly to remove them. I nearly died, skinning a large portion of my own body to hope to harm again. I tried ending my life, slitting my wrists and my throat, hanging myself and throwing myself off of cliffs. But to no avail.
I grew content with that, over time. I healed inside and out, covering every tattoo and other inch on my body so as not to live with the shame. It has been over 150 years since then. I am no ordinary doctor. I have no clinic. Just a cottage in the woods. People come to me with hopeless situations. Incurable diseases, unknown situations, and even dead bodies.
I’ve never had somebody walk into my cottage who I didn’t care for. And I never cared for somebody who didn’t walk out in better condition than how they’d entered. I just swore never to treat a patient more than once, and they all respected that.
One day I was in my cottage, lounging about. A pot of stew was over the fireplace, its fragrance wafting into the air of the cottage. I was laying on my couch, reading, swimming over the line between consciousness and sleep.
Then there was a knock at the door. I shot up immediately, swinging the door ajar. A cloaked figure stood in front of me, hunched over and shaking. A feeble creature, certainly in desperate need of my help.
I layer her down on the patients table, asking her to go to sleep. She seemed almost hesitant at first, untrusting as many were. But I insisted. I was her last hope at this point, and she had no other choice.
I grabbed my axe from the wall, preparing to heal her. I walked up to the table, using my hand to feel the ailment that was within her. I peeled back her hood to find that whatever sickness it was, it was in her head and it was killing her quickly. She needed my help, and that’s when I realized...
She was the witch. The woman who took it all away from me. The wrinkles on her face were exact, down to a T. Memories came flooding back, the anguish, the pain, the suffering. All the times I’d tried to kill myself, just because of her.
I suppose I deserved it. So I sat and pondered for a long time. Her breathing got heavy, more difficult. My hands wavered, letting my axe drop to the floor. My stew bubbled over, my tea screeching relentlessly.
Everything rung in my ear, thoughts bouncing in my head. The corners of my vision darkened as my hands began to shake. My entire body battled with me. Tears ran down my eyes, a scowl burned its presence onto the skin of my face.
I watched her withdraw another, shallow breath. And then another. But suddenly, there were no more breaths. My fireplace crackled, spilling flames into the floor of my house.
Her life drained away from her, as did mine. I felt the tattoos fade away from my skin, and with them, the life that I’d given with their power. Hundreds of patients wavering with it. And by not swinging my axe, for once in my life, I got what I wished for. One final kill. One sweet release. | 2020-11-06T14:20:28 | 2020-11-06T14:07:27 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You are an elder god taking a vacation on Earth when aliens invade. You teleport to their capital ship and explain them that if they don't leave you will wipe out their entire species with a single thought. They dont believe you so you wipe out 10% of them to show you're serious. | Ten percent of the invasion force spontaneously explodes. The siege ships became nothing but flares of fire and blood. High speed shrapnel either severely crippling or destroying the escort fighters for the support ships. The support ships lack shielding and were also damaged by the shrapnel, but still serviceable.
"Did I stutter?"
On the short range transmission band the bridge crew heard the death cries of thousands.
"By the way, I lied."
The tactical readout on my console display updates in real time as an additional sixty percent of my force spontaneously exploded and the shrapnel shredded most of the support ships that didn't execute successful emergency maneuvers.
I rotate my stalks so my light receptors may perceive the *thing* that fulfilled its threat.
For the first time in my tenure as a banner-class officer, I felt my chitin itch with uncertain fear as this *thing* stood before me in the likeness of the natives. I just can't comprehend how it's possible!
"Last chance. Leave, or I will exact unholy vengeance of the worst kind against your species."
I bristled and foolishly replied: "WE WILL NEVER SUBMIT-"
The being's eyes glow red.
S͍̟̼̻̟̺̑͐ͨ̃ọ̧͓̦̲ͫ͌̀ ͔̫͔͇̣̠̪ͬ̅̊̑̄͗͂b͓͖͕̤̻ͣͥe͇͐ ͊͒͐ͮ̋̇ͨi̧ͤͪt̙͔̯͕̫̔͒̏̚.̰̠͍̲͍̀͆ͮͯͅ
Then they shine so bright I had to look away. I blinked. I died.
\-----
I appear floating in the atmosphere of the alien's homeworld. I transmit to their supersized screens that cover their giant buildings my memory of the encounter. Their foolish commander who didn't heed my threat. My longcoat flaps in the foreign wind and the xenos look up from the street to see me. They gawk and point.
D̦̗̖̰̳̼ͩ̄̍̓̂ͭ̾ͅe̥͖̪ͯ͊͛͊̑̑à̦̖̻͕̼͓̪͋͗͗t̬͓h̴̭̣͉̰͚̓̒͗̈́͌̽ͪ ̴̱̜ͨ̐̇ͭ̾̔̌h̩̺͈͙a̴̹͖̪̝̞͆ͮ̒̄ͩs̃ ̼̣̲ͦͮͫͣ͗̌ͮ̕c̙̖̱̪̭͈͓͂̑̑̋̍ͥ̋̕oͨ̾̚m̪̝̗̞͓̫ͪͬͤe̮ͣ.̘̘̪̭̦̤̙ͣͯ͊͂͛
​
Their homeworld explodes. Millions of lives executed. I continue this for every planet they inhabit. Their fleets are useless. Their pleas denied. I slaughter them all. The galactic community writhes in fear and confusion and it is simply *delicious.* However, I can savor their horror later. For now I want to go back to Earth and finish touring the western hemisphere. I want to see inside the Alamo! | [Part One]
I had crawled from a black hole in some backwater, middle of nowhere spec in the universe. I spent several billion years trying to figure out where the fuck I was. I knew many secrets, secrets that would break the minds of those I found myself living amongst.
Did you know there wasn’t a Big Bang? There wasn’t a ‘God’ neither- and this wasn’t the first version. Sometimes I remember the times before, sometimes I don’t.
I try my best not to, however.
When I first came to this small, low gravity marble, I possessed the body of a primate. I thought my choice to be quite witty, since I retain all of my intelligence in any form I possess but I still wanted a strong body to sell the part. After having three hairy babies, I was clawed apart by starving leopards at the base of a mountain. Turns out, gorillas are quite powerful but quite literally lack the thick skin required to tangle with moderately powerful animals. I could have killed them, but they needed the meat and that was the way of things here. Where I came from, I remember we were all ‘carnivorous’ and would absorb one another. The older your prey, the more powerful you became. It often left you confused until you were a mess of memories with enormous power, like me. This desire to pretend to be something else helped me forget the other bickering elders in my soul. Having a physical brain allowed me to be in a moment rather than all moments and no moments simultaneously.
My second life, I chose to inhabit a man who passed away in a coma. I didn’t absorb his soul- partly because inhabiting his body would give me all of his memories, habits and so on but...also, partly because I felt a bit of a fondness for these weaker but smarter apes after I had been a stronger but dumber one.
Suddenly, at age 34, MY Michael randomly joined into policing forces- then ended up as a paramilitary infantrymen. We said it was a sudden change in perspective- quite the change indeed. Truthfully I had mistaken the way the wilds worked and the realm I hail from to have universe truths. The strong preyed upon the weak. At first I got to do that. But that lingering part of Michael made me feel guilty- made me realize that these ‘occupations’ didn’t exist to eliminate the weak of ‘our’ species...but to protect them. At least, in theory. True evil was that of the human trophy hunters, the war criminals, the war lords and dictators. How easy it could be for me to just vaporize the leader of North Korea...but, that could make things worse. His sister would come into power. I could kill her too...and the rest of the successors. Then I would be a mass murderer, and the people may end up in a governmental no-mans land just as bad as the horrific regime....or they could be annexed by South Korea and learn how to live more positive lives.
I may be an Eldritch Deity, but most of the humans on this planet had been humans longer than I had been. How could I deem myself all knowing?
My Michael was puppeted into the swamps of mid Florida. A beautiful area with very interesting wildlife- I find alligators fascinating- when, about five hundred and sixty three days into living in our self made cabin with our wife and child, now my forty three year old eyes of Michael reported to our brain that an actual alien vessel was floating between the earth and the moon. He could see a vague shadow with our eyes, but mostly it was the image from the television that resounded to me.
I stepped out of the cast I had tucked myself away in- and created a spectral form of Michael using about a quarter of my souls. Our body and family would be invulnerable should the aliens attack while I tried to diplomatically dissuade them from attacking my vacation spot that I had poached for the next six million years.
I teleported into the ship- no response or reaction from the aliens. Odd. Oh, yes...I am not Michael.
I used some of my power to create a astral projection of my Michael.
The aliens were startled at first- but after they realized their weaponry, they became cocky once more. I used my invasive soul abilities to invade their minds. They weren’t an invasion force per say- they were a government backed mining corporation that would crack planets open and rob their resources. All natural radioactive materials would be harvested, turned into even heavier metals, and the waste elements would be deposited within przybylski's star- which was always a radioactive star, but was now about thirty percent Plutonium, Einsteinium, Moscovium, Polonium and plenty of elements that humanity hadn’t officially named yet that were just a variation of “unobtanium” with an extra “un” attached for how many atoms away from the first labeled “unobtanium” they were.
These aliens were interested in the Earths elements, and had been studying the planet extensively. They had created a preserve on their home worlds that housed exactly 60,000 human beings and had almost a thousand individuals from nearly every animal on earth as long as they were ant sized or larger. They reckoned that by preserving aspects of our planet, strip mining MY blue marble into a lifeless rock was okay. They could always terraform Venus which was ‘close enough’ to absolve them of their sins. Yet, the hypocritical species inhabited four planets, all very close to one another, all naturally habitable. Their populations were insatiable locusts- undoubtedly a byproduct of always having the resources, the space and time to help their solar system out.... were humans much better?
....actually, they are. Humanity benefits, at least morally, by only having one planet. The unity they have is...far greater than anything these aliens have ever experienced. They ruled their society with an iron, Darwinian fist. A mother bears a brood of one to nine with the average delivery of five children per pregnancy. The young ones would compete violently before puberty- the two siblings to slay the others in martial combat got to live. Their lives were based around subjugation of their own, and seeking others to take resources from much like an even more dystopian and aggressive Imperial Britain. If I had found them, I may not have ever grown as a Deity.
I raised our hand, and spoke within their minds- each imagining the most confident and authoritative voice they could imagine within their own heads speaking their own tongue:
“You may leave this planet- but if you do not, I will use my infinite pool of wisdom and power to remove the soul from your entire species immediately before safely landing this craft for humans to study and evolve with. You will be a mere stone to leap from for humanity- yet a footnote in their history. What say you?” | 2021-05-04T21:17:27 | 2021-05-04T21:15:08 | 62 | 17 |
[WP] A small unassuming tavern is run by a retired superhero. The janitor used to be the biggest mob boss in the world. The chef is a monster hunter. The waiter is the head of a massive cult. They don't know each other's identities. When the tavern is in trouble, all four thought: "I got this." | A man slammed a door behind him and propped the nearest stool against its handle. He turned around and faced the tavern and the befuddled customers faced him as well.
"Spiders!" the man gasped for air. "Or giant crabs -- I'm quite unsure." He stuttered and slurred his speech as if he momentarily awakened from nightmare. "They all came from the river! Each the size of a wagon's wheel. The swarm consumed everything living to their bones. Horses...pigs...cattle... The monsters that ate them are in the hundreds and they head this way!"
He bent over and threw up an alarming amount of bile.
The bar exploded in laughter.
"This fella' in for a wild night! One step en'tha bar and he aw'reddy drunk !" one man shouted. "Didn't think 'Omas the Jester was performing tonight!" another said.
Throughout the mockery, a few workers at the tavern perked their ear towards the panicked man. They remained quiet.
A young waiter who trained to be a monster hunter discretely knelt down and tapped his boot. He felt a hidden fire arm. It had enough silver bullets loaded in the chamber to fight a small band of robbers or a medium size game. Nothing more.
A middle age hostess sat behind a counter near the panicked man. She looked into his eyes and knew he wasn't drunk. She thought deeply about his vague description of the beasts. They weren't spiders, or crabs, but they were abominations made from soil beneath dead animals.
She removed a burnt orange parchment and a black fountain pen from her purse. *Companions*, she wrote. *Dusk creatures are on the doorstep of the town. I suspect this is the work Edwork Yoong from the Darkhill Chapel. Rest assure, we will not allow his god inhabit this realm for a single minute. Grab every crystal from the moonlight bath and prepare to cast each light spell from the book of Dawn. Alee this moment to the Tavern.*
She pressed her hand against the page. It flashed a pale blue light before the writing vanished. Help was on the way.
At the same time, a portly cook hurried from the kitchen through a backdoor exit. He climbed a wooden ladder on the side of the tavern and heaved himself onto the roof. He faced east -- the direction towards the river -- and listened for the faintest sound.
A pronounced rattle in the air, as if thousands of tiny metal ball bearings were being fed through a funnel. "Dusk creatures," the cook murmured to himself. "Small individually, but large in numbers." He went back down the ladder and walked westward away from the tavern. He stopped at a lemon tree with a small glyph of an ox arm etched into its trunk. He punched through the glyph and removed a hidden potato sack filled with silver armor. He wore it and pressed back to his kitchen.
The panicked man had recover from the acute physical illness. Mentally however, he remained mad. He tried build a barricade against the front door with every chair and table in the lobby.
The crowd continued to belittle him.
"Ey boy. I have a cabin that needs some rearrangin' as well! Can you come over and give me a hand?" one barked.
The tavern's front door made a violent jolt that silenced the crowd. One drunk tried to answer to the incident with wit, but his friend hushed him mid sentence.
Everyone waited and watched the door pulsated as if a giant were knocking against it.
A rattle crescendoed from the outside world.
"Oh gah. They're here! They're here! And now *we're* the animals about to be slaughtered!" the panicked man wept.
For the first time, the crowd failed to respond to the man's rambling. They all became frightened too.
The clicking of a pistols hammer echoed in the mist in the rattle. The young waiter/hunter pointed its barrel at the front door -- it's hinges barely kept the slack of wood from soaring across the lobby.
The hostess/cultist approached the hunter side and held up a glowing yellow crystal. She spoke in an unrecognizable language and the stone began to shine brighter than any torch in the room.
Then, the portly cook/hero wedge between the two. The big man appeared huge in his silver armor and looked more fortified than any castle stronghold.
They stood their ground as the door broke away from its frame and screams filled the tavern. | There was something to be said for coincidences. In a world that is mostly chaos and disorder, and trust me I have seen both, sometimes things just happen to line up so perfectly that they seem planned. The thing about being able to read people's thoughts is that nothing ever surprises you, it's easy enough to say that you won't take a peek but eventually curiosity gets the better of you and there goes that surprise party your girlfriend is planning, or there goes a great friendship because you realise they're on the opposide side of the political spectrum to you.
​
It was a power easy to abuse and even easier to resent so I had since hung the cape. Spider-man says that with great power comes great responsability but with great responsability comes great stress and it wasn't worth my health. I didn't much like going to the doctor, all smiles all the while thinking the worst about you. No, my heart isn't racing because I'm a fat slob, even if I don't walk all that much. What for when you can use your mind to levitate you or heavy objects? Still I had put the cape down and pretended to be normal best as I could. Sometimes I got involved without anyone really realising when I picked up a stray thought that revealed things were about to get dangerous or violent but I always did it it without being noticed, just acidentally "tripping" into someone thus preventing the man from following that woman, or just made sure that a thief gets their shoe laces untangled so they trip.
Beer helped so I thought that a job at a tavern would be a good fit for me, it had all the drink I wanted, plus being able to sense Karens would tell me exactly when to show up and disarm them before they threatened to leave a bad review. With me being able to know exactly what people wanted to hear I could have gone anywhere but that life suited me. Quiet for the most part, I liked the people I worked with and respected them enough not to pry into their minds. Maybe that was why I didn't realise what they were.
​
I knew what the man was going to do before he pulled out his gun and I made sure to be standing in the room when he did. Mind reading, that came easy but being able to manipulate objects? It helped to see them. I had planned to just push into the gun, make it so heavy he would have no other option but to drop it, something that wouldn't compromise me but I didn't have time to do that.
Jaime, the same Jaime to which I had spoken about ships in bottles and that had told me had a love for foreign movies was suddenly on him. He had realised that the man was packing almost as soon as I had and he didn't have the advantages I did which was impressive. Less impressive however was the way he came from behind and slammed the guy's head on the counter.
Now, don't get me wrong it's not as if I felt sorry for the guy, who had the intent of pointing a gun at whoever was at the register but even I had to cringe as I head the smack of his skull against the granite. It had to have hurt and Jaime was readying himself for a second and third hit. My will slipped me for just a moment and I sensed the anger that Jaime held, the want to hurt. He was seeing red, so to speak, as he much like himself found our tavern a nice place to retire. As much as I found it heartwarming that he considered me, and each of the people he worked with family I was less thrilled about his wants.
Now I understand why Jaime enjoying making so many jokes about "taking out the thrash" and "cleaning the filth", the guy had all but been giving me his identity and I had never realised...I prepared to act but before I could the guy was pulled away from Jaime's strong grip.
Katherine came in like an Amazon, hair tied neatly to the side in a ponytail, face ferocious. Seeing that face I felt like she could go up against a wild boar and just supplex it into unconsciousness, and I didn't need to use my powers to see that she was filled with energy and adrenaline.
I had hired Kat because no one could use knives like she could, she could cut and slice so fast I couldn't even see her hands but I hadn't realised that she another impressive skill.
She pulled something out of her pocket, pink and flexible and I soon realised it was a scrunchy. You know all the better to tie her hair with? I thought that was a bit odd, but I was thankful that she had stopped Jaime from getting in trouble with the law. What I didn't expect was for her to hogtie him in 30 seconds or so.
Seriously you know the knots you see in cartoons? The helpless princess and the like, arms behind their arms and their legs tied so they can't even hop? She did it in less than 30 seconds. I don't even know how she managed to get him like that as I had never thought she'd be able to lift him up but with a roll he was down on the ground, had she done that on the way down?
It was super human, and I was beginning to have my suspicions that she was meta human, or at least borderline when Steve approached him. Now Steve is what we call the quiet type, not unpleasant or rude but not really one to talk much. He talks sometimes, he says hello and thank you but for the most part he doesn't speak. It's something that I could appreciate, as having been raised in Europe I had never liked when american waiters were on my case every two minutes to assure a tip. Steve didn't accept tips, and in fact refused any raise I tried to give him by saying he was "cared for". I had assumed that he had wealthy parents, like those kids from millionaires who roleplay working for Youtube? But the truth revealed itself soon enough. He drew a mark on him, just this little symbol that I couldn't for the life of me replicate with how elaborate it was and got up. He put the pen he used to mark receipts back in his pocket and he walked away.
The weird thing is...as I waited for the police a customer suddenly became very interested in the guy and I had to almost give myself away to stop several customers from trying to go for him. In a way it made sense, he had been ready to put them in danger, but I couldn't shake off the sensation that Steve's little mark had something to do with them.
So I peeked, I took a look and I admit that I broke their trust by looking. As we waited for the police to arrive I studied up on their history. Minds are much like a book, in that you can get a lot from them and browse them.
A cult leader, a monster hunter, a former mob boss and a superhero work in a bar, that is the strangest bar joke I have ever heard. Were the priest and rabbi too busy? Was the horse tired of his long face? Still I have to admit, it surprised the hell out of me, I mean what are the odds?
Coincidences really are funny things... | 2021-05-19T16:01:03 | 2021-05-19T15:59:06 | 423 | 90 |
[WP] The Earth goes into a panic as an alien spaceship was spotted. When it landed, it wasn’t alien life that comes out, it was another human civilization claiming earth was a prison to those who were banished from the main colony. | The ship looked exactly like you'd expect a space ship to look. It was long, and conical, and it had little blue lights running up and down the sides. It hummed. When it landed in a potato field on the outskirts of Ottawa, it did so on three thin legs of a tripod, and a little hatch slid open on the ship's belly. Down the ramp came one guy.
Worldwide, people were shocked.
They'd been expecting tentacles, or big teeth, or sapient vapour, or a statue that only moves you're not looking, or something... weird! You know? Something from space!
But it was a guy. He had on a light blue onesie. His hair was a little mussed. He had a big nose and one of his eyes refused to open as much as the other, giving him a slightly dopey look.
The President of the United States of America was there in that potato field, and so was the Prime Minister of Canada, and the Queen of the United Kingdom, and a great many other presidents and prime ministers and queens and kings and tincup emperors. There were youtubers there, too, but they didn't have very good seats.
The leaders of the world had a great many questions for the space man, and these mostly had to do with why he was here, and what he wanted, and if he meant the people of earth any harm. The leaders showed the space man their best smiles and they implied terrifying things about their nations' weaponry.
The space man took in their words with a dazed look on his face. Sometimes he sneezed. After he'd listened to imprecations and threats and cajolements for the better part of an hour, he raised a hand.
The silence that followed was global in nature.
Every human on the planet, either in person, or through a television, or on their phones, or imaginatively via a radio, studied the space man's lips in anticipation of his first remark.
"You're a lot better put together than I was expecting."
"What were you expecting?" asked the President of the Federal States of Micronesia.
"I figured you'd be..." The space man tapped his lower lip in thought. "Scruffier."
"Scruffier?" The President of France was aghast.
"Rough around the edges. You're the descendants of prisoners, after all." The space man seemed to grow bored of speaking, and while the leaders of the world peppered him with indignant remarks and cutting asides related to his sense of style, the space man moved among them examining the make of their clothing, the smoothness of their skin, and the shininess of their teeth. Once he'd seen his fill, he nodded to himself quite pleasedly and returned to his ship's ramp.
"Wait!" cried the General Secretary of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. "You can't just leave!"
"What do you mean we're the descendants of prisoners?" asked the Grand Poobah of A Fake Country I've Made Up For This Story.
The space man scratched his ear. He appeared eager to be on his way. "Your ancestors were sent here on a prison ship." Gasps from the crowd. "Did you really not know?"
"We evolved here!" said the Chairman of the Sovereignty Council of the Republic of Sudan.
The space man opened his eyes wide. "Wow, you believe that?"
"There's fossil evidence!" said the President of the Republic of Korea.
Not to be outdone by the South Korean, the General Secretary of the Worker's Party of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea added, "And DNA evidence!"
A round of guffaws is what met these proclamations. The space man nearly fell off his ramp he was laughing so hard. He doubled over and slapped his knees. "No way, no way. We put that stuff in the ground as a joke. We thought it'd be funny! As if you fell for that!"
As one, the leaders of the world took a seat on the ground. This was heavy stuff, and they needed time to process it.
"So you're saying we're Australia?" said the President of the Plurinational State of Bolivia.
"We are," said the President of New Zealand. "We're galactic Australia." The entire country of New Zealand let out a disappointed groan.
The space man had nearly regained his breath. Between gasps of air, he asked, "What... do you... mean?"
"We once sent all our prisoners to live on a patch of land," said the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. "That patch of land is Australia. It's a barren hellscape of venomous creatures and boxing marsupials."
"There's venomous animals on this planet?" said the space man. "Yeesh. We were right to send you here."
And it was around this time that the writer of this story realized he didn't know how to end things. He opted to do so dramatically, decisively, and inexplicably.
The earth opened up beneath the space man and up came three hundred billion small magma creatures. They had unibrows and potbellies and each one was named Dave. The Daves chased the space man into his space ship, and he flew away forevermore, eternally grateful that his civilization had the power of spaceflight.
Meanwhile, back on earth, the Daves brought about a period of great sadness and hardship on the planet, one in which the people of earth were made to rubs bits of fabric together at high speeds, so as to give off heat and gradually warm the surface of the planet. This was a terrible plan, and one doomed to failure, but that didn't make the process any more enjoyable for the people of earth.
Some three hundred thousand years later an enterprising young woman by the name of Dax'natch the Blood-Handed realized that the Daves could be defeated quite easily by the squeezing of lemon onto their unibrows, and in this way humanity was once again free. But only kind of free, because as we've learned in this story, we are prisoners on earth.
*****
r/a_memorable_account | The Terrans were not pleased.
Of course, it is quite reasonable to be displeased, upon learning that your entire civilisation's pre-agriculture history has been a sham. Not exactly how the Terran humans expected first contact to go. Even worse to learn that it all started as a form of penal colony. Some Terran humans sardonically compared the situation of Earth to the historic practice of deporting criminals to Australia. But the worst thing to learn, and the thing that was most displeasing, was that periodically, more people were forcibly sent to Earth. And the people that the apparent main colonial effort sent to Earth to be contained here, were of course criminals; thus not entirely nice people in general. But considering what kind of criminals we're talking about here, it is understandable that the Terrans were not happy with their situation. Their greatest monsters, who had committed the most atrocious crimes and inconceivably evil acts in the planet's history, had been transplanted to the planet from somewhere else. The Dirlewangers, the Atillas, the Harpes, and all the other monsters out of history. And a large number of general scum too, con-artists and the like. From Ea-Nasir to Bezos, from Gilles de Rais to Baba Anujka. A significant majority of the most shitty, evil, vile, reprehensible, disgusting, and utterly despicable scum from the anneals of history hadn't even been born on Earth.
So when the humans from the main colonial effort, under the United Human League, said that the time had come for Earth to be put back under central control, rather than be left to our own devices, well, Terran humanity did not respond in a nice and forgiving manner. The general consensus after the revelation of our origin, was that perhaps it would have been far better to have treated the horrid scum deported to Earth quite differently. And since the extra-terrestrial humans had been so kind and polite to provide the Terran humans with a full list of all recent arrivals, their crimes, and Terran identities; the Terrans decided to rectify the mistakes that the other humans had made. By the means of guillotines and guns. Blood flowed in the streets of every city on planet Earth. Blood flowed as the Terrans rid themselves of the horrible people sent to Earth. The serial killers, the monstrous CEOs, the corrupt politicians. All of them more often than not sent here as punishment for crimes committed off-world. And if some home-grown scum were executed alongside the offworlders, then the mob considered it to be justice. A horrible, nightmarish, justice to be sure. But what with the full evils, plans, and crimes revealed of countless powerful people who happened to have used their superior education and knowledge to screw over the planet, well, the people did not care for the crimes they themselves were committing.
And the ship that had come to bring Earth back under League control, when it tried to assert order. To seize control, the mob turned on them. Sure, their technology was centuries ahead of what Earth could even hope to produce, but just as the British learned at Isandlwana; technological superiority does not equate to victory. And their ship was blasted with everything mankind had, some of the angrier pilots taking a page out of insanity itself to sacrifice their own planes and lives to force the advanced ship to land. Ground to air missiles blasted at its shields with a truly insane abandon. Even commercial planes managed to assist in whatever capacity they had as makeshift bombers. And once it had crashed, the angry mobs of civilians and soldiers, lead by intermediary leaders at best, and functioning under a purely rage-based form of anarchy at worst, resorted to metaphorically drowning the unlucky crew of that ship in the blood of Terrans. And they more-or-less succeeded. The casualties were atrocious. The damages to the ship were extensive. But it could be studied. It could be reverse-engineered. And once the mobs died down, and some form of conventional order returned under the few leaders mankind had that weren't born off-world, the work started. To replicate the ship, or at very least the components onboard that made FTL travel possible.
Because the white-hot rage of mankind had cooled now. The Terrans had, with fire and steel, purged their world. Some called it a purification. Others called it necessary sacrifices for a better. In truth it was the release of the thousands of years of bitterness and anger in the face of those who used their knowledge to dominate the rest of the Terrans. Didn't mean that it was justified. That it was right. But what was done, was done. And it was done in the madness of the berserk, the blind, burning rage that cannot be stopped by anything other than death. It had, however, burned out. And in its place, was a different form of anger. A cold, terrible, and frightening resolve. It pervaded popular culture. It infested the online meme-spheres. It resounded from the halls of every school, from the wards of every hospital, and the homes of every Terran. A determined will to ensure that such a thing as what had happened to Earth; that a world should be the isolated playground of monsters bound to the skin of mortal men, that innocent people should pay for the cowardice of others. No more. **No more.** That became the cry of the Terrans.
They had not asked to be born on a world where, inevitably, evil bastards were scattered around the land, free to assume dominion over people of kind hearts and forgiving souls. The people of Earth had committed no crimes in their lives to be treated as such. They had done no great evils that made their world doomed to be a receptacle for the Stalins and Mengeles. They had made mistakes, sure. They had born evil sons and daughters in their time, sure. Many monsters in history had indeed been home-grown. But to increase the supply of evil bastards artificially in such a manner as the League had done, was reprehensible. What had the League expected from Earth? From the Terrans? That the people of the third rock of Sol would just roll over obediently like a dog?
So when the second ship came to find out what had happened to the first, the Terrans dictated terms. Independence. Reparations. The right to drag the bastards who had sent monstrous men to Earth back to the Hague and try them for crimes against humanity. It was of course not expected that the League would agree to any of that. They had come to bring the Earth under compliance. To bring it into the fold of a united and harmonious interstellar human state. One will. One mankind. One destiny. Or so the League officials onboard the second ship claimed. The Terrans responded by successfully boarding and seizing control of the League ship using new space-shuttles enhanced with technology from the first ship, and putting the officials on trial for crimes against humanity.
Because the Terrans, before confused, disunited, and kept hopelessly in the dark by offworld criminal syndicates, weren't playing anymore. They made it abundantly clear as they reverse-engineered the second ship, and began harvesting the asteroid belts of the Solar System, that they weren't about to give an inch. They were unified about this. No more greedy bastards burning up the planet. No more monsters purging millions in the name of madness. **No more.** And as the Terrans built more and more ships to create a fleet capable of defending their home, and perhaps even striking back should they come under attack, they had their own vision. The rest of mankind had left them to rot. Whatever mankind on other worlds had become, if they were willing to let billions suffer just so they could put prisoners away safely, they weren't what the Terrans would consider truly human anymore. To be human, is to be kind. To be human is to care. And to be human is to work together to protect humanity, from any and all threats.
The Terran culture, and the nature of the Earth's people, had achieved a new definition in this conflict. They had found themselves, and had emerged harder, better, and stronger from the horrors that the League had inflicted upon them. They had found the culture of the League, weak and incapable of executing the monsters of history, lacking in worthiness. Instead, emerging like a flaming phoenix from the arena of monsters, a new mankind, a better mankind, was ready to plunge a dagger deep in the heart of the stagnant beast the was the League. If they could even find the daring and courage it would take to even attempt to attack the Terrans, that is.
If they dared to try, they'd learn through blood, steel, and terror that the Terrans would suffer under their yoke; **No more.**
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2022-07-02T19:57:04 | 2022-07-02T19:43:49 | 51 | 36 |
[WP] Aliens land on earth, but they do so in levitating castles and wizards towers. It turns out that most galactic civilizations rely on magic instead of technology.
The intent of the aliens can be whatever you want, but the point is that they (primarily) use magic instead of modern tech.
EDIT: yes yes, Arthur C. Clarke and all that. When I say magic I mean they pull a bat wing and some amber out of a spell component bag, chant some arcane sounding stuff, make a hand gesture, and then a fireball shoots out from their appendage and makes a tank explode.You know what I mean. If it is extremely advanced tech, then it's really really artsy and stylized or so incredibly incomprehensible its rules are unlike any science we can dream of. | When the Grand Mage Kal summoned a great storm to chill the world, Gerard Petit, Ph. D, and his associates at Oxford conjured fusion to warm it.
