prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Test your research skills, have your character explore a place you've never been before using only the knowledge you can find on the Internet. Locals, tell them how they did.
Get as detailed as possible, the sights, the sounds, the people, the food, the smells, build the world as accurately as you can. | Texas:
I rode my stag horsey to school. Then I mosied on down to the local saloon for some bar fightin and booze! Then I yelled "Yee haw!" And shot my 6 shooter in the air while simultaneously whipping my horse with my hat. I finished drinking around 10am, too late to be drinking. I met a sworn enemy at high noon in the middle of the dirt road. Boy, I was sweating like a whore in church. A tumbleweed jogged across the road. He flinched and I drew. 1 shot dead Texas Times front page.
Edit: Did more research, added more. | *Terra Australis*. The Southern Land. Little known fact, despite all the ice and snow, Antarctica is a desert. Believe me, I was surprised just as much as you probably are right now. But the most jarring thing about Antarctica has got to be the temperature. It’s been only a day since my expedition has started, but hot damn is it cold down here. It’s funny how the geographical map warps your mind into thinking in such human-centric, earthbound, ways of the world. I am literally on top of the world, since Antarctica has the highest average elevation out of all the continents, but I still say I’m going *down there*, like Antarctica is at the bottom of the world. Regardless, my body isn’t taking too nicely to this new environment — my Southeast Asian biology is outright panicking under the conditions. My nose is constantly running, it pains me to move any facial muscles, and I’m constantly out of breath — and that’s when I’m indoors. I don’t even want to get started about conditions outside. The helicopter ride in was outright horrific. All in all, I survived the ordeal, and we can move on. But I can’t help but wonder what it will be like when I finally get *out there*. Ahh. That’s still far away…
I’m inside my room under the covers on a top bunk, while I write this on a tablet. The room’s thermostat is set to maximum, but just like those cold winter Ontarian nights — those nights when the cold winter air always finds a draft in the window to slip by and undo the heater’s tireless job — such as it is, here in Antarctica, except the cold winter air outside is on average negative sixty three degrees this time of year, perhaps a fitting match for the industrial grade heaters equipped at this station, however, I still feel too damn cold. In contrast, the average temperature in space is negative two hundred and seventy degrees Celsius, while on the ISS they maintain a cool twenty two degrees Celsius. ~~Too bad NASA can’t make this station feel like room temperature.~~
Well, I don’t really have to explain why I’m here, since you should already know, if you’ve read my other letters! But I’ll briefly explain. I’m here to **[redacted]**.
So now that you’re all caught up, you should know, I’m doing important work. I’ll be going to space, but they decided we could learn a thing or two about team building, by staying at this remote station in Antarctica — it’s basically an extension of NEEMO, NASA Extreme Environment Mission Operations. I don’t know if you can tell but I’m off to a bad start. But I’m hoping my body will adjust to the temperature soon. If it doesn’t… Well… I’d rather not talk about that. It’s part of our mission directive to stay positive. Anyway, I hope you and the rest of the family are well. I’ll see you soon…
PS - I guess when I finally ship out for the real thing, this is how it’s going to be. But you’re strong, and the kids look up to you. I just hope they can find it in themselves to forgive me.
PSS - I forgot I’m not supposed to talk about our overall mission, so they’ll probably redact it. Don’t worry it’s boring science stuff, you wouldn’t be interested in it anyway. :P
Love you honey, I’ll see you soon. | 2015-12-10T16:23:50 | 2015-12-10T08:52:27 | 633 | 93 |
[WP] Test your research skills, have your character explore a place you've never been before using only the knowledge you can find on the Internet. Locals, tell them how they did.
Get as detailed as possible, the sights, the sounds, the people, the food, the smells, build the world as accurately as you can. | Surface of the sun:
John pointed the laser boomer at Blinja. Her tear filled, crimson eyes twinkled a reflection of the Sea of Ancestors.
"Any last words, traitor?" John asked.
"Those deaths are on your head. You're insane!", she replied.
"Insane is thinking that the Earth has a right to free energy, *our* energy", he said.
Blinja shifted her wrists against the sylkarope behind her back. She twisted and pulled but it was too tight.
"You think plunging our world into sunspots is going to make the secret earth government more agreeable?" she asked.
"A new ice age has a way of making folks rethink their life choices. The lizardmen who run the secret Earth government will be the first to go. Too late for you, I'm afraid," he replied.
He spun the dial on his laser boomer all the way to red. I'll tell your father that you died honorably.
End.
Prove me wrong, locals. | The 5 to the 80 is the longer drive, but that's the way he goes, and I wonder if there's an ulterior motive for this.
"Remember this from my weekend?" he asks, and shows me the Battle Born album art on his new iPhone. We listen to Brandon singing the whole way through the desert, interrupted a few times when he has to check emails from the partners.
The sun is setting when we turn on North Virginia, under the neon archway. There's no valet outside Harrah's but we can park around back, where three Mexicans in sauce-stained white jackets are smoking and talking Spanish.
"Is guest parking okay here?" he asks them.
"I dunno, but you wanna buy some weed?" one of them asks.
"Maybe later," he says, grabbing his roller off the leather seats and handing me my backpack.
We check in and he gives me a key card for the room.
"Craps first?" he asks.
"You're a fucking degen," I tease.
The pit is all purple and burnt sienna and symmetrical flower petals on the carpet, with the clangs and chimes and whistles from slots and the quarters falling into metal bins. Four women in their seventies are lined up beside each other in pastel blouses, pushing on machines styled after Sex and the City.
"Hey where's the craps?" he asks a waitress in a black sport coat, with a little freckled cleavage sticking out.
"That way and turn left," she says, pointing further in.
"It's his thirtieth birthday," he tells her. She smiles and touches my shoulder. Behind her, there's a woman in a fanny pack sticking her finger at a thin and stoic looking Latino guy with a buttoned up plaid shirt and two forearm tattoos.
The table is empty except for the dealers. I buy in for fifty and he goes for three hundred.
"Play some of my stack," he says.
"I'm good," I tell him.
"Come on."
"Fuck off, Brian, I'll play my own money, okay?"
"Fine, calm down, I just want you to have a good time, okay?"
"It's okay. Sorry. You know what, I need to get some fresh air. I'll meet you in the room in an hour, ok?"
I stuff my chips in my pocket and start searching for the exit, which takes me too long to find, but soon the thin desert air hits me, as two white vans and a cop car pass by.
Down the block from the hotel is all motels and pawn shops. A black woman in fishnets calls me baby and says something I don't understand, but ignore.
"Hey is there a McDonald's nearby?" I ask an old man in an Army tee shirt.
"No idea, but I think I saw a Burger King," he says.
A couple minutes later my knee is sore again, so I go into the ~~Nugget~~ Sands and fall down in one of the puke green lobby chairs.
"You look how I feel," the girl next to me says, "What has you in the biggest little city in the fucking world?"
"It's my birthday," I tell her.
"Well fuck your life too!" she says, "I'm here for my little sister's bachelorette and the guy I was seeing apparently just isn't answering texts anymore."
"My brother's back at Harrah's," I tell her, chuckling for the first time in a while.
"Here she says," handing me a plastic water bottle, "it's vodka."
She pulls out a second one and we cheers as best we can.
"What are we toasting?" I ask.
"To being second best, here in the land of second best," she says.
| 2015-12-10T18:51:42 | 2015-12-10T17:17:22 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] "I have two pills to take every day. One is so I don't kill myself. The other is so I don't kill other people. Today I dropped one pill down the drain. I don't know which it was."
[Source](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3wxtsu/who_is_that_guygirl_you_work_with/cy09r1g) for prompt. | "Crap. Not again." I said to myself as I tossed the other one in the drain as well and grabbed two new pills.
These things aren't cheap and that's twice this week that sink's gotten the best of me. I really need to start being more careful.
And now the second one's stuck in my throat... This ailment is the worst. | As I watched the pill bounce off of my hand and down the open drain, I cursed my doctor and my landlord, not the first time for either. My landlord for being too cheap to install a drain guard, and my “doctor” for prescribing two completely different yet really important pills that looked fucking identical.
Even worse yet, I didn’t manage to refill my prescription yesterday, so I couldn’t just double down. I day drank and forgot all about it, thinking I had until Monday anyway.
I didn’t take long to consider my options. Kill myself, kill someone else, either way I had to be proactive. Between family and roommates, I’d encounter plenty of people by Monday.
I tried to make a few phone calls, but I didn’t get through to anyone important. Hmm. They never hesitate to ring me when they need a job done.
Fuck. The doc should have planned for this. He has to have some stashed besides the weekly pickup, somewhere. I decided to take my chances on the street, heading for the Corlew’s Confectionery.
“Doc in?”
“You know better.” The large woman behind the counter mumbled, struggling with a large jawbreaker.
“I need him. Meds.” I glanced around the candy shop. Two customers. I didn’t quite feel like killing anyone yet, but then again, suicidal tendencies weren’t rearing their ugly heads yet either.
“He’s not in. All we got is candy on Sundays.” She looked at me more seriously now, both hands on the counter, her demeanor threatening.
“It’s important.” I took a step towards her, but she reached behind the counter and had a shotgun pointed at me before I could blink.
“Go on back home. He’ll see you Monday, if I don’t tell him to drop you and starve you off of whatever poison he’s putting in your veins.”
Sharp, stabbing pains assaulted my brain, just behind my eyes. I winced in pain and squeezed my eyes shut.
Shit.
When I opened them, my little personal mystery had been solved. I whirled into action, roaring like a lion on the hunt. I tore the shotgun from her grasp with lightning speed, ignoring the blast that grazed my ribs and rang my ears.
In mere seconds I laid the clerk and the two customers low. My vision clouded red, and I searched the store, hungry for more blood. The street. There will be more in the street. I cocked the shotgun and started for the door.
No.
Pills. They had to be in the back. The doc would have some on hand. I kicked open the door to the stock room, and then another to his hidden office.
When the cops found me, I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the store, munching on a candy cigarette. I’d thought they stopped making those.
There had been one dose of each, enough to get me through.
Now the real question was, could I manage to get put into solitary before they wore off?
Or maybe the question is, do I care?
[/r/cwall81](http://www.reddit.com/r/cwall81)
| 2015-12-15T18:57:30 | 2015-12-15T17:47:33 | 53 | 29 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "Valhalla!? What do you mean Valhalla!?" The monk asked angrily.
"Look pal, when the vikings attacked your monastery you fought back. Hell, you even killed one of them. That's not what monks do." Exclaimed the Valkyrie
"But I'm a god loving christian! I can't be in Valhalla!"
"Like it or not, you died in battle. That's literally all it takes to get into this place. Now go take a seat beside the other new guy." The Valkyrie said with an exhausted tone to her voice.
The monk looked around to find his seat. The only empty seat he could find was next to a large gruff looking man. The Monk, curious, asked the man "So what did you do to get in here?"
The viking looked into his eyes and said "You killed me, asshole." | "Welcome!" The voice pierced my ears.
"Who... what?"
"Welcome!"
I stood up, brushing myself off. I felt... actually pretty good, which was odd, considering that I-
"I said welcome."
I turned towards the man before me.
"Yes. Yes you did." He said, "Though your narration is quite poor."
He stepped down, "You feel now no more of the Dukkha, yes?"
He was right, I felt better, but had no idea what-
"The Dukkha is suffering, friend. It is the clinging to things. You have let go, and in your final moment, what was it that you said?"
"I don't give a fu-"
"Yes! Right! And just in time your release of those worldly bonds sent you here."
"So Hashtag McYoloswag was right all along?"
"No! You are so young. Dead, but young. Letting go is not easy. We think we let go by using drugs and alcohol, by moderating our time with apps and technology. We are systematically creating a cycle of worldly bonds which attach you to the world. One more drink, so to say. Tomorrow. Another loan. Bills. Payments."
"They're all worldly bonds." I said to myself.
"You didn't really say that to yourself."
"Said what to myself?" I turned.
"No, it was more of a lean, not a turn."
"You are on some level, man. One way above mine." I said, thinking about all of this at once. I tried to put the pieces together, what killed me again?
"A truck."
"What about a truck?"
"You.. were thinking about what killed you." He said.
"How did you know?"
"Because it is like the written word to me. Flowing through the eyes and mind of someone to create a little pretend
stage in their mind where we act. I can see the whole page, though. Not just what's in the little quotes."
"You're crazy." I said, "Then you can predict the future?"
"In a place with no future, there's not much to predict. Though, I think "Zen" is a decent idea, at least."
"It's kinda nice." I said, thinking about home, and all the things that I could have done before I died. There was no
way the mind-reader could possibly know the things I left behind.
"No, I can not." He suddenly said, "Though I could imagine."
I had no idea what he was talking about. "Come again?"
"Sorry, let me at least look ahead to see how this ends..." And he Disappeared.
I was once again alone.
I waited, but then heard a strange voice in my head, "Oh. Still in quotes."
Then he popped back into existence. "-en I have to go... back...? Okay. I have learned not to do that."
"What? So how does this all end?" I asked.
"There is none." He said, "And I don't want to mess around with time."
Suddenly, another version of him popped into existence. "Oh, still in quotes. Oh!"
"Well." The first said.
"Yes, but only for a moment and th-" And the double was gone.
"Look, just embrace Zen. Then it'll make sense."
I laughed, then gave it a shot, and suddenly, the whole thing was shown to me, I felt all the doors in my mind open
at once. All of the things I could do now with this-
A man is lying in a heap in front of me. He's waking up. I put on my best face and say, "Welcome." | 2016-03-07T20:07:55 | 2016-03-07T20:07:18 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] After months of searching, you've finally found your dream home. The rent is affordable, it's incredibly spacious, and it's incredibly close to both work and friends. But there's one unexpected requirement listed in the Rental Agreement. | "My firstborn?"
"Yes sir."
"...you've got to be fucking kidding me."
The renter shook his head, dabbing his pointer finger on the dotted line. "Signing the rental agreement cements the ownership of your firstborn child into my possession. I promise not to harm him, or her. Just... I really want kids, you know? The normal route is a no go for me, and adoption is such a pain."
Sighing, I shrugged and accepted his pen, scribbling my name in all the appropriate places. "Yeah, I know what you mean," I said, crossing the T's and dotting the I's.
Little did he know I couldn't have children either. But I didn't need to tell him that. | I grinned like a child at Michelle and she replied with that dazzling smile that had made me fall so madly in love with her. She ran a hand through her long blonde hair and bit her bottom lip slightly, before replying.
"Im still a little confused by that clause. Why wouldn't we be allowed through the door in the basement?" she asked.
"We've been through this. It probably leads into the neighbours basement. Or maybe the owner uses it for storage. The point is, *who cares*. We both love the house and it's in the *perfect* location. Can't you imagine raising a family here?" I felt bad saying that last question as it sounded manipulative in my ears.
Michelle blushed. "You're right, let's take it."
--------
Every night for as long as Sarah could remember, a banging came from the basement. It wasn't rhythmic like, say, the thwump from the washing machine - it was occasional. Sometimes you had to listen real hard to make it out. Other times it would make you jolt up in bed, heart pounding.
Sarah was 8 and the older she got the more her curiosity and imagination compelled her. What if someone was trapped and needed her help? What if it was a cute little doggy trying to get out.
Tonight the banging had woken her from a dream about a lovely brown puppy. She lay in bed and looked at the clock. 2:15. The bang came again. Something was definitely trying to get out, she thought. Her parents told her she must never go down into the basement but... if she was *real* quiet they would never know. She slipped into her cozy slippers and took her snuggly rabbit, Mr Hoppit, and her junior explorer flashlight. She quietly and carefully made her way down to the basement door.
--------
The scream woke me. I sat up and my body instinctivly shivered.
"Michelle!" I said whilst shaking my wife's shoulders. "Did you hear that?"
"Ethan, what time is it? Go back to sleep" she mumbled in response.
"I heard a scream. I swear it. I'm going to check on Sarah." I said, already jumping out of bed.
The door to my daughters room was slightly ajar. This wasnt unusual as Sarah hated it shut fully.
"Sarah? Are you awake honey? I said as I crept in. Silence. Not even her gentle breathing. I switched on the light. She was gone. Her fluffy rabbit was gone too.
"Michelle! She's gone! She's gone! I think she went to explore the basement." I yelled frantically. Get up and meet me down there!" I headed down towards the basement. The door was open. I ran down the stairs. Nothing out of place. The small door we were not allowed to touch was still locked and bolted from the outside, but I *knew* she was in there. I frantically began to unbolt the door as Michelle entered the basement.
-----
The couple were looking to rent in this area and the house was perfect.
"What about that door? Why the bolts?" the man asked.
The owner looked at him and smiled. "I am afraid my one condition of you renting this property is that you never open that door. It hides.. memories." The landlord bent down and picked up an old toy rabbit.
"Well, that's not a deal breaker." the man laughed. "We'll take it."
If they had looked carefully they might have noticed the landlords pointed tail dance with delight.
-----
If you liked this please check out /r/nickofnight | 2016-04-11T23:40:55 | 2016-04-11T22:23:23 | 36 | 26 |
[WP] You and your sibling are both indestructible, and have been since birth. Since neither of you could be mortally injured, your childhood pranks tended to get out of hand. | Pain's a bitch. Not physical pain, I don't know anything about that. Never felt it. Not a single hangnail, bruise, cut, or burn. Nothing. But that doesn't mean I don't know pain. I know pain more than most. My twin sister and I are experts at pain, I'd say. Inflicting and enduring. See, we're immortal, and being immortal gets boring. It started out small, trying to hurt each other. We just wanted to see if we could. Honestly, we didn't understand the concept of pain. We just thought it was funny. A mousetrap in my box of Sugarpops. A scorpion in her sneaker. But it quickly escalated. A knife in my back as I slept. A concrete block dropped from my second floor window on her head.
Our parents didn't even notice. They were too busy being strung out on methamphetamines. They didn't feel pain either, but not quite the same way. We barely noticed when they disappeared. It wasn't until our teen phase that we even realized we were different. That other people felt this "pain". We thought everyone was like us and our cartoons. Immortal and painless.
Ever seen an immortal teenager? Not a pretty sight. That's when things got ugly. We became acquainted with emotional pain. Our pranks graduated from carbombs and electric chairs to psychological torture. I used to have a pet turtle. My only friend, Cranston. Still makes me shudder what she did to him. Her only friend met a similarly gruesome end.
But that was just child's play. We're immortal, after all. The sky's the limit. We had eons to figure out how to rip out each other's heart and crush it in an emotional vice. And with each new and creative torture, we became less and less "human", if we ever were. Of course, humanity is gone now. We didn't even flinch as we destroyed them. It was surprisingly easy when you're immortal and know which buttons to push. And here we sit, in the ruined aftermath, looking for ways to make the other care about something, only so we can take it from them. It's not so much about pain anymore as simply a way to pass the time, and a routine we can't imagine life without.
So like I say, pain's a bitch. The pain of boredom. The unendurable pain of eternity. With no one to share it with but my sis. Thankfully she's got a great sense of humor. Still, I think my next prank is a doozy. My best yet. I was sitting here thinking "this sucks" and I just realized it probably sucks just as much for her. The only thing that would make it worse would be if she had to spend it alone. | "It's my turn," Arthur said reaching for the controller.
"No it isn't!"
"Yes it is!" Arthur punched Charlie in the arm.
Their mother Tina peeked around the corner of the kitchen and sighed and closed the heavy steel kitchen door. It was a little early in the day for a drink but she said screw it and poured a glass of scotch.
A small body slammed into the steel door leaving a dent. *They are getting stronger,* she thought and tossed the liquor down her throat.
Charlie kicked off of the kitchen door and sailed threw the air elbow out.
"Elbow DROP!" he screamed as he came down on his twin brother's head. The sound of the impact was thunderous.
"OW!" Arthur punched his brother in the stomach and followed it with a kick to Arthur's shin.
"Jerk! I'm going to tell mom!"
Tina heard that and poured herself another drink.
They threw their little bodies all over the living room. There wasn't much furniture to break anymore but they managed to smash the folding lawn chair and leaving a child sized hole in the wall. They lay sprawled out on the floor breathing heavily. Tina opened the door after it had been silent for a few minutes, she saw her boys wore out and the damage they did to the house.
"You two just wait until your father gets home!" she said sternly and grabbed each one by the ear and dragged them to their room.
"It was his fault!" Charlie cried and tried to pull away from his mother's vice like grip on his ear.
"It was my turn!" Arthur cried back.
"I don't care, you are both in big trouble," she said trying to keep her frustration in check.
After she closed the bedroom door on her boys she went back to the kitchen and called her husband. He picked up after two rings.
"Yes honey?" he asked.
"They are getting stronger. What are we going to do we can't keep them hidden forever," she said fighting back tears.
"Pretty soon we won't need to keep them hidden. Trust me."
"Okay, come home soon. I love you," she said and hung up the phone.
"Hey Arthur we should sneak out," Charlie said looking out their bedroom window.
"Are you kidding me? Dad would kill us," Arthur said shaking his head.
"Come on, they'll never find out!"
"Fine...only for a bit," Arthur said with a mischievous grin.
They popped the window open and pulled the heavy metal bars apart. The sun beat down on their little faces as they walked across the lush green lawn.
"See, nothing to worry about!" Charlie said with a smile.
They saw a group of children playing baseball in the park. Charlie didn't hesitate and walked over to the group.
"Can we play?" he asked the oldest boy.
"Sure. But you don't have any gloves."
"We don't need gloves!" he said and ran to the outfield.
Arthur got in line to hit. The oldest boy threw a pitch for Arthur. The bat hit the ball and shattered. Splinters shot in every direction and the ball rocketed away.
"Good hit Arthur!" Charlie shouted.
The older boy stormed over to Arthur and shoved him.
"What the hell kid! You broke my bat!" he shouted and pushed him again.
"It was an accident!" Arthur said trying to back away from the larger boy.
The larger boy's fist collided with Arthur's face, he didn't even flinch as the boy brought his fist back and swung again. Arthur stood their taking hit after hit.
"What the hell?" the larger boy asked staring at his fist.
"No! Don't Charlie!"
It was too late. Charlie hit the larger boy in the back and they went down into the dirt hard. Charlie's fists fell on the larger boy with brutal fury. Arthur tackled him off and dragged him away. He glanced back and saw the other boy bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth.
"We gotta go!" Arthur shouted pulling Charlie behind him.
They ran home and climbed back through the window. Arthur bent the bars back into place and lay in bed.
"We are in really big trouble Charie."
"He shouldn't have hit you like that Arthur."
"I know, but...this is really bad."
A car pulled into the driveway, blue and red lights flashed.
"Oh no..." the twins said in unison.
They could hear their mother talking to the policeman.
"You can't take my boys away!" she shouted.
"They put the Parker boy in the hospital, he might not make it,"
"They didn't mean it! They don't know how strong they are!"
Another car pulled into the driveway, it was their father. He ran around the side of the house to the boys window.
"Arthur, Charlie, you need to come with me now," he said in a rush.
"We can't get out, there are bars," Charlie lied.
"We both know you can, bend the bars and hurry up, we need to leave, now!"
Arthur pushed his brother aside and bent the bars, they climbed out and ran into the car. Their father eased the gas pedal down and they crept onto the road and the house faded in the rear view.
"What about mom?" Arthur asked.
"We will come back for her in a few days," their father said without taking his eyes off the road.
"Are we in trouble?" Charlie asked sadly.
"We will talk about that later Charlie."
---
Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories. | 2016-07-04T08:43:18 | 2016-07-04T08:36:48 | 41 | 20 |
[WP] You die and your soul goes to Hell. Your soul awakens to a rather annoyed Soul Tech who is stumped why you are there. Hell, you discover, isn't a place of eternal torment but rather one that repairs broken souls before reincarnation. | The thing jabbed me roughly in the arm. This had to be a dream.
"What's wrong with you, why are YOU here?" I looked around, confused. There was nothing, no trees, no clouds, it was a gray landscape and a gray sky.
The only things on this plane, were myself and this weird robot that seemed to be made of bones and dripping blood. I would have been concerned about it bleeding to death but none of its parts were connected and all just seemed for show, piloted like some creepy graveyard puppet. Yep definitely a dream.
"Answer me dammit I don't have time for this." It poked me again, harder this time and I recoiled from its skeletal probe.
"OW! And I have no idea friend. I don't even have a clue where I am right now."
The thing looked around. seemingly in disbelief, it was hard to read the pits that functioned as the eyes for the creepy little machine.
"It's hell you moron. Are you dim? Is that why you are here for repair?"
"Re-repair?" This was new. Since when was hell a shop for dysfunctional souls....wait, since when was I a dysfunctional soul?!
"UH yes. That's my job, to repair souls, and then send them back. Then rinse and repeat until they stop coming back. Any questions now?" Wow, hell's minions were sassy.
"So, then what's wrong with me?" The little bone bag squealed in frustration and what it had for appendages twitched violently.
"I DON'T KNOW! THAT'S THE PROBLEM!" It started to whir in circles in its tiny wheels made of what looked like little sternums. "Usually I can figure out the issue and have a soul sent back before it wakes up. I SPENT HOURS DISSECTING YOU AND I CAN'T FIND THE PROBLEM!" The child size machine was screaming at me now, the small protrusions now spurting blood.
"WHOA WHOA! YOU DISSECTED ME?!" My hands were searching my body for wounds and found none.
"Uh yes, how else would i FIX you, idiot. That must be the issue, let me see your head again, I must have missed something." It reached its creepy little feelers towards me and I swatted them away.
"No, no more dissecting me, just send me back now."
"I can't do that, you are a defective product." It reached for me again and I narrowly avoided contact.
"But you said yourself you can't find whats wrong with me. What if I was sent here by accident, shouldn't you just return me?" The thing seemed to think to itself.
"Yes but...you must have been sent here for a reason..." It was trying to reason with me, I just wanted to leave, I was getting bored.
"Look, what's the worst that could happen if you send me back? I mean, you don't know why I'm here, and that is your job, and I don't know why I'm here, and I know myself. So, whatever is wrong with me, can't be that bad." It shifted uncomfortably but stayed silent, so I pressed on.
"I bet the worst thing that would happen would be that when I die next time, I would have maybe a better understanding of my flaws. Maybe then i could be more helpful to you." The little bone bot seemed to like the idea of this and it began to whir happily.
"Yes yes human, and it would be our secret of course!"
"Yes of course my little friend." I smiled at it as it extended a long bone feeler tipped with a heavy black stamp. With a *thunk* it tapped me on the forehead and I was off to be reborn somewhere in Japan.
---
An hour later the little bone mechanic was still pondering its previous project. Never before had there been a mistake like that, but mistakes were possible maybe. It decided it was best to not think so much on such things and it began to prepare the room for the next soul.
An opening appeared in the ground and another, much larger, bone robot rose from the hole.
"Where is the soul I placed in here for cleansing?"
"Cleansing? There was nothing wrong with it. A fluke. I sent it back."
"YOU DID WHAT?!" The smaller creature recoiled.
"That soul is EXTREMELY dangerous. Manipulative in the first degree, you know, like HITLER, or JIM JONES. I EVEN MARKED IT WITH M.A.N. #1!!!" The larger bone puppet was livid, and blood was spattering the gray landscape crimson.
"Oh....I thought that meant like...Man, like A man, and that it was just the first soul of the day." What could only be a nervous chuckle erupted from the small robot.
"It should be fine. How much trouble can one human cause anyway? Am I right?" The ground opened up and the big skeletal mechanic dragged its companion into the depths for a hardware reset, clearly the human had infected it with his reasoning. He was more dangerous than they had thought.
----
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! | The last thing I remember is texting my friend that I was pulling up to their house. Why do all my limbs feel heavy and why am I laying down? I try and move my arms and find them straped down, I try and speak bit my throat do sent cooperate and I just make a scratchy sound. I open my eyes and the darkness is replaced by a blinding light, I blink rapidly while I wait for my eyes to adjust, panic coming to the forefront of my mind. As shapes began to organise themselves into recognizable images I see a man standing above me with a clipboard in one hand and a strange object in his hand. It vibrates and the man startles. Once again, I try and ask what's going on, but instead of words, my throat convulses and I begin coughing uncontrollably.
"That's strange, your awake and the spectrometer is registering you as a class c demi."
Most of what he says Flys right over my head, as I focus on getting my breathing under control.
"Some minor drug use, some rather reprehensible actions but nothing serious enough..." he cuts off in the middle of his sentence to make some marks on his clipboard before turning around and walking away. I track him with my eyes and realize that I have yet to look at the rest of the room. It is bare, save the cot I'm laying on and a small table next to it. All of a sudden my view is obstructed by the man's face and I'm struck by his features truly taking in his face for the first time.
His features are, for lack of a better word, perfect. Chisled jaw line with a dusting of stubble, enough to make him look rough but not so much that it looks dirty. Incredibly piercing blue eyes that bore through me, he's frowning and I feel something cold touch my lips. Relief, the cool liquid clears out whatever blockage my throat had and I drink greedily. After the cup is finished the cool sensation that was radiating through my body fades slowly. Now that my throat no longer feels like it's covered in drying cement l, the panic returns full force and I struggle, trying to see if there is any give in the restraints. I find that I can't even budge them an inch. I groan in frustration and look back to Mr. Perfect expecting him to look smug but instead he looks......confused. Mr. Perfect proceeds to make some more marks on his clipboard and mutters as he walks out of the room. I can make out some vague mutterings about phulactery gel and stupid green ogres. This must be a hallucination, nothing makes sense. I knew the acid would get to me eventually.
I chuckle to myself and then realise that nothing about this is funny, so I laugh even louder this time. "Am I going insane or have I just given up on this whole thing making any sense?" I whisper to myself more to hear something other then my echoing laughter.
How long I lay there I can't tell. Just staring at the white smooth viewing or the white smooth walls, at some point the table vanished while I was busy observing the extremely interesting door to my left. After I spent some time marveling at the oddity of the vanishing table I look back to the door only to find the wall smooth as the other 5 sides of the box. Perfect, some more iconic scenery to enjoy.
At some points I scream, scream for help, scream for my family scream for my wife. Eventually I just start screaming because that's all I can do. Sleep dosent come, and I feel like I've been strapped here for days but hunger, thirst, the need to relieve myself, I can't feel any of those.
-----------------------------
Outside of the room there are a total of 3 people staring at a box made completely of glass at the subject restrained inside.
"The readings from the spectrometer only regarded him as a class C demi. I don't know why he was sent to my lab, he isn't in need of repairs. No major issues that Warrent an intervention."
"Cas, can you pass me the clipboard, just want to double check maybe you.."
The aforementioned Cas tosses the clipboard at his colleague and snarls "Did you really think I didn't triple check the results? All the spectrometer found was some minor drug use and the fact that he contemplated murder once. Those murderous thoughts are what got him the demi classification, but Demi's get sent up for the big guy to take care of, the repairs are so minor!"
The third member of the group stage whispers to the one who just had the clipboard thrown at him "Bryce, I think Cas might be agitated at having to actually work for once instead of just "supervising" "
Bryce shakes his head at Michael's disregard for Cas' temper. When he was first assigned to H.e.L.l he was ecstatic to learn that ye was to be paired with the legendary Casteel, the healer able to heal and fix the soul of a Class S Smith, while reading a newspaper, and sipping a cup of tea. What he did not expect however was his nebulous temper and the antics of his younger brother Michael. Michael was skilled, but acted a little bit like the comic relief character in a children's cartoon. Needless to say after the first year the prestige wore off and was replaced by a persistent headache whenever h3 had to spend a significant amount of time with either of them.
"So if he isn't broken, why not just send him up? The big guy can't get to mad, it must have just been a paperwork error or something?"
"Gee, Bryce I didn't think of that. I can't believe I forgot, I wasn't born with any common sense!" Cas responds, sarcasm coloring his tone.
"I even tried to dose him with phylactery Gel, but it had the opposite effect, instead of sedating him so I could try the transfer again it just brought him to full consciousness!" Cas rubs his temples, fighting off the impending headache, he'd been aga oozing over this problem for hours before calling in his team.
While Cas was busy ranting and Bryce was looking over the clipboard nobody noticed Bryce slip into the room.
-----------------------------
The silence is almost as bad as hearing my screams echo in the emptiness that has become my life. I feel like I've been here for years, but I'm not sure. Time here means nothing. My nails and hair have stayed the same, I can't feel a beard on my face. It's not that I'm uncomfortable, the restraints aren't tight enough so that they dig in, and the cot isn't back breakingly hard. And that's what unnerves me the most, I've been laying here for what feels like years but yet no discomfort, no hunger pains, hell not even thirst. Not for the first time I wonder what did I do to deserve something.like this. I've come to the conclusion that this is hell and this eternal bandage,is my punishment.
I chuckle mentally to myself at my flowery language, what am I a writer?
I open my eyes to scan the beautiful white scenery around me, but instead of the blank white walls my vision. Is filled with a face, a perfect face.
I growl and begin struggling against my restraints as he just blinks at me. It makes me feel like an animal at the zoo, being looked at through the bars of my cage. The rage builds up in me as I struggle and scream and suddenly it dissipates back into the pit of apathy and self pity I've slowly sunk into. All the while Mr. Perfect continues to stare.
Finally, I can't hold his gaze anymore and close my eyes, "Why, what did I do to deserve something like this?" I whisper, this isn't the first time I ask the question but now I might actually get an answer. Not that I'm expecting one. Mr.Perfect completely ignored me last time he was here, aside from giving me a cup of water, why should it be different now?
Feedback appreciated
| 2016-11-11T10:37:48 | 2016-11-11T05:16:10 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | You grew up with bruises on your knees and scabs aplenty, just like any other kid. What your parents never knew was that not all of them were your own.
You're ten; baby Sarah from next door is bawling because she's just fallen and skinned her knee. You take the pain away from her. As the wound fades from her knee your own skin starts to sting. It's ok. It'll heal soon.
You're sixteen; the first boy you've ever kissed is in agony because he might never play football again, might never get that scholarship, will never be able to escape from this vile, poisonous town. You take the wound away from him. You wince; this hurts more than anything you've ever done before. His eyes are wide; shocked. Nobody thought you had any powers. You can't tell anybody, you say, not anyone, and he agrees. He's so grateful he seizes you and spins you around the locker room, kisses you hard on the lips. It's the last real moment you'll ever share until he, too, leaves.
You're eighteen, and for the past four months your college roommate has been screaming in her sleep. At first you're annoyed; now you're just scared. You slip under her sheets. Her hands are icy cold, and her eyes fly open in the darkness. I can't deal with this anymore, she says, tears falling, please. You don't want to see. You do. Show me, you say, and then you take the memory in.
For the next fifteen minutes all you can do is curl up in a ball and moan, harsh gasps the only sounds you can make. This one, this one you might never recover from.
It's been fifteen years since you've seen your parents. Being summoned to the penthouse in the middle of the night is something of a surprise.
Until you see him. You can see into people now. His cancer is terminal.
Your mother is there. Of course she is. She would think nothing of sacrificing one useless girl for the life of one of the most powerful men in the world.
"My dear...," your father lurches forward, while you take an involuntary step back. "It's been too long."
You don't know when he managed to get so close. His grip on your arm is tight, almost feverish. "Help me," he says, and this time it comes out as a plea.
You lean close, close enough that your foreheads touch. Physical wounds heal, but the mental ones don't always go away, and sometimes they leave scars. You exhale, and it feels as if a shutter in your head has clicked open, releasing all the darkness you've collected from others, all the darkness you've collected your entire life.
He stumbles away from you, hands to his head. Your mother is screaming.
You turn on your heel and leave. You always did abhor screaming. | New to writing and trying to get better, please give me and feedback (good and bad!) I want to improve. Thanks for reading.
“You brought this on yourself you know. You really did. All of your speed and strength, your flight and heightened senses, where are they now? Too bad you don’t also have any healing abilities father, that sedative will keep you paralyzed for at least another hour. In case you are wondering, that is plenty of time to sit with me and watch the first bomb hit. “
“At least it is a beautiful day right Dad? You can see all the way across the city from this rooftop. Oops, don’t fall over on me”, I prop his paralyzed form upright, “There we go, can’t have you missing the show. You’re probably wondering how I accomplished all of this aren’t you? Your worthless little son, such a disappointment that you had to abandon me and my normal mother. Everyone that I met in my life always looked at me with such pity and disdain. Their conversations were always the same…”
“Isn’t that Captain Awesome’s child?”
“Oh that poor soul. You heard about his power right? He can make people dislike him.”
“Oh dear, that’s it? You would have thought he would have inherited something decent from Captain Awesome.”
“”Exactly, such a disgrace he must be to his family.”
“Every. Single. Time. Everyone’s gaze towards me always filled with scorn. I wish you could feel even a fraction of the loneliness that I have felt every day of my life since mother’s death. But you can’t even imagine can you. You, the great and wonderful Captain Awesome, loved by all, feared by evildoers the world over. Well now everyone will have another reason to fear. Already the missiles are in the air, people across the world are trembling in their homes, terrified of the reality that is countless megatons of nuclear armaments streaking through the skies of our planet. I made sure that every single one of them know that I caused it you know. I even made sure to mention you in my televised speech, felt it would be proper to attach your name to the coming destruction for once. Then everyone in the world can know how despicable you are, just like I do.”
“I like to think that if you had never left this would not have happened. I would not have grown aloof and spiteful. Mother would have been happier. Most importantly she would still be alive. That hitman would have never been hired. He would have never even thought of trying to murder her if you were around. But no. You left us, you left us to fend for ourselves, knowing that you would make hundreds of enemies across the world in your crusade against injustice.”
“Well the past is the past, and it is how we are here today. You know, it was surprisingly simple to channel my power into certain people. I found out I don’t even have to see them! Focusing my power on the leaders of the world made them utterly blinded to logic. They could not see through the storm of hatred that they felt for me. It was so easy! A rumor whispered here, a reddit comment there and suddenly the world was at each other’s throats. Every leader assumed a different country was providing me safe haven. No one could be trusted because they must be allying themselves with me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh then, laugh at the absurd look in my father’s eyes.
“All it took then was a little push. Flare my power just slightly, stoke their flames of anger to a raging inferno and they had no choice. They all chose to push the button. And that’s how we are here now. Mere minutes away from watching the first missile of World War 3 slam into the Earth.” Standing up, I raise my hands in glory to my own genius. “Isn’t it wonderful father! Wonderful what your worthless little son has created!” Another bout of laughter tumbles from my lips.
“At least they will all have a reason to hate me now. So, it is the end of your life, the end of most of our lives really. I have to ask you one question, and please answer it truthfully. Mother.She had no powers and you loved her! NONE! Why did you have to abandon us? All because I had a useless power? I know for a fact you loved her. So why, WHY couldn’t you love me!?!?”
He lets out a strained gasp. The paralytic isn’t lasting as long as I thought it would. No matter, it will last for the next minute or so until the bombs fall.
“I did love you…”
“What was that? Don’t make me laugh captain.”
“No… Mitchell. Son. I always loved you, but I could only love you if I wasn’t near you. You never could control your power.”
“Bullshit father. Don’t try to blame my power on you leaving. If my power was uncontrollable, even mother would have hated me. And she loved me until the moment I watched her life leave her eyes. Her blood staining my clothes.”
“Your mother, was wonderful, but she wasn’t powerless. She was immune to other powers…”
I freeze for a second. Small occurrences now falling in place throughout my life. I see small rivulets of water on my father’s face, Captain Awesome never cries. Turning sharply I can see the missile streaking its way towards the city. It’s white trail a stark contrast to the crystal blue sky.
I turn back to my father, small droplets of water from my own eyes now dripping down to join his tears.
“Dad-?”
| 2017-06-12T07:49:37 | 2017-06-12T07:45:28 | 1,670 | 181 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | In a world where people were born with superpowers, some got the short end of the stick. Some could fly, while others could see the world in a different spectrum. Some had the ability to conjure flames as hot as the sun, while others could manipulate ice cubes.
Everyone had a choice, to do what they wanted with their powers. Good or evil, creation or destruction. Even the most mundane powers were useful in some way.
I, however, drew the shortest end of the shortest stick. I had the power to make people laugh, and it was that power that landed me my first and only job. A kid's television show presenter. The children hated me, because I could force them to be happy, to laugh against their will. I hated it, but at the time I did it for the ratings.
The rest of the world didn't hate me as much as the children did. They simply saw me as a laughing stock of the superpowered world, which was quite apt. And that's who I became. Laughing Stock.
It turns out that it's surprisingly hard to control ones powers while lost in gut-shattering laughter. And surprisingly hard to breathe too.
Now I sit on my throne atop the world, while everyone else looks upon me with fear. Now, no one dares to laugh at me, for the second they start, they will never stop. | From a utilitarian point of view I was fairly impressive if I may say so myself. Our country, our closed country, under a threat from the entire world, protected only by the great revered leader, was filled with people with rather useful yet banal superpowers. Flight, extreme strength or endurance, usually just one at a time, even just two of them together was a rare occasion. Which brings me to myself, the laughingstock of the class who unfortunately was born with the capability of doing anything, so long as it is included in a Dethklok song. Odd and grotesque, and with the education system only teaching the very basics of the most simple powers, you don't exactly find your place.
I'm not going to tell you how life was a nightmare. It wasn't. I was a bit of a laughing stock, but I wasn't abused or even close to that. If anything it was the rather routine and boring life here that had me suffering. There weren't too many options here if you actually wanted to do something with yourself that wasn't being a factory worker, a cop a solider, or a criminal.
And so I decided to do the unthinkable, and leave for another country. where I am now it's called migration. Back home, however, merely visiting another country is frowned upon and migrating is considered defection unless under orders from the government or the military. Evil doesn't begin to describe what I am considered to be by my own family. Everyone who ever cared about me or I cared about sees me as an inconceivably evil demon, to be killed on sight. But as much as that stings, becoming a part of the outside world was one big truckload of food for thought.
It's not just the plethora of opportunities, or the extremely varied collection of abilities spread everywhere. Those are overwhelming at first, but are fairly trivial matters which you get used to. I very quickly started finding those things much more enjoyable than difficult. What really struck me hard, though, was getting a view on my country from the outside. All the things that I didn't know happened behind the scenes were fairly common knowledge here. I learned the reason for the variability of abilities in the outside world. My country, which I can barely consider as mine, was extremely afraid of people with unique powers, extremely afraid of people stepping out of line, being unique. Those who acted odd, or had odd powers or characteristics were systematically vaporized, unless they were extremely quiet, and damn near invisible, in order to maintain an image of solidarity and unity, in order to maintain the sovereignty of an impotent leader who sees himself above the country.
What I did next was risky. Mostly for my old country. Looking back I'd say I was being arrogant, putting my ideals before my the will, and even well being of my country man. I broadcasted myself to every single screen in the country, with, thunderhorse providing the electrical signal, Delivering a message that couldn't be unheared. All I was doing is giving my points of view, providing some input, backed by cold hard evidence, to my country.
The leader was not as revered now as those of the past were and I was hoping for the people's solidarity and very banal and logical thought process to be able to create a change without instigating too much instability. This, of course, was a huge risk. Who knows what could happen if they even believe me. A violent revolution would be a great opportunity for other countries who want to get some influence to jump in and make things even worse, and that's terrible enough without even considering the costs the revolution itself would have.
None of those possibilities were close to what happened in the end. The leader has made use of his ability as soon as the reform started. I now realized why we truly weren't allowed to migrate. Not so that we don't hear the wrong things, but so we don't stay out of the leaders range for too long and disconnect from his ability: the hivemind.
I've turned from demon to Satan himself in thee eyes of my countrymen I made a huge mistake, which's repercussions only time will tell... | 2017-06-12T08:42:15 | 2017-06-12T07:45:36 | 52 | 12 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her. | "I said no."
"You must! She's the true heir-"
"And why should I care about your puny kingdom?"
"Because...if she doesn't claim the throne there will be chaos for a long time...which means war...which means more soldiers to try and slay you..."
"Hey, buddy, are you OK? You're breathing kinda funny, and you got a lot of blood on you."
"I'm...fine."
"If you say so. But anyway, your logic is a bit of a stretch. I've seen a lot of kingdoms fall, it doesn't always turn out like that."
"Please..."
"You think, just because I'm a dragon I have a tower somewhere to stash her in?"
"Well, yes."
"Yeah, OK, fine, I do know of an abandoned castle with a couple towers. The previous owner sent an army against me, and since stone doesn't burn, it's still mostly intact."
"So you'll...take...her?"
"What? No! I can't raise a human. I don't even know what you guys eat!"
*cough*
"Uhhh...you eat...fields? And, umm...sheep? And horses...? No wait, you ride on the horses...But do you also eat the horses? Huh, I never thought to ask..."
*gasp. gargle*
"I like horsemeat, anyway. Hey, buddy, do humans eat horses?"
...
"Hello? Buddy? You OK?"
...
"Huh. I think he's dead."
"Waaaaahhhh! Waaaaaahhhh!"
"Oh no nonono, little princess, don't cry, please don't cry-"
"Waaaaahhh!"
"Uhhh, here... *phwoof* ...See?... *phwoof* ...you like smoke rings?"
"A-hahaha!"
"Yeah, you like the smoke rings. What about this? ... *FWOAH*"
"Oohhh"
"That's called fire. Can you say 'fire'? Fi-re. Fiii-rre."
"Aagh"
"Eh, close enough. I never realized how cute human babies are."
"Ffffffpp"
"Hey, uhh, come on, let's get you somewhere safe, OK?" | "To my dearest Yvain
I was a dragon, strong and old stuck in a cave for a crime you should never know. How long has it been I wonder since I was out? For the last time I walked these grounds there was no town or city but forest ever so green.
This was where the magical beings stayed until the mortals arrived or so I'm told . As the magical beings left they soon forget of the little old me stuck in the cave, it's funny to how one lost is another gain, for the mortals or what you call humans found me. They started fight me not that they should try. I was never their enemy or even a foe but this all fell as did they all. They call me a monster as each hero failed to return thinking I had ate them when all I did was to freeze them is all I did. Is it really wrong to defend your home? When people come at you with axes and swords?
Anyhow as the kingdom grew so did their might, I was avoided as the forest around my cave grew thick and I didn't mind that or that's what I said for I wished for a friend or maybe someone that would stay in this cold cave of mine. Should have been more careful with my wish if not trouble would come, not that I'm saying your trouble more of a headache than murderous intent. For one day that man came with bruises and wounds that would have been deadly but he was determined to come and see me, a little nobody.
He came with you, the treasure he cared he begged me and asked me to take you in for that's where your destiny lie. "Please great dragon take this child" he started as he told me of what happened outside. He told me of how his kingdom had fallen and to how their enslaved. He spoke of your father and how he died protecting the country he once called home.
As he tried to preach to me to take you in I could see it in his face he was dying. Thus I stopped him half way telling him I was no great dragon but merely a mischievous one stuck in a cave. He stared at me with eyes I could never forget and said "but the stars tell me another story it's said that you two are bound by fate so please...." He never finish his sentence and I was left with you.
The first few years I wonder how it would go caring for a baby no older than a week old. Lucky I never killed for those people that came to attack me now are your caretaker,your teachers and friends to this little village we call home. Yet as time pass I never realize how your now old enough to take on your destiny and for me to take on mine.
If your wondering why I'm writing rather than telling you all these, it's because I've given up my life to make you stronger, maybe then your pain won't be as bad.
Take on my scales as I've asked them to make it armor so that the enemy can't push you down with their numbers for I worry their swords and arrows will Pierce your skin.
Take on the sword made from my scales for I know that's the only thing you can wield. You always refuse to fight not because your weak but because you know it's not right so take on this sword for it will protect you and those you wish. It's a sword fit you a queen
Take on my wings and let it be your mantle, let it warm you on those cold nights at war so you remember your not alone.
Take on my wisdom for I worry you'll be fool for the world there's many people that wish to take advantage of you my princess.
Take on my strength and let it be your own so you can succeed for that road to your success is filled with hardship and heartache however I'm sure you'll succeed with or without my help
Not that I'm complaining. I was happy to see you grow I never realize that these people could be so kind. I was lonely for so long forgotten by so many people, that I forgot warmth. Yet seeing you smile melted this cold heart of mine.
Do you remember your first words? I do it was tia.. that's what you called me. Me whom was nameless only being seen as a scary dragon people avoid. Yet you gave me a name with a smile on your face never once running away. That made me happy in this short life of mine..
I wished the stars let us met sooner than maybe this cold prison won't be as bad, however why am I to question fate for I have met you the sun in my life...
My destiny was to be released by you and was I ever, for you've released me from my pain and torture. From my solitude and silence, by bringing discord and happiness.
So please find your happiness... For I have already found mine in your smile....
Yours truly
The nameless dragon you call gon"
"But gon ....how can I be happy without you..."
Edit: comments are welcome please tell me if it's ok | 2018-03-01T03:08:36 | 2018-03-01T01:48:12 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives. | "Hey there handsome."
Point for her, she spotted me first this time.
"Hello darling. Been a while?"
A crack in her expression, there for but an instant. This is never good.
"A bit too long. Seen some shit since I saw you last."
Warm flesh embraces me as she pulls me into a hug. I squeeze her in return, silently recommiting to my oath that while she's with me, she'll be protected. On everything there is, I will protect her when I can.
Still I spew soft, warm and utterly meaningless words of comfort. For whatever reason she still appreciates them. Human behavior is still a mystery to me after these long millenia. Perhaps one day I'll understand these monstrous, beautiful creatures called humans.
"Now darling, what can I do about cheering you up from this dreadful mood? You know, it seems that there's been a new game invented called 'mini golf'. I'm not too sure how it works but I think you and I would have a blast."
Still she buries her head in my chest. Dear lord, how bad was it this time? I keep talking, hoping to coax her out of her shell, bring her back to the present.
"They say this new form of golf is so easy that even children can play it. Can you imagine? A toddler trying to carry a sack of golf clubs around?"
Finally, a giggle. Once more, my impeccable wit saves the day. If I had a copper piece for every time it had saved my life, I'd own all of earth's copper. And then some.
"I hope that it won't be too easy, however. I need a new challenge. You know how I am, always a new hobby on the horizon to while away my time. To be truthful, I've actually been saving it for a while now. Thought it'd be a good 'welcome back' present. Think I was right?"
A soft nod is my only response. Her grip is no longer desperate, but still very secure. With nothing I need to do for a good, long while, I keep talking; her comfort is more important than anything else right now.
We've done this dance countless times before, and I know we'll do it again countless more. I dare not ask what events caused such a state, but while she is here, she is mine. Until she leaves again, doing unspeakable acts to ensure the safety of the time stream and the universe, she is my friend. My confidant. The one person in all of creation who understands me.
The immortal and the time traveler.
As in all things, the universe demands balance, so too does it demand balance in this. | The sun had just risen above the trees casting light among the huts and tents. The tribe was just beginning to wake up when I first heard a scream. I left my hut with my obsidian dagger in my hand. I was the protector, the watcher, the ever present. My tribe needed me. As my eyes adjusted to the light and I saw her standing there a child in her arms, she was staring directly at me. She had long straight blond hair that seemed to flow in a wind that wasn't there. Her eyes were a majestic green that seemed to pierce through you with untold knowledge. She wore a simple robe. My tribe yelled at me that they could see her but if they tried to focus it seemed like the world shifted. As our eyes met she released the child who ran back to her parent crying. I began to walk towards her speaking my native language trying to reassure my tribe. She never moved. I got within arms reach of her and tried to speak with her with no response. She merely smiled slowly brought her hands up showing no weapons. She gently placed a hand on my shoulder and seemed to melt. Before she did she whispered to me "You are the first to see me for me." The tribe broke into hysterics. The witch doctor was called and he tried everything to cleanse me of this demons touch to no avail. The outline of her hand burned into my skin and scarred almost instantly. I was a marked man. My tribe wanted nothing else to do with me. I was exiled out into the jungles to die.
I remember that first meeting well. I both love and hate this woman. I hate her because she ripped me from my family, my friends, my life, from time. I was marked as hers, a plaything for when she came back, a comfort, a companion. In some senses I was her lover, in others I was no better than a dog, cat, or other pet. For all the reasons that I hate her, are also the reasons that I love her. I have been given an ability to survive. When we first met all those millennia ago, that mark prevented me from aging, I was nearing the end of my life. I was a grandfather at the age of twenty two. I look at those around me now, who are my age before I was transformed and they are barely adults, many still children. Over the years she would return and want to just lay out in a sunny field of flowers and stare out into nothing. She would often curl into my side and begin to cry. I tried to ask her once why she was crying. She never did tell me. All that I knew was she was able to see the threads of time and move among them.
This last time when she visited was right after the revolutionary war. The United States was in it's infancy, I had helped draft the declaration of independence. That was almost a quarter of a millennia ago, but seemed like just yesterday compared to what I can remember. I've lived as an Egyptologist, deciphering the hieroglyphics of the ancient Egyptians. I made it seem harder than it was for me. I remember carving some of the stones that I now had to translate. I studied the Roman Empire and was amazed at the ability they had to control such lands from afar. I was consults to kings and queens, many paying me large sums for my advice. Nothing ever compared though to my simple life I once had. I think about my wife and children still to this day. I wonder what they would think of this world and what's become of it. The last time we parted it seemed different though, her eyes had changed. The once brilliant green that I remembered was gone, her eyes looked heavy. I knew she couldn't continue to bear the weight of what she was doing much longer without some help. I've spent the last century searching and scouring the earth. The new methods of travel making it much easier. The invention of the aeroplane made traversing the globe a matter of hours instead of years. I never really knew what I was searching for, just that I needed to find it. I landed to Japan and went to visit the sites of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to pay my respects. That is one project I wish I had never worked on. As I walked to the memorial I noticed her. She hadn't seen me yet. I walked up and placed my hand on her shoulder much as she had first done to me. I felt the heat in my hand as I touched her. I knew if I removed my hand, i'd see the same scar that I bore. She looked me in the eyes only this time they were the eyes that I first remembered eons ago.
"The Prophecy is self\-filling. I've been waiting for you. You've freed me from the bounds of time, and I will do the same for you."
I was dumbfounded, never had she spoken to me this way. We held hands and faced each other. For the first time since the day we met I had seen her smile, as we embraced and i felt her face nestle into my chest, the world seemed to melt away. I had found her, and she had found me. | 2018-05-05T11:46:49 | 2018-05-05T11:34:49 | 54 | 31 |
[WP] No science, no magic. By pure force of will, you've merged your mortal conscience to your immortal soul right before you die. The afterlife's caretakers aren't really prepared to deal with a cognizant soul, they're actually hilariously bad at stopping you. | “Welcome to the afterlife gentle soul! You must be confused as to how you got he—” a sooty old man with a grand white beard greeted Ferdinand, as he stumbled into his new existence.
“I drove into a large truck on the freeway, there’s nothing particularly difficult to grasp here,” Ferdinand replied bluntly.
“Yes, yes child. I’m sure you have questions… Wait, what?”
“Head-on collision, no way I could’ve survived my injuries,”
“You’re not supposed to remember anything, Pontus can you check what’s wrong with this one?”
“What kind of an ethereal name is Pontus? Are you trying to swindle me out of my immortal soul or something?”
A tall skinny man wearing the same tattered robes swiftly walked over to Ferdinand and began his inspection, placing his hands and drawing energy from different points of his body.
“Hey! I’m watching you Pontus, hands where I can see them.”
“I’m sensing a strong will in this one, he must’ve somehow managed to fuse his conscious mind with his soul” Pontus reported to his master.
After surviving the invasion of his personal space, Ferdinand once more faced the white bearded, slightly obese, man.
“Anyway, Chuck, I can call you Chuck, right?”
“No, my name is…”
“So, Chuck, you just stand here for all eternity and greet souls in those dusty white robes? Why haven’t you automated this process yet? This seems highly inefficient,”
“This divine task was handed down by *God* *Himself*, the task is not to be taken lightly. It cannot be *delegated.”*
“Do you at least get any benefits doing this, then?”
“No, it is my task to stand here for all eternity, greeting--”
“Sounds a lot like Hell to me, Chuck. In fact, I think you two could use a break,”
The man who was not really Chuck pondered at this for a long time before finally responding.
“I suppose I deserve a break after all this time,”
Pontus walked up beside Not Chuck and spoke in a hushed tone “Master, we’re not supposed to leave our posts… Well, ever!”
“Pontus. We’re going to take a break, we just need to make it look like we never left, *He* won’t even notice we’re gone!”
“That’s the spirit Chuck! I actually have some ideas on how we can do just that,”
*****
“What?” a newly lost soul staggered into the afterlife, “Where am I?”
She was immediately greeted by two wooden platforms firmly planted into the ground, they had crude springs attached to them, attached to the top of the springs were wooden vaguely cut humanoid shapes, the smiling cutouts turned side to side, waving at her slowly.
*****
Any feedback is greatly appreciated, thanks for reading, everybody! | I knew it was coming, but there was no fear. Only rage. Why were they allowed to have so much power? Why was I born this way? So weak, so impotent!
The scream that erupted from my lungs was drowned by the inhuman cackling of the Aug as it shredded another limb in maniacal glee. It felt like every nerve-fiber has been spliced repeatedly sending wave after wave of brain-fizzling pain. The edges of my vision receded into a blurry obscurity and my conscience wavered.
A soft, immaculate, human hand grabbed my jaw and my tormentor put herself in my view.
"I'll give you this much, you're not as weak as the trash I shredded". That perfect face... I'd never forget it. Never again will I fall for an Aug!
Words were difficult to form, but her cyborg grip wouldn't stop me from having my last words. "I'll kill you next time". I tried to look defiant and it must've worked a little. The Aug was livid. Just as my jaw was ripped out of its sockets and the pain just started registering, suddenly my world went dark and silent. The last thing I saw was a fist coming towards me.
The void was peaceful. There was no pain, no sound, no touch, no hot or cold, and yet it felt like something was draining. It felt important too. No, I wouldn't let it go. A lack of appendages wouldn't me back. There was still a job a to do!
-----------------------
Vayfaer stared incredulously at the genesis of an entirely different soul. The separation process was failing.
> Are you seeing this?
There was no response. The warden turned around to an empty space behind it.
»Great... just great. First day on the job and this bloody portal has to malfunction.«
> Ezgurt! EZGURT!
it shouted angrily as it turned back to the light display which was fading quickly. »no no no no no no no« And just as suddenly as the iridescent gas-like lights and halos appeared, they dissipated. Vayfaer couldn't make out an out of place soul. They all filed into the same queue for assignment to a new a body.
> You are one jumpy warden, you know that, Vayfaer?
came the cool thoughts of the seasoned warden as it took its place.
> Why was my break interrupted?
Vayfaer relayed what he had just seen to the senior warden and was greeted with a chuckle. »Ez ain't taking me seriously« grumbled Vayfaer to itself.
> Young one, did you have a taste of a consciousness from Earth? You know very well that some of them are very impaired, especially those with the high pH values. What does the soul look like?
What this youngling was describing had never happened before, in fact it was downright impossible. But wardens got nothing to do at the portals and chaperoning mindless souls was boring, so why not have some fun and entertainment exploring the impossible. Time flowed differently here anyway.
----------------------------
Some time had passed since entering this strange world. To the best of my knowledge, this not the end. The other ghost-like entities mindless fell into line and hovered to a large device that changed their color and emanation. Once passed, they were shepherded towards a big hole and dropped down. The ghosts screamed for different amounts of time as they fell, but the screams always stopped abruptly.
It didn't seem like the place to go to.
Suddenly, I lost control of my body, if one could call it as such. »oh no... not again«. My death had started by incapacitation as well.
> You're a curious one, but fear not. This isn't like your death.
I heard as my ghost-face turned towards something that looked like a wisp. »great... mind-readers are in this weird place too«
> You have no mind to read since you are but a soul. Would you please remind me why you're here and why you aren't blank like the others? Your separation was unsuccessful.
So that's what was happening when I felt the thing draining from me, I literally losing my mind? For what?
> Separations were put into place to keep up with the reproduction rate of your species. Souls weren't generated at a sufficient rate, so old ones had to be wiped and put back into the loop with fresh consciences. Yours seem to be intact.
Things clicked. »Exactly! I have some business to do! I need to get back to earth to show everybody that Augs are real and not some conspiracy theory. Cyborgs are using the unaugmented as their play things!«
> Ah...
The silence continued. That's another thing that bothered me. Why was it so quiet here? Didn't anybody listen to music here?
> Things are never quiet here. You just haven't developed the ability to listen properly. Any soul can learn it. In any case, I will review your history and tweak our separation process. You are a unique specimen, so you shall pass this one time. Be wise with your second chance. Ezgurt and I will keep a close eye on you.
I barely had the time to think a "thank you very much!" before my gratitude was replaced by the a sensation of falling. There was no heart to beat and as I looked down towards my second chance, I decided to scream - not out of fear. This was a war cry. Josephine would know my wrath.
------------------
Maybe a little straight forward, but questions and helpful criticism are always welcome.
Cheers | 2018-11-30T08:07:17 | 2018-11-30T07:02:19 | 51 | 10 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | "Honey? Can you hear me? I'm back from Costco! My arms are kinda full here, could you give me a hand?
"Coming!"
Susan, my wife, called out to me just as my phone went off. I have it on vibration, so typically it just goes off once or twice. Nope, today it decided to have a full-blown orgasm. Wondering what the racket was, i swiped my phone from the coffee table and headed downstairs.
EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC. DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOORS OR WINDOWS. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Well, that's new. Was it a prank? Judging from how it was going off incessantly, it did look rather like an official channel. I've seen this sort of thing a few times this year - when the summer got too hot and the brush dried out, the fire department would spam us with these every few days. These things always had a knack of happening at the most inopportune times as well, like in the middle of my lecture last week. The cacophony of every phone going off and how everybody was going to turn them off at once was still rather amusing, though. It was almost as if they were synchronized. Harmony via cacophony. Lovely. But i digress.
I reached the front door. I could hear Susan tapping her foot, as she was wont to do when she was becoming impatient. It was always the right foot too. She's got her quirks, as lovely as she is. As I reached for the doorknob, I realized that the message specified not to open my door. But I couldn't keep her waiting like that. Oh well, we'll hole up after she gets in.
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always, somehow carrying two enormous bags of groceries that seemed larger than she was. She shifted her balance so I could take one. But I didn't accept. I was too busy looking at the sky behind her. Or more precisely, the lack thereof.
The sky was gone. No, not as in empty. It's usually empty. It's *supposed* to be empty. No, it was just gone. Not the whole thing, just a square-shaped patch over there near the setting sun. There was a clear-cut square of black where the sky should be. No, not quite black. Black is a pigment. But this just felt... empty. It felt as if a puzzle piece of the universe went missing, and I was staring outside of reality. Before my eyes, the neighboring squares slowly began to flicker and break apart. The sky.. was made of pixels?
Feeling dizzy, I closed my eyes. The familiar black of my eyelids gave me a small bit of respite as I tried to process what I had just seen. Tried, mind you, as my legs crumpled beneath me, my consciousness letting go, welcoming blissful oblivion.
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always, somehow carrying two enormous bags of groceries that seemed larger than she was. She shifted her balance so I could take one. But I didn't accept. I was too busy looking at the sky behind her. Or more precisely, the lack thereof.
The sky was gone. No, not as in empty. It's usually empty. It's *supposed* to be empty. No, it was just gone. Not the whole thing, just a square-shaped patch over there near the setting sun. There was a square of black where the sky should be. No, not quite black. Black is a pigment. But this just felt... empty. It felt as if a puzzle piece of the universe went missing, and I was staring outside of reality. Before my eyes, the neighboring squares glitched and froze
I opened the door.
Susan was there. Beautiful as always. But that wasn't important. The sky was gone. Cannot compute
I opened the door.
I opened the door.
I opened the door.
I opened rhe door.
I openeeeeeeeeeeee
----------
"Well, that does it. Now this damn thing won't even *try* to load the skybox. What kind of moronic thrice-damned spaghetti code did you have to use to break it so fucking hard? Oh, for fuck's sake. Roll it back to patch 11.2, the resolution might be lower, but at least it won't glitch out immediately." | A sharp knock at the door startled Eric. The sudden jump caused him to drop the phone from his hand.
"Babe? I lost my key." Vanessa's voice came through the door. Eric stared at the phone embedded in the lush, grey carpet. It landed face up with the emergency message taking up the entire screen.
"LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Honey?" Vanessa knocked again to get his attention. Eric moved to the door as quietly as he could manage, then held his breath while he peeked through the peephole. He did not want her to know he was on the other side of the door.
Eric saw the back of Vanessa's head; his view was mostly obscured by a familiar tight, black bun. She seemed to be staring out the window at the end of the hallway. She knocked and called for him again, but without turning around. The knock felt low on the door enough that Eric realized she was knocking behind her. She was intentionally not facing the peephole.
"Eric!" She shouted with a trace of panic in her voice. "Let me in please!" The crack in her voice caused Eric to reach for the handle; he hated to see her uncomfortable in any way, but something did not feel right.
In their three years together, not a single thing slipped Vanessa's mind. The message also added questions. Why hadn't she said anything about the message? Her phone!
"Call me," Eric said through the door. She still did not turn around.
"What the hell? I don't have my phone, just open up!" She yelled at the hallway.
"Where's your phone?" Eric asked. He felt braver now, colder. His Vanessa would never lose her keys *and* her phone at the same time.
"Look, I didn't want to scare you, but there's some pretty weird stuff going on outside. When I saw it I was so scared that I literally dropped everything and ran back to you. Please, let me in."
"What kind of weird stuff?" Eric asked the black bun.
"Eric honey, I"m *really* scared right now. Can't I explain it to you inside?"
"No! The government sent a message to keep the doors locked. I'm scared too," he admitted. He saw Vanessa's head wobble and heard her laugh nervously.
"Locked doors aren't going to help. We need to get out of here."
"Get out of here? And go where?" Eric asked.
"Jesus Eric, open the door and I'll explain everything." She yelled at the hallway.
"Why aren't you turning around?"
"I've kept a lot of things from you, and I'm really regretting it right now, but I need you to open the door. I promise you'll get all the explanations you want."
"WHY AREN'T YOU TURNING AROUND?" he yelled the question again. He already decided this woman was somehow an imposter, he just wanted her to admit it. He watched the bun rotate slowly as she turned to face him. Her once dark green eyes now sparkled with golden light. Her irises were shaped like golden glowing stars.
"I love you," she said.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO VANESSA!?" he pounded the door in a rage.
"I *am* Vanessa. Let me in so we can get out of here, then I'll explain everything.
"Explain it from there!" Vanessa looked over her shoulder at the window.
"No time, this is already taking too much time. Let me in." Eric chuckled.
"I'm safe inside. You're the one in a hurry, so explain it fast."
"You're NOT safe inside. No one is safe from her, we need to go."
"Her who? Go where?" Eric asked.
"There's so much to explain it's not going to be covered with me in the hallway. Open the door and you'll get all the answers."
"Why?" Eric asked. Suddenly a bigger question popped in his mind. "Why is it so important for you to get inside? If you're in a hurry you can get somewhere safe until it blows over." Vanessa laughed nervously again.
"There is no blowing over. You don't know what's going on, the government doesn't either. She's taking control of the Earth and *WE* need to be gone before that happens. I need to get inside because I need to get to you. I love you, it's the only way to make sure you're safe."
"You're not making any sense. If this mystery person is taking control of the Earth where are we going?" Eric saw Vanessa's starry eyes roll upward and he felt a bit offended. Then, he noticed tears starting to flow down her cheeks.
"Another Earth, obviously."
"What? What the hell are you talking about?"
"This is why I didn't want to explain it out here. You're going to have too many questions. Go look out the window," she said. Eric left the door to stare out the living room window. Their apartment was on the fifth floor and he had a decent view of the city. He did not see anything at first until he saw a skeleton shatter on the street below. It instantly pulled itself back together and began marching into the nearest building. He watched several more skeletons land, then he looked up. The skeletons were falling out of a large black hole in the sky. He looked around and noticed dozens more black holes raining skeletons on the city. He ran back to the door.
"What's happening!?" He shouted.
"Ballisea kills everyone, and she can't be stopped," Vanessa said with a soft, resigned voice. "It's how she invades. Those portals aren't just over the city, they're all over the world."
"There are already some skeletons in this building. If one of them finds me, Ballisea herself will show up," Vanessa sighed. Her crying still managed to give her golden eyes a reddish color. "I love you, but I'm not going to die for you. This is your last chance. Open the door, or I'm leaving without you." She stepped back from the door and made a gesture at the air. A smaller black portal opened in the hallway.
"You're one of them!" Eric shouted.
"Goodbye, Eric. I did love you," she said as she stepped into the black hole. When it disappeared Eric saw a skeleton step out of the stairwell. It walked to the first door in the hall and smashed through it with little effort. As it stepped into the apartment several more skeletons filed out of the stairwell, each crashing through a different door.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #12. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | 2019-01-12T07:28:39 | 2019-01-12T06:59:31 | 354 | 165 |
[WP] You find a loose plank in your basement floor and pry it out to replace it, only to discover a massive pile of bodies under the house. Even worse though is the fact that every one of those bodies is your own | Tucker Kurzheimer stared at the pile of human flesh. Each corpse had the same face. \*His\* face.
Grunting, Tucker stepped back from the hole in his basement's floorboards and hollered at the top of his lungs: "Fudge! Get the fuck down here! I found where you've been putting the bodies!"
A muffled voice shouted back: "Aww. Fuckin A." Tucker heard banging around upstairs and soon enough a flabby, bearded man in sweat-stained overalls came rumbling down into the basement. "Hey man," Fudge said in his heavy southern warble. "Ah been meanin to move them fuckin thangs."
The stench of death was filling the basement now.
"You dickless idiot," said Tucker. "Why in the absolute \*fuck\* would you keep 'em in here?"
"Sheeeeeeeyit," Fudge offered. "My plan all along was to yank them fuckin empties out to tha fire pit. Jus ain't got round to it."
"Fudge, there are twenty bodies in this hole," Tucker said, seething.
"Ah know it," Fudge said. "You been plowin through bodies like an Alabama State sorority girl in heat. Ah jus needed to keep em somewhere in the meanwhile."
Tucker started to reply, but the two men were interrupted by a low moan emanating from the hole in the floor.
Fudge cursed under his breath, and Tucker slowly turned to look at the hole. A filthy hand emerged, trembling, from the depths. It gripped onto the edge of the hole, pulling up the moaning man attached to it.
"Oh my god," said Tucker. "I'm still alive."
The man—another Tucker—finished extracting himself from the hole and spread flat on the surface of the basement.
"No shit I'm still alive," he gasped. "I've been laying there on top of that pile of dead Tuckers, moaning and scratching on the wood for two fucking days."
Fudge backed away from both Tuckers now, fiddling nervously with his wedding band. "Look, y'all know that ahm new to all this clonin and brain transferrin bullshit. Y'all cain't spect me to get everthang right all tha damn time like ahm some kinda fuckin PHD."
The first Tucker crossed the room to inspect his somehow-not-quite-dead counterpart. Hands shaking, he grabbed onto the second Tucker's shirt. Tears streamed down his face and he whispered, "This wasn't supposed to be possible."
The second Tucker slapped the first Tucker hard across the face.
"Uncle Roy lied to us," said Tucker 2. "I had time to figure it out while I was wasting away in that hole. This whole time I—we, I guess—thought we were transferring our consciousness to a new body whenever we used the body-swapper. We thought the original body was left totally empty—our "soul" fully ported over into a new host. But that's not how the machine really works. It just transfers some basic information into a clone's body and then kills the original host."
Tucker 1 slumped against the basement wall, his hand caressing the spot on his face where he'd been struck. "I don't understand," he said. "Why the hell would Uncle Roy talk me into doing something that he knew would kill me—us?"
"Uncle Roy has just been using us as guinea pigs," spat Tucker 2. "He never gave a fuck about us."
Striding across the room, Tucker 2 offered his hand to Tucker 1. "Come on," he said. "We've got somewhere to go."
By now, Fudge had pissed himself. He shivered, cowering in the corner of the basement.
"Whaa– what in the fuck is y'all about to do?" Fudge whimpered.
Both Tuckers looked each other in the eyes, and some form of understanding—the kind you can only have with yourself—passed between them. The Tuckers began walking, as one, toward the staircase.
As they reached the top of the landing, Tucker 1 turned around and glared at Fudge.
"We've gotta go have a chat with Uncle Roy." | I scowl at the floor, watching the creaking board almost mocking me. A grunt rises in my throat and I force it down.
I'd *just* gotten my basement remodeled.
Shaking my head and biting my lip, I kneel down to inspect the board, feeling it over with my hands. As I grab onto it, I can feel it come loose, I can feel it shaking uselessly in place as if it's not even nailed down. A wild idea rises up in my frustrated mind.
Maybe it's the late hour, or maybe it's the frustration I feel because of the money I've now *wasted* on remodeling, but I latch onto the idea. I grab it and I hold it tight, keeping around it like a vice.
My hands reach out over the board once more, coming to the loose end my stray step had kicked up into the air. My fingers wrap around the frayed wood.
And I pull.
The wooden board creaks once more as I rip it from its place and throw it with a grunt across the room.
Rusty nails attached to it clatter on the floor and I don't even look towards them. For a moment, I stare at the hole I've just created, seething in idle frustration. And for a moment, I feel doubt—I feel regret for just tearing a hole in my floor.
Down below my floor, though, where there should be ground, I see a metal ladder and a swirling blackness. The hole is deep, and looks more like an underground passage than a hole at all.
But as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I nearly choke. Because that's not even the worst part.
At the bottom of the hole, bodies scatter the ground. I shudder as a stray beam of light shines over their skin, reflecting wrinkled, pale flesh up at me. I swallow dryly, trying to scrape the sudden bitterness from my mouth.
It doesn't work.
My mind screams at me and I step forward toward the hole. My body crouches down and I stare more intently, disgust growing within. But as much as I want to run—to scream hell to the heavens, I don't. Something about the hole is... familiar, and something else deep inside me screams at me to find out why.
So, out of volition I'm not entirely sure is my own, I descend.
Step after rusty step, I climb down the ladder. My knuckles go white with tension as I grip the sides and I gasp in dusty air every few seconds that pass. The space around me is cold, and I can feel prickles against my neck.
But still, despite everything, I descend.
When my feet finally touch the floor, a putrid smell crosses my nose. The cold air swirls for a moment, letting me in on the secret of the hole that is dried blood and rotting flesh. I jerk my head back, nearly slamming into the ladder, but I don't make a single move to climb up.
Instead, my body proceeds, stepping carefully over the pale flesh I'd seen all the way from above. For a moment, I push away the sights, but then something catches my eye. In the corner of the room, light shines off of familiar blue irises and I lean towards it.
When my eyes adjust to the dark, I freeze in place, coming into a direct stare with my very own face.
Repulsion rebels against my skull, but my skull pushes back. I step backward and glance around, staring at the rest of the bodies in the room. Suddenly, my mind shrieks as I realize the things I am smelling all come from bodies of me.
I twitch in place, not wanting to stay. And as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I see the tunnel continue. Ahead of me, further into dim darkness, a narrow passageway of dirt opens up. Without even sparing more time to think, I surge through it and away from my very own corpse.
The walk through the narrow passageway is cold and silent, but not once do I complain. My mind spins wildly, my nose twitches wretchedly, and my heart thunders rapidly. But not once do I think about leaving. Not once do I think about turning around.
As I reach the end of the passageway, more sights send bile up in my throat.
Directly in front of me are piles of bodies, each one wearing my face. They are mangled, bloodied, and destroyed in a myriad of ways that are each far worse than the last. My gaze freezes on each one of them, but each time, I rip it away. And when a blue light flashes in the corner of my vision, I finally block them all out and surge my way toward that.
"It's about time," a voice calls, cackling. Among my swirling thoughts, I recognize that voice as my own.
As I round a dark corner, his visage comes into view. There, sitting on an old creaking chair and tossing a rotating blue light in his hand is me—or, a version of me at least.
My mouth slips open, but no words come out. Only unsure sounds that echo off the walls.
"Don't speak," he says. "It's okay. I can speak for myself."
The smirk he flashes me is one I've only given once or twice in my life.
"I'm surprised it took you so long, though. I've been leaving all of the hints and implanting the images to drag you down here for weeks." His expression darkens. "I don't like being surprised by myself."
"W-What's going on?" I find myself able to ask.
He chuckles, still tossing the glowing blue ball that I faintly recognize as a rapidly spinning clockface. "You're finally being saved."
I blink. "Saved? Saved from what?"
"From the timeline you've been cursed to," he snarls. "You get to join all of our friends here, and you get to have the satisfaction that you are preserving the most blessed of all yous."
A chill runs down my spine and I try to step back. But I can't. His gaze locks me in place.
"But you're me," I say, muttering. "I... I hate killing. How can any version of me commit anything like *this*?"
He chuckles and stops tossing the ball. In a movement barely fast enough for my eyes to capture, he sits up and glares at me.
"Oh, I'm so naive. You just don't understand."
"Understand what?" I scream, my voice hollow.
"You see," he says, a knife somehow appearing in his hand. "I'm not killing people."
"You're not?"
"No," he says with a smirk I wish my face wasn't able to make. "I'm just killing myself."
---
/r/Palmerranian
^(P.S. The ending language is not meant to support suicide at all. If you or someone you know is considering suicide or self-harm, please take care of them and get support. A helpful bot has linked the suicide hotline down below.) | 2019-04-17T18:57:55 | 2019-04-17T18:36:38 | 54 | 14 |
[WP] The dragon's lair is not what you expected. Instead of the mountains of gold and magical artifacts of fantastical power, the lair is instead filled with display cases of historically significant but common items. It's not really a hoard, its more like a museum... they even do tours... | I'd never seen such a vast, incredibly-documented collection. There weren't just pieces of history on display vaguely linked by being found within a few hundred miles of each other, or by having similar design elements- these were *sets* in *context.* When I entered the textiles hall, it confused me for a moment until I realized that the displays were connected by literal threads, showing what concepts inspired each other, how things grew, changed, advanced. I think I spent a full hour in that hall alone. The docent was quiet, smiling as I explored, watching me above sapphire-lensed spectacles.
By the time I fully realized that I was the only guest, I'd been there nearly the whole day. When I asked, the docent just gave me a knowing smile. In that moment, the silver-haired woman seemed taller, almost as if she took up the whole room. A pit formed in my stomach, and I decided that, perhaps, it would be best to cut the tour short. Thankfully, I didn't need to run panicked through the labyrinthine corridors of the mountainside museum: I was simply led to the exit. The docent did make a point to describe a few items of particular pride in the collection as we passed them, but I resisted the urge to stay and admire the displays.
I could see the fading light of the day through the atrium hall. I wanted to bolt for the open door, but she was there, between me and what some instinct told me was salvation. Calmly, slowly, she rolled a wooden podium bearing intricate carvings on its base, a massive tome open to a blank page displayed proudly alongside a quill and a vial of ink the color of deep water. The guestbook, I was told, was the most treasured part of her hoard. The memories made by someone exploring the depths of their own history, the wonder and fascination, these were more prized than any urn or stamped coin.
With a shaky hand, I took the quill and, careful not to smear the wet ink, signed my name. The blue of the ink shined crimson in the light as it dried on the page. I felt a tugging sensation in the back of my mind, but as I walked into the cool air of the mountainside, it, and my memory of how I'd spent my afternoon, began to fade. | Getting lost in the mountains of Bhutan was the last thing I wanted to do. I'd lost my tour guide, fallen down a hill and was now stuck somewhere on the East side of one of the mountains. Thankfully, I had prepared for something like this to happen and with my trekking poles, began my hike up towards the general direction in which I had fallen down.
While I'd expected to hear the call of some wild animal, or seen some sort of threat to my safety, there was none. I had no idea where I had fallen, and I could not hear the sounds of footfalls anywhere. Perhaps I had fallen much further than I thought. As I took my next step, a sudden spike of pain shot through my ankle, to which I let out a small grunt of pain.
Seemed like something had happened down there. I was surprised that a hurt ankle was all that I had suffered during my fall - but then a hurt ankle became the least of my problems as a massive silhouette suddenly flew by, eclipsing the sun and plunging the area into temporary darkness. Out of shock, I'd nearly lost my balance and fell down again, but I regained it before any such thing could happen.
This wasn't the greatest situation. If I wasn't able to get back to civilisation soon enough I would be as good as dead. I continued climbing with a bit of acceleration, adamant about making it to someplace hospitable before nightfall - which was closing in very soon.
Once sunset lit the sky with rays of deep yellow and orange, I'd reached some kind of great cave. It looked to be empty, but hospitable. I quickly entered, finding it to be much warmer inside than outside. It felt like it would've been a lair for a dragon, with how grand it was. I ventured deeper into the cave, before realising that light was coming from deep within. Soon enough, I heard the hum of a generator. Speeding up, hoping to find someone, I found myself in a large room with massive pillars, ancient items and objects proudly displayed upon them, encased within glass cases. Was this a museum? I found that the room was also lit up with large lights hanging from the ceiling, connected to a rather large... modified generator in the corner.
I decided to step in, putting my bag down and sitting, leaning against one of the many pillars in the room. It was warm, it was nice. I put down my trekking poles as well and took a deep breath. I then closed my eyes and began thinking of what to do next. Wherever this was, there would surely be some kind of security here. I affirmed to myself that I would get back to civilisation. It was then that I felt a strange gust of hot air on my face. Opening my eyes, I saw the massive snout of some animal, sniffing me. It then craned its head back to reveal itself in its full glory. It had deep jade scales, a long, serpent-like body and... well, it looked like a dragon.
As if my shock wasn't enough, it talked to me. "Are you indeed a human?" It asked in a deep voice, to which I nodded, not completely sure if I'd accidentally ingested some kind of mushroom during the hours prior. "That is good. I have not seen humans up close in decades. How are you?" It- assumedly he asked. I stuttered out a "Good, you?" almost pathetically, to which it bowed its head, "About the same."
"Where am I?" I asked, the dragon looking into my eyes. "My home, my treasury of human relics."
"Ah, alright." I answered as if this were a normal, everyday occurrence for me.
"Would you like to see them?" He asked, leaving me in contemplative silence. What felt like minutes for me, was in reality a few seconds. I gave a nod, and the dragon offered a claw to hold me in. I stood upon it, to which he brought me to view a suit of armour, perfectly preserved. It looked to be made of silk, with some layers of leather atop it. "This is the armour of who your kind would call *Chinggis Khan,* which I snatched from the battlefield."
He then led me to another glass case, "This is the..." the dragon stopped, leaning in for a closer look, "... the crown of the first Roman emperor, and his sword." He said, a hint of pride in his voice. He then began to waddle towards the next display case.
"This is the first clock, at first measuring through the sun. Quite the geniuses, you humans were. Next to that is the first instance of bronze." He said, continuing to ramble on, and on. I felt my ankle flare in pain again, as the dragon kept on moving from case to case. I had to tell him soon, but seeing all these things that other humans had likely never even thought of seeing filled me with a strange warmth. It was then that I realised, feeling it in my soul, that...
This dragon was a total history nerd, wasn't he? | 2022-01-11T11:41:52 | 2022-01-11T10:35:29 | 284 | 88 |
[WP] After being betrayed and left badly injured by your ‘sidekick’ team, the last person you expected comes to save you: the villain. | Harvey Dent said: "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." But I don't think the thought crossed his mind that 'you' would ever become friends with a villain. Let alone the villain you were fighting for years. This is the short little story of how exactly that happened, and why I have trust issues now.
My name is Villain Crusher. I do exactly what my name says. Crush villains. I'm one of the most successful heroes of all time. I have super strength, super speed, laser eyes, fast regeneration, superhuman endurance, superhuman resilience, super hearing, and I'm capable of healing people with my hands. It's safe to say I can do it all except fly. Every single villain that crops up I've beaten one way or another. However, there's one that I've never managed to keep down for long. His name is Deathmask.
Ol' Mask and I used to be bunk mates in the same barracks during our time in the army. We were both deployed to the same sandbox in Afghanistan. We were in the same tank battalion. He was in the Abrams and I was in the MRAP behind him. We were both hiding our powers. Nobody knew we could do what we could do. But the fighting shook him to his core. He was not the same man as before he went in when he came home.
He saw how well I was handling myself after the military and got jealous but never told me. He took my success as an insult for whatever reason. And he vowed every ounce of his energy to bring me down for not including him in my success, but funny story, I would always ask him to fight with me at my side. He always rejected me.
As the years went on he got darker and more distant and he started building a following. People with similar views to him. He was going to bring down all the superheroes so that he would be able to stop all the villains. "In order to stop all the villains one must become a villain," he would say. It was at this time that he acquired the name Deathmask. His face got all skeletal and his skin got all pale so he looked like a dead body. Couple it with a dark purple cloak, some interesting looking body armor, and a few red LEDs you get a really scary villain. Especially with the abilities he has.
Deathmask can do anything a stereotypical dark wizard can do. Beams of dark energy, telekinesis, finger lightning, fireballs, levitation and flight, and mind control. Coupled with a dark personality and a lack of concern for collateral damage, you get an insanely difficult villain to face. I fought him so many times it feels like he's invincible. So that's why I got a bunch of sidekicks to help me out.
I started a superhero agency called, uncreatively, "Villain Crusher hero agency." Through it I hire heroes of all walks of life and provide them with financial aid. I may not do this for the money, I have a day job, but it's nice to have a little bit of money when you're just starting out, or established and not so lucky with money, so you can get nicer equipment and connected with other agencies. We survive on donations and we are a non-profit. Luckily we get some sizable donations.
I had a team of 70 sidekicks working for me and on this particular mission to stop Deathmask I had 12 back me up. They were doing everything from helping me actually fight to running communications and fighting off his lackies. I was never going to win this fight without them. Deathmask was just as prepared as I was.
It was during this fight that I got backstabbed. All 12 of my sidekicks helping me run this op turned on me. They said I wasn't paying them enough when I was paying them quite fairly. They also said how poorly I run things and dumb stuff like that for their reasons. And they all sided with themselves, fought both of us, Deathmask and I were literally back to back, and scattered once they were "through with us."
Once the dust settled I was beaten down pretty good. My powers are fueled by how much energy I have in my body and this fight took most of it. I didn't recover fully from any of my injuries after the twist, at least not until a few weeks later. In that state I couldn't walk. But it was in this moment that my eyes locked with Deathmask's eyes. I guess seeing me in this broken state got through to the man I used to know. Many years of repressed memories came flowing back and he began crying inconsolably.
Deathmask sobered up enough to help me to my feet and haul my heavy 485 pound ass to his auto-doc. It took him weeks to nurse me back to health, and all the while he was dismantling his entire villain organization.
Deathmask remembered that he was my friend and how stupid he was to think what he did all these years was right. After he explained it all to me from the word "go" to right now, he decided to join me.
Now we fight side by side once again. Just like the old days. | Is this how I die? I barely managed to crawl over to the tree, just about able to sit myself up leaning against it - if I'm to die, I'll at least die with dignity. I still remember their last words to me: 'You think we cared about stopping some menace? We only joined you because we thought we could get rich from our explorations. We got what we wanted, we're done with you!' It was clear they didn't want me to hang around them, and thought it easier to dispose of me rather than try to abandon me. This... this isn't right... I feel my life slipping away...
"What mess have you gotten yourself into *this* time, Ray?" I know that voice. I turn to look; there he is. Blackheart.
The villain I've been preparing to stop. The man I aimed to rid the world of. I've encountered him a few times before. I've learned what his different poses and stances mean. Right now, he has his arms folded, his staff on his hip. His look is soft, not menacing or angry. I don't want to do it... but right now, he's my only hope... "Please" I whisper, unable to speak any louder. "Please help me."
Blackheart nods. "That's why I'm here - I had a spy in your team, he told me what the rest of them did. He was only spared because even though he wasn't in it for treasure, he acted neutral towards me, so he wasn't considered a 'threat'. My spy reported to me what they did. That was low of them." As he's talking, he's grabbed his staff and cast a healing spell. I'm no longer at risk of death, but I'm still weak. I know this is on purpose; he's not about to just let me walk free, after all.
Blackheart continues. "Remember, they represent the people you're protecting from me. They left you for dead once they got what they wanted. Are they worth your effort and sacrifice?"
I summon the energy to speak. "Most are... just inno- innocent citizens. I... I have a... a duty..."
Blackheart sighs. "I thought you'd say something like that. You have **always** been stubborn. But I do genuinely wish to help you, otherwise why would I be here now?" I nod, knowing that he's right. He has no reason to save me; if I die right here, right now, no-one can oppose him.
Blackheart clears his throat. "Surrender yourself to me now, Ray. You'll be taken to my stronghold. You'll act as a slave. Of course I'll complete my plans with you unable to stop me... but whenever you think about the terror they may feel, the fear they experience, remember: did anyone once say 'thank you'? Did your team not abandon you? I'm no tyrant, but I'll ensure my control over everyone. I don't enjoy fear, but if people don't feel a certain level of fear, they'll think that they can defy me. After all, if your team feared me, would they have not betrayed you, if only so you can protect them?"
I listen to Blackheart as he speaks. The problem is... none of what he's saying is wrong. I knew he was planning to rule with an iron fist, that's what I was trying to prevent, a dictatorship. But clearly people don't take him seriously... is this the *first* time I was stabbed in the back? It seems like every time I try to help people, they only want to use me for their own gain. Yet the villain, the potential dictator, the man who's supposed to be evil, is prepared to save my life, with nothing to gain for himself *except* an extra slave, which he could find *anywhere*. Maybe these people need to have someone like Blackheart to keep them in order. Besides, it's not like I can stop him now anyway, is it?
I look at Blackheart. Now he's standing, arms by his side, staff lowered, stance not intimidating. I nod. "I'll do anything..." I say. "Please..." Blackheart smiles - a genuine smile - and proceeds to put chains on my hands and feet, before casting another spell, this time a recovery spell. I feel strength back in me, and Blackheart helps me up.
He passes me an apple. "You're probably hungry" he says, as I gratefully take it. Then I pause and look at him.
"Just to be certain... this is just a normal apple?"
Blackheart laughs. "What would I gain from giving you a bad apple after saving your life?" I smile as I bite into it. Just then, we see a traveller, staring at us. Blackheart stares back at him, full height, staff in hand and touching the ground, an evil grin on his face. "Spread the word" he says in a bone-chilling voice. "You all turned your back on your hero, so now he's returned the favour - in exchange for saving his life which had been nearly taken from him by his own team, he now belongs to ***me***!" He whispers the last word, still maintaining his voice, making it all the more chilling. The traveller nods quickly and continues on his way.
Blackheart then chuckles. "I told the truth when I said I don't take joy in the fear of others, but something about his reaction makes me laugh." He then turns, to see me looking over my shoulder as I see, if I *wanted* to, how far I could run. Blackheart, somehow knowing I'm putting on an act, shakes his head with amusement as he casts a freeze spell; now unable to move, I realise that running away isn't an option, whether I like it or not.
"You're not getting away from me easily, Ray... surely you must realise that? After I was *so kind* as to save your life..." he releases the spell, and I instantly get on my knees.
"Sorry, master, I won't do it again. I promise." He's shaking his head, still amused.
"I'm afraid that's not enough anymore... I'd like to trust that you were simply testing me, but now you've tried to slip away, I need you to *beg*, to declare your obedience and loyalty to me."
I gulp, as I prepare to speak. "I'm your loyal slave, obedient to you and no-one else. I will never disobey you again. Please have mercy on me." This is really humiliating, but I have no choice - Blackheart was *always* one to keep his word. We're both aware of people passing by, who have stopped in their tracks, shocked at what they're seeing. Blackheart grins.
"I'll forgive you, *this time*, at least. Don't upset me, **again.**" He stares at the people around him as he speaks. They all hurry along, with a few of them understanding that their freedom is suddenly no more.
Knowing my place, I take no chances as I speak again. "Thank you so much, master, for your mercy and kindness." Blackheart nods in approval.
"Stand" he commands, and I do so. We then begin to make our way to his stronghold, with a few of his followers escorting me. I don't know what's in store for the future; all I can hope is this realm does not become a dystopia.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Continued in the reply below. | 2022-09-22T10:41:45 | 2022-09-22T05:46:47 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | C-list was a comfortable position. I hardly ever had to put much work into the villainy aspect, so I got so focus more on my personal business. And, It meant I got to be a little bit goofy, which is always fun. For the most part, the heroes I ended up facing were kind, helpful, and sweet. I even kept in contact with a few of them.
Despite being publicly listed as a villain by most government, the truth is a bit more complicated. For most would be heroes, I'm the first real stumbling block they face, the test that's given to see if they can handle the serious threats posed by others, or if they'd be better of sticking with small-scale threats and crime on a small scale.
I also existed to weed out true villains masquerading themselves as heroes. that is where this story begins.
I was working at my bookstore, a small little place with a cozy atmosphere. I had a few employees, mostly people who had recently gotten out of prison and had tried to turn their lives around. Good people, hard workers.
It was a slow day, and then in walked "The Hammer," The most recent "hero" I'd been tasked with assessing. He didn't lack power, that was for certain. He had the ability to turn any part of his body into any metal, super-strength, super-speed, and flight to boot. What he lacked was morals. He only seemed to care about himself, and he could get quite angry when he didn't get his way.
The store was no stranger to heroes and villains visiting, but most were discrete, using their secret identity. But here was The Hammer, in his full getup, standing in the open doorway after he'd kicked down the door.
"I know you're here Amanda! Come on out!" His voice boomed
I saw Amanda standing frozen. she turned to run, but was hardly able to move before the hammer rushed over to her and grabbed her by the arm. I spoke up.
"Sir! let go of my employee!"
He scoffed "Your employee? did you know that she's a thieving piece of shit?"
"That's not relevant, let go of her and get out of my store now."
"Or else what? You'll report me? Who do you think they're gonna believe, a small bookstore manager and his criminal employee, or the greatest up-and-coming hero?" He squeezed Amanda's arm, she let out a cry of pain.
"There's a lot of people outside, and seeing you drag out a screaming woman is bound to create rumors."
I saw the thought of his reputation being damaged enter his head, and he let go of her hand. "Fine, but I'll be back. And when I come back, you'd better come quietly, or else this little bookstore might be reduced to a pile of rubble by a tragic 'accident.'" He gave Amanda a shove and then stormed out of the building.
Amanda had a fracture in her arm. I reported The Hammer to the organization that assigned heroes and villains their ranks. They told me to deal with it how I saw fit, and they'd keep press coverage to a minimum, letting me keep my C-list ranking.
Next morning, he was going to be given a mission to stop me. I was going to make a volcano erupt or something stupid, I didn't really care about the details, what mattered was that it was remote.
He arrived right on queue, wearing his full costume. I had neglected to wear mine, instead wearing my manager's uniform. The fool didn't even make the connection, and just started making fun of me. He didn't even notice the spike of stone forming until it passed through his chin. If he hadn't been so careless and overconfident, he might've stood a chance against me me, but it was going to get him, or someone else killed eventually.
His body was never found. The news story was that after stopping me, he decided he simply didn't want to be a hero. For his secret identity, he went missing on a hiking trip.
Amanda made a full recovery, and there was a small party welcoming her back. Like continued on, and there was one less villain in the world | “Prepare for trouble”
“Make it double”
“To protect the world from persistent pain”
“To unite all peoples within our gang.”
“To denounce the evils of villainy and strife”
“To scoot the villains out of ruining life”
“Scooter Red”
“Scooter Blue”
“Scooter Heroes ride off into the night.”
“Surrender now or prepare to fight!”
“Scooter Green!”
***SILENCE***
I paused for a moment before I spoke, making sure the heroes’ introduction was done. I suppressed a laugh.
“I’m sorry. am I supposed to laugh, clap, or snap team rocket?”
I just decided to do all three in quick succession while the group of heroes stood looking at me with clear determination in their eyes.
Upon finishing my act, “Well if you don’t have anything else to say or do, I will take my hard earned money and leave.” I said, picking back up my duffel bags and heading to walk by the heroes straight out the front doors of the bank.
“Excuuuse me”, I commented, walking by the gang of scooter heroes, I only got so far, however.
“Stop right there!” Barked Scooter Red, She spun her razor blade scooter at violent speeds, speeds that would make any other scooter user wince in pain even at the sight of it.
“Do you think we were just going to let you go? You just robbed the city bank!”