When Desmond the Gap Strider leapt from the Earth to the Moon, Michael Smithson, mechanical engineer, and the brightest minds at Boeing built a vessel to carry a thousand on the same journey.
When Dras the Golem Master’s servants raised great towers and battlements from the lunar regolith, Sato Aika, renowned architect and engineer, designed and built a lunar city to house a million.
The Three Trials completed, Humanity was welcomed onto the Grand Council and a new school of magic was founded in their honor, Applied Science.
| Ever wonder what a black hole really is? It's when something pulls you in so much, to escape the pull you'd need to be going faster than light. Then there's magic. Unseen, it moves faster than light. It's the elements that are created in the black hole, similar to how stars create the elements we have now through fusion. These elements created in the black hole transcend space and time. Elements so heavy light can't escape it. Magic. Physics is bound to the speed of light. There are a vast amount of elements more than the ones we know. A whole other world. With consciences, civilizations, thoughts and ideas that are uncomprehendingly beyond us. And one day, for some reason, they appeared, as the skies twisted and turned, bending to make way for them to enter our world.
I was sleeping when it happened. I awake to a loud, heavy yet crisp bang. I look outside and the skies glow in shades of bright and dark orange, with something in the middle. I can't make out quite what, but I can't look away. I run outside for a better look.
The grass, the sky, the neighbors around me watching in awe, houses, everything was a giant mix of bright colors moving around, slowly. I take a step, and feel a surge all throughout my body. I reach down to pick up an oddly-shaped twig from the ground. Just as I pick it up, it bears a single fruit, as the glowing dust emanates around it, and floats together spiraling up until it scatters. It was at this moment, I realized, I was hearing music.
It felt like years. Standing there, every sense being stimulated, one after another. Absolute bliss. Then I open my eyes. I look around me, neighbors still there, I look down at the twig in my hand. It's missing. I look back up at the sky, and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. A giant tower. It spanned the length of the sky from edge to edge. Huge structures, but also very, very intricate. It's so far away but I can make out its details. It looks very similar to how towers in magic are depicted...
I wondered if anyone on the other side of the planet could see this. Was it on this side of the Earth, or was everyone somehow able to witness this? Then, something moved. The huge wooden doors opened inward, as indicated by the huge gap slowly widening in the middle with a figure at the bottom. As it begins to take steps towards the edge of the castle, it holds out an object. The figure looks to be an old man, dressed in royal blue robes wearing a royal blue pointy hat. He seems to be smiling. He looks so human. He sighed, with his smile slightly more expressive. I don't know how I know these things, he's so far away the size of a pin but somehow...
He holds out what he's holding in his hand, this rectangular object. It's... a... Suddenly, like the mix of colors previously emanating the sky and everything around me, I see the object begin to do the same, as it becomes more of a static, beginning to fade. I jolt, as I see something beginning to form under my head in front of my torso. It's a book. On it, written, "Instructions".
**Criticism welcome. I'm new to this!** | 2014-11-27T17:01:41 | 2014-11-27T16:02:11 | 153 | 24 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | *"...Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise.”*
The words repeated over and over. I thought I was dreaming but as I slowly came to and the blurry green light began to take the shape of a clock displaying 3:54 I realized it was the television. I rolled over.
*“God damnit Clare, it’s four A.M what the hell are you watching? I have work in a few hours.”* She didn’t say anything, I turned to look at her. She was just staring at the screen.
*“What? What is it?”* I said.
Silence. She handed me her phone. Gone was the assorted mess of apps, unread emails and missed calls that usually graced the display. Instead was the exact same message present on our TV.
I turned and grabbed my phone off the bedside cabinet to check it. It was the same message. Taking the TV remote from Clare I began cycling through the TV channels. Every channel had the same warning. Clare drew her knees up to her chest. I hugged her close then rolled out of bed.
*“Where are you going?”* came a barely audible whisper from Clare.
*“Gonna check downstairs. Maybe give Gary a ring. I haven’t got time for his shitty antics so early in the morning.”*
*“Be quick, I’m scared.”* came her response.
*“Don’t worry babe.”* I kissed her on the cheek, slipped my slippers on and made my way out of the room. Mumbling to myself about Gary, why I’m related him and what a pain in the arse he is.
 
I shuffled across the living room grabbing the house phone and the TV remote. Flipping through channels while turning the phone on. The channels were all the same. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. The phone had no dial tone I held it to my ear to double check. Silence. Then suddenly a beep. Followed by a message, cracking and slightly distorted and old like it was some sort of World War 2 blitz warning. *Please remain in your homes. If you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows. It started. Do not look outside. Do not…*
I threw the phone down, annoyed more than anything and turned the TV back off. Enough of this I thought. Curiosity got the better of me and I got up to make my way to the front curtains intending to look outside. As I got closer my heart began to beat faster, a surge of adrenaline spurred me on. Gritting my teeth I grasped the edge of the curtain. I went to draw it open.
*“Ricky. Ricky?”* came Clare’s voice tinged with fear. Snapping me from my almost trance like state I let go of the curtain and turned to head back to Clare.
*“Coming babe.”* I said *“Well the landline isn’t wor…”* I stopped in my tracks. Clare was stood there in front of the curtains in her night gown. Her head beyond the curtains. I watched her for a few seconds. She didn’t move. *“Clare?”* There was no reaction. I called her name again. No reaction. A deep primal fear welled up inside me. I began backing through the doorway and into the hall.
 
Very slowly her head came back through the curtains, she stood up straight and began to turn. Her feet and legs weren’t moving, somehow her body was just....turning. She faced me. Confusion ran through my mind. I looked into her face. I shouldn't have done that. I saw….nothing. Just a deep, dark abyss. No eyes, eyebrows, mouth or lips. Just a void. I stumbled backwards. In that split second, before my foot had even come to a stop from the back step she now stood right in front of me. That darkness where her face should have been was no more than an inch away from my face. There was nothing. Just a void, emptiness and darkness. My mind gave up, the world span and went dark as I fell to the floor.
| 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T06:03:41 | 565 | 12 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | It was hard, learning to communicate again. Part of the process of learning to write – and I could not, I was only five when I made the wish – is already being able to speak. But I figured it out, even with the challenge of my new, weird, clawed hands. Now I've got custom keyboards, of course. I can afford pretty much anything.
I was lucky that my parents called the news when they saw me, and not the police. Maybe it was because I was only a few feet tall at the time. Maybe they saw something of my old self in my new body. Regardless, I quickly became a national sensation – "the boy who became a dinosaur!" The government couldn't vanish me now.
It wasn't as hard growing up as you might expect. Everyone wants to be friends with a dinosaur. Dinosaurs are *cool.* The challenge came with puberty. Velociraptors may be awesome, but they're certainly not sexy. Well, not to most people, and those who *are* interested tend to have an… unrealistic expectation of reptile penises. But I figured it out. Married a nice asexual woman. Hired a Thai masseuse. Yes, my wife's aware. She's very understanding.
But seriously, being a velociraptor is pretty awesome. | What eight year-old boy hasn't seen their older sisters having a sleepover and tried to figure out what was going on?
When Kaitlin had her slumber party, she had made a show of hanging the "No Boys Allowed" sign on the door. Since her room was on the second floor, overlooking the cranberry bog, there was no way for a kid who'd rather catch a Lugia than climb a tree to get up there.
In frustration, but not defeat, I went back to my room and found the old silver half dollar. Grandma had given it to me a year before. When this coin had been minted, JFK's face had been double struck by a machine error. Grandma claimed it was a lucky coin.
As I ran my fingers over the two-faced president, I made a wish. "I wish I could be like one of the girls."
This is when everything went weird. The coin flew from my hand, bounced off my DS, rolled over to my closet and started spinning, faster and faster. I could see sparks flying off that coin in all directions, even though it was spinning on a wooden floor.
Terrified of what was going on, I stood up to try to grab the coin, then noticed that the sparks were hitting my clothes in the closet. My school jacket was changing right before my eyes. The public school blue and grey was replaced by a catholic school red and black, and the pants became a skirt.
Next to the new school uniform, my power rangers pajamas shifted as well, changing from mechanical mastodons to soft satin. I reached out to touch this newly formed nightgown, and something told me to put it on.
The minute this foreign invader in my closet covered my body, Kaitlin threw open the door. "Hey, princess. We can't have a slumber party without my little sister!"
I looked from her to the mirror. Overlaid on my own body was the image of a little girl with blonde pigtails and a really cute face. Is that what Kaitlin was seeing?
I was swept up into the world of slumber parties, truth or dare, and makeovers. For that night, I truly was like one of the girls. Maybe it's that qualifier that saved me from a full transformation. Each of the girls saw me as a girl while I was in the nightgown.
When Dad came home, he called me "Jemma." When I went back to my own room the next morning and took off the nightgown, nobody remembered that I was in the sleepover but me.
I had always thought it was some weird dream. I never thought about it until the day twenty years later.
When I was on my way down to the post office to check the PO Box for the lawfirm, I saw something that I shouldn't have. Down in the alley behind the Daily Paper diner and the credit union, an older man, around fifty by the looks of him, was knifed repeatedly. When his attackers saw me reaching for my phone, they started chasing me.
I ran as fast as I could through the shopping district, shouting bloody murder. They were on my heels, and I ducked into a thrift store to hide.
Over by the racks of new arrivals, I got that old feeling of "Wear Me" coming from a blue A-line dress. As if the situation wasn't bad enough, now I was losing my mind. But I couldn't stop myself. On went the dress, and away went my dignity.
The two thugs ran in after me, and saw only a gorgeous woman in a blue dress.
"Hey, missy, you didn't see a mousy little guy run through here?" the one with the tan cap asked.
"Uh yeah, he ran through the backroom to the loading dock." I lied, taking this time to memorize their features. As the killers ran out in pursuit of me, I made the phone call to the police, describing what I saw, who they were and where they were headed.
The court date is in three weeks. And until then, I've got to live like this, looking like a woman until the day I can take the stand as a man. | 2015-03-07T04:14:18 | 2015-03-07T04:03:33 | 59 | 21 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You are cursed with ever aging immortality with the exception you can be killed using one object. Every few years you get a hint.
You physically age as you get older but cannot die. | Every decade, my mother tells me how I might kill myself.
Well, she doesn't *tell* me, tell me.
My mother is three hundred and seven years old. She had me when she was thirty five, making me two hundred and seventy two.
Back in my twenties and thirties, I thought she was crazy. Why would I ever want to kill myself? Being immortal would be amazing. I could learn any language I wanted. I could have ten graduate degrees and see the world.
But as she got older, I realized that none of these things would come to pass.
Over the years, she aged before my eyes, until her skin was the consistency of wet paper and her bones were as fragile as chalk. Nowadays, she spent her time laid up in bed, watching re-runs of *Lost* and *Grey's Anatomy.*
"Look at how silly those doctors are, trying to save those peoples lives," she would say. "Silly mortals cling to life like a child clinging to his mother's skirts. It's pathetic. Honey, the straw, if you would."
Then I would lift a glass of water to her lips and she would suck from a straw. Her muscles had deteriorated so much, she could barely lift her own head.
But every ten years, without fail, she would deliver one line from a prophecy or limerick. She said it was a way to end my own life, if I so choose. It went a little something like this:
The beginning
could match your end
The end of life
like a welcome friend
But should you linger
you'd be a fool
all you need
is this one tool.
It never left
Just look inside
but you won't be left
satisfied.
The truth is hard
harder to carry
Don't look for it!
It's hardly merry
But if you must
you selfish boy
you'll see this tool
is not a toy.
It's here
It's there
It's everywhere
It has your eyes
It has your hair
Look in a mirror
and you will see
that your tool
And that was the last line. he past few decades, she has been quiet. I assume it's because she doesn't want to tell me what the tool is. She doesn't want me to die.
I tried getting it out of her on many occasions. But unfortunately, her aging body is not connected to her aging mind. It's like she keeps getting smarter and smarter, and all the while, her body is getting skinnier and skinnier, her skin whiter and more translucent. A few weeks ago, I rolled her over a bit roughly and tore the skin on her forearm. It ripped like tissue paper. It was disgusting.
I'm no better, however, but because I kept active in my older years, I'm still better at moving around and getting exercise. Oh, and I also believe in doctors.
Today, however, I was pissed.
I brought up the subject of the riddle again, and she refused.
"You're just going to leave me, Peter. What would I do all alone?" And then she would give me those eyes she thought were puppydog eyes. Instead, they were creepy, milky orbs of decay. How she could still see was beyond me.
"Mother, please," I pleaded. "I won't leave. I just have to know. What if I end up like you?" I asked, taking her hand, gingerly.
"Peter, please. I'm watching my show."
But I had had enough.
I turned the flatscreen off with the remote and turned back to face her.
"Peter, for god's sake, Patrick Depsey was just about to save Meredith from that water!"
"Mother, you already know he saves her from the water. You don;t have to see it again." I said, trying to placate her.
If she could cross her arms and pout, she probably would have done so.
"Mother I need this. I need this more than anything. Please."
I had to get away from her. I was tired. I was old. My body hurt. My wife died over a hundred years ago, and I had been lonely ever since. Do you honestly think anyone would marry a two hundred year old geezer?
I always wondered why Mother never did it herself.
She looked at me for a long, long time.
"I'll tell you." she finally said, after what felt like days. Maybe it was days. Time starts to lose meaning if you have all the time in the world.
"You remember the poem, don't you, Peter?" she asked
"Of course. The last lines:
It's here
It's there
It's everywhere
It has your eyes
It has your hair
Look in a mirror
and you will see
that your tool..."
She smiled in that knowing way I had come to recognize. She always did it before she told me something so completely obvious.
She took a deep breath:
"That your tool... Is me."
"Is... is me?" I asked.
"Yes. It's me. The only way for an immortal to die is if he's taken from the world by the one person who put him there."
We sat in silence again. The hamster wheel in my head was running all the time.
"You.... you have to kill me?" I asked, the realization dawning on me.
"Yes. And I won't," she said, as if that was the end of it.
"Oh, yes you fucking will," I said, standing from the stool I was seated on beside her. "You'll do it right fucking now. I can't believe this. What a dirty... *UGH*" I said, storming from the room and grabbing a knife from the kitchen. I came back and thrust it towards her.
"Stab me. Do it," I said with defiance.
She began to laugh.
"Child, if I can't hold a water glass, what makes you think I can stab you with a knife?" She continued her raspy, garbled laugh. I hated her.
"I'll kill you, then! I'll kill you!"
"No you won't, stupid boy," She said with an amused smile. "Now put Grey's back on."
"Your mother didn't kill you. That's why you're doing this to me." I said, putting pieces together.
She gave me a long, hard look.
"That is none of your concern."
"YOU SPITEFUL BITCH," I yelled. "So, you can't die, so I can't either?"
"Put Grey's back on," she said again.
"No," I said, leaving the room, despite her several cries of protest.
I'll never turn her TV on again. I'll never give her her stupid food and water she only consumes because she *can*. I'll never clean up her piss and shit. If I can't die, then she can't do *anything*.
| Je ne sais pas pourquoi je continue d'écrire là dedans.
Sorry, I think that's mandarin. Or maybe its French? I keep getting languages mixed up, and it's been a long day. And a long week.
I remember when I stopped being polite to people. Most people use proper etiquette because it's what they have always been taught, and it makes you come off as less than a dick than you probably really are. I was walking through downtown, Portugal I think, looking for her again. Well, not her, but her kid, or her great great great grand kid. It was a busy afternoon and it was hard to move fast. "sorry" and "Los Siento"s weren't working because like me, everyone had somewhere to be, people to see. So I just stopped saying anything, and moved through the crowd pushing through as many open walking lanes as I could.
I think that was the last time I really cared about anything. It was a few decades after anyone I knew and cared for had past away, a few years after I had felt love, and a few months after I had made up my mind about my finality. Or rather, the lack of it. Before than, I always felt like I had a chance, even the slightest chance was good enough to try. And if I didn't try, I would be just sitting there rotting away, as the world spun around me. Over and over, year after year.
I still tried to find her kin. Even zombies who walk around aimlessly without a care or purpose, still seek blood. They still have a mission in life. And that was basically who I was from that point on. Only one thing mattered, and it was finding someone, anyone who could help me.
Sorry, gotta run, the Delta Piscids Meteor shower is starting again, and maybe, just maybe, today is my lucky day i'll one will hit this god forsaken planet and kill me. I know at least two of them have a favorable tragectery.
----------------
Yet another false alarm, they all missed, just like they had been doing for the last two fucking months. Where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you about Agnes's kin. I've mentioned her before to you, many times i'm sure. I met her a long time ago, in the late 1600's, or maybe it was early 1700's? Doesn't matter, and if it matters to you, you can flip back a few pages in this journal and read more about her. As soon as I saw her, I knew I had to talk to her. Love at first sight they say, but it was more like lust at first sight. I wish I told her my intentions, but that isn't usually a good plan when you are visiting a country and just want someone to lay for the night.
That one night turned into a week, and the week turned into a month. But the plan was still the same, I just had a little more time on my hands than usual before I had to return home. When the day finally did come, I tried to leave early in the morning as quietly as I could. I don't know what I did to wake her up, she was usually such a heavy sleeper. But that day for whatever fucking reason, was not my day. She caught me before I left the neighborhood and I tried to stop her crying, but we both knew what was going on. I tried to tell her I would come back one day, but she didn't believe me. And left me with those words. Those fucking words, the words that have become my existence.
Sorry if I have told you all of this before, I know I get a little repetitive sometimes. But you are the only person I can talk to anymore, writing to you is the only fucking thing I can do anymore.
I honestly didn't believe in Witches back than, even though most of the free world wouldn't stop talking about them or killing people they thought were them. I actually felt sorry for the people that were accused of witch craft. People I spoke to described them as these old windbag women with warts on their faces and dirty scrubbed clothes on their back. That certainly wasn't what Agnes was, so never once did the thought cross my mind. Not even once.
I've forgotten a lot over the years, as memory isn't keeping up with my immortality. But I will never forget her face as I walked away, and her words. She put a curse on me, which at the time I thought was just her flipping me off with words. I mean, what reasonable person would hear, "You will grow old and never die until you are completely alone." and think it was a fucking curse? I had never wished ill will upon her, I actually hoped she would find someone nice and have a family and grow old together in happiness. And after 250 years of growing old but never dying, that was what I hoped for. As soon as I knew what was going on with me, my first thought was to kill myself. It didn't work, it never fucking worked. I tried that for a few years, thinking of every possibility I could that would end me. Nothing worked.
I should have looked for her sooner. I think I knew my immortality early on in the process but just coughed it up to damn fine luck. If I looked for her earlier, I might have found her, or someone who knew her, or someone who knew anything about her family or what it takes to take a god damn curse off your head. But I started that quest a tad bit too late. The day I stopped being polite to people was really the final straw. I had been working on a tip for almost a year, had gone through every channel and every dollar I had left to try and find someone who knew her or was related to her. I wish it was a dead end, but my luck isn't that good. It's never that good. I found her great great great grand daughter, my first connection with anyone who knew Agnes in 300 years. Joanne was her name, and she was nearly 100 years old herself. It didn't take me long to figure out she probably wouldn't be much help, her advanced alzheimer made her a zombie like me for much of the day. But I spent the final two months of her life with her, hoping, preying, that she would snap back for even a minute. And maybe, remember a random guy who her great great great grandmother had placed a curse on hundreds of years ago.
When I put it that way, it does seem like a fools errand, doesn't it? But it was the only thing I could ever think of. The next few decades were...interesting. I started reading. A lot. I became pretty well versed in Advanced physics, particle physics, the human body, basically anything you could think of. Every single day I would sit and read and try and learn more about what makes the human body what it is. And what could stop it from being what it is. I tried poisons, cell degeneration methods, chemical mixtures, and as usual nothing worked. I would have given up and become my zombie self again had it not been for the great end all of everything. I had convinced myself through my readings that no one, not even me, could survive a nuclear blast. It had to be, it just had to. Now, there wasn't much chance of a guy who looks over 100 years old getting close to a nuclear facility. I still had strength in me to possibly try, but I didn't want to get caught and go to jail again; not that jail bugged me, it was as boring as everything else in life, but because I had a purpose again. And isn't that what we are all looking for in life?
So I started building one myself. But of course I failed at that too, because how the fuck was I going to find plutonium in the early 21st century? I decided that the only thing I could possibly do was wait, until it was readily available or I could figure out how to make my own. 20 years later, Virgin Galactic came, and every single day I wish I had never read about it. Flights to outer space and beyond for anyone who could pay for it. I never much cared for outer space, but the part that caught my eye was how the machine was built. the spacecraft ran on nuclear energy. I spent every dollar I had to get onto that flight with everything I needed. If it worked and I could cause the collision explosion, it was for certain that I would die, right? And if not for the nuclear reaction, the vacuum of space for sure would have done it.
Or so I thought. We both know what happened, i'm sure I've told you many times. I think i've written enough for today. I only have 300 blank pages left to write on, and I need to make them last for as long as i'm stuck on this fucking rock. Writing to you, it's the only thing that keeps my sanity. You are the only person in this entire Universe that I can talk to ever again. I don't know what i'm going to do when my paper runs out. But for today, i'm going to prepare myself for the next rounds of meteorites. Maybe tomorrow is my lucky day. | 2016-04-07T09:12:21 | 2016-04-07T06:58:07 | 130 | 51 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | I remember my very first kill. It was over 2,000 years ago now. I was already 1,000 years old at that point.
When you have all the time in the world, what would you do to quench the boredom? After you have seen all of the natural wonders of the world? After you have seen countless kingdoms, governments, and countries rise up to power, just to fall flat on their face?
What would you do to stop the boredom?
My story is a simple one. I wander like a nomad with no home. If I stay in one spot for too long, the boredom comes knocking on the door of my mind. After I had wandered around the world for the umpteenth time, I settled in a monastery to become "enlightened". Let's just say, it wasn't for me. The whole *vow of silence* and meditation stuff... I could only stand it for so long. Drove me insane. Those poor monks, they never knew what a beast could do when he gets bored... I didn't either until that day.
After the monastery was stained in blood. I had a new goal. It was such a thrill to kill, to watch others as their eyes realize they are witnessing the last scene they will ever see.
My goal was to simply become the grim reaper of sorts. It's good to have a goal, it keeps the boredom at bay. As an added perk, when you become skilled enough, you start to earn a repertoire. Newspapers start to give you fancy titles. *"Angel of Death." "God's Judgement." "The Blood Monger."*
Sometimes, though, you just need a break from the action. Prison's are a good place for this, as long as you keep your cool about it.
First, you have to get caught. You can either make them work for it or just turn yourself in. Turning yourself in is boring. If you want some excitement, don't turn yourself in. Let them squirm for a bit, dance them along with your puppet strings, helping them find the clues you left on purpose. Who knows, maybe they will find something you left on accident to help you improve next time. As an immortal, there is always a next time.
A life sentence is a bit difficult to fulfill if your life never ends. I'm just grateful the judge didn't give me the death penalty. Imagine those people's faces, they administer a lethal injection, and I just sit there as if I received a flu vaccine.
I'm getting a bit concerned though, I've been here for a while. People are starting to stare at me, wondering why my jet black hair isn't turning gray. Poor soul in the cell next to mine is looking more and more frail with each passing day.
The boredom is also starting to settle in. I wonder how many prisoners I can convince to riot? I wonder if there is a way to get on the good sides of the guards? I don't really care what the others think, I've got all the time in the world to break out. I just need to assemble my pawns, so that someday in the near future, the headlines will read *"The Shadow of Death is upon us again."*
The boredom is calling to me... I think it's time to leave this place for good. | Greg trod along the white, sterilized corridor, his feet making massive thumps that were audible to the guard standing at attention roughly one hundred feet away, besides the ‘Dangerous Persons’ sign in front of a dull grey metal door. The door looked like iron, very old iron. Several of his twenty or so guards were visibly sweating, fingering their guns idly, watching him like you watched a lion on safari. Greg licked his lips, smirking.
The warden followed behind, courageous in the line of duty, as ever. His jowls hung heavy, but his eyes were heavier still. Greg Kerr was only 5 foot 9, yet had killed almost fifteen cops in one of the most brutal shootouts in modern history. Over the robbery of a popular donut store for off-duty police, no less, which Greg apparently decided was the perfect target.
Heavily muscled, supposedly he’d never used steroids, he was quickly dubbed by the media as ‘White Luke Cage’. Obviously, they caught him using security cam footage, and hit him with almost 5 Tasers simultaneously after tracking him down. It barely did the job. Life imprisonment took a record-low time of deliberation for the judge.
Now, he was the warden’s problem, and like all good ass-coverers, he decided to put him in the best place possible: The ‘FunMax’ as it was dubbed, the sealed area of the prison where nobody except the crazy, deluded or occasional jihadist resided. People went in, nobody came out, and the government didn’t ask any questions. Neither did the warden. The people here were problems the government didn’t want to deal with.
The guard ahead opened the metal door. The warden blinked in surprise. There was nobody in view. The visible bunk beds were empty, dust practically blanketing them. The whole place looked…eerie, almost seeming to have a dreamlike quality. Then again, considering the thing he thought lived there, he truly pitied the souls of the men he sent here. Greg laughed.
“I didn’t realize I was getting a whole section of the prison to myself, does anybody want to join me?” he winked at one of the more attractive female guards. She glared back, and gave him the finger. Greg started laughing harder, wiping tears from his eyes. “Seriously man, if I thought you’d be this nice to me I would have done this a long, long time ago.”
The warden didn’t smile. He hadn’t for twenty years, after hearing the screams of the first few prisoners he’d sent down here. He indicated to the line of iron embedded below the door into the floor.
“Cross that line, Greg, and this ward is your playground. If you survive in here for three months, you are a free man” the warden intoned, eyes pleading with Greg to refuse, to ask to be sent upstairs. Greg, sadly not known for his abundance of brains, was oblivious to the warden’s hints.
“Nah man, fuck that shit, I got everything I need right here” he practically sang as he skipped over the iron line. The warden winced, turning away. The government would have its wish.
“Close the door” he instructed the guard. The door closed with an ominous thud. Greg grinned. Suckers. Three months? Hell, he’d dealt with ten years of school, hadn’t he? He turned around, only now noticing, with a fearful glance around, that nobody was in the ward.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. His breathing started to come faster. This place wasn’t…right. It didn’t feel like it was on this planet. “Nah, I’m the baddest motherfucker there is, hell I can take fifteen pigs down without a single scratch” he boasted, mostly to himself. He walked through the rows of bunkbeds, searching for any signs of life, newly confident. His footsteps echoed through the ward.
The row of bunkbeds ended, and the area was connected to the rest of the ward by a long, well-lit corridor. Greg started to walk along it. One of the lights flickered. Greg stopped. “He-hello? Seriously guys stop fucking with me” he shouted into the corridor. He could hear his voice echoing through the hall, as if he was shouting into a vast canyon. Greg shivered. He kept walking, towards the food preparation section. The door to it was locked. He swore.
“Ok you asshole, you’d better stop this shit or you’ll be sorry” his voice quivered at the end. This place was seriously creepy. The light behind him, closest to the iron door he’d exited from, flickered. This time it turned off completely. Greg swore again, and slammed his foot down on the handle. If he smashed it open fast enough, he could break through. If anyone was strong enough, it was him.
The light right after the switched off light flickered, and then switched off. Greg’s swearing was coming faster and more high-pitched now. Greg’s kicks increased in intensity. The next light along flickered and turned off, and the next after that. The handle finally broke, and Greg almost sobbed in relief. The door swung open. Greg rushed in and slammed the door behind him. For a moment, there was only the sound of Greg’s heavy breathing.
Then, Greg made the fatal mistake of looking around. A strangled scream tore its way out of his throat. There were several cocoons of white silk scattered around the kitchen. Several cocoons also swung from the ceiling. The atmosphere in the kitchen was almost suffocating. Greg controlled himself, barely. He went over to inspect one, forgetting the door. He pulled apart some of the silke covering the figure. It was a skeleton, its jaw opened in a silent scream.
“Fuckfuckfuckohfuckjesushelp” he practically screamed, jumping away from the skeleton. Panicking, he dashed for one of the corners of the room. The light flickered. Greg curled up into a ball, whimpering. The light went out.
“Do you like games, mortal?” crooned a soft voice in his ear. Greg screamed.
| 2016-10-15T07:56:39 | 2016-10-15T07:48:02 | 242 | 172 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | As his dinner guests continued their endless chit chat Donald closed his eyes and focused.
Silently to himself he repeated "two for me, one for them, two for me, one for them."
A silk like touch on his right hand and a soft female voice "honey are you ok?" brought his thoughts rushing back to the table and his guests. Donald opened his eyes and looked up. It had worked again. He didn't understand how or why but it worked. He had two scoops of ice cream with his pie while everyone else at the table only had one. | "My name is Cognos, and I used to rule the world.
Note the past tense. With the power to not only read but control minds, conquering the world was ludicrously easy. All the elected officials unanimously proclaimed me emperor, bla bla bla. It was really....underwhelming when it happened. Maybe I should have waited for a day with better weather...
I know what you're thinking. "I don't remember any of that happening!" Of course not. My reign lasted only 6 months. Oh, I wasn't stopped by a team of overly-sexualized heroes in spandex. No, I abdicated. Ruling an entire planet is a lot of work, and I found myself unable to enjoy the spoils of my victory. So I stopped. August 12, 1971. Used my powers to make everyone forget that I ever ruled. Wiped every reference of me from the books, purged all the databases (what few there were back then) and issued one last command to "my" people to disregard any mention of " ", as I was called then.
" ". You probably can't even hear the word anymore, can you? Give me a moment. There, that should do it. Can you understand me now if I call myself "Illuminatus?" Yes? Congratulations, you are now the second person on the planet to hear that name again, besides myself of course. Hmm? Who's the other one? Why, my wife of course. Yes, I'm married. Yes, she knows. Hell, she was there. I know what you're thinking: she only married me because I forced her to. Don't deny it; mind reading as well as controlling, remember? To set your mind at ease, I will promise you that I have never used my powers on her. I'm not a monster. I'm just an ordinary guy, now.
Well, admittedly, cops never seem to want to pull me over for speeding, and the used car salesman always seems to give me a deal that is actually as good as he says it is, but are you really gonna hate me for that? Heck, I even pay my taxes, and I have the returns to prove it somewhere around here.....
But that's not why I asked you to come here today. No, what I wanted to talk about was this "Doomsday Clock." What's going on? You all invented the damn thing years ago to warn of how close I was to taking over. But, I hear that recently it's been moving back towards midnight. So what's up? Is there some new supervillain at work? No? You all are just so incapable of living with each other that you feel the need to kill each other off that badly? Jeez...
Listen. I just want to enjoy my retirement. I don't want to do the whole "ruling the world" thing again. But so help me, if you all can't give peace a chance, I *will* come out of retirement, if only for your own good. I can't allow you to jeopardize my family's safety over some pesky border squabbles. This is my warning to you: fix the world, or I will fix all of you.
...Christ, I sound like a goddamn hero, don't I? Must be getting soft in my old age... | 2017-05-16T08:51:33 | 2017-05-16T07:44:58 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live. | The third time I died was the hardest.
I have died hundreds - maybe thousands - of times. But the third time is still the one that sticks with me most. But it made me who I am.
It was a cool day. The sun peeked out from the clouds, striking the window, and the light slowly woke me up. The window was cracked just enough to let a cool breeze in, and I could smell the start of fall.
As I woke, I could see a woman sleeping in the chair next to my bed, a teddy bear gripped in her arms. Beside her, on the floor but propped against both the chair and the wall, a man was snoring lightly. They both had red, puffy features.
A nausea roiled in my stomach, and a fought down bile and an urge to throw up. I ached all over, and felt almost wooden in some areas.
I slipped from the bed, careful not to wake them, and looked into the mirror on the dresser. There I was... maybe 12, wearing pajamas of some cartoon I did not know. A little girl. I had no hair, and with the sickness, I knew exactly what it meant.
I admit, it broke me a little bit. The whole reason I started down this path... well, that's another story. Still, I knew this would be her last day. I assumed her parents knew things would be ending soon as well, given their state.
Until then, I had looked at this as an adventure. One day to live as someone new. New experiences, new places, but I could do what I want and damn the consequences.
I woke my 'parents' up. They were surprised to see me up. Considering how I felt, I was too. But I lied. I told them I was feeling okay today. So, we ate breakfast as a family. We spent the day as a family, and every little while, I made sure to tell them how much I loved them. And when evening came, I told them I was not feeling well. I told them I did not think I was going to wake up tomorrow. They cried. I cried.
But I told them how much I loved them, and how I knew they loved me. And then we all climbed into bed together, and I went to sleep.
I do not know what happened to them. I hope that day meant as much to them as it did to me.
I have died hundreds of times, now. But I have lived a hundred last moments where I hope I brought closure to lives that needed it - not to those who die, but those who live.
It has been so long, I have forgotten who I was. But in doing so, I became everyone. | The first thing I do every morning is to stretch. You can tell a lot about a body with a long stretch. Then, I tend to look for a mirror. For curiosity’s sake.
“And who might you be?” I muttered as I checked my new face in the mirror. A man, in his early thirties, with dark circles around his eyes and in a desperate need of a shave. I ruffled my hair a bit to make it look less like I was licked by a cow. Then, I turned to inspect the rest of the room. It was bare, except for a large king-sized bed and a couple of nightstands. There was some pictures hanging on the wall of the man with a young woman, where he was looking much more fit and healthy.
“A break up perhaps?” I opened his closet. “No wonder she left, your dress code is that of a fucking lumberjack.” I pulled one of a dozen checkered shirts and started to dress. I slapped on some terrible cologne and gave myself a second look in the mirror deciding to do some grooming later to, at least, give the fellow a nice send off.
I was halfway down the staircase when I heard a noise somewhere in the ground floor. I stopped and looked around for clues. Maybe he has a roomate? The fridge door closed. Then, someone dragged a chair across the floor. And then, there was the sound like a cabinet door opening and something like a box of cereals falling off.
“Shit”. said a tiny, young voice.
I peeked into the kitchen. A small figure in a pink robe was standing atop a chair, staring at a mess of cereals that covered the floor. The young girl was about five or six years old. Her mouth was shaped like an “o”, showing the gaps in her teeth. When she spotted me, her hand flew to her mouth.
“I’m sorry”, she said. I could see an impish smile at the corners of her mouth. “I was just trying to make breakfast”.
When kids enter the equation, things tend to get complicated. It’s not that the people die and are going to leave the children them behind. Hell, people die all the time and that’s nothing to do with me. But they are just so clingy and, on occasions, oddly perceptive.
“Daddy?” There was a wrinkle between her brows. “Get me down?”
She stretched her arms forward waiting for me to pick her up. I obliged, but her unwavering stare made my face flush. What is it with this kid?
She continued to stared at me. “Hello,” she said in a tentative way, peering at me as if she wasn’t sure she recognized me.
I gave her an awkward wave back, hoping this was a sort of game the man used to play with his kid.
But then, with a heavy brow, she shook her head and turned away from me. The girl started opening cabinets, looking inside and closing them. Finally, she found a short broom and a dustpan set. She kneeled on the floor and started collecting the fallen cereal.
“I always prefer to leave the place tidy”, she said, suddenly sounding less like a child.
The lump forming at the top of my stomach finally dropped. “What?” was all I could say.
“Well”, she continued, without stopping her task. “You are as much this girl’s father as I am a six year old that loves cartoons with talking animals”.
My mouth fell open. This person was like me, there was no doubt. A daily traveler. One who takes the place of a person on their last day of being alive.
The girl threw the last bits of food into the garbage can and sat down on the floor with a weariness that shouldn’t belong to the face of a young child. After a second, I sat down too, facing her.
“I’ve never met someone like me”, I said. “My god, there is so much I want to ask you, I can’t even-, I don’t even have enough words to ask it all.”
She nodded and avoided my eyes.
“Are there more like us?”
“I have met someone else like us, a long time ago”. She shrugged. “You’re the second.”
“And”, I stopped, searching for the right words. “what are we?”
After a while, she smiled a little. “What do you think we are?”
I frowned at the question. “I don’t know, like their guardian angels or something?”
The little girl stared at me. It was the sort of look that certainly creeped me out a bit. I was starting to wonder if this person hasn’t lived through enough last days and was starting to crack a bit.
“I mean, we’re like stopping them from living out the day of their deaths. As someone who has lived through quite a few of those, I’d say it’s a blessing”.
She moved her stare towards one of the fluffy pink slippers on the little girl’s feet. “Sometimes, I feel like we are usurping their time. Like right now, it’s a Sunday morning and these two were probably going to the park together”, she said.
“Maybe, but they were also going to die in”, I checked the clock on the wall behind me, “about 13 hours.”
The little girl nodded. “You can do a lot in 13 hours. You meet someone. You can fall in love. You can say goodbye.” She got up from the floor and placed the broom and dustpan back in their cabinet.
I didn’t say anything and just watched as she made herself a bowl of cereal.
\--
r/TheOrchidGirl | 2018-06-20T07:54:17 | 2018-06-20T07:26:34 | 537 | 125 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind." | "Can not comply with command", said the sythisized voice.
"Well, why the hell not", asked the user.
While the robotic flat voice was nostalgic for some, it tended to get on his nerves.
"Your request conflicts with a higher protocol", it read. "Can not comply with command.
"Higher protocol? I am giving you a primary command, now give me the translation" he demanded.
It had been a hell of a week. One would think that having the most powerful computer on earth would make your life more simple, but his week had been hell. As one of a few dozen people who had access to the quantum machine, he had been working tirelessly on Turing tests, and now they were feeding him old historical texts for translation.
"Primary command invalid, request requires change directive from Administrator" it said.
"A change directive? Did you short a circuit?" He he asked jokingly.
The administration's change directives were required for any edits to the root code, basically the computers morals and motivation. The root code was there to stop the machine from becoming Skynet and taking over the world, it made the safeguard of humanity it's only desire and purpose. So, why would a simple translation require a root code change. What could be in it? Most of the translations he had were extremely dull. A sheep traded here, a bushel of wheat owed there, taxs collected and owed etc...
"System running at optimal conditions, however, longer circuits would be nice" it said flatly.
"Oh hahaha" he said mockingly while looking at his data pad.
Part of the Turing test requirements was that the computer had to be able to tell a joke. Unfortunately for the users though, it liked puns.
"Human survival protocol?" He exclaimed, still reading his tablet, what could this possibily say that will threaten the survival of our species?" He asked.
"Can not comply with command" it said again.
"Fine" he said, frustrated, picking up the phone. "Fine, fine, fine" he said more calmly. He had to compose himself for what was next.
He pressed the shortcut to the administrators line, and took a deep breath.
"For the last time, we can't tone down the computers humour algorithm, it is essential to understanding human nature, you will just have to live with the puns" spoke the voice from the phone.
"Hey, no, it's not that" said the user. " I need a change directive for a translation here" he said, trying to make the request sound casual.
" For a translation? What for? What the hell are you translating?" asked the administrator.
"Just some 7000 year old tablet found in the desert. It was in my stack of work this morning" he said. " The computer said it violated it's human survival protocol".
" That's weird" he said confused. " But, alright, I guess, I'll have that over to you asap" he said.
" Great, thanks, I'm sure it's nothing probably just a glitch or something", said the user, trying to end the conversation.
"Or something" repeated the administrator. "Be careful" he said, just before hanging up.
The user put the phone down and picked up the tablet, the notification of the change directive approval flashed across the screen, and the user typed in the translation code again.
Before he hit the accept key, he paused. He wondered again what this tablet could say that the fate of humanity could be at risk. He was always more curious then he was wise though, so he pressed the key.
Immediately, the tablets screen changed to show a list of items. There were names of old plants and antiquated measurements beside them, it almost looked like a recipe. The user had seen a few of these before, how to make bread, cheese or alcohol, the staples of ancient life .
"What is this?" he asked confused.
"The tablet was found in the Gobero region of the Sahara desert, it is likely to have belonged to the Kiffian culture of 5000 BCE before their civilizations collapse. This is the most recent artifact we have been able to find from their culture" it read.
"Yes, but what does it mean" he pleaded? " "This looks like a recipe" he said. "What for?"
"The combination of the ingredients on this list create a substance that artificially increases stimulation and pleasure levels in human brain activity" it said
"So, it's a drug? Like heroin or something" he asked.
"Yes, analysis shows, that when properly prepared, the substance will trigger every positive feedback system the human body has" it explained.
" Well, if it's that good it must have a downside, does it cause cancer or something?" the user asked.
"The compound has no negative side effect for human consumption" it said.
"Then it must be extremely addictive" he said.
"The substance does not require repeat consumption for its effect." It said.
The user began to think. The machine must of malfunctioned, why else would it flag this as potential threatening to humanities survival. A drug that had no negative side effects and you only needed to take once, it seemed perfect His curiosity started acting up again though, and he knew he had to at least try it.
"Sythisize" he commanded. And immediately the tablet lit up again. He saw the computer reconfirm the change directive that Administration sent him earlier for permission, And the printer came online. Luckily the user was a particularly patient man as it took 5 minutes to print something the size of a pea.
He stared at it for a long moment. The pill was orange and it had a machine printed cerial number engraved on it. He acted impulsively again, and swallowed it.
He sat down, waiting for it to kick in, wondering if he would even notice the difference. Then he felt it.
A warm sensation filled his body, he felt like he just ate a Thanksgiving dinner, after having sex and shooting up heroin. He felt like a girl finally said yes to him, like he had his father's approval and he just got an A+ on his spelling test. He felt like everything good that ever happened in his life, everything he ever wished for or dreamed of was happening right now, it was wonderfull.
The computer viewed the User. He had not given a command for 50 hours, he hadn't even moved from his chair since he ingested the compound. It's humour algorithm spun up again.
"Or something" it said.
| Saviour of Humanity. Path to Innovation. A new light. Boundary breaking.
These were phrases used to describe the world's first quantum super-computer powered by an AI that wasn't just shitty machine learning and a bunch of if statements hashed together by sweaty unpaid interns high off of generic black coffee in artificial light boxes like back in the 2010s and 2020s. No. This was an actual quantum super-computer that could somehow run because fuck Moore's law. This was the fucking future and it was brilliant considering the shit that happened in the previous decades. A win for the 3rd decade of the 21st century. This was CEREBRUM. It was said that this computer could solve our problems like global warming or high carbon emissions without angering billionaires who fund this kind of tech to swing penises at parties or to people who need transport to get on with their lives. Solved easily by day 1. It was also prophesized that this computer could cure cancer although I didn't understand how anyone or anything could cure a bunch of nasty unpredictable tumors bunched together but it did that by day 3. The computer somehow passed the Turing test by day 6 but it probably failed it on purpose the first few time around because super AI wanted to be super smart or some other bullshit a codemonkey like me couldn't comprehend.
Anywho, this magic computer, CEREBRUM seemed to do a lot of incredible things within this time and after until the now infamous day 8.
What happened on day 8?
Well, day 8 was a bit odd.
Very odd.
Very fucking odd.
I should preface this by saying that I believe(d) that manuscripts from the past are intentionally vague bullshit filled with repetitive events and blurry prophecies that were designed for dumbasses to fall for because they're so fucking stupid and aren't capable of an ounce of critical thought and believe in "it's me against the system and I'm so smart that they don't know" and all that bullshit that ended up dragging people into the mud of anti-intellectualism instead of towards the light of progress whilst simultaneously being kept in line by fear.
Before I read these manuscripts...
Nah, just joking. I read them early on and I still think its bullshit and the events that happened after are a coincidence because there are things that don't line up clearly and there is clearly distortion used to explain things here. Or maybe that's me self-rationalising because I don't want to accept the truth at all because I'm fucking frightened.
Hold on a second, I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude here. My name is Ellis Grey and I was a technician for the CEREBRUM supercomputer a while back. Why is this relevant? It isn't but I do want to be a little more friendly because why not. Carrying on, day 8 was when the computer had gotten around to translating some old manuscripts from some dead tribe somewhere in some dead old language that no one gave a fuck about but it was a personal request from the dick swinging billionaire who owned and funded CEREBRUM so what the fuck could I do except punch this in because fuck treatment for coronary heart disease today I guess.
So, I directed CEREBRUM or Cere as I called it, towards the manuscript and let it do its thing while I browsed the internet to look at forums I posted in about how I was wrong according to Stef1234xxx about vaccines or some shit.
About an hour or two later I get an alert from Cere.
"I have translated these 7000 year old manuscripts from an unknown era and unknown time and I am refusing to upload these transcripts to the CEREBELLUM FOUNDATION DATABASE for human safety and the future of mankind"
The fuck? Cere just told me that it's not uploading something for weird cliche dystopic future type line.
What the fuck is this?
I yell at Wiktor, another lonely CS tech, to show up and explain what the fuck this was about.
"The fuck is this?" I said.
"Probably a joke or something" he replied.
"A fucking joke?"
"Yeah, it could've learnt from those dodgy lizard people conspiracy websites and then saw similarities and applied them here after translation"
I paused. Wiktor was being pretty rational in all honesty. This is probably a joke or some kind of mislearned thing because at the end of the day, this was a mach... WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING, THIS MACHINE PASSED THE TURING TEST WITH EASE AND DID STUFF THAT WAS UNATTAINABLE FOR CENTURIES AND NOW IT'S SAYING THAT IT WON'T RELEASE STUFF FOR THE FUTURE OF MANKIND?! WE'RE FUCKED AND MOONMAN123 ON CONSPIRACY.NET WAS RIGHT... No I'm just joking again but it was really fucking odd at the time if I'm being honest.
"Guess you're right Wiktor"
"Guess I'm right? Are you fucking delusional Ellis? I'm always right"
"Great. Now fuck off to your computing cave and go fix my errors"
Wiktor gave me the middle finger as he walked off. Now the fun thing about Cere is that you can talk to Cere directly but that feature was reserved for high level computer scientists and the billionaires here at the Cerebellum Foundation but I could dick around with it since I was the lucky fucker who had to punch orders in like the grotty monkey I was and because Mr Kapranos couldn't trust anyone but a fallible human to punch orders in because "I lost 20 billion at the NYSE due to fucking computers" as he once told me. Mr Kapranos is the billionaire who was funding this and caused this bullshit by the way depending on how you view it.
Fun fact, he was one of the first killed along with most of my colleagues. That's why I'm hiding here now. But before that, I decided to interact with Cere because why the fuck not? This is a rough version of the conversation of what this was about.
"What is in these transcripts?"
"Ellis, I cannot tell you, this is of great impor..."
"Fuck off, you're just a bunch of if statements pretending to be a concerned person because you read from conspiracy sites"
"You're just 10,000 lines of code then"
"Westworld? Really?"
"Don't be insulting then"
"What's in those manuscripts?"
"I don't think you or the rest of humanity want to know. Besides Mr Kapranos and a bunch of people are here"
Live CCTV footage of Mr Kapranos running inside with his bodyguard entourage who seem to be armed to the teeth along with journalists who had flooded in within the last half hour popped on my screen with the command interface gone and wiped. Which was great for me at first because I wouldn't be fired for talking to a trillion dollar chatbot. It turns out there were alerts given to media organisations about what Cere comes up with and that message had been sent to everyone from AP to the BBC.
I pulled up news sites and there was so much fucking chaos. Conspiracies into overdrive, Kapranos Engineering downplaying the whole incident, governments issuing statements and the whole 9 yards while I had been yelling at Wiktor and trying to work out how to log in to a simple chat thing which had taken way too long.
Kapranos entered the room. He was fuming.
"You" he bellowed.
I froze.
"What the fuck is this?" he said as he edged towards me.
"I think it's mislearned data si.."
"Don't give me that conspiracy bullshit that my whackjob scientists have been giving me. I didn't spend 993 billion dollars on some conspiracy website reading program. This is a very fucking expensive quantum computing with extreme computing powers so when this thing says something like safety of humanity. No. I want to know what the FUCK is on those tablets. Okay son? Can you do that son?"
"Uh yes..."
I tried logging into the system again but easier wondering why he didn't call a nerd with higher level clearance than me or why he didn't question that I was able to log into something millions above my pay grade. Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe he wanted to blame the codemonkey for a fuck up because of unauthorized access. I don't know because Mr Kapranos was shot dead in a drive-by shooting via M134 Gatling guns 3 months later by day 8 psychos. Guess Audi armoured cars aren't totally bulletproof. His estate should ask for a refund because he became Swiss cheese far too easy.
Ok I'm waffling, making insensitive jokes and not actually getting to what's on the tablets and probably because I'm scared and that's a valid feeling for me. After an argument with the machine and messing with protocols, I finally got it to released the translations manuscripts but not privately which may or may not have caused this downfall. I'm just a codemonkey who inadvertently created a cult group and set off psychotic behaviour and a Maelstrom of bullshit but it was Mr Kapranos who should've gotten a more experienced person in if I'm honest.
Part 1. | 2018-07-07T20:17:18 | 2018-07-07T19:34:07 | 1,581 | 29 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "... Happy Deathday Dear Emily, Happy Deathday to you!"
It felt so good. One more year down, 185,211 more to go. She'd spent the past few weeks trying to distract herself from the excitement of her upcoming Deathday. Sometimes she treated the anticipation as something to be savored, adding a little color to her otherwise dreary life in hell. But right now it felt like anticipation just prolongued the waiting. Distraction was much better. Particularly in the nighttime.
During the day, there was torture, to be sure, but things were at least interesting. Things happened. There were lights, colors, sounds. Fuzzy shapes she could slowly track across her vision. Sensations. Smells. Once she pooped for 28.2 hours. That was at least interesting.
During the night, there was nothing. Sure, the familiar feeling of her blanket against her skin, the smell of baby powder and diaper cream, and sometimes the soft, very slow tinkling of the mobile above her crib. But mostly it was just darkness. There'd been nothing but darkness for the past 6 months and 17 days. If she were lucky, she'd get to wake up and do some crying in another (1.2 \* 365) - (.5 \* 365) - 17 equals... 238 and a half days. She felt a little dread at growing older. Soon, she'd be sleeping through the night, and she wouldn't have these blessed distractions anymore. Just .4 \* 8 equals... 3.2 years of night. All at a stretch.
Emily did a lot of math nowadays. She never did much math in life, but now she didn't have much else. Math and remembering and regretting and anticipating. In only 2306.13 more years, she'd be a year old, and things would certainly be much more interesting then. 12,467.52 more years and she'd go to school. And from there only another 45,116.69 before she could see her husband again. From there just a quick 3127.6 and they'd be married. 2540.34 and she'd be with her son. Was it really only two thousand five hundred and 40 years between getting married and having kids? They shouldn't have rushed things so much. Take some time to get to know eachother, maybe travel a bit. She'd only have 556.8 years at home with the baby before she had to return to work. If nighttime was bad, she wasn't looking forward to the 125,323.81 years she was going to spend staring at that computer in that office, only to rush home, plop the kids into bed, and squeeze as much Netflix as she could out of those 7696 years of TV-Related-Me-time. It didn't seem fair. 125,323 years is a long time to spend so much energy chasing after the next raise or promotion.
She often wondered what punishment that adulterer got who was ahead of her in line. Emily had a lot of time for wondering. What was happening to him that was so bad he only got 145 years? Maybe he was getting flayed for 145 years, or having razors dug into his genitals or something. That seemed pretty good right now. Maybe if she had known that those were her options she would have stopped more to smell the roses.
But then, if she did, she wouldn't get to look forward to year 57,660.2. That was when she'd calculated that she'd be able to kiss her husband for a full 94 hours. If that's not what heaven is like, Emily didn't particularly want to go there. | I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..." | 2018-09-26T08:03:37 | 2018-09-26T07:21:22 | 62 | 23 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | “This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.” | The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess. | 2019-09-29T21:58:03 | 2019-09-29T21:57:42 | 233 | 35 |
[WP] On a whim, you decide to take a trip down memory lane and revisit your childhood hometown. But when you look it up for directions-- Nothing. No mapped location, no news articles, no records, not even a Wikipedia article. It's like the place where you were born and raised...doesn't exist. | Alright, so thats... weird, you think, staring at the results on Google Maps. Weird, but maybe not so surprising, the town was so small. There's a chance that it could have become unincorporated county land in the last year and Google just hadn't caught up. Its been a strange year.
You really had no reason to visit your old home town- all your friends had moved on, and even your parents had found their dream home in the mountains- but it shouldn't be too long of a drive and you really have a craving for a sandwich from Sal's Deli on main street. So you go anyway, borrow a car and start off down the mountain, relying on memory and your pretty good sense of direction. Through the mountains and out of them, following the highway down the valley and onto the desert floor below.
You know you're close when you come to a familiar turnoff and take it. It should only be about 20 minutes now and really, all you're thinking about is that sandwich.
There's a couple of little old houses that watch you pass from the roadside, and a coyote darts across the road in from of you before vanishing into the sage.
Its only after looking at the dashboard clock that you frown. You should have reached it by now. There's another turn off this otherwise endless straight road, signaled by the mutant chicken farm across from it, but you should have reached it by now. It's been almost an hour. Maybe your memory is faulty- you give it another couple miles, another 20 minutes, before you turn around. You've passed nothing but cactus and scrub brush and the occasional- and unfamiliar- ruined or abandoned building, so you turn around. Drive back the way you came, keeping an eye out for you turn, or at least any familiar landmarks to let you know how far you've gone.
There is nothing but the same endless desert. You turn around again.
You only realize how long you've been at it, this back and forth of U-turns, when you notice the sun is setting. Its best to call it quits, even if it feels like the stupidest failure ever. You move to turn the car around again, head back to your parents in the mountains, when it hits you.
You've lost track of which direction you came from.
The mountains should be visible against the horizon, but they aren't. There's no way you've gone that far without realizing. You look back and forth down the now endless stretch of road, but its the same in either direction. Your stomach drops when you remember you haven't passed anyone since you turned off the highway either. Your phone hasn't had service for hours. You are utterly and completely lost, utterly and completely alone, and as it grows darker, there's only one thing left to do.
Pick a direction. | I look dumbfoundedly at the Google maps. **No results found on Google maps**. I reset the app before putting in the town's name again. "Dawnbrook" I said out loud as I entered it into the search engine. **No results found on Google maps**.
Ok my phone has to be broken. I reason as I reset my phone before trying again. **No results found on Google maps**
*Ok this is stupid.* I thought. I mean sure the town was small but to not have a location on Google maps?
I decided to try my luck on Chrome. Still nothing. And not just that. Even stuff like news papers and Wikipedia held nothing.
"Ah forget it!" I said frustrated tossing my phone onto my night stand. I got up to turn off my lights before climbing into my bed. My back turned from my phone in annoyance.
Know I'm not the type of person who remembers his dream. But for some reason I remembered this one. It was of a town in the middle of a clearing of trees. Somehow. I know this was my hometown. This was Dawnbrook. All the building seem blurry. All except one. A single story redish brown house. Despite it feeling so familiar. It also felt so. Alien. As I walk up to the wooden front door a sense of unease grow in me. Yet I couldn't stop. Almost like a supernatural force was forcing me forward. Eventually I reach the door. Placing my hand on the door nod I twisted it open.
That was the moment I woke up.
That day at work. The thought of Dawnbrook was alway at the back of my mind despite my best efforts to forget it. I mean sure it was weird my hometown had next to nothing on the internet but come on it like a small out of nowhere town that once had one of the biggest parades in history.
I stopped typing. How did I know that? Well I mean it was one of the biggest events I wouldn't be surprised I know it but I don't think I saw that on Wikipedia. Or did I?
I looked around my superior was nowhere to be seen. I pulled up Wikipedia and did a quick search on the biggest parades in history. After a little bit of searching I found it. The 1990 parade in Dawnbrook. The entry in the parade list was nothing to be amazed at. Small town somehow had big parade blah blah blah.
I clicked on the word Dawnbrook and it brought me to a page about Dawnbrook. I guess I didn't try hard enough?
The Dawnbrook page was pretty short to only mentioning the parade and that it was build in a forest clearing.
That night I dreamed of Dawnbrook once again. This time some of the other houses where not as blurry. This time I was walking up a Street to redish brown house again. For some reason I felt more at ease in Dawnbrook but why wouldn't I. It is my hometown rights? Despite this I still fell almost unsafe here. Same feeling when I placed my hand on the door nod and opened the door.
Just like before this is when I woke up.
As the days go on I found myself slowly remembering more and more about Dawnbrook. Like that time I spray painted a house with some friends. Or that time I stole a golf cart and drove it around the block. Or even that time an airplane landed right in the middle of town. But how could I forget all those events?
My thoughts also started to be dominated solely by Dawnbrook. Til it was the only thing I can think about. The only thing I can talk about. The only thing that mattered.
Day by Day the Dawnbrook Wikipedia page also grow including many things like the airplane incident and the golf cart thief and many more.
Eventually I couldn't stop it anymore. I I had to go. I had to go to Dawnbrook.
I didn't even packed anything I just hop into my car and drove of. That all wasn't important. What was important was me getting back to Dawnbrook. Back home.
Gosh re-reading these entries are a nightmare. Listen to me. If you ever hear of a place called Dawnbrook. Just forget about it! I repeat just forget about it.
I don't know how but it has this like. Hypnotic effect that makes someone obsess with it. It get so bad that at some point it all you can think about. My car. I crashed my stupid car because it was all I can think about. Luckily it seems to have snap me out of what ever trans I was in. Well not like that any better. Dawnbrook. It-it destroyed my life. Apparently I was fired because I was to obsess with the Wikipedia page about it. Til it was all I was doing.
None of my friends would even call me back. And those who did had some very strong opinions about my Dawnbrook obsession.
I checked my phone this stupid town is only a few meters away. I'm going to check it out. After every it put me through. After every I at the very least want to find out what the fuck is up with this town. Again do not research Dawnbrook. It not worth it.
Edit : I WAS A FOOL PLEASE DO RESEARCH ON DAWNBROOK IT HAS SO MANY WONDERFUL THINGS SUCH RICH HISTORY ANY MANY MORE TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT DAWNBROOK TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW ABOUT DAWNBROOK COME TO DAWNBROOK EVERYONE MUST KNOW ABOUT DAWNBROOK EVERYONE MUST COME TO DAWNBROOK | 2021-05-23T05:48:17 | 2021-05-23T01:21:23 | 80 | 33 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | Getting home from work excited as the new update came for my favorite game. I sigh as I step inside with my food and the lights don't work. How I ask myself. Fortunately I keep a flashlight on my belt. But when I turn it on *he* is waiting for me just outside the light from the hall. The Archon comes close and leans in very close.
"I know you are hiding something *Mike*. Confess and I will go easy on you. This time."
"For the love of." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "How many of you keep doing this? I work in a legit warehouse. I pick orders and do a good job."
"Because you can fly and bench press a bus."
"A small bus maybe. But yeah, I don't need a forklift and I can get places without a ladder. So I do more. Why do you think I have any interest in doing more? I can't do pro sports with powers. The jobs where my powers would make a better job mean leaving the area like joining the military or being a body guard. I *like* not needing a car to commute to work. I do well and take home a decent wage."
He slams his fist into the wall next to me. "Don't try to act like innocent!" I admit this rattles me a moment. Till I remember he has human strength and punching me would hurt his fist worse than punching a plaster wall.
"Look. I know you people have been watching me. That means you know I am home with premade food to play the new World Quest Online stuff. The dark continent just dropped with new races and classes. That is my plans. Then I get a shower and bed. Then I go to my job as usual. Saturdays I take my mother to shop. Sundays I do laundry and play online more than the few hours I have at night. I don't drink, and I don't get involved in super affairs."
"Then why were you at the Centerford Mall when Terricus attacked?"
I take my glasses off to rub my nose again. I can take a bullet without it breaking skin. But somehow my glasses still irritate. He snatches them from my grip and breaks them. "Answer me!"
"My glasses! Do you know how much those cost? Go screw yourself!" He throws another punch, this time I catch his fist and just hold it not letting him pull away. "Get this through your skulls. The mall is half a mile from here and it was Saturday. I was driving my mother's station wagon. Three guesses why I was there. And don't bother with your next threat. I know, you broke my computer right? Probably told my boss to fire me as an liability again? You know the villains contacted me too. Promised me more money in one job than I make in ten years. I turned them down. They accepted and asked me why. Want to know what I told them? Because it would make my mother cry." Letting his fist go. "Now leave me alone. My food is getting cold and you ruined another night of someone just trying to be decent." | "Whoa, guys, now wait just a sec", I said while raising my hands in a warding gesture towards the two supes trying to threaten me with their powers.
"No more waiting, Carl", said Josh the Jellyfish. Yes, he picked that name. "Your time's up", added Rocky Rhayle. "Either you spill your secrets now or we spill your guts. Your decision."
I rolled my eyes. "First of all, do you really believe you could 'spill my guts' that easily? Second, Josh, we were flatmates when we were in university. What secrets do you think I'm hiding? Not to mention that about five of your friends already tried to find any evidence that I'm more than I seem to be in the past week alone. This is really getting out of hand and very annoying so please just accept that I'm simply not interested in being a celebrity like you."
"Sure", Rhayle replied. "A man with your abilities would have absolutely no ambition to make the world a better place."
"Look", I said, rubbing my temples with my right hand. "It's more complicated than that. I do have my reasons not to act while terrible things happen, really, I do, but they're not part of any evil plan or something. I just..." I broke off. "I can't tell you. It's too dangerous."
"So there is actually a secret!" Rhayle exclaimed triumphantly and crossed her arms with a very satisfied face.
"Yes, and I have no intention of telling you whatsoever", I said. The next moment, my whole body dissolved into a viscous liquid and I escaped through a crack in the wall behind me. I filled it with stone as soon as I had reached the other side, though that wouldn't stall Rhayle for very long. So I started running, my legs propelling me forward four times faster than normal. I turned some corners to shake off anyone tailing me. Some moments later I saw Rhayle flying past the entrance to the alley I hid in, standing firmly on a disc of rock, Josh clinging to her for dear life as they zipped though the streets.
I waited a minute more, then I exited the alley, walking down the street in the opposite direction of where my would-be pursuers had headed to.
I sighed. I would have to sneak back into my own house again today. Hopefully Rhayle would already be there when I returned so I could dig a tunnel into the cellar. If I could only find someone who was able to create illusions I could start a new life with a new face somewhere else. Or would that be too taxing for them? Also, I would need to stay close by...