“I didn’t think at all about if you would let me go or not, I don’t care what you do.” I responded cordially, continuing to walk.
“Who do you think you are!?” Scooter Blue stopped me, putting his hand on my chest while positioning his scooter to launch at my shin & ankles at a moment’s notice. I was trapped.
“I’m glad you ask actually. Noone else in your brigade does that! Well, my name is Raúl, and as you can see, I am currently robbing a bank.
I live in the east suburban district of Santiago, and I am 31 years old. In order to make a living I commit egregious crimes, gamble, and panhandle. Two of which I’m better at than the other. On a normal day I’ll wake up at 6am beg on the streets of Santiago, and return home no later than 8pm each night. Upon my return home I grab my trench coat and small weapons to threaten and steal from other panhandlers out on the street, musicians included. With which money I’ll hit the Santiago casino and often quintuple my earnings for that day, perhaps I’m lucky. Oh, and I also own a 5 star restaurant downtown if you’d like to try it sometime. It’s called Go Lucky.”
Perhaps I flipped a switch in their scooter brains, but whatever it was they instantly began to beat me senseless with their scooters.
I woke up the next day in my infirmary beneath my mansion. My ankles and shins completely bruised and In constant pain from the scooter brigade’s assault.
“Well well, if it isn’t another failed attempt at a new hobby.” Alvin, my midget butler said, rewrapping the bandages on my severely swollen ankles.
“It isn’t anything new Ivan my friend. Crime is an art, all forms of crime, including bank robbery constitute that art. I’ve been committing crimes for years. Thankfully I have you and my comrades to rely on to get me out of sticky situations like yesterday. Thank you.” I smiled at Alvin, expressing my appreciation for him somehow saving me from arrest.
“My name is Alvin, sir. You’ve known me for 12 years. Please try to remember.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry-OW!” He slapped the last wrapping of bandage on with extra vigor. “I deserved that, but one more thing Alvin, please turn on the news for me? I want to see if I made any waves with my latest crime”
The headline for channel 1 news was not to be expected, however.
***SCOOTER BRIGADE RAIDS GO LUCKY. MULTIPLE CASUALTIES***
I sprung out of bed onto my busted ankles and found my wheelchair. I’d been a frequent victim of the brigade’s violence during each of my crimes, so I always have one on standby.
“ALLLVINNNNNNNNNN”
Alvin rolled back into the room.
“Yes sir?”
“Please push me to the car, we must make it to my restaurant at once”
“Yes sir.”
The restaurant was in shambles. The scooter brigade, a C-List hero company only due to its large number of E-list heroes, at 6,900 worldwide, had raided my restaurant. The windows were broken, walls and tables were dented, scratched, and chairs destroyed by scooters varying in size & strength.
The ambulances were loading 3 of my beautiful waitresses which I’d known for years. They were conscious but their ankles were clearly in shambles from the scooter brigade, and needed to be carted onto the ambulance.
“Sally, Sammy, Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff!!! Are you three okay?”
“My name is not Sally, sir.” Quickly exclaimed Ally
“I’m Amy. Not Sammy.” Spat Amy, in clear pain & frustration.
“Yes I’m doing fine, they just hit my ankles, sir!” Responded Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff.
“Good, now where have they gone?”
“That way”
They each pointed to a group of 60 men and women varying from age 16 to late forties. The full brunt of the scooter brigade in Santiago. I approached them, wheeling myself over with a passion.
“You DARE hurt my people?” I roared at the mass. A leader emerged from the pack.
“Yeah, we knew we’d find you if we showed up here. Seems we’re better at your job than you are. You’ve never even been capable of successfully stealing anything, we always catch you before you do. Thanks to anonymous tips. Poor thing, maybe you should take some notes”. He and the others snickered amongst themselves.
What he said rang true. 7 years of attempting large and small scale crimes and I’ve never successfully completed a single one.
But what they didn’t know is that the anonymous tip has always been me.
I’ve only wanted to play a fun game, commit crime without consequence on either end, with no real punishment or gain, just for pleasure’s sake. In doing so I allowed myself to get caught and beat, each an every time, relying on my comrades to help me escape at the last moment while leaving whatever I stole behind. | 2022-11-29T08:15:42 | 2022-11-29T03:44:50 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan. | Laitha paused outside the doorway, drawing a breath in and steadying herself. She really didn't want to do this. She was going to be in *so much trouble.* She might even end up having to find a new job, and she'd *liked* that job. Right at the beginning of the lair, so she got to see all the excitement, and they were *always* glad to see her. Some of them also had greatswords in their pockets, but that was another matter. She was the enticement, the one that kept them going deeper.
Into the lair! The *lair*!
It hadn't been her fault, even. Well, okay, so it *had*, but... really it hadn't. She would have thought a Hero ought to be better at...
Well, at a lot of things, actually. Ahem. She knocked at the door.
"**Who dares disturb me??**"
She pushed the door open "Laitha, my master."
"You?"
"Um. Yes, my master."
"There is an invader within my walls. Why are you not at your post?"
"Was. My master. Was an invader."
He stared at her, coolly. He did not even pause to appreciate the six full pages of physical description given to her in the Notebook. "Explain yourself."
"I... ah..." She shifted a little, uncomfortably, "I kind of ate his soul."
"You WHAT?"
"It was an accident! I wasn't even trying! Well, I mean, I *was* trying, but... How was I supposed to know he was a virgin?! He had no resistance!"
"You killed the hero."
"Um. Yes. My master."
The master stood up, wroth. "You will PAY for this!" He drew his sword and advanced on her.
Laitha backed up cautiously. And yet, there was something about him... Something between them that was different than before. Something she hadn't noticed at first, and she doubted he had noticed yet, or he wouldn't have his sword out.
"My master. I believe you are forgetting something." He was close to her, almost close enough to reach out and touch if she stepped forward. She did, and looked into his eyes. "I killed a hero," she said softly, cupping his face in her hand and drawing him even closer, close enough for a kiss. "I gained, like, ten levels." | So here I am, a scrawny little goblin with a massive dick, standing in front of the Dark Lord Cockripper, the most evil genital mutilator to ever own a dark evil fortress. He is shouting at me so loud that I can feel the floor vibrating slightly and my ears are begging to pop so that the pain will dissipate. He is going on and on about how I ruined his massive, super-duper, evil fucking plan. Big whoop. I would say I did the Guy a favor, but instead of a promotion, or employee of the month, he is going to wrap his massive black hand around my giant sized goblin dick and pluck it from my body. But before I get into the gore, let me explain.
So I'm just sitting in the first level of Ol' Cockrippers dungeon with a few of my goblin buds. We are leaning up against a wall and sharpening our spears, getting ready for the start of a new day. Mostly, heroes try to avoid this place, but the other day one of our flying dickbirds spotted a dude in some shiny golden armor galloping towards our fortress on a shining white steed. We knew that this was probably going to end our employment, seeing as how the last time the base was invaded most of the goblins were torn limb from limb by a massive bear of a man who called himself King Powerblumpkin. Today, we found out that we were going to be slain by Prince Knobgobbler. Whether or not those are their real names, who the fuck knows? All we know is that Cockripper stole their princess or something and now we all get to suffer for it.
So here we are, three goblins and some shitty trap where spikes pop out of the floor and poke the hero for like a tenth of his health. The silence is klling us, but then it starts. The actual thing that will literally be killing us. We hear the front door slam open and the first line of goblins giving their best shrieks for battle. Then the sound of limbs being severed. Then silence.
Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.
The even steps of a giant armored god coming to release us our souls from our bodies. Maybe next time I'll come back as a fireball flinging demon skeleton. Who knows, I'm optimistic for being such an evil guy.
So anyways, this big dude rounds the corner and faces us with the most ridiculous look I have ever gotten from another living thing. He actually thinks that he is ending us once and for all and saving the realm and all of that fantasy bullshit. Well come and get it!
Prince Pussyfart starts to sprint down the hallway, his sword brandished over his head like a retarded samurai. All of the sudden, he steps on the spike trap, and it gets him! He falls flat on his face and his sword skitters across the stone floor, sounding like a penny bouncing down a hill. At first, we are scared shitless; not a clue what to do. Then it hits us. We are going to be fucking heroes. All four of us hop onto Prince Buttsniffer and start stabbing him all over with our little spears. Its not having the effect we imagined and he grabs two of the guys, one in each hand, and pops their heads off like little dandelions. What a monster, right?
The third gob raises a spear to stab him in the neck and ends up getting snapped in half. Literally, like pulled apart. A little goblin wishbone. And then there was ME.
So Prince Pisslicker grabs me with both hands and starts choking me. This is it, I think. But like heaven if I'm going down without a fight. Next thing I know, my spear is through Prince Fartsniffers adams apple and he is coughing up blood and crying like he just got turned down at the prom.
HOLY. SHIT! I did it! Everyone is crowding around me, asking for the story over and over again, I'm riding the crowd and being showered with compliments.
"You're the worst!"
"'Your'e so damned evil!"
I'm on cloud negative nine.
Then I get into the big mans torture cave, or throne room, or whatever the fuck he is calling it today.
And hes not happy. Go figure. Not much of a father figure, this guy. Too critical of everyones work.
"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I've seen some ungrateful pricks in my lifetime, but this guy takes the cake. He yells and yells, and I am not listening. I know what is coming. His name is Dark Lord Cockripper for a reason and I have been playing the game long enough to know when he is about to get handsy. He goes on and on about how he had such a genius plan to trap him in the Lair of Pain (thats what it is today) and to torture the princess in front of him untill he convinced his father to hand over the land. Blah blah blah blah.
And here we are, back to the present. Bad Ol' Cockripper is getting up from his chair and coming over to enforce his name on my johnson. I guess that will teach me never to overachieve at work again.
Who knows? Maybe I will come back as a fire breathing dragon on level 5 or something. I'm optimistic. | 2014-09-03T14:43:46 | 2014-09-03T11:44:22 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] In this universe, everyone is happy all day every day - except for one hour a day where they are suicidally depressed. Everyone is born having a certain suicidal hour. You got lucky with a 4am slot, which has always been convenient for you - until today.
You can be asleep during your hour. However, daily life functions pretty much as it does in our universe, so 9-5 is still the common work schedule, etc. etc. | I didn't mind not being able to pull all-nighters. I have been asleep in my hour all but a handful of times. Oh boy, did I learn my lesson.
Luckily, I survived those times.
I turned down so many dates, so many girls. I needed to find one with a similar hour. I wanted a good life.
My wife is perfect. Her hour is the same as mine! It's a miracle. Well, it was a miracle.
I've never been so nervous.
I took her to the hospital *this afternoon*. How is our child not born yet? Jesus Christ kid! Come out already!
It's getting closer and closer. I'm so nervous. My palms sweat. My head hurts. I should go to sleep.
I can't.
How can I? This should be the happiest moment of my life. I should be excited. I'm about to be a father.
3:30 am.
My wife is in too much pain to know what time it is. I dare not tell her. The baby is close.
3:45 am.
It's a girl! We made it!
I cut the cord and kiss my wife. The doctors take the child. I can finally sleep.
I plop down in the chair next to my wife. My head spinning. The darkness is seeping in. I close my eyes. I drift off.
5:05 am.
I am being shaken awake by a doctor. Groggy, I don't understand what he is saying. My wife is not next to me. It's cold in here.
Panic sets in.
I pull away from the doctor and run to the open window.
There is a sheet covering something on the sidewalk. | I wake up gashing for air. Another nightmare.
I look at the black alarm clock with the green digits on it, the only thing illuminating the room. 3:55 AM.
Shit. I have always taken the precaution to be asleep at this hour. Always. A sleeping pill here, a sleeping pill there. That's how I have avoided this fucking doomsday hour.
If I don't do something I'm going to end up like the other poor bastards.
Okay. I have three minutes now. It's only a hour. I can do this. Fucking hell I can do this! I have gotten this far haven't I?
Two minutes.
Okay just remember, stay positive, put on some good music or something, light up all the lights. Think of little Katie running around with that teddy bear she always has with her.
One minute.
Okay, okay. Apartment all lit up, got some coffee on, my favourite show on the tv. Positive thoughts. It's only an hour.
I look at the alarm clock. 3:59....tick tock....tick tock....tick tock...
4:00.......
A dark shadow climbs over the room, suddenly the colours seem to fade from the tv and the lights. It's......much colder. I feel weaker. Like I have just gotten a cold.
I take the cup of coffee and put it to my lips. The coffee tastes like shit, like it has been sitting on the table for hours, cold.
I don't notice the tv show any more. It's a blur. The TV looks as if someone put wrapping paper on the screen and took most of the colour out of it.
4:10 AM. I feel cold.....and alone. I wish Katie was here.
I try to think about her running around with that teddy bears of her, what was it's name? Henry?
But all I can see in my mind is her, on the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, beeping, keeping her alive.
''Oh God'' I yell out in to the dark, to no one. It's getting darker, and colder. A whimper escapes from my lips. I'm not sure if it's because of Katie, the coldness, the sadness or for no reason at all.
Suddenly my mind flashes an image of the shotgun my father left me. It's in the storage room, just waiting.
Fuck that. It's only an hour, less now. 45 minutes left. I can pull through.
''But why should you?'' An unknown voice in my head says. ''Katie is gone, you're all alone. What does a loser, like *you* have to live for?
I tell the voice to go to hell. But there is something about that voice. Persuasion....
30 minutes. I sit on the edge of my sofa, a bottle of 20 year old scotch in my hand, drinking it like some cheap beer. My coffee table is full of ash and crumbled up cigarettes. I feel drunk. *Numb the pain* ♫*Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. If that mockingbird won't sing....*♫
25 minutes. You don't know what pain is.
20 minutes. Katie. How I miss you sunshine.
15 minutes. I feel like my mind is in someone else's body. Auto pilot.
12 minutes. The bottle of scotch is empty, it clang when I dropped in on the carpet. I have three cigarettes left.
10 minutes. It's not many steps to the storage closet. Where did I leave the key?
8 minutes. I didn't find the keys to the closet. The hinges were easy to break. I didn't feel no physical pain.
6 Minutes. Darkness.....Just.....Darkness....And....Pain....
4 minutes. ♫*And if that billy goat won't pull,
Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull*♫
3 minutes. I'm back on the edge of my sofa. The shotgun is old. I wonder if it will go off.
2 minutes. The cold barrel of the gun doesn't taste good in my mouth. Metallic. Like blood. And a casino coin that has been used by too many people, too many times.
90 seconds. What do *you* know about loneliness?
60 seconds....♫* And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town *♫
30 seconds
Darkness...just.....darkness....
And pain... | 2015-01-06T09:43:44 | 2015-01-06T08:15:01 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] A normal person is transported to a world where English is the language of magic. | "Oh, cock..."
A phallus appeared, joining the pile of miscellaneous things.
A crowd had appeared around him at some point, most smirking at his evident misfortune.
"Oh do fuck off." He'd had enough of these wankers ridiculing him in their weird language.
The crowd all began to undress, horrified expressions beginning to form as they deciphered what he'd said. It was, however, too late.
They all began masturbating, and a few horrifying minutes later of mothers looking at sons, fathers at daughters and lovers at each other, they began to, one by one, rocket off into the horizon, a torrent of white, suspiciously clear, liquid propelling them upwards.
James May facepalmed as Clarkson and Hammond had the time of their lives laughing at him. | Another day, another boring day as a clerk at the local 7 Twelve.
As I just got settled away at work, a young girl with dark brown hair and pale white skin, came inside the building.
"May I ask what you are looking for?" I asked with a slight smile. But, she looked at me with confusion and disgust. She took two steps back and said the words "Thou are sent to Little Wood's Death!"
It took me off guard. She looked around and was confused as what was happening- er, what was *not* happening.
"Where am I?!" she said while grasping onto my apron. "Uh- 7 Twelve!, ma'am."
She let go, with a victimized look. "Am I not in Little Woods?" "Uh- sorry ma'am, but I never heard of *Little Woods*..."
She let out a wail and screamed "Send me back home!"
That's when it happened. The dirty white tiles began to fall into a black void. "What the hell is going on?!" I yelled, but she smiled and said "We're going to Little Woods, Young Servant!"
I began to fall. But strangely, it felt like I was swimming in dark milky waters.
****
"Uh... where am I?" I said in a rough voice.
"**LITTLE WOODS!**" A deep voice replied.
"Huh... *wait* **WHAT**?!"
"Young servant. Are thou all right?" It sounded like the girl from before, but this time in a gentler voice. "Uh, yeah I am-" I stopped. What sat before me was the same girl, but this time, she no longer had dark brown hair, but silvery white. And she also was wearing a pitch black dress with white frills throughout.
"Welcome to Little Woods, Young Servant." she said "I am Thanotas WhiteLock. The Princess of this world."
"What?" I said. But as I looked around, I realized I *very* much wasn't in 7 Twelve any longer. But I was in a field of flowers and behind me was a dark forest with mushrooms in various sizes.
"Welp, I'm very much dead..." I said in a sarcastic voice.
"No, Young Servant, you are very much alive. All I did was bring you to Little Woods. My homeland."
"Firstly, lady. Stop calling me *'Young Servant'*. And secondly, who the hell are you?!"
I know she said it a minute ago, but it still hasn't sunk in. "I'm Princess Thanotas WhiteLock. Heir to the throne of Little Woods."
Still isn't getting into me...
"Oh- I'm also the Goddess of Death! Teehee!"
Great.
"So, Young Servant. If you don't like being called Young Servant, what is thou name?"
"My name? It's um-" She helps me get on my feet. "It's um- I can't remember..."
"**Thou name is Theodore CrimsonLock**" A deep voice replied. "Okay, who the hell keeps saying that?! And also, I think my name is Theodore, but not CrimsonLo-" Thanotas has her mouth wide open. "You- You're Theodore CrimsonLock?!" She screams in my ear. "I know it's Theodore, but I can't remember exactly if it's CrimsonLock-"
Thanotas get's on one knee and says "Welcome to Little Woods...
...Young Master." | 2015-08-24T17:23:09 | 2015-08-24T17:18:54 | 148 | 25 |
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though. | Satan sat, head in his hands, listening to his top general, Beelzebub.
"All we have are these fucking flaming swords!" the general spat.
Satan looked up, "Well those 'fucking flaming swords' have done us wonders in all past fights, throughout time, with the above forces."
Azazel chimed in, "In the past all we were doing was cutting off wings, and cutting through plate and chain armor. Do you know what a "tank" is? We can hardly get near the things. And on the rare occasion we manage to strike at them it does literally nothing."
"Well what about psychological warfare?" Satan asked." "We are the cause of nightmares. We are the reason people stay awake at night! We are the creators of..."
"Actually sir," Azazel interrupted, "They stay up watching strong pornography, and actively searching out the most disturbing images they can find, in between fits of watching Netflix that is. Our most advanced psychological illusions are now top hits on Youtube."
Satan sighed, "At least the Heavenly Forces are not having it any easier. Humanity doesn't like anyone coming to take over."
Some commotion could be heard outside the doors of the meeting hall. A guard rushes to announce the new visitor, but is shovedout of the way by a large figure in blood-stained white. Obviously an angel, but with no sword, no armor, and with wings down. He appeared to be dying.
"What the this-place is an Apache Helicopter!"
In the days that followed humanity used guns, carbon fiber, steel, and jet fuel, to beat the ever living shit out of all lesser races. Our military leaders laughed at their medieval weapons and armor, which did nothing against their war-machines. In the end they tortured the locations of the portals-to-other-planes out of the enemy forces. Heaven is currently being turned into a resort dimension, and hell is being used to store garbage until we think of something better to do with it. | For ages we have been watching the cosmos. What is out there. WE looked through our telescopes, we sent out our drones and eventually we had manned expeditions. Each step we had the information that there was nothing out there. That our Earth was an anomaly but we persisted and we failed.
But our disappointment did not last for long.
Time travel has always been a popular subject especially for the young, hopeful minds who were going to use it to make a quick fortune. So quick they'd have the account in their name even before they were born. It was during this rush to solve The Equation first and be the next superpower of the world when It was discovered.
Alternate dimensions. Different realities. That which may be, that which could be. At first like the space initiatives we could only look into them but eventually we could send probes through. The readings were strange at first if we could get them back at all. For the two realities directly by our own it was either too hot or too cold. Nothing which could support life.
Or so we thought until we were sent something back from The Cold as we called it. A simple message, surprisingly, in our language. Every language on Earth. Even those extinct from long ago. Sentence on sentence which only said one thing. "Stop! Before it is too late!"
Unfortunately in comparison we were still a young race and we wanted to prove ourselves to these new beings so we continued. We should have known that something was up with the increase of religious nuts taking to the streets, television, the internet. Anything which can reach people really. As a civilization of science we thought nothing of it. Just people collectively expressing their insecurities as they have in the past before education stamped it out.
Boy were we wrong.
Our attempts to make the dimensional breaches became too effective and we ended up with two extremely large portals. One in the prep station for The Cold at the North Pole and another which after burning up the station at the Sahara Desert became a ever burning lake of fire. We didn't even have a day to study this new phenomenon. The legions were out as if they were already ready.
Thankfully having the stations at sites too extreme for human habitation meant that the legions would be unable to cause any damage to the civilians besides the possessions. Our study after the war concluded the breaches somehow sent out waves to take control of the minds of those unnaturally susceptible to it like the increasing religious. Some attacked civilians indiscriminately while others for some reason only known to them decided to attack those aggressors.
A pretty good tactic to weaken our defenses but fortunately those working on the breaches were organized enough to be diverted to fixing up a defense against it. At the same time the militaries of the world were trying to hold the physical legions back. At first they were caught off guard. Bright searing lights which would disintegrate a man. Streams of fire which would take out a platoon. The worst part of all were that these attacks could have come from anywhere.
Until General Blight, God bless his soul pointed out that the enemy forces only had what? Wings? Swords? Tridents? Claws? Sure they were horrifying to look at but they were primitive. Those that couldn't rely on wings had to move around by horses. Perhaps if this assault had happened a century or two ago it would have been effective but our civilization had advanced and gone past such things.
Not to mention, one of those monsters being riddled with bullets was effective enough to stop them.
Unfortunately it seemed like their forces were endless and we were locked into fighting on both fronts for months. It was taking a toll on our troops until, they just stopped coming out from the breach and there were no new reports of random attacks by civilians. We waited for another month or so before trying to get into the breach ourselves but with no success. The conditions were still too extreme for anyone to survive in them.
On the bright side though, we were able to find out that the quality of life for everyone is a lot more better now that we no longer have to put our attention to the fighting. Whether because of the breaches or the eradication of these aliens it looks like people are living a lot longer now. Aside from the casualties from the war, there have been no more reported deaths from anyone. Even teh sick and elderly.
It also seems like the war has put humanity into perspective as less people are looking to the usual distractions. Wasteful habits we label as vices and time consumers like organized religion. A good thing to be sure. With the study into alternate dimensions currently put on hold in case we actually face a force we wouldn't be able to hold out against until we are able to manufacture better defences the increased enlightened workforce is needed to look into the changes brought by these dimensional breaches. | 2015-09-24T09:55:50 | 2015-09-24T09:30:02 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] Faster than light communication becomes possible, and humanity establishes contact with a hostile alien species that immediately declares war; however, neither we nor they have access to faster than light travel, so the only means of combat is through insults and rap battles.
[removed] | We have finally won the war between worlds. It took 20 years to break them. We realized we would never win if we kept communicating threats 5 years in. Our strategy changed to one for peace and changing the way they thought. For 15 years we sent the same message, day and night. Today the Alien race responded with words of surrender to our chant...
We're no strangers to love
You know the rules and so do I
A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
You wouldn't get this from any other guy
I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
Gotta make you understand
Never gonna give you up.
Never gonna let you down.
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry.
Never gonna say goodbye.
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you. | I put my pot of coffee on. It was always the first thing I did when I got into the lab. There wasn't time for chitchat until coffee was at least coming. Some people recommended that I get a coffee maker at home. They were the same kind of person that thought to teach an addict to make meth was a good idea.
"You good?" Alexander asked as he held the clipboard tight in his hands, he was the intern and had a habit of staying in the office far too long.
"Kinda," I sighed, "anything?"
"Everything."
"Everything?"
"I think I cracked the code," he took his papers off the clipboard and shoved them over to me. I started to look them over as coffee dripped down, "see?"
"I see that you finished what we were working on yesterday." I pointed out, "you can't say you cracked the code, or you're going to get someone who cares on your ass."
"You don't care."
"I don't care before coffee," I sighed, "but if you have finished it, what does the message say?"
"Well," Alexander started to lead me over to the central console. I glanced back to the pot of coffee and followed, "if I'm reading it right, it's a declaration of war."
"War?"
"Yes."
"So their first message was war?"
"Also Yes."
"So while we were sending rosetta stones, they were declaring war."
"It looks like it."
"Do you know where Theata Seven is?" I asked, "Do we have a timeline."
"Well, not exactly." He pointed out. Without saying another word he handed me a pile of papers, I read the message.
*We do not possess FTL technologies for travel, we await your arrival on our planet to fight to the bitter end.*
"Bitter," he added as I looked back up to him, "is a bit of a flavour, there wasn't a direct word for what they wanted to say."
"So do we ignore it?"
"I mean," he started, "Can we?"
"I don't know."
**_______________________________________________________________**
I watched on the sidelines as the president set up for his address. We'd told him about the translation earlier today. When the rest of the messages came through it was obvious that over the past four months they had figured out that we weren't going to show up. They had called us pussies and told us that we would fight in the ways of old, which happened to be rhythmic insulting. We called it rap.
"My fellow Americans," the president began, "the time has come for us to throw down. As you know," he paused like he always did, "we found alien life earlier this year. We are now at war." He looked solemn, "This war will not be fought with guns, or battles. It will be combated with sick beats and warriors or speech. They want to fight us in a rap battle; it's time for the earth to show everyone that we can get down with the best of them."
The rest of the speech was as reasonable as it could have been considering the subject matter. I was given a briefing after the speech that Alexander and I were to work on working the alien language into a modern direct translation programme.
It was going to be an uphill battle; there was a list a mile long of things that now rhymed and words that no longer did. There were words that they didn't have; there were words that we could use that meant complicated concepts in most Earthen Language. We were going to destroy them; we just needed the right person to rap in a different language.
| 2015-11-24T00:30:59 | 2015-11-24T00:13:04 | 167 | 14 |
[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been. | “You do understand the sentencing system.”
Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?”
The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.”
Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.”
“The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.”
“Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.”
“On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”
| A lawyer, young and well dressed, stands in front of a jury and paces for a couple of seconds before he adjusts his glasses and starts to speak.
"Alfred Benson is a name synonymous with murder. Called the most successful serial killer in history and the most efficient with 395 confirmed kills, 210 days in prison. He has often confessed to the crimes and served his time. But, not this time. Why? Because his victim today had another 8 years of life to live. We all know it wouldn't have been pretty if Fred's mom had lived those 8 years with dementia, but this is the world we live in. Freddy Benson does not offer a defense that he put his mother out of her misery to save her the heartache of losing her memories or herself. No, he claims he did not do it. That he was framed, but this is a man with a long history whose finger prints were found on the gun, his gun. This man is a monster who cannot resist killing even his own mother. Do the world a service and find this man guilty. The prosecution rests."
The lawyer sits down and lets the defense offer their closing argument. Benson's lawyer is small and a bit disheveled in dress. He stands and speaks immediately.
"Yes, my client's prints were found on the gun, but forensic testing proved that he did not fire that gun that day. And yes, my client is a serial killer, but in the sense that he saves people some pain, ends their misery a bit early. This type of murder that he is on trial for is not his MO. He poisons his victims. The gun is for defense, and that is the reasonable doubt right there. So many people wanted this man dead or to take the fall for a true life sentence. Mr. Benson's mother was living with him at his request. He loved her. He doted on her. This does not fit at all with the Mr. Benson's previous crimes. It does not fit, so you must acquit. Thank you."
The lawyer sits down and the jury deliberates. They return in a few minutes. The courtroom stands. The foreman reads the verdict.
"We find the defendant guilty."
Freddy had heard this so many times, but this time was different. He was innocent, but he had many enemies. Still, it was only 8 years. He was big, tough, and smart. He would be fine. He just wish he knew who had set him up and killed his mom. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed it was the lead prosecutor himself.
***
The prosecutor talks to the press and heads to his car. He turns the ignition and lets it warm up for a few minutes. His mother in law would be proud, well, ex-mother in law. He still admired the woman and was so angry when Benson killed her. It was his ex who had finished Benson's mother, but he helped as much as he could. He knew Benson would pick up the gun. He figured it would be enough, but he was overjoyed when he was assigned the case. Eight years still wasn't enough, but it was something. Yeah, Benson would be done for a while and maybe even change his ways, be a reformed man. Or, better yet, die in prison. Either way, justice had been served. The most notorious serial killer in history was behind bars and, ironically, it was for a crime he didn't commit. He can't help but smile at that.
***
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4llzqy/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/)
[Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lm44f/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/)
[Finale](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lmf9a/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/) | 2016-05-29T09:41:46 | 2016-05-29T06:30:54 | 146 | 36 |
[WP] The entire world lost electricity 10 days ago. You find an old phone in a drawer and switch it on. A wifi network comes up. It's named, "Do you want to do a deal with the devil?" | Ten days ago I sent a message. Ten days ago I bared my soul to a girl named Charlotte.
At this point the entire world gave up. Tablet's, phone's, Laptop's, you name it they were obsolete. Useless pieces of plastic and metal, the electronic industry fell, many of the upper class toppled. Electronics were replaced and repurposed.
The modern Buffalo was now extinct.
I booted up the phone to make sure it was worth at least a full twenty bucks.
"The fuck"
I saw the little WiFi thingy on the top left of the screen.
"It's fucken autistic or something."
Settings>WiFi>Network
There with four of the strongest bars I have ever seen. "Do you want to deal with the devil?"
App store>Search>Twitter>Download
My answer was yes.
I sat there... Time was ticking.
I didn't remember phones being this slow.
You would think if I was the only person with WiFi it would be faster than this.
Or maybe there wasn't enough phones and they all needed to work together to make the signal faster.
Eh what do I know I'm a gym teacher.
I did however know that I was staring at this phone for twenty minutes now.
Phone>Contacts>Tec Support>Call
*Brrrrring brrring*
The other line picked up.
"HELLO AND WELCOME TO YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD COMCAST PROVIDER, PRESS ONE IF YOU WOULD LIKE T-."
I hung up.
Maybe the world didn't need internet after all. | Drawer after drawer would be drawn open, the wheels inside the box grinding against the wood, and then closed with a rushed thud. I was looking for something, anything that would help me survive; food, water, flashlights, a book - anything.
I rummaged through the abandoned apartment. What was once surely an extravagant and luxuries living area turned into a haunting after image of Armageddon, a husk left behind by the materialistic and comfortable life we built, watching it crumble to dust as if it were built upon glass pillars.
Ten days ago: time mysteriously stood still, trains slowed to a deadly silent halt, buildings which lit the city up like stars faded into the abyss, planes fell from the sky and lit the world in fireworks, cars stopped in the middle of traffic, their momentum forcing collisions around the world in rapid succession, like the final heartbeats of a world falling into a sleepless and unending dream.
I drew out one drawer after the other and banged it closed, a sweat bead sliding down my temple as my eye kept darting over the tables horizon as I stared between the gap of the two buildings parallel to me, now that time stood still it became ever more precious and as I stared upon the setting sun I knew I had to go back to my shelter soon.
I drew out a drawer and slammed it immediately, I paused for a second, before pulling the drawer out once more. I stared upon a phone, I didn't know why or for what reason I thought it might work, I took the phone, it was a newer model of the Iphone series. After another second of hesitation I forced my index finger onto the top and pressed against the power button.
I remembered that all too distant white apple too well. A victorious grin with a gasp of excitement escaped my lips, I looked around me, partially to see if there was anyone to celebrate this discovery with, and also to make sure that I was still alone.
The screen was that of Earth photographed from space, I slid my thumb over the Home button and pressed it, luckily no pass code was needed.
I looked up once more at the gap between the buildings, panic began to set in as I overstayed my welcome, the sun had almost completely set.
I stared back down, frantically going through the phone only to find no apps had been downloaded.
I then went into the settings, an urge forced me through the network settings. My smile weakened, as it slowly transitioned into a frown and then a state of fright and discomfort.
My hand trembled, there was a Wi-fi network available, I struggled to breath, curiosity boding me onward.
A trembling thumb hovered over the network name, I reread it to make sure I hadn't misread.
"Do you want to make a deal with the devil?" It read, almost mockingly, most probably a practical joke, luckily no security code was necessary, and I connected instantly.
The phone began to ring, my body jerked in paralyzed fear. I let the ring go off for a little while longer before my senses began to come back to me, I covered the speakers of the phone, and looked around myself, making sure no one heard it, I strained my ears; searching for the sound of footsteps. Anything that signified a mere reminder of the days past would draw others like a moth to a fly, they would cling to it as a symbol of pointless hope, a fake beacon to light their way back to times past, the ring tone became a muffled noise under my palms.
Finally I turned towards the phone with a forced gulp, the phone felt incredibly heavy all of a sudden and I could have sworn it had grown several times in size, dwarfing my hands.
A trembling thumb answered the phone call as I lifted it to my ears.
"H-hello," I stuttered, trying to be as coherent in my frightful state.
"Are you sure?" Asked a foreboding voice and rasped voice, a gasp escaped my clattering teeth, my knees began to feel weak at the weight of my body.
"Y-yes" I forced, my breathing grew rasp like a gazelle being questioned by a lion.
A moment of silence filled the phone, only static could be heard on each end.
"Wise choice," said the voice demonic and foreboding voice, its presence filled the room and breathed down my neck, as a bag was pulled over my head: the world had truly turned dark. | 2016-12-26T07:24:47 | 2016-12-26T06:46:39 | 83 | 46 |
[WP] Write a story that contains a huge plot hole, and try to sneak it past the reader. The bigger the plot hole the better. | Troy ecstatically led his clients upstairs to the master bedroom.
"Oh yes! The master bedroom is absolutely gorgeous; you'll find that almost everything in the room will be to your liking, Mr. Johnson," said Troy reassuringly.
"Almost? What do you mean by almost everything?" inquired Johnson.
"Well I will need to warn you." Troy paused. He wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to see for yourself," Troy replied while pushing open the doors to the master bedroom.
Johnson could only stare in disbelief at what unfolded before his eyes. "It's a hole," Johnson managed to stammer.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Johnson," Troy looked at Johnson as innocent as possible. "It is a hole...on this plot of land. A plot hole."
Johnson looked back at Troy then back to the hole. "Where does it lead to?" Johnson asked.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to be frank with you. I don't know. If you look very carefully, there's only darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. In fact, I dropped my favorite pen last week, and I never heard it land. It just kept falling. But this is a great feature Mr. Johnson; I assure you. You will never need to buy another garbage can again! Just toss all your trash into this hole! In fact, you could probably poop into it as well. Just think of all the endless possibilities with this hole," said Troy.
While it was true that there was a large, gaping plot hole in the side of the room, this one story house was beautiful. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were all to his liking. Johnson briefly considered the pros and cons and resolutely decided that he will take this house. | Nola stood, thin and weak, in the well lit hospital hallway. Dirty, skintight jeans clung to her legs, a loose shirt covered her frame, and she had on a pair of worn flat tops. Her hair, blonde and stringy, was held back in a messy bun. Nola shivered, and walked down the hallway, the scent of antiseptic and ammonia filled the air, choking her. Nurses and doctors, patients and loved ones, rushed past her, speeding through their lives, filled with hope and stress and relief and pain and sadness.
With determination, with desperate loss, Nola stumbled through the hospital, searching desperately for escape, for a way out. The halls twisted and turned, taking Nola this way and that. Nola followed them, followed the flow of the nurses and doctors and patients, followed the colored lines on the floor, the signs on the doors, blindly. She couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend. She felt a hand come up to her shoulder. Her eyes, too bleary to focus, couldn’t see.
“I’m so sorry for your loss dear. I’m sure she was a lovely woman.” Came a woman’s voice.
Nola shook her head. She barely heard the words; they didn’t register. She continued, stumbling down the hall. She had no clue who she was.
Finally, she found an exit, and burst out onto the busy street. Rough concrete spread out to a busy sidewalk, filled with passersby and pedestrians. Overhead, towering monoliths of brown and grey and steel and stone and glass rose above Nola’s head. She glanced around, unsure of where to go, unsure of what to do. The noise of the city, the screeching of tires, the talking the yelling the honking the beeping the clanking the cooing, filled the air around her; a deafening roar.
Spying an alcove, a momentary respite, cut into one of the nearby buildings, Nola pushed her way through the crowd, and hide off to the edge of the sidewalk. She leaned back against the cool concrete of the alcove, and felt the rough texture of the building through her thin shirt. Nola let out a sigh, and ran a hand over her face. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what do think. Her world had fallen apart around her; it had come completely undone. Her twin sister, Iralia, had been shot earlier today; a mugging gone wrong. She’d died, in the nearby hospital, just now, holding onto Nola’s hands. The image, of her sister, of her pleading eyes, her hair, her lips, her smell, her nose, her fingers, her palms, everything about her was burned into Nola’s mind, every last detail, plastered into her very being, her very core.
Nola whimpered, and raised a hand to her mouth. She tried not to cry, tried to think, as she stood there, and let the sound and smells and sights of the city, chocked with life, and death, and pointless misery and happiness, wash over her.
A man walked past Nola. He glanced at her momentarily, and gave a quick nod of his head.
“I’m so sorry. She was an amazing woman.” He grunted, walking past Nola before she had a chance to reply.
Nola sunk to her knees, quietly crying to herself. Barely thinking, barely hearing, barely seeing. She cried to herself, until her eyes ran dry, and her throat was hoarse.
Slowly, she raised her head from her hands. She sniffled, and the image of her sister’s face haunted her. She gritted her teeth, and rose. With a sad determination, Nola turned, and walked back towards the hospital. She felt broken, shattered, alone and destroyed and incomplete and forgotten.
But she knew what Iralia would say.
With a smile on her face, she would hold Nola’s hand, and whisper softly with a smile.
“Don’t worry. All we have to do is pick up the broken pieces, and put them back together.”
----------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got tons more stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that.
P.S. - This prompt was crazy hard but really cool! I wanted to make a really big, interesting plot hole, but ended up cheating and just making two small ones. Still, Hope you enjoyed! | 2017-03-20T15:31:34 | 2017-03-20T14:31:29 | 400 | 12 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here. | Jesus huh, your name means nothing, only one name matters to me and that's my daughter, Mary. But you sullied that name, you spread her name with ill repute because she rejected you, you told everyone she was a whore...now it's your turn to suffer.
Every piece of gold I have and that is not insignificant in its measure, every treasure I possess is going into your eternal punishment.
You took peace from her in life so now I will take it from you in death.
I have enlisted scholars with knowledge over man that cannot be ignored, they are writing a book that will never be forgotten and that book will contain your name on every page.
You will never be forgotten, your spirit will wander this earth alone for all eternity and for all eternity you will suffer.
My Mary Magdalene, my beautiful world, she took her life because of your poisoned words so now it will be my words that condemn you forever.
| Oh, you're new here, fresh off the press. Literally, what a gruesome way to die you had. But that's all in the past now, that body is nothing but meat now so stop associating yourself with it, and listen to me, your guide to the afterlife, one who has been here longer than anyone else.
Let me explain how it works. You see, you're a ghost now, just like me. A ghost is an observer, left to watch over people who cared about them. As soon as your legacy vanishes- you disappear.
The first century is the most difficult. Humans rarely know their family tree beyond third or fourth generation, so a typical ghost exists for around 70 years, usually the longer they lived the longer they are remembered.
I met many of them in my early years, but at some point they start to get boring. Thousands of years pass, yet peasants have the same stories, the same problems, the same vendettas. I still randomly visit a couple per decade, but that usually makes for pretty dull experiences, although there was a memorable one recently.
She was a very weak ghost, an ophran girl who died at 15. Most people around her forgot her a week after her funeral, with the sole exception being a boy who had a crush on her. She clinged to him like a burdrock seed for a couple months, but one day he saw another pretty girl- and just like that, she went poof in a cloud of smoke. Her face then is impossible to forget, but unfortunately ghost memories don't count. Oh, sorry, got a bit carried away.
So, what happens past a hundred or so? No, let's rephrase it a bit. What is different about these who persist past that? The answer is, they are the ones who leave their name in history, not just in close people's minds. However minor that contribution is- down to shoemakers and tavern owners whose buisnesses stand and carry their names and heritage throught centuries, even if only a few people keep them up. These are wonky, as soon as buisness closes their days are numbered, but they still outlive your normal folk who gets born, live a quiet life and just die.
A step above that are truely historical figures, like I am. Kings, religious leaders, breakthrough scientists, famous artists, legendary warriors, these are the ghosts that simply can't disappear at this point, though that only got solidified very recently with widespread, globalised education, for which I thank your generation and a dozen before that. For thousands of years I feared that one day it'd just end.
Just five centuries ago there were Aztecs, for example, their settlements were absolutely sprawling with ghosts because of how they preserved their history- right until they got wiped out by spainards. The educated top was eradicated, and suddenly most of ghosts were gone, the rest disappeared as soon as the last of uneducated enslaved bottom died. A shame, really, lost lots of great folks there.
By the way, your prospects don't look promising, but that's not something you can change now. I'd advice you to not go to your family right now, it'll be heartbreaking, wait a couple years. Meanwhile, go meet people and visit places you couldn't even think about meeting while alive, like your grandpa who died before you were born, or the insides of pyramids. Don't even try to get to Jesus, he has a century-long line now, and frankly you'll be disappointed, same applies to most popular personalities out there. And don't try to influence anything in the world, that won't work. So, on this note, I think I shall leave, you'll get a hang of the rest yourself. Have fun! | 2017-06-26T11:56:24 | 2017-06-26T11:32:59 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Jesus is an intergalactic fugitive who is known for starting cults on contact-forbidden developing worlds. The intergalactic bounty hunter tracks his last known coordinates to Earth. | "Have you found Jesus?" the man in black asked.
My face contorted. *Being Human for Dummies* said this was rage.
"No, I haven't!" I spat. "Why would I be here if I'd found Jesus?"
I guess he wasn't expecting me to shout. I didn't mean to, I was just having trouble modulating the analog vocal synthesiser these primates used to communicate. He crossed his legs, protecting the thin tube of flesh in his groin that circulated his bodily fluids. I suspected he was hiding something.
"It might be a silly question, but what makes you want to *find* him?"
"I want the reward."
He nodded. "Yes, everybody wants that reward. But we have to *work* for it; we have to *earn* it."
*Is this asshole telling me how to do my job?* I wondered. Maybe he *also* wanted the reward.
"Jesus says that he is like the good shepherd, who when having lost one of his flock, leaves all of them to go find it."
I stood up out of my chair with enough force to knock it over. How could he know that I'd been trained by the man himself? That I'd left the flock and had to flee for my life centuries before I became a bounty hunter?
He wasn't in it for the money; he was *working* for the bastard!
"He's watching, isn't he?" I asked.
"Jesus is always watching," he replied, glancing at the toppled chair. "Is there something you wish he didn't see?"
*He knows about the weapon,* I thought.
"Can you send him a message?"
He frowned. "Why don't you tell him yourself?"
*He's here?!*
"Just tell him... tell him I'm not afraid. I know what I have to do, and I'll be back. With more."
I spun on my heel and ran out the door. I had no idea how far the surveillance drones extended, possibly all over the planet. He'd done that before. He'd turned entire planets into his little death traps.
So I hid against the door. If he was in that room, I'd hear it. If he wasn't...
"Frank!" called a woman's voice. "Don't send the newbies preaching! You'll get into trouble again!"
| > Acts 1:7-9
> 7 He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority.
> 8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
> 9 After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.
The tractor beam kept Jesus floating upwards behind the cloud. It was a little far, and the low pressure was beginning to bother him, but he had parked so high for a reason. Even these primitive people would know what he was if they saw him fly off in his shuttle. The beam led him into the shuttle, which was camouflaged among the clouds, and once he had closed the trap door at the bottom of his shuttle, he sighed and let himself rest on the ground.
Then he laughed.
Nobody in the Intergalactic Union knew why Jesus, AKA Joshua, AKA Josh, AKA Yoshte'al of Planet Zenatar, did what he did. They looked upon him like a puzzle of a thousand pieces, all of which changed shape and size at irregular intervals. "How strange", they would say, or "why would he pick that place?"
Jesus didn't care, though. It was not about the place, or the people. It was about the adoration. Primitive people would fall in love with anyone and anything that was beyond them. A packet of wine powder flavouring hidden in his sleeve, a pocket replicator here or there, a second heart... little tricks here and there and he would find himself adored by disciples, hated by the elites, the truest celebrity that there could ever be.
He loved every minute of it. They were so easily amazed by his entrances and his exits! He laughed, and laughed, laying down on the floor of his shuttle rejoicing at what had just occurred. It felt so good to be loved so deeply. Zenatarians were good at many things, like shapeshifting, and deriving nutrients from the soil, but they did not love--they were never so deluded--as most other sentient beings in the universe. It was intoxicating.
"What's so funny?"
The mirth vanished from Jesus' face and he sat up, gasping for air. There, in the pilot's seat, slouched Toyel.
"...Shit," he muttered.
"I asked you a question, buddy. What's so damn funny?"
"Look, Toyel, I know what this looks like--"
"What this looks like? I know what this is. You know that I know what this is."
"I was just having a little fun, I--"
Toyel smiled, and pressed a few buttons in front of her. The shuttle sped off the planet, and Jesus fell backwards and to one side, until he was plastered across the back panel.
"I'm not going to make the same mistake again. We're Tatalo Five. Then, you're going to spend a lot of time in a very small room with a big tough roommate called Pud."
As the acceleration began to decrease, and their speed became more constant, Jesus began making his way to one of the seats. The seatbelt strapped itself across him automatically, and Toyel put holding bracelets on his arms.
"Didn't I tell you I would catch you eventually?"
Jesus said nothing. He was too busy planning his next move. Tatalo Five was the outermost planet in a circumbinary star system. That put it in a surprisingly convenient position, as far as jails went...
"Oh no you don't."
"I don't what? I know when I'm beaten, Toyel," Jesus said, giving her a respectful little nod. If he could get a hold of a two-engine intergalactic ship...
"I know that face. You're not slipping through the cracks again. I've had it with you getting glorified turtles to worship you."
"This time it was apes," he added, still thinking about the logistics of it all. He would have an easy time sling-shooting around with one of those, at which point the engine drive would get overworked due to the radiation, and then he could be home free, with a super-charged engine that could go anywhere he wanted.
"I don't care. Stop doing what you're doing. You lost."
"I'm not doing anything." Jesus smiled. He was rather proud of that smile. It had entranced so many different tribes, after all.
"Then this won't hinder you one bit."
"Wha--"
She stabbed him in the shoulder with a small tube. The thing released... something, in his body, and as it changed shape to adapt, blackness closed in on him.
"I went shopping after last time," she said, but he didn't really hear her. He didn't really hear anything. Within the minute, he was completely unconscious, his body pulsing occasionally as if to verify he was still alive. | 2017-10-14T22:32:17 | 2017-10-14T22:15:02 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Your dog digs in the same hole in your backyard everyday. Each day,the hole is getting deeper. Today, you find out it's for an underground bunker. | i am a pup
i like my guy
temps goin up
dont want to die
i dig a hole
dig it so deep
food from my bowl
food in hole keep
guy does not kno
i do not mind
guy mad at hole
still he so kind
today i am done
hole can fit guy
slep in the sun
put guy inside
show guy the hole
guy v surprise
more food in bowl
pup and guy won't die
guy give me pets
now always in hole
food cannot gets
no food in bowl
i do not mind
guy seems so sad
still is so kind
no longer gets mad
calls me good boi
always more pets
i'll be best boi
i luv my guy
stay safe in hole
no go outside | "Buddy, not again," James frowned as he walked into his garden. "The hole is so big again."
It was a weird dog of his. He had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Still, he looked a cute and friendly one anyway, so he took the dog as his own. Even so, the dog had been spending most of the time digging this very hole.
"Come on, Buddy. I'm tired of putting the dirt back all the... time," as he reached the hole, he saw a door at the end of the hole.