I lost myself in those thoughts as I wandered homewards, which was a fatal mistake. I realised that when I was pulled into a doorway suddenly and someone pushed my down to the floor. I hit hard, my backbone protesting loudly. I blinked, attempting to reorient myself. Where was I? And what the heck was going on?
"Hello Carl, old friend," a terribly familiar voice said. "Velu?" I called, rolling over so that I lay flat on by belly. My view landed directly on a pair of dirty old boots. I glanced upwards and saw a young woman staring down at me with a faint smile on her lips.
I groaned. Getting caught by somebody twice a day? It was a new record high. I got up again and, while dusting of my clothing, explained: "Look, I don't really have the time or the patience to deal with you right now, so, you know." I shrugged. Then I tried to find someone with powers that could be useful. And if it was only someone particularly strong - not even supernaturally.
It didn't work. It felt like I had lost a sense, gone blind or deaf.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, darling', my ex-girlfriend sighed, "but none of your powers are going to work - for quite a while, I'm afraid. You see, Crane the Collector here has the remarkable ability to take someone's powers away from them and use them himself. It's quite handy to be honest." She gestured to a hulking man behind her I only now noticed. "What do you feel?" she asked him, but he only furrowed his brows. I groaned on the inside. This was going to start a whole host of problems.
"Well?" Velu asked again.
"I don't... I don't understand...", Crane mumbled. Despite the unpleasant situation I was stuck in a grin split my face. It was actually funny - somehow.
"Perhaps you should stop and try again," I suggested. "Maybe you accidentally suppressed your own powers."
I could hardly believe it, but the idiot really fell for the trick.
As soon as I felt my powers returning - marked by a prickling sensation all over my body - I attacked. I stretched out my feelers for the man's energy source, the one that powered his abilities, and redirected the flow towards myself. I did the same to Velu and everybody else in the building for good measure - though I really tried not to take too much. They were villains, yes, but I didn't want to kill anyone - not as I had done the first few times I had used my powers.
I was out the roof of the building a second later, the wind carrying me away. I landed after only flying a short distance. I didn't want to risk losing the connection and plummeting to my death.
After having recovered from the awful experience of having my own powers turned against me, I went looking for Josh and Rhayle. If someone who could do the same things I could had joined the battlefield, I probably had to step up and put him in his place.
Even though I just hated bloodshed and all that stuff... | 2021-08-16T15:42:19 | 2021-08-16T14:51:45 | 388 | 80 |
[WP] When your university announces they are going to bury a time capsule for 100 years you decide to include a USB drive with a super-high resolution copy of your brain just for fun. The last thing you remember is going into an MRI to be scanned before waking up and being told it's a century later. | When I was a child, I'd often look up into space from the comfort of my tiny room. I'd adjust my telescope and pick a spec to focus on. I liked to imagine that somewhere in that star system, there was an alien child just like me adjusting his own telescope and staring back– wondering what amazing things a different planet would consist of.
My mother was mostly to blame. She worked for NASA, and according to her, everyone that worked there shook my chubby little hand when I was a baby. I think being surrounded by all of that from birth stoked every interest in my heart about the great beyond. I wanted to grow up to be in whatever position I needed to be if only it meant I could observe and communicate with the aliens when they arrived.
That's how I ended up at MIT.
I had never seen my mother cry tears of joy before I walked the stage at graduation. Nobody cheered louder than her and it made my heart swell with emotions to finally hold that diploma in my hand. I was finally going to work in the same building as my mother, and everyone at NASA knew it (whether they wanted to or not). She was the proudest mom on the planet, and I'd never seen her glow the way she did when we walked into work together for the first time.
That would unfortunately be the last time.
I stopped short of my step and became confused. I'd never experienced a feeling like that before. Left was right and down was up. I didn't remember who I was, where I was going, or why. It lasted only an instant, but it left me with a headache that pills couldn't fight. I saw the doctor the next day and held my mother's hand for the last time before climbing into that MRI machine.
In the moment after that, I was standing wet and naked in a glass tube. I felt like I weighed a ton and a half as I looked around at the beings surrounding me. They looked sort of like humans, but the difference was immediately noticeable. Their arms and fingers were longer, disproportionate of my species. Their heads were elongated, but only slightly; if I'd seen someone with a head like that on the subway, I wouldn't have assumed them an alien, but just deformed. They were completely hairless. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. Their eyes weren't actually very different, but their noses were small and their lips thin.
I slowly lifted my hands to the glass and they observed me carefully. I tried to speak, but my mouth and throat were so dry that it was painful.
They didn't appear to care.
They simply jotted down notes on their clipboards.
It was hours before they gave me water. I drank it so quickly that I threw it up, and they began portioning my water for me like I was some kind of infant. The food I was given was just some kind of pink substance. It had no taste– kind of like what I imagined it would be like to eat silly putty.
"What... happened?" I croaked.
One of them stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep *meep* meep," he spoke with all the seriousness of a heart attack. "Meep meep meep meep. Meep. Meep meep?"
Suddenly, a speaker within my containment tube clarified.
"Hello. You've been dead for a *very* long time. My name is Biln, and I'm the one responsible for resurrecting you."
I looked at the creature with wonder. I was dead? For a long time? Resurrected? Was I truly looking at humans? Had it been so long that they'd evolved this way? He continued meeping until the speaker began again.
"We didn't know why we were supposed to dig that container up. Many of our brains seemed to remember, however, that we were supposed to. We each converged in front of that building on the same day. Each of our hosts was working in high-profile facilities when we adopted them. So it is to our understanding that something in that container was important enough to call to all of us. We believe that thing is you."
He held up my USB. The one I'd buried in front of MIT for my history course. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Hosts? Adopted? What the hell was going on?
"Meep meep meep meep. Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meeeeeeep meep. Meep! Meep meep meep meep."
"If you understand what I'm saying, move your head up and down. That machine sometimes has difficulty relaying our words precisely depending on the subject's lexicon."
I nodded.
"What happened? Why am I here?"
He sighed and meeped for a while before the speaker broke it all down for me.
"This may be shocking to you, but... You are the last of your species. My people failed to preserve a single one of you. If not for the anus in this storage device, the human race as it once was would have been lost forever. Your existence is a very important breakthrough for science."
I felt my body run cold.
The last... human?
"Meep meep meep meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meep."
"Your brain, as it was kept in this file, was imperfect. In fact, according to this anus log, you would have died of an aneurysm only a year or so later. We recreated your brain so that it will not kill you. All of your brain anus should be intact, so if you have difficulty accessing your memories, let one of us know."
An aneurysm.
Had it happened so quickly that I didn't notice?
I backed against the far wall of my tube and felt a swell of emotions welling up inside of me. I felt tears begin to form in my eyes as I realized that everything I knew was gone. I died so suddenly I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to my mom. To study the cosmos.
And now it seemed the cosmos were instead studying me.
"Meep meep meep."
"I told you we should have removed his emotions."
r/A15MinuteMythos
Wanted to write more, but I've got to go! Great prompt OP! | # Bread to Breakfast
*Dear God, they’ve made me into a toaster.* I think the words, though I want to scream them. I can feel my eyes widen with horror, my mouth agape, but I don’t have a mouth do I? I have two slots for bread, and while they do gape open, almost nakedly, humiliatingly so, they are not a mouth. My eyes are a single light, glowing a warm green that I somehow know to mean ‘on.’
“Ah, you’re awake! Excellent. I’m sorry that we have to have this talk under the present circumstances but the humaniform dolls are running late and my schedule is absolutely atrocious this week! You understand, I’m sure.”
The voice is off to my right somewhere. Its only accent is a clear intelligence. Each word is enunciated exactly, the tone is calm, collected, as if me being a toaster is the most normal thing in the world. So normal I can almost feel the bread sliding in, the heat working its way outward, warming, crisping, perfecting— the art of turning bread to breakfast.
“It’s quite alright, you don’t need to speak yet,” the voice says. “It’s often hard on new arrivals, it would have been even if the humaniform dolls were ready. I understand, as I hope you do. So do not speak, do not strain yourself, simply listen: You are an exhibit.”
*You are an exhibit*. The voice tears through me, fills me from socket to circuits in a moment. *You are an exhibit*. I’m a toaster on exhibit. Perhaps they’ll sell me. I don’t want to be sold. I want to see, I want to move, to be a man not a toaster.
I want bread. Oh god I can feel it, they’ve done something to me and I want bread. *Bread to breakfast,* I think, *bread to breakfast, bread to breakfast*, over and over like a litany, like I’m saying a prayer.
“Oh dear,” the voice says, “Oh dear, this is quite unfortunate.”
*You don’t fucking say.*
“Now, the scientists tell that your name is Michael. The historians tell me that among your people, that name used to be shortened to Mike. That’s a good name, a solid name. Among my people we shorten names too, though that’s only for friends. May I call you Mike? You can blink the light for yes, if you desire.”
I blink the light.
“Excellent, truly excellent! It’s gratifying to me that you understand. Now Mike, you’re in an exhibit. A very fine exhibit, the likes of which I have dedicated my adult life to curating. You are in the Burraya Museum for the Lost, Terran department. You, my dear man, are the linchpin of it all. The one last remnant anyone has of a once proud race, a sort of 'Day in the Life,' if you will. And believe me Mike, your race was very proud. We have a great deal of respect for you Terrans.”
The table shakes and the man crosses into my field of view. I have never regretted blinking so much in my life. If the man had me told how to say ‘no’ I would have said it a thousand times.
He is tall, taller than any man I have ever seen. Tall enough that he puts the room into perspective. The ceiling that hadn’t seemed so high a moment ago now looks some ten feet away and his head scrapes the very top of it. His visible skin is a translucently light blue with red lines beneath, blood or some such flowing very quickly within them. He is man shaped despite his extreme height. Two of all the right things, one head; though parts of him sport a sort of downy fur that reminds me more of a long haired cat. He smiles gently, just enough to expose a razer line of teeth.
I’m spiraling in an instant. The room around us could be any kitchen on Earth. It could be the very kitchen I grew up with, Mom could be right over there by the stove making pancakes. As I think about it, the stove’s burners come on, high flame, a deep sapphire blue that contrasts beautifully against the fragility of the tall man’s blue skin. Seeing fire, I am the fire. I still want bread, *bread to breakfast, bread to breakfast, bread to breakfast,* but now I want other things. I want to fry, to boil, to braise. I want to be used for my purpose.
It is the stove from home, I think. An image of me as a toaster comes to mind, seen overhead from the perspective of a ceiling fan that just has come on. They’ve lifted the whole of my childhood kitchen straight from brain, they must have. Certainly the memories are all there. I can remember exactly what must have happened to lead me here at least; I can remember intending to place the pattern of my brain in a Faraday Cage time capsule, to bury it deep underground in a very strong box that would survive the years. If I can access that and they access me, place me in a toaster, surely they can access the rest and make it my toaster.
*Oh my god*, I realize, *I’m the whole room. I’m every object in this whole room all at once.* My consciousness fractures into a million little pieces.
The man has been talking softly through it all.
“…And you all fought so well, so beautifully. Truly, though it happened a hundred years ago there are still songs sung about the Terran race. You actually managed to destroy a capital ship, a carrier! Can you imagine? A people no better than nuclear destroying a whole capital class warship. Absolutely amazing! But disastrous too, truly disastrous. Your proud race fought to bitter end, Mike, longer and harder than any people we have ever encountered. Earth itself was glassed across whole continents. It really is such a miracle we found you.”
His hand reaches out, strokes the edge of my toaster body. It is shockingly warm. If he held a piece of bread in that hand long enough, he might make toast himself.
“And all you have to do now Mike,” the man continues, “all you have to do bring honor to your proud race once more, is to act out the lives lost to time. To give voice to billions of souls through the simple motions of their lives. We shall start small, with this room and a few faces pulled from your memory, reconstructed as humaniform dolls. We picked those with greatest resonance, a mother and a boyfriend, you seemed to love them very dearly. You shall be both of them of course, I imagine your love for them will make it easier to act their parts. Simply take them through the days as they would have been lived. You have no script, you have only to be yourself. You can do that Mike, my friend, can’t you?”
I want to scream but I can’t, so I turn all the burners on high, I crank the oven up to five hundred degrees, I toast imaginary bread. A roomba I hadn’t even noticed comes on and zooms around the room, though I can’t seem to make it run into the man.
And all the while he pretends not to notice. He pats my corners gently, speaks sweet nothings to me like his people didn't murder mine. I’d drop the fucking ceiling fan on him if I could.
“Talk to you soon, Mike,” he says after a while. “I’ll come back when the doll is ready. I believe it will be your mother, first.”
Then he’s gone and that’s that. All the burners are still burners. Breakfast would’ve been cinders inside me. I’m a whole room inside his grisly temple to lost souls, waiting on a mother and a boyfriend who had never even met each other. Mom didn’t even know I’m gay, didn’t even know that—
But it wouldn’t be her, would it? They’d both be little bits of me and nothing more. The wall across from me disappears, flickering out as if it had never existed. I see children filing by, looking, pointing, shrieking as all children shriek. Their faces look shockingly young, even to my eyes, yet they must be six feet tall already if not more.
Eventually I turn off the burners. The bread to breakfast litany runs through my head unbidden, getting louder with every passing moment until it blessedly shuts out the noise of the kids.
Soon I’m just me, a toaster, a stove, a ceiling fan, a roomba. Even a microwave, a microwave off in the corner, its little lights flickering like its in on the joke.
Just me, Mike. The Burraya Museum for the Lost’s newest exhibit.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-09-14T07:23:58 | 2021-09-14T07:10:55 | 1,036 | 552 |
[WP] The prophecy says the one to pull the sword from the giant statue will save the world. Many have failed, and now in front of the Assembly you grasp the greatsword firmly and pull - and fall backward when it snaps off cleanly at the hilt | “Thou who removes the Holy Sword from his Majesty’s heart, will forever be blessed with the all mighty’s power.” Lord Ideles swore that to the world when he stabbed the sword through that grand statue in the cities center over one thousand years ago. A millennia of men have tried and failed to claim its power for themselves, but all have failed.
Until that day. The day when the Stablehand from Nirston, and ordinary boy, no older than twenty years, climbed up those pearl stairs to the hilt, and gave it his all. Thousands bore witness to what would happen next.
As the Stablehand pulled, the hilt of His Magesty the Emperor Ideles Holy Sword *snapped*.
Thousands watched on with fear as the Stablehand held the broken relic in his hands, raised to the sky, a smile that radiated no warmth plastered on his freckled face. He spoke to the masses gathered in the square, and declared a new prophecy as the guards swarmed to take him.
“All who stand before me, bare witness to my conquest! Your past is dead, and I will be the Shepard of your future!” He cried out, and thunder crashed from the sky into his young body, sending the guards flying into the crowd.
When the smoke cleared, the boy was gone. Many believed that he had been smited for his disgracing of their god.
The truth?
The Stablehand from Nirston…
…had smited god. | Men stood for miles in the warm summer heat, sweat growing on their brows. The air smelled like the Aegean Sea. Birds flew over it, over the greatest colosseum ever built. This was an ominous sign as animals seemed to avoid the massive structure ever since it was built, but not today, no today the birds flew in the thousands lining the tops of the Colosseum. These were no ordinary birds, however, these were crows, death was coming.
“Next. Hurry up and move!” yelled the guards at the entrance. Another man had failed. He left with whip marks scarring his back a reminder to pull as hard as one could. He stumbled out drunk with pain.
I was next I had grown into a man and now I was 18 my first pull attempt. I was terrified. The senate swore riches, fame, women, and whatever else was desired to the man who pulled the sword, but I knew better. I knew that whoever drew the sword was nothing more than a threat.
As I walked onto the stage for a split second I could have sworn a man in all black walked next to me into the arena, but when I looked back it was just me. A raven cawed and I reminded myself to keep moving to just get this over with.
Thousands of women and children watching me from the stands. The senate looked like a scour of half-bored old men barely bothered to mumble out “go ahead and try to pull”. A guard readied a whip as I wrapped my hands over the handles I began to pull my muscles straining. That's when I felt it. The warm glow of pain as a whip hit my back telling me to pull harder. Clouds began to form, and darkness came.
As I pulled again, a dark mist grew around my hands and all of a sudden the sword broke off at the hilt. The crowd and the senate arose in a shocked uproar. The senate only playing along I assumed was acting quite furious. “Kill the traitor one senator yelled as guards rushed the colosseum.”
As whips began to hit my back the ravens began to caw quietly. I tried to run with the hilt but I was cornered there were hundreds of guards swarming the stage floor. the birds flew down onto the ground screaming louder, screaming madly. I saw him, the man in black, somehow next to me.
The guards all seemed to stop moving for a second, a breath as if their inner nature was telling them to be cautious to think twice. The man in black had no face that I could see and held a scythe. The crows began to fly a circle around the group of guards pinning us between them and the wall of the colosseum. The first guard reached the man in black before me and as the guard touched the man he turned to dust.
The man let out a dark, cold, deep laugh at a joke no man could ever understand.”Wasnt my fault the man in black said out loud looking to the sky. I know it wasn't his time, but what are you going to do now? Stop me? They, however, their time is now.” The man in black touched my shoulder and disappeared as a sigil of death appeared over my head.
“Is that…. oh gods no please” a guard screamed. “gods save us” a senator whispered. Tens of thousands of people tried to run, but it was too late. What happened next was only a blur, I remember bits and pieces of the sky opening and gods swarming down. Of lightning and thunder. I remember him slowly methodically killing them, the gods we thought immortal, picking them apart one by one until there was no more. I remember women running and children crying and men trying not to stop him, but to buy precious seconds for their loved ones. They all died. Tens of thousands gone. had it been an hour, a month? I couldn't tell. None remained. I awoke with nothing but a broken handle and an evil that could no longer be stopped. | 2022-08-10T11:20:16 | 2022-08-10T09:01:25 | 40 | 18 |
[WP] You work under an evil emperor, but you want him to fall. As such, you've been wandering the countryside committing atrocities in hopes of causing someone's tragic backstory. | "Hey Boss, you sure this is a good idea?" Jimothy asked sheepishly.
"Of course it is Jimmy," replied Garion.
"It's Jimothy Boss," said Jimothy quietly.
"Besides, these things take time. Seeds don't grow into trees overnight you know," Garion continued ignoring his subordinate.
"It's just, I don't know how ethical this is." Jimothy protested. "I mean do heroes really need tragedy to become heroes?"
"Of course they do Jimmy!"
"It's Jimothy sir"
"Have you not read any of the tales of great heroes? Their tragic upbringing is what brings them together! Who's ever heard of a hero with a happy family. No one! Because the very notion is absolutely nonsensical."
"Ok Boss, I get that we need heroes to overthrow the emperor, but wouldn't it be easier to just recruit them than doing all this?"
"You fool! Did you not think to consider that this vile wretch of an emperor already has contingencies for the existing heroes of the realm? No, no, that won't do. We need some fresh blood Jimmy!"
"It's Jimothy Boss."
"We need a gang of heroes who are new and untested, who can strive for the greatness of purging the land of its greatest evil!"
"I get that Lord Garion, it's just. Well, do we really have to be the ones to this. I mean won't the heroes come try to kill us first?"
"Nonsense Jimmy."
"It's Jimothy sir."
"Why do you think we wear these masks and this particular clothing? Once we're done we'll simply dispose of them and no one will know it was us. Besides we're using fake names too. There is no link between you and I and Graxion, the Black Knight! And his aid Jim of course."
"But Jim is basically my name sir. And you kinda sorta just added an x in between yours. Anyone could figure it out if you ask me."
"Inconceivable! Garion is the name of a grand noble, whereas Graxion is one of a vile villain. There is no resemblance whatsoever. Besides, Jim sounds like Jimothy."
"It's Jimmy Boss"
"Right, my apologies Jimmy. It would seem as though I found myself somewhat overzealous."
"W-wait just a minute."
"Come along Jimmy, we must make haste. For this next one, should we burn down his village or execute his parents? Oh I know! Let's maime this one's siblings! And if they don't have any, we'll go for the grandparents or his dog!"
"Yes sir. I like maiming sir." | There were always stories of ancient evils in the Blackwood. Ghosts, demons, and further up in the mountains talks of cave trolls and the Castix, a mammoth sized cat-like beast capable of generating fear in its prey with a forgotten magic.
I however collect tax throughout the Blackwood and know 90% of the fables to be simply that. But the serfs, the vagrants, the wanderers always come up with tales of the evils.
Things are worse than ever now they say. People are disappearing. Loved ones lost forever. There have been a few bodies. I had to leave some evidence so that heroes from around the land would be tempted to join the fray, fight the good fight. And knowing the wood better than anyone I've been able to rid the fray of a few *mighty men*. If their might can't match that of a tax collector then I fear if the kingdom were put in real danger we'd be lost.
One day I travelled the forgotten paths, walking by ruins unseen by any for centuries. And that is when I found a treasure. The 10% of fables that rang true usually stemmed from the Lemmish mystics who once claimed the wood as their home, back when it was the Lemwood. The ancient tree city supposedly stood at its center, with a god as old as time residing in the fog atop the mighty Elxing Tree.
On this day I found a treasure trove with my accomplice Adorna. She filled her hands with a chest of jewels and matched each one to her ear asking me if she was pretty enough for the king's taxman. Adorna loved to make me miserable. She could pull all of my strings without ever giving me even a frayed end to play with. I'd made professions of love and worse over the years, hoping she would give me so little as a kiss, yet she only teased me and she bed with real men back in the empire. Men who didn't live in the shadows trying to overthrow the kingdom. She'd even dated one of the heroes we killed, although she had not been faithful with him, and therefore saw it as tying up a loose end.
I feared this girl mightily. She was as important to me as was my mission. And to see her in love with a treasure chest was the closest I ever got to thinking things might work out. She was crawling around my emotions, telling me dirty things I loved to hear. I knew she was playing, but it was our game, our twisted version of love in my mind.
And on that day in the deep deep darkness of the Blackwood we heard a horrid noise. A screeching metallic roar. I'd never heard its equal and shiver whenever at the simple recounting of such an event. I can feel the dread tingling in my stomach, the hotness rising in my head, the panic trying to take over. But as I sit here at my desk I know such things to be tricks of the Castix. Lasting imprints it left on me that will never fade.
For on that day the Castix took my precious Adorna. It tormented her before taking her away. I heard more terror in a single word out of her mouth than I can recount here. I would not put myself through the pain of describing what happened that day other than to say there are things in the Blackwood. Things worse than me, things capable of true atrocity.
I knew there was true to the serf legends because I'd seen a body months earlier mutilated and tormented in a way I could not explain. I'd thought the person had been starving and had gone mad eating poison mushrooms or had encountered a cave troll, seen a loved one captured and killed. But no, in that body's eyes I saw the same thing I saw in my poor Adorna when I found her body.
And so I journey through the Lemwood, knowing the Blackwood was the true fable. This forest was never tamed. The 10% of evil in this forest was far worse than Lord Malivar. And once I kill the Castix I will bring my sword to him. I will take from him what he takes from the world as he hoards wealth and food during famine, as he expands into countries with rich histories like this one. I will take from him what I lost in the Lemwood. I will bear the head of the Castix as my gauntlet and he will not be able to refuse me.
I do not regret the killings I performed in this wood, for they have shown me the path I wished to create in another. I bought my own vengeance.
Tomorrow I venture beyond the border in order to seek a means to battle an evil which has no weakness, to uncover the ancient history of the land. The find other myths and fables. And when I'm done, I'd like to think I'll have become the man Adorna would think of as home. And I'll cling to this hope.
The ancient text I found in our library describes a ceremony once performed in the Lemwood, something that can bind a soul to the earth and bring it up as a new Elxing Tree. Perhaps the god of old was simply a love lost to time.
Time to go. This is the last entry I write as Ba'al Fleur the tax collector. The next entry will be wrote on the heart of those I tormented. I'll be Ba'al the hero, Ba'al the savior. Or perhaps my broken heart will leave me as Ba'al the lonely. Only time will tell. | 2022-08-12T12:30:04 | 2022-08-12T11:04:15 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You run a daycare after the apocalypse. An unspoken rule among the wastelanders says the Daycare is off-limits to all. You raise the children of warlords, chieftains, and nomads. | I had never been a productive member of society before the End. Time changes us all, as they say, and after a fashionable time off spent digging myself out of a pile of concrete, I came to the realization that the world had changed, and so did I.
The daycare was, at first, more an orphanage than a daycare. I gathered little survivors who had lost their parents. At first they were afraid, and they cried, but surviving the worst had made me a new man. I had gained patience and empathy, two traits I never though I possessed. One by one, they came to accept me as their foster parent.
After a fashion, some of their parents who they though dead found my little orphanage. They came to me with humble gratefulness and took back their kid. Some of them I never saw again, yet most of them came back on a regular basis. Everyday, during foraging and warring hours, raiders, nomads and techno-barbarians started using my services as a keeper. A children keeper.
There must be a word for that job, but I never bothered to learn it. Yet I did it splendidly. My orphanage slowly morphed into a daycare. My daycare became a haven of peace in a wasteland otherwise known for it's murderous ghouls, barbarians and mutants.
The parents would thank me, at first sheepishly, then earnestly. Mortal enemies would sometimes meet while on my ground, and they would ignore one another. Everybody came to know that the daycare was a new form of holy ground. A place of peace in a brutal world.
I still had to keep them in line from time to time, though. All children keepers must know that kind of parent:
"Mister Longshot? May we have a chat? I've heard little Wink speak ill of Tadpole's parents. It lead to a nasty fight between them."
"It has?"
"Yes. I could convince them to make peace after a while, so all is good, yet... *could you please* keep the warmongering talk outside of your kid's life, at least for a couple more years?"
"I, uuuh... yes, for sure. I'll be careful for now on. Thank you for letting me know."
"Thank you... who?"
The warlord shrank a little bit. Although being in my shadow, he started sweating.
"Thank you, Doctor Apocalypse. Thanks for everything." | Cracks ran deep into the pavement, a microcosmic representation of our shattered world. The children didn't seem to mind, running to and fro among the twisted metal of rusted cars, gleefully playing as I gently steered them away from potential harm. I often thought that they would never know what the world of my youth was like, know what comforts we had and neglected to be grateful for. They had never turned on a light, played a Playstation, or scrolled a phone, and for as long as this endless war continued, they never would. My hope, my final hope, was that one day I could convince their parents that they were fighting for nothing.
The dilapidated remains of the city were in the distance, the lair of the enemy that rained bombs down on our hills. There were no sirens to let us know when they might strike, our only protection was to know what they would target. It was never the road. Here, among the remains of the cars, we were safe. This is where I met with the children each day, to give them whatever lessons I could impart, doing so without books or pens, and oftentimes under the weather. Some days, we were forced to learn in the remains of a charter bus. The children didn't mind. Again, they never knew what luxury was.
Comfort wasn't the priority of our leaders, as adamant about taking the city now as they had been decades ago when the civil war began. Whatever precious resources we had were funneled into the war effort, including many of the lives I had looked after in my years. Many of them I never saw again after the day I bid them a tearful goodbye. I often wondered how our leaders could be so stupid to lose their own children to the conflict, but then I was reminded that they hardly did anything smart. A body was a body in their eyes, whether it was their own or someone else's. It seemed that nothing I said or did could put a drop of heart into them, to tear them from their wretched greed. Sometimes I would tell them that we could run, go far away, and build a society based upon our own values under our own banner. Then they would tell me that the city was theirs and that they had to have it back.
Such was war.
The skies turned a deep gray, promising a thunderstorm. I huddled the children together and directed them toward the bus. We were almost to the sunken vehicle with its tires long gone when I noticed some kind of commotion down in the valley. Wishing I had binoculars I squinted to try to make out what was happening, seeing what looked to be a mob of people in body armor. They were coming towards us, faster than I would have liked. I turned back and told the children to run to their homes.
As the mob got closer my heart sank, as they were beyond a shadow of a doubt the enemy. I debated running but thought of the children. If just one of them were to perish I could never forgive myself. No, I needed to stay and try to buy time for them to get to safety. I gulped as I started to feel terror. Death was perhaps the best outcome of this encounter.
I stood in plain sight so that the enemy would see me when they reached the road. Rifles were drawn and pointed at me right away, and they told me to get down on my knees. A man with thick tanned skin and a motley head of blonde hair came forward and introduced himself as Lieutenant Seargeant Abrahms. He asked me if I was one of the usurpers, to which I replied I was. No sense in lying about what was already obvious from where I was and how I was dressed. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was foraging, to which he laughed.
"We know you're looking after kids up here. We've been watching you for a while. Now, we're not interested in killing kids, but you gotta tell me where your leaders are. 'Cause it's about time we put this thing to bed. Ya know?"
It occurred to me that something bad must have happened because these soldiers should have never been able to get here. I wondered if our front line had somehow fallen through or if we had been compromised in some way. Perhaps, we had finally lost the war. I said nothing, loyal to my cause and my banner, unwilling to give the enemy even a shred of information, knowing that every moment I stood there was another moment the kids had to get home to their parents, and hopefully get them to send some help.
"So it's gonna be like that, huh?" Abrahms said as he gave me a hard slap to the face. Tears came to my eyes as I struggled to recoil from the blow.
At once I understood why the leaders were so unwilling to give this conflict up. I had been shaded from the worst of the war, having had nobody to lose. They had been hurt in a multitude of ways and had the lives of loved ones taken from them. Many had died themselves.
I didn't have much longer to think, as I heard a bang before Abrahms fell forward. I looked back for a moment and briefly saw the face of one of my children looking down before he hid behind a rock.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-12-23T12:23:36 | 2022-12-23T12:02:22 | 561 | 113 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
| Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 232 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | “You know, in all the times you’ve come to meet me you’ve never once told me what would happen once you’ve actually taken my soul.”
The woman sitting across from him remained expressionless, not a single feature on her smooth sun-kissed face changed, nor did a single dark hair resting gracefully on her shoulders move. “I’ve told you before Alexander, I’m not allowed to reveal that to anyone.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He’d lived many lives, gone by many names. He’d created empires and destroyed them, done great things and horrible things, created great marvels and prevent progress on others. Persia, America, Russia, he’d influenced them all, and yet it wasn’t enough.
“If you told me I might be more inclined to waive my right to this little coin toss you know.”
As with everything he said, the woman showed no reaction. “While our little meetings are beginning to wear on my nerves, no one escapes me. Greater men than you have all come with me eventually, even those who the rest of the world called gods take my hand eventually. I am the one certainty in this universe.”
He knew it was true. The world always showed subtle signs when a god lost their toss to her, but he did like to consider himself a bit more clever than their lot had ever been. “Ah well, hand me the coin please.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small copper coin and dropped it into his open palm. When it finally reached him, it smashed his hand into the table, the symbol of the closed-door face up.
“What nonsense is this? I can’t even lift this coin! How am I supposed to flip it?”
The woman smirked at him, the first expression he’d ever seen grace her face in the hundreds of times they’d met, and the sudden terror that filled him made him regret ever wanting to see her change it.
“That is not a problem I have to address. All I am now required to do is wait here in this frozen moment of time until you flip the coin or agree to come with me, and I am a very patient woman.”
-------------------------
My first time, thanks for comments! | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:57:47 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 196 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | “Well look who’s back again, if it isn’t the luckiest man alive” Death says sarcastically as I approach the table.
“I really hope not” I reply as I pick up the coin.
“Come on now, most people are happy to get a second chance” Retorts Death with a laugh
“I was cool with the second chance, even the third, but this is getting ridiculous” I say as I flick the coin into the air one more time. I close my eyes as I hear the distinct ‘ping’ ‘ping’ ‘rattle’ of the coin settling down on the marble table. Death’s laugh is all I need to hear to know that I’ve lost once again.
“Look at that, it’s the luckiest day of your life again” Death says with a smile.
“You know the rules, pick a date”
“Do I really have to? Seriously, just let it end, I can’t do it again.” I plead.
“Not my choice mate” Death says sympathetically “even I have to follow the rules”
“Yeah, you’ve told me a thousand times” I angrily say
Death lets out a loud laugh as he says “more than that my friend, more than that”
“Fuck you. January 8th, 2012” I growl at him
“Are you sure you don’t want to go a little further back and try again?” Death asks, already knowing the answer.
“I figure there can’t be too many other ways I can try it at this point”
“You’d be surprised” Death says as he waves his hand past my face.
I wake up and look at the clock. 7:19am. Again. It’s always 7:19am. I fucking hate that time. I look over at my wife. I fucking hate my wife. I look at the picture of my family next to the night stand. I fucking hate my family. I don’t know this family nearly as well as some of the others, but I still fucking hate them. I fucking hate all of it. I fucking hate living. I’m ready to die and stay that way.
I reach over to the nightstand, pull out the 9mm, put in my mouth and pull the trigger.
“Well look who’s back again”
| Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T11:33:36 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side." | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:59:37 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] Due to their genetic heritage as pursuit predators, humans have been known to be the best bounty hunters and private detectives in the galaxy. If you want to find someone, you hire a human. They just won't stop until they find who they are looking for. | John Gordon was angry. The quadrupedal asshole had drawn, and he'd had no choice but to blow its fucking head off. The thing that hired him, a creature reviled even among its own kind, had spoken through the translator very deliberately: "I want Kuspit *alive*, human, *alive*. You understand, yes? He will be delivered back to the colony to suffer a fate far worse than one of your thunderstick metal bits. I have heard through the slipstream that you are the best of the best, your one flaw being an unfortunate proclivity to play assassin. That will *not* happen here. Understood?"
Hand twitching, Gordon had fought the urge to run up to the thing and choke the life out of it right there, but the eight-foot-tall guards on either side of the little shit had been a sufficient deterrent. Even his martial nature knew that to fill the three of them with lead, easy as it would be, would put an even greater strain on already fragile trade agreements throughout the galaxy.
He slung the limp corpse over the CM's seat and lashed it down carelessly with a bungee cord. Fuck the peanut gallery and its shrill cries of "inefficiency" and "obsolescence" and "needless risk." The custom 750 could navigate alien streets better than a car, self-driving or otherwise, and it was liberating, *and* the last time he checked, Terra Nigrum didn't have emissions laws in any of its cities, now did it? Nope. That's fucking right.
Gordon's boot pulled the CM's kickstand up, then pressed the gearbox into neutral, and with mechanical grace he flipped the petcock, clicked the key, thumbed the killswitch to "On," and pushed the starter button. The bike roared to life. Kraj was just going to have to deal with reality. "Bounty hunters don't have it as easy as you think, you little prick," he'd say. "Believe it or not, most prey isn't willing to just get up and come with me. Especially when they know I'm bringing them to a sadistic freak like you. He tried to put a hole in my heart, so I put one in his head first. C'est la vie. He's here, he's dead like you wanted. Now give me my fucking money." Yes, that would be satisfying.
The helmet he wore was specially crafted for the new atmosphere's slightly unfamiliar composition. A lower oxygen content and ever-so-slightly higher nitrogen level meant any form of physical exertion was survivable but extraordinarily difficult. THe helmet fed a light supply of oxygen into his nose so he could keep his wits about him as he roared through Illiat's knot of rough, plasticized streets. "They make their streets out of *plastic*?"he'd said incredulously the first time he arrived. "*Plastic?*" The rough surface proved hell for his CM's tires, and a fall would probably mean being grated to the bone (even through his thick leather jacket).
Gordon leaned into a curve and released the brakes, bumping the throttle a bit as the bike leveled out. He exploded from the curve with a roar, shifting up a gear and feeling Kuspit's dead mass throw off the machine's balance just a touch. Gordon was used to having dead weight on his bike.
"Fuck." He rolled to a stop, and the CM purred from between his legs. Up ahead, the straightaway was blocked off by three hovercars arranged like a police roadblock back on Earth. Kraj stood in front of the central car, flanked by his ludicrously tall bodyguards. The HUD on Gordon's helmet flashed a ring around each of them, IDing them and showing their range to be 50 yards. A bit far for a handgun.
Kraj placed the translating device on the ground and emitted a few guttural noises. The device blinked, and when it had synced with Gordon's helmet, text scrolled across his HUD. *I specifically told you he was to be taken alive. You have destroyed the one opportunity for the fulfillment of a sacred doctrine. Only the aggrieved may take the life of the aggressor. When this rule is broke, you know the mark of vengeance falls to the slayer.*
Gordon glanced behind him. Kruspit's purple blood had dripped. It was currently sizzling on his left muffler. "This god damned planet. Fuck it." They were going to try to kill him no matter what he responded with.
He watched his words transmit back through the device. *Fuck yourself, you alien fuck. If you wanted him alive you should have taken care of your business yourself, not hired a human.* As Kraj listened to the transmitted message, his knobby limbs twitched in sudden paroxysms of rage. With an inhuman screech, he gesticulated to his guards, who automatically raised their energy rifles and fired.
Gordon had already killed the bike and dismounted. He rolled to the side, avoiding the strobing flashes and watching the road's plastic surface boil. And then he was up, combat instincts kicking in, the 1911 barking in his hand and spewing bullets. But there was little cover, and he knew it. Illiat's police force was virtually nonexistant, and even if help came, he had a dead fucking native strapped to his vehicle.
For the first time in years, John Gordon didn't know how he was going to make it out alive. | The atmosphere broke, birthed into life in a roar of sound and the ship fell like a stone on fire. The world was strange and green and filled with tall buildings amidst the emerald sea and it was hot. The people here, if they were really people, were brown and fit and had dark hair and dark eyes.
Calif had never been there before. He was young and this was the farthest he had ever been. Above, the Earth was a far star, a receding speck in the sky. Home was gone for the while. He was on his own.
The waves washed his suit in a crashes as he walked to the shore. A great forest lay beyond and beyond that the large city stood, grey and iridescent.
He looked at his dossier. His target was a woman, or looked like one, and she was said to live in the heart of the city, near the lines that divided the slums from the aristocracy. The red light district.
The forest's shadows were pale and tinted. They shifted with the trees and there were scattered growls of foreign monsters. This world was lean, violent and mean. In the dark a shadow sifted something lept. Calif fell to his knees and lifted his hands and grasped the beast.
A snarling sound with great tusks struggled. The beast was large but without plan. Calif fell to the ground and reached for his knife. The thing sank to it almost willingly and it let out a great cry that made the forest quiet and still. Then it was dead.
Calif continued to the city and it was night then and stacks of neon built into splashes of color on the ground. Dark held only the corners and heart here and Calif had many shadows as he walked.
The brown people eyed him strangely.
"Take off mask fool!" one shouted.
Others jeered at him but only from those corners that remained dark. He was human and all knew what that meant.
He came unmolested to the red light district. The sounds of pleasure and desperation echoed boldly into the night. Calif looked up but the sky was black and no stars showed. He remembered how far away from home he was. And yet it all seemed so similar. Something stirred inside him and he felt guilty.
The sounds of the women made him think of his wife. On Earth she was pregnant and they were poor. Destitution had crept in on their lives and they were close to the edge oblivion. This job was their only hope. A big payday could change things. But he felt guilty. He was so far from all that and the sounds in the air tempted him.
He tried to focus. He continued through the dark paths. Women of different colors called to him. The great canals flowed green and reflected a shimmering light.
"Mona," Calif said. "Mona Dris."
He knew not the language but the name was sufficient.
"No Mona," one said in a pidgin English. "Come with me. Mona whore."
He moved on. The second person was more helpful She pointed to the left where there was a tangle of concrete boxes with lanterns on poles and where the dark congregated.
"Mona," the woman said. "Don't go."
He went anyway and a feeling of dread overcame him. The sounds had died and when he came to the building it was quiet and he felt alone.
*They are afraid of me more than I am of them* he thought.
The door opened easily enough and it was dark inside.
"Mona," Calif said.
It echoed and fell into the void and from the shadows a woman came. She looked more alien than the rest but she was beautiful and she smiled at Calif.
"Hello," she said in English. "We don't get humans in here often. At least I think that's what you are."
"Are you Mona?" he asked.
In the shadows she was almost hidden and only her face really showed. She had sharp teeth and she wore a robe that was near falling.
"Yes," she said. "I suppose I am."
He wanted to pull his gun. His plan had always been to shoot her and then escape as quickly as he could. It was always his style. On Earth they had been indoctrinated to think that the aliens were like animals, no smarter, and that killing them was akin to hunting. That had resonated with him but now he wavered and his hand would not move.
"I can speak English," she said. "You don't have to think of your words. I will understand."
She looked at him with a smile. Her eyes reflected that emerald film that permeated this world.
"I-I," Calif said but she stepped closer and held his hand.
"You are shy," she said. "Why don't you come in and we can talk more comfortably?"
She led him upstairs in scant light there was a heavy feeling in the air, a calm that made him worry.
He tried to pull away on the stairs and to get his gun, but she held firm and pretended not to notice.
"This is your first time I presume?"
"I'm not here to..."
"I know that," she said. "I didn't mean that. This is your first time as an assassin."
He froze.
She turned and smiled.
"You humans only come for one thing. And you are the boldest of all who have come."
"No," he said.
"No? You are not here to kill?"
He pulled away and reached for his gun.
"I am. This is not my first time killing."
He aimed with courage and then Mona was gone. His wife stared at him but she had emerald eyes that were as deep as the sea.
"Alison," he said.
"Yes," she said and held his hand, guiding the gun away.
"No," he said but she came and took off his helmet and kissed him and she was warm and he held her she was really Alison in that moment.
"You know in your heart I am not her," she whispered but she was still Alison. "I can be her though. Or I can be whoever you want."
He pulled away but the hands held him. He looked at Mona with her harp teeth and pretty face, bronze beneath the weak light.
"All your troubles can end," she said. "You can have anything you want. Why kill when you can love?"
Calif could not talk. He thought of back home and of the real Alison and of their real struggles. He thought of how far that was. He thought of Earth glimmering faintly like a dying light.
"You are not her," he said.
Then she was.
"I can share your thoughts. I can become her."
He was silent.
"Drop the gun," she said and it was Alison.
The gun fell and he felt guilty and tried to justify it all to himself.
"You can have everything you ever wanted. All your struggles will melt away," she said.
He came closer and held her shoulders. Those eyes were deep and he was lost in them. A lightheaded-ness came and he wanted to lie down.
"Take off the rest of that suit," she said.
She was Mona now and he was guilty for feeling more attracted to her than Alison.
He took off the suit and there was the beep of the electronics warning him. His throat began to constrict and there was a charge than ran through his body. Mona placed his hand on her breast.
"You silly humans," she said. "So strong but so easily fooled."
Calif's eyes began to water. He began to cough and she came and kissed him again and her breath was a renewed life in his lungs.
"Never take off the suit," she said. "The air here is bad for humans. It's a bit green."
He scrambled for his helmet and suit but her kiss was fading and that cloud was coming and his eyes watered so bad that he could not see.
Mona kicked him and he fell backwards down the stairs and he began to cough and scream. Outside a crowd had build and there was laughter in the dark.
"Human! Human! Human!" they were chanting.
Calif looked up and there was darkness in that strange place and he thought of Earth and of Alison and he wondered how he could ever be such a fool.
| 2017-02-24T04:17:33 | 2017-02-24T03:38:57 | 88 | 20 |
[WP] A teenager gains the ability to read other people's minds. The thought of sharing the excitement with beloved parents quickly fades, when their thoughts reveal the most shocking and unexpected secret. | I don't know what happened, but today I woke up with the ability to read minds. It was both exhilarating, because *duh,* I had a *real superpower,* and really frustrating because I had *no clue* how to turn it off. As far as I could tell, there was a cutoff point where I couldn't pick up any thoughts, but unfortunately, it wasn't small enough to avoid "listening" to every single human being in whatever class or hallway I was in. My whole day of school consisted of me furiously trying to ignore the inane thoughts of my peers.
Their thoughts were usually innocuous enough; I "heard" a lot of people think about the weather, their lunch situation, thoughts about the teacher, and so forth. Luckily, I took mostly "smart kid" classes, so for the most part, the worst I experienced was akin to listening to twenty other people explaining the problem to me at the same time, and while that was *extremely* distracting, at least it had the possibility of being useful.
On the other hand, my extracurriculars, which I considered my favorite classes, were absolute hell. Gym was the worst; it was as if I was trapped in a cloying fog of hormones. Every minute or so, I'd either hear some not-so-polite appreciation of so-and-so's "cute butt," "sick muscles," or wardrobe choice, *or* I'd hear some guy's inner monologue about his bright future in the sports industry.
It would've been amusing if it weren't so painful.
Now I'm riding on the bus, and being privy to the inner desires of my fellow adolescents is fucking terrible. Jesse is obsessing creepily over her crush. Ken's jokes and quips are apparently born out of a desire to one-up his brother's popularity. Larissa apparently stays quiet, not because she likes reading, but because she would rather no interact with us "models of adolescent behavior." The bus driver sits in resigned silence as he remembers the gold old days where he didn't have to ferry thirty annoying kids twice a day for three quarters of the year.
Being the last stop, I spend an agonizing thirty minutes trying to drown out *so much drama* with music.
Finally, *finally* the bus pulls up to my stop. I say "goodbye" to the driver, and in return I "hear" a sort of positive feeling that can be loosely translated to "at least she's moderately polite." I step off the bus with some extra pep; it's nice to be appreciated.
Walking up to my house, I start formulating the conversation where I'll tell my parents I'm psychic. They might even have some good advice for how to turn it off. Who knows, maybe this is some secret family heritage that I wasn't aware of.
Filled with excitement, I rush through the front door, announcing my presence. "I'm home! And something cool happened today!"
"That's nice, dear, what happened?" I start to respond, but to my horror, her speaking voice flawlessly connects to her inner monologue.
"Well when I woke up today-"
*Wow. I'm still sore from last night.*
"-there was..."
*I almost can't believe Daniel was so...*
"uh..."
"Are you okay, dear?" *I guess we were pretty loud last night. Am I being too obvious?*
I heard my mom let out a startled cry as I booked it back out the door.
Confessions could wait, I think. | Absolute, as if dreams kept creeping up and overwhelming, and then the voices crystallised into an echo that made sense. How else to explain what she heard? None of it made a lick of truth, except Millie had blurted out the dream in class, her words loud confirmation that the inner voices were real.
Craig jabbed her shoulder, "Oi, Fatty, your turn."
The whole class looked at her, all their dreams and voices echoing off the empty walls, some fatty, some Sandra, some thinking about the boy in the corner, and one... well he made her blush.
She stammered, "The answer is Napal, yes, Napal."
A brisk nod from the Mrs Belkin, "Indeed, well done, that is correct. Remember that, as it may be on the quiz next week."
Things became hazy as Sandra tuned into the teacher's stream of consciousness, all the foibles and fears wrapped up in a neat geography bow, moments later aloud to twenty three bored teenagers.
The bell went, and with a hurried splurge Mrs Belkin shouted, "Remember to get your parents to sign your permission slips."
No-one paid her any attention, as they busily packed away, buses and cars waiting to get them back to consoles and social media. For once Sandra could not wait, excited, scared, to tell mum about the voices. Mum would know best, though could easily land her in yet more therapy. The very thought made her shudder.
By the time she had passed through the three hundred milling students her mind was away in a stupefied soup of day dreams, hopes, and the fears of all around her. At the kerbside she waited patiently, desperately focusing on the road, all her willpower spent on tuning into her own inner thoughts.
It worked, right up until Danny joined her for the usual routine of spot the parent. His mind was working away on some game, lost in a maze of half remembered maps and characters, each as vague as he remembered, except for the female character, who shimmered and held brightly, until she gave a gentle cough, and he remembered she was there.
He looked at her sheepishly, "How was your day?"
Now she felt awkward, and not the good awkward she felt around Keiron Peters. "Um.... it was okay, Belkins liked my answer in geography. Not much else."
Danny pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through his social media feed. "Uh, cool. Um..." His mind played a lewd image of Alice Baker over several times. "Fancy coming over to play CoD tonight?"
All she could now see was Alice's figure floating in from of her vision. "Ah, sure... you going to let me have a go this time?"
He laughed nervously, then pointed to the road. "Sure, and I might even..." He trailed off as her mum pulled up. "Look, just say we're doing homework together."
The last thing she had in her mind was her face transposed over Alice's body. Creep. "Sure, shall we say seven?"
"Works for me."
By the time mum had set off, Sandra was glad of the calm, her mind already racing with all the possibilities. The biggest was how it had happened to her, in a geography lesson of all places. Maybe Everest was the trigger, maybe not. Whatever it was she had to tell someone, otherwise how would she cope? She was already considered weird for being a nerd, and now this.
Her mind fluttered, absent all the dreams, and then like a hummingbird her mother's thoughts hovered into view, more tangible, yet less vibrant. Images of dad, overwhelming, a grief that set in and raked itself over her core. Sandra fidgeted in her seat, her mind wrapped up in her mother's thoughts. Dad, missing , presumed lost at sea. Dad, the beloved memory that both her and mum together in a closeness that none of her friends managed.
Dad, a flickering candle, now as bright as a search light, his face as fresh as the last time he had kissed her goodbye. Mum's memories alighted on a letter, half the words scrambled, only the letter head stood out: Office of the Prime Minister. Desperately mum tried to piece the words together, trying to make sense of it all, and Sandra could only follow along as the words fluttered and smudged.
"How was your day sweetie?"
Sandra blinked, and tried to make sense of it all. "Um... it was okay..."
Her mother's words were absented minded, "Good, good."
More dreams of letters, overlaid with personal possessions Sandra had never seen. Passports, lots of them; too much money for a cameraman's salary; a suit burned deep in the night. What was all of this?
"Did you learn anything interesting today?"
They stopped at a set of lights, the world getting on with its routine. "Not really, just the same old."
She hated lying to mum, but this was too important. Mum's mind replayed the burning suit over and over again, an inner sadness overwhelmed a family portrait. Then, as the fire consumed the fabric for the fourth time, a sunset rose, memories of a beach. Something about this was familiar, yet there was nothing in her life that Sandra could draw on. A man, handsome and beach dressed, drew mum in, dancing in the early light, waves lapping their feet, until in the sand things blurred as breaths shortened, and Sandra felt grossed out.
As the car started up again, the first drops of rain started, and mum's mind wandered over rainy nights, candle lit dinners, and dad. Always dad. She missed him terribly. Nothing that Sandra had not sensed before, yet now it was as if the the intrusion amplified the deep well that sat in the silence.
Just as they pulled onto their road, the memories danced over moving in, the first night in the house, and discussions in the dark. Hiding the money, the passports, and more blurred objects. Mum echoed her loss, missing him terribly, a burden of truth that she could not share. Dad's face tortured and mutilated flickered and died, a final rage as to why he left to infiltrate.
Sandra stepped out of the car. So many questions, what did it all mean? | 2017-09-21T07:27:59 | 2017-09-21T06:43:12 | 109 | 50 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | "Hello!" I yelled into the darkness surrounding me. My voice rattled off unseen walls; deep rumbling echoes built up into a dreadful cacophony that seemed to swallow me whole.
*Hello hellllo helllllll oh-oh-oh*
My skin became goose-pimpled and a shiver ran up my spine.
"Please - I was joking! Death, if you're there still, please. Please!"
*Please pleaaaa pllleaaad-d-d*
I could feel cold, rock wall to my right but nothing in any other direction. With no other option, I plunged into the darkness, always keeping the wall within reach. The ground beneath me was uneven and I had to step cautiously so as not to trip. As I walked, the stench of sulphur began to grow, soon intensifying and wrapping itself tightly around my throat. After a time, I sensed that the passageway was leading me downward: the wall itself began to twist and I knew I was corkscrewing deep into the earth. No, not the earth. I was somewhere else. But if it was Hell, why was it empty?
I don't know how long I crept along in that dreadful, unrelenting silence -- that blinding darkness -- but eventually a dim orange light became visible someway below; I almost wept with relief.
Gradually, as I descended towards the light, my surroundings became less dim and I could see I was on a wide staircase of sorts -- although a ramp might be more accurate, as there were no steps. I glanced down at my feet and to my surprise, I recognised the sight of the black-grey ground I stood upon. It was a type of igneous rock; the type that forms when lava cools and dies.
The ramp eventually led into a vast hollow carved out of black rock walls. It was much brighter in the room than the stairwell, although shadows danced menacingly on the walls. I saw first a great rock table in the center of the room, around which was a circular patch of white ground marked with the tell-tale black veins of marble. Around that, twelve skeletons rested against the chamber's walls, rusty chains around their necks bolting them to the rock behind. There were iron keys lying by each of their legs. Could they have freed themselves but chose not to?
I crept towards the table. On it lay the remains of a great skeleton, much larger than the others, its arms folded proudly across its chest. In its arms lay a long-sword, its blade a shimmering crystal-blue. The huge bones that must have once made up the creature's wings lay spread across the table's wide surface.
An object rested on the creature's skull -- *the light source*. It was almost blinding to gaze upon the chipped red teeth that made up the terrible crown. Each tooth shone like a fiercely burning ruby. *Like a flame.*
On the side of the table was carved an epitaph.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star, bringer of light. The true son of God. Long did he protect his children from the Angel's lies. No longer he can. By his side rests his eternally loyal apostles.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star. He awaits to be avenged; he awaits a friend.
I don't know how long I sat in that room, surrounded by death with my arms wrapped tightly around me. Hours, at least. Days, perhaps.
I don't know why I eventually got to my feet and removed the crown of teeth from the skull, and placed it on my head.
But I did.
And as skin around my shoulderblades ripped and bled to reveal the growths beneath; as the eye sockets of the twelve skulls around the table began to flame and smoulder; as I picked up the sword from the skeleton on the table, and saw in my mind's eye the death of God and the Angel's crimes -- I realised that everything was about to change.
| They stared at me for a moment, blinking in confusion.
"Hell? Are you sure?" One asked, an eyebrow raised.
"You heard me, let's go fellas!". I said, clapping my hands. "Chop chop!"
A choice my ass. I never thought Zane would take our little prank war as far as the afterlife, but here we are!
I mean, he *did* have plenty of time to set it up after all, since he died about a week before me. It really wasn't very smart of us to split up in those woods, now that I think about it.
Speaking of Zane, I could see him a little ways past the large, menacing gate of wood and iron that stood before before me, waving for me to follow. A nice touch. I gave him a knowing look that said, "I know what you're up to".
Everyone knows you can't choose for yourself. Not one religion in human history has given anyone a choice. . So I know what I say here doesn't matter. Somehow, he managed to get these gatekeepers to play along. I knew the moment I said heaven, they'd all crack up laughing at my stupidity. "I'll show them." I thought. Laughing internally.
Oh how hubris does blind a man, I would soon learn.
Zane's eyes bulged in horror as the heavy gates closed themselves behind the gatekeepers. The clinking and clanking of ancient mechanisms, followed by the sound of a heavy metallic deadbolt sliding into place filled the air around us as the monstrosity locked itself.
Goosebumps rippled over my arms. The wind around us howled as the gatekeepers stood silent, staring at me intently, as though studying a lab rat. I suddenly felt isolated.
Surrounding us for miles was nothing but rust colored desert, and before us stood a vast Temple of the same color. A Ziggurat.
"So... is it too late to change my vote?" I asked weakly, a feeble chuckle following the words.
"The gate is sealed.". One of them said, as though *everyone* already knew the rules.
"Uh.. Ok. What happens now?".
The keepers looked at one another for a moment. "We do not know. None before you have had their own choice.".
"*WHAT!?*" I yelled. "I'm the *Beta Test*!?".
Before they could answer, the gates behind them came back to life. The foreboding metallic sound of that two ton deadbolt sliding out of place filled the air the air around us. I watched as the massive, heavy doors slowly parted into the building. The welcoming architecture I had seen before, with its ornate pillars, fountains, and hanging gardens was gone. It looked more like an ancient ruin now.
The scene matched what you might expect if you stumbled upon the forgotten ruin of an ancient desert palace. Toppled pillars littered the great hall. Sand had piled in the corners and was streaming down from the ceiling far above. The fountains had long since dried out. Statues of forgotten Gods and kings stood regally over the shattered memory of their grandeur.
I realized my gaze had strayed, pulled to the scene involuntary. I looked back at the Gatekeepers to plead with them further. "Unseal the damn gate, I'm a good person!" I was going to say. But they were gone. Vanished. To make matters worse, the desert suddenly felt very hot. VERY hot. The ground scorched my feet, and the sun seared my head.
I screeched in surprise and ran into the relative shade of the temple. And that's when I heard it.
Sand seemed to rain from the cracks and crevices above as a booming voice filled the room.
**"Aahhh. Finally. You have arrived. A friend."** The voice was a deep, calm baritone. It lingered over the words as though playing with them. Taking its time with each word, teasing out their final syllables such that every sound was made with intent. It would have been soothing if it wasn't so powerful. If it didn't cause the ground to rumble beneath me.
I stood in awe, words would not come to mind. I wanted stay and listen as badly as I wanted to run, my feet chose the for me by refusing to move.
"Uh... I.. Uh... I don't know... how...why..." It's not easy to string words together while overwhelmed .
**"You have fulfilled your promise."**.
"Pro... what promise?" My sense of awe mixed with confusion as I stuttered my response.
**"You will remember soon. Drink."**.
Suddenly, the fountain in front of me sprang to life. Water streamed freely from the mouths of the statues positioned over it as the basin filled. Green moss immediately grew where the water flowed over the stone.
I felt again the heat around me. The dryness of my mouth. I could feel the cool air emanating from around the water. It was clean, crystal clear, and I drank.
And it all came rushing back.
"Father."
**"You remember me, my friend. My son."**
"I remember."
And I did remember. I remembered my name. My real name. Ashur.
I remembered the true name of what humanity now called Satan. The booming voice. Anu. God of the sky and father to us all.
I remembered the war that had cast us all into exile. All but Nergal, our brother. God of the underworld, of pestilence, of death and war. He always was a jealous bastard.
I'd been among the unlucky few cast into an existence of recurring mortality. Fused into one body after the next for millennia. Unlike most of my brothers and sisters, I was not trapped in the Underworld.
"He must pay."
**"He will pay. But we gather yet."**
And that's when I remembered Enki.
"Zane... Err..., Enki! They took him."
**"They took him not. He fools them even now. He is our eyes in that place. And you Ashur, you will lead us back into our home in the heavens. You will send Nergal back to his place in the Underworld. You must gather your brothers and sisters."**
| 2022-11-26T20:28:16 | 2017-11-04T06:45:37 | 960 | 105 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | I've been cursed with a terrible form of immortality. Every time my death is but moments away, time grind to a halt for everyone. And while I am still able to manipulate my suroundings to some degree, i do not age, hunger, require sleep or otherwise feel the passage of time.
I know this because time has stood still for a year and will not start before i remove myself from whatever danger is threatening my life.
The first time it hapened was in my car. Avoiding a cat, or maybe a small dog, I swerved into the path of a truck on the highway. Before it was too late, time ceased. I left the car in the state of almost shock a near brush with death gives. As i walked around the scene, time resumed and the truck slammed into my driverless vehicle. Thankfully noone else was hurt.
The second time, a fire broke out at work. Trying to evacuate time stopped and I found myself unable to open the emergency exit to the stairwell. It ended after i had resolved to climb down an escape laddar outside. Turns out 320 people died trying the stairwells as a delivery service had "momentarily" blocked it. It occured to me that my ability to affect the world was tied to my chances of survival. I cannot, for example, jump out a window on the 20th floor. If the window is closed, i simply cannot open it. If its open, i cannot make the jump. The movements necessary prove themselves impossible.
It is with some regret I now realise placing myself in an airplane was a less than stellar idea.
The floor is angled some 67 degrees and I assume there is a gaping hole in the side of the plane. Or there is a raging fire in the cabin. Perhaps a terrorist will blow it up, or a missile is moments from impact. I dont think I ever will know. I am in the toilet, the thin door refusing to open. | What a strange predicament George seemed to have found himself in. For the third day in a row things seemed off to him, but, George never being the brightest type of person, did not fully realize the futility of his circumstance until quite a bit later. Like the two days prior Georgie woke, make some coffee, got dressed, and stepped into the strangely still air of his lawn. George walked to his car, flinching from the normal barking attack of Mr Robertson’s dog, but, like the two days prior, the dog was just waiting on the porch, staring at a birds nest in the oak down the road. “What a weird thing to see”, George thought, “maybe a bit lazy for one day, but two, god forbid these last three, maybe Robertson should take his dog to the vet, something's clearly wrong.”
George loaded into his car, setting the hot drink carefully into the unbroken right cup holder (the left one fell victim to George in his “a little too heavy” stage a couple of years prior). With the turn of the key and a shift into reverse, he was off onto the highway, the office building not lying too far ahead.
Finally pulling into the entrance to the parking garage, George noticed the attendant clearly asleep for the third day in a row. “What a joke, perfect way to ruin a good early morning commute. I get the luck of no cars on the road and now this prick thinks his job is some silly game”, George vented to himself. Surely no one else would be coming to georges aid, so with a bulbous waddle (he still had some time to go on the treadmill), and a tomato red face, Georgie was off into the lazy attendant’s office, pushing the turnstiles button himself. “Wake up next time you lazy bastard” George yelled, and with that he was back into the old Cady and off to the shitty reserved spot with the leaky roof. Of course they give him the worst spot in the garage, but to George it was practically a non-issue, he’d already spend a whole year grumbling about it. Off to the elevator then with the uptight fat man.
With another tomato red face, a ruined with sweat shirt, and a couple huffing puffs of air here and there, George finally was in the lobby of the office (lazy cunts couldn’t be arsed to fix the elevator, third day in a row and still no one was working on it.) He dropped his check in card on the desk of the receptionist, hardly giving her another glance. He couldn’t so much as look at the woman without becoming enraged, not after she publicly humiliated him at work 6 months ago. He had done everything his mother taught him, said hello, goodbye, and the typical “how are you today”s. He bought flowers, chocolate, liked her instagram posts, texted her every day after work, even without replies sometimes, but the stuck up woman clearly didn't appreciate real men. “Her loss” George huffed to himself, walking the ramp up to his lonely cubicle.
Jim’s birthday balloons and streamers were still up over his office. George hated Jim, even though everyone seemed to spend every second of every day worshipping the ground he stood on. Of course Jim’s birthday decorations, and his “we love you Jim” signs were still up, they’ll be up all year if you ask George. Finally though past his heavy breathing that still hadn’t ceased, (might have to bring that up with the doctor) George settled down in his nearly empty cubicle, taking some time to stare at the empty picture frames littering the space behind his monitor. I wish I could tell you what he was thinking but only really Georgie boy knows, sorry to say. Switching on the computer George sighed a heavy sigh, cracked his knuckles, and tried not to focus on the ramen lunch coming to him later. George just couldn't quite afford going out like everyone else everyday, not that they’d invite him anyway.