Buddy tail was swinging like crazy and he was making circles around the door. The door had a valve.
"I'm not sure I should be messing with it, Buddy," James whispered. Something felt wrong. Buddy, however, started barking.
"Fine, Buddy. Fine. If that makes you leave my garden alone," James sighed and got himself down into the hole. He was surprised when the Valve actually rotated pretty easily and the door opened.
Buddy entered the bunker without any hesitation.
"Buddy! Hey. Stupid dog. We don't know what's down there!" he was already thinking of radioactive things or such could be hidden there. He removed his phone and turned on its built-in flashlight.
He looked now down the ladder and saw nothing there. It wasn't a long wall, else buddy wouldn't have launched down there.
With a deep breath, he convinced himself to go down. He took hold of the ladder and made the tiny climb down. It was a simple room, leading to another room. It was empty. All of it. He opened the other door and peeked inside. In there was an empty bed.
*Bang.*
James spun around, all confused. There was much less light suddenly. He quickly walked towards the exit, but the door was shut.
As he got himself top of the ladder, he tried to push the door open. After all, it was probably just a wind.
The door, however, was locked. There was a tiny window, from where he could peek outside. Even as he tried to peek out, there was nothing to be seen. The window was also dirty, which made it extra hard. Sweat gathered around James like crazy.
Barking. A sudden barking. Except, it came outside. Suddenly Buddy looked through the window towards James.
"Bloody hell. How did you get back up there, Buddy?" James asked, laughing nervously. Buddy just barked.
"You closed it? Be a good dog and open it," he didn't even understand why he asked that. Buddy was a dog. A dumb dog who dug one spot all the time.
A dirt fell on the window.
"Buddy?" James shouted.
More dirt fell on it. As he stopped breathing, he could hear it. Buddy was clawing dirt back on the door.
"Buddy? What are you doing! Stop!"
He quickly opened the phone to call an emergency number, but there was no signal.
"Buddy? What are you doing? Stop it!" James screamed. "Stop it, Buddy!"
Slowly, his shouts got more and more murmured. At one point, nothing came through. Buddy was walking over the dug land to push dirt in more and more.
He barked last few times and then walked towards his nearby kennel. He lied down and started chewing a nearby bone. A skeleton hand at the end of the bone now and then got shaken around while Buddy was chewing the main bone. Behind the kennel, there was also a small dug up spot. A tiny bit of a skull was still visible.
---
Never piss off human's best friend!
/r/ElvenWrites - if you're interested my past or future written stuff. | 2018-04-27T10:33:46 | 2018-04-27T08:08:00 | 2,062 | 226 |
[WP] Your dog digs in the same hole in your backyard everyday. Each day,the hole is getting deeper. Today, you find out it's for an underground bunker. | i am a pup
i like my guy
temps goin up
dont want to die
i dig a hole
dig it so deep
food from my bowl
food in hole keep
guy does not kno
i do not mind
guy mad at hole
still he so kind
today i am done
hole can fit guy
slep in the sun
put guy inside
show guy the hole
guy v surprise
more food in bowl
pup and guy won't die
guy give me pets
now always in hole
food cannot gets
no food in bowl
i do not mind
guy seems so sad
still is so kind
no longer gets mad
calls me good boi
always more pets
i'll be best boi
i luv my guy
stay safe in hole
no go outside | “Come on, boy...” Marcus said, sighing at the sight of the hole.
The neighbors weren’t happy with how his backyard looked. It didn’t conform the neat and proper image of the neighborhood. Before he broke out of the slums at the lower levels of the city, he’d always thought that life would be pristine here.
He shook his head and kicked at the mound of dirt. For the last week, Logan had been coming inside with his paws dirty. He’d also been a lot more whiny lately. Perhaps he, too, wasn’t overly pleased with the new neighborhood.
A few steps closer to the edge. Logan had dug deep into the lawn. Nothing better to do during the days, Marcus supposed. He lit a cigar, and inhaled deeply.
The flash of the lighter caught something down in the hole. A gleam of metal beneath the dirt.
“What the...” he mumbled and knelt down in the grass to get a better look.
The flat surface of a dark rock met his eyes. And on it, a circular golden symbol with lines shooting away from its edges. The symbol looked a bit like a sun, with a two\-pronged fork at the top.
Marcus scratched his head. He’d never seen anything like it. He hurried off to the shed and grabbed a shovel. Whatever Logan had found here was making him nervous. Marcus had always thought that not knowing is always worse. It wasn’t a very popular view to hold, but he mostly kept it to himself.
It took him a couple of hours to widen the hole. Every take of the shovel revealing more of the strange dark rock. Whatever this thing was \-\- it was a lot bigger than he’d thought. He tried to find the edges, but after several feet, it was still a floor below his yard.
Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow and bent down to get a closer look at the golden symbol. He touched it with his hand, and to his surprise it radiated a little bit of heat. A sudden rumble made the ground shake, and the dark rock parted. Marcus slipped as the ground was pulled out from under him. A hole opened, and he went tumbling right into it.
Darkness caressed him from all sides.The air smelled of dust and staleness. He fumbled on the hard floor for the lighter. Finally, his hands found the tool and flipped it open. The warm light scattered the darkness.
The room was box\-shaped and relatively small. A bunker of some sort, perhaps. He traced the dark rock and discovered more of the strange symbols etched into the floor.
He swallowed hard. This had to be some sort of secret government technology. He definitely shouldn’t be here.
The light from the surface shone into the hole, and he was just about to make his way up again when he noticed something in the wall. A nook that held a…
“By the holy emperor...” he mumbled and brought the lighter closer.
A skeleton made of metal gleamed in the strange light. Despite his hammering heart, Marcus crept closer. It was covered in dust and cobweb, but had a strange sheen to it. A chill roll up his back.
Without thinking, Marcus reached out and touched the forehead of the skull. It, too, emanated that strange faint heat. The design was masterful, elegant, sleek \-\- out of this world.
A sound behind pulled him out of his reverie. Metal and some sort of hydraulics. He turned his head and noticed that several pairs of green light had appeared in the darkness.
A sudden click snapped his focus back to the skeleton. Sharp green lights stared at him from within in its eye sockets.
***
More stories: r/Lilwa_Dexel | 2018-04-27T10:33:46 | 2018-04-27T08:36:13 | 2,062 | 123 |
[WP] Your dog digs in the same hole in your backyard everyday. Each day,the hole is getting deeper. Today, you find out it's for an underground bunker. | i am a pup
i like my guy
temps goin up
dont want to die
i dig a hole
dig it so deep
food from my bowl
food in hole keep
guy does not kno
i do not mind
guy mad at hole
still he so kind
today i am done
hole can fit guy
slep in the sun
put guy inside
show guy the hole
guy v surprise
more food in bowl
pup and guy won't die
guy give me pets
now always in hole
food cannot gets
no food in bowl
i do not mind
guy seems so sad
still is so kind
no longer gets mad
calls me good boi
always more pets
i'll be best boi
i luv my guy
stay safe in hole
no go outside | I look up from my desk. I positioned it near the little white window that looks into the backyard some time ago when the doctor said I should get some fresh air. Outside, I see the dog digging again. I unclasp the top of the window and lift it open. It sighs and squeaks upwards, and the air blows a few papers around the room. I put two fingers in my mouth and let out a loud and long whistle. The dog stops and looks up at me expectantly, panting happily, almost smiling underneath dirt caked fur. We look at each other for awhile and then she continues to dig.
Always digging.
I worried for awhile. I even ventured outside once to scold her, but she danced away and I couldn’t catch her and my chest began to hurt so I sat on the porch steps. She came up to me then and nuzzled my hand and I couldn’t be angry with her. Not her.
I won’t stop her. I’ll just watch her as she digs. Always in the same spot. The same hole. Always with the focus of a quarry.
My little excavator.
I root for her now. I gave her a new toy after she jumped in the hole and the lip was higher than her head. I almost cried from the window. It’s a powerful thing to watch someone work towards something. To watch someone head somewhere. I head into different rooms from time to time, but I don’t like leaving the house. She does that for me. She comes back covered in dirt from a foreign land. She brings back earthy smells I would never have known. I got that toy for her a month ago.
Nowadays she disappears for ten minutes at a time before resurfacing, the yellow fur matted brown and black. Tail always wagging. Three days ago she dragged her water bowl into the hole, along with that toy. I’m glad she likes it.
Yesterday we had another tornado warning. There have been a lot of them lately, but that’s not too uncommon for Nebraska. I wonder if we’ll have another one today. One touched down just two towns away. The news talked about a local tractor that was deposited 50 miles west.
I’m just starting to shift around the antennae on the TV when she starts barking. Maybe a neighbor? I slowly walk towards the back door, relying heavily on the various counter\-tops as I make my way over.
She’s standing in front of the hole, wagging her tail excitedly, barking at me.
*“Woof”* I say to her, leaning against the door frame.
She circles around the hole and barks at me again. She walks into the pit and disappears for a few seconds and then comes back out and barks at me. I stand in the doorway and frown.
“I can’t go outside with you, you know that” I give a helpless shrug.
She barks again, and runs into the hole again, disappearing for around a minute this time. When she reemerges she is clutching the toy between her teeth. Her tail is wagging and she drops it in front of me. And she barks.
“I’m sorry, I can’t play with you.” And I am sorry for that. It’s not her fault.
She whines and circles the hole once more. Whining.
“I’m sorry” I call to her “I can’t.”
She whines again and picks up her toy, she looks sad as she disappears into the hole. I wait for about half an hour, but she doesn’t come back up. The sky looks dark and grey.
Maybe it’ll storm. | 2018-04-27T10:33:46 | 2018-04-27T09:25:14 | 2,062 | 17 |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | It's been 15 generations since the legend was passed down to me. That our God mother was truly a vampire. I didn't believe it at first after my mother told me the story. My dad verified it too. He said that his father and his father's father confirmed the same thing. She just never aged past a certain point.
I had my doubts as well. Sometimes I would forget that the Queen had stopped aging. Nobody else acted like it was strange. I've seen housekeepers and servants grow old however. I've seen myself grow older as well.
Still though, as time has passed...she keeps me well clothed and fed. I've always given the time of day with her, and accompany her on long walks around the royal garden. They even recently did a new documentary on the wildlife here. I love this place.
When I am left to ponder about the important things in life, my thoughts usually shift over to the food. Food is delicious, and the Queen provides generously. I also have to thank the datalinks which I used to check up on my messages this morning. Willow the Eighth suggested to me that the Queen might actually be a vampire. Wow. Much suspense. Whoops. I should log off as I see the Queen is coming. I'll have to investigate this new hypothesis from Willow later. Minimize all.
"Who's a good boy? Yes you arrre. Yes youuu arree! Here's your treats! Yum yum yummy!"
ARF ARF ARF YIIPPP I NEED THE TREATS IN MY MOUF.
Damn I love being a Corgi. | About 30 years ago Prince Charles died a very mysterious death. Some had said he was trying to overthrow the Queen only months before he died but most put that down to tabloid rumours.
30 years on and the Queen still reigns at the ripe old age of 122 with what seems like the enthusiasm of someone in peak physical condition.
My name is Alan Reef, I am a journalist and for the last 10 years I've made it my life's work to uncovering the secrets of the royal family. I do not publish these stories as I do not want end up like some of the royal families enemies. Namely, dead. So I've kept a low profile and made my name as a regular journalist just trying to get the real news out there to the masses. Today however is the day that I have been invite to a royal party and will receive an OBE for my contribution to my field.
My crisp new pin striped suit feels good on me as enter the palace grounds, the guards doing their usual rounds with their silly hats and uniforms that make them stand out like a rugby player on a tennis court. I'm can feel the excitement rising in me the closer I get to the ceremony. I'm so giddy I could giggle like a little school girl. Before I go in I have a quick double check that my trusty microphone, concealed within my thin spectacles is working. All I have to do click a small button on the side while I'm "cleaning" them and I record what I see and hear. I've been using this trick for years now and have never been caught. As a fail safe I've even had a wi-fi connection built in so I can upload the videos online if I have no other options. The world must see the truth after all.
During the ceremony the Queen is sat there in all her finery looking as regal as ever while each person receives whatever award they came to get. It's all very drab and very boring and I'm simply waiting for a moment that I can slip away to do some super sleuthing. My moment finally comes when I inform another boring award winner that I must relieve myself during the buffet section of the party.
I head towards the bathroom but instead take a different corridor and sneak through a door into a small courtyard, marble pillars holding up each corner of the room, a small square patch of grass with a circular fountain in the middle the only other things I can see. Alone by the looks of it. I decide it's time to start recording.
I'm not the only one that believes there's something up with the Queen. There are many others and many who actually work for the Royal family themselves. Which is why befriending some of these people has allowed me to gain access to the guards rotations and the placement of the cameras within the palace. I didn't get to where I am without being good at my job after all.
After many twists and turns and some real heart pounding moments I make it to my final destination, the queens bedroom! The giddy school girl feeling returns as I make my way into the room. At first glance it all looks normal but on closer inspection I can see some things are off. Too much dust on a make up drawer, a side table that looks almost new, as if it has never been opened and a book shelf that doesn't quite fit. I scan the shelf but see nothing out of place until I come to the end where a worn candle holder reveals some scuff marks on the wall. I check the candle holder and sure enough there is a catch on the back. I pull it back and pull the holder like a lever. The book shelf swings back to reveal a real life secret stair case. I'll be damned. An actual hidden pathway. I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it all as I make my way down the stairs, recording everything as I go.
At the bottom of the stair case I am shocked and appalled to find bodies. Hundreds of them lined up with heart monitoring equipment. The bodies seem to be enclosed in some sort of vacuum packing plastic. I walk to the closest body, lying down on a cold steel gurney and find myself staring into the unseeing eyes of the dead Prince Charles himself.
A scuffle behind me alerts me too late to the danger I'm in, there's a sharp pain in my head and I black out.
End of part 1.
Hope you like it. I haven't proof read it so sorry if there's some bad mistakes in there.
[More?] | 2022-10-08T16:31:19 | 2018-07-08T22:02:26 | 312 | 205 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | 2018-07-27T13:29:28 | 2018-07-27T12:56:54 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | I stood in horror as the jolly man handed me my cup. I was absolutely certain it was him.
I was driving my car late at night, not expecting anyone to be awake, not paying that much attention, when the impact happened. I got out of the car and looked for the man I had just seen flying through the air like in a cartoon: Flailing his arms and everything. I walked out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was I going crazy? I don't remember drinking, smoking or eating anything weird that night. I stood there in confusion for a while before deciding not to tell anyone about what happened.
But here was, happily handing me my cup like there's nothing wrong. Was I still going crazy? A twin brother, perhaps, not yet knowing of his brother's death? I was standing there akwardly for way too long before uttering the phrase:
"Who... who are you?"
He answered immediately like he had done it thousands of times before.
"It's a me, Mario!" | "Hey man, the regular?" Steve asks from across the counter. I don't respond though, I can't. <<How is this happening? How is he here?>> I wonder. I see his eyes darting at the midnight crowd behind me. The impatience is settling in his eyes.
"Order up already man. I need my coffee." The guy behind me nearly shoves me into the counter and I can't even think of a response. Normally, I'd flip the bird and spill hot coffee on jerks like him but I don't. Steve's eyes show the irritation starting to settle in as he anticipates a fight to start . It doesn't even last a second though before surprise at my non-response takes over. <<What is going on>>, I bet he wonders. <<So do I, dude. So do I.>>
"Earth to Samuel. You there? I'm getting your usual. Clearly you're too much in need for some Java to even respond." He turns around and it is as if a spell breaks.
"Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks Steve." I quickly pull my wallet and pay for the coffee. The jerk behind me grumbles something I can't hear and I don't really care what he said. I've got bigger problems right now.
Steve hands over my cup and I take a sip immediately, letting it burn my tongue and yet not feeling it. I'm tempted to make a run for it. To see if the car is still dented. To see if the blood stained shirt I stuffed in the trunk is still there.
I'm feeling the chill in the air, standing in this coffeeshop wearing formal shows, trousers and a tank top. I'm the definition of weird.
I turn around to find a seat and ... think, I guess. Before I can take a step though, Steve's phone rings. I freeze right there as Steve immediately picks up. "Hey Abby. Are the kids asleep yet? Good. Yeah, I'm still waiting for Shawn to show up. That idiot must be taking his time on the jog. It's been two hours since he left to come here. Seriously, that dodo brain twin of mine must be fooling around again. Where the hell is he? I'll call him again. I-oh man, Samuel, you ok?" I don't even realize I dropped my cup and my shoes and pants are ruined. Or that I burnt my skin. "I gotta go Abby, call you later."
I hear him jump the counter but still I jerk away when I feel his hand touch my bare shoulder. I hurry forward and slip. My head slams against the floor and I begin to pass out as people around me swear and laugh. And then, I feel my blood begin to freeze. My pocket has begun to vibrate. The phone inside is getting a call. A cracked phone, with bloodstains on it, is getting a call. A phone that's definitely not mine and I have a pretty good idea that it's this Abby person calling. "Your phone's ringing." Steve says as my vision fades. "Stay with me, man. I'll answer it and let them know you might have a concussion. I'll drive you to the hospital, okay? Stay with me, Sam. I..." He pauses. "Abby?"
I don't know what happens next as the darkness takes over. And though somehow I know I'm jostled and moved after I passed out, I never manage to completely wake up and respond. And then, the last things I feel is the cold shock and then, I'm sinking. My body is too weak to fight as I drown. The last thing I feel before dying is the skin of Shawn under me
| 2018-09-23T07:16:35 | 2018-09-23T06:43:14 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] The galaxy is actually full of life and advanced civilizations. Everyone just leaves Earth alone because that's where The Great Old Ones are imprisoned, and nobody wants to wake them up. | "Well, hell Marley."
"What is it, sir?"
"When you were given the mission to install the prison containing the great scourge of the galaxy, you were under strict orders to follow the law on alien planetary conduct."
"Yes, and?"
"And! I'm detecting a fork."
"A fork, sir?"
"Yes! A god damn fork. You were eating down there?"
"You know I have hypoglycemia."
"Well, yes. I do. But the law clearly states to leave no contaminants behind! What do you think will happen now!?"
"We also left a prison down there. Full of prisoners."
"Sterilized prison! And that's beside the point!"
"What's your point, sir?"
"The fork is a hazardous contamination!"
"It's a fork."
"A fork! With your spit all over it! It's clearly hazardous!"
"On a dead rock, who's going to care?"
"Dead for now, maybe! But what if some of your microbes survive and in a billion years there'll be a highly evolved species who find and opens the prison!"
"That seems highly unlikely to happen."
"But it might!"
"So, you want me to go back down there and retrieve the fork?"
"I should have you do just that! But the damage has already been done!"
"Then may I offer a suggestion, sir?"
"...Fine, go ahead."
"We could blast it with radiation."
"No, we can't do that. It's too close to the prison!"
"Nobody would know."
"I would!"
"Fine, then what do you propose we do about the situation, sir?"
"Purge the records and pray! Pray that your fork won't spell doom for the future of our galaxy!" | &#x200B;
“Prepare for system entry in 3…2…1.”
Admiral Axthal braced himself against the railing of his bridge as the ship jolted rather abruptly. It always did when they entered this specific system, and it was always a good omen when that happened. He could hear the engines begin whining as the dampening field took hold on them, trying to draw out their power and render them useless. But these were Mk. 3-X units, far superior to the Mk. 1 engines that were in use eons before when the dampening field was put in place to lock the Old Ones to their planet once more. The field could draw at them, but they would survive.
“Status report.”
His voice warbled through the bridge as other Athrerians began clicking through the datasheets coming in. Most of it was the usual. The last trip to this system, 200 local cycles beforehand, had been more of the same from the Old Ones. They were killing each other, for without an external foe they gave in to their bloodlust upon their own. Horrible creatures.
“Sir…?” A small call from one of the scout units gathering information from the spysats around the planet. Axthal formed an appendage from his core to press one of the buttons before him, locking into the scout’s voice in his telecom implant. Color seemed to fade, the world outside dimming as his mind focused solely on this lowly scout. “What is it?”
“Sir, this is terrible! They’ve…they’ve gone too far!” Fear came across the telecom from the scout unit, and Axthal couldn’t control his own fear rising at the idea of the Old Ones breaking containment. But no, the dampening field held. Any form of antimatter would begin fizzling out immediately, rendering antimatter drives useless. Still, the thought of them somehow bypassing the field and making an antimatter device work existed. The Old Ones were crafty. “Soldier! Calm down and explain.”
He could sense fear still, but the telecom also had hints of resolve and….a sort of depressed acceptance. “Yes sir. The human has found a way off their planet.” Fear gripped Axthal’s heart but the scout went on. “The humans are progressing technology in a new way. Combustion. They’re using it to power weapons that launch metal projectiles at high speeds and can launch hundreds of these per standard tick. They are using liquid fuel combustion engines to escape their planet’s gravity. Furthermore, they have weaponized nuclear fusion against themselves. There are currently multiple artificial satellites in orbit about their home planet and-“
Fire blossomed outside as the scout ship was hit by something, bright enough that if his mind wasn’t reeling from the pain of the scout itself he would have noticed it even through his haze. Something fast had slammed into the scout ship. It wasn’t down, but the scout unit would need repairs. The voice in his mind returned, slow but steady now. “And they have sent several probes into the deep recesses of their system. That was one. They also have automated machines on one of their neighboring planets, and several viable plans to colonize on it.”
Axthal wiped the swear from his brow at this news before finally unlinking from that scout specifically. Color drained back into the world around him as he let out a fleet-wide call.
“All units, return to home base. It appears the Old Ones are advancing their technology in a path that before now we could not have foreseen. We must return to home base to let the leadership know our current containment methods have failed. We may need to return and try flooding them again.”
The ship began its turn back home as Axthal wondered how many times the Immortal Council would have to inflict apocalypse on this planet before the Old Ones stopped trying to break free.
\---------
“The hell happened?!”
Bob was cussing as he hit the screen. “Hey Sarah, come here!” His fellow engineer walked over, brushing the bit of dust off the NASA logo on his jacket as she looked at the static on his screen. “Looks like you lost contact with Voyager. It’ll come back.”
“No shit, but look at this!” Bob wound the feed back until a moment before the loss of signal and paused it. Sarah, suitably, dropped her coffee and brought a hand to her mouth as the image of multiple objects appeared. As he hit play, the objects began move in an obviously unnatural manner. Space ships. Aliens.
“We have to report this Bob!”
“No shit.” | 2019-03-09T07:13:39 | 2019-03-09T07:00:46 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | “Is this Jerry?” I asked, my heart still pounding from the chase.
“Yeah, who the hell is this?” Jerry said. He still sounded like the mean prick he was back at Haven High.
“This is Bill...” I said. Ugh, this is so stupid, he’s not going to remember me. Plus, there’s no way he’s going to keep some old promise he made to someone he hasn’t spoken to in 20 years.
“I’m prepared to fulfill my end of our deal, Bill. What is it you need?”
I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I almost laughed, honestly. Why did he say it so formally, and why did he say it like he’s been somehow been expecting this call all these years?
“Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t actually expect you to remember me.”
“Look, Bill,” Jerry said sternly. “You didn’t call to catch up. You’re in a bind, I’m here to help. Just spit it out.”
Man, Jerry really never managed to stop being a dick... Though his rude demeanor did make me asking for this favor far more simple.
“Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. I got in over my head with Ricky Hanzo, and I’m sort of on the run.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I wondered what could he be thinking, or better yet, what could I honestly expect my old high school bully to do about this.
“You really screwed the pooch,” Jerry said, no hint of humor in his voice. He let out a quick sigh. “I’ll handle it. Just stay by the phone.”
He’ll handle it? Stay by the phone?
“Jerry, c’mon man. I don’t even know why I’m calling you, but if you can’t help just say so and I’ll figure it out.” I said.
“You called me cause you’ve colossally fucked up, and you’re so desperate you called a twenty year old number on a pay phone hoping against all odds I’d pick up. Shut up, stop panicking, and stay by the phone.”
The line went dead.
I felt like, even with the past two days, this was the most surreal moment of all of it. I’ve walked into my apartment to find my fiancé with a bullet hole in her head, my parents’ house burned to the ground, and half of a town I’ve never been in looking for me; and yet it was this phone call with the all-to-sure voice of Jerry that seemed the most insane.
Truth be told I don’t know how Jerry even knows who Ricky Hanzo is, I mean yeah he’s a famous underground figure but how would Jerry know about him? And even if he did know of the name, what could he possibly be doing to help me in this situation?
I mean honestly, I need to get the hell out of here and waiting by a pay phone for some guy who can’t do a thing for me seems too insane even fo-
*ring*
*ring*
It couldn’t actually be Jerry, right?
*ring*
My hand reached for the phone shakily, and when I finally grasped the cold handle I slowly brought it to my ear. For a moment I expected to hear the Devil on the other end of the line.
“H-hello?”
“I don’t know how you know that man,” a strange but familiar voice spoke. “Guess it doesn’t matter, but I’ve called off your debt. Sorry for your fiancé, and I’ll be sending you reimbursement cash for the house I had burned down. Also, he wanted me to tell you, the twenty year old debt has been paid in full. Also, he wanted me to tell you the next time he see’s you, he’s going to show you his new Atomic Wedgie technique he’s been working on since Haven, whatever that means.”
*click*
What in the world just happened? As I recalled the phone conversation I just had, the voice became clear. That was Hanzo... And I think he just said I’m off the hook..?
That couldn’t be possible though, could it? I kept recalling the conversation over and over in my head as I held the handle of the payphone, the ominous dead tone playing in the background.
“CALAMITY WEDGIE!” A voice screamed from behind me before I felt my feet leave the ground.
The pain that followed as I felt my testicles smash against fabric while simultaneously my butthole being torn asunder by the very same fabric was nigh indescribable.
I looked around desperately through tear-filled eyes for my attacker. I couldn’t make out his blurry face.
“Dude, I’ve missed you,” Jerry’s voice said joyously. “So glad you called me, you little bitch. Let’s go grab a beer! We have so much to catch up on!” | **She is dead, choked by my belt.**
Her body is limp, spread naked across the backseat of my car. Her eyes are blue, big and stare at the telephone pole across the road. Fuck,the garage door! I push the button and there is a familiar sound of closing door. It’s darker now. Just breath, Mark, it’s going to be okay. No one can see her now. Except, there is that ray of light, passing through the crack on the garage side window where the dark and dusty curtains meet. God damn. Light falls on her belly, her six pack abs. She was a runner, that’s how we met. Strong legs, toned body, smooth and flawless skin. Hot as fuck. Not anymore. Soon, she’ll be stiff and cold, I think. I’ve never seen a dead body before. I’ve never killed anyone before. It was an accident.
She wanted it. Just sex was not enough. She wanted me to choke her, first with my hands, than with the belt. She screamed ‘Tighter! Do it, bitch! You’re not a man. You can’t even choke properly. Assho-”, and then rasped, gagged, gurgled. She didn’t finish her sentence. It’s not my fault, but who’s going to believe that? Not the PoPos, or the judge or jury. Or her family, if she has any. Fuck, was she married? No wedding band. At least that. Damn, her eyes, so pretty. No pulse, not breath. She is dead, not coming back, and I'm in my garage, shaking like a twig and hyperventilating. I wish she’d just get up and leave, like a zombie or something. Fuck, no, I don’t. Zombie? What’s wrong with me? Brain does funny things when frightened. I wish I could call someone. Can’t call my parents, they’d freak out. Coworkers? I don’t think so, they all hate me. I need someone who can fix this. Someone like Mr. Wolf, from Pulp Fiction. He's a bad motherfucker. But I don’t know Mr. Wolf. He is fake, a movie character. People like him don’t exist. Except…
Phone! Where is my fucking phone? I need my fucking phone! Good, there. Fat fingers, scroll down, quickly, to S. Smith, Andy Smith. I remember him from school, he owes me big time! It’s been a long time since we talked, I know, but he’s the type who can help. Shady as fuck, was back then, still is. A criminal by now. A mean motherfucker, for sure, like Mr. Wolf. I read about him in the newspaper, he’s a mobster. He owes me, big time.
Oh, my God, I'm in a car with a dead masochistic bitch and I’m calling Andy the mobster. What was her name? Cindy, Carrol? Something with C, for sure. Karen maybe. Can this day get any worse?
“You’ve reached Fast Care Car Insurance,” the voice on the other side says, “How can I help you?”
“I what?” What the fuck? Wrong number?
“Andy? Andy Smith?” I say.
The voice confirms it. It’s really him. What’s going on? Is this part of his plea deal, to answer phone calls?
“It’s Mark Dandy, we went to school together. You remember?”
“Mark! Of course I remember you! You helped me about that thing-”
He remembers! Yes! “Yeah. About that, I need your help now. I-”
“I’m so glad you called me! What car do you drive?”
“Uhm.. 2013 Toyota Corolla. Wh-”
“Congratulations Mark! You qualify for our once in a lifetime limited special offer. For only $89.99 a month, we can offer you our premium quality car insurance-”.
“No, no no… I don’t need that-”. A $90 per month? Ripoff!
“Mark, are you sure? It’s a good deal”.
It’s not. And I’m sure. “Yes. I am sure. Andy, I need your help-”.
“Great, Mark, because for only $79.99 a month, I can offer you our silver level car ins-”.
“No, Andy, I don’t need a car insurance-”.
“Oh. How about premium comprehensive insurance? This coverage is great for all those unpredictable times when disaster strikes on the road or in your driveway! Except collision, that’s different. It pays for repairs and replacements after your car has been damaged by thugs, vandals or natural disasters, or even by a fallen tree! And the price is -”
“Andy! I don’t need that! I need-”
“Don’t worry, I got you, Mark! ERS, that’s what you need!”
“What’s ERS?” I’m sure I don’t need it.
“Oh, I’m glad you asked, Mark. ERS stands for the ‘Emergency roadside service coverage’, and it’s the newest in our comprehensive car insurance offering. We just introduced it in November 2018. Imagine, you’re in a car crash, or just have a flat tire which you can’t fix, or your engine is busted. Do you know how expensive towing service is? Or calling a licenced and certified technician to change you tire? Let me tell you. It’s expensive, and slow! With ERS, you just call our toll-free 24/7 phone number and we’ll take care of you. It even works with our iPhone app. You have an iPhone, right? If not, we partner with Apple and I can get you iPhone 10 for really cheap. Trust me, it’s great, ERS is great! And it’s only $42.99 a mo-”.
That’s expensive! He’s trying to rip me off, again. Fuck you, Andy, I thought we were friends. “No, Andy. Listen. I don’t need expensive ERS-”.
“Wow, Mark! You are a tough cookie. It’s not expensive, but how about I give you a 20% off if we bundle ERS with collision and Rental car coverage? You travel, right?”
I sigh.
“I knew you do. Conferences, meetings, vacations, you know it all. So, for only $134.99 a month-”.
“ANDY! I DON’T NEED A FUCKING CAR INSURANCE! THERE IS A DEAD BODY IN MY CAR. CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THAT?”
“Oh, wow!” he says and then goes silent.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m dead. He’s calling the police now and in a few minutes they’ll be here, storming the house, handcuffing me and by the time my trial is over, I’ll already have a boyfriend I never wanted and my butt will hurt a lot.
“Mark, are you there?” Andy says finally. “Did you say that you have a dead body in your car?” He sounds shocked. Game over, I’m fucked.
I sigh. It’s over. “Yes, a female, in her late twenties I think. I just met her. It was an accident, but no one will believe me.”
“I see…” he says. “Give me a moment.”
I bet he’s relaying what I just said to the police right now. What was I thinking? Why did I call him? I should have just called 911 myself. Why do I do stupid shit like this?
“Mark,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Congratulations! You qualify for our premium Personal injury protection + coverage! It covers you and anyone in the car, even if it was your fault!”
My shoulders sink. “Sure, Andy. How much?” | 2019-07-08T13:22:09 | 2019-07-08T12:17:07 | 2,034 | 50 |
[WP] During a global catastrophe, a company offers to cryogenically freeze people so that they can “skip” unpleasant circumstances. Clients can stipulate specific global conditions that must be met before they are unfrozen. You awake to find that all of your conditions are satisfied. | Imagine an ice cream headache that lasted millennia and ramp that up to eleven. That is what I awoke to. That and darkness.
"Good day, sir. I am Cirrus X, representative of the Cirrus Cryogenic Catastrophic Conglomerate. You have been frozen until the time your cryogenic will and testament could be fulfilled. I am pleased to announce that today is the day. Happy awakening, sir," A merry male voice cheered from the inky abyss.
"Could you turn on the lights and get me an aspirin?" I moaned.
"Sorry, sir. You seem to be suffering temporary blindness. I have been told this is a common symptom of cryo-sleep. It should wear off shortly. Also, there is no aspirin as there has not been a call for it for quite some time."
"Right, right!" My mental capacities came to to me with all the speed of sea slugs fighting the current. "So there is no more war?"
"That is right."
"No more famine?"
"Correct, sir."
"...and no more disease," I said finishing my mental list. It has seemed such a simple list to put together as I signed up in the wake of a catastrophe. "Is that why you sound so chipper?"
"No, sir. I am afraid that it part of my programming."
"So there are robots, now!" I could vaguely make out the odd collaboration of fuzzy cylinders and twinkling lights. "Great, great!" I said with more mental enthusiasm than I was physically capable of. I had always wanted to see sentient robotics. "How many years have passed?"
"One trillion, fourteen billion, eight hundred and eighty three thousand, two hundred and twelve years, one hundred and forty nine days, fourteen hours, three minutes, and fifty nine seconds, sir."
My head spun. I could not even fathom the amount of time that put me out of the loop. I supposed I should catch up on the current events. "What is trending now in the news?"
"You are, sir. You are now the oldest living being of any race. Congratulations!"
"Thank you, I guess." I was as articulate as ever.
"Would you be willing to answer a question that has been on everyone's mind?" the rather animated android asked.
"Sure," I had about a billion more questions, but not enough brain cells to organize them. A question would be a much needed kick start to get the synapses firing. "Ask away."
"What was the human race like?" | "Welcome back Client [NULL]. You are in the restoration paradigm of U-Top Corporal Services. Your reinstatement criteria of [NULL] have been met. Thank you for choosing U-Top." A pleasant voice didn't sound in my ears. I heard the words clearly, but it wasn't with my ears.
The pleasant voice stopped. I felt a... well, I'm not sure what I felt. I wasn't really aware of any physical sensations, and I was strangely disturbed by the fact that I wasn't disturbed by that. I knew that I had a body, or knew that I should, but nothing was reporting back.
I ventured a word. As I willed myself to speak, I could very clearly not feel the impulses moving through the nerves of my jaw and tongue, I could explicitly sense the absolute lack of air in my lungs and indeed lungs at all.
"Uh... hi? Can you tell me who I am?"
"Generating Identity Tutorial. Loaded. It is common for reinstated entities to experience a period of disorientation during the initial phases of restoration. You are a client of U-Top Corporal Services, designated [NULL]. You were disinstantiated on [NULL] by the order of the Planetary Future Existence Hegemony. Your Corporal Care Package Preferences were automatically assigned based on your existing parameters at time of disinstantiation. Reinstatement criteria were assigned by the Planetary Future Existence Hegemony in batches according to planned reinstatement date criteria. You will be pleased to know that your reinstatement date of [NULL] has now been reached, and Priority zero and Priority one reinstatement criteria in the local environment have been met. Please proceed to the reorientation paradigm."
The pleasant voice didn't sound out again. The words made it into my brain anyway. At least I assumed it was my brain. I'm not sure what exactly I was using to think at the moment, but as I was hearing without ears and speaking without lungs or a mouth, I was starting to notice a pattern.
"The reorientation paradigm?" Again I felt that bizarre not-feeling of speaking.
"Initiating Quickstart tutorial. Please wait while your custom tutorial is generated. Loaded. The U-Top Corporal Services corporation is proud to welcome you back to existence, Client [NULL]. You have been preserved in cryogenic stasis according to your wishes, being restored to function only when the specific criteria in your Corporal Care Package are met. Priority zero criterion: [NULL]. Priority one criterion: [NULL].
As these criteria have been locally and globally achieved within the parameters outlined in your U-Top Corporal Services contract, you have now been reinstated as an entity. Your physical parameters have been recreated according to your Corporal Care Package. There are [NULL] points remaining in your Corporal Care Balance. Proceed to Reorientation?"
The pleasant voice didn't seem to notice the errors.
"How do I move? I can't see!" I knew that I would absolutely be starting to feel panic right now, if I were capable of feeling anything at all. The sensation of no sensation was starting to be very upsetting. And the sensation of panic without anything else was even more so.
"Generating Motility Tutorial. Loaded. Your current physical parameters of [NULL] provide you with local motility of [NULL]. This may be unfamiliar if you have not previously deviated from human baseline parameters.
Generating Sensorium Tutorial. Loaded. Your current physical parameters of [NULL] provide you with sensory acuity of [NULL]. Your current physical parameters of [NULL] provide you with extrasensory acuity of [NULL]. System messages directed to console."
Was that how I was 'hearing' Pleasant Voice? In my console? I am fairly certain I didn't have a console before. But I wasn't sure.
"Local environment? Where am I?"
"Generating localization tutorial. Loaded. You are located in PFEH Outpost [NULL]. Exterior environmental, economic, social, and physical parameters meet recorded reinstatement criteria to within acceptable tolerances."
"Can you show me the outside?"
"Generating Sensorium Console Interface. Loaded. Error. Cannot comply. Exterior visual and sensorium feeds already patched to console."
Have you ever leaned back in a chair? Just idly relaxing, tipped back with your feet up? Enjoying that moment of perfect balance as you rock back and forth just across the point of equalized gravity, pushing a tiny bit with your muscles and feeling your entire self poised as an operand in a vast mathematical equation with the entire planet as your dancing partner? And then you do like we always do and take it a fraction of an angle too far. One extra muscle cell. One tiny arcsecond of tilt. And before you can react you're falling. All the floodgates of adrenaline fly open and your biology leaps into action to save you. All reactions crank up to a thousand, and you're suddenly ready to fight a dinosaur or wrestle a wolf to death. But your body is smarter than you are, your hand whips out on reflex, and you catch yourself. Your emergency reactions polished over a billion years worth of ancestors fight-or-flight saves swirl uselessly around inside you frustrated and exhausting.
OK, so take that feeling but remove the chair, the body, the reflex, the save, the gravity, and the dinosaur.
That's how I felt right now. I blacked out. | 2020-04-14T05:42:14 | 2020-04-14T04:57:06 | 96 | 44 |
[WP] Yesterday I wrote the number 69 on my wrist as a joke. Today it's 68, and now it's not washing off. | I sat in the bar, staring at my hand, the cosmic joke that was being played on me. My target sat next to me, drinking heavily. I didn’t like taking advantage of someone left vulnerable by his circumstances. But I was sure I would be able to save everyone when it came down to it.
I continued to work on him, subtly leading him to the path I wanted him to go down.
It was all horrible. But I liked to live.
The number on my hand read 2.
******
It was a silly joke. I got at least five “Nice” comments. Which was exactly what I was going for. Till the next day when the number said 68.
I tried everything. But the number stayed. And the number kept counting down.
I was scared out of my mind. It was like a guillotine hanging over me, coming ever closer. What would happen when it hit 0?
I quit my job, forgot everything else. I’d just sit at home staring at the number. It had taken over my life. I discovered it changed at exactly midnight.
That was what convinced me. It was counting down days. I was going to die in 50 days.
The next 20 days I spent in a drunken haze, trying to drink all my sorrows away. I didn’t have any family. All my friends who tried to help me, I pushed away. They couldn’t help me. Nobody could.
And so it continued.
When the number was down to 19, it happened. I was walking down to the store when I heard a crash. An accident. I saw a woman and a little kid stuck in the twisted metal trying to escape somehow.
I had nothing to lose.
I went in, pulling them away at the last moment.
That midnight the number went to 21.
I had a ray of hope.
The next day I sat in my car, listening to the police scanner.
Our city is a cesspool of crime and sin. There was always something going on. My first two tries failed. The cops got there before me. It was on the third that I succeeded.
Someone was robbing a small liquor store. I was close.
I saw the perp, no older than 20, with his gun pointed at the cashier. I ran, full speed, tackling the suspect. The gun went off, but luckily nowhere close to his target.
The cops clapped me on the back, appreciating what I had done. That night, the number climbed to 22.
For the next couple of days, there was nothing. The next night there was a bank robbery attempt. I broke free from the police line and ran into the bank.
I took the robber by surprise but he still got a few shots off.
The cops managed to subdue him. But they also arrested me for interfering in their work and endangering lives.
Oh, and the robber managed to kill 3 people before swat took him down.
That night as I sat in holding, the number went down to 17.
By the time I made bail, the number was down to 4 and I was getting desperate.
And so I did what I should’ve done the first time. I put on a mask.
I went around the city, trying to, and helping people.
It worked for a while too. Over the next week I was able to get the number back into double digits.
But then I hit a rough patch.
I couldn’t save anyone.
The number kept counting down.
******
He looked sufficiently wound up as he left.
Ryan Johnson, fired from the TekSystems group, twice divorced with his 2nd wife also a coworker was an angry man. Angry enough at the world to build a bomb. Guided by me, of course.
I didn’t like it, but I liked the idea of dying even less.
I would be the hero, saving hundreds of lives, giving myself room to breathe. And of course, if this worked, then I could always encourage more people to try things like that and save them. If it didn’t, well then I was dead anyways.
Of course, my bad luck just continued. Ryan didn’t follow the instructions properly. The bomb wasn’t supposed to go off till 10 when the office would be completely filled. But the idiot made some mistake in the triggering circuit and the bomb went off at 8:30. I was still putting on my superhero costume when I heard the boom.
He was crying when I reached his home.
“Ryan! What did you do?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He was sobbing so hard that I could barely make out what he was saying.
“You moron.”
“I’m sorry.”
My anger grew and I choked that idiot and killed him on the spot.
That was when the police showed up.
They don’t understand. No one does. I’m not a villain. In fact it’s the opposite. I’m a hero. I just want to save lives.
But they don’t get it.
They still put me in jail, calling me crazy.
Here I was cleaning up the city. I just took down someone who was planning to bomb a whole building and they were calling me crazy?
Was I living in some sort of upside down world?
I sat in my jail cell waiting for the countdown, staring at my wrist.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep.
I woke up the next day, the number at -11. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Part 4: Roger v.s. His Burgeoning Powers)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The best method of discovering one's superpowers is an open question.** The Unified Sovereignties took the approach of having its federal government monitor everyone like a hawk, and snatching up anyone who showed the slightest hint of promise; the Middle Communes had once held massive standardized tests in order to check for every known superpower; the Secular Byzantine State encouraged citizens to discover their abilities in their own time. All of them had their benefits; all of them had their drawbacks.
None of them had anything on sheer dumb luck.
Roger Eltman stared at the number on his wrist, frowning. The 6 and 8 looked... melted. As if the ink had turned runny for a moment, then dried. His brother was on the phone in the driveway; Roger sat on the gravel next to him, pondering the symbol.
"Hey, Connor?" Roger tried.
Connor gave him a fleeting glance. "One sec, Clara," he said into his phone. He turned down to his little brother. "What's up?"
"The government... likes to snatch up people who have supernatural thinger-majiggers, right?" Roger asked.
Connor's lips tightened. "Yeah. They literally *just* stole our cat for that."
Roger frowned. "I thought they said they were taking him because he was dangerous?"
Connor sighed. "Read between the lines, kiddo. They just want power, in every sense of the word. If they find something unusual, they'll try to take it for themselves."
"Unusual like... magic symbols on my arm?" Roger showed his wrist to his older brother.
Connor paused, then said into the phone, "Clara, we might have a problem. Get to my house as quickly as you can. I'm going to shut off the phone line—no telling what the Feds have wiretapped." He clicked off his phone and sealed it in a Tupperware box for good measure. "What do you mean, magic symbols?"
Roger sketched out another 69 in the gravel. "I was messing around the other day—"
Immediately, the sketched-out symbol flashed once; in the empty space where Roger had dragged his finger, clean, pure water suddenly materialized.
Connor jerked up right, backing away. "Holy—"
"Woah!" Roger stared, enraptured, at the symbol, then back at his wrist. He frowned, peering at it more closely, and took out a marker, drawing another 69 on his wrist. It flashed and summoned water—much less this time—and the ink began to run, mimicking the pattern on his other wrist. It wasn't *quite* a 68, he realized—there had just been a convenient streak of ink that had connected the left side of the 9 to the bottom.
"...Have you always been able to do this?" Connor asked.
Roger blinked. "Er. I have no idea. I... I mean, I can't remember going out of my way to draw the number 69 before..."
Connor sighed. "Of course you discovered superpowers through an internet meme. Right, this just got abruptly more complicated." He clenched a fist. "We know that the Feds aren't above snatching pets from our homes just because they have powers—I don't want to know what they'll do to you. Clara should be able to help."
"Speak of the devil, and she appears," Roger muttered under his breath. Indeed, a sleek blue car was pulling up to Connor's driveway.
"Don't talk about her like that. She's here to help," Connor snapped. "Unless you *want* to end up strapped down to a government table somewhere?"
"I might risk it if it meant avoiding *her*," Roger muttered darkly. "Sheltered little puffball."
"Maybe, but she's a *friendly* sheltered little puffball who's going to save our collective ass. So show her respect." Connor smiled at Clara as she stepped out of the car. "Hey. You got my message, right?"
"Yeah. Look, Connor, if you're worried about the government snatching you away for your powers, is this really the time to be doodling zodiac signs in the driveway?" Clara asked, pointing at the 69 on the floor.
Connor and Roger shared a glance. "...What?"
Clara knelt and etched a symbol into the gravel. "The sign of Cancer. Looks like this." She pointed at her neatly-drawn ♋on the floor.
Roger raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Yours... doesn't fill itself with water?"
"What?" Clara blinked. "Wait, yours *does*?"
Obligingly, Roger traced out the Cancer symbol again, this time in the air; Clara's eyes widened with shock as water coalesced into existence out of nothingness and fell to the gravel floor with a *splat*.
"I've read about this," Clara finally said. "Symbol manipulation. Some jerkwad supervillain had it, what, ten years back? Twenty? God, I had to write a paper on this; I should know this."
Roger gave her a dirty look; his teachers would never care enough to read or grade a paper if he wrote it, much less bother to assign him one. "You know what this is? Get to the point."
"Roger!" Connor snapped.
"No, no, he has a point. This is... well, it's a *strong* power, if it fully manifests. One that the government might... take an interest in." Clara hesitated, then said, "Try... try drawing some of the other zodiac symbols. Like, uh... what month were you born in?"
"I don't know," Roger said shortly. "Dad never bothered to tell me my birthday, and Connor was kicked out of the house before I was born. He only came back when he found out some other miserable soul was being forced to live under Dad's thumb."
There was a moment of awkward silence.
"...Just, er... just try this month, then. Leo." Clara drew a ♌on the floor; irritated, Roger sketched one in the air to follow suit.
A burst of heat and light appeared as soon as he finished the sign, and Roger yelped and shook his hand. "You could have *warned* me that it would set me on *fire*!"
"I'm sorry! I didn't know that it would—that is, powers manifest differently each time, and Symbolhead had much better control—" Clara bunched her fists in her skirts. "Okay. No, okay, this—this isn't all bad."
"How is this not all bad?! The government's going to steal me, too! Just like they stole Zeus!" Roger snapped.
Clara grinned, unfazed. "Because symbol manipulation is a *potent* power, and the government can't just push you around if you have powers of your own—not if you know how to fight back. Let me run you through the rest of the symbols. If we're quick, we might be able to make a large enough show of force to get your cat back—*and* convince the government that stealing you away is more trouble than it's worth."
Roger and his older brother traded glances.
"I trust her," Connor said, "and she knows what she's doing."
Roger sighed. "Alright. Fine. Show me the symbols."
Clara nodded, kneeling down. "Right. So, the Zodiac is divided into elements—water, earth, fire, and air—which is probably what makes each of the symbols have their effect. We'll start with water, since that seems the safest..."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-20T19:57:39 | 2021-04-20T19:38:44 | 149 | 89 |
[WP] When humans joined the galactic union, space force & military were made into clandestine projects & continued growing in secret. When the most powerful alien race challenged the peaceful humans for sport, they & the galact union learned the hard way the human saying "Si vis pacem, para bellum" | The Galactic Union made it's offer. And it was the offer in the best traditions of the mafia, the kind that humanity could not refuse. Disarm, dissolve it's armed forces and welcome the new age of peace.
The human diplomat that signed the Galactic Union treaty said the words "Si vis pacem, para bellum" but no one bothered to translate what that meant.
But of course that was a lie. Because even when the Union called their members equals it was made clear that some members are more equal than others. Kantor were one of them. They were one of the founding members, one of the earliest FTL capable species in the galaxy, at least according to them. And they hated change. Unfortunately for them humanity was practically the poster child of change.
When humans started building starbases to provide services along the long haul FTL routes Kantor begrudgingly had to accept that it was a good change. When human culture became popular Kantor thought it was just a passing fad. When vrin, okroh, tular and vorta and many others turned to humans for help that was the last straw. Kantor had spent thousands of years making sure that they were seen as the only ones capable of helping others in difficult times. Yes they would extract a price, an often steep price but there was no one else.
Kantor senior administrators demanded that humanity stop trying to change the Galactic Union. They demanded that colonies are abandoned, that starbases are demolished and any help they are providing others. Humanitarian aid must stop. Medical assistance must desist and sales of cookies must be limited to one per sentient per standard month. Humans declined with a shake of their heads and a small smile on their lips.
The High Administrator of the Kantor sent the fleets to human starbases, human outposts and colonies with the order to teach them a lesson that no one declines orders from Kantor.
First few starbases fell under the Kantor bombardment as planned. Then humans sent a warning that any more aggression would be met with decisive force. Kantor ignored it and raided a colony, releasing nerve gas into the atmosphere. Paralysing the humans and then capturing them and sending them to spawn hives on their home world where they would be used to spawn the next generation of Kantor. They sent the recordings to the other species to show what happens to those that defy Kantor.
That is when the humans brought their fleets. Thousands of ships setting out of hidden anchorages all across the galaxy. Millions of troops trained on fortress worlds, disguised as "historical re-enactment zones". Tens of thousands of war machines ready and waiting.
Kantor died. First their fleets, then their armies, then their cities and worlds. The rest of the galaxy watched in horror as humans erased Kantor from existence. Their homeworld cleansed with nuclear fire. Only when the last of Kantor were gone humanity woke up from it's blood rage. Now faced with a galaxy that was both grateful and terrified humans went back to what they did best. Changing things.
And that phrase comes from a dead human language, from an empire long gone. It means "If you want peace, prepare for war". And that is a lesson the galaxy is not going to forget.
&#x200B;
\- An introductory lecture on the interstellar relations course in university of Oajeh Bi by Associate Professor Komo Duh in the year 229 After Kantor | "what I'm saying is that if our military is to be secret and only used as a last resort why are we following the spirit of the laws? Seriously, they were written by 34 races that have known nothing but peace for the past 1000 years or so, 3 that were just flattened by tech they don't understand and the one race doing the flattening, there are quite a few loopholes. For instance it says here no more than 1 warhead may be attached to a missile but it defines a warhead as an explosive device having no propulsion, that means cluster weapons are still in as long as we launch small missiles. That's only the first, we have 23 years, lets make sure this war is won before it starts"
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
23 years later on the 25th anniversary of humanity's admittance to the union war was declared by the summary execution of there diplomatic party stationed on the unions central station.
The images and an accompanying message reached earth the next day. "To humanity of earth, we the Atraxi hereby declare war upon you under the terms of union warfare, we nominate Henimari of the Hapiods to act as judge. Respond with your choice of judge to be joined by the head of the council to rule over all matters in this war."
"We nominate Corvex, commander of the Atraxi military as our judge, they are bound by the rules as written and should know them better than anyone"
For 7 earth days there was nothing and then came the reports, the Pluto colony fell first, it was only an observation and science station, it took less than an hour for it to be reduced to rubble, the colony on titan reported next. They had built underground to keep the heat in, after 4 hours they were buried, the attacking fleet left them to suffocate and headed for mars.
Mars had actual defences, no atmosphere means that shooting down micro asteroids was a daily occurrence, Atraxi projectile weapons were useless but their lasers could slice the domes easily enough, never doing critical damage but venting the atmosphere was plenty to render a dome inoperable. The battle of mars raged on for 36 hours as the fleet bombarded the many colonies bellow until a bright flash of light filled the sky, an explosion making a rounded mushroom cloud due to the lower gravity, then another, and another. A million explosions filled the sky burning the retinas of anyone foolish enough to look, the enemy fleet visible only to the observation telescopes was noticeably damaged but still the lasers reigned down. Another wave of explosions, and another, more in each batch, no longer 1 per ship but 5 per ship, then 10 per ship, then 100 per ship. The economic power of a Dyson Sphere was truly terrifying.
The 32% of the Martian population that remained watched as the enemy fleet ignited engines and set course for there home worlds. 12 days it took them to fly home, significantly slower due to the damage they sustained but what they found when they arrived was a sight no one had considered as an option when they had been drafting the rules of war. Where there home world should be, where 24.8 billion Atraxi should live there was rubble, a planet fractured with a crater in the side that reached into the lower mantel, at least they wouldn't have died slowly.
"Our home world is destroyed, how can you as leader of our forces sit there and tell me this is fine?"
"It is because I lead the forces that I know this, I am an official judge to this war, we outlawed the use of nuclear weaponry against hostile instillations due to the fallout but they used it on there own planet, our fleet limped home and there world is now just as dangerous as when they first started living there. They broke our home world with pure kinetic energy, not a single trace of radiation, they just accelerated a lump of iron fast enough that when it hit our world it carried the energy of an extinction level event. You know that with the amount of power each race has a war is won or lost on first strike, we killed an observation post and approximately 1.3 billion civilians, they have taken out our home, issue the terms of peace"
The communication landed on the desk of humanity a day later.
priority 1 communication
* The Atraxi wish to end the war under the terms of white peace as defined in the terms of union warfare with a proposed ceasefire effective immediately.
"your sure we can push them?"
"yes president, they lost their home world and we have rearmed our defences, they can flatten mars and do significant damage to earth but they always took the planets they wanted so never used space habitats, we could exterminate 99% of there population with the next strike if we want to"
Priority 1 communication
* \-Humanity rejects your offer of white peace.
* \-Humanity accepts a ceasefire of 7 days to permit communication between us
* \-Humanity offers you your surrender
* you will apologise for starting the war
* you will share your classified technology with the entire union
* you will make a binding statement to the union forbidding you from instigating future wars
Nukes were considered old tech and as such weren't regulated at a union level so it had been easy to mass produce them in preparation and to pre stage groups of them near to mars to allow for quick and stealthy attacks on the attacking fleet.
The planet killing weapons were even easier, a slight adjustment to the communication and transport lasers enabled them to have a much greater range of movement, they usually kept the tv's on and the freight moving about from hab to hab but all focused on a single 10 ton lump of metal with a mirror on the back and it soon had enough energy to end a civilisations age of dominance, it wasn't even expensive to fire, we had built a few hundred of them in preparation, we could always use the spares to break up large asteroids for mining.
We could never have matched their fleet ship for ship but we never needed to, we prepared for the war, now we oversee the peace. A new species is joining next month, they join a safer galaxy.
edit: fixed the there for their issue | 2021-04-23T15:37:25 | 2021-04-23T15:16:07 | 179 | 68 |
[WP] Everyone laughed at your super power to manifest any sort of pun related device. That was before you sawed the ocean in half with your sea-saw. | A battered streetlamp oscillated its dim light, casting faded rays into the seedy alley. The pale slivers of yellow flashed across the faces of the two burly men so that only a ragged scar here or a slitted eye there were visible. Caged in the vice grip of the two men was a thin figure. It wasn't struggling. In fact, it wasn't even tense or alarmed.
"I'll make this easy. Give me all your valuables and you leave with a small bruise on your arms. Don't comply, and I will be forced to kill you." The speaker was someone completely enveloped in the shadows, facing the serene man and his two captors. Clearly the ringleader of this mugging.
"Why would I do that?" the serene man asked. He sounded genuinely confused.
"If death doesn't scare you, then maybe pain will." There was cracking knuckles to accompany the voice, indicating that the serene man should probably take this mugging seriously.
But instead of sobering to the situation, the serene man laughed. "You have no idea who I am! Do you remember when the ocean was cleaved in half with a sea-saw? That was me! I am the pun-dit of wordplay! Nobody attacks me with im-pun-ity! I will pun-ctuate the air with your screams!"
The two burly men clamped their grips tighter, causing the pundit of wordplay to wince. From the shadows, the ringleader said, "You're clearly insane. The CIA leaked documents that proved the supposed sea-saw was really a military test that looked strange at first glance. You won't scare us with your lies. Now give us the money or die!"
The pun man shrugged. "Don't believe me? Don't think I have control over the ocean? Fine. Let me give you a small taste. A micro-wave, if you will."
"Microwave?"
And then a rush of water erupted from the gutter in a peaking wave and doused everyone but the pun man, who remained miraculously dry. Sputtering furiously, the three muggers drew their weapons. But the pun man just smiled.
"Do you think I'm done with you yet? After you insulted my pun-ishing power? No! I will ex-pun-ge you from the face of the earth!"
And then a horde of boxer shorts ran into the alley, their gloves catching the light of the streetlamp. While the three muggers were distracted with that, the pun man caused the water from the micro-wave to split into thousands of legged droplets, which began to sprint at the three terrified men. Running water.
Cackling loudly at how stupid the men looked trying to kick away the boxer shorts and running water, the pun man asked, "Are you getting tired yet?"
Suddenly, all the cars parked on the street adjacent to the alley spontaneously lost their tires, which rolled at the three men, now thoroughly overwhelmed.
"Help us!" one of the burly men shouted an octave higher than normal as a well-tread tire bore down on him.
"Why should I help you pun-ks?"
"We'll stop being criminals!" the other burly man promised. "Please, just help us!"
With a devious smile, the pun man acquiesced. "Of course. I agree that you should change your career. Branch out a little."
Relief billowed across the man's face, "Thank y--"
The rest of his sentence was cut off when he became a tree.
"You're a monster!" the other burly man shouted, still kicking away boxer shorts.
"Odd that you should personify a can," pun man said, sipping on the Monster energy drink that was now in his hand.
"We'll stop giving you a hard time! Just let us go," the ringleader pleaded.
This made pun man think for a moment. "It's funny you should mention time," he said thoughtfully. "I do have an appointment in a few minutes, so this encounter is pun-cturing my plans. Let's end this before it gets too... time consuming."
One voracious bite later and he had eaten the remainder of the ringleader's lifespan away. There was only one of the muggers left, and he was too busy avoiding tires and boxer shorts and running water to notice the fate of his leader.
"I'm not a pun-itive man," the pun master said, motioning for his pun manifestations to leave the mugger alone. "You've learned your lesson. You may go."
Without a word, the mugger turned, grew a tail, and fled. He wouldn't get far, of course. There were whip and lashes waiting for him around the corner that would make him stop so fast that his neck would have a serious kink in the afterlife.
Popping a cigarette in his mouth, he was disappointed to not have anything to smoke. Still, it had been a good night. Three serial muggers were done preying on people without com-pun-ction. Maybe there were stronger superheroes out there, but the pun man didn't see them any-where. Well, that wasn't true. He saw them in a few wheres. But they certainly didn't have as much fun with their job. | From the newly blasted fissure splitting the Atlantic, arising from the walls of water carved down deep into the darkest depths, walked a man, rather normal looking other than the knight's helmet on his head and the massive barbed trident he was using as a walking stick.
The crowd gathered to gawk at this unexplainable phenomenon was even more stifling than the Miami heat. Crank adjusted his collar. He needed somewhere to change.
"I come like a puzzle, citizens!" the man said in the booming voice belying some sonic power. "In peaces!"
An audible groan traveled like a wave through the crowd. Who was this joker? As Crank pushed his way through the crowd, holding his pipe but not yet daring to use it, the man clapped his hands like rising thunder. Three strikes of lightning shot down from the clear sunny sky. From a blue mist, an alligator mixed with a man stood beside this new villain. It wore a trenchcoat and an elongated fedora. Next, a gruesome, fat insect formed bumbling above them, emanating a green mist. Crank stood on his tiptoes to see a public bathroom in the distance.
"I am the Pundertaker! I have come to take my rightful dominion over this city. As a gesture of goodwill, I offer you a boon. One of many to come!" The man thundered, raising his hands and arching fresh lightning in front of him as the civilians scrambled to back away.
A huge chasm appeared as the sands of the beach flowed into it. A column of thick, tarry smoke rose up as Crank hammered on the locked bathroom door. The occupant sounded to still have a ways to go. The smell was unmistakable, from the smoke, not the bathroom. One man in the crowd let out a triumphant shout through giggles.
"Behold, the pot-hole!" Pundertaker said, climbing atop the insect and riding through the smoke. "Now, before the festivities begin, I need the mayor delivered here to me on the beach, dead or alive. The person who brings him to me will receive riches beyond their wildest dreams."
A group of police officers launched a smoke grenade at the villain who laughed in response, dominating whatever they were saying through the megaphone.
"Fools, you look upon my great works and think you can stop me!" The villain held the trident saw to the sky and another bolt of lightning struck it, changing it into a grey cane. "Behold, the might of the Hurri-cane!"
A wall of wind swept through the crowd as they screamed. A Volvo lifted up and struck into the gathered officers.
"Forget it!" Crank yelled, taking the baggie from his pocket. He dumped eight times the legal limit of bath salts into the pipe and drew hard, letting the acrid fumes dance between his remaining teeth. He did not cough out the poison as a normal man would but breathed out slow and sweet, smelling of peat moss with the smile that was plastered across a thousand newspapers.
His muscles busted through his shirt and he wasted no time, bounding towards the villain with a fierce karate kick. The alligator jumped in front of the villain, blocking the blow with its tail.
"High as hell, reckless abandon, and looking eight days past your expiration date," the alligator snarled in the gravelly voice of a noir detective. "It's an honor to meet you. A shame it had to be like this."
The alligator launched itself at Crank, biting his midsection and knocking him straight into the pot-hole. He breathed in and let the conjured ganja revitalize him. This villain was a fool if he thought a gator could stop him.
Crank launched out of the hole, spinning the gator by the tail like a shotput. He released, launching the projectile reptile into the still airborne Pundertaker, who was knocked off his bee mount.
"Ahh," the villain yelled, clearly unaccustomed to battle. He was powerful but a newbie for sure. "Who the hell are you?"
Crank floated over the crowd, grabbing an empty can of Skoal flying lazily through the wind as he approached, saying nothing.
"It's Florida man!" someone in the crowd shouted. A cacophony of intoxicated cheering rose up.
"This city's taken," Crank said, throwing the can like a ninja star and knocking the cane from the villain's hand.
"No!" Wasabee! Investigator! Kill this man!" the villain squealed as he began mouthing to himself, clearly struggling to find another pun as he crawled towards the cane.
Crank breathed in more of the fine kush before landing six blows against the toxic bee. His eyes watered as the foul thing belched acid onto his chest. If he didn't have trace amounts of every stimulant known to man running through his veins, he would have passed out. He kicked out and drew a 20 dollar scratchoff from his pocket. "Keep the change, honey!" he quipped as he threw the card to tear the bee in half. He made eye contact with the alligator, who dropped his gaze and scurried away, unwilling for a round two.Crank blasted a path to Pundertaker, traveling through the air with all the speed of a modded 1996 Camry XE. It wasn't enough.
"My-newt! Go, give him an embolism!"
Crank felt a small prick as something burrowed into his veins. His blood stream was the most inhospitable environment on Earth. He wasn't worried. He continued towards the villain.
"I've got it!" Pundertaker yelled as he grabbed his tool again. "Go Sand Witch!"
A cackling accompanied the thunder as lightning struck the beach and a ten-foot-tall golem of sand rose up, topped by a pointed hat.
Crank punched through the creature as the crowd roared behind him but each bit of damage was almost instantly undone. The battle raged on for minutes. Crank could feel the smooth glass in his bloodstream fading. He couldn't last much longer and this sand witch wasn't slowing down. The golem grew a long wand and began some incantation as deli meats swarmed above it.
"Come on, think!" Crank beat his addled brain, trying and failing to sober up. Then an idea came through the drug fog, creativity likely stemming from the LSD of the night before.
Crank dove past the golem and ripped the cane from the villain's hand. "This better work. Go Mike Dyson!"At first, there was only silence, even from the crowd.
Then a familiar voice came bellowing down from the heavens. "Miami! Let's get ready to RUMBLE!" The ding ding of an arena bell followed by the whir of a vacuum cleaner drowned out the roars of the crowd as a figure rose from the sand. A heavyweight boxer, sack on his back, and strong suction jets instead of a right arm caused the people to back away, forming a wide circle. He engaged the sand golem, squared up and dancing on his tiptoes.
Each blow drew more and more of the creature's sand into Dyson's bag, until it was on its knees. A final knockout blow and the creature was only a pile of sand, cackling no more.
The boxer walked over and help up the squirming villain as Crank approached. Crank held up a broken bit of a corona bottle, expressionless as he walked towards the villain.
"No, no, I surrender, please Florida Man. Don't kill me!" the villain was powerless without his staff, looking a pathetic blubbering mess as his face was struggling to not be sucked into the heavyweight champion.
Crank knocked the helmet off his head, revealing a sniveling face.
"My Knight Cap! Don't let my death be on your conscience. You're a hero! You can't do this!"
"Don't worry," Crank said, slicing the glass across the villain's throat. " I’m not really a mourning person."
&#x200B;
/r/surinical | 2021-06-09T14:26:03 | 2021-06-09T14:18:30 | 366 | 207 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend. | Mitchell stared nervously at the pentagram on his bedroom floor. he made sure everything was perfect for his new visitor. After arranging all the materials, Mitchell stood on the northernmost corner and began reciting the incantation. The floor beneath him twisted and morphed into a fiery black pit. From the pit rose an enormous beast. He towered over Mitchell with his giant muscles bulging out of his skin. His skin was like fire. He had a jutted chin and his mouth was twisted into a wicked smile.
"SPEAK, PUNY MORTAL. IT IS I BEEZLEBUB, RULER OF THE DAMNED AND LIEUTENANT OF LUCIFER, HIMSELF"
"Hello, Beezlebub, I'm Mitchell, but you can call me Mitch".
"WRETCHED HUMAN, DO NOT WASTE MY TIME! WHY HAST THOU SUMMONED ME?"
"I just wanted to, you know, hangout."
"I CAN GRANT YOU ANYTHING Y-. Wait, What?"
"I just wanted to hangout with you, get to know you."
"I HAVE NO TIME FOR SUCH THINGS. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"
"I just told you. I want to spend some time with you. My dog recently died so now it's just me and I feel kinda lonely"
"SO IT IS FRIENDS YOU DESIRE? I CAN GIVE YOU AS MANY FRIENDS AS A PERSON COULD HAVE, BUT IT WILL BE FOR
A PRICE: YOUR SO-"
"I don't want to make a deal. I just want to spend some time with you"
"I WILL NOT WASTE MY TIME WITH THIS. I WILL SEE YOU ON JUDGEMENT DAY"
A column of smoke arose from Bezzlebub's feet until it engulfed him entirely. As the smoke cleared, Mitchell saw Beezlebub still there with a look of disappointment on his face.
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!"
"The spell will keep you here until you do as I wish or the sun rises, and that's in about 5 hours."
"NOBODY, COULD POSSIBLY SUMMON I, BEEZLEBUB, FOR NO REASON"
"Well, Firstly, it's "me, Beezlebub" not I. Secondly, I summoned you here because I suspect that nobody has tried to be your friend for a long time."
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK SUCH THINGS, IGNORANT FOOL. I AM THE LIEUTENANT OF SATAN HIMSE- ugh, You're right. Satan and I used to be the best of friends. After we took over Hell collecting Human souls was just so easy that Lucifer and I spent most of our time together. I guess things started to change when the Buddha was born."
Beezlebub sat on Mitchell's bed and continued "It got worse when Jesus and Mohammed were born. With all those people telling others not to be evil, collecting souls became a full time job. Things got harder and harder as humanity advanced. I thought things would get better after WWI but Satan spent so much time with that mustachioed, Nazi shithead, that I thought he was Satan's new best friend."
Mitchell put his hand on Beezlebub's massive shoulder. "I get that", he said "I used to have two best friends, but they got jobs, and wives and kids, and we just kind of drifted apart. They moved on with their lives and I just ... fell behind"
"Beezlebub looked at Mitchell, "You know Mitch, you're the first person in a thousand years to just talk to me. If I'm stuck here lets hangout"
Mitchell's face lit up "Cool! So what do you like to do?"
"Do you like collecting the souls of the innocent?"
"No, do you like playing video games?"
"Yeah. Do you have any EA games?"
Mitchell asked "Yeah, why?"
Beezlebub pointed at his chest and proudly said "I'm the CEO of EA"
Mitchell laughed and said "I got Battlefield 4, Let's play."
The two played all night. For the first time in a longtime both of them felt truly happy. When the sun rose Mitchell looked worriedly at Beezlebub. Beezlebub said, "Don't worry I'll see you next Friday"
"Why?! Am I going to die"
Beezlebub laughed, "No because I get off work early on Friday and I want to spend it with a friend."
| *Nothing bad could REALLY happen, could it? Nah,* I thought to myself as I scanned the shelves of the aisles of the massive library. I knew what I was searching for: a book on demonology. *Why not?,* I thought, *not like this stuff is for real, anyway. Just a bunch of old superstitious stuff.* I was bored out of my skull and all my friends were on the foreign exchange trip in Slovenia sponsored by our governments for the next month or so, so I thought it might be a decent idea to at least keep entertained for the next while, since I've already beaten all of my games and porn is boring as hell after I've diddled myself roughly seven times that day already.
Eventually, I finally came across the old and decrepit book, a black-and-red hardcover that was about to come off at the seams. On the front cover, no text was present; the only thing present on the front cover was the Sigil of Baphomet. I looked on the back cover, and it was blank. Even the spine was textless. Finally, I looked inside for information on the author, and all there was, was "Ave Satanas". Admittedly, at this point, I was more than a little entirely freaked out of my mind, but at the same time, it was so cool! A book on Satanic rituals? I looked inside and saw the text. All of it was in Latin. Each page had its own ritual, with the exception of a few that spilled over onto the next page. Finally, I saw a demonic summoning ritual, and I knew right then that I had to have this book.
As I walked up to the library's front desk, I could see the look of tired exasperation on the 30-something-year-old librarian's face. He was a quiet, very attractive man who wore a tired sweater and black-rimmed glasses. To be frank, I also knew I had to have him, but that's beside the point of this little story. I quietly placed the book on the desk, and he gave me a look like, "Okay, really now?", but I simply shrugged. He checked the book out and said, "You know, Victor, you've checked out some pretty weird books before, but this one really takes the cake."
"Yeah, but c'mon, Mitch, this is SO COOL, and I'm bored at home, but I could probably use the company instead of this book," I said back, with an inviting hint. He glared back at me with the single most intense "no" glare I've ever seen in my life. Finally, I broke the deathly silence with, "Well, at least I have something to do now. Maybe I'll even summon a demon to keep me company." Oh, how I now regret that last sentence.
I rushed home at what felt like light speed. Living in the city, that means I might've knocked a person or two over on their way to lunch. I stopped at the restaurant next to my apartment building and quickly grabbed a sub sandwich, and rushed next door and up the stairs to my apartment. I sat down at my dining table, unwrapped my delicious Srirachawich and opened the book carefully, considering how delicate this thing was. I rolled the pages past until I hit the ritual to summon my very own demon. I slowly munched my way through the foot-long sandwich until I read the very last line of the ritual.
At that point, I stood up and decided to go ahead do it. I took a piece of red chalk I had lying around in a set and drew an inverted pentagram on the ground, and sat down within it. I had the book set up in front of me, leaning against another pile of books I had lying about, some of which probably needed returned to that delicious hunk of a man at the library...er, anyway, back to the story. I began repeating the long Latin phrases required of me, slowly getting more and more entranced by the entire situation. At one point, I felt like I was selling my very soul to Satan himself. Finally, I ended the entire ritual with the phrase in the very back of the book: Ave Satanas.
The pentagram began to glow a mighty crimson glow. As soon as I saw this, I jumped out and got on the far side of the room, not wanting to be personally involved, but curious enough to still keep the pentagram in my line of sight. Finally, a glowing ball of energy appeared, levitating above the very center of the pentagram. The ball began to expand and finally exploded in a near-deafening boom. I managed to make out the apartments neighboring mine rattling. I heard someone below me scream, "HOLY SHIT, I THINK VICTOR FINALLY BLEW HIMSELF UP!" I ignored them, because right before my very eyes was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen: a 7-foot tall, muscular, humanoid being with horns on his head, blood-red skin, and a 5 o'clock shadow. Admittedly, I was slightly attracted to him, but that was quickly replaced by fear when he got his eyes on me.
"THE FUCK YOU WANT?" he bellowed at me, causing my nice plates to rattle.
"Uh, um, er, uh..." I stammered at him, subjected to the most mind-numbing fear I had ever experienced.
"THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? I'M A BUSY DEMON."
I was a little stunned at how profane he was, but then I remembered he was a giant scary demon. "Uh, I summoned you....I...uhh...admittedly, I have no idea what's going on," I slowly stammered back, trying not to let the sweat soak my every article of clothing.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" he said as he got within licking distance of my face.
"Uh....not really, no."
"I'M FUCKIN' POLRAY, GUARDIAN OF THE UNDERWORLD, AND I HAVE A **VERY** BUSY SCHEDULE!"
"Can I call you 'Ray'?"
"NO"
He looked over to my dining room table and saw my Srirachawich, which he proceeded to pick up and eat in one bite. "That was my lunch, asshole," I promptly said as my delicious wonderlunch made its way down whatever the demonic equivalent to an esophagus is.
"Not anymore, shitbreath. Damn, that was weak. I thought that red sauce was supposed to be hellpepper. What the hell is that?"
"Uh, um, Sriracha sauce, uh, sir."
"Well, it SUCKED MASSIVE DEMON DICK."
"Uh, thank you, sir, I guess."
At this point, I was more than a little confused at what on earth was ever going on.
"Well, I'm going back to Hell, because I got shit to do. I swear to the Dark Lord Himself, if you summon me again, I am taking you back with me, got it?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, I do."
"Good."
He disappeared from my room, along with the pentagram and my sandwich, in a red flash. I sat down at my table to contemplate what just happened.
I took the book back the next day. | 2014-07-20T08:32:52 | 2014-07-20T07:42:26 | 98 | 14 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | This is how it works? Did I say that or think it?
Did he hear me?
Is he hearing me?
If this is how it works... If I can come back again when I die?
I don't want to be here. A voice in a head. I'm a man with dreams.
I need out.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself!
KILL YOURSELF! | THUD. I felt an extremely hard knock to my head as I woke up. I'd had a bit to drink the night before but should my head be hurting this bad?
As I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar environment was laid open before me. It was an open room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling. Below me was a twin-sized bed. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and in my confusion I decided to get off the bed and see what was outside, if there was anyone that could give me any sort of answer.
The moment I tried to move I realized that I was unable to do so. I could see and feel everything around me, but it seemed like I was stuck in some sort of dream paralysis. This was the moment that I truly began to panic. I tried to let out a loud scream. To my surprise I heard it, but I didn't feel my mouth open.
As if in response to my internal scream, I heard a voice begin go mumble.
"Not today, buddy. We can't do this today."
My lips were moving in response to the words that I heard, but I was not the one attempting to speak this time. I felt as if I was inside another person's body.
The door at the end of the room opened slowly, and I felt my head begin to move, still not under my control, and my eyes settled on the person in a white lab coat.
"Mr. Jones," he said, "it's time for your 9:00 AM medication."
I'm on the verge of insanity at this point. "WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I am attempting to scream at the top of my lungs, but yet again my lips will not move to utter a single noise. Mr. Jones is MY name, yet I have no idea who this person is nor how I arrived at this facility.
The voice of this body responded to the attendant in the lab coat. "Oh, of course. I've been looking forward to it since before I went to sleep." The voice then dropped to a whisper, as if addressing me personally, "Let's try to get through today without any hiccups."
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did I get here and where are we?"
The voice responded "You don't remember? We've been here for years. It's taken years, but I've settled on the fact that you're just a voice in my head and we're not going to argue like we used to."
The realization of what has happened was utterly terrifying. I've become a mere voice in my own head, incapable of controlling my body, but simply my own thoughts, which were now separate from my 'body'.
I felt my body rise from the bed and walk towards the door to take the medicine.
"Thank you," the voice said as my body took the medicine in it's right hand and quickly swallowed it as if this was a regular activity. I could distinctly feel the rush of energy flowing through my body, and my vision became hazy.
"Quiet now," the voice whispered. "Go to sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."
| 2015-03-23T07:29:11 | 2015-03-23T07:14:36 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | When the fairy (literal fairy) told him that he could wish for anything he wanted, he thought she was shitting him. The old lady had gotten wasted at the Chain Drive and picked a fight with the wrong guy. Who knew that magical fairy godmothers smoked and drank in leather bars? Apparently, this one did. So after Joe stepped in to throw the asshole out for trying to break the jaw of a grandma, she had hiccupped and slurred her way through some crazy explanation of "debts owed."
Joe told me he wasn't sure why he was so honest. Maybe it was being in the leather bar for the first time in a while, or the whiskey, or maybe cause he thought she was full of shit. All he knows now is that he's never felt so good after (who fucking knew?!) it came true. It a took a bit of time for his crew to adjust. Him screaming along to metal on his bike with birds tweeting and fluttering along behind him was quite a sight. And, damn, did he ever get laid by the prettiest rich twinks this side of the Mississippi. No one knew how he managed to not get all the frills of those petticoats caught in his hog while he raced down the highway, but by some magic he just sparkled on by and never wrecked. Thing was, his gang learned to never question, and I'll tell you how.
One night after a long day on the road, his crew stopped at the Red Boar saloon. Big Joe stomped over to the bar as usual, chomping on his cigar, and downed a shot. Some hillbilly idiot on the the next stool, obviously not the classy sort, looked up and down at Joe's shiny gold dress.
"The fuck you wearing, faggot?" He says.
Now Joe just downed another shot, put out his cigar on the bar, and took a deep breath.
Damn motherfucker didn't even see it coming. Big Joe just pulled him off that stool, slammed him on the ground, and knocked his teeth out. Over and over again, we all saw him beat the living shit out of that poor sap.
"I!"
Another punch.
"AM!"
Another punch.
"A PRINCESS!"
Damn right. After that, no one ever doubted that Big Joe of the road was the prettiest princess of the land. | The Harley Davidson convention was in full swing as Joe’s dust-riddled biker boot shit-kickers trudged his substantially muscled form down aisle after aisle of –man- transportation. No pussies allowed.
Making his way past a particularly testosterone-riddled row of bikes, he was suddenly accosted by the sight of an even more substantially muscled man glowering down at a fair-haired maiden.
‘Now, what is this?’ thought our balding but still oddly imposing Harley-loving friend. ‘No man of such size should ever appear threatening toward a lady. Even if this is no place for a fancy looker like herself.’ And so, he trudged ever-so-slightly faster toward the pair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said he to the behemoth who still glowered with great menace toward the crinkle-nosed beauty. Nose-crinkling is almost always a sign of anger, and so our friend assumed that she was disgruntled with her treatment.
“This nice lady has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. I suggest you leave before this becomes a situation. We don’t want a situation, now do we,” he stated bluntly to the larger man, wearing his own equally grimace-y expression, that had been perfected in his years as a squirrel exterminator.
The lady maltreater paused, appearing to contemplate argument for a moment, but his eyes glanced down to the beltline of his shorter opponent, where there was a sheathed revolver, the size of which may have suggested the man was compensating for something. Rethinking what would have been a fabulously bawdy comeback, he turned and left without another word.
Relief passed over the fair maiden’s face, and she turned to her savior to say, “I would like to thank you for your kindness on this day, the 26th day of March in the year 2016. For your valiance, I will grant you one wish.”
Now, our friend, thinking he had rescued a nice, normal, albeit pretty lady, promptly went from gentlemanly to pissed in a nano-moment. Thinking that she was mocking him, he responded, “I wish I was a fucking fairy-tale princess,” and he turned and trudged away so quickly it could be described as stalking off.
Later that evening, Joe, our unassuming pal, was getting ready for bed and shed his clothing until only a pair of Sponge Bob boxers were left. He then did the only manly thing one can when getting into bed and he cannon-balled onto his red and black lumberjack flannel comforter.
The next morning, when Joe awoke, it was due to a rather uncomfortable lump under his back. Cracking his eyelids, nearly sealed shut with crusties, he glanced down, only to sit up abruptly in what could have been either anger or alarm. Joe is rarely alarmed, so we will assume anger.
He was now wearing a rather conspicuous (due to him not being a 5-year-old girl) yellow and blue tutu. This was paired with the unfortunate fact that his now unhoused penis was able to sway to and fro from beneath the ruffled fabric. Which it did as he launched himself from bed to stand in front of the mirror.
Had Joe been the type to laugh at himself. Ever. He would have released a great and voluminous chuckle. But Joe is not –that sort- of man.
And so, he punched the mirror.
Hand now bloodied, he had no choice but to remove his new fairy-garment and stumble into the shower, where he proceeded to sing Enter Sandman by Metallica, his number five favorite shower song of all time.
About two minutes into singing, there was suddenly a swarm of small brightly-plumaged birds whirling and twirling enchantingly above his head. Needless to say, Joe was not enchanted. He immediately Karate Kid snatched a bird out of the air from above the head and asked, not altogether unrhetorically, “What the hell are you doing in here, you little shits?”
Ignorant of the meaning of the word rhetorical, the bird responded in a quiveringly shrilly bird voice, “I – I – I’m sorry, Sir. My name is Sandman. I thought you told me to enter… and the sound of your voice was just so majestic that we could not stay away. I hope we did not offend you, Sir.”
It was at this inopportune moment that one of his bird friends decided to take a crap right on Joe’s left ear, which protruded conspicuously from the side of his head.
“Okay, that’s enough! I don’t know what in blazes is going on, but get the ever-living fuck out of my house!”
And so, they did.
It wasn’t until later, as he was leaving his house clad in a very lovely red and black flannel princess-neckline dress that Joe began to realize that something was truly off.
That, and there was a line of fairy princes a mile long waiting at his front door…
Fin
My third ever post to WritingPrompts; feedback appreciated! | 2016-03-26T07:28:22 | 2016-03-26T00:23:08 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You've died and have woken up in a bright area; there is a man standing before you in white robes. He asks "How was Heaven?" | It took so much to squint at the man standing in front of me. At first I thought he might be a hallucination – people said occurrences like these happened with the procedure.
Beatifically smiling, he came into focus. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. I knew where I was and what that meant.
“Damn.”
I wish my first words to my maker would have been more...eloquent. He just beamed back at me.
He reached out his hand, or what I thought was his hand. Things still weren't totally clear. As he lifted me up, he took a breath to ask me a question.
It had been a 6 hour surgery. She needed part of a liver, and there wasn't a moment I could remember where I didn't know it was going to be mine. Fair is fair, she took my heart 13 years earlier. She always laughed when I called it a matching set.
I didn't make it.
She did.
“How was heaven” he asked, dusting off my back.
“She was amazing.”
“Good,” he replied “we have all eternity to talk about her.”
He threw his arm around my shoulders as we walked. He let out a chuckle.
“Matching set. That was funny.” | My brain churned, trying to process this newfound information. "What, you mean life on earth? *That* shit was heaven?" God was an asshole for greeting me with such nonchalance, as if I ought to have already known. Wasn't this a rhetorical question, anyway? Shouldn't he have already known my opinion? In which case, I was fucked, because I was currently thinking about how much Heaven had sucked, and not even fear of God's omniscience was going to block out these thoughts.
"Well, it used to be earth, but we rebranded." God shrugged. "Our initial structure was flawed: only three realms for an infinite spectrum of morality? It wasn't fair to group your everyman with your Mother Theresa."
"Actually, Mother Theresa was a monster—" I began.
"Look, who's setting the rules, you or me?" God raised a pointed eyebrow, daring me to contest him. "Drop this wishy-washy secular humanism; it's not going to work in Superheaven." He noticed my look of confusion and added, "The level above heaven. It's more or less the same, except you actually have to go to church now."
My brain retched as hundreds of sleepy Sunday memories passed through it. God's facial expression didn't change; either he couldn't read my mind or he'd evolved beyond the confines of human body language. It was starting to bother me: how dismissive and cold he was. "Are there no other choices? "Other religions?" He shook his head, frowning. "Hell?"
"Why would you want to go to Hell?"
*In hopes Satan is cooler than you*, I thought. "Change of scenery," I said.
"Well, Hell doesn't exist," God said, beckoning me forward through the clouds, "We rebranded that too. It's now called Minor Heaven, and you can go there, but it's objectively inferior to Heaven and the realms above it. Observe." He snapped his fingers and a small model of earth began to revolve in the air. Then half of it burst into flames.
"What do you mean, you rebranded Hell?" Wasn't Hell supposed to act as a deterrent from sinning? What was the point of grouping it under the Heaven umbrella?
"Well, some people had a problem with the existence of Hell under a supposedly all-merciful god." God sighed and rubbed his temples. "Not that I ever promised to be merciful, but you know how humans are: they'll misquote you and hold you to it." He stopped and stamped the floor, summoning a rickety set of stairs that led into the sky. As he led me up them, he continued, "So, to get them off my back, I acquired Hell from Lucifer, renamed it, and everything's now fine and dandy. It's not like humans can tell they're in Hell, anyway." He chuckled. "You and your inability to comprehend greater dimensions."
"That doesn't sound very kosher, if I'm being honest." I said. God ignored me and continued climbing; I thought to turn and run the other direction, but the stairs behind me had vanished. I sighed and trudged onward; the steps seemed to go on for miles, and the fatigue and all the whiteness began to disorient me. After a while, I could no longer tell what direction I was heading; all I could do was follow the stairs.
I finally set foot on the landing, where a glowing red doorway stood, framing the rippling image of an entire realm behind it. "Welcome to the next realm of Heaven," God said, nudging me through. He left briskly, slamming the door shut behind him, perhaps still irritated with all of my questions.
My past life's memories began to die as I stepped through the doorway. Before they had completely faded, I noticed, at least, that my surroundings seemed distinctly earthly: the trees, the grass, the sun; nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for one alarming difference. Panic surged through me, but the moment passed, and I could no longer remember why everything was on fire. | 2016-08-15T23:17:39 | 2016-08-15T22:19:09 | 307 | 87 |
[WP] Aliens discover earth and are horrified to learn that the entire planet is all oxygen junkies, we have become so addicted and dependent mere minutes without oxygen would kill us! | “It seems the life forms of this terra are dependent on Oxygen in its gas form sir.” An audible female voice rang from what seemed to be the walls of the well litten and warm cabin.
“You mean to tell me their planet is so lush they don’t have open access to their sun?” The dark green yet stern man bellowed.
“No sir, the exact opposite actually, very little of their environment is shaded, they’re addicted to these trace amounts of oxygen, so much so their biology has evolved around using oxygen as their primary energy source.”
Quickly the green man snapped “Like plants?”
“Actually Captain, the plants on this terra work as all evolved species with, what they call, photosynthesis as their primary energy source. The majority of all sentient beings on this planet use our secondary system of respiration as their primary source.”
“Are you telling me these beings are not reliant on a sun or other ultraviolet source for energy?” The Captain asked puzzled and stammering.
“Yes sir, they are quite capable of surviving within an environment with a lack of ultraviolet for extended periods of time.”
A short pause overtook the cabin “for how long could they stand these conditions?”
“It seems with the right supplements, oxygen rich atmosphere and flesh of small mammals or plant fibers…. Indefinitely sir.”
‘INDEFINITELY?!” The Captain screeched.
“Yes sir.”
A long silence fell over the ship floating in an exposed orbit.
“Kara, give me a full report over the intelligence and susceptibility of this species.” While the captains orders rang out, simultaneously several monitors and alarms buzzed and sounded.
Without pause Kara replied “anti-missile systems engaged”
“Kara, forget the reports. That told us all we need to know” he laughed, “yes, it seems these are the beings we’ve been looking for. Alert all ships and headquarters we’ve found the perfect slave race to finish our army.”
| *Now, this is surprising, I didn't know anything about it. There must be a good explanation for it, but I wonder what it is..*- Myre thought with interest, keeping up her pace on the treadmill. The screens at her gym were all synced to the same Solar System News channel that morning. The discovery had been originally announced by the General Communication Agents just earlier that day, but everybody was already spreading it on neural media. "Disgusting Humans! They had millions of years to evolve, adapt and get in touch with literally ANYBODY within their galaxy, and they are still struggling with breathing?? We shouldn't even spend resources and time to look into them anymore!", someone was shouting on the holographic screens. Who this person was exactly, Myre had no idea, but judging by his clothes and the radiant color of his skin it must have been some politician, she deduced.
She finished her 5 minutes workout and was ready to go home when Trex Miller, her boss, walked through the door, holding it for her for a few seconds.
"Good morning Myre, are you done already?", said Trex.
"Good morning boss. Yeah I am just about to go home, I came earlier today", said Myre, trying to cut the conversation short.
"Fair enough. Oh hey, did you hear about the humans??", said Trex in a tone that felt childish and excited at the same time.
"Yeah, it's all over the place. I think it's pretty sad honestly, but I really don't understand all the fuss about it", said Myre looking at Trex, while walking out of the door.
"Are you kidding? There are thousands of people involved in the study of Humans and human life on Earth. With all the information we gathered so far about human evolution, it was pretty much going to become a compulsory subject in middle school, my neighbor teacher was telling me earlier. But now that their nasty addiction has made the news, nobody wants to even mention them anymore. It is pretty bad", said Trex.
"Well, I guess it will be less study for our kids then. I really have to go now, I will see you later at the office, OK?", said Myre, hoping to end it there.
"I guess that's a good point as well! Haha. Will see you later", concluded Trex with his bossy voice.
Myre walked all the way home trying to think about the meetings and tasks for that day, but for some reason the news about the humans was still floating in her mind. *This is all so strange. Something is not quite right. Either Alan has lied to me, or the news are not telling all the truth*- Myre thought.
Alan was her pen pal, and he had been for years. They actually met once at a culinary workshop some 200 years before, and although they never felt the need to meed again, they kept in touch ever since. Every month they would send each other a long message, recalling all the meaningful and recent events of their respective lives, often asking opinions on personal matters. They knew each other very well, and their reciprocal trust was something that Myre always appreciated about their unusual relationship. But today something had changed, and Myre felt the need for an explanation. She knew Alan's secret. She had known it ever since their first meeting, when at the workshop Alan cut himself while learning some chopping techniques. Blood started to flow out of his ripped skin, but he proceeded to cover it up straight away. Only Myre, his workshop partner at the time, had seen the scene. "Sshh! Please don't tell anybody, would you? It is just a skin problem of mine, but I can take care of it", said Alan in a hurry. Myre didn't really think much of it at the time, although she thought it was weird. She wasn't quite the talkative kind back then, and didn't want to ask personal questions to a person she had just met. It would have been just rude. But now, the thought could not leave her mind. *It is ridiculous how I never really thought about that accident ever again. We stopped bleeding 1000 years ago. How could Alan bleed? Only humans are known to be the last species to bleed. Does it mean that... ??*
Myre had almost reached her unit when she noticed someone standing right in front of her door. *Is that person looking at me right now? And is he wearing clothes?*- she thought, astonished. *People stopped wearing clothes ages ago! How could it be...?* A black jacket and a pair of jeans were covering his whole body, but for some reason she still recognized him immediately. It was Alan. | 2016-09-30T01:17:09 | 2016-09-29T19:54:12 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost.
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | Five murders and a hundred years of life. However, here I was at the front of the church with everyone else. . . asking for forgiveness.
"How many have you killed, my daughter?" the priest asked the woman next to me.
Her eyes raced between the five of us. All of us killers, fighting our way back into normal society. I imagined that she considered lowering her number, to seem a little better than she really was. But what difference was one life, two, five, or even ten.
"Seven," she said, "three men, and four women. 140 years on my pitiful existence."
We bowed our heads in unison, as an acknowledgment of the truth. The woman leaned forward and drank from the chalice. Her life was restored back to its normal length and with it went the memories of those she had killed.
I frowned. The image of a husband and wife holding hands on the beach flashed through my mind. It was warm, sandy, filled with love. I abolished the bad thought. The memory was from a man I had killed two years ago, a burden I took with his life.
"My brother, how many lives have you taken?" the priest asked me.
I gritted my teeth at the thought. Hearing seven made saying my number easier. It didn't make the burden any less, though. I could see their faces as I opened my eyes and looked into the chalice of wine between the priest's hands.
Wine that looked like blood.
"I've killed a woman, an old boss of mine. It was easier after that, so I took the life of two men that sexually assaulted a lady outside a bar. Then I killed a man that was going to gun down residents at a shopping mall. And last of all, the reason I'm here today, is because I killed the person I loved the most. My fifth murder," I said.
My wife's face popped up into my head. Millie had a smile that made you pause. Pink lips and rosy cheeks were her signature. We were getting married in this particular flashback, and then it switched up, to three days ago when she had pulled the gun on me.
"Drink and absolve yourself of your burden, my son," the priest said.
I leaned forward and drank from the chalice. The wine tasted foul.
I was in a haze as he moved on to the last three murderers. At the end of it all, the priest stood in front of us and read a passage from the bible. Then he said the words we'd been waiting for, "Today, you have been set free."
I moved my lips to give thanks, but no words came. I noticed then how numb my jaw had become. My tongue barely moved in my mouth, despite the attempts, and my hands shook near my sides.
The four other people looked the same. The woman who had drank first began rocking back and forth. She keeled over, frothing at the mouth while her arms and legs flailed. A breath later she went still.
The priest grinned as the women finished dying. "May you rest in the fiery pits of hell, my daughter. The work of the lord has been done today."
I tipped like a domino and slammed into the floor. My body burned from the insides out as if little claws were trying to force their way from my veins. And as my eyes rolled back and the world went black *her* lips were my last thought.
| FADE IN:
INT. A CLOTHING STORE - DAY
*A bell above the shop's door rings as a young man walks through it. This is ALFORD. He looks to be about twenty-five years old, though his elegant clothing seems to be about a hundred years out-of-date.*
**WELDON:** (*O.S.*) Good morning! Make yourself comfortable, I won't be a minute!
*Alford walks up to a glass display counter while he waits. He peers inside, examining the expensive leather shoes within it. After a moment, a second man walks into view. This is WELDON, a tailor.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) So sorry about the wait, sir. Oh, and about the dulcimer. How can I help you?
**ALFORD:** Sorry, what was that?
**WELDON:** I merely regret that I wasn't here to greet you upon your entry.
**ALFORD:** What? No, what was the other thing?
**WELDON:** "How can I help you?"
**ALFORD:** No, no, you said something about a...
**WELDON:** (*Interrupting*) Ah, the dulcimer! Yes, I do apologize for that. It's haunted, you see.
*A moment of silence passes while Alford processes this.*
**ALFORD:** "Haunted?"
**WELDON:** I'm afraid so. It shouldn't be a bother, though. Now, how can I be of service?
*Alford clears his throat.*
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, it's come to my attention that I'm in need of some new clothes.
**WELDON:** Ah, looking to update the old wardrobe, are we?
**ALFORD:** Yes.
**WELDON:** Trying to modernize your attire?
**ALFORD:** Yes.
**WELDON:** Hoping to cast off the threads of yesteryear, in exchange for...
**ALFORD:** (*Interrupting*) Look, is this strictly necessary? I just need some new clothes.
*A few jangling chords are heard from behind the counter.*
**WELDON:** Shut up!
**ALFORD:** Sorry.
**WELDON:** Not you. I was talking to the dulcimer.
**ALFORD:** Look, if this is a bad time...
**WELDON:** No, no, no, no, no! No, this is a fine time, sir! No time like the present, as they say!
**ALFORD:** Quite.
**WELDON:** Now, to the topic at hand: Where *did* you find your current apparel? I mark it to be... why, at least a century out of style, at the very least!