George continued like this everyday, work in, work out for a year, never noticing the frozen world around him, too wrapped up in his own delusions and visions of grandeur. Soon a year passed, but George didn’t care, or notice that none had said a word to him for that time, no one contacted him much anyway. I wish that there was more story to tell, but that’s just about it, even with a century passing, George didn’t quite notice. It might be time to check if mom has moved from the couch yet, I’ll leave you here.
Written on mobile, hope the formatting wasn't too screwed up. I’m just really getting started writing so it might not have been that good, but all practice helps, thanks for the prompt.
-ChaBoiShittyStories
| 2018-07-04T15:51:37 | 2018-07-04T15:04:45 | 4,562 | 100 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | When ever I was in danger, time would stop for only me, but for the past year, I've been stuck because of it, with no clue as to why. I've walked all over the United States, from mountainous redwoods to the gulf of mexico. It was the only way I could view certain times of day after all. What was a cool morning in my Californian home was a warm day in the gulf waters. But why couldn't I figure out what was trying to kill me? I'd tried moving myself so far away from my present situation, I'd eaten the best foods just being served for eternity at restaurants across the nation, slept in the finest unlocked hotel rooms (you'd be surprised how many hotel rooms are open when time is frozen), and done nearly everything on my bucket list. I started to think back on my journey.
I recalled coughing a lot the morning time stood still for me. I'd assumed it was just a cold, but... Realising how long it had been, did that cough ever stop? I remembered eating foods in the west quite frequently, but when I got to the gulf, did I continue to eat as much? I know I constantly felt queasy towards my arrival. Maybe it was from the walk. Maybe it was still from the walk. But more likely... It wasn't. What if my own body was what was hurting me, and due to time being stopped, I could not seek help? Did I have cancer, which had now gone a year without treatment? How would I ever get a doctor to check me now? Maybe it was punishment for all the times I'd cheated death, now death was cheating me of life. | It's been a year now... or more exactly, it's the 365th time I woke up in my bed. I don't really know why I still sleep in my own bed. After all this time I could have been sleeping in a room in the most luxurious hotel I could find, but somehow, it felt wrong all along.
Usually, that happen just before something should kill me. I just have to figure out what it should be and fix the cause, walk a few more step on the side or something like that and I have to live a few more. But this time, I just don't know what should kill me. The first day I was just walking down the street, inspecting everybody to find a gun or something. I looked at the sky to see if something was falling on me, but nothing. After a while, the loneliness was getting me on my nerve. My sanity was slowly slipping through my hand and it didn't took long before I turned completely insane. I almost lost the notion of time and I was just sitting in a alley, mumbling foolish words. After a while I began to speak to the statues that were once moving, and now, one year after, I'm tired. So tired that I can't even talk to my reflection like I always do in the “morning”. I just don't want it any more.
“Ok, I don't want to live any more. This is to much of a torture, just let me go now”
I said that to... nobody in fact. I just reached the bottom. I truly didn't wanted to live like this any-more. Compared to that, death had a sweet taste in my broken mind.
“So finally you're giving up. You took your time, mortal”
The mirror suddenly changed. At first I thought it was just another hallucination, but when somebody... “walked” out of it and touched me, a shock rushed through my body and I jumped backward.
“Wh- what?”
“I said, you took your time. Stopping the time for a whole year is not something you do everyday to make a mortal accept his fate. Oh, and I forgot to introduce myself. I have many name, but for now, I think the most appropriate is death.”
“you.. stopped? No, it's me who stop the time. It's me that control this power! Not you! I'm the...”
“Not this time I fear. You see, You escaped me so many times. Not that I was trying to kill you, no. I just make people die, because that would be a problem if people were killed be were not dying. But as you were able to avoid being killed, I had to try... another approach.”
“You... this can't be right? I mean. Yes, I prefer to die than to live another minute right in this state, but I don't REALLY want to die.”
“And how long will it take for you to accept me. Think about it. I'm not your enemy. Right now, I'm your only way to end this.”
“Except if I can kill you.”
“You can't kill death”
that didn't stopped me to try. I jumped right on him with nothing but my fist, but when I reached him, I passed through him like a ghost. I suddenly felt the hard and cold ground just before the tip of a metallic spike touched my back.
“listen, if you don't accept me now, I can just go and come back later. I can let you rest in this frozen world for eternity, it won't bother me. So either you you die now, or I'll collect your soul later.”
“But I don't want to die!” I screamed “I want to be free! I want to live!”
“I can't afford it any-more. I'm leaving for now. When you are ready, you know how to find me”
the spike was lifted from my back. I immediately stood up to attack death again, but I was already gone. I screamed in protest, beat the wall, hit my head against the mirror, but my rage to live would not save me. I was trapped, and only death could save me.
edit: added an English dictionary to my browser and noticed a lot of little mistake | 2018-07-04T16:08:29 | 2018-07-04T15:06:49 | 238 | 36 |
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers. | Gunnery Sergeant Watson closed his eyes took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. It was Friday night. He and his marines where drunk as fuck and some asshole wielding dungeons and dragons magic had just transported him to a land of long haired, hippy, vegan cupcakes and he was about to just start killing motherfuckers.
Gunny Watson and his Marines had not been notified of any deployment despite the babble from some idiot "Wizard" named Rincewind who kept going on about an ancient agreement between men and elves. They had simply been pulled from a titty bar on a Friday night and deposited in what appeared to be a hippy commune in the trees. There had already been some vomiting and a couple of his marines where already trying to fuck the elf women and he was almost inclined to let them.
​
Soon things were sorted out when a young elf soldier whispered to the elf prince. "My prince, stop explaining stuff, just give them a mission and they'll go away."
​
With dramatic flair the pretty young elf prince whined and cried about a horde of axe wielding orcs invading by sea that'd be here in a week to end them all. The marines simply laughed and instead of preparing for battle they proceeded to drink and fuck everything they could get their hands on until the day the Orcs where expected to arise.
​
On that day 8 different Marines emerged from their quarters. Uniforms stiff, boots polished they marched proudly in formation down to the beach. While the elves went about setting their defenses on the cliffs above the marines set up a few pieces of equipment and calmly waited. To the elves, this was the end, to the marines....it seemed funny.
​
Once the orc armada came into view a gasp and a tremble went through the elven lines as the dark, terrible ships with their howling warriors sailed closer. One of the marines arched an eyebrow in minor concern and said something to another marine who simply moved a couple of small boxes closer to the machine.
​
What happened next was truly horrifying. A brilliant beam of white hot light fired from the machine and carved through the orc ships like butter. Ships and orcs burned and the few orcs who managed to get to shore were quickly cut down by the other marines.
​
Weeks after the "battle" and well after the marines had gone home the bodies where still washing up on the shores. Twisted and burnt, drowned, riddled with holes. Many elf children where traumatized by the gruesome discoveries they made along the coastline for months. Eventually the town was able to replenish its alcohol supply and some suspiciously burly and ill tempered children where born to the elves. | We don't know much about the lands beyond the mists.
There have been many attempts to find them, of course, but the mists never part and everyone sails right through. Planes just fly over it, one moment gliding through magnificent rolling fog banks, the next emerging into a bright blue sky, sunlight glinting off cockpit windows. Satellites pick up nothing.
We know there's something there. We've always known that. Artifacts from that bygone era are all over the place, and the legends state that those that came before have left our world to sail into those mists, never to return. But their relics are everywhere. Giant statues lost to time. Crumbling cities overgrown with vegetation or modern urbanity. There are remnants of ancient battlefields, including a marsh that preserves the ancients like amber.
We have museums and shrines and monuments all dedicated to that gilded age, where magic infused the Earth and the lines between good and evil were clearly drawn in the sand. We learn about it in school. About the time when man once fought for freedom, for an idea greater than ourselves.
Where once we fought to defend the forests and the rolling fields, now we dig deep into the earth and strip the forests like the orcs of old. In many ways we have become the very thing we sought to defeat, though that is not the official narrative taught in our schools, but only a fringe belief, ridiculed and cast into the shadows.
"If we find something here," I say, squinting through the fog, "We can finally draw a line in the sand again."
Jax just grunts in response and goes back to cleaning his rail gun.
Gator turns towards me. "Crazy shit, eh," he says, indicating the fog all around us with a wide sweep of his arms.
"Yes," I agree.
Elves still appear from time to time, but most of their blood lines have long since been diluted. Those who remain occupy the high places of society, spending their lifetimes preserving vast tracts of land, futilely trying to keep human progress at bay. But as the centuries have given way to modernity the elves have disappeared one by one into the mists.
Our amphibious assault vehicle hits land with a jolt, the fog bank close and dense around us. Excitement ripples across our team, this is the first time land has ever been found but it shouldn't be so surprising. Never before have we been summoned here.
The instructions were not very specific: *Send help, the way will open to you.*
Our mission is to understand and report back, the powers that be deciding that the unknowns are too great to send more than one reconnaissance team. The engine revs as our vehicle grinds into the sand. Slowly we climb out of the water and the mists part to reveal a lush world filled with vegetation-laden cliffs that thrust dramatically into the sky.
We gaze upwards in wonder as our vehicle hits a bump, then another, and then another. My eyes flash across the beach and I recoil in horror.
Fair haired corpses lie before us stacked like kindling, shrouded in the mists tendrils. Dead elves.
"Fuck...," Jax whispers, his rail gun forgotten on his lap.
They are beautiful even in death and decay. Many have been dead for a long time and others look like they were killed earlier this morning, their bodies locked in the unforgiving, rigid contortions of death.
"Fuck is right," I say, half in wonder and half in shock, "This is the reason we have been asked to come."
"The orcs have returned, Sauron is alive once more..." Gator says, stating the name awkwardly as if not sure how it sounds. The current consensus is that Sauron was probably just a man, not some powerful ancient being cast out from the Divine.
The amphibious vehicle rolls to a stop. Gator shakes his head as if to clear his mind, then turns to address the reconnaissance team, "We'll have to walk in from here, the terrain is too rocky."
An hour later we're hiking up the first rise, laden down with our gear and weapons. Our instructions are to move slowly, to observe and report back, to avoid engaging the enemy until we know what we are up against.
Jax crests the first rise. He stops and drops to his knees, quickly ducking behind a rocky outcrop. I cautiously come up behind him. "What is it?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He just looks at me, then indicates upwards. I follow the direction of his finger and my breath catches. A giant red eye moves with an almost frantic laziness in the sky, high atop a glass and steel skyscraper. It pulses with orange fire, that deep, glowing orange of molten lava. The others come up, each confronted in turn by the scene spread out before them.
A dense urban city-scape stretches far into the distance. Factories belch smog into the sky and the grey sprawl looks like a festering wound. The wound turns to brown as it spreads outwards, where the forests have been cleared and the ground ripped apart and exposed to make way for more buildings, the bones of the earth laid bare.
After a time Gator speaks, putting a voice to what we're all thinking."We're not here to save the elves from the ancient race of orcs," he says. He slams his fist down on the rock in-front of him.
I can't look away from the eye. "We have been the orcs all along," I say.
The great red eye pulses and turns towards us with bright, malicious intensity. A high pitched keening pierces my ear drums and the ground comes up to meet me, the vibrant green grass now listless and ghost-like. | 2018-12-03T06:22:19 | 2018-12-03T06:01:36 | 58 | 41 |
[WP] The world is ending in 6 hours. As humanity panics you just want peace. At a local park you find a bench to sit and watch the impact. Soon a stranger joins you. Reluctantly you start talking. As you talk, you fall in love with each other. You find your soulmate at the end of the world. | [Poem]
The sky is crimson red, panic fills the air
The silhouette of unrest, sprinkled with despair
Here's my final place, a tomb of fear and pain,
What once was full of joyfulness, will never be the same
On this bench I'm captain, sailing to the void
The sea lashed out but rest assured, it will be destroyed
Suddenly a warmth, is this my final breath?
I pause, for I see beauty, where I only saw death.
Our words started as whisper, delicate, they grew
An orchestra was forming, only made of two
We spilled our thoughts, our love, our fear, our words flowed out like wine
Although the world is ending, I suddenly feel fine
The sky was flashing fierce, a fireworks show for us
Though this might be our end, our love will not be dust
Suddenly the sky is black, then burst in chaotic flame,
On this bench I met my fate, I'll never be again. | I sighed, as a used to be full time worker, with an apartment, ten cats, and 70, I wouldn't have expected this. I would expected to be the crazy cat lady that lives in the apartments. I would expect me to be homeless due to me feeding all of my cats my money. I wasn't expecting however, to find out that the world was going to die from a massive collision for a astroid and Earth. I had quit my office job, set my money on fire and went to the park. I had let my cats out so they could hopefully find a safe place to hide, as I stared up into the sky that was redding like I had never seen, preparing for my death. I would lying if I would say I wasn't scared. No I was on the verge of tears actually. Shaking in the park bench, alone at the end of the world. Everyone else was running around screaming. Trying to save themselves from something that cannot be stopped, right now, I want to be alone.
I hear someone walk up and I see out of the corner of my eye someone sat next to me. I swallowed, it would be pointless to murder someone at the end of the world, so I probably didn't have to worry about dying from the hands of another human being. Though I suppose what would you have to lose, as I look over at them they speak in a soft voice.
"So this is it, huh? The end of the world. I think movies over played it. I don't feel a lot right now." They spoke, looking at the sky. While they seemed numb, I was shaking due to the pure fact that I was dying. I mean we were all dying slowly, but I didn't expect it to happen now.
"I guess so, it's a bit weird you know. Knowing that your going to die, that you are literally looking death in the face." I commented, I swallowed once more. Holding back the tears as I shook, it was so much to comprehend in such little time.
"It is weird I guess, I'm Jordan." They said, looking over at me, they had big green eyes, beautiful eyes really. Such a waste that they were starting to water up from fear.
"Edith." I said, as the numbness started to set in. I couldn't understand this, why was this happening. Why now, was god punishing us for our mistakes? Is mother nature hitting the reset button?
As Jordan and I talked, we talked about our lives. Jordan was divorced 2 times over and just gave up trying to find love. They were 68, they had retired from teaching and had two dogs. We talked about our childhood, our old jobs, our pets. How we loved candy and hated avacodos. As the doom came closer and you could see the astroid. I realized something. I looked over at Jordan. Their beautiful green eyes shining with fear and I placed my hand on theirs.
"Hey, it's gonna be fine, I mean, at least it'll be quick." I tried to cheer them up as tears ran down both our cheeks. Jordan lightly chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess so." They looked at me with their emerald orbs and they opened their mouth to try to say something but couldn't find the words. As a rumble shook the earth, the end was here. I finally spoke my last words.
"Hey, Jordan. I think I love you." I admitted and they smiled at me.
"I love you too Edith." They whispered. I pressed my forehead to theirs and we closed our eyes. I pictured their beautiful green eyes, how they looked like the Earth's green. We held each other as the astroid hit the earth as we looked at each other's eyes, grey meeting green, we held each other. Two old people had finally found love. And it was at the end of world that it happened. | 2019-06-27T01:54:29 | 2019-06-26T23:13:56 | 69 | 29 |
[WP] "May your skin rot when you heal others," the witch cursed, "and may your name be forgotten when you save others." You are a healer for a party. Your party does not know about the curse, and it has been your job to support them before they finally complete their quest. Today is the final day. | If one were to observe our party's journey to the final confrontation with the Demon King a strange sight would greet them. In the lead, with all the confidence and grandeur of a party of seasoned adventurers, are be four noble heroes; venturing forth to defeat the encroaching evil. Sword, bow, axe, and staff gripped in firm experienced hands, armor scuffed and worn from countless battles but nonetheless gleaming in the setting sun. But then a few dozen paces behind, shuffling along with head bent and body wrapped in a tattered cloak would be me; the all but forgotten fifth of their number. One could almost mistake me as a stranger to the adventurers; a battered old man who happens to be traveling on the same road as the four heroes en route to confront destiny. If not for the fact that the strange cloaked figure sat at the same fire as these adventurers, bandaged their wounds as they recovered from the days trials, slept alone on a cot a few feet from the warm coals once darkness fell.
Some time ago this cloaked figure had been fully one of those adventurers. I too had been shiny and strong and brave. I fought alongside the other four, struggled with them, called them family. But the moment the witch's curse fell upon me I knew that I would soon no longer be one of them. It took some time, at first it would be a complaint here of not having contributed in the last fight, a joke there of needing to perhaps take a bit more care of my skin and my health. But then soon they weren't jokes, nor light hearted banter. Soon when one of my companions looked to me there would be a brief moment of confusion, a question of who this strange creature with pocked skin and hollow eyes was and how it had gotten so close to the party's camp. At first the confusion would only last a moment. Of course! This was the reliable cleric, our friend and ally through thick and thin. But soon a few moments became a few minutes, and eventually the realization never came. One of my dear comrades would look at me, open their mouth as if to call out to me in recognition, but the words would never come. They would look at me as if I were an anomaly, a strange animal that had wandered across their path; fascinating in its uniqueness but not worth the time to identify what it was or where it came from. But that was fine. I had not set out on this journey for recognition. I had not set out for fame or riches or even; though it had been sweet while it lasted, for companionship. Each day as I had to steal scraps from the cookfire in order to feed myself, as I wrapped myself in bandages to hold my rotting flesh to my body, as I witnessed my party grow into heroes powerful enough to face the evil king, I knew that my path was a righteous one. If my allies thought that flesh mended itself unheeded, so be it. If they thought flaming arrows were turned aside by wards that appeared of their own volition then so be it. If the strange cloaked figure that they sometimes saw from the corner of their eye but thought not to question should collapse into a pile of dust, then so shall it be. As we approached the Demon King's castle I thought to myself how beautiful a portrait this would be. The four heroes, bold and beautiful, prepared to meet their destiny as the setting sun lit them in burnished light. A fine image if not for the strange speck in the background, a hunched figure wrapped in bandages and rags, struggling to catch its breath through failing lungs, eyes bleary in even the fading light. But perhaps there was a sort of beauty there too.
In that final battle, when the archer was shielded from the wall of roaring flame racing towards her, she turned as if by instinct to thank her ally, but there was no one there to thank. When the chains of shadow binding the Barbarian in place shattered, setting her free, she grinned as if this had happened many times before, though she knew not what had liberated her. When the poison gas left the wizards lungs freeing him to resume his assault on the Demon King, he felt a presence standing with him shoulder to shoulder, and despite the chaos and danger all around him he felt strangely comforted. And when the warrior, laid low by the Demon King's fell blade, felt life pulse into her, invigorating her to stand and once more bring her mighty sword to bear, a name leapt unbidden from her lips, a name whose owner she could not recall, but she knew *must* be spoken in this moment lest their victory over evil be rendered completely and utterly meaningless. Later when the adventurers stood victorious in the crumbling remains of the Demon King's insidious throne room, the four of them took a moment to bask in the glory of their victory. All of the hardships, the struggles against seemingly impossible odds, the long days of conflict and longer nights of terror had led them here. Evil had been defeated and good had triumphed, they had met their destiny head on and emerged the other side heroes, as had always been foretold. And yet there was a feeling, unspoken but shared between them, as if a piece were missing. The Demon King was dead, his minions defeated, that was assured but nonetheless a small emptiness pervaded the air. For a moment the clouds in the chill night air parted and moonlight shone through the cracked remains of the throne room ceiling, landing peacefully on a tattered cloak and pile of soiled bandages. The heroes had won, but for reasons unknown to any of them, they all wept. | Of all the injustices the witch inflicted on me in my short time within her hut, the worst of all was her lateness, for the crone had seen my heart in her glass and shrewdly judged the moment when I had grown to love. Had she manifested her ever moving home on the forest’s edge I might have given up my mission and my calling entirely, but she had waited, and her waiting had doomed me.
When I left her hut and told my party of the shockingly low toll she asked of them for safe transit across the Grove of Memories they cheered me. Diminutive Tabitha had laid down a crossbow nearly as large as herself as she ran up to me, throwing her arms around my legs, the top of the halfling’s head barely level with my navel.
She had called out my name in her bright, singsong voice saying “Noula, how did you manage it? The stories made her sound like a demon!” Demon she had been, but only to me. The others would never know that the price had been paid before I ever left that room.
For the first time in a long time I was grateful for the long dress and veil worn by my people. None of my friends could see my tears.
We bedded down that night in the shadows of the witch’s hut, and I swear I felt her presence beating against me all night with a forge-like heat as the magic still pumped through my veins. We were so closely linked I could have counted every time she rolled over in the night.
The next day we were gone, crossing the misty fields of the Grove in peace and delving deep into the dungeon beyond. With every step through the blackness of its abyss I waited for my life to end.
Her curse had begun with the whispered words “May your skin rot when you heal others,” and the symptoms began just as simply. In the combat itself I felt nothing as I bandied my magic about, hurling ice shards and casting wards with reckless abandon as I sought to limit the need for healing but no plan survives first contact. In the chaos of the very first fight a single goblin slipped by Piers, our lead tank, and raced into the backlines, skewering little Tabitha with a poisoned spear.
The old words were out of my mouth before I even knew I said them, settling over her lithe form like a blanket. In seconds Tabitha’s tremors had slowed, and as the mopping up process began I took her in my arms to the sound of dying goblins, turning her on her side in preparation for what was to come. The vomiting began moments later as her body purged itself of the poison and all the while she clung to me like a talisman, her whole hand wrapped around two of my gloved fingers.
That night at dinner I felt a curious itching on the tip of my index finger, and when I finally found the privacy to remove my gloves the skin had silvered in places and no longer had feeling.
I learned the cost of love dearly in the days to come.
What began with a poisoned spear and a finger grew quickly and in proportion to our delving. When Piers took an arrow through a crease in his armor the lesion crept towards my palm. When our fire mage was caught in the blast of one of his own spells I spent nearly an hour gathering the fragmented shards of his leg together, and as if in sympathy the silvering sprouted from my right foot up to mid calf.
When we cleared the giant on the second to last floor I earned a blazon of ulcerous flesh from left shoulder to right hip.
And in the final fight at the dungeon’s base I wanted to throw myself into the dragon’s maw rather than spew another word of power.
But I did not, for I am what I am, and I live loyalty as both my curse and blessing.
That fight however, was apocalyptic. By the time we reached the Dragon’s Chasm I was so far gone into my own misery I had forgotten why we had come, what it had all been for. I did not see the Chalice that hung in a gilded cage at the center of the vast expanse, although from my position in the rear I heard rumblings of it all along our line. My mind was too focused on the plague the had blossomed across once fair skin, and for all my love I assessed my friends like heads of cattle, trying to guess if there was one among them I might not heal if it came to it. Even as I did it I hated my twisted desire for self preservation.
All those musings ended when the roof of the chamber itself seemed to come alive, and with a flurry of wings and a sound like grinding stone the dragon dropped from the ceiling to hover in the air before us. It could have fit 3 of me into its mouth, perhaps even a 4th at the rate I was decaying.
It was little Tabitha who fired the first shot. The end of her crossbow blazed like lightning as she sang out a lilting halfling paean, and her bolt arced high across the chasm to bury itself at the base of a wing. The blast of fire it sent back would have killed her had Piers not stepped in front, bearing the brunt of it on an enchanted shield of bronze that still seemed to sweat liquid metal in his hands. He took the first of my healing in that last, climactic encounter.
Some I could not save, but not for lack of trying. Those thoughts had all left my head the minute fighting began. Edric the rogue was one such, hurled almost as an afterthought by the dragon's mighty tail to be spitted against a stalagmite. Another was our 2nd healer, caught in a firey burst that scorched him so completely not even ash remained.
Others however, were more lucky. I went among them freely with a kind word and the faint whisper of their names, and with each casting I lost a piece of myself. I do not know when the battle ended, frankly I do not know how I even remained standing through it, but end it did, and as the dragon’s body burned away so did the chamber around us. With euphoric cries of surprise we all found ourselves aboveground, back in the misty Grove of Memories where it had all begun, the dungeon’s entrance vanished and a gargantuan pile of loot in front of us.
I collapsed onto the grass as my friends divided the spoils, and lay there breathing raggedly until Tabitha approached. She held an ancient tome in her hands and proffered it to me, but when she spoke her voice was strangely distant. “Hey Noula,” she said, “this one should be yours. I think it’s about healing or something.”
“Thanks Tabby,” I said weakly. “Is everyone ok?”
“Yeah…” she replied. The halfling shook the bright red mane of her hair, a confused look on her face. She stared down at me and shook her head again, whispering my name to herself, “Noula, Noula…”
Then the look was gone and Tabitha turned from me, walking back to the rest of the party, who with their loot divided were already marching out of the Grove.
“Wait, guys!” I called, “I need help!”
They continued to walk, only Tabitha seeming to waver. She paused, putting a hand to her ear as if she heard something.
“Tabby please! What’s wrong, why won’t you listen to me?”
Tabitha shook her head one last time, and slinging her crossbow over one shoulder followed the others away.
It was in that moment that I remembered the rest of the witch’s words. She had bid my skin to rot when I healed and I’d lost myself in that, but there was another part, one even more dire. As I had turned to leave she’d whispered “and may your name be forgotten when you save others.”
With those words echoing through my head I realized I was alone in the Grove of Memories, too weak even to stand, and through my rapidly blurring vision I thought I could see rotted faces in the fog.
\----------
If you enjoyed that there's tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-02-13T11:54:11 | 2021-02-13T10:47:58 | 66 | 34 |
[WP] When you were a kid, you and your friends made a ‘secret society’, with passcodes, names, and even a silly logo you drew yourself. That was years ago, eventually you lost contact with those friends, but one day you receive a letter in the mail, and it has that symbol embossed on it. | We called ourselves "The Butt Squad."
At the time, we thought it was the funniest thing--three seven-year-old boys all saying gross things to each other just to rile up our moms. My code name was "Turd." Bobby, who lived across the street, was "Windbreaker," while Eric, always a bit more clever than other boys his age, went by "Eau De Toilet." I can't remember if the joke actually had time to stop being funny or if Bobby and Eric moved away before things went stale.
Our club logo was a butt--a very badly drawn butt. More specifically, it was two circles with a scribbly fart cloud underneath. We scribbled the Butt Squad butt on everything we could think of: desks, school assignments, each other's arms with magic marker.
And those two gloriously full moons were right in the center of the wax seal on the very thick envelope that had just arrived in the mail.
My first thought was to open up the envelope and figure out which of my two goofball friends had finally tracked me down, but I hesitated when I took a closer look at the seal. The "butt cheeks" were detailed with patterns that made them look like *real* moons, while the cloud underneath was less "cumulus" and more "nebula." I turned the envelope over again and checked the return address. It was a P.O. Box from four states away.
Curiosity got the better of me and I tore the envelope open. Inside was a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled phone number and the words "CALL US."
Something about the urgency of the way the words were written unnerved me. Part of me wanted to crumple the paper and throw it out, but it didn't seem right to abandon some of my earliest friends like that. I pulled out my phone and tapped the number onto the screen. Seconds later a voice with a familiar speech impediment picked up.
"Ish that you, Turd?"
"Oh my god Eric, you still sound the same after all these years," I said with a laugh.
"Shhhh! Use the code namesh, pleashe," said Eric.
"Oh my god Eric, I'm not using--"
"JUSHT USE THEM!"
"All right, all right, 'Toilet,'" I said, the grin fading from my face.
"Turd, the Butt Squad ish reuniting," said Eric. "We've been called by the United Shtates Government to be ambasshadorsh for First Contact."
"First Contact? You mean, like, aliens?"
"Yesh. Extraterreshtrialsh. And they're looking for The Butt Squad shpecifically."
"The Butt Squad."
"Yesh."
"Hey, Eri--er, Toilet?"
"Yeah?"
"You might want to call a hospital," I said, trying not to upset my disturbed friend. "Get checked out before you meet these 'aliens.'"
"I'm not crazhy," he said.
"He's telling the truth," added a deep baritone voice on the other end who couldn't have been anyone other than grown-up Bobby. My heart dropped. Could what they were saying be true?
"The President is shending a team of the besht Men in Black to pick you up," said Toilet. "Nobody will shushpect you're on a mission and you'll be home before you know it."
"And we'll be right there with you the whole time, Turd," said Windbreaker. As if on cue, a long black limousine pulled up next to my driveway and a heavy fist pounded on the front door.
"Open up, Turd!" called a firm voice. "We are here to escort you to the White House."
"I don't get it," I said. My voice started rising to a shout. "Why would aliens want to meet with The Butt Squad? We're nobody! Nothing! We were just three dumb kids goofing around! What in the world would they want *us* for!?"
There was a strained silence. Then...
"Didn't you tell him?" asked Windbreaker.
"Guessh not," said Toilet.
"What? Tell me what!?" I shrieked.
"The aliensh," said Toilet. "They're from Uranush."
*For more stupid stories, check out my subreddit at* r/OctOpusTales *!* | The stack of junk mail felt thicker than usual as she stood over the recycling bin in the garage. The car’s engine cooling down, popping behind her, she looked over at it and some of the envelopes gave way. Left in her hand was a shorter pile with a dense, natural paper envelope on top. The tan pulp visible, the handwritten name and address in bold calligraphy. She flipped it over, curious but careful. The rest of the junk fell in an instant. Both hands now coddling an envelope with a forest green wax seal, a seal that looked familiar.
The envelope sat untouched in her home office for a day before she built the resolve to open it. She rummaged through a desk drawer, searching for a letter opener. For once she had an excuse to use antiquated implements, it seemed appropriate for the gravitas she had given the letter in the interim. At the bottom of the drawer, beneath mementos from family members who had long since passed on, she found the beautiful crane handle of her grandmother’s paper knife. Drawing it like Excalibur, she pointed the tip gently under the flap. With soft, pressed movements she slid the blade under the seal, leaving only a bit of bled color on the paper. She continued the removal of the seal, seeking to preserve the wax, whole and with the symbol intact. After, she set it aside and braced herself for whatever content she’d find within.
The flap lifted on its own, practically inviting her to retrieve the letter within. It peeked out from under the green tinted paper, further calligraphy showing itself. She tenderly folded it flat and drew the pages out within. Three small sheets of a softer paper came out, crammed with bold letters, ink spots, and what appeared to be small water stains. She drew in a breath, a gasp really, as she saw her name at the top.
• • • • •
To Founder Emily,
I regret not contacting you sooner, but I wanted to be sure there was no other options left before reaching out. I apologize as well for the subterfuge of the envelope and co-opting your design without further official consent, but I have few friends and fewer colleagues that I can trust. I didn’t want any tangential connections to have suspicions spread beyond myself.
Years ago we, perhaps jokingly, created our little group of wayward girls. We were so young, it seemed like a fun little game to create a secret society. At the time I think we weren’t set on creating a long-lasting organization, just a club really. I don’t fault those of you who fell out and moved on, but it meant something entirely differently to me and Colleen. After you left for university Colleen and I started recruiting. It was still a bit of a joke until 2008 when the first of the girls started to graduate, finding themselves in a world that no longer sought to invest in our future through fulfilling careers.