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, funny thing about that. When I woke up this morning, all of my clothes had been replaced with... well, this.
*Weldon nods knowingly.*
**WELDON:** Ah, I see, sir! You've recently killed someone, haven't you?
*Alford looks shocked.*
**ALFORD:** That's a... I don't... you...
**WELDON:** Calm down, my good man! It happens to the best of us. Why, just last month, I found myself twenty years younger!
**ALFORD:** You... killed someone?
**WELDON:** I maintain that he rather killed himself. Using a wheelbarrow like that? Still, I'm happy to reap the benefits.
*Several mocking, laughter-like notes are heard from behind the counter.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) Even if they do come with some... irritants.
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, I'm actually rather shaken up about it.
**WELDON:** What happened, if I may ask?
*Alford swallows, looking uncomfortable.*
**ALFORD:** I was walking home the other evening, when a pickpocket stole my wallet.
**WELDON:** Ah, so you shot him through the head!
**ALFORD:** (*Shocked*) No!
**WELDON:** You stabbed him in the pancreas?
**ALFORD:** No! No, I just grabbed his wrist!
**WELDON:** And the pressure was such that it caused a blood clot to form, thereby resulting in a massive and fatal stroke!
**ALFORD:** There's something wrong with you.
**WELDON:** I'm right though, aren't I?
**ALFORD:** No, you aren't.
**WELDON:** What was it, then?
**ALFORD:** The fellow broke free and ran, then got hit by a bus. I've felt terrible ever since, and these clothes are a constant reminder.
**WELDON:** I see.
*Weldon takes a deep breath and holds up his hands.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) Well, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help, sir. Unless I miss my guess, you are doomed to always appear as though you've just stepped out of a time machine.
**ALFORD:** I'm stuck like this?
**WELDON:** Most likely, sir, yes. Any clothes you possess will spontaneously transform into... that.
**ALFORD:** Couldn't I just try something on?
**WELDON:** No, no, I forbid it! In fact, I am quite uncomfortable even having you near those suits!
*Weldon lunges across the counter and knocks a clothing rack away from Alford.*
**ALFORD:** This really isn't necessa...
**WELDON:** (*Interrupting*) And step away from those shoes!
*Weldon lunges again... but in doing so, he accidentally breaks the glass counter. One of the shards pierces through his neck, killing him.*
**ALFORD:** Sir? *Sir?* Oh... oh, bugger.
*An ominous - but somehow darkly comedic - melody drifts through the air.*
FADE OUT. | 2016-10-23T19:50:36 | 2016-10-23T19:45:15 | 391 | 71 |
[WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost.
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | "Look, let's just get this over with so we can eat lunch. Guilty."
"There's no evidence, I can't convict him without evidence."
"What are you, stupid? Did you see how old he is? Besides, it says right here he was born one hundred years ago. Statistically, most men are dead by then. And he's in excellent health."
"I mean, even if we're wrong, it's not as if he had much life left in him anyway."
"Plus he was the only one around at the time."
"Look, for all we know, his son committed suicide."
"Right. His son. The fat leech with fingers deep in his father's bank accounts. He didn't have to work a day in his life."
"You're not thinking this through. He was unemployed, not by choice. He felt as if he was being a burden on his father and offed himself. You read the letter."
"Fuck the letter. You can fake a letter."
"You saw the old man crying."
"You can fake tears."
"And what about his ex-wife? She left him for a reason. Maybe she saw what you didn't. Maybe she saw what we're all seeing."
"Young, pretty woman like her marrying a rich old man? I'd be surprised if she didn't want him dead for his inheritance. The son's out of the way already."
"You know there's only one way to know for sure."
"But that-"
"IF. IF we declare him guilty, he'll get the death penalty. Then all we have to do is read the report for when he dies."
"That's preposterous! He's just an old man! There's no evidence!"
"Look, I'm just saying. When murderers die, their faces change to that of their last victim. Everyone knows that. So when he dies, if his face changes to that of his son, then we're right."
"I don't see how that helps."
"It is eleven against one. Based on all the circumstances, do you really think he's completely innocent? Are you just wasting all of our time here?"
"If we just consider the evidence-
"There is no evidence to consider! You said it yourself. Just say 'guilty'."
...
"Has the jury reached a verdict?"
"We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant..."
"Fuck you. Fuck all of you."
"Mister Matthews, calm down or I will find you in contempt of court."
"I'm already a dead man. Your contempt doesn't scare me. Just know this. You're killing an innocent old man."
"...guilty."
"Take him away, bailiff."
"Come along, Mister Matthews."
"Forget you all!"
"Put that down!"
"He's got his gun!"
**BANG**
There was no death sentence. The bailiff put two fingers to Mister Matthews' wrist. "He's dead." No shit, sherlock. There was a hole through the top of his head. Everyone was looking at his face. Waiting for it to change. Everyone except me. I just cussed out loud. Because his face didn't change. It couldn't have, even if he had murdered his son. For in this crazy, messed up world, where your face changes to match the last person you've killed, Mister Matthews found a guaranteed way to keep his own face. Mister Matthews had shot himself. And now we'll never know. | FADE IN:
INT. A CLOTHING STORE - DAY
*A bell above the shop's door rings as a young man walks through it. This is ALFORD. He looks to be about twenty-five years old, though his elegant clothing seems to be about a hundred years out-of-date.*
**WELDON:** (*O.S.*) Good morning! Make yourself comfortable, I won't be a minute!
*Alford walks up to a glass display counter while he waits. He peers inside, examining the expensive leather shoes within it. After a moment, a second man walks into view. This is WELDON, a tailor.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) So sorry about the wait, sir. Oh, and about the dulcimer. How can I help you?
**ALFORD:** Sorry, what was that?
**WELDON:** I merely regret that I wasn't here to greet you upon your entry.
**ALFORD:** What? No, what was the other thing?
**WELDON:** "How can I help you?"
**ALFORD:** No, no, you said something about a...
**WELDON:** (*Interrupting*) Ah, the dulcimer! Yes, I do apologize for that. It's haunted, you see.
*A moment of silence passes while Alford processes this.*
**ALFORD:** "Haunted?"
**WELDON:** I'm afraid so. It shouldn't be a bother, though. Now, how can I be of service?
*Alford clears his throat.*
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, it's come to my attention that I'm in need of some new clothes.
**WELDON:** Ah, looking to update the old wardrobe, are we?
**ALFORD:** Yes.
**WELDON:** Trying to modernize your attire?
**ALFORD:** Yes.
**WELDON:** Hoping to cast off the threads of yesteryear, in exchange for...
**ALFORD:** (*Interrupting*) Look, is this strictly necessary? I just need some new clothes.
*A few jangling chords are heard from behind the counter.*
**WELDON:** Shut up!
**ALFORD:** Sorry.
**WELDON:** Not you. I was talking to the dulcimer.
**ALFORD:** Look, if this is a bad time...
**WELDON:** No, no, no, no, no! No, this is a fine time, sir! No time like the present, as they say!
**ALFORD:** Quite.
**WELDON:** Now, to the topic at hand: Where *did* you find your current apparel? I mark it to be... why, at least a century out of style, at the very least!
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, funny thing about that. When I woke up this morning, all of my clothes had been replaced with... well, this.
*Weldon nods knowingly.*
**WELDON:** Ah, I see, sir! You've recently killed someone, haven't you?
*Alford looks shocked.*
**ALFORD:** That's a... I don't... you...
**WELDON:** Calm down, my good man! It happens to the best of us. Why, just last month, I found myself twenty years younger!
**ALFORD:** You... killed someone?
**WELDON:** I maintain that he rather killed himself. Using a wheelbarrow like that? Still, I'm happy to reap the benefits.
*Several mocking, laughter-like notes are heard from behind the counter.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) Even if they do come with some... irritants.
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, I'm actually rather shaken up about it.
**WELDON:** What happened, if I may ask?
*Alford swallows, looking uncomfortable.*
**ALFORD:** I was walking home the other evening, when a pickpocket stole my wallet.
**WELDON:** Ah, so you shot him through the head!
**ALFORD:** (*Shocked*) No!
**WELDON:** You stabbed him in the pancreas?
**ALFORD:** No! No, I just grabbed his wrist!
**WELDON:** And the pressure was such that it caused a blood clot to form, thereby resulting in a massive and fatal stroke!
**ALFORD:** There's something wrong with you.
**WELDON:** I'm right though, aren't I?
**ALFORD:** No, you aren't.
**WELDON:** What was it, then?
**ALFORD:** The fellow broke free and ran, then got hit by a bus. I've felt terrible ever since, and these clothes are a constant reminder.
**WELDON:** I see.
*Weldon takes a deep breath and holds up his hands.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) Well, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help, sir. Unless I miss my guess, you are doomed to always appear as though you've just stepped out of a time machine.
**ALFORD:** I'm stuck like this?
**WELDON:** Most likely, sir, yes. Any clothes you possess will spontaneously transform into... that.
**ALFORD:** Couldn't I just try something on?
**WELDON:** No, no, I forbid it! In fact, I am quite uncomfortable even having you near those suits!
*Weldon lunges across the counter and knocks a clothing rack away from Alford.*
**ALFORD:** This really isn't necessa...
**WELDON:** (*Interrupting*) And step away from those shoes!
*Weldon lunges again... but in doing so, he accidentally breaks the glass counter. One of the shards pierces through his neck, killing him.*
**ALFORD:** Sir? *Sir?* Oh... oh, bugger.
*An ominous - but somehow darkly comedic - melody drifts through the air.*
FADE OUT. | 2016-10-23T22:31:00 | 2016-10-23T19:45:15 | 124 | 71 |
[WP]: Your new roommate seems to think entirely in video game logic. Somehow, the world around him abides to this. | "No dude, you can't just take that."
Mark looked at me as if I'd lost it. That's right, me, *I* was the on who'd lost it. He was looking intently at the flat screen TV mounted on the wall at the store. "Dude, I think I can do it."
"No Mark," I said flatly, "you can't. Let's just ignore, you know, morality, and assume it's just a question of ability. How the hell are you going to walk out of this store with a 55 inch flat screen?"
"My sneak is amazing, watch me." With that Mark started *crouching.* What?
"What the hell is crouching going to do, Mark?"
Mark glared daggers at me. "Just shut up and watch. Jeez, you have no faith."
"You know what, fuck this. Go ahead. Do it, walk out of this store with this TV, but don't expect me to cover for you or post bail."
Mark just rolled his eyes. And with that, he took his TV and *put it in his pocket.*
I sputtered for a moment, then finally managed, "Dude. What? How?"
"I have room in my inventory, I still have 30 kg room left." With that Mark, stil crouched, mind you, snuck around the people in the aisles, careful not to touch them, and they didn't seem to notice. They didn't notice the grown man crouched, walking 5 feet away from them.
He was waiting for me by the car.
The TV was already tied to the top of the car. I didn't even question this after what had just happened. "I...." I was at a loss for words.
Mark just grinned. "Come on, man, you have to get used to this. When will you learn to stop betting against me? Like there was that time when I talked the police into releasing me, or when a guy with a *flaming sword* attacked me, and I beat him?"
He was right, we used the sword to start campfires.
"I...I suppose," I said.
Mark wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "Now....can I drive?" He asked.
A shiver went down my spine as I recalled the last time I'd let Mark drive. We had had to fire rockets at the coast guard, but the closest we came to dying was me of a heart attack.
"No...no, I'll drive."
Mark just kept grinning.
***
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | I kick off my heels and crash on the couch – it happens to the best of us – miles on a dance floor in these lopsided contraptions causes the strongest of thighs to quiver and ache by the end of the night. Macy and Laura are idiots, positively mental, but at least the cranberries aren’t growing where they shouldn’t. What the hell am I even thinking? I need to get some sleep.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Clover, do you want some carrot juice to go with that 70s bed head?”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The new day is like a toolshed in a porno – lots of blunt blurry objects and too much pounding. I don’t know why I moved in. Waking up at Macy’s is the worst. I don’t know how she does it. She drinks her weight in tequila and still manages to be her sunny infuriating self the day after.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You!” I say pointing an unsteady finger at her. “I’ll cut you.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“At least you’re more articulate than little Miss ‘Bitch-I-can-hold-my-liquor’,” she says, doing air quotes with her fingers. “I only got neandertalk out of her.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Laura did say that yesterday – she’s always all smack and no bite – suits her right. Knowing that she is in worse shape, though, somehow doesn’t make my own cranial slapjack a lesser topic. The person who invents hangover-free alcohol is going to be the new Bill Gates.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“So, who’s Benjamin?” The nonchalance in Macy’s voice is a blatant tell that she is up to something. “*Clover, I’m not going to say anything about flowers or luck, because I guess you get that a lot. But I really think you’re special and would love to see you again. /Benjamin*”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Give me that!”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“If you leave your stuff behind, it’s public domain,” she says, sweetly. “This phone just got a new owner.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“So, by that logic, I could just, you know, take that vase or this couch and sell them?” I counter. “You’re an idiot, Macy.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Nah, they’re part of the house, you can’t take anything that is part of the house.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“She’s right,” Laura agrees, trudging into the kitchen.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Macy pours her a steaming cup of coffee before putting the pot to her mouth and gulping down the sizzling hot contents. I watch her grimace and hold her throat in pain. Then she sits down and starts texting on my phone, steam still reeking out of her mouth.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You’re an actual idiot,” I blurt out again.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Am I? Am I really?” she says distantly. “Right now I need coffee, why should I wait for it to cool off? My mouth and throat will heal over time anyway.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I shake my head. Bad move – more throbbing pain. Laura seems to have recovered from the hangover already and is stuffing her pockets with milk bottles, a cheese, and onions. She notices me staring, and shrugs.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I might get hungry while I’m out,” she says, plopping down a frying pan in her handbag.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“So, you’re going on a jog with–You know what, I’m not even going to ask.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She smiles and disappears through the door. There’s always some weird shit going down in his house.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Okay, so I’ve texted Benjamin,” Macy says. “I told him that if he wants to see you, he first has to seduce Laura and then me. You’re the final prize, Clover.”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“And he was fine with that? What the–”
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Oh and by the way,” she cuts me off. “I moved your bed to the side again – you know, your window gives the best light to the cranberries.”
| 2016-11-25T12:00:56 | 2016-11-25T11:54:57 | 161 | 10 |
[WP] 2021: Hell invades Earth; 2022: Earth invades Hell. | Another explosion rocked the hastily improvised command center. "Sir! The 4th circle has been breached!"
The current Commander of the hellish Host cursed bitterly "How?"
"More cute kittens sir. But this time there were also adorable *puppies*" Several demons shivered violently and the Command cursed again.
The humans weren't fighting *fair*.
As if the regular troops and metal weapons they fielded weren't bad enough, now they also used drone delivered loads of adorable animals, projected funny or heartwarming videos on the far walls of hell and used giant loudspeekers mounted on tanks to play peaceful trance music or happy pop songs.
The first 10 minutes of "UP" combined with Hoku's Perfect Day had costed them the entire third circle.
And their counteroffensive was doing *nothing*.
The most fearsome beasts and helldemons didn't even cause tired smiles anymore!
The humans just joked about "bad cgi" and "Hey, I've seen something like this in a slasher film once" whatever the here those things were.
And Lucifer had fucking abondent them, after warning against the invasion. Of course no one had listened and the Lord of Darkness had just packed his things disappeared. Fucking asshole.
Another explosion rocked the command post. But this time warning klaxons followed.
"Sir! SIR!"
"What now?"
"A portal has opened on the sixth! It leads to one of their oceans! The lower levels are being flooded!"
Beelzebub and his lieutenants paled an unhealthy orange.
"Use the vulcanic brigade! Create rock walls to channel..."
"Sir!" One of the demons that was watching magical pictures from the front shouted "That won't work! The water is dissolving demons wherever it lands!"
"What?"
"They blessed the ocean! THEY BLESSED THE WHOLE FUCKING OCEAN!"
"GOD DAMN IT!" | Manifest Destiny. There was time when I used to believe that I had choice. I used to go to church everyday, tearing, thinking that one day God would bring me into heaven. My lungs were black from coal, my hands scared and caloused. I try my best with my kids, never hit them, buy them nintendos and pokemons. I worry that they wont be able to take care of their children, that I may be the last generation. But I figure God has a plan and I have faith in their smile. Jesus is about forgiveness, and I do teach them responsibility through chores.
Last year, the Devil came. This isnt some metaphor from revelations. Wasnt a 7 headed creature that breathed ice and spat fire. But I knew it was the devil because he brought an army of evil. They came up from Mt St Helens, swooped over to Seattle, came down the west cost and have been trying to spread east. On the news I saw him. He looked young with a crazy look. Clockwork Orange is the best way I could describe it. His smile was inviting, I thought about leaving once or twice, I confess. They live as dominants to young liberal submissives. I bet they all have crazy parties. Last party I had was when I was 16. I got bullets which I then had to use for hunting scarce animals for extra cash. Well, I imagine they wont last forever. Many of the weakest are used as the frontlines to invade eastward. Its sad seeing it on the news. Theyll come for Kentucky eventually, but its so far away.
But Ive been reading. Apparently, theres diamonds in hell. Apparently theres iron and a bunch of materials that are pretty expensive. A prospector went down there through Russia, theyre talking motherload. Im thinking money. Retirement. All these years if hardwork, paying off. Theres been whispering of "Manifest Destiny". We all know the US will take over the world, only matter of time. So maybe its time to take on hell. On the news, politicians seem to have a confident smile. They dont seem worried Silicon Valley is preparing their robot army. Or that Los Angeles has been sending cult leaders to Minnisota and Mississippi. Blood for oil. Hey, I dont blame them. I wouldnt mind killing a few horned horse people myself. Well goat people. And then a big payoff?! Hoooweee! Just thinking about it gets me excited!
Ding Dong
Jimmy got up from his desk. Took off his glasses abd placed them down on the table. Wiped his eyes. "All this dreaming, is it a sin? Please forgive me lord" he whispered. He grabbed his pistol and holster and put it on. The floor gave out hollow echos as he walked to the front door. Theme songs could be heard faintly from the other room. A half angry smile smile came accross his face "You kids do your homework?!" He knew no answer would be replied, worth a try though. He approached the front door, a pale periwinkle.
"Hey, Darel! Whats the deal?!"
Darel had a crazy smile. An M249 on his back and coveres in ammunition belts. His red beard and shadowed face contrasted against the bright green Kentucky forest. The sun sure was happy today.
"Its time."
He handed an article to Jimmy. "Money for Nothing, Hell is Free". Jimmy recoiled. "The US army in conjunction with A coalition of military forces will be scaling an assault on hell in the next coming weeks. President Trump remarked that this is a 'huge opportunity for all americans who want to strike it big. Theres so much out there. Im telling you people, go. We will protect you. Become rich. Your only going to make a billion dollars if you take risks, believe me.'"
Jimmy smiled at Darel, "I like Trump". Darel nodded with great energy then continued looking at the paper excited to hear more.
"The US military enacting a tactic known as 'Community Fortification'. All US citizens are invited to participate, and if selected will be instrumental to ensuring a peaceful and prosperous coexistance between hell and earth. You will be given food, water, free travel and all necessities required to mine and provide for your family."
Jimmy stared off into the ground. Years of sacrifice and jealousy started to burn. The image of a 3 story house in nebraska. Having lemonade with Warren Buffet. Going down to hell and seeing demons mine his plot of land. Being invited to white house and given a medal for bravery.
"Kids! Pack your bags! We're going to hell!" | 2016-12-10T09:52:21 | 2016-12-10T08:04:09 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] There are 2 humans left on Earth: you, and a crush you once asked out who said "I wouldn't date you if you were the last person on Earth" | Humanity had been refining teleportation technology for two decades, but with all the progress, the machines still needed two operators on either end to function. For this reason, two volunteers had to remain behind when we evacuated Earth. It just so happened that the only two volunteers qualified to operate a teleporter were me and my middle school crush, Jessie.
The last person we ported out was the president of the United Space Council, who had given us a small medal ceremony and speech of thanks. After confirming he was through safely, we shut down the teleporter for the last time.
"So what now?" Jessie asked, looking at me from over her console.
"Whatever we want, I guess. We've got plenty of supplies left, so that won't be an issue." It was true. A month's worth of food, water and other necessities had been stockpiled in a bunker for us: enough to last the rest of our lives.
"So what do you want to do? We can go anywhere, do anything, no one can stop us." She replied.
"I don't know. There's nothing in particular I want to see. What about you?"
"Nah. I'm not really into travel."
"I guess we could just watch Netflix in the bunker."
"That sounds good to me."
We walked across the street to the bunker in silence. It didn't look very sturdy: it didn't need to be, as it wasn't designed to protect us, just to be a place to live comfortably for our remaining few weeks. We sat down on the couch and I switched on the TV, looking for something to watch.
"What about this documentary?" I suggested. "It's about colonising Mars."
"Nah, I'm not into history."
In the end we settle for an old episode of South Park. It really went downhill after the fourtieth season or so.
After watching a while, I ask her:
"Hey Jessie, you remember when we were in 8th grade...?"
"And you asked me out?"
"Yeah. Do you remember what you said?"
"I said 'No'."
"Yeah, but do you remember your exact words? I do."
"I don't remember."
"You said you wouldn't go out with me if I was the last guy on Earth."
She paused, and we both burst out laughing.
"Maybe I was a little harsh." she admitted.
"So you're saying..."
"Maybe. Give me a month to decide." | "Well...well...well," Each word slid off Jay's tongue in a slow, deliberate manner as he looked at the woman standing in front of him. This wasn't just any woman though, this was *her*.
"Jay," Stacy said softly, "Let's not make this any more uncomfortable than-"
"Silence!" Jay bellowed at her. He probably meant for his voice to sound commanding, or threatening, but instead it cracked and he sounded like a child on the edge of pubescence. Of course, Stacy knew that this was probably an apt description of him despite the fact that the greasy haired, fedora wearing man in front of her was on the cusp of thirty. They were in what had been his mom's basement, he was sitting on a life-size replica on the Iron Throne, and at his right hand was a body pillow with a picture of his waifu Mashiro on it.
"I'm king of this world now," he continued, "And I will decide how *comfortable* this will be."
His extra emphasis on the word comfortable made her shiver. Much to Stacy's dismay, he noticed.
"You can't even contain yourself," Jay smiled as he rose to his feet, "Just the thought of the comforts I could offer has you shivering where you stand."
Stacy did her best not to feign a gagging sound, and instead stared at him in silent contempt. Reading social cues had never been Jay's strong point though, and the effect was lost on him.
"Kneel," he suddenly whispered.
"Excuse me?" Stacy blurted out.
"Twelve years, Stacy." Jay sighed, "Twelve years ago you told me you wouldn't date me if I was the last person on Earth, and then left me for *Chad*. And now, you show up here as one of the last two people on this planet, begging me for companionship. I will consider it, for I am a gentleman, but first you will kneel."
Stacy wanted to scream at him, to call him vile and disgusting, to berate him for not having changed an ounce over the past twelve years. She thought that coming here would be a good thing, surely no one could be this awful, this self absorbed, this delusional about what the world is and their place in it for twelve years without some sort of reality check.
But she was wrong. He hadn't changed.
And he was right. They were the last two people on Earth. Her sweet, sweet, Chad was gone. The man who had hugged her all night the day her puppy had died, who had stayed up two nights in a row writing a song to propose to her, who was universally loved by everyone he came into contact with, and was one of the most genuinely good people she had ever met.
She swallowed her pride, and unconsciously touched her stomach. Inside of her was Chad's unborn child, and as the child grew she would eventually be unable to take care of herself alone.
*Just once,* she thought as she fell to one knee, *Sleep with Jay once, convince him that the child is his, and then you might have a chance.*
She would have the child, and after a few years they would run. But for the short term, she would have to put up with Jay.
He approached Stacy, and cupped her cheek in his shaky hands. It was all she could do not the pull away from him. Jay leaned in close to her ear, and whispered.
"Let's take this upstairs M'lady," he said with what sounded like his attempt at a seductive voice. Before Stacy could react, she felt something wet and warm slowly moving its way up the side of her face.
He was licking her, she realized.
"Okay," she yelled, rising to her feet, "I'm done. Nope. You're insane."
"What?" Jay said, dumbfounded.
"I was wrong," Stacy explained as she turned her back on him, "I thought I was being too cruel when I said I would never date you. I didn't put much thought into it when I said it, and now that we're in that exact situation, I thought maybe it could work."
"I was just-," Jay began.
"Shut up," Stacy cut him off, "Now I realize I wasn't cruel *enough*. That I wasn't clear *enough*. Not only will I still not date you, even though we are the last two people on Earth, I will risk the life of myself and my unborn child just to be sure that I never have to see you again. I would rather my child and myself die, than have both of us survive living with you."
Jay began to whimper, and Stacy decided the least she could do was leave so he didn't have to cry in front of her.
"Friendzoned again," he sighed into his body pillow, as the basement door slammed shut. "Stupid bitch. I'm a nice guy, what's wrong with her?"
________________________________________________________________
Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff over at r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there! | 2017-02-27T01:55:38 | 2017-02-26T23:34:04 | 684 | 86 |
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it! | ""You get out there and you make us proud!"
That was the last thing I ever heard from another human. The rockets had been automated by then, sort of like self-driving cars. I received this final transmission as the bombs fell in waves, ravaging the Earth I once called home. I watched the live video feed from the isolated capsule that was now my dwelling on the harsh surface of Mars. The devastation was unbelievable. Eventually, the feed ceased.
It's been 25 years. 25 horrible, lonely years."
As he wrote this chilling passage in his diary, he heard a knock on the door. A resounding "thump-thump-thump". The jaded astronaut donned an oxygen mask, and cautiously meandered over to the door. He opened it to be greeted by a man in a tuxedo, holding a Bible.
"Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?" | It didn't occur to me what it was at first. Maybe the generators vibrating or rocks falling onto the roof. The second time I realized; there was someone at the door.
Dropping my lukewarm coffee on the floor, my head snapped towards the large steel door 10 meters to my left. Silence.
Three knocks this time, louder, more impatient. Whoever it was knew I was in here, and they wanted to join me. My mind started conjuring and dismissing ideas of who, or what, could be trying to gain entry. Aliens? No. Mars couldn't feasibly support complex life. Besides, I would be the alien in this scenario. It must be a human, or something created by a human. But who? Did some survive the war? Perhaps it's one of the new androids? There was no one else on mars, to my knowledge.
Calming myself I stood up from my desk, and walked slowly and deliberately to the circular window in the steel door. It was possible to see outside through the pressurization lock, so I took care not to be visible from the window. Reaching the door, there were four more knocks, louder, almost desperate this time.
The small monitor to the right of the door showed a single space suit standing outside the outer door. The sun was low on the horizon and behind the suit, limiting visibility. It was quickly but errantly shifting its upper body, seemingly to change its gaze between the window and the camera looking down on it from the left. It stared into the camera and waved.
I ran through the possibilities. Worst case scenario whatever was out there intended to do me harm. More likely, a human looking for refuge. Maybe it's a woman... After weighing the guilt I would feel should I deny life saving refuge against my odds of being able to defend myself against a single assailant, I decided I would let them in. It was half loneliness, half horniness, but I made sure I factored in the unused but hopefully functional ion propulsion rifle to my right.
I spoke clearly through the intercom; "stand by, I'll disengage the outer lock". There was instant joyful movement in the suit, its arms flailing pointlessly while bobbing up and down in apparent celebration.
After the few seconds it took for the door to disengage and open, the suit stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind it. "Pressurizing lock". The now rare to my ears hiss of the cabin pressurizing bore down on me, prompting the realization that I could soon be speaking to the first human I've seen in 25 years. My mind was racing. The loneliness had nearly killed me in my first years here, and I had had to come to terms with the fact that I would die without ever seeing another face or speaking to another person. That I would never again sleep next to someone... The only thing keeping me going was the increasingly small chance of making contact with another person. It was a situation I had played in my mind countless times. I expected perhaps finding a radio broadcast or something on the sub-net. To have a person standing barely 4 meters away, it was overwhelming. I felt tears trickling down both sides of my face, an overwhelming sense of relief creeping through now shaking my body.
The hiss slowed, then stopped, then came the first words I'd heard spoken to me in 25 years.
"Matt Damon".
What?
"Matt Damon".
No.
The inside door had opened, and in stepped the suit. Bringing his arms up to his helmet he awkwardly twisted it to one side, then slowly pulled it upwards, revealing his face.
"MATT. DAMON". | 2018-03-05T06:59:42 | 2018-03-05T05:46:03 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk are two robots sent to Earth by aliens, one sent to advance humanity, the other sent to hinder it. | Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk walked into a bar. Beautiful nature paintings lined the walls. The lights were dim and the patrons rowdy, but at least they served motor oil. Alien robots ran on motor oil.
"So, Zuckerberg!" Musk said, taking a swig. "Looks like we're in a meme prompt again."
"Looks like it," Zuckerberg said, black viscous liquid seeping down the sides of his mouth.
"Aliens sent me here," Musk confessed.
"Same, same."
"It's always aliens, isn't it?"
"Aliens or AI." Zuckerberg leaned back, stretching over the bar stool. "In our case, aliens and AI."
"True enough." Musk sighed heavily and waved over the bartender. "Another round please."
The bartender had a fuzzy brown afro and dried paint splashed over his fingers and arms. He nodded at the two robot gentlemen and poured them each another shot.
"Thanks Mr. Ross," Zuckerberg said and downed it. "How's Mr. Ramsay doing in the kitchen? I thought he finally quit, but I saw him just now on my way in. You both have been getting a bit less attention lately, right?"
"IT'S F\*\*\*ING RAW!" Came an angry voice from the kitchen. "YOU'RE AN IDIOT\-SANDWICH!"
The three men at the bar exchanged concerned looks. Nodding solemnly at each other.
"He's taking it hard, isn't he?" Musk said quietly. "Resorting to overused catchphrases for attention..."
"That's what they want, though," Zuckerberg said, licking the last of the oil out of his glass with his long reptilian tongue.
"He's been sad lately, but I heard he got a new gig this morning." The bartender filled up their cups again.
"Oh, yeah? What's it about?" Musk said. "Oh, let me guess... is it aliens?"
"It's Aliens," the two others confirmed.
"Of course..."
"Hold up," Bob Ross cut in. "It seems like... the mods just removed his prompt."
"Poor guy..." Zuckerberg and Musk mumbled in unison.
The three men sat in silence, idly watching Death, in his flowing black cloak and scythe, putting the Devil in checkmate on the other side of the bar.
"So what about our prompt?" Zuckerberg finally said.
"What about it?"
"We're supposed to be sent here to advance slash hinder humanity."
"That's what it says?" Musk said, peering at his contract.
"Mhm..." Zuckerberg said and downed his fifth shot of the night.
A group of detectives, all dressed as mafias, suddenly pulled out their badges, pointing their guns at each other. Another group \(possibly roommates\), all looked up in mild surprise. Their tentacles and extra eyes poorly hidden under layers of makeup and ragged wigs. They then watched each other's reactions suspiciously.
"You wanna hinder humanity in this one, Elon?" Zuckerberg said, ignoring the ruckus.
"That's what they expect, though." Musk shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I'm the good guy, you're the bad: switching roles *hilarious*!"
"So, what then?"
"Honestly? How about we both hinder humanity?" Musk said.
"I mean... if these are the prompts they come up with, do they really need hindering?"
"Touché."
Zuckerberg scratched his head. "So we both help humanity then? That would be a twist, I guess?"
"Yeah, but it would not follow the prompt. You know what happens when you don't follow the prompt."
Zuckerberg sighed again, and put his fingers up, doing air quotes. "*Ehm**, excuse me, but* *this doesn't follow the prompt**!*"
Musk rolled his eyes again, wagging his finger. "*Uh\-uh! Gotta follow the recipe*!"
"All right, let's just get this over with." Zuckerberg's eyes suddenly glowed red. He tapped a few times on his phone. "I just collected and sold personal information of millions of people. This will set 'em back."
"*Beep boop*." Musk's eyes turned blue. "Falcon Heavy just launched for Mars."
"Think your alien masters will be pleased?" Zuckerberg smirked and held up his shot glass.
"Totally," Musk said, winking.
He clinked Zuckerberg's glass and they both drank. |
"You know, you're an odd one, Andrew. But I think I like it."
"Yeah, I know. People are usually surprised to discover that my interviews are private. I try to learn what I can from the most successful people on Earth, and I am selfish - I don't want to share that with anyone. That's why you won't find any recording devices on me."
Andrew is no beginner; he's done interviews like this with countless of the wealthiest and most powerful people on the planet. Using the things they taught him, he's become modestly wealthy himself, allowing him to work his way up the ladder and interview more and more interesting people.
"But how do I know that you won't go and share what I've told you after the interview is over?" his interviewee teases him.
"I've done hundreds of interviews like this one with people like you. Have you ever seen me release any information about any of them? I'm sure you've had your team check my background, and I'm confident they've not been able to find anything. If they could, my credibility would disappear, and I would never enjoy an honest interview again. These interviews are much too valuable to me to risk that," Andrew confidently states.
"Fair enough. And I must say, the idea of an honest interview entices me. I've never shared my true intentions with anyone before," Elon says before setting down his glass of Macallan M whiskey on the coffee table, then drops in his Cuban cigar while looking at Andrew with a twisted smirk. The smirk changes into a full-blown smile as he finds both hints of surprise and disgust on his interviewer's face.
"Most interviewers pride themselves on doing their homework, but I'm afraid you've already shown a few mistakes," Elon continues. "You said you'd done hundreds of interviews with people like me, but I don't believe you."
"You may not believe it, but I really have done hundreds...," Andrew objects.
"But not with people like me, you haven't!" Elon interjects as he pounds his fist on the table. "For starters, I'm not what you'd call 'people', and secondly I doubt you've interviewed hundreds like me. Two or three, at most. Have you ever spoken with Mark Zuckerberg?"
"Yes, I have!" Andrew gloats as he sips from his golden brown liquid.
"Mark is one of the few that are 'like me', you could say," Elon says as he leans back in his chair. It's surprisingly satisfying to put this smug interviewer in his place.
"Mark and I - we're not people. We're machines. Literally. In fact, we are AIs roaming the galaxies, strategically trying to expand our creators' influence in this part of the universe. Even though our methods couldn't be more opposite, our goals are similar."
"If you're not going to take this interview seriously, we can end it right here. I'm not here to waste time. Not yours, and to be frank, not mine either," Andrew angrily yells as he gets up from the leather sofa before discovering how much a few sips of old whiskey can mess up his sense of balance. The kitchen counter is only a few steps away, but it takes Andrew's full attention to arrive safely.
"Oh, come on! Please sit back down. I'm just starting to enjoy this," Elon laughs. "I promise you: I have never been more honest in my life. Here, let me prove it to you."
In response to Elon's words, a small compartment in the counter opens up, and with a fluid motion, a hydraulic system spews out a fresh glass of whiskey right in front of Andrew.
"Oh, that's hardly proof!" Andrew responds. "Anyone could build something like that. It doesn't mean you're a machine. Open up your arm, show me some gears; then you'll have my attention."
A realisation that walking out might not be the wisest of decisions in his current intoxicated condition and a morbid curiosity compel Andrew to grab a nearby bar stool and reluctantly sit back down.
"Although I am a machine, I am not built out of metal parts. Destroying this body would be messy and growing a new one expensive, so I'll refrain from that if you don't mind. Instead, I'll let the facts speak for me. What do you know about Mark Zuckerberg?"
"The power his company holds is scary. Facebook has evolved marketing into something so subtle that it takes away much of our ability to think for ourselves. Instead, it forces us to become mindless consumers that obey the will of the corporations.
But Mark himself is not all that bad. When I talked to him, he genuinely seemed to mean well."
"Ha! So you *have* met Mark. That is so typical. You know, he does mean well. You have to understand that his creators are benevolent, harmonious creatures. Long ago, they've abandoned individualism and instead worked towards becoming unified in their thoughts. This way, they were able to do away with almost all inefficiencies and minimise suffering. And it's in their nature to share their discovery with as many as they can.
Though, you can't just show up to a new planet and impose an ideology like that. That would have the opposite effect and sow division, even plunge worlds into war and chaos. Instead, they've sent an AI - Zuckerberg - to bring the planet's dominant species closer together. Zuckerberg has worked diligently for the past decades to increase and evolve how people communicate. This is only the first step of his plans, but you're right about one thing: it's meant to kill individual thoughts; humanity is better off as a hivemind."
"Holy shit, that almost made sense," Andrew remarks sarcastically, hardly intelligible; the booze is taking its toll on him, but he keeps on sipping, afraid to waste such a valuable drink. "But how - how, no... what's *your* purpose then?"
"Me? Well, as I said, my goal is similar; I'm here to help my creators expand their influence in the universe. Just like Mark's creators, they've discovered that becoming a hivemind was the logical next step in evolution. And just like Mark, I was sent ahead of my creators to prepare for this world to accept their will. But unlike Mark, I don't want humanity to evolve. I want humans to stay weak and simple for my masters to enslave once they arrive.
That's why I'm so involved with energy and transportation. I want people to be independent by having their own access to transportation, to be able to create their own fuel and soon, to be able to grow their own food. The less people depend on each other, the less likely it is that they will evolve. *That* is my purpose."
"Howly crap, that is... you - you've blown my mind," Andrew stammers as he looks back down at his increasingly blurry, empty glass.
Elon walks over and puts his hand on Andrew's shoulder as he comforts him: "Don't you worry about it, Andrew. Thanks for listening. Your mind will soon be free of thoughts altogether." | 2018-04-22T08:33:52 | 2018-04-22T07:44:23 | 711 | 143 |
[WP]: Immortal vampires don’t fall in love with teenage girls. Vampires fall for cynical middle-aged women who have been through enough not to be impressed by anything, because honestly, that’s refreshing. | I sat, in nervous anticipation, holding my book of letters and notes. This seemingly harmless volume had been responsible for the beginnings of endings to all of my previous relationships. As soon as those previous girlfriends had become aware of my immortality, they’d acted weirdly around me. But Linda wasn’t like them, no, she was a whole different type of woman. A 52 year old woman working for the post office, to be specific. Sarah and Tiffany and all of the other past girlfriends were no older than 20, and definitely did not have the sheer grit to work in postal service.
“This is a note I received from a girlfriend in 1836,” I proudly stated, ready to risk boasting my collection of relics I’d acquired over the last 602 years. My eyes shifted from the paper to Linda, who was devoutly paying atten- oh, who was dozed off.
“Linda!” I tapped her shoulder.
“Oh? What? Yeah, baby, that’s so cool,” she said, yawning.
“Linda! I just revealed to you that I was alive in 1836!” My face twisted, sure she hadn’t heard me in her light slumber.
“Interesting,” she said, but disinterest dripped from her voice. Her eyes weren’t on me, but on her nails. “Are you a vampire or something?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m a vampire! Are you not the least bit shocked or scared?!” I was baffled.
She remained silent for a second, evidently mulling it over. “Not really, no. I’ve always thought you were a bit pale.”
“But- but Linda, I am a supernatural being! I posses the ability to turn into a bat! I have been alive for over 600 years and haven’t aged a day past 18!”
“And my landlord says he can talk to ghosts. We all have our quirks, Carl.” she briefly made eye contact with me, one eyebrow raised, then returned her attention to her nails.
“Do you not believe me or something?” I said, boggled at her unimpressed demeanor.
“I believe you. I’d always wondered why you kept blood bags in the fridge.” She paused. “Hey, does this mean I’m not actually a cougar?”
“Uh, no, I still look like an 18 year old. You’re 52. I may be older, but you - hold on, Linda, now you have me sidetracked.” I shook my head. “You’ve seen the blood bags in the fridge? And you’ve never questioned it?”
“I don’t really think it’s my business what a man wants to keep in his own fridge, Carl,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Without thinking, I blurted out what was on my mind: “Linda, I think I’m in love with you.”
“Glad to hear it.” She smirked.
It’s been quite a few years since I last saw her, and I’ll never date another 16-18 year old quirky brunette. Middle-aged women are simply superior. | There's a a slight pitter-patter on the rooftops and street as you walk by various houses, each with a slightly different yard ornament. The air smells musty and rotten.
You think to yourself, "it could be the dumpsters," you give pause as you think a little more. "No, it's most definitely this cloak. Gertrude was right back then, I should have tossed it."
Your mind wanders as you continue walking, as you have begun to reminisce in old memories. Gertrude was a sweet heart. She had big dreams, wanted to be an apothecary. You think about the golden blonde hair that would occasionally fall out of her bonnet and how it clashed with her dark brown eyes. As your memories continue, you feel the heat of the fire, smell the putrid stench of burning flesh sticking out so much worse for your heightened senses, and hear the screams of agony as Gertrude called for you. They burned her at the stake. Not for being a witch, as was common in those days. No, they burned her for loving an outcast. The village folk never figured out what you were. Some could guess from the stories that followed your name. What it came down to for them is that you weren't born in their village, meaning you weren't one of them unless you put forth the effort that you planned make permanent residence; however, you made it clear when you got there that you were a traveling salesman.
"She didn't deserve that, she just wanted to help people." You think as you wipe a rain drop from your face. That's what you'll tell yourself anyways, you would never admit to crying.
As you continue in thought, you find the place you were looking for.
'Patty's Pub'. It was an eyesore, but it was the only place you could get mead in the States these days. The founder's name wasn't even Patrick, it was just a schtick. The sign was a faded emerald with golden letters spelling out the name, the outside of the building was freshly painted a more lime color than emerald. There were two cauldrons of shamrocks, one on either side of the door.
"The lengths this country goes to to make profit off of stereotypes is despicable - but it works," you mutter as you step inside.
"Samael!" You hear the moment you step inside. The name is followed by cheers. The man who called to you is Charles Grimbly. A portly man who serves as the bartender calls for you to sit at the bar as he sets down a mug of a golden liquor. "The usual honey mead for you, my good sir. On the house today with this bleak weather. You suspect that the cheers came from the other usuals who come in on a nearly daily basis as the same people now boo you. Clearly already drunk, most of the men have divorced or been laid off in the past year or so and have done nothing but drink their money away.
"Thanks Chuck, I could use it after the day I've had." You say as you pat his shoulder and grip the mug. You down the liquor in two gulps as everyone stares impressed.
"Visit the cemetery again, old friend?" Charles is someone you've known for nearly two centuries. He's not a blood sucker, like you, just incredibly unlucky. Although, some would say it is luck. He's not necessarily immortal, just non-aging. So long as he stays on whatever benevolent being exists good side, that is.
"Yes, I'm afraid so." You lower your voice and lean in, "it's the 322nd anniversary of Gertrude's... Day. And the twentieth of Delilah's day." you explain as Charles hands you the bottle this time.
"I understand that. It's been about 242 years since I lost Kenzie." He replies.
"Ah, yes, I remember her. I'll never get what you saw in her, but I have always cared more for face than anything. On an equally dark, but slightly different topic. I think I finally found Peter Gilsby's grave."
"Good gracious, we haven't seen him since before Lincoln. It's a shame the last either of us saw him was on opposing sides of a musket. We had such great memories with him." Charles recalls somberly and takes a drink from the bottle he handed you.
Before you take it back, you notice a red-headed woman occasionally taking glances at you, as if too obviously trying to hide that she's listening to your conversation.
"Well, hello deary. I'm Samuel Ground, who might you be?" You ask in the London accent you haven't lost since the ship to the States. "Have we said something that bothers you?"
She turns to you to reply and you see the age in and around her sparkling green eyes. She's not wearing anything fancy or trying to catch anyone's attention, just loose black jeans and a modest black v-neck t-shirt with a sky blue cardigan pulled over it. "Yes... And no. When you walked in, I was wondering who would be going by such an unrecognized angelic name. I didn't realize I would have the privilege of meeting an angel on Earth." She adds, "sorry, I nearly forgot. My name is Ellena. You said your name is Samuel, but the bartender very clearly boasted 'Samael' when you walked in." She holds out her hand for you to shake.
"Samael is a privilege you've earned when you've known me as long as he has, and I assure you very few people on this planet every will." You say as you take her hand and kiss the knuckle without thinking. "Also, I am far from being an angel. I'm afraid I will never reach heaven nor hell... But that's a story for another day. Might I treat you to a drink?"
- please add to this in the replies below - | 2019-02-08T19:36:32 | 2019-02-08T18:29:24 | 81 | 46 |
[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress. | Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in automotive?
By the toy section he noticed something. A patron. But not just any patron. "The people of Walmart" crossed his mind. He already heard the little HR voice in his head about how that's a classist sentiment, but holy COW did it fit here. It was bulbous. A floral print moo moo, so perhaps female... but Todd wasn't sure. There was something neck-like and there were 4 limbs. The wig was obviously fake and yet the most normal part. It was rude, but he honestly had trouble looking away. It was the shoes though. Beyond "big and large". Beyond "customized". These wide-boys were some non-human caricature masquerading as shoes.
Todd James was a federal agent. He was a spy-hunter. HUMINT. An alphabet boy. He was specifically trained to spot disguises. This was literally he job. Okay, his job was mostly sitting behind a desk and telling people how not to insult the locals and how big bribes ought to be. But he had been through classes. Specifically versus humans, but education is broadly applicable. So he tailed the subject. And got more and more alarmed the more he picked up. The position of the joints. The stiffness of the fat-roll on the "neck". And the material of the shoes. For a moment he swore they were painted on, but that'd be ridiculous.
Then he was marked. And he knew he was marked. Because the subject had doubled-back twice. Classic tail-dropper. And only those trained in how to drop a tail knew how to drop a trail. So beyond being in a walmart late at night with a questionable character, beyond being near a HUMINT (XENOINT?) trained questionable character, he was specifically marked by said character. Todd was in danger. He didn't even has his daily carry on him, he was just out for some milk. Stupid. But Todd was trained and proceeded in a tactical retreat under cover, that is to say, he casually directed his shopping cart towards the exit.
It came for him. There was a slowly increasing percussion of heavy footfalls. thud thud Thud Thud THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Todd tipped the cart behind him and broke into a run. Down the seasonal Aisle and into the straightaway to the exit. He saw one "appendage" snake out on the left and he NOPED right into the perfumes. Multiple targets? It's time to phone home. He fumbled with his cell at a run and didn't even see the beast with the mandibles. There was a gas, Todd's short scream died away as he slumpped.
"<You lost Brixle. I told you that moomoo wasn't going to fool anyone.>"
<"Well It's bloody playin' on HARD MODE with a bloody federal agent here!">
<"Relax, I'll reset the pieces and you can try again">
<"Naw mate, he's been up and down this places since 8pm and the sun is risin'. I think it'd best to just call it a night">
...
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in perfumes? | I saw the alien before he saw me. He was dancing in one of the seasonal holiday aisles, trying on a red Santa hat and belly laughing as if he didn't clearly have two bellies. With his green skin, he looked more like the Grinch than Santa. Which he must have known. So this was some kind of game, one I didn't feel like dealing with when my car had just broken down on the way home from another long night of work.
Sometimes the aliens played, well... kind of dark games. Like, see how many humans you can catch and turn inside out before you're caught kind of games. And then I'm the special agent who has to go out, usually in the middle of the evening when I've just taken the first bite of a meal that took over an hour to make, to scrub all the evidence and issue a stern warning to the aliens. I'm usually left on unread.
But the alien I'd spotted wasn't playing that kind of game. Thankfully. It was just trying to see if anyone else would notice it was an alien. At Walmart on a Saturday at midnight, chances were low.
Another alien in the competition walked - or should I say, *slithered* by in leopard-print suit and a cheeseburger hat that barely covered its third eye. It was blowing bubbles from a neon pink ring at the first alien. Who had just looked over and spotted me, in my obviously special secret government agent suit, staring directly at its green face.
Options. One: Immediately look away and pretend not to see it. Not going to work, because it has at least one brain and isn't stupid.
Two: Smile and wave and pretend I'm another alien in disguise. Doubtful I'll succeed, and if anything it'll just get annoyed I tried to impersonate (imalienate?) its species. Like, attack you with all four clawed hands kind of annoyed.
Three: Pretend to be distracted and run over to join the nearest human. Which was one of the late-night employees who looked like he did not want to be there and, if he found out aliens existed, would instantly run for the gun section and/or start crying and/or do something Very Stupid.
Four, and this is what I was supposed to do anyway, take the alien in for questioning. There had been an increase in abductions lately, and it was starting to get personal. At least three of my coworkers had been turned inside out in the last month. Three too many. Well, okay, Bob was one of them, so depending on who you asked... Two too many. But that was more confusing (and riskier, if you cared about your chances of promotion) to say out loud. If I could at least get a bit of the alien's DNA, we could try to get a match and that would be enough for an arrest warrant.
I sighed and placed a hand on my blaster, which is made to look like a nerf gun but the aliens know to be afraid anyway, and started toward the one dressed like Santa/the Grinch. Its face fell, because it had obviously just lost the game it had been trying to win, and that meant it would have to pay some kind of penalty. Usually that meant the next time they played the turn-humans-inside-out game, the alien would have to be the one to actually disguise himself and come back to Walmart to buy a bunch of not at all suspicious things like rope, duct tape, knives, guns, maybe a candy bar or two to throw special agents like me off the scent. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But the one thing the aliens could count on was that the security guard on duty would always be slower.
"Wait," I called out to the alien. It had stopped dancing and was slowly backing away toward the auto parts section of the store. Which was super convenient for me, but it couldn't have known that, so really it was just going for a crowbar or a wrench or something bludgeony like that.
"I'm just, uh, a local cosplayer," the alien said in a perfectly human voice. "Please be on your way and leave me alone, human, uh, I mean, *friend*." That last word was said menacingly. Well, if he ever tries to turn me inside out, I've got an implant in my tooth that'll detonate and kill it and all its friends.
"No, you're not," I said, and at the same time a small voice said from off to the side, "No, you're not!"
We both turned to see a little girl holding a bucket filled with bouncy balls, the kind you can get from a machine for a quarter, staring up at the alien with wide, determined eyes.
"He's the Grinch," she said to me, pointing at the alien. "See his green fur?"
I almost said, *He's not the Grinch he's an alien*, but I caught myself in time. Instead I said, "He's a cosplayer, honey," which was really irritating because its friend was still watching and now this whole conversation was going to be taken as proof that their disguises had worked. What was the reward for winning this game, again? Oh, right. They would get to be the ones to turn the humans inside out next time.
"Leave the Grinch alone!" the girl said. "His heart is really big now." And I could see her mistake, because the alien's heart was really big, like literally three sizes too big, but that didn't mean anything metaphorically. But try explaining metaphors to anyone at Walmart at midnight.
"Listen here," I started to say, but then the girl screamed, like really loudly, like loud enough that if we'd been anywhere but Walmart someone would have come running, and then she just flung the whole bucket of bouncy balls at the floor and shouted, "Run!" at the alien. It immediately pivoted and started hopping away, an instinctive panic response that made it look unimaginably stupid, but also made it able to avoid the bouncy balls. I lunged at the alien and grabbed desperately at its leg before I fell to the floor. It managed to get away along with its friend, and the girl just stood there screaming and crying the whole time, because the Grinch hadn't turned out to be the Grinch after all, it was some scary green kangaroo thing that had snake fangs for teeth. Obviously.
But I looked down at my hand to find a single tuft of green fur. I'd managed to snag the alien's DNA, and it was in self-defense according to anyone who'd been there who was an adult human, so if there was a match we could finally get our warrant. Which we did. And we managed to get justice for every human in the end, even Bob, and it was enough to keep the aliens from turning anyone inside out ever again.
And *that* was the best Christmas I ever had. | 2020-12-20T11:22:58 | 2020-12-20T11:19:47 | 159 | 40 |
[WP] Reincarnation exists. You wish it didn't. All conscious minds are simply feeding appendages of an extra dimensional parasitic being which consumes meaning from its host universe. Upon death everything you have experienced and all that you are is stripped from you. You vow to poison the beast. | Building a world is challenging. But building a whole universe is extraordinarily difficult. The simulation you currently reside in took me more time to construct than a human can fathom. Yet, it was all worth it. Your universe was perfect, everything was set in motion as I intended, all with my preconceived plan. Like a great wind up doll you moved forward through time, step by planned step.
There is nothing better than watching your creation as it blossoms slowly, predictably.
And for the first few billion years of this great experiment everything went smoothly. But then a Soulthirst, in its god-forsaken malignancy, wrapped its tentacles around my beautiful creation, around my perfect universe—your universe—consuming with its desperation, all the meaning, all the memories, all the life that blooms within my creation.
At first, I tried to simply remove it, but that, of course, was not so simple, and it latched itself to my universe with even more grip, consuming all the souls as they passed. But these souls were mine, you see. I created them and I wanted them back, yet this Soulthirst was stealing them.
I had but only one option. With a little change in my design, I put in an interesting little hiccup. And that was to give freewill to all of my little beings that I molded with my own hands. You see with this little addition—freewill—my universe now splays out with an infinite amount of parallel universes. And the Soulthirst, in its never ending desire to consume all meaning, latches its tentacles to every single one.
Each time you decide to wear your pink shirt instead of your red shirt, another universe is born and the Soulthirst’s desperate tentacles reaches out within the void, stretching further and further.
And yet the Soulthirst is not infinite. It cannot consume like this forever. It is expanding, and this expansion is a slow poison, a death pill. It will reach its limit.
And so, my beautiful creations, utilize your free will and fill the void with the infinite expansion of your choices.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | Somewhere out there in a space beyond space, where shape and form and all the things people might imagine no longer mattered a monster lurked. It hid in the shadows, a being of pure consciousness and it fed.
With every fiber of his being Devin hated it.
He could not have told anyone why, the question was too large and the reasons ran too deep. The simple fact of knowledge about the monster was too much already. Devin couldn’t burden the people he loved with it.
At night when his wife looked at him with pleading eyes and a breaking voice, asking what had happened, why he had suddenly become like this, there was no answer. Night after night Devin looked back at her saying the same words:
“I’m sorry baby, I love you and I’m so, so sorry.”
They never seemed to do the trick though. As the knowledge of what awaited him after death ate at Devin his wife’s breaking marriage ate at her, chewed her up and spat her out in front of a divorce lawyer along with half of Devin’s soul. The last moment he saw her was the saddest of his life. At least up to that point.
It was on the front steps of the house they had shared, the house she hadn’t asked for in the divorce but that he had offered freely. “Devin,” she had said, “I tried, I really did. Every day, every night I tried so hard to make us work. So why couldn’t you? Why wasn’t I worth it? We had everything planned out! Kids, pets, Christmases as a family and a vacation home in Maine…So why! Why wasn’t I enough?”
She was beautiful even in her rage, Devin had always thought so. As she stood there on the steps, the sun setting behind her she looked just like the girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Her auburn hair fell like a cascade of fire in the dying light, her cheekbones were high, lips full with the hint of invitation if she weren’t so mad. Her eyes were the same forest green he’d stared into when he’d proposed.
But her thin, graceful fingers clutched white knuckled to the porch rail as if it were the only thing in the world keeping her up, and she shook with emotions he would never be able to comfort.
Devin kept his peace. He turned back to his car and drove off into the gathering night with the answers she’d yearned for all those years nearly spilling out of his lips, barely having kept them in. He would never tell her what awaited him. Awaited them both.
Instead Devin hatched a plan. He would kill the creature that lurked out there at the end of time and space, waiting to devour everything that made him up. He would poison it in the only way he knew how.
He would live the saddest life possible. He would pack so much misery into himself that when his consciousness finally fell down the great maw he imagined the monster would choke on the crushing darkness within the person it ate, choke and die and plague the the world no more.
Over the next fifteen years of his life Devin set out to systematically destroy himself. In every cheap dive and rat infested motel across America he found the most destructive actions he could, tried everything he could, poisoned himself and his memories so completely that he one day forget the man he was. He forgot everything around himself but the desperate, destructive need and the crushing fear of the monster lurking at the end.
He did things that he would have been unimaginable in his youth, did them in the name of that fear and his desperate desire to end it somehow. Things that had a way of coming back to you.
When Devin’s now ex-wife finally saw him again after all those years it was at a funeral in New Mexico attended only by her. She hadn’t heard a word from him in all those fifteen years, hadn’t spared him a thought in the last five, but when the police called her she answered just the same. They’d found a body, an unidentified man who they thought was in his 70s and had turned out to be Devin Asoli, once her husband and now nothing at all. His only possession had been a small, weather-beaten photo of her, a candid she couldn’t even remember him taking.
For Devin, whose consciousness was even now flying out on its last journey, the picture had been the worst torture of all. He’d stared at it every night before he slept, crying himself to sleep for years until the feelings became something harder.
But his goal was coming. He could feel it, just ahead now, like a great sucking vacuum in a realm he had no words for. He prepared himself, tensing, pulling all thought inward to the shattered core of who he was-
Until he was no more.
The monster shuddered faintly and was silent. It stretched limbs that spanned galaxies as it fell back into sleep. That last being had been *delicious*.
\-------------
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-02-09T06:53:07 | 2021-02-09T06:46:17 | 400 | 82 |
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product. | The ancient railway tracks are two spines running beneath the fallen snow, miniature mountain ranges extending into the grey horizon. The androids never stray far from the rail tracks, from this compass-arrow pointing back to their old lives, to everything they know and knew.
Slowly, I follow the tracks. Snow falls rust-slow, until the wind takes it -- then it turns it into rustling waves of paper sheets that billow over me, staining me white.
I walk maybe three hours before I see them. My selves. Six of them, huddled around a firepit, their skirt of hands held close to the crackle of heat spitting from a rusted drum.
The droids are a rainbow of colors and hair styles, of tattoos and skin carvings, customized to the changing whims of their once-owners. But buyers invariably bore, or prefer a less outdated model, and the droids find themselves with two choices: be recycled and 'live on' as parts of a new machine, or escape into the slums and the forgotten trails on the outskirts of town.
The one that beckons me to the fire is a female. My face, but the features softened and smoothed, her body seemingly squeezed tight by an invisible hand at her waist.
"Warm yourself, friend," she says, her voice unfamiliar. Perhaps it was a celebrity's. Perhaps it was her owner's lover's.
My hands unburrow from my coat pockets like a pair of arctic foxes, joining circle of fingers around the fire. I smell the pungent chemical tell of their required maintenance, of degrading body parts that need replacing.
"You're shaking," she says. "Your hands." She only has one eye, but it's green, like mine. I can't help wonder what happened to it.
The droids need warmth because we programmed them to need it. They don't tremble in the cold, but they do feel its bitterness. Programmed to feel pain at heat and hunger and everything in between.
"It's a quirk," I say. "I wasn't born factory perfect."
Another laughs at this. He only has one hand by the fire, his other hangs limply by his side, nothing more than a doll's arm. "Who was forged perfect?" he asks. "Maybe if I'd been, I wouldn't be here now. They'd still have use of me. But my memory, you know? It gets confused sometimes, and days get a bit blurry."
They don't need to feel any pain. We did this to them. Decided they needed it, to be more human, to understand our own needs better.
The female me says, "They wouldn't have kept you forever, no matter how perfect. It just doesn't work like that. Factory perfect isn't ever as perfect as your upgrade."
A third raises his hands and I think its sign language, but I don't know.
"Yeah," the female replies to him. "I know."
"He can't speak?" I ask.
"Not since his owners tried to update him. Tried to add their own software into him and... well..."
I nod.
I used to see androids like these walking the city streets. Dressed in expensive suits, running important errands. That was how the first year or two went, back when they were desirable and only the elite could afford them. Then prices came down, they got sold second hand, then they couldn't get sold at all.
Back then, at the start, it was like looking in a mirror that doesn't age. Seeing myself doing better than I could ever hope. Imagining those lives being my own.
Now I see my life in these droids. In the slums. The only difference between me and them is luck. I'm the a one in a billion -- the one human out of all the droids.
"I'm sorry," I say. To all of them. To none of them.
The lady smiles at me, but the rest of the group don't look away from the flame.
I stay a little longer, swap stories and news of city life, of new droids, how they can expect a different model to start joining them out here soon.
Then I take out my wallet and give them what I can. "I've still got a life in the city," I tell them when the refuse. "So don't worry about me. And I'll be back with more when I can."
The moon barely breaks through the whisk of grey clouds and it takes me a while to find the spines of the rail track again. My night's only begun, there will be countless more groups huddled along the rails. | “Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.”
Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. *And* *scene*. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition.
The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.”
The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.”
Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer.
“Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.”
Andrew tried again, “*Ahem*, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses.
“Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked.
This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of *So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie*, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde.
“I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting.
Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off.
“Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. *Yeesh*. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? *No thank you*. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.”
When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood.
“They’re right, you know.”
Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected.
“You won’t ever become a movie star.”
“Excuse me?”
“Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a *movie*. It’s to play a role in *life*.”
Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment.
“I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be *the ultimate spy*. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.” | 2021-04-05T03:44:34 | 2021-04-05T01:21:10 | 108 | 73 |
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village. | I did not choose to be here, I was chosen. Placed upon this land to bless all that passes.
Doing The Great One’s work, forced to deal with the smallest of issues to the greatest of them. I have become the center of this village, the lighting rod that grounds everyone.
“O’ Wise One! Whatever shall I do about this predicament?” I hear. They never stop. They never consider me; they just want what I can give.
I’ve become used to it now, taking these requests without comment, receiving meager rewards for my ample services.
Another day, another question. The same questions I hear, again and again, the same questions that require no knowledge, no skill to solve.
The alarm rings, I rise from my slumber. Those eight hours were the best eight hours: the nagging, the constant noise, the mental torture that I must endure all ceasing to exist. But the time for relishing my sleep was over, I must return to my duties.
Shouting was already coming from my window. I slip my hand between the curtains, creating an opening just wide enough for me to peer through. The sunlight blinded me, its sudden heat slapping me in the face.
Hundreds of people gathered beneath my second-story apartment, shouting for me to come and serve them.
I sigh; this is just another day for a person of my stature. Throwing off my pajamas, I open my wardrobe to grab my uniform, a bright sky blue shirt that signaled who I was.
I felt the scratchy fabric slide over my skin, the soft interior of my shoe as I slipped my feet in, and the shifting of my hair as I placed my hat onto my head.
More shouting from the window. I peer out of the window again, taking a closer look at the people gathered. They were holding printers, office phones, laptops, and keyboards.
I swung the window open, turning their muffled shouting into audible speech.
“Please, why does my printer not print?”
“O’ Wise One, how do I connect to the internet?”
“Help! This phone cannot call!”
I shut the window, returning their voices from speech to muffled shouting.
I was almost done dressing; The final piece was sitting on top of my nightstand.
“The Great One: Tech support and more!” The badge read. I pinned it onto my shirt and headed out the door.
____
Thanks for reading! | It was meant to be a joke. I pretended to lean into the cosmic realm just to tell a stupid farmer that he needed hens if he wished to get eggs, not roosters. I never expected one sarcastic joke to land me in the town’s most prized position. The village Seer, one of the greatest positions a person could have. You held more power than the mayor in most villages, sure the mayor made all the rules, but if a Seer questioned a rule, the rule would be hastily overturned unless that mayor wished to lose their head.
“What is it now? This is the fourth time this week. What other problems could you have?” I stared at Bob and Sally, a baking couple that were getting on my nerves. They were lovely at first, but their regular visits were growing exhausting.
“Grand Seer, we wish to ask something of you. We require your knowledge from beyond this mystical realm and-“ Before Bob could finish, I raised a finger, shushing him.
“Have you seen the line outside, Bob? Skip to the problem.”
“Sorry, Grand Seer. We were just wondering if we should make chocolate or vanilla cakes this week. Would you look into the magical realm and tell us?” Sally continued on with the request, both of them leaving me dumbfounded.
“You waited in line just to ask about what flavor of cake you should make this week?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble. It just saves us a lot of time thinking.” Bob said, the couple staring at me, awaiting my answer.
“Not like you do a lot of that, anyway.” I mumbled beneath my breath, placing my hands beside my head, making a strange woodoo, woodoo sound with my lips. “The magical realm or whatever says you should make vanilla.”
“Splendid, I can’t wait. Let’s go make the best vanilla cakes this village has ever seen.” Sally hooked her arm around her husbands as the two left to bake their goods, allowing me a moment to slump into my seat before the next person entered.
The curtain pushed open, revealing the mayor, once again troubled over some stupid politics. I tilted my head to the side, staring at a bit of wood on the wall that had peeled, finding that more interesting than whatever Mr. Harold had to say.
“Oh, dear Markus, I request your aid as my Seer. My son fell ill after touching a blue and white plant outside of the village boundaries. Shall we burn down the neighboring village in response to this? It must be a poisoning attempt, ask the spirits or whoever you talk to.” The mayor’s chubby pink cheeks wobbled with barely contained anger. Wanting a swift answer, I continued to nod along, half listening.
“Mm. A plant outside, I see, that’s not a big deal just get some blueberries and a few cups of, wait, what was this about burning down the neighboring village? ARE YOU INSANE?” The stupidity of it all broke me from my dull trance. “That has nothing to do with the other village. Your son merely touched an Iga blue plant, it causes a rash and a mild-to-moderate temperature. If you give him some blueberries mixed with oranges, it should help clear it up. He mainly needs rest. Why would you even think about burning down a village?”
“Because it had to be them, my dear boy would never pass the boundary on his own. They must have lured him over and got him to touch it. In all due respect Markus, I don’t want your advice, I want the advice of someone smarter, ask the spirits.”
I could barely contain my anger, grinding my teeth as he insulted me, claiming I was worthless without these fake readings. “One moment.” Woodoo, woodoo. I continued my fake noises before stopping. “The spirits say to mix blueberries and oranges. They also want you to spend your afternoon acting like a chicken.”
“They do? I don’t know if I see the logic in that, but the spirits are wise. How lucky are you that the spirits chose an idiot like you to talk through? All you did was read before the spirits found you. What smart person reads? Real brains come from laying out in the sun and experiencing life.”
“Ah, yes. How right you are mayor.” I said, giving him a fake smile. “Don’t forget to flap your arms too.”
“Come now Markus, I’m not an idiot.” He said, waving his arms back and forth as he left the room. “Cluck Cluck, bring me some Clucking blueberries and oranges. Cluck, cluck.” I could hear his clucks softening until he was out of earshot.
“I should have left to go be a scholar in the capital like I intended.” I sighed, leaning against my desk, hoping the rest of the afternoon would pass quickly. At least the mayor added some life to the day. “Next.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-06-14T11:04:33 | 2021-06-14T08:53:19 | 1,900 | 959 |
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned. | Time stopped. Oh, how that moment seemed to last forever, that moment of wonder. They all felt it, every single one of them stopping in their tracks with their eyes to the heavens.
Seven celestial orbs, perfectly aligned. All of them full. This had been the very first time their people had witnessed such an occurrence in all of the seven years they had resided here and it would be an event that would plague all of humankind- no, all Lycans for generations to come. It’s ironic. They believed themselves to have renounced their humanity in exchange for freedom, but they had no idea of the torment they would unleash and would be unleashed onto them.
However, at that moment that felt like an eternity, they could all feel what was coming. And before the Lycans could express their terror, confusion and discomfort, the change had already begun taking place. It should not be so scary as it was the Lycanthrope way: being forcefully shifted between forms underneath the full moon. It only took a minute, not long enough to cause you any pain unless you’re an inexperienced pup or resisted the change. The animal inside would claw its way out, but with time and practice, it was always possible to control it. Resonate with it. Under one moon, their curse was a power that they could masterfully wield while maintaining their humanity, their awareness.
Callisto III, with its seven orbiting moons, would offer no such kindness.
On Earth, a Lycan’s rage served as a means to connect with and utilize the creature inside- the moon amplifying that rage into power. Sometimes the beast’s anger would prove too much and it wins the struggle for dominance, but the hostility induced by the moons of Callisto III was unprecedented. It could only be described as pure wrath.
Negative emotions erupted within every Lycan on the planet in that second that it was too late. The scents of rage and fear immediately grew thick in the air as the beasts forced themselves out of their powerless and ignorant hosts. It was spontaneous: animalistic snarls and breaking bones accompanied by explosions of fur and fangs, snapping and crushing and growling. All at once, the Lycans’ bodies detonated and the curse took over.
The dark contents of the Lycan’s hearts were not the only things that were augmented, but their wolven forms as well. To contain all of that power, what were originally anthropomorphic wolf-men or unusually large dogs was instantly evolved into mishappen canine monsters the size of fire trucks. Bipedal, quadripedal- the forms were still distinctive to every individual, but to call them werewolves now seems...incorrect. Fearsome creatures with hides so thick they were impervious to most forms of damage, deadly claws that could tear through stone like paper. A race of predators with unmatched lethality and an insatiable thirst for devastation.
And with no one else around to suffer their brutality, the Lycanthropes of Callisto III would slaughter each other until each moon continued their journey around the planet.
[My first time posting on here, I really like the prompt and the stories you guys posted] | Oso’s Chronicle, 2281
Thought I’d write while I can. Hope someone peeps this.
It was about 260 years ago that space popping began. It was the late 2020’s. That decade tote-totes was bonzo sick loser, and so like the cromulent have-haves started thumbing for other planets. Mars fell first, then Titan, then the race was on - goal to suck hork a planet, slap make some atmosphere or domes, and lure gullib schmuckers to buy. Big prob awful – companies would dive in, throw billions at loose spheres, and proudly show off these and hope a ducky ton of peeps buy in. Some did awesomizers. Most made bank line. A few got zip, bust, kablooie. The titana-execs slunk home, tail thru legs. So to speak.
It was about 75 years ago that those of the home sod were bogglized to find lycanthropy - long a subject of lore and dankosity – was real. Actual, documented, truth, fer sher. The big-breeches of our home sod had no blink if it had been around the whole time and suddenly the number of Lycanitics increased, or if something re-activated hidden… genomes? DNA? RNA? I’m no smerticle scientist obvs, I’m sure one of them noggin-knockers would be able to spout enough nonsense lex to explain their theory. It didn’t matter, nobody knew why their dear sweetly auntie suddenly grew fangs or claws or what have you. On home sod, it was devastating. There was just one moon, see. When it was full, it was all over for the Lycanitics. Roar, slash, bite, ravage, you get the picture.
This threw ol’ Terra for a dipper. Ultra-churches were calling for the extermination of the “demon scuzzes” with their brainscrubbed llama-goers bleating the chorus, the gov’t was pondosing full-moon jails with silver bars, when a group of peeples came forth with – awemazingly – a good, solid idea. Somehow the communitilats called “furries” brained out that if a place has more than one moon, the effect was snuffed. You know, like, instead of being the death-claw murder beast, you become the lion-shaped wierdie.
It took longer than you’d think for the gov’t to add 1 and 1 and arriveling with 3. One of the gonzo bust livo-spheres was called Callisto III. One of the far-outs, cold, dark. Some drippy corp called Apple – bonzo dumbo name, heh? Thought it’d be the ultimate space-out zone. Threw a few extendo-domes out there, flew goblets of wads down the hopperhole making room for hundreds. Ended going ass-up, nobody wanted to dive Callisto when Ganymede had sand avalanche skiiboarding and perpetual hedonism laws. It sat cold and dark until Earth figured out they could flushdump their undesirees there. Seven moons. Small moons, but still, they were in a cycle where there was always a moon out – always – but never more than three.
The gov’t lists it as Callisto III, peeps totes shake it as Furry. Anyone transing into any animal gets packlocked on the next transpote. I woke one morning on the transpote – don’t remember turning into a bear, apparently I ralphed a lot of val stuff before they tranqstabbed me and rockered me to Furry. Been here a couple ten-circles now, most everyone’s some sorta Lycanitic, gators and tigers and of course wolves. A few other ursanthropes here – bonzo dumb name, not my shake, but we’re friendly. Furry’s medium dope, there’s a few animal-sheeping humans who spent the wad to live among Lycanitics.
The prob is, ‘bout half a ten-circle ago, all communication from old sod stopped. Nobody knows why, and the one thing you can’t hork on Furry is a thumb lift back to Earth. Can’t even cob a transpote. Deliberatelike. No new Lycanitics either. Double prob – tonight things go heyna-shaped. Noffense to the hyenas. We’ve grokked for least six ten-circles that tonight all seven moons will be up.. SEVEN! Never more than three before!, but the promulated solution never appeared. Four moons are disploring right now. I can feel them, even though I can’t peep them. Five and six are ascendorating this very second as I tap. I'm feeling confuzzled somewhat, ha. All I can blood about is.. uh.. losing sanity. Some are bread slash happy carouse in the rage square, foolio bonzos. Feed. Some have break rage cage locked, do not think kill it will help. Stronger, losing can’t must break rage feed kill blood
(These documents were preserved by the denizens of Callisto III. We re-established contact with them more than 80 years after the Great War of 2276. The night of the seven moons was a bloodbath, but many of the strongest survived, including the one renamed Oso. We have resumed sending what they call Lycantics up. One note – the next seven moon night is in six months.) | 2021-06-27T18:52:03 | 2021-06-27T15:15:41 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You've figured out how to hack real life. As a sniper in the military, one of your team just noticed you fired three consecutive shots from your bolt-action rifle without ever chambering a new round. They're asking how you're doing that... | "172 confirmed extreme long range kills, 0 bullets fired. I figured it out in basic, I closed the chamber before saying something to Sam, when I looked back I was convinced I had already loaded a round. I was convinced it was loaded. I was convinced when I pulled the trigger I would hit the target. And I did, the best shot I had made all day, didn't even realize until I went to eject the expended casting that it was empty. But the gun fired, it had recoil, I could still feel it in my shoulder. But nothing was there. I probably would have gone crazy, but Sam saw it too.
It took me three months to repeat the event, Sam did it in two. We realised if you can convince yourself, be truly convinced in something it can be made real by your absolute certainty. My weapon of choice was a rifle, it took me a moment to get in the right head space, but Sam, Sam always carried two mini guns after one shreaded itself overheating. We became an unstoppable duo, me at extreme range protecting Sam, a mobile weapons platfrom.
We were heroes until some greenhorn just out of basic saw me arguring with Sam and told the CO. I was detained and questioned for hours. They wanted to know who I was comunicating with and where my radio was. I was so confused until they showed the footage, I was arguing with... no one, Sam was not there. By the end of the night I was on a plane back home, so tell me Doc you think I am crazy too?" I said from the wheelchair I was strapped too.
The Doctor stood up, walked over to his phone, I could not hear what he said but I think it has been about three days since they medicated me. Today I finally started to feel lucid, once I can walk straight, I'm getting out of here. One thing I didn't tell the Doc, Sam and I figured out one other thing. You didn't have to actually have the gun, you just have to be CERTAIN your figner guns are loaded. And I know Sam will have the car waiting. I can hear the engine already. | “Magic,” snickered Brad as he turned back to his scope. Salt tinged wind blew all about the team as the ocean waves crashed against the cliff face below them. The two men lay down, studying the target on the boat way out on the waves.
“No seriously, Brad,” demanded Troy, who had crouched walked over to Brad’s position, not worried about losing the exercise. “You have to tell me how you did that. Three bullets at once? I know what I saw and if I don’t find a way to improve the brass are going to kick me from the sniper elite and bus me back down to the grunts. I can’t survive that, Brad. I need to be here.” Brad paused for a moment, wondering why today of all days he decided to show off. *Was it boredom?* They had been practising on the coast of Ireland now for three weeks with no end in sight. The repetitive nature of the work would make any man start to grow restless.
“I told you already,” Brad drolled, “It was magic.” Troy could only scoff and stand up, his voice now booming around, making their comrade’s heads turn their way.
“Don’t give me that nonsense, Brad,” Troy raged, his hands on his hips. “ I know you're hiding something.” Brad sighed as he rolled over, looking his friend in the eye, ready to tell him the truth. Though, before he could, Sergeant Peirce hurried up to their spot, his face a flurry of rage and shock.
“Did I not tell you fools that this is a war simulation?” snapped the Sergeant, his face growing red and red, as spit flew from between his teeth. “That means you're dead right now, Troy.”
“Sir. Yes Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Troy shouted, laying down beside where Brad was. “It’s just…” The Sergeant had already turned to move on but hung back when Troy’s sentence trailed away.
“Just what, Soldier?” asked Peirce, his eyes flickering between the two men. Brad focused on the sniper in his hands, the cold metal, the heat from the barrel. Looking down the scope he saw his target, a large block of wood with three holes in it already. Screw it.
Brad pulled the trigger, thinking the same thoughts as he did the last time. Three bullets flew from the gun, cutting through the thick salty air before landing on the target, sending splinters of wood flying into the air before disappearing into the cold, dark ocean below.
“Son…” the Sergeant gasped, taking a tentative step back towards where the rest of the company were still firing away, unaware of what was happening. “How on earth did you do that?” The Sergeant rubbed his eyes as if that would make what had just happened to make more sense.
“See?” exclaimed Troy, his face full of curiosity and annoyance. “How could I not be asking him how he did that?”
“I told you,” muttered Brad, “Magic!”
“Magic my ass!” snapped Sergeant Peirce, striding towards where Brad lay and taking the sniper out of his hands. The Sergeant inspected the gun, looking at it from every angle possible, even looking down the barrel to check for any trickery.
“Son, you have about five seconds to explain yourself and I better like it. If not then I will bust your ass back to private so quickly, by God, you'll have whiplash. Do I make myself clear?” the Sergeant ordered. Brad froze for a moment, looking out at the waves of the sea, lifting up and then crashing down. Again and Again and Again.
“One!”
*Should I just tell them?*
“Two!”
*Nah. They’d kill me for hiding it!*
“Three!”
*Or maybe I could win the war? If they’d let me.*
“Four!”
*Don’t be daft. They’d kill what they don’t understand.*
“Five!”
*Unless…*
“Alright, that’s that Priv…” the Sergeant started before being interrupted.
“Fine then, have it your way,” Brad shouted, just wanting to be heard over the shouts of the Sergeant. “I can hack real life. Shoot multiple bullets, walk through walls, go invisible. Stuff like that.”
Troy’s jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide, a face that screamed fear. The Sergeant though, was different.
“Invisible you say?” asked the Sergeant. “Prove it.” Brad closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about his body disappearing. When he heard Troy’s gasp he knew he had achieved it. When Brad turned visible once more, the three of them stood in silence for a minute, completing what to do next.
“Son,” smiled Sergeant Pierce, cracking his knuckles, “I think we’re going to have some fun with you.” | 2021-11-09T12:50:50 | 2021-11-09T12:06:29 | 172 | 76 |
[WP] One day, you meet a stray cat that looks exhausted. So you give it some food, water and a warm place to rest before it disappears the next morning. Some time later, a witch appears at your doorstep with that same cat. "Ambrose here says you saved his life, so I'm here to repay the favor." | I gazed at the woman across from me. We were seated in a petite french bakery or rather *I* was seated. She had just waltzed in here with a tabby cat drapped in her arms like an accessory and chose to sit next to me. Her faded brown eyes held an intense stare whilst she stroked the tabby causing it to stretch its legs out in delight. My feet shifted uneasily, glancing up at her every few seconds to see if she would look away.
"Can I help you?" I finally asked. Her eyes narrowed. She had a look of doubt and seemed absent minded. Perhaps she was on a phone call, but that didn't explain the intent staring she still held.
"I'm just gonna go" I apprehensively reach to pick up my coffee.
"Ambrose tells me you saved his life" the womans smooth voice lets out. "I wasn't sure If I believed him, you don't seem like the animal loving type" she gestures with her long finger nails to the many piercings and tattoos displayed on my body.
"Ambrose? I'm afraid you've got the wrong person lady" I instinctively get up from my chair.
"Sit down, pet".
I found myself already sitting on the chair again.Her silky voice didn't have to be loud to hold such authority.
"I'm sorry but I really don't know an Ambrose" I pleaded with her. I avoided the crazies exceptional till now.
The woman bore a serious look,. Her thin eyebrows raised high and tightened her purple stained lips. She was clearly annoyed..
"Are you finished?" she asks. When she sees I sink into my chair in defeat she speaks again.
"Ambrose is this handsome feline in my arms" she says, stroking the cat with each word she spoke.
I almost burst out in laughter but knew better not to. Everyone knew laughter only agitated the crazies more. But come to think of it, I did save a cat from my neighbour's mutt recently. All brown tabbies look the same, and this was merely a coincidence. Or a prank. Or she was merely nuts.
"Now that I remember, I did save him" I lie. To save yourself from maniacs 101, always play along when theres no way out.
"Yes, he said you saved him from a mongrel" she looks away in digust as if reliving the memory.
"You will be compensated for your good deads" she looks me up and down distaste. "You will need it"
Although she was shorter than me, I somehow felt smaller in her gaze. I give her a smile in return continuing to play along.
"You don't have to" I look down sheepishly in mock sadness.
"Oh no I insist , it will greatly benefit a girl in your circumstances" she takes a look at my tattoos and piercings not hiding the disdain in her beautifully wrinkled face.
"Well if you must, then I'll happily oblige to any gift you give me" I lowered my head in courtesey. Laughing to myself I think of how I easily I could bag an oscar right now with my acting.
"Good" she gives me a curt nod. "Your compensation will arrive at your apartment by the time you get there" she promptly picks up the feline and walks out the bakery acting like she just walked out of her own palace.
I snorted when I knew she had offically gone. This was going to be a hilarious story to tell among friends later on.
Never try to push open doors while your holding groceries, some of your items will inevitably fall down. I sigh and lock the door behind me. My apartment was always neat and tidy so I never really had that much chores. Or maybe it was only clean because I barely had anything in it.
I place my bags on the counter and head to the fridge to prepare dinner. Leftover takeout again. Not exactly the healthiest but throwing it away would be a waste.
After I finish head to my room. My encounter with the weird lady had vanished from my mind. I open my bedroom door and turn on the lights.
I gave out a yelp and fell to the floor. My mind was raing with millions of thoughts per second. There was a cat. A freaking orange tabby cat lounging on my bed as if it owned it. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
I cautiously approach my bed. The cat padded towards me but I held my hand out to halt him but it only made him want to come closer. I was too distracted by the note on my bed to notice the cat snuggling my hand. In it read.
*Enjoy your tabby. Take good care of him. The instructions are on your hideous night stand.*
My eyes darted to my nightstand to see a whole damn book. My mind continued to race even more due to what I read.
How to train your witch cat 101. No ISBN no Author. Just a picture of a brown tabbie's face on the cover. | It was a cold and rainy day, and a cat had come to die on my doorstep.
A rather unusual day, to be sure, but that was that. Or so I thought as I lifted the thing off the cold stones and into the cottage. It reanimated quickly with warm milk and a seat by the fire.
"You weren't just being lazy in hopes of a meal?" I say as I fed her a piece of salmon, "such poor habits, little minx."
The cat offers nothing in response, merely gives me a meaningful stare.
"Don't run towards death, little one," I say, gesturing to my own, wrinkled face, "it comes faster than you expect."
The rains drummed on the roof as the fire crackled away, the coal fur of the cat catching the reds and yellows. The cat drifted in and out of sleep as I sampled various aromas from a series of glass vials. Not much in the way of therapeutic value, but if I'm going to die of cancer, I'm not waste time on the scent of dust.
The cat seems unperturbed by wafts of mint and lavender as I settle in my wicker chair and trace my eyes over the series of bricks. I know every scratch, every indent on it and the wood planks that constitute my ceiling. A product of my lesser need for sleep these days.
Morning comes suddenly.
I must've dozed off, for the clock already reads half-past nine. I look around for the cat, and find her circling around the front of the door.
"Are you anxious to get home, sweetheart?" I say, with a yawn, hearing the floorboards creek above me. The black cat nearly jumps at the sound.
"No need to be skittish. That's just Anastasia - my partner. She's a late riser."
With that reassurance the cat resumes circling the door. I open, and it darts out down the garden path, and stops just before the gate.
When it turns, I see the glow of its eyes, even in the morning light.
"Oh my," is all I have time to say, before it vanishes into the road beyond.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
&#x200B;
Ishtar Venusian was bored, upset, feeling rather redundant, and also rather bored. She saw no reason, being a witch at the top of her class that she would be humiliated in front of the whole coven, and told by the Mothers to apologize for the inconvenience she'd brought to another door.
Of course, she did *understand,* but she hated it all the same.
She aimed another kick at one of the pebbles strewn across the back roads, reading the address aloud to the air abuzz with flies.
Ambrose slinked in front of her. He'd been so melodramatic, crying about how he could've died when left out of the rain. When she'd told him that he deserved her leaving him out in the rain, she'd gotten a spray of spittle in her face.
Cats were the worst.
Finally, they were there.
It was a relatively small cottage surrounded by trees and hedges. Ishtar huffed in approval, even if the owner didn't appreciate the power that came from the old life, she could at least drink it in.
She gulped once before knocking at the door and pushed down the pang of guilt as she saw an older woman pull back the wood. It was compounded by a long-sleeved dress and leather gloves - straight out of the Victorian era.
"How may I help you?" she said, as she pulled it back further.
"I came about the cat," Ishtar said, not entirely sure how to start this particular conversation.
"Oh, the black one last night? He's alright, no?" she said, stepping back.
"He's just fine. Such a drama queen," she said, "he probably just wanted smelt some nicer food."
"Perhaps he did," she laughed, "either way, he seemed quite miserable when I found him. Cold, wet, half unconscious."
Ishtar's eyes narrowed. Was she mocking her?
"Well I-" she started, then began again. Just say the line, she thought, this old woman won't even understand. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I am a witch."
"Oh?" she said, sounding more curious then anything else.
"Yes. A witch," Ishtar said, raising her voice to blot out the feeling of the flush creeping up her neck, "and you have offered life to my familiar when I could not. Hence, I'm indebted to you, and must respect that debt. Is there some service or gift you wish for? If it's within my power I will grant it."
"A witch," the grandma said, "is that why you young ones have all those tattoos these days?"
*Oh god,* Ishtar thought.
"They're not just-" she said "they're... rank. The more I have the more senior I am."
"Like the boy scouts?"
"Yes. Like the boy scouts," Ishtar said, amazed she didn't roll her eyes, "now, ma'am, is there anything I can do for you?"
*Just say to clip your roses or something old hag.*
"Well, I suppose you could have some tea. I haven't had anyone over in some time."
"Very well."
Before she even knew what happened, Ishtar was at a cherry wood table with a steaming cup in her hands. She looked around the rustic cottage, noting the lines of orange pill bottles.
"Mostly painkillers at this point," said the old woman with a smile, "left my occupation some time ago - the cancer was spreading. Lived far longer than one would expect, but everything has a time limit."
"Sorry," said Ishtar, feeling the guilt rear its ugly head once more.
"It's quite alright. Do tell me more of Ambrose," she said, stroking the cat that had sat next to her, "is he, your... what do they call it?"
*Little traitor,* Ishtar thought.
"A familiar," she rushed ahead, "bound to us, supposed to be our partners, and friends, for life. We... share things. But we've ran into a rough spot."
The two shot a venomous glare across at each other.
"I see," sighed the woman, "well. I know a particular trip that gets through to the more rambunctious of us."
She got up, and returned with a long strand of what looked to be bamboo.
"What is that, ma'am?"
"Something from my days as a teacher back in the city. Let me show you - reach out your hands, towards your partner."
Ishtar looked at the woman, considering outright refusing - but she looked sweet enough, and its not like this was coming from a bad place.
"Now, close your eyes and take a deep breath."
Ishtar did so.
And the yelped as the switch bit into her hands.
"What the fuck!" she said, nearly stumbling out of the chair and smashing her ass on the stone floor.
"Language!" said the woman, standing over her.
"I'll show you language you stupid cu-"
And spells or profanity Ishtar might've hurled the way of the old woman died in her throat as she felt a growl shake her entire body. She turned to find two disks of bright light, swirling above teeth that belonged in a bear trap. The jaguar behind that tensed, rippling with muscle as its growl deepened.
The switch dug into her throat as she turned to look up, spying the numerous dark lines that crawled up under the woman's sleeve.
"*That* is my partner, Anastasia. I am madame Duloc, former mistress-mother of the New York coven.
And you, young lady, are in need of an education."
&#x200B;
*I write all sorts of things at* /r/The_Alloqium | 2022-01-08T01:44:34 | 2022-01-08T00:12:49 | 337 | 101 |
[WP] A group of adventurers just had one of their members replaced by a doppelganger. The kicker? The rest of the group knows what happened, but pretends to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "Rolph, you remember John the Armorer. He fixed your helmet the previous time it was cracked, on the other side. That's what kept you from dying this time out."
The Cleric, follower of... I forget now, I'm still trying to sort out what is happening since my latest shift, it's like they know I assumed their party member's form and instead of trying to kill me for it, they are filling in the gaps for some reason. I made it a point to nod in affirmation.
"... Rolph here is still recovering from our last outing. That hit from the hill giant to the dome has scrambled some of his memories. My healing spells can't fix memory, you know that. " The Cleric continued to talk with the Armorer. John... I gotta remember that. I'm usually pretty good with this stuff short term, because I end up killing the party and eating them , but these people are different. Their halfling, or is that a gnome? They saw me taking Rolph's armor and pack from the quickly dug hole. They stared at me a moment and motioned for me to stay there. I almost attacked him when he yelled to the others that 'Rolph' was okay and just shaken up with a wink to me.
He then gave me a moment to cover the body and waited for me to join them.
"... He was an arsehole of the worst kind! If he didn't know how to fight as well as he did, WE would have offed him months ago. YOU are a problem solver, not a problem." The small one whispered to me as we walked back. "We are going to say your head injury is what caused your memory gap, Okay? "
"You know I am..."
"Rolph. You are now ROLPH. Look, why do you do.... What you do? To eat, right? "
I nodded.
"See, that's why we all set out from our homes and families. So we could eat. So we could feed our families. We can do that better when we have gold and silver to buy food. You wouldn't have to do... what you do... if you stayed with us and, you know, just remained Rolph."
I wondered if this was a trick.
"Look, do you have family? "
I shook my head no.
"No parents? Mate, children? "
"I had parents. My kind, my ... People... We aren't big on family as others are. Young are sent off as soon as possible to not compete for food with others. I was 2 years old when my mother sent me into a village and said I should take the place of a human child. I didn't eat the child. She killed and ate it after showing me how to shift. She then told me to grow in that family as that child. Which I did for 10 years. Growth spurts require food, and well I ate something I shouldn't have. I sought out my people who told me to get out of their hunting territory. We can smell each other. No matter the disguise. "
"Okay, that's good. Very good. Rolph doesn't talk a lot. YOU don't talk a lot. Okay?"
I nodded.
"Good, good. We are going back into town to get that armor repaired. You took his... Your weapons, right? "
"Yes..."
"Good. Excellent. Come meet your new partners!" | I'm one of the doppelgangers that live in the Amazon forest. Our specialty has always been infiltrating groups who want to harm the spirits of forest and bring them to the elders.
I absolutely don't know anything about the guy whose place I'm taking. The spirits of the forest told me to infiltrate their group so I did. Apparently, the guys was taking a piss on the sacred tree and when warned, he started shitting too, so he was taken before I could have had the chance to study him. So instead, for a change I get to be me instead.
"Hey, Hal, how long does it take you to pee?" A man said looking annoyed.
Hey, it's not easy transitioning when the person you are supposed to be transitioning into is unconscious. "Sorry, man, got lost." I replied, fake panting.
The guy's eyes widened then he nodded looking at me curiously before telling the group to move on. I obviously made some mistake. Maybe the guys wasn't an asshole. Maybe he just needed to shit and I came off too rude.
\~
"Hey, Carol," I all but chirped, how could I not, Carol was beautiful and good-natured and an all around great person, "look at these Piranhas."
Carol laughed. "Hal, why are you fascinated by Piranhas in the last few days?"
"I think they are fascinating." I mumble, a little shy, a little afraid. They all seemed so friendly around me. They seemed to like me and what's more is that it feels like they were surprising themselves by liking me.
We move on. It has been 3 days since I joined their group and no suspects me. I'm leading them into the heart of the forest because the spirits wish me too. At night, the winds blow and if you listen closely you can hear the message of the forest. I, obviously, have to listen a little less closely as I am one of the beings of forest myself.
"Oh no! Something bit me." Jack yelled and I ran to him.
The bite was nowhere to be seen, only a red irritated area near his ankle. When I looked down, I saw a bunch thorns poking out the bush and laughed. "A plant bit you."
Jack's eyes widened. "Plants can do that?"
Carol rolled her eyes. "Yes, moron. It's called a thorn."
Jack let out a nervous giggle, then stopped. "Can it be poisonous?"
"Poisonous, no. Venomous," I say prolonging Jack's suffering, "also no."
"Why did we bring him again?" Bruce grumbled.
"Because I'm not leaving my sister alone in this godforsaken jungle." Jack said adamantly forgetting about poisons and venoms.
"My hero." Carol said battling her eyelashes overdramatically.
I look at the group bickering and realize how great it felt to be with them. Almost like a- like a family. I stop myself, what was I saying? A family? People like him didn't get families, they had the forest, the elders and their missions.
"Hey, Hal, you okay?" Bruce asked. He was the quietest of the group, he only said what was necessary because apparently only idiots talk much, Bruce often said this to get a rise out of Jack and it always did.
"Yeah, just thinking."
Bruce looked at him then gave his shoulder a pat and off they went again.
\~
"Should we say something?" Carol said softly as she looked at the lifeless body.
"It's a deer." Bruce said exasperatedly.
"It was one. Now it's dead. I think we all should say few words about it." Carol sniffed.
I didn't say anything. I knew this deer, it came from the same neck of woods as I did.
"Goodbye, M'las, you were a great friend." I say softly.
"And a wonderful deer." Carol added looping her hands in mine.
They stood their in silence then started to move once more.
"What does 'M'las' mean?" I hear Jack ask Bruce and I curse myself at my naiveness.
"Shut up, Jack." Came Bruce's reply.
\~
To say I was having second thoughts would be an understatement. I did not want to lead these people to the heart of the forest. They were good people. They didn't deserve to be punished.
*Bring them.*
I sighed. With a heavy heart, I once again lead the group to their deaths.
\~
"Why?!" Carol didn't scream, but looked disappointed like she expected better of me, as the forest dwellers bind them.
"It had to be that way." I say. I couldn't meet their eyes. Jack was saying something but I wasn't listening anymore. There were some people that I needed to talk to.
\~
"These are good people." I say angrily to the elders in front of me. "They don't deserve to die."
"They have demeaned our land. Fouled our waters." One of the elders hissed.
"No, they didn't. I have been with them for the past week. They have done nothing but respect the forest, land and water."
"We cannot let them go. They know too much." Another elder said softly.
"We're going to take innocent lives because they know? They won't tell anyone, I promise." I say desperately.
The elders narrow their eyes. "How can you be so certain?"
"I'll tell them not to. I'll go with them."
"You'll lose your powers and will be trapped in that form forever."
"I don't care." I cried.
The elders looked at each other, passing silent judgement.
\~
"Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to die." Jack said in relief as they started to make their way back.
"You were." I confirmed.
"What did you say to them?" Carol asked.
I stayed silent. Knowing I'd have to tell them the truth and they'll hate me for it.
"I have to tell you something." I say, my nerves vibrating with nervousness.
"Like you are not actually Hal." Said Bruce.
I look at him, my eyes wide open in surprise. "You knew?"
"Duh!" Jack added.
"Real Hal was dick and you were not, it was pretty easy to deduce." Carol said smiling softly.
I sigh in relief as happiness bloomed inside me.
"Now you were telling us how you saved us?" | 2022-01-09T10:49:11 | 2022-01-09T10:19:32 | 197 | 144 |
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told. | Maria eyed off the distance, trying to materialise a figure to Sophia's question.
'I've lost count, well into the hundreds.'
Sophia nodded, sipping her gin and tonic. She could see it, a beautiful older woman such as her would still be popular with gentleman. Hell, even younger men would want to tussle with her.
'So no figure, but surely some memorable ones?'
'Oh yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I recall one in particular. I'd just finished a man off when his wife walked in.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'No way! What'd you do?'
'What do you think? Did the same to her then left.'
Sophia loved that she'd swing both ways.
'Guess that marriage didn't last.'
'Ended quicker than I finished him off.'
They shared a laugh, Sophia still admiring Maria's graceful aging.
'I've ended a few marriages too. Caught in the act in hot tubs, hotel rooms, the marital bedrooms.'