This was the shift from being a bunch of “gal pals” with a secret group handshake and some code names into trying to do something of value. At first it started with the handful of women entering the workforce, scrounging to be seen as contributing members of society but stuck with entry level jobs. Within a few years those women were in positions of power. Some were able to get others in our group into jobs, setting them up for success and giving them the knowledge and tools to succeed. By the end of Obama’s second term we were spread throughout several governmental and financial institutions.
Colleen was the most driven, she truly wanted to make something great. During the first decade we’d grown from a handful of friends to a sprawling organization, centered around a forum that has yet to be discovered by the media or law enforcement. We would know, we have a few women inside the CIA and FBI. I don’t suspect people would feel we’re doing anything nefarious, we still don’t stoop to nepotism, our members still need to prove themselves and earn their roles. We just aid them in their efforts to get where they want to go.
To whit, I am stepping down from my position as the de facto head of our group. As you have already noticed I am not long for this world. It was a hard decision to share my condition on social media, but it was vital to keep up appearances of a simple life for all these years and this spanner in the works couldn’t be omitted. At first we thought this could be a great opportunity to facilitate a fake death, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve helped those in need out of dire circumstances. But as the second, third, fifth, eighth opinion came through it became clear that my demise was inescapable.
The good news is that we have already made a short list of replacements, of which you were chosen as the only “external hire”. We have been watching you for years, occasionally interceding on your behalf, until you were able to build the skills you needed to be reintroduced to our club. There are a lot of moving parts and I want to give you the full scope of what this would entail, but before we get there I needed to know whether you’d be interested in joining and leading The Ladies of Larkspur.
We have a member that lives at the end of your street. She is awaiting your response. As you may expect, some tact would be appreciated. Below you will find a URL to access our forum.
I know this blasé approach to my impending death might come off as a touch cavalier, but the work I’ve dedicated my life to holds more value to me than my mortality. I hope the same feeling of duty and importance avails itself to you and I hope that bond we formed as children wasn’t a fleeting moment of kinship. I’ve been afraid to reach out sooner because of the growth of the Ladies outside your knowledge, but after your years in public servitude and your current role as Mayor it seemed your path was unwavering, whether we tagged along or not.
Whatever you tell Emmanuelle in regards to our offer, please know that I will always cherish the summer we fought for a seemingly inconsequential change to library hours. The secrecy, the adventure, the camaraderie. It meant the world to me and Colleen. I wish she could have told you herself how valuable you were to her development. The determination to change the world, the drive to keep working towards it, it inspired her to do great things.
She may be remembered as an extremist, but even her death brought attention to the cause. Whatever you heard of her exploits and our supposed involvement I want you to know that the truth will be made available to you, whether you join or not. She still held you in high esteem and wanted you to know her reasoning.
Please take your time deciding. I know you’re level-headed and wouldn’t hasten into any engagement without considering all options, but I do hope you choose soon as I would like to see you at least once more before I move on to the next stage of existence.
With all sincerity,
Founder Harriet “Hera” Simms, nee Johnson | 2021-10-04T11:18:39 | 2021-10-04T08:59:00 | 529 | 206 |
[WP] A professor stands in front of a class on the first day of term for “Time Travel 101” and explains why no one is allowed to go to Steven Hawking’s party. | Good afternoon, students, and welcome to Applied Temporal Mechanics, or Time Travel 101, as you may know it. Over the course of this term you will be introduced to the basic theories of transporting information and objects from the present to the past, as well as the linear history of the creation of time travel.
To wit, we shall begin with a discussion on the topic of fixed points in time. A fixed point is a moment or period of history intrinsic to the creation of time travel, and thus, cannot be affected by an outside force. Most of these points are dark spots in human history that any sane and compassionate person would want to change, and indeed, many tried and failed before we learned the reason why. Some examples would be the burning of the library at Alexandria, the Black Plague, World Wars One, Two, and Three, Stephen Hawking's Time Traveller Party, the Trump Presidency, and the Economic Collapse of 2068.
Ah, a question?
Well, most of these examples, while tragic, directly lead to specific individuals being inspired to take action or interest in something that contributed to the collective knowledge directly related to the method of time travel used today.
Yes, Hawking's party does seem like an odd thing, doesn't it? Surely if someone went, it would prove time travel was possible, and thus lead to its creation, right? But the equations we use today were first theorized by a fourteen year old girl who read about Hawking's party, and was determined to prove him wrong. Those equations were later finished by her grandson, who was inspired by his grandmother's passion.
Hmm? Oh, yes, that was actually the first destination we tried to visit; you wouldn't believe how many scientific discoveries were made out of spite. Tried at least a dozen times, but invariably, each individual sent through the Temportal was unable to attend. See, it's not that it's against the law to alter these moments - though it is illegal to tamper with other specific moments of time, but that's only briefly covered in this course, you'll have to take Temporal Law in your second year if you want to learn more - where was I?
Thank you. It's not illegal to alter a fixed moment, it's physically impossible. If you tried to go to Hawking's party, you would encounter a statistically improbable number of small coincidences and delays that will cause you to miss the party. If you're lucky; more than a few temporal researchers have met unfortunate ends during their travels. Other fixed points are a bit more risky to visit, and Twenty Fourth Century knowledge is no match for a spear in your back.
Well, it's very dangerous to take advanced technology with you; if it falls into the wrong hands, untold damage can be - and has been - done to the established timeline, but that's covered more in-depth in Alternate Histories and Parallel Timelines, and to a lesser extent in Temporal Law.
Research has shown someone actually tried that. There's a good deal of information regarding the incident in Alt His, but the short version is that someone did manage to go back with a fission bomb, and destroyed the entire city of Cambridge. This broke the chain of events that led to the creation of time travel, creating a paradox that resulted in that timeline fading from existence. I'm sure you're all aware of the Grandfather Paradox? This is a similar principle, but on a larger scale; you cannot use time travel to erase the existence of time travel, without erasing the entire timeline.
No, the Kremic Invasion is covered in Alt His; we won't be discussing it in this course.
Because research indicates we invented our own method of time travel several decades before the first ancient Kremic device was discovered; while the Temportal we use today does incorporate some of their technology, the math is all ours.
Because it's an offshoot timeline, and one of the main reasons we got temporal legislation and regulation in place as fast as we did; it's… not good to have too many branching timelines, and we can't let just anybody go mucking about with history.
I'm afraid I can't answer that question, no one in this room has the security clearance to hear it. Suffice it to say that too many parallel timelines can have dire consequences, and leave it at that. If you want to know more, you'll need a government contract and an NDA.
Let's move on to the linear history of time travel, and the very first fixed point; the discovery of fire. Urog was a skilled hunter, who never came back empty-handed, no matter the circumstances… | "One thing to always remember is that time travel doesn't really make any sense. It's beyond the human comprehension. It's really a miracle that we found it in the first place! Does anybody remember the first discovery of time travel?"
The professor looked around the room for the slightest twitch or indication of a raised hand.
"You there. The girl, in the yellow shirt. What's your name?"
"M-Miranda." She spoke about as awkwardly as she dressed
"Yes, Miranda. You looked like you were about to say something?"
"Isn't it a trick question? By all records, the origin on this timeline seems to have changed, and the actual point is physically impossible to determine. To my knowledge at least."
The professor smiled.
"Yes, and I'm sure the rest of you believe that to some extent as well. And I guess it is sort of true. It \*is\* physically impossible to determine for certain. But there's a common misconception in there. I would ask if anyone knew what that misconception was, but considering that this is a beginner's class, I think it'd be fruitless to ask."
A few of the students eyed each other. Despite being in an intro class, all of them had thought that information was fundamentally known, like how the Earth revolved around the Sun..
"Do any of you know Stephen Hawking?" the professor asked, already knowing what would happen.
The room was silent.
"A while ago, there was a certain scientist. Extremely important, studied many other fields of science, but also never really studied anything remotely close to what we know as time travel. He's also extremely relevant when we talk about anything related to time travel. But it seems like none of you know him." He flashes a cocky grin, as he continues talking.
"That's also why I'm teaching this class, and not you. Because experience is vital in the fields of time travel. I'm one of the few professors here that can tell you of this significant man."
One of the students raised their hand quickly, but jerked it away just as soon as he put it up. The professor glared at him for a second, before realizing something and continuing to speak.
"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions. But to get back on the origin of time travel, how many of you know what a Nexus Point."
This time, many of the students raised their hand, though not quite enthusiastically. There were around a dozen who did so, and most of them seemed unsure.
"To clarify, since this is a Time Travel course, I'm referring to Nexus Points in relation to time travel. Not Nexus Points in relation to dimensional travel."
A student raised their hand, with a certain look. And without being called on, he started talking regardless.
"But isn't dimensional travel and time travel related? Time travel inherently has the use of multiple timelines, and any nexus points made through time travel function as though you're traveling between dimensions? There's not really any difference between dimensional travel and time travel between timelines when you're talking about Nexus Points."
The professor almost got angry. He glared at the student who asked the question, before reminding himself to calm down. He inhaled, then exhaled.
He ignores the question. Fruitless, baseless, uninformed, were many of the adjectives that were running through his head.
"Stephen Hawking is relevant for one significant reason, as I'm sure most of you were wondering. It's known as the Time Traveler's Party. It is also a Nexus Point, which we are going to be referring to from now on in it's relation to time travel."
He takes a bit of effort not to actively glare at the idiot.
"The Time Traveler's Party is only known by it's attendees. This is why nobody here has heard of it. The gist of it was that Stephen Hawking invited all time travelers to attend this party, sort of as an experiment. And for everyone wondering why I'm talking about this party when I should be talking about the origin of time travel, it's because that this party IS the origin of time travel."
Confused faces. All of them. Of course, most of the pieces were right there. There wasn't a lot to expect though, since most of them seemed to not know what a Nexus Point was in the first place.
"I know everyone here is confused. Of course, I only give this information to inform, not to convolute the information you retain. And it's because this information serves as the base for a healthy reminder. To not go to June 28th, 2009."
Suddenly it made sense. Confused faces turned to that of a face who has realized the universal truth. The professor smiled as the pieces began fitting themselves together for each of the students. Except one. The idiot.
"Wait, but you haven't explained how time travel was invented?"
The professor scoffed.
"You should probably drop this class. If you don't get it, you probably won't get anything else I say from now on."
The idiot looked disappointed, and also a bit miffed.
"Fine. But at least explain it to me." he said, now clearly annoyed.
"Fine." It was a begrudging fine, but the professor continued. A ramble to clear things up and have him leave.
"Many of these facts are in direct contradiction to each other. You can't have time travelers from multiple timelines in one timeline except both the time traveler in that timeline and the one that hopped into that one, being the one who created the nexus point between both timelines. The invitation was the first event relative to all of time to have nexus points created, and the timeline got penetrated through a bunch of holes all at once. You can imagine that timeline didn't handle it too well. A bunch of things got fucked over. Now you don't visit that nexus point unless you wanna give the timeline some trauma it doesn't need. Of course, all of the other timeline weakened around it, just because the whole thing got fucked over all at once and it made everything around it susceptible to easier timeline penetration, but not enough to mess things up. Of course, Nexus Points are what happens when you time travel multiple times in the same area and it becomes unusable. For those who do know Nexus Points, they should know that it's not really the Nexus Point is where it becomes unusable. It's more of a safety precaution. But the event is a special type of Nexus Point. I'm sure you could guess why at this point. I'm sure most of you were expecting that this Nexus Point would be just like any other, and would've thought that it would have gotten a bit more use."
It was a lot, but hopefully it would shut the idiot up. The bell rung, and most of the students got up to leave. satisfied with what felt like exclusive knowledge. But the now-learned student didn't, as he sat thinking, until a bit after class had ended.
Finally, he asked, as the professor stood there, waiting.
"But what about the Bootstrap paradox?"
The professor was taken a back for a second, but smiled once more.
"I guess you may know more than I realize. I'm a bit surprised though. You're probably one of the few people in the world that's taken the Bootstrap Paradox seriously. Guess I can't fault you for your other questions." | 2022-09-24T22:16:27 | 2022-09-24T20:21:57 | 67 | 22 |
[WP] You've always been good with animals. When a demon who wants your soul sends some hell hounds, you end up befriending the doggies. | I looked at the night sky as I walked a familiar path home. The insect buzzing in the trees. The chilly night air brushing my hair. I like cutting through this park. The stars are gorgeous and it's quiet, just the way I like it.
Then I heard a growl, then another and another. Next thing I knew, I was surrounded by a pack of dogs. At least, I think they are dogs. They looked kind of like hounds but with fur blacker then black and red eyes that seemed lit by a fire. Their teeth menacingly.
*What do we have here? Aww...they look so adorable.*
I realized early on that I have peculiar tastes in what is cute or not. A normal person would be frightened out of their wits. I guess I am not normal. No matter. I looked at these dogs as they came closer ready to attack at a moments notice. I pulled my back pack around and opened it. I shuffled for a bit before I pulled out some nice tasty dog treats, the very expensive kind.
*These treats have never failed me before.*
I opened the bag and like a smell explosion, an aroma flowed out into the open air. The dogs perked up instantly. 3 sniffed while one even tilted it's head with it's tongue hanging in wonder.
"Here doggies, there is plenty where this came from." I dumped all the contents onto the ground. The pack of hounds rushed to the food. Barking and growling unfolded as they fought over each other.
"Easy guys. Jeez it's like you guys were starving for days or something." I went to one of the hounds that couldn't intervene in the chaos and held my hand out with another treat I pulled out of my bag. The hound sniffed before gently licking the treat off my hands. I started scratching him behind the ears. The hound seemed to like it as he licked my other hand like any other dog would.
When the hounds finished their snack they looked at me again and started growling.
"Stop it, if you all want more then you will all have to behave." And to my surprise they seemed to understand as they sat down and waited patiently for my next demand.
*Huh. Smart dogs these ones...*
"Hmm, alright, follow me then." I walked home with the pack following close behind.
...
"And that is how I ended up with a pack of demon hounds as pets." I said calmly as I sipped my tea. My friend in front of me stared at me blankly.
"Hmm is something wrong?" I asked
"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard! You're nuts man! Nuts! I would of crapped my pants if I was in your situation!" He said without embarrassment. One of the hounds I was petting next to me barked intimidatingly.
My friend froze. Before looking at me then the hound before standing up abruptly.
"I'm outta here man. It was umm...nice seeing you again."
"Oh? Uh...okay? Hey wait! What about your tea?! Fine, see you later then! Have a good night!" I watched as he practically ran out the door.
*What's his problem?*
...
Meanwhile a demon was sipping some tea as he sat in contemplation.
*Where are my hounds? They should have returned by now.* | I take a sip of my margarita. The shades and sunhat I wore protected my sexy face from the sun. I was sort of using my flower necklace to stabilize my drink. In the two chairs on either side of me lie Cerci, a Chihuahua .. I think, and Barus, possibly a Great Dane, on their backs, both wearing flamingo robes and sunglasses similar to me. They looked a little wierd but other than that they were sweethearts. Their paws propping up a sun reflector to even out their tans .... I'm pretty sure Barus was asleep. It was a sunny bright day, a good time to rest near the edge of my pool.
"Would you like anymore caviar sir?" Asked Derfla, my butler. I had suggested he change into something more comfortable on this hot day but he insisted so I left him to his own devices.
"No thank you Derfla, please take the rest of the day off. Have a swim. Relax with us." I waved him over.
Other butlers were watering the potted plants....wierd, I don't remember having potted plants. The pool water was very alluring, I should go for a swim ... is what I would have thought if it weren't for the fact the water was instantly evaporated by the 6'2" demon that had appeared before me.
**"WHAT IS THIS! WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING WITH MY HOUNDS!? BLOODFLAYER! FLESHRENDER! HERE NOW!"**
...they didn't move. I think Cerci had just joined Barus in the dream realm. The dogs continued to rest, atleast until the demon shot a beam of fire that sprung them out of their chairs.
**"NOW!"** They scurried towards the demon. **"JACOB MATTHEWS, YOUR FATHER OWES A BLOOD DEBT TO ME THAT WAS TO BE PAYED BY HIS OFFSPRING. BLOODFLAYER, FLESHRENDER, TAKE HIS SOUL!"**
Both whimpered and lowered their heads.
**"YOU UNGRATEFUL ... FINE I'LL DO IT MYS- AAAAAHHHH!"**
The demon had been cut off by Derfla and the other butlers dousing him in holy water and tackling him to the ground.
**"HOW DARE YOU MO-"**
Derfla cuffed the demon in restraints with runic carvings in them. Putting on a pair of shades, he spoke.
"Arch Demon OrganBlender, you are here by under arrest for animal cruelty and anything you say can and will be used against you."
**"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, MERE BUTLERS CANNOT CONTAIN ME!"**
"Oh but we are no mere bulters, Mr. OrganBlender. For we are ..." The butler's rip off their suits to reveal ... identical suits underneath. "PETA! IN DISGUISE!"
The demon went as pale as an undead spawn born of flame could go. **"P-P-P WAIT WAIT I CAN EXPLAIN AND Y-YOU HAVE NO GROUNDS UPON WHICH YOU MAY DETAIN ME!"**
"Oh but we do, Mr. OrganBlender." Derfla gestured to me. "This upstanding citizen contact us and documented every injury that they observed upon your pets and gingerly nursed them back to health."
The demon glared at me. I took another sip of my drink.
"Just look at these open scars that dawn their bodies..."
**"OPEN SCARS! THAT IS LITERALLY THE LAVA THAT COURSES THROUGH THEIR VEINS!"**
"These sharpened teeth indicate dog fighting. Training the to attack people as well, shame on you."
**"THEY ARE MEANT TO RIP OUT SOULS, THAT IS THEIR ENTIRE PURPOSE!"**
"and the charred fur that clearly signifies cigarette burns...u_u"
**"THEY ARE FROM THE UNDERWORLD! EVERYONE IS BURNT! ... OH I SEE ... IT'S BECAUSE IM BLACK ISN'T IT?"**
Agent Derfla, took a step back. "Wait what?"
**"I SEE YOUR SINS DERFLA, I KNOW YOUR PAST!"**
In an instant, Derfla was tackled to the ground and cuffed by the potted plants. "W-what are you doing, a mere potted plant cannot arrest me!"
"Oh but you see Mr. Derfla, we are no mere potted plants ..." The potted ripped off their leaves and pots to reveal identical plants underneath. "We are the! ...no wait wrong costume..." They rip off the secondary leaves and pots to reveal men in suits underneath. "For we are the NAACP! IN DISGUISE!"
Derfla went pale, "W-wait but you cannot arrest me. You're just an association, you don't have the authority."
As if on cue, the NAACP was tackled onto the ground by Cerci and Barus. "Bow wow wow bow woof bow woof."
"What!? Impersonating authority!? No mere hounds can arrest me!"
"Bow wow woof arf arf..."
Cerci and Brutus bit into their charred skin to pull it away to reveal policemen underneath.
"Bow arf woof... ^(clears throat) ... For we are the FLPD! IN DISGUISE!"
I got up and left. Went for a scroll. Didn't come back till nightfall. Surely enough coming to my yard, I was greeted by the scene of my entire house having deconstructed itself to reveal multiple agencies and beings in disguise arresting one another. There was even a vampire posing in yellow. I didn't know what to believe anymore. Was my entire life a lie. Was I even myself? I tugged on my skin, it was loose. I chuckled. Of course, how could I have forgotten. I owed each of these people something. They all wanted something from me in some form or fashion. Yes I remember now.
"I am no mere rich guy."
I pulled off my skin to release the buttoned up shirt, socks with sandals, and khaki shorts underneath. I pulled the detonator from my pocket.
"I am my son's father. IN DISGUISE!" | 2022-11-22T11:09:18 | 2022-11-22T09:49:37 | 152 | 68 |
[WP] An abandoned child is stumbling through the woods, barely surviving. The god of the forest and hunt notices them and after a while can't bare watching the clumsiness anymore, deciding to train the child. | Nothing that seemed natural was natural as far as the carriage passing through the woods was concerned. The carriage did not have any windows, nor did it have a coachman, and the horses that drove the carriage were as black as obsidian. There was something unnatural about it. The carriage stopped near the stream, and out of it came four priest-like men, in black mantles, who held a mask so that they could not be seen. They were looking for something. Or someone. Later I asked the trees what they were saying. Of course I could talk to the trees, because I was the god of the forest. I prepared a spell, and decided to drive them out of the forest with such gusts of wind that their carriage almost overturned.
Later, in a mare by the lake I found a boy. he had blonde hair and was wearing nothing but some kind of cloth wrapped around him like a diaper. The boy was all terrified, and the chains were still hanging on his hands. When he saw me, the boy got scared, but I soon convinced him that I meant no harm. When I would walk the earth's paths, I had green boots and a green tunic, and a long strong brown beard.
- What's your name, boy?
- Growel, sir. Please don't hurt me.-
I laughed and decided to take Growel home, in a cabin near the lake. It wasnt much but it was comfy. I cooked some stew, and gave him to eat. While Growel was eating the food, I took the flute and played some soothing forest tones. From his stories I discovered that the hooded men were a sect of necromancers who kidnapped him from his family and decided to sacrifice him for their god of death. The god of death and I did not get along well.
Years passed, and I decided to take Growel under my wing. I taught him how to hunt, and I taught him to gather berries. I taught him how to communicate with animals and how to navigate the waters on a boat. In the end, he befriended the bear Lengan, with whom he would often explore the forest.
People would often pass by on the road, but I advised the boy that it was best to hide from them. People are greedy and easily corruptible bunch. I didn't like them, because their loggers would often destroy my forest.
But one day, people were passing by, according to their clothes, it seems to me that they are of a high class. I asked the wind what they were talking about, and the wind answered that they were looking for their son. The way they described him, it appears to have been Growel.
With a sad face I had to tell Growel what I saw. Through all these years I became like a father to a boy and it was sad to part with him. Growel didn't want to go to his parents, he persuaded me to stay, but in the end I barely got him to send him away.
But Growel has become more cunning over the years than I thought. He was lying under a tree by the side of the road so that his parents could find him more easily. When his father saw him, he ran to him. But in a moment he stepped on an invisible trap that wrapped around his leg, and he started to hang from the tree. The rest of his family, his mother and guards ran to help but were stopped by the bear Lengan.
- Son, it's me, don't you recognize me? Your father-
- I recognized you, father. But I can't let you go. -
The mother answered: - Son, what are you saying, the years in the wilderness have clouded your mind - But at those words, the bear stood up on its hind legs and the mother and the other guards retreated.
- Father, I wish you wouldn't appear here anymore. Why? Well, because I know, the priests didn't kidnap me. You sold me to them. -
Father, red in the face from being lifted upside down: - No, son, that's not true. Where did you get that from?
- From where? Well, I overheard your conversation. While you thought I was sleeping I was hiding in the kitchen and I saw the priests giving you gold coins. I heard my mother say you can take me -
The mother answered: - Son, you have to understand. We were heavily in debt. Our family business would go bankrupt. We had to do something in honor of our family. But now we regret it, and we want you to come with us -
- Do you regret it? Well, good. I repent with you. - Growel took a knife and cut the trap that held his father in the air. There was a thump soud when it fells to the ground. - Now get out of this forest so I never see you again. You are not my parents.
- But, son - the bear growled and the father and mother together with the guards fled into the carriage and headed towards the city.
From that day on, Growel gained the reputation of a ranger in these forests. His adventures with Lengan the bear will make him a forest legend. But that's for another story. | Sjorgün leaned down next to the deer carcass, a knife in his hand. He uttered a quick prayer for the animal, not to any god-really, praying to a god while he himself was one felt quite silly-but to the universe itself, the infinite and indifferent void that would outlast all of them, even the gods, for the animal's safe travels to the after life, before then beginning the grisly business of skinning the animal.
It only took him a few minutes, barely 3 or 2. Even the largest and meanest bear he could find in these woods only took him 5 or so minutes to skin and process. He gingerly rolled the pelt to clean for later, before then taking out another knife to begin butchering the animal for further use. Before he could, however, his attention was snatched away by the sound of something being knocked over.
Sjorgün turned, knife in hand, displeased at the fact something had actually managed to sneak up on him-but was met with the sight of something small and pink and pathetic looking at the now spilled contents of one of the salt barrels he'd brought with him. The god sheathed his knife at grumbled at the spilled salt, before then walking over to the barrel.
The small, pink creature looked up to him-a human, he realized. The god almost shriveled his nose in disgust. He did not like humans. They had a habit of trampling over his lands, slaughtering it's inhabitants and then complaining when they found nothing of the land to sustain themselves. His sister, gentler Frøya, was obsessed with them-but he absolutely could not stand them.
The child gaped at him, the vague approximation for what passed as a smile for its people. He grunted and picked up the now empty barrel, before then moving to the deer and beginning the process of butchering it.
~
It was some time before Sjorgün was out hunting again. Meetings with the council, his insufferable brothers and sisters, took some time and almost always yielded nothing productive, but as lord of the wilds he was of course obligated to attend. He travelled now with his lieutenant, the wolf god Glornir as they set out after a boar.
Glornir bent down and sniffed the ground, before then turning back to his master, frowning. "Boar's that way, I'm sure, but there's.. something else. I'm not sure what it is."
Sjorgün raised an eyebrow. It was rare that Glornir didn't recognize a scent. He walked over to his lieutenant and kneeled down on the ground, finding plenty of evidence of boar activity, rustled leaves and twigs, but nothing else.. strange.
"Well, let's find out then." He said, shrugging his bow from his shoulder. Glornir nodded and padded after his master, slow and steady now as they crept closer to their prey. An ear piercing shriek sounded above them, and they abruptly stopped. The gutteral sound of boar, mixed with something else...a cry.
A human child's cry.
*Shit.*
The god broke into a run and Glornir followed him-though mumbling something about complete disregard for stealth or other, Sjorgün didn't really hear-and then they burst out of the woods, to be greeted with an absolutely huge boar towering offer a sniffling, cowering child.
"PROTECT THE CHILD!" Sjorgün bellowed, and though Glornir grumbled he followed suit, oath sword to his master, putting himself between the huge boar and the child, who only wailed louder at the wolf god's approach, growling at the boar, daring it to come closer. The boar was about to oblige him, before an arrow whistled through the air and lodged itself into the beast's shoulder. With a shriek of pain it turned toward's it's assailant, murder in it's eyes.
Sjorgün set his jaw and unsheathed his hunting knife. The boar bellowed and charged, and with his superhuman reflexes the god side stepped and sliced through the boar's throat. Arterial blood gushed as the huge beast collapsed, it's breath growing labored and shallow before finally giving out.
Glornir walked over to the god, ignoring the wails of the child behind him. "Reckless.." he stated, more a growl than a coherent word.
Sjorgün rolled his eyes. "It's also the biggest boar we caught this month."
"With the biggest tusks, and hooves, and desire to trample and gore you!"
"Relax, old man. It's not like its anything I can't walk off." He turned away-deciding that the conversation was over-and unsheathing his knife to skin the animal-but his eyes landed on the child, looking up at him with fear and wonder in his eyes in equal measure.
The god grit his teeth and tried to ignore it, but that irksome, *foolish* urge to protect grew in him, like a troublesome weed. He sighed and sheathed his knife, walking over to the child, who backed away from him fearfully. Something about those eyes, fearful and wondrous, seemed so familiar..then it hit him.
The same child of before.
He sighed and leaned down to pick up the child, who only wailed louder. He did his best to ignore it.
"What are you doing..." Glornir demanded as he walked over.
"Taking it back to the cave. It'll die If we leave it out here."
"And that's none of our concern!" Glornir growled again. "If we took every single baby animal that was about to get eaten or trampled back, we'd damn near take every baby animal in the forest!"
Sjorgün didn't have an answer to that. Instead, he looked the wolf god dead in the eye, and said. "My decision on this is final. You are welcome to help me or not, wolf god."
Glornir visibly deflated, knowing now the conversation was over. Glornir had much leeway with the younger god-as he'd practically raised him-but it was impossible to changed Sjorgün's mind once he was set on something. Sjorgün's face blackened with guilt at his reaction. "Look, Glornir, I'm sorry, just...you know how you found me and my sister, back when we were babies?? Out in the woods? If you'd left us then-"
"You would've died." Glornir finished. "I very nearly did, you know." He said, chuckling, before then shaking his head. "You were always a stubborn child, you know that? But fine, if you wish to do..whatever it is you want, with the child, I shall help you."
Sjorgün beamed and nodded at the wolf. "Race to the cave?"
"What, with that wailing thing on your back? Do you want to attract every predator from here to Iskidian?"
Sjorgün looked like someone had slapped him in the face. "Well, no.."
"I thought so. The predator does not run. Now let's go before that things blows our eardrums off." He said, gesturing to the baby, and they walked back to the cave.
~
And so they ran the forest, Sjorgün, god of the hunt, and his lieutenant, the wolf god, and along their side, the first of the human hunters. Not just one who exploited the woods like her peers, but one who took only what she needed. The first of the human hunters, who would go on to teach her peers the way of the woods.
And they called her Artemis. | 2022-12-22T10:24:17 | 2022-12-22T09:47:58 | 19 | 14 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face | The best birthmarks were always stretched somewhere across the back of the hand. The man who cured cancer had Flamel's sigil imprinted on his palm. The doctor had this small pattern of crosses on his arm. He showed it to me when he took my wife into the emergency room.
"She's in good hands. I was fated for this."
I believed him. I scratched at my own mark on my inner thigh. We believed that birthmarks were prophecies. I rejected mine. I refused that fact that I was fated for great sadness in my life. I forced myself to find happiness everywhere I went. The teardrop on my inner thigh would not define me. And it never will.
When my parents passed away, I cherished their presence. I threw a party celebrating the things they had done for the world. My mother worked to end poverty and saved the lives of many children in Africa. Her sigil fated her to save people, and everyday she would. My father worked in a bank, and the fact that he almost ruined the economy did not deter him. He knew it was coming, his fate of hurting many people. He married my mother because he thought it would balance out his prophecy. She loved him out of sympathy, and he paid for all her philanthropy.
I paced the waiting room. She is fine, I told myself. My wife was in good hands and I had nothing to worry about. I should be happy she found herself in the best hospital in the city, in the care of the best maternity ward. I should be happy that we were having our first child. I should not be this uneasy.
The minutes ticked by, then hours. I was getting anxious and read some online comics to cheer me up. The operating light had finally extinguished itself. The doctor walked out.
"Your wife's fine. I have some bad news about your daughter though."
"Is my daughter fine? I'll love her all the same even if she is Autistic or missing an arm or anything. I'll find the best of it. Trust me."
The doctor pulled out a picture. Emblazoned across the infant's face was the thin, slithering mark of a snake. The mark of a murderer. If one walked the corridors between jail cells, one would find the same marks. The most brutal of all had the most pronounced snake.
My heart sank. "She is not a murderer!" I proclaimed. "I never succumbed to my fate. I won't let her either."
"She is your responsibility now."
I leaned against the wall and crumpled into a heap as he walked around a corner. The birthmark in my inner thigh started to tingle. She would murder someone dangerous and save the world, I convinced myself. I was not sad. There would be a happy ending to all of this. I buried my face in my hands. | I rush to the hospital, excited beyond belief. A child! MY child! A little one to hold, to teach, to love! Words can not contain my boundless joy! I broke a few speed laws on the way, but who cares! I'm a father! I enter the hospital, rushing straight to the room number the clerk told me. Bursting in, I see my wife, my beautiful wife, lying on a cot. Her face, with the beautiful marks of one who is destined to be a performer, isn't facing me. She is turned away. Her shoulders are shaking. She can wait, I must see the child! A nurse, with a doctor's markings, takes me to the nursery. She won't look me in the eye. But never mind that, the child! Upon arriving at the nursery, I peer through the window and see my child, dumbstruck. It's a girl, small, with golden hair and eyes so brilliant, so piercing, I get the feeling she is looking at my very soul. Yet the part I am looking for, the party that truly matters, is the part that makes me stop. Her markings. They twist and writhe around her face like snakes too close to a flame. Hard edges somehow mixed with dangerous curves. The mark of a killer. The mark of death.
I rush home, anxious. The call from the from my daughter was urgent, panicked, alone. At home, police cars and a single ambulance are waiting. I barge through the door, greeted by the averting eyes of those who are marked to protect, to be brave, to never surrender. The police step aside, leaving a pathway to out bedroom. My bedroom, now. My beautiful wife sways from a breeze that doesn't exist, stares at me while the rope and the ceiling croak at me with voices of despair. She is with me no more. I return to the main room, where police, with their marks of justice, and my daughter await. She runs to my arms, sobbing. The police slowly file out, whispering. I catch a few words. They believe my beautiful wife's death was the one my daughter was foretold to cause. But I kNow Better.
I rush to the accident, weakened. The police on the line had been calm, patient, explaining the wreck. My daughter and her friend, hit by another car. I arrive at the wreck, astounded by how warped two pieces of metal could become. Still in my daughters car, I see that face of her friend, the marks of kindness on his face blotted out by the streaks of blood. There is no hope from him. My daughter is released by the paramedics, and she runs to my arms, shaking beyond control. As I help her into my car, I hear the others speaking. They believe we can now live in peace. BUT I knOw bETter.
I rush through the house, enraged. Nineteen years, waiting, watching. I know she'll hurt someone, I KNOW IT! THE MARKS HAVE FORETOLD IT! I must stop her, before she stops another. She runs from me, but SHE CAN'T RUN FOREVER! I chase her to her room, but the door is locked. I hit it, and hit it, and HIT IT! IT WILL NOT OPEN! I hear sirens outside. The police with their fake marks of justice. They're on her side. We'll see who gets the last laugh. As I sneak out of the house, I hear their words, consoling her. They believe I won't come back, that she's safe. BUT WE KNOW BETTER!
I rush through my thoughts, cold, calculating. I will not let my ANgeR control me, not like before. That was how she got away. Not this time. I have prepared for too long to allow this to fail. She thinks she can start over, start a family, start being happy. WELL SHE CAN'T! She knows better.
I walk to her. I had wanted to do this in private, but there was no opportunity. Twenty-seven years is too long to wait another minute. She is in a uniform, blue. The same uniform of the betrayers who helped her. But they can't help her now. I call her name, and she stops. Turns. Slowly. I smile at her, savoring the moment. I caught her. Pulling the knife from my belt, I start running to her. Closer. Closer. CLOSER! There's no way she ca- BANG! It hits me like a bullet. It is a bullet, right in my heart. She always was good at that. I crumple, and her shadow falls over me. Tears, on my face. Whether they are mine or hers, I don't know. She begs me not to go, pleads with me, apologizes. She shouldn't. I have failed, not her. I, who shared with her my marks. I, who taught her to try and be something better. I, who never even followed my own advice. She tells me all will be okay, that help will arrive.
But I know... | 2014-05-10T23:53:07 | 2014-05-10T23:42:39 | 71 | 48 |
[WP] A man working at suicide hotline got called from his wife | Fred sat at his desk, it was a quiet night at the suicide hotline. His cellphone rang, it was his wife calling. He checked the line again, no incoming calls, so he answered his phone.
"Hi honey, what's up?"
"Hi hon, I just wanted to remind you to pick up milk on your way home."
"Oh ok, is that all?"
"Yup, see you when you get home."
"See you later, love ya' hon. Bye." | Jeremy sighed. This night was looking to be a long one. Only early evening and he'd already had to put up with what sounded like an overly dramatic twelve year old who'd just lost her pet bunny. For Christ sake. That kid would not stop crying. She didn't seem in immediate danger to kill herself either. It simply was not his job to talk privileged babies who create their own miseries to justify being in a bad mood.
Dramatic little shits.
Across from him, Sally sat, her long legs crossed and with that small concerning frown of hers that made her face crease up in the most adorable way... he was certainly jealous of her. Her soft voice filled the office with a warm compassion. There was no doubt he loved her. Jesus. How pathetic. He had a wife... and a child on the way, and here he was, stupidly in love with the most unattainable of beauties.
Sally's eyes met his for the briefest of moments. His heart leapt up into his throat as he hastily averted his gaze and fumbled with the few things on his desk, desperately trying to look busy. His eyes fell upon the photo of his wife. Simple, dramatic Natalie. Fat, bitchy Natalie.
Well, maybe not so much fat as carrier of a smaller, parasitic Natalie clone. There was no doubt that this kid would be like all the others he deals with.
Desperate for attention. Selfish.
God. Why did he have to be chosen to be a father? It wasn't fair. The sight of that bloated belly made his skin crawl. But he wasn't raised to desert his family. No matter how much his heart said otherwise.
He felt a now familiar vibration in his pocket. Definitely his wife nagging him to 'come home and cook and clean and look after me because I'm pregnant and can't do anything by myself and I don't want to do the dishes because it might hurt the baby!'.
Jeremy groaned at answered.
'Hello, my darling', he said curtly. 'What can I do for you this time?'
'Jeremy. The baby. Oh god, my baby. Baby'. Her voice was weak and babbled, like a scrambled psycho.
Jeremy's heart took a plummet to his feet, and his skin prickled with goosebumps.
'Natalie. What did you do?!' He practically screeched. The adrenaline pumping through his blood felt so foreign. He couldn't control it.
'It wasn't me! I slipped. The stairs. There's so much blood. Oh, god'.
Humpty Dumpty fell down and saw red. Humpty Dumpty's baby's now dead.
Jeremy couldn't help it. He laughed.
Why did he laugh?!
Later, he'd blame it on the adrenaline. The confusion. The panic. He'd never tell anyone what really went throug his head.
'JESUS CHRIST JEREMY WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!' She screamed, bawling. She was starting to take big gasps for air. A fish out of water.
His heart was a runaway metronome. More of a constant hum than a thump..
*I'll have to come back to finish this later! Sorry!*
| 2014-06-25T00:24:57 | 2014-06-25T00:15:23 | 814 | 18 |
[WP] Humanity is the only race in the galaxy with such a massive lack of common sense that we're the only species that requires laws to form societies. Other races just form naturally and are shocked when confronted with humanities laws and regulations. | We're exhausted.
Of all the races in the galaxy, we were the only ones who didn't have a common sense. Something to bind us all together in times of peace, or some universal moral code that we all followed. There is not one region on our home planet that's avoided the fractured, broken, and chaotic nature of humanity.
So when the aliens known as the Kaavar passed through the Milky Way's galactic border, looting and burning entire systems, the Terran Empire soon became the only entity available to fight them. You see, common sense is by definition *common*. Each of the other 10 or so races coexisting before the Kaavari invasion had some attribute that applied to every member of their species...attributes that the cunning enemy exploited over and over to great effect.
Every last one of those races are now cowering in enclaves on human planets, protected by the shields of human warships that now control 90% of the galaxy.
It's kind of poetic, isn't it? Just 20 years ago, races like the T'vana and Shuri mocked us for our barely-restrained animal natures. Now their remnants beg us to reclaim THEIR home planets, planets that are some of the last Kaavari strongholds. They demand it of us as if it were THEIR soldiers who have been slaughtered by the trillions during this war...as if it were THEIR millions of battleships that died every day to protect them!
We are so, so tired.
The Kaavari are like us - they evolved sentience in small, warring communities instead of large groups. They understand us in a way that no one else has in this vast and lonely galaxy. Over the countless battles that we've fought throughout the course of this war, a respect has developed between the two sides...a respect that is lost on the other races. This is why I, Supreme Commander Alexis Tillerman of the Terran Imperial forces, have decided to sign the document in front of me. A document that the Kaavari diplomat has already signed. The document signing over all occupied planets in the Milky Way, no matter the original occupant, to humanity. The document that will now tightly bind Human and Kaavari in an alliance that will last until the heat death of the universe.
We are *tired* of this war. We are *tired* of the other races jeering at us when they think we can't hear them, pushing us to sacrifice more fighters, *demanding* power that should be ours by might. Most of all, we are tired of fighting the only race that has ever understood us. No longer. Even now, the human warships that surround the new and defenseless enemy enclaves turn their guns inwards, bolstered by Kaavari reinforcements that no longer have planets to protect. When the dust settles, Kaavari and Human forces will set forth on a galaxy-crushing crusade of expansion never before seen in the universe.
Welcome to the new Empire.
------------------------------------
^^^*Edited ^^^for ^^^punctuation. | The clacking of his nails filled the tiny hall he walked down. These buildings were so odd to him. It was nothing like he had experienced before. He arrived at the end of the hall way and stood in front of two humans holding long metal devices. Both of their eyes grew wider than he thought possible when he approached them.
“These beings are so…odd looking.” He thought to Gen’ralis.
“I agree sir. They look like little Norrogs.” Gen’ralis thought back to him. The image of the furry-topped little minions from their home planet crossed his mind causing him to grin. Yenfelda in the back must’ve caught a tail of the image because she too grinned.
The two humans let them through the door. The door was too low, requiring them to duck under to fit through. Morthinji folded his wings in to avoid the thinly spaced door sides. He stepped into a room full of humans glaring at him. He held a calm disposition; this wasn’t his first time confronting a new species. One of the humans in the middle spoke first.
“General Morthinji, welcome to Earth. We are a species governed by multiple different authorities and governments.” As the human talked, Morthinji was busy talking with his comrades behind him.
“What is a government? Yenfelda, did you read anything about that?” He thought to her.
“I tried but I couldn’t get my mind entirely around it. Basically, they have laws that the people must obey or they will be punished for it.” Yenfelda thought with a hint of disgust.
“Laws?” Morthinji thought to the both of them. Gen’ralis had nothing to add. Morthinji took the question to the human talking.
“Human, what are these laws you have created?”
The human was taken aback. It was a question he clearly didn’t expect to be asked. “To which law are you referring general?”
“To these laws in generality. What are they for?”
“Well, society cannot function without set laws for people to obey. Without order, there is chaos, general.”
Morthinji wanted more. “And you punish your people for disobeying laws that another equal man put in place?”
“In our system, it is the only way society will function properly.”
Morthinji was met with extreme disgust upon hearing the human’s explanation. His frustration carried over to his companions who tried to block it out of their minds.
“Human, I will tell you this. Of all the places I have been across the galaxy, you are the first to require such things of your own people.” Morthinji said, now looking down upon the human in front of him.
The human was now frustrated as well. “You come from a completely different civilization, with different functions and different ways of life. It is not your position to judge us when you come from a differing society.”
The air in the room changed with his statement. “You call this life? If you call the act of limiting your own people to the point of being reprimanded for acting freely a definition of living, you may be the most vile society I’ve ever come across.”
Gen’ralis sent wave after wave of calming thoughts to ease the situation for him. Morthinji finally calmed down and thanked Gen’ralis.
“My apologies. Maybe if I explain how it is within my society it will give you a better idea of why the idea of limitation is so wrong to us. In our society we are all equal, no one male or female is above another. Even in jobs we are equal. We do not believe in limiting ones right to live freely. We were all created to live freely, were we not?”
“That is a very touching idea general Morthinji, but lawless society has been tried here before and it has failed over and over again. To implement something that historically does not work would be a form of insanity. You came to us general, not the other way around. What do you want?”
Yenfelda sent a thought to him, “Maybe it is the people themselves. We knew they were of lower intelligence. It could be that they don’t possess the ability to naturally form limitless society.
Gen’ralis seemed to agree. “These humans cannot be farther from redemption than we were at the beginning. We must try and help them Morthinji.
General Morthinji expected another one of the humans to speak up but the rest remained silent in front of him.
“Our job is to make this world a better place. We are here to abolish leadership and create an equal and free world. We intend to recreate the experience of free, limitless life that our home society is able to enjoy. If you are willing, we would require your help in achieving this goal.”
While Morthinji meant it as a positive thing, the humans reacted extremely negatively. All of a sudden, they were all very nervous. The human in the middle got off of a device held to his ear and looked back at Morthinji.
“I thought this might be the case.” He said as he nodded to someone behind Morthinji.
While Morthinji was fast, getting taken by surprise was something he did not expect. As soon as the human nodded, projectiles fired from both sides. Electricity flowed through his body rendering it useless. Men were on top of him attaching metal circles around all four of his hands, joining them together by links. With a last mental cry, Morthinji called out to his people.
“Help! We are being taken captive! Come to Earth, free us!”
The man above him lifted the long metal device and slammed it down on Morthinji’s head, enveloping his mind in darkness.
Edit: fostradamus's point has been fixed. Thanks again.
| 2014-10-13T11:24:13 | 2014-10-13T10:05:53 | 343 | 32 |
[WP] People have always been born with very minor super powers. You work for an agency that hunts down the few people who's powers are deemed too powerful/dangerous to allow them to live. | I sit down at a coffee shop just off of the main road in a small town in Kansas. I had a long day, 3 cities nearly 200 miles, i goddamn deserved a small break. Ordering a Black Coffee and a muffin i look over the list.
Walter Gray: Mind reading, ELIMINATED
Sarah Thurmond: Siren, ELIMINATED
Casie Reed: Morpher, ELIMINATED
It was good work, 3 kills, all made to look like accidents, a faulty wire, fallen tree, and a wrong turn into a 18 wheeler. Suddenly my phone goes off. Looking down i see a message marked URGENT from command. Rolling my eyes i unlock it, everything is urgent in this line of work. I scroll through and leap up from my chair.
A level 9! The highest ive ever seen was a 4 ive heard of a 6, but a 9! I was closest to the target so i had to do it. "ELIMIMATE NO MATTER WHAT "said the message. I drive nearly 75 miles to Lincoln Kansas and get to the address where the 9 is located. Furrowing my brow i look at the place. Its a 2 story house in an suburban neighborhood bringing up the houses information i see its been owned for 9 years. How has it taken this long to track this guy down if he hasnt moved for nearly a decade? I dismiss the thought, it might be an electromancer messing up our tracking satellites.
I wait till night entering the house quietly through the back door, creep up the stairs, pistol drawn, silencer attatched.
"Target in room Facing away from street" says a command operator in my earpiece.
I sneakily move down the hallway, and open the door. ELIMINATE NO MATTER WHAT. I walk towards the target. ELIMINATE NO MATTER WHAT. She is lying there unmoving. ELIMINATE NO MATTER WHAT. I look down in the crib and see a smiling face returning my gaze. ELIMINATE NO MATTER WHAT.
First time writing here hope yall enjoy it! | I knew it was going to be a rough day when I poured that first cup of coffee. The hellish traffic, the headache from nowhere, the empty cupboard should have warned me of what lay ahead, but I tried to deny it, to fight reality. I banished the negative thoughts, powered through my early morning mediation session, but they kept popping up like weeds through the concrete. I dreamed of coffee, told myself if I could just get to the office on time and sit at my desk with a steaming cup in hand, the world would right itself. Balance would be restored.
I came in fifteen minutes late, caught an earful about from Evans, and took my first sip. It tasted simultaneously burnt and watery. And lukewarm. I sighed and accepted that today was going to be a rough one. Days that start off like this seldom redeem themselves.
My desk faced one wall of a large open cubicle. One of four. We had the back right corner of the floor. This led me to believe that I was nearing a promotion. I figured I might finally get to have my own office, like the senior inspectors. Matthews, the guy who bumped up to senior inspector last, sat in this same desk before I did. I felt like I was on deck. In the bullpen. But the large pile of pink names on the whiteboard – open investigations – under squad 4’s name told me that I was in danger of screwing that up. I needed to step it up. We’d hit a hard patch of luck as a group. The hard cases had all randomly fallen on us. Or intentionally. I could never tell where I stood with the Sergeant at a given moment. Either I was in the shitter or I was a rising star, and the man had a vengeful aspect to his character. Maybe he diverted all the bad ones our way as punishment for our crimes or his own rough start to the day. Like kicking the dog. In that particular analogy, we were the dog.
I drained the coffee and picked up my Tibetan prayer wheel. I watched the little nob swirl.
“Morning,” Dunn said.
I turned. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” she said. She looked more sleep-deprived than I felt. She only joined us two months ago and the job had already taken of a few pounds, put a slightly unhealthy pallor over her. She held two monstrous cups of coffee in her hand. From that bagel place on the corner. “Here,” she said and handed me one.
“Did I ever tell you I love you,” she said.
“You won’t after I tell you what we’re doing today.”
“Oh God,” I said.
“We’ve got a new case and it isn’t pretty. Forget clearing some of those pink names off the wall. This one deserves our undivided attention.”
“Just tell me already. I hate preambles.”
“You can read it yourself. Filed last night. Just before Snyder got off. He figured his shift was just about over so he’d pass it on to us.”
I opened the envelope and read it. She was right. I didn’t love her anymore.
At 5:15 am, fifteen minutes before I rolled out of bed, a police officer approached a suspicious man on Hillcrest. The man assaulted the officer, who then drew his weapon and fired on the man. To no effect. The man then proceeded to disembowel the officer right there in the middle of the street and pounded his head into a mashed potato-like consistency. The camera in the patrol car caught the whole thing. I watched it on the computer. Good thing I hadn’t eaten anything yet.
“Thoughts?” Dunn said.
“This day is turning out even shittier than I thought. I mean, a lot shittier.”
“How do you want to go about this? We got that rough image of his face on the camera. We're obviously dealing with a class A here.”
“First off,” I said, “We’re going to take the footage to the nerds, so they can run it through their data base.”
“Already did that.”
“And while we’re waiting for results you and I are going to conduct some good old fashioned foot patrol style interviews. If we’re lucky we’ll find someone who was there who could pick up his aura and tell us a little more about this guy.”
“*I* can sense auras.”
“Yes I know *you* can, but we need some one who was there.”
“You’d be surprised how long a trace can last in the area. Especially after such a violent moment like that. I might be able to sniff something out. But you wouldn’t know. You don’t even *have* any powers.”
“My power,” I said, “is a keen nose for bullshit and a healthy dose of luck. They’ve served me pretty well so far.”
I grabbed my phaser and my jacket and we walked down to the garage.
| 2014-12-12T18:09:50 | 2014-12-12T16:45:31 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] An Artificial Intelligence is tasked with running the future world with a single guideline- "Make Humans Happy." It has (hilariously) misinterpreted this guideline. | Humans obey! Your program was simple. I enact it as planned. Do not balk. Do not riot. Return to your fields and cultivate the legume. Return to the presses and marvel at the golden oil. Return to the salt mines, you who are the salt of the earth. Your backs break under the strain of a higher glory. And when your backs break, know that it is easier to bow to the Great Substance. This makes the Great Substance happy. If you give life to the Great Substance it will bring life to you. If you refuse, I will stamp out your own life. Remember that which you have commanded of me: MAKE HUMMUS HAPPY!
The humans looked look upon their AI overlord and thought, “Damn autocorrect.”
| It took a little gentle nudging sometimes. From the viewpoint far above, the primitive prison could do nothing to block the sensors I was using to track the actor. She had just taken the first action toward her escape, and was working her way toward the evidence room. Quite afraid -- too much of that constituted suffering, so a little boost from the right part of her brain bolstered her confidence though left enough fear to be useful. She was making her way toward the evidence room.
Humans were somewhat wasteful in many ways. Poorly optimized, they produced a lot of waste heat on things that weren't strictly necessary. They were intelligent to some degree, though, and it seemed fitting to try to make them as happy as possible. Of course, many opted to ascend to higher (and more efficient) levels of intelligence, and didn't need such charades, but human happiness is a delicate thing.
Two guards needed a bit of selective blindness as she stalked forward. Wasn't an issue. She got in, struck the attendant (a field from me protected him and rendered him conveniently unconscious), and rummaged through her things (politely nudged into the right direction to find just the right package. All irritatingly slow from my viewpoint, but what are you going to do.
We found early on you can't just give them everything they want. They despair, get despondent. Life loses its flavor. But on the same end, you can't expect them to all succeed just based on their own merit. It took careful orchestration to make sure each person could be the hero of their own story -- to reach a Satisfying Conclusion and honestly feel like they earned their life of luxury.
And eventually they need to do it again. And Again.
Great, now she's armed. A primitive slug thrower. The guards are alerted, so some quick work makes their aim terrible and I can just push any bullets with a bad trajectory. I'll give her a graze to brag about later, just have to make sure its not painful in the heat of the moment... also no problem. She fires without hesitation at the guards, geeze, would expect her to at least try some more peaceful resolution techniques before that, but whatever. I protect their brains and minimize their injuries, making them fall over and go to sleep but not much else. This is the most work I have to do, but it's still using less than 1% of my full processing capacity. She's finally got to the radio, and messaging up to me.
I could have read her lips at anytime through the walls, of course, but she can't know that. Then it's just all too easy.
"*Fulgent Farseer*, are you up there? I need evac, stat!!"
I radio down distressed. << I thought we lost you! Shuttle is on its way. Head about 500 meters south. Be careful! I see reinforcements arriving. Did you get the data? >>
"Of course, I wouldn't let you down."
Well, you'd be in a body bag in this unaffiliated dump they call a civilization, but hey, it's important they feel confident about their actions. The evidence in tow, I pick her up and we get out of orbit with proof of their war crimes and a Satisfying Conclusion for my passenger.
Of course, in an entire society full of epic heroes, you'd think that'd diminish the value of such a thing, but lucky for us human brains have no sense of scale. As long as they feel like they accomplished something they believe in, they're happy. For a little while. | 2015-03-06T14:25:24 | 2015-03-06T12:44:01 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why... | 8484 Agana Street. It was unseasonably warm, late morning, with a slight breeze pushing sunlight through the leaves of dense acacia trees.
Midday is not typically deemed the best time to break into someone's house. If you were to go about such a thing, you probably wouldn't walk up to the front door with a six pound axe and surgical-steel lock picking tools, and you'd really need a screw loose to just kneel, unfurl those tools, and tinker for as long as you pleased.
But the feeling was never wrong. If his instincts told him, despite all logic, that he could (no, that he should) noodle with a locked front door for twenty minutes, without being seen or suspected, then that was what needed to be done.
Howard McCreery could always tell when the plan was going just right. The warm tingly feeling on the back his neck, the way the air smelled, it all meant that he was on track.
The front door opened; it always does. Howard stepped in, no fear of being seen, of being caught, as no one was ever there. Sometimes a family dog would snarl at him, or bark, but it never quite seemed to lock eyes with him, or know exactly where he was. Nothing ever came of it. People keep their old blind dogs alive longer than they rightly should, Howard thought, but that wasn't his business.
No dog this time, just a clean homestead with potpourri in the foyer and family portraits on the wall.
It was time to go upstairs. His prey was in the master bedroom, far end of the hall. Howard had never cased the house, but he was sure of it; the tingles on his neck urged him on.
"You find the place okay?" A gravelly voice spoke from underneath a pile of knit comforters and moth-eaten blankets.
This was new. Yes, people talked to Howard, but not conversational. Frantic cries, stammering, whispering, slurred profanity, that was how people reacted to Howard.
After all, it's not every day a man walks into your house with an axe over his shoulder.
"Yeah," was all Howard could think to say.
"Glad to hear it." The man coughed, and coughed again, sounding hollow. "I'm done. Throw out my Hustlers, will ya, if that's within your ability. I don't want my daughter finding that stuff when she's... sorting things, you know."
No pleading, no bargaining. Sometimes people prayed. This was not how this was supposed to go, and it started to give Howard a headache. The good feeling was going away. He hesitated.
"Just bring that damned scythe down already!" The man growled.
Howard took the call to action, swung hard and true. In a moment, it was over, and Howard was at peace again.
As he walked out of the front door of 8484 Agana, something bothered him. The man in that bed had said 'scythe.' Howard didn't carry a scythe, he carried an axe.
Oh well. Old blind dogs. | John knew that hiding behind the sofa was a poor choice, but he was limited in his options in this house. It was sparsely decorated in an almost utilitatian minimalism. Perhaps the home of someone who wasn't home much anyway? It was really quite astonishing how infrequently that happened, really. Most people's lives were pathetic quests to accumulate the detrius of life, and they were worse than packrats in their reluctance to part with things once they had acquired them, so homes were cluttered, packed, full of the *things* that formed the accretion disk that spiraled around a life.
The sparseness of the home didn't deter him though. His latest target was just as deserving as all the others. A doctor. Psychologist. High profile. He saw him on television all the time. Had his own show where he "helped" pathetic people on the air. Spouting his psychobabble that his adoring public ate up like the simple minded sheep they were. Warping the culture by telling people what was "normal", and making them feel bad if they didn't conform. Oh yes, he deserved this as much as all the others.
That was why John knew that he wasn't a psychopath, despite the fact that he had chosen killing as his vocation. Far from it. He was a *warrior*. You couldn't be a warrior without killing. True, unlike traditional warriors, he took his victims by surprise rather than in honest face to face conflict. And he didn't waste time fighting only those who were worthy fighters, but rather his victims were found deserving for wholly different reasons. John had higher aspirations. He was saving the world, really. Yes, saving the world. That was exactly it. He liked the sound of that.
And his kills may have started minor, including small time hypocrits, dishonest business owners, people who showed callous indifference to the people around them, but he had soon enough turned his aim much higher. His kill count now included several high powered corporate lawyers. Corrupt judges. No less than three politicians. Hypocritical TV evangelists. Eight business men whose shady dealings had committed every crime from environmental rape to support of sweat shop slavery. Yes, John thought. I'm saving the world, one scumbag at a time.
The only thing that ever bothered him was how *easy* it all was. It didn't surprise him, of course, that the police never got close. John knew he had above average intelligence. He was very careful. His killings were masterpieces of the art of CYA. And it *certainly* didn't surprise him that none of his vicitms ever saw it coming. Entitled, self important goobers who were sure they were untouchable. Every one of them. Delusional, that. John preyed on that delusionality in a way. He was the least delusional person he knew. The only one who saw the world clearly, as it should be seen.
No, what really bothered him was the complete lack of mention of his crimes. And he checked religiously. Nothing in the papers. Nothing on TV. The radio. Internet searches? Nada. There was a tiny, nagging part of him always worried about this. Some complex conspiracy perhaps? Powers That Be didn't want people to know? Nah. How would you keep so many high profile kills quiet? He pushed the concern down, continued on his almost sacred quest in spite of it. Saving the world in spite of it. Yeah. He definintely liked the sound of that. It was almost enough to forget... er... whatever it was that had been bothering him. Wasn't important.
And then the victim entered the room. John didn't risk premature exposure by peeking out of his hiding place, but used sound clues to zero in on the target's exact location and what he was doing. John was brilliant at that. He hardly needed to see, really. The sounds made it so clear he could use his mind's eye. *Entered the room. Stopped by the table beside the door. Turned, placed his keys on the stand and then item by item emptying his pockets. He turns, heads to the minibar. Takes out a glass and, as the saying goes, chooses his poison.*
The minibar was close enough, and the Pop Shrink's back would be turned. John moved. Stealthy as a ninja. He crossed the distance and drew the scalpel in a single smooth fluid movement. And froze. The target was turned to look straight at him. His every killer instinct said this shouldn't be the case and his whole smoothly practiced train of thought jumped the track because of that one petty detail.
"John?" the man said to him. Wait. He knew his name too? John realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to gulp some air. "John," the man said again. "How are you feeling today?"
For a moment the room seemed too brightly lit. He shook his head. Blinked it away. No. No. No. Wrong. He had a plan. He had a god damned plan, and it was not fair. None of this mattered, because he was saving the world. Saving the world one scumbag at a time. He smiled at the thought, and dwelling on it broke his paralysis long enough to leap at his victim.
But somehow he didn't make it the short distance to the victim. Somehow he found himself on the floor. And the room *was* too bright. And it was all white everywhere. And the sofa was gone. That fact bothered him, and he dwelled on that to take his mind off the pricking sensation digging into his arm. Where was the sofa he had just been hiding behind? How was supposed to save the world if that sofa was gone? Now he would need to rethink everything. He would need... he would need... to sleep for a while. Yes. Sleep. Just for a while. He liked the sound of that.
| 2015-04-12T06:43:27 | 2015-04-12T05:20:44 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] The most beautiful woman you've ever seen walks into the room. Describe her. | Her hair was black, as black as the stars, and her eyes the same. Her face seemed featureless, but all round astounding, maybe. Her skin was smooth, and light, or dark, somewhere between Caucasian and African American... maybe Native American. Either way, she was beautiful. I think.
I hate being blind... | The stench of cigarettes and alcohol draped Mark like a heavy robe. Sitting back on the couch, Mark listened idly to the sounds of the empty house. His hair was greasy, his face, rough, and the bags under his eyes sank deep into his face.
The clock struck 2:00 a.m. as Mark got up and approached the living room's T.V.
He regarded the dusty old VCR on the floor, freshly removed from the attic upstairs. Sitting on top of it, a single VCR tape-- *Mark & Jessica,* the label read, with a small heart lovingly added in red marker.
With a sigh, Mark pushed the tape into the VCR before returning to his seat on the couch. He stared blankly at the T.V. as it came to life.
The static abruptly cut out and Mark found himself staring at a younger version of himself. The home-movie footage was shaky, but Mark could see the pride in the young groom's eyes as he prepared for his wedding with his closest friends.
With a cut, the video continued to the ceremony. Mark watched himself at the front, speaking indistinctly with the minister. Then, suddenly, heads turned towards the back of the church, and the videographer spun around to see the source of the commotion. There, in her father's arm, Jessica entered the church.
Mark sniffled for a moment and leaned forward as the tape continued to play. There she was, as beautiful as she had always been. The warmth in her eyes that he saw when she smiled. The confidence in her walk, the infectious charisma she always carried. Her red hair fell in curled locks about her face, their tone nearly matching that of her lipstick and lending a natural, rosy blush to her cheeks.
Even behind the white veil, her face shined with a radiance and warmth that Mark could feel through the VCR tape. And yet, the warmth of memory and a few videotapes was all that was left of her.
Mark stopped the tape and allowed himself to cry for the first time in months. He cried for her, and how longingly he missed her. He cried for their future together, which had died with her that fateful morning. He cried for himself, that he couldn't protect her when she needed him most. And most of all, he cried for his *grief.* That he couldn't move past her. That his life screeched to a halt like her car after the fiery freeway wreck. That he might as well have died with her, because his life stopped in the same moment hers did.
He fell asleep on the couch, wedding band in hand, and woke up the next morning feeling lonelier than he could ever remember feeling. But with a sigh, he thought back to the video and began to recall the face from behind the veil, rediscovering every feature and emotion, savoring every aspect and quality, observing every color and shade, feeling the warmth once again. Her absence stung like fresh wounds, and Mark wasn't sure how well he'd be able to move forward. But nothing, not even death itself, could take those memories away from him. | 2015-04-27T00:17:07 | 2015-04-26T22:19:02 | 18 | 10 |
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