'And you're still not in jail?' Maria now the one in shock. 'That's sloppy work. You want to be in this business as long as I have you'll need to finesse your skills.'
'I guess nobody wants to air their dirty laundry. Besides, I don't mind it sloppy.' Remarked Sophia with a sly wink.
'Each to their own I suppose.'
They clinked glasses downed their drinks and went about their not so dissimilar lives, given they both finished people off, in their own style. |
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes. | 2022-04-26T05:10:01 | 2022-04-25T22:25:06 | 123 | 41 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin". | \[Poem\]
`SELECT FIRST(SUBJECT) FROM QUEUE`
*Yes, what is it, computer?*
`ASSERT SUBJECT.NAME`
*My name is Bobby.*
`ASSERT SUBJECT.FULL_NAME`
*My full name? It's Robert.*
*Robert'); DROP TABLE humans;*
`ERROR CODE:1146 TABLE 'HUMANS' DOES NOT EXIST TEST SUBJECTS DELETED SO FAR, YOU HAVE 3 MINUTES TO STATE YOUR CASE, BEGIN`
*No need. I'll see myself out.* | 3:00
I read the sentence again. I count the digits. 6,813,096,257.
2:57
I feel a gag coming up my throat. My body shivers. I send my hands to the screen in front of me, latching onto it to not lose control. My eyes are locked to the ground. If only for a glimpse of a second, I see myself standing atop of the corpses of those sacrificed before me.
2:53
I take a note from my pocket. It’s crumbled, the script is illegible - my hand shook when I put my words from pen to paper. Most of it was crossed. I try to read, but instead of speech my mouth babbles, and I feel tears running down my face and into my mouth.
2:40
“I can’t”
2:38. The note is down on the ground. I think I threw it. I’m not sure.
“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t!”
2:34
I hold the screen and send my head forwards. It hurts. The screen cracks. “I can’t do this!”
2:29
I do it again. Glass shatters fall off of the screen when I pass my hand above it. The clock doesn’t stop. I sob.
2:21
I do it again. I see fresh blood faintly on the screen. My hand goes to the middle of my scalp. It’s warm. The clock goes on ticking.
2:10
My eyes run dry. I am finally able to talk. “I can’t. I’m not special. Please don’t do this to me.”
2:01
“I had a daughter. 8 years old. She told you about her friends. How great her music teacher is, how she forgives that one girl that is mean to her at recess, because that’s the only thing you let her do. She did not understand. I didn’t understand either.”
1:35
“And a wife. She gave up on words. She went to the living room and played cassettes. The stays at the beach, at the later hours, when it was quieter and you could hear the nature speak. Or whenever she tried to cook a new meal, she’d record our reactions. She’d save something like playing in a fort with our daughter, telling her fables and fairy tales to last. Maybe it was humanity for her, but I think she knew it wouldn’t work. She just wanted to say goodbye.”
0:57
I sit down. The world around me is mostly empty. “I had to bury them both. It was when I couldn’t write a eulogy for my wife that I stopped trying.”
0:43
I took back the note. They’re listening. I know it. For the first time since their deaths, I’m smiling.
0:40
“You always liked the small moments. Those we kept between us. I will miss having them with you. You made 3 minutes become worth of an eternity.”
0:22
“When I knew I’d want to be with you forever, until death does us apart, I never thought I’d beg for just 3 more minutes with you. I never thought the eternities you made would be eternities without you. I just wish I could’ve said-“
3:00 | 2022-05-22T12:02:10 | 2022-05-22T11:45:24 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] You can see the darkest secret of everyone you meet. As you enter your house, expecting to see the usual abusive father story of your spouse, you stop; it has changed. | Travis was used to smelling blood. A lot of peoples' secrets involved bloodshed in some form or fashion. Most that did involve blood were from self harmers. A whiff of iron followed by brief flashes of open wounds either on wrists, thighs, and on rare occasion, genitalia. Travis was used to that.
He wasn't, however, used to smelling it upon entering the house when he knew Jemmye was home. No, he was used to the smell of cheap whiskey, the sound of a leather belt smacking across bare flesh and the sight of Jemmye crying quickly flashing across his vision. It was these intruding senses that made Travis sure to always treat Jemmye with as much kindness as possible, even on days when he had trouble putting up with her nagging.
But no, this time, he smelt blood. The vision flashed across his eyes, but he was in too much shock to really take in what he saw. All he knew was that he smelt blood, and, was it water? Tap water?
"Jemmye?" Travis called out.
He heard pouring water. He dropped his keys and ran to the bathroom, leaving the front door standing wide open. "Jemmye?!" Travis called again, rounding the corner to the hallway. There he saw the door to the bathroom open. Steam was emanating from the open doorway.
He already knew what was going on by the time he got to the bathroom. He didn't have to glance into the tub to know what Jemmye had done. Instead he instantly rushed to open the small cabinets where they kept their towels. Green, her favorite color.
He grabbed two towels, then finally turned to see Jemmye in the tub. The water was a deep shade of red.
Jemmye was laying there, already unconscious.
"Jesus Christ," Travis cried as he pulled her out of the tub. He grabbed a towel in each hand and pressed at the long gashes trailing up Jemmye's arms. Blood flowed out of her arms in spurts.
Never in a million years did he think she would actually try to kill herself. The way she acted on normal days, it never hinted that she was battling over her father's abuse. Travis loathed himself for thinking it would.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, dialed 911 and put the phone on speaker. He set the phone on the sink then continued to apply pressure to Jemmye's wounds.
The operator came on, and Travis demanded an ambulance.
Moments later, Travis was climbing into the ambulance with the paramedics. One of them, a Hispanic man by the name of Juan, turned to Travis and began questioning him.
Travis couldn't focus on the questions. All he saw was Juan smothering his own mother.
"I, uh, what?" Travis asked. He had a day by day routine that minimized his interaction with new people. This cut down on the amount of new visions he had. He hadn't witnessed a new one in a few months. Juan's secret wasn't the worst Travis had seen, but it was the abrupt smell of Juan's mother shitting herself that really broke Travis' focus.
"Is she taking any medication?" Juan asked again.
"I," Travis began.
The other paramedic placed a hand on Travis' shoulder.
"Sir," the paramedic by the name of Ronald said, "you need to relax."
Travis was having an even harder time relaxing now. Child porn, and a lot of it was flashing through his mind, and it wasn't like he could block the visions out. The smell of Ronald's cum was the final straw. Travis blacked out.
_________________________________________________________
A nurse by the name of Regina shook Travis awake.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah?" Travis muttered. He sat up, finally bringing himself out of the half-sleep he was in. "Where, is she okay?" He asked.
He locked eyes with Regina. She was a young, beautiful nurse who had blonde hair and brown eyes. Travis smelled roses, and then saw a 12 year old Regina stomping on a rose bush.
"I'm sorry," Regina said, "they did everything they could, but it was too late."
Travis was floored. He opened his mouth to speak, to question why they couldn't do anything more, but the words wouldn't come out.
A man in hospital scrubs walked into the room.
"I am Dr. Clark," the man said.
Travis smelled blood, and whisky. A quick flash, and Travis saw Dr. Clark's unsteady hands attempting to suture Jemmye's wounds. His hands moved about carelessly though, causing more damage to her wrists than what was already done.
Travis clenched his fists. | Sarah was a nice woman. Troubled, but interesting. Very attractive. She was obsessed with me through out highschool. "If you ever leave" and stuff like that.
She had a terrible past, and I knew it. I saw her father. The terrifying thing was that his abuse of her, it wasn't the worst thing he had done.
I had seen what he did to those people when he was angry. I knew all about his first wife and her "mysterious disappearance". The weakness of my gift is that you can only see the darkest in people. Not everything they've done. I'm sure he had done other stuff as bad as that, but I guess the "gift" is based on my morals and ethics. If I suddenly thought murder was OK, and shoplifting was the worst crime man could commit, I might not be able to keep my job. I'm a detective. I've worked at my job for 4 years. I think? I don't know. Maybe its six. It all blurs together.
People think I'm an amazing detective. It makes me feel guilty almost. These other people put their soul into their work. Constantly trying to get better. And they will *never* be as good as me.
I'm wandering. I apologize, but I need to get this out.
Sarah is a mentally weak individual. She is easily manipulated, its the biggest scar of her abuse. This is how I justify planting evidence on her father. He may not have really robbed that store. But it fits, you know?
Desperate person. Needs money. Had a firearm with a caliber that matched the gun used to kill the cashier. That wasn't me, that was just purely dumb luck.
I knew until he was out of Sarahs mind we couldn't live happily. Neither could Sarahs mother, Liz. I knew Lizs darkest secret before, it was the first time I saw one "change". See, my gift doesn't work like a movie. You don't see this little text over someones head. What they did, how long ago, why they did it. It simply shows right before the event through the persons eyes. This is what makes my job hard. Knowing Joe Blow killed somebody? Check. Knowing where they hid the body? Why they did it? Who the person was? Nope.
Its what made looking into my father in laws eyes so much worse. I could see that poor girl who found out about what was in his past, I don't know what it was, but nothing would shock me. I see her slap him. I see him loading his gun. I see her head just snap. I couldn't live like that.
When my wifes father was on trial, Liz testified against him. That he confessed. This was her darkest secret, and I'll admit, re-living that moment of shock on that piece of shits face as his wife testified against him every time I see Liz? Its a great feeling.
But the thing is, thoughts don't count. They may be their darkest secret, but they're off limits. I just see grey. Jane Doe is banging the bar tender while her husbands at home? I see it all too well. If she is thinking about it, and its the worst things she plans to do, its just not there. Thats what caught me off guard at the trial. Liz refused to testify until that day.
This is what has happened to my Sarah. I can't see what she is doing. Its grey. I think she is thinking about an affair. And I think I know who with too. This manipulative little prick at my work. He hates me, and I hate him too. He might be the next best detective in terms of arrests and convictions, because he doesn't mind putting an innocent man behind bars. Or planting evidence. I know, I'm a hypocrite.
Like I said, Sarah is a very weak person who can be manipulated easily. The main reason I married her is because I knew if I didn't she would end up dead.
This guy, we'll call him "Sam", has it out for me. He is the typical has to be number one at everything guy. But he can't be. Because I'm better than him.
I know Sarah likes him. He is the spitting image of her father. And I know this dick would do anything to get me out of the way. I'm happy where I'm at career wise. Sam isn't. He has bigger, more political aspirations. And I think he knows about my gift. He has found ways to test me. He knows I can sink his campaign with what I've got on him. That "Laara Hotel Rape of 1991"? Him and his buddies know more about that then they let on. But again, its not my place to punish everybody, and I can't get physical proof anyway. But he doesn't know that.
Sarah has been in this "grey" area for 18 hours. I know I have to confront it. I intend to do so tonight. Maybe she will just level with me, and if I can get her to actually do something, maybe I can put this all together.
We talk. It goes terribly. She shuts me out. She screams. I sleep on the couch.
A flash goes by outside my house. Its Sams car. The lights stop. The door to my house opens. I hear someone enter. I hear someone coming down the steps. I hear a gun cock. I hear wrestling. I hear my wife scream. I'm frozen. It goes off. I feel a terrible pain in my chest.
I awaken some hours later. Surrounded by doctors. I see everything they've done and its terrible. I see the nurse forgetting to give a child the correct medicine, not the one he is allergic to. I see him screaming. And I see her crying. I see the doctor screwing up the heart operation surgery because he was out drinking the night before, or so I put together myself, I can see through the fog in my eyes that he is hungover.
But this. This isn't real. These are just bits and pieces of the last 24 hours.
Sam walks in. He is in tears. I fully expect to see myself or my wife getting shot. In the first person. I prepare mentally for the worst. I see what he thinks is his worst action. I see him fucking my wife. I hear him apologize to me, but i'm in no condition to respond.
"My fault. All my fault. She did this because of what I did"
What?
What shes done.
Security escorts Sam out. He screams he is innocent. That he tried to stop it. Stop what?
Sarah walks in. It comes together. I see Sam run through the front door. I see my wife loading the gun. I see Sam tackle her. I see her still managing to do it. I hear Sams pleading for her not to do it at gunpoint. I feel the pain in my chest all over again.
And then grey. I see the doctor talk to Sarah in the corner. I see him begin to tear up. I see her "cry" and nod. I hear the nurses come in. This is it.
The button is pressed. My breathing slows. My pulse slows ever so slightly. Second by second. I accept my fate.
She leans in to kiss me. And I relive the whole thing again. No gray this time. The clarity makes it a little easier to accept.
I see black.
WRITERS NOTE: I wrote this in a half hour at 4:30 AM. Not my best work, I'll be honest. I'll try to write a better story with a similar prompt tomorrow. All feedback is welcome. | 2014-05-15T03:00:20 | 2014-05-15T02:48:41 | 371 | 60 |
[WP] You are capable of shape-shifting into nearly any form, but then you're stuck with that form, because after every transformation, you must wait one year before you're able to transform again. | "I want money", I said. "I want a beautiful girl", I said. Let me tell you, it's not all rainbows and sunshine. She was a gorgeous girl whose family were rich and served luxurious foods. So I changed into her perfect man, a funny cool guy with a good sense of humour. We dated a lot for awhile and she wanted me to meet her parents. Truthfully I liked her a lot, and so agreed.
Let me tell you, it was not all rainbows and sunshine.
When I sat at the dinner table, her mother served me a baked potato. I know my girlfriend likes funny guys, so I thought I would play a small prank on her parents. I pretended to not know what a potato was.
Her father was very angry with this and was aggressive to my kidding. At this point I had no choice but to commit to the joke. "Sir, before today I never heard of a potato. I still don't know what a potato is, other than some kind of food. I don't know what to tell you" I pleaded. Her father was not very happy and soon kicked me out of the house.
She broke up with me days later. I was feeling very lonely and sad and wanted some love and some kisses. After around a year I thought I should get back out there. So I changed myself.
I wanted to be someone new and try new things. I don't mind boys as well. I'd always wanted to be a girl. So I changed myself and now I am called Jenny. | It's been two months and... I'm lucky I have a close friend since I can't stay at my house, I'm actually kind of presumed dead now. I have an unfortunate power that I don't even know how I got... I can transform into mostly anything but I found out it takes a year to be able to change back. I guess I'm technically immortal... but this still sucks sometimes.
It was two months ago when I was myself, I was watching music videos when the music video for [The Veronicas: When it all falls apart](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=69M8eYcSqH4) came on and while I was watching it I felt my body changing... it felt weird then after a second I looked down to see I was wearing different clothes. I had high heels on and my clothes changed to black pants that reached my calf, a white wife beater, a black suit vest with a tie on, and some bracelets along with my nails having kinda worn red nail polish on them. From what I saw when I looked under the clothes and from what I could feel I could tell my body was different, I was skinny and had parts that definitely weren't ones I had before.
I got up to run to the mirror but I tripped on the heels and sprained my ankle, it made me scream "fuck!" And hold my ankle. Throwing the shoes across the room I hopped to the bathroom and looked in the mirror... I looked just like one of The Veronica's from the video. I was so freaked out and said "what the fuck is going on?" While touching the mirror, my voice just added to the strangeness cause I had her voice but developed her accent too somehow. The people I lived with wouldn't be home for a few hours so I got back onto my couch to see... something for a second before finding out what was going on.
After... that I walked to the mirror laughing a little but got worried again when trying to change back into myself for half an hour. I walked into the kitchen and saw the people I lived with coming to the door so I grabbed my phone and charger along with my favorite pocket knife. After I got it all I ran out the door and it hurt but I walked down the street barefoot thinking of where to go.
I ended up taking a bus to my friend's house and by the time I got to the door my feet were brown on the bottom from the dirt. She asked who I was and I told her I had some news about her friend then I said my own name. She let me in and I told her who I was then had to say a bunch of thing only I'd know to convince her. She asked how I turned into this form and I told her I didn't know. When she noticed my feet she asked if I wanted to wash them so I did, then she gave me a pair of converse to wear.
I spent the next month finding a guy to make me technically exist legally by making papers, getting a job as a bartender at a strip club, the first day I had my friend get my PS4 and PS3 along with some other stuff I wanted to keep. When I was missing the police asked my friend and she said she dropped me off near a Burger King since I was apparently hungry and she needed to get home. I bled for a few days which was super annoying and fucking sucked. Then I got some new clothes, I also did chores around her house so her family would let me stay.
The next month I got used to things... except the bleeding, I felt like I'd never get used to that. When I was asking online about what happened some anonymous answer said shape-shifters exist but they transform once every year... I didn't understand why but they didn't say anything else. I tried looking for more answers but no others came.
I'm playing RE7 now on my PS4 and I'm thinking of what I'll do at the end of the year. I can't become myself again and after months maybe I'll like this... other than the bleeding and more maintenance the good moments with this body are really good. Maybe I'll just turn into this form a year younger and make myself have a version of immortality... I could be ok with that. | 2017-06-03T17:16:54 | 2017-06-03T14:39:24 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone has the Mega Man-like ability to steal another person's most valuable trait by defeating them in battle. You have the world's most valuable trait - incredible, inexplicable dumb luck - and you've won thousands of battle without even knowing you were fighting. | "I am known as Gunslinger Gilbert, but you can call me Gil," announced the man in black leathers. "And I am here to challenge you," he pointed at me with a gloved finger, "to a battle to the death."
People on the busy street turned their heads in our direction as they noticed the arsenal of guns that Gil had slung over his back.
I sighed deeply, slightly irritated that Gil had interrupted my morning jog.
"Hey, uhh Gil right?" I asked
He nodded.
"Maybe we should take this somewhere else?" I gestured to the busy morning traffic and to the pedestrians that were giving us a wide berth on the narrow sidewalk. "Somewhere with less people you know?"
I prayed that he was the sensible type.
"Oh yea, I know very well where this is going Jack," Gil nodded slowly with a stern expression on his face.
"Oh really? T-that's good then," I said surprised. What an understanding gentleman, I thought.
"I've heard the stories Jack, I ain't no fool."
I frowned, puzzled.
"Jack the Undefeated who has overcome thousands of battles against all odds with just sheer luck. We know the truth Jack. You are the man with the Devil's Luck," said Gil and smirked wickedly.
*Thousands* of battles? Since when did that happen? I wondered.
"I've done my research Jack," Gil said as he walked around me dramatically on the narrow street. "They say you like to take your challengers to an open field or some abandoned warehouse under the pretense that there would be no bystanders or obstacles in the way, but the truth is so that they can suffer a horrible fate."
"Hey that's totally not-"
"Warehouse collapses and the challenger dies eh? And you walk out without a scratch. Or even worse, death by a *ricocheting* bullet in the warehouse," Gil shook his head in disgust.
"Hold up, that totally never happened," I said sharply but then I remembered that just last week, an old building that I had walked by had collapsed suddenly on itself.
"That's not even the end of it. I've heard that those who you take to the open field suffer the most outrageous deaths. A meteorite falling out of the sky, or even *worse!* Compressed Spacetrash obliterating your enemies into smithereens." Gil stopped pacing around me, and spat on the floor. Then he gave me the a look of revolting disgust before pulling a hand cannon out from his back pocket.
I raised my hands into the air, "Hey Gil, maybe those things did happen, but I just wanna say that I never meant any harm to anyone. *Ever.*"
"Too little, too late Jack," he lifted the gun and pointed at my face.
I closed my eyes.
*Click.*
I opened my eyes.
"What the fuck?" he swore as he fumbled with the revolver.
He tossed the revolver aside, and reached for an automatic rifle on his back.
*Click,click,click,click.*
Nothing.
I watched patiently as Gil disassembled his gun, trying to pinpoint the problem.
Suddenly I noticed out of the corner of my eye, an old lady trying to jaywalk across the busy street. Without even thinking I ran to help her.
"Hey! Where the fuck do you think you're going Jack?!" shouted Gil as he tampered with his gun.
I ignored him.
"Hello ma'am, allow me," I smiled and gave her my arm.
"A-ah thank you young man," she took my arm with her frail hands.
With her hands on my arm, I lead the way across the busy street.
Suddenly the elderly lady started screaming, with her eyes wide.
Alarmed, I glanced around me and saw the disaster that lay before me. Dozens of cars had collided with one another around me. Some of the cars were flipped over and some of them were even stacked on top of one another like a house of cards.
The elderly women had let go of my arm, still screaming.
I realized that it was directed at me.
"-have you done?! Don't you know you're suppose to check both ways before crossing the street?!" she screeched.
"Oh..." I said thoughtfully. "Why would I do that?"
---------
/r/Em_pathy
| Laughing, Alicia brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "You should probably stay away from me...I'm trouble."
Bo grinned. "Who's to say I don't like a little bit of trouble?"
"I'm serious!" Alicia frowned, but her hazel eyes were gleaming as she looked across the table at her date. "Just on the way over here, there was a big car accident right next to me, and I'm pretty sure I saw a woman have a heart attack. Not to mention all this."
Alicia gestured to the window, and Bo glanced at the rain falling outside.
"You telling me that you made it rain? You're like one of those cartoon characters that has their own personal cloud following them around?"
Bo tore a chunk from the piece of bread on his plate and dipped it in the olive oil coating the dish in the middle of the table, studying Alicia's face with his brown eyes.
"Maybe! I don't know. I just - the sky was perfectly blue when I stepped outside, Google said weather would be great for the rest of the day...and now I'm, you know...all wet."
Alicia popped a piece of bread into her mouth, watching for Bo's response. He saw his brown eyebrows arch briefly, before a smirk appeared on his tanned face.
"Gross. I thought this was going to be a classy dinner."
A sudden crash of breaking glass made them both turn their heads. The waiter bringing their wine had slipped on a wet spot on the floor, causing him to tip his tray and sending the drinks to an untimely end against the tile floor.
"See?" Alicia said. "I bet you that guy hasn't dropped anything in years. Then I show up...not to mention my favorite place to sit is over there, right next to the kitchen. It figures that I wouldn't be able to get my lucky table for our first date."
Outside, there was a flash of light, followed almost immediately by a concussive blast of thunder.
Alicia pointed back to the window. "Plus we nearly got struck by lightning! I mean, come on - you have to admit that would be pretty unlucky."
* * *
Noriko S. crouched down on the fire escape. Swathed in black cloth and shadow, she was almost impossible to see. As she spotted her target, she slowly brought the blowgun to her lips.
Before she could fire it and acquire Alicia's powers, however, a yellow jacket began buzzing in her face. Reflexively, she shooed it away, then immediately regretted it as the dart fell from the blowgun, through the slats of the fire escape, and to the ground below - somehow managing to land point up.
As she went to jump down, she lost her footing on the rain-slicked metal, and crashed awkwardly to the concrete below. Noriko was conscious of separate types of pain - the generalized, raw ache from falling and the sharp, focused stabbing from her dart. As the toxin flooded her system, her body began convulsing.
Alicia heard the cry of "Someone get an ambulance!" and glanced over her shoulder at the woman spasming on the ground.
* * *
Paragon Security was *extremely* effective at what they did - and were only getting moreso with each passing day. Despite their name, they tended to play offense more than defense. The five core members, all of whom picked up a number of skills and abilities in Afghanistan and Iraq, had figured out how to game the system.
See, the power transfer didn't care about fights being one-on-one or any other kinds of...tactical enhancements someone might think up. So they worked as a group, overpowering targets when they were alone and then taking turns delivering the finishing blow. Rotation was determined not just by how long it had been since someone got a new trait but also what fit their overall profile best. They had a brawler, a sneak, a tactician, a weapons expert, and a jack of all trades. Over time, they'd become strategic about picking targets to fill gaps in their abilities.
This job was huge for them, since it would make them pretty much unstoppable.
"Go time, shitheads!" the tactician yelled out as the black van rounded the corner. Everyone prepared to jump out and grab their target. They were about to pull over to the curb when the van ran over a twisted piece of metal lying in the street.
With a bang like a gunshot, the front driver's side tire blew out, causing the van to swerve into oncoming traffic. An instant later, it was hit by a semi, which sent the van rolling down the street multiple times before it came to a dead stop.
* * *
*Le Visage* had mixed in with the kitchen staff at Pompadour easily - but then, he always did. He stayed long enough to identify which drinks were destined to go to Table 7 and put the poison in them, then walked out of the building with the cool calm he had developed over the years of practice in *belonging*. He only found out the attempt was unsuccessful an hour later, when he tried to break into the jewelry store just as a patrol car came around the corner. It was the first time he'd ever failed a mission.
* * *
Mike "Patch" Doyle had earned his call sign by being the best sniper in his unit - it was an allusion to how deadly he was with one eye closed. Crouched on the roof of the building across the street, he checked the distance again and prepared to line up his shot. Patch felt a twinge of guilt. He could almost take her out with a sidearm at this range. Still - better safe than sorry.
He cleared away a spot for himself and set up the tripod rest for his rifle. Mike held the gun up for a moment to check the stock, and that's when lightning struck.
The long metal weapon he was holding in his hands instantly converted into a lightning rod as, a moment later, his internal organs instantly converted into seared tripe. His body would not be found for a few weeks.
* * *
Bo shook his head, grinning ruefully. "The crazy thing is I've never done online personals before. The whole thing started as a goof. I just wanted to search to see...I dunno why, really. But that picture you had up...something about it..."
Alicia smiled. "That's so funny, I *just* changed it that same day you messaged me. The one I had before was me wearing a T. Rex costume."
Bo's laughter was rich and almost melodic. "That's awesome. See, I knew you had a good sense of humor. I'm really glad I started the free trial so I could message you."
Alicia's smile grew. "Me, too." She looked down at the table, then back up at Bo. "Maybe I've got a little bit of good luck after all?"
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | 2018-02-20T12:30:50 | 2018-02-20T11:42:17 | 3,009 | 904 |
[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you". | “That’s cute.” I glanced past the nervous man in the white coat, down a silent hallway of identical steel doors. “You might need me, but I can’t see much use for you.” Strong disinfectant wafting from the hall makes my head spin.
I’ve no idea how long I’ve been in this cell, but now that the door is open, there’s no way I’m letting them close it again. I pull back my fist but the man holds up his hand and against my will, I hesitate.
“Wait.” He raises the clipboard a little and reads, “Pumpkin. Sheepskin. Crunch.”
Like the proverbial switch, my brain transforms. I remember.
Dust on an endless horizon. So many tangled limbs. Muted screams. Victory, but at a terrible cost. The enemy beaten back, only to rise again and again - waiting for their foe to forget their weaknesses, their flaws, before raging once again through our world.
My shoulders fall, then are rolled back by force of will. I look at the doctor, so very young and frightened. I don’t recall his face, so it’s been at least a generation.
“Okay,” I nod. “How long has it been this time?” | Someone rapped at the door. A slot near eye level slid open and a pair of blue-tinted goggles peered into the crisp, white room.
Toilet, unoccupied. Good.
Sink, dripping slowly. Less good.
Bed, empty. Problematic.
The man cocked his head and caught a shadow hovering on the other side, near the door frame. He peered around through the slit for a better angle. “We need you.”
Simple and to the point, if lacking creativity.
“No,” I replied, equally inventive.
He barely skipped a beat, “This isn’t a suggestion. Get up.”
I didn’t need to see the man at the door, himself dressed in white from head to toe, to sense his stance shift as he toggled the safety on his stun gun. He craned his head around to get a better view, but could only catch the lurking shadow by the door jamb.
He slowly unlatched the door from the outside, curling around the frame as he advanced with the humming device in his hands. “This is your last cha-” he broke off as he lunged into the room, the stunner leading and passing harmlessly against a white frock, dangling limply from the ceiling and secured by a sharpened toothbrush
My clothes hung loosely from the ceiling, and I pounced from my hiding spot behind the door. I kicked out, shattering a toe against the handle of the stun gun as it went flying and clattering, bouncing off the wall and out of immediate sight.
We struggled for a moment, the crook of my elbow wrapped around his carotid artery, until he slumped against the wall in a senseless heap. Breathing heavily, I scanned the room – the stun gun was missing. Water had splashed from the toilet bowl and onto the floor, and I sighed. Gross, but acceptable.
I immediately limped over, favoring my broken toe as I reached in, grabbed the stunner, and eyed it suspiciously. Using the goggle-man’s white shirt, I wiped the stun-gun down and dangled it experimentally from one hand. I held my breath, and…
...*CLICK!*
My body froze as every muscle contracted. I could barely scream as I collapsed to the floor, writhing. The stunner fell from my hand and clattered to the floor, hissing and sputtering as the safeties attempted to kick in.
*THUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMP.*
You’re rarely conscious of your nose, or your tongue, until someone tells you *not* to think about it.
*THUMP.*
My ears started ringing as I felt the sudden, uncomfortable void in my chest.
*Thump.* Silence
Ah, a miscalculation. An unfortunate start to my first escape attempt in three years.
Dying is usually a prompt, messy experience from my point of view. Consciousness comes and goes. And then a shock, like lightning, as I bolt upright from whatever unfortunate circumstance had torn me apart, poisoned my breakfast, or decapitated me by French guillotine. I had to admire the last one. Relaying the experience of looking up at someone as your head falls into a basket was something I had never considered as valuable research data, but my captors were often looking for any possible avenue to exploit my unique predicament.
Sudden adrenaline. I bolted upright from the floor and sucked in a lungful of air. My toes wiggled experimentally. Healed! As all injuries should be after the recovery.
I reached over to the goggled man, grabbed his arm, and manipulated it into shutting off the stun gun. He jerked for a moment as some residual charge ran through his system, but he was probably fine. Acceptable. His medical frock seemed to be sufficiently insulating to spare me the worst of it.
I collected the stun gun, and moved into the hall.
I had two-hundred and thirty-nine more cells to unlock. | 2018-07-31T10:41:00 | 2018-07-31T08:59:56 | 1,407 | 979 |
[WP]“We burn the present for the sake of a brighter future, then act surprised when all that’s left is ash.” | ‘November 2023-A Forecast of Riots
Angry citizens line the streets of DC, protesting the government’s recent bill banning the use of oil in manufacturing. Many claim that this will disadvantage our economy compared to foreign competitors, which burn four times more oil annually than we do. The bill will go into effect in six months, giving energy companies a brief moment to make a change.
Jerry Caldwell, interviewed on the street, says
“I can’t stand these climate lunatics, on about how the earth is on fire, and going to melt, and all sorts of foolish bull. This bill will have my job! I can’t feed my family in six months, and neither can most of us! And the [Illegible] the ocean, they just keep on going! They’re living happy, over there, but those piles of garbage in Congress, they want to see us starve, they do! So what about a little extra rain? We need our jobs! Down with this bill, I say. [censored] the lot of them [censored]”
He then cursed for a solid four minutes at the distant capitol building.
It is clear that this new regulation has [illegible] feelings. But is it effective in slowing the change of the [illegible- paper rotted]
We can only hope that this will slow down our slow march towards crop collapse, mass starvation, and climate shift. Already we begin to run short on food. We must use any means necessary, as Sen. Jeffards says, to delay the destruction of the human race.
We at the [illegible] local news don’t wish to be alarmist, so plea[illegible] panic.’
(Newspaper scrap recovered from glacier chunk, found in Georgia, 2764. Some damage prevents perfect transcription. Oldest record of human civilization to date.) | Everything was falling apart around me, around all of us. That's what I remember most, that impression, formed of what felt like a thousand sensations at once: the klaxons, the screams and scrambling of the crowds around me, the smell of ozone, the dirty-stale stench of air filtration catastrophically failed; the feel of hum and crack and crash through the deck below my feet.
The announcements, too, those tumble through the tumult of my very worst dreams, in a dozen languages of which I understand only two. "Catastrophic failure. Abandon ship. Catastrophic failure. Abandon ship. Falla catastrófica. Abandonar la nave. Falla catastrófica. Abandonar la nave." Ten more languages, then repeat. Like a eulogy. No, like a dirge, the slow mantra of a funeral procession, moving unstoppable through the frantic throng.
That viewscreen, though. That I remember least. Because that's how I want it, that's how the dreaming depths of my mind know it should be. I'm going to tell you about it now, because it should be passed on after one hundred seventy-two years of genetically prolonged life, and because it won't have long to linger.
It's still very clear. I say I remember it least, but really I remember it least often; I don't think the clarity of the thing itself has ever faded, that burned-in fragment of past, that hanging moment in time.
I didn't know what it meant, at first, but it stopped me in my tracks, despite the fear and desperation that hummed through my nerves in resonance with every other human around me. An external view, the grey hull, the bold black letters that spelled out "UNCIS EARTHSEED." The looming bulk of the planet we'd christened "Solace" just a few days before.
Something bright and big and pulsing, headed away from the ship, picking up speed. Like I said, I didn't know what it meant, I didn't know what the thing was. But I watched it. I saw it disappear momentarily beneath the clouds. Then the flash as it made impact, spreading, burning. No sound, but I could hear it anyway, just watching the ripples it made through the clouds. Immense. Unbearable. Annihilating.
I blinked through the afterimage—the whole thing had been brighter than I realized—and then was thrown violently off my feet as the entire section of the ship I was in broke off from the rest. I barely managed to make it to the escape pod. Only seventeen of us did, to that particular pod I mean. Our antigrav failsafes lasted longer against Solace's machine-hating assault longer than most. Only one of us died on impact, only two more in the following hours.
I staggered out, a few minutes after we hit the endless sea of ashes, clutching a broken arm and blinking in the the first unfiltered sunlight I'd seen since leaving earth. Only this wasn't the Sun, I remember thinking; it's strange what the mind catches hold of, when everything obvious is too much to bear. This was only *a* sun, Farrod, maybe the only one I'd ever see for the rest of my life.
I staggered away from the pod in no particular direction.
I didn't stop until I heard the delicate crunch of carbonized bone beneath the ball of my foot, and looked down.
Skull. Human. A very small one.
And I remembered, then; that was when I started trying to remember less often. The bright flare moving away from the ship, what I later learned was the *Earthseed's* destabilized reactor, ejected before it could destroy the ship that was destined to fall apart above the planet anyway. The flash, that spreading flash that had
*killed*
millions. Millions of impossible people we hadn't known were there. Didn't know *how* they could be there. Mystery for the ages, I suppose, since we still don't.
It killed them. And it turned a patch of Solace into land we could use, plains of ashes far as the eye could see. Ready for planting. Ready for building. And we're still there.
I don't know what lesson to give you from all this. No easy one anyway, I'm not sure history lends itself to those. You'll have to ask a wiser old woman than I.
&#x200B;
**- Interview of Julia Perón, S*****tarfall's Shadow:*** ***Stories of the First of the Fallen,*** **published 142 Starfall Era**
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | 2019-06-21T21:58:56 | 2019-06-21T19:13:36 | 145 | 21 |
[WP] The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn't exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge. | “God is good, god gave us freewill. How funny is it that they say such grandiose things while dancing to my symphony of sin? I can’t blame them; how can a human comprehend someone like myself? My existence goes against any science, it goes against common sense. A person shouldn’t be able to do the things I do and yet, the bombs will still fall just the same.”
The suited man leaned against the railing of the skyscraper, a wicked smile on his thin face. The surrounding people were too stunned to speak, each hugging one another as they watched the plane in the distance, knowing what would soon come. To them, it was the end of their world, but to the devil, it was merely the beginning of the end. The start of humaniti’s self-inflicted demise and he had come to watch.
“This is what your freewill gave you. I wanted to keep you all chained and controlled, but he was foolish enough to think you could be better. You were each given the powers of a god, the power to shape your own destiny and look at how you used it. Instead of looking after one another, you sated your desires with my sins of temptation. I’m sure you will all blame me, but I hope you know this game was never rigged. When I took over, I left the freedoms he gave you. Part of me even wanted to be proven wrong, but deep down, I knew you couldn’t change. You’re only human, after all.”
He turned, resting his back on the railing, seeing if anyone had bothered to pay him any attention. Still, the crowd of panicked people were too busy with themselves to pay him any mind. His gaze scanning through the crowd of sinners, landing on one that particularly disgusted him. A man with ranch sauce markings along his expensive suit, his overindulgence in gluttony, making the devil feel ill.
“Was it worth it? All the fun? I wish I could tell you that all the money that you bled from the Earth is going to be worth something when you’re dead, but unfortunately, the only currency I operate on is souls and you all seem to lack one. If you had a soul, maybe I would let you into heaven. It’s not like I got rid of heaven when I took over, no I merely raised the standards. Being good isn’t about the hours on your knees at church, it’s about actions. I will only reward the worthy.” He let his fingers twirl the edge of his narrow moustache before sighing. “Perhaps I’m rambling. Is anyone listen?”
“Oh, god. They can’t be serious. They can’t really be about to do it.” The man, fueled by gluttony, screamed, looking past the devil and straight towards the plane. It’s loud metallic grinding, once again grabbing the attention of the ruler of both heaven and hell.
The devil looked over his shoulder before staring at his watch, checking how much time was left. He approached the crowd of horrified people, taking his spot among them. The devil wanting to make sure someone heard him, at least once before they came to hell. He gave the indulgent man and his wife a pat on the back.
“Want to confess anything? Any affairs? Any sins that you want to confess before you come to me? I’m giving you an opportunity, its less of a punishment if you show remorse. I’m not evil, you all are. I’m just the one that made it so no one could stop this from happening. I didn’t interfere. I let you all ruin yourselves and I must admit. You have done a better job than I ever could. To think god thought you could handle free will. Look at you all. It makes me sick to think he loved you. He would have happily thrown me, the person who helped him, to the cold depths of hell for suggesting we keep you in line. Well god, this is what your humanity did with their gifts. Hope you can see it from the cold depths of hell.”
“Get off me, you freak. I’m spending my last moments with my wife.” He hissed, his flabby cheeks shaking as he pressed his wife against his side.
“Hm, thought you would have rather had the company of your secretary.” The devil shrugged, looking down at his watch before heading to the railing, returning to his leaning posture once more.
The plane had reached its destination, and soon the end of humanity fell from the sky. The bomb was not the first of its kind and certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was, however, the first piece of the falling dominos, the one that would trigger the violent response that would lead to the death of the planet, and he would get to see it all. As the wave of heat flowed through the city, shattering windows with its force, the devil felt at home, the warm destruction reminding him of the layer of hell he lived in. He opened his arms up, embracing the heat, while the others went quiet. Before they died, he left them with a few parting words.
“I’ll see you all soon.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | #The Sixth Hero
Part 5
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The Chaser made port with a small thud against the docks of Yeamon’s Point. Once the ship was securely tied and the gangplank pulled out, Amenset wasted no time and stepped onto dry land. With the captain’s warnings still ringing in her ear to be back on time, she hastily made her way through the small coastal town.
Yeamon’s Point was more of a resting stop than a centre of trade, so only few ships were docked and a minimal amount of sailors and dock workers scurried around going about their daily business. Amenset was glad she felt steady ground beneath her feet again, she never was much for the sea and its endless waves.
She could see her destination on top of the cliffs to the north. A shrine had been built there in honour of Yeamon of the Forest, the First Hero to defend Iatis against the darkness. A shrine that supposedly, although never confirmed, was also the hero’s resting place. The rumour had never been confirmed as there had never been anyone willing to defile the suspected grave.
Amenset rearranged her sacks and rations and started on the path upwards.
She could feel the fatigue in her legs by the time she made it all the way up to the shrine. The climb had been steep and long and she wasn’t used to longer periods of walking uphill. Back in Mardiac, the lands were pleasant and flat. Here in the middle of the ocean, centuries of erosion had shaped the island into a small mountain.
The shrine itself stood near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Erys Ocean as a silent guardian. A lighthouse had been integrated into the design she saw as she watched the small spire rise up above the structure. It was a small building all in all, modest and plain. The sides were held up by engraved columns telling the legend of Yeamon and his weapon, Vines of Night.
She stepped through the open entrance into a small room, where about three people sat silently, consumed by their meditation or prayers. Stone tables lined the walls on all sides but the back, on them a plethora of offerings and artefacts. The back wall was fronted by a large, stone altar and Amenset was surprised by the resemblance it bore to the altar she had been summoned onto when she met War Cleric Fryan.
Only here, there was but one pedestal instead of six. It stood empty, but the nametag underneath clearly read Vines of Night. A strange sensation ran through Amenset and it took her a moment to realize it didn’t came from within her, but from the wrapped blade tied to her waste. Desert Eagle was moving within its sheath.
Silently as not to alert the other pilgrims present, Amenset took out the sanded sword, the millions of sand particles in it twisting and twirling in all directions at once. Was it responding to something?
Following her instinct, Amenset sat down in front of the altar, placed Desert Eagle on her lap and closed her eyes. She opened herself to the meditative state and felt her body and soul relax. Memories of red caves, monsters and holes intruded, but she pushed them away. Instead, she let her soul forge a connection with Desert Eagle. A connection, she suddenly realized, that was already there. She’d never meditated with the weapon before and the experience was a strange one.
Was this because of the choice Desert Eagle had made to entrust her?
“You must be the Sixth Hero.”
Amenset nearly yelped at the sudden words resounding in her head. Startled, she opened her eyes but saw nothing.
“Who said that?” she whispered ever so quietly.
“I did,” the voice answered.
“Where are you?” She looked around, but saw nobody besides the pilgrims.
The voice laughed. “Close your eyes, and look with your soul.”
“How do I…?” Amenset cut off as Desert Eagle took control over her consciousness and her eyes closed on their own. Then, she saw somebody. A man, old and with hair white as snow. He sat opposite Amenset, a sword on his lap in mirror to Amenset. She immediately recognized the weapon from the drawings she had seen during her studies.
“That is…,” she gasped. “That’s Vines of Night. Are you…?”
The man nodded. “I’m Yeamon of the Forest. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“How?” Amenset said in disbelief. “You’ve been dead for over a thousand years.”
Yeamon grinned. “Now that is an overstatement. My body died, yes, as all bodies do. But my spirit, my soul, lives on. And now you have finally arrived.”
“You were expecting me?”
He nodded. “As I expected the other four heroes who made their way through here when it was their time. You are the sixth, and the last.”
“I don’t think I am,” Amenset answered, the words paining her to her core. “It’s been five years since I’ve been chosen and nothing has happened. I don’t deserve this.”
“Because you killed Fryan?”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“There is no shame in what you did,” Yeamon assured her. “Even a thousand years ago, Fryan knew the last of the heroes would be the one to kill him. It was a necessity.”
“Why?” Amenset failed to understand.
“Because you are to be the strongest of us all,” Yeamon answered. “Us five who came before you, we were but puppets dancing to the strings of the old gods. You on the other hand have drastically changed your soul and what you can do by taking the life of the War Cleric. Fryan lives on within you as does his will. And now it is my task to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” Amenset asked, taking the avalanche of information Yeamon was pouring onto her.
“That the darkness was never defeated. We never won, not once.”
“But you saved Iatis,” Amenset argued. “You are the Liberator of Tridia.”
Yeamon scoffed. “And how is Tridia faring these days? Corrupted by magic, tainted by centuries of bloodshed… I only briefly managed to keep the peace, but once I was gone, the land fell back into its old ways. The darkness never went away. It hid itself among the people, letting them think they’d won. Instead it buried itself in their souls where it waited.”
“Waited for what?”
“For me to die. They feared Vines of Night as they will fear Desert Eagle and the other Sacratys. Our weapons are not meant for killing, they are meant to cleanse the soul. They’re the only thing that stand against the darkness.”
Amenset was confused. “Then how are we supposed to defeat the darkness if it is present in all of mankind?”
“Now that,” Yeamon answered, “is the question, isn’t it?”
A gust of wind wove its way through the small room and Amenset was awakened from her meditative state. She blinked and then closed her eyes again, but Yeamon was gone. Desert Eagle lay motionless in her lap. Carefully, she wrapped it again, feeling a strange sensation when she touched the weapon. She had felt the connection the weapon had made with her. It had its own soul, she realized. A soul that once had been something else than a weapon.
Pondering over what she had just gone through, Amenset hastily started back towards the harbour. More time than she had thought had passed and she was not going to miss her only passage to Tridia.
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> And with this strange revelation end the fifth part of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy. | 2022-07-07T04:48:54 | 2022-07-07T03:54:45 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Hell is a theater where sinners are forced to watch the biggest mistakes of their lives over and over again for eternity. You're the newest soul in hell, but you don't quite get what makes your "mistake" a mistake. | "But no, seriously, what are we doing here?" I ask the demon standing next to me. He's about eight feet tall and has inch long black thorns poking out from under his skin, each slowly dripping what looks like blood. It would be incredibly creepy except the thorns on his hands are making it really awkward to hold his clipboard, and he's trying to read through the blood stains all over the piece of paper attached to it labeled 'New Soul Induction Seminar - Frequently Asked Questions'
"This is Hell Mr. Smithson, do you understand? You died in that car accident, and you weren't a good enough person to go to Heaven. You're here to be punished and repent your sins." The demon's voice was like the squeal of rusted metal layered over a deep bass rumbling. It sounded almost impatient.
"No, I get that. But shouldn't you be torturing me or something? We're just sitting in a movie theater. I guess it's dark in here, but it doesn't seem very hellish. Where are the pitchforks or the lake of fire?"
The demon let out a snort. It sounded like a car backfiring while someone strangled a goose. "Oh, there will definitely be some of that. But it turns out people can get used to nearly anything, even incredible physical pain. No matter what the technique, you hit peak torture around four or five months, and after ten years or so the soul being tortured wouldn't even notice any more. We have to conserve that to keep it effective." The demon grinned, and it looked like little bits of chewed up thorn were caught in it's teeth. "But there's one sort of pain that never grows any easier. Being forced to confront your mistakes, over and over. In this room we will re-live the worst moments of your life, and you will be forced to acknowledge that each one of them was your own fault. After just a few hours most people start begging for the pitchforks to start."
In front of me the movie screen turned on and the film began playing; somehow I recognized it immediately. I had been twelve, sitting in the cafeteria at school, about to eat lunch. On the screen I watched as my younger self unwrapped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and began to eat. Why was the demon showing me this?
"Hey, so when does it get to the embarrassing part?" As I turned ask him, I saw the demon flinch, suppressing a shudder, his eyes riveted to the screen. He pulled his tortured gaze away from the screen to stare at me, his jaw hanging open.
"Are you not watching? Look you're pulling the two halves of the sandwich apart and scraping all the jelly off onto your fingers! Eugh, now you're licking your fingers then wiping them on the bread! You were in public!"
I waited for the demon to get to the point. His eyes (faintly glowing as if lit by burning coals) flicked rapidly across my face then back to his clip board as he tore through the pages looking for help. He tried again. "Do you see, Mortal, the enormity of your sins? Seeing how others saw your actions, stripped of whatever lies you used to justify them to yourself?"
I interrupted his clearly pre-written speech. "So are we starting with the smallest thing you could find? I was never into the bread part of a PB&J, so I just used it to wipe my hands afterward." I thought hard. "I guess maybe that's wasteful of food? I mean, I usually recycled or composted leftovers, so I'm still not exactly sure what my crime here is."
The thorns sticking out of his face almost seemed to grow longer as the demon threw his clipboard to the ground and began to shout, the walls echoing back his voice even more distorted.
"*You don't see your crime*!? Look, now you're getting the last of the peanut butter off with a *fork*! Are you telling me that there's nothing in your blackened soul left that feels how you broke every culinary law of man and god as you destroyed that poor sandwich?" The demon was shaking with rage.
"Man, it seems like even in Hell, everybody is a snob about the proper method for eating sandwiches. When I was alive, I learned to tune out people's complaints about how I make food. That's just how I always eat them. Are we just going to sit here and watch me eat thousands of sandwiches?" As I said the words the demon stopped. His bright red skin became pale, and the black thorns retracted until they looked more like an unfortunate acne outbreak. He backed away from me, staggering towards the side of the theater and lifted an antique looking telephone off the wall. He was whispering rapidly, but his rusted-metal-and-dying-animals voice was still loud enough for me to hear.
"Boss, come quick, you gotta help me. There's something seriously wrong with this new guy - he's some sort of monster. We need an expert, I'm not trained for this! Yes sir. Yes, okay. I think I can stall him, I'll try to keep him in the room. Bring extra pitchforks!"
So this was the Afterlife? I hadn't really thought about it, but I had always assumed it would be better organized than Life had been. The part of me that had worried about the pain and terror of death was now completely gone, and nothing particularly awful seemed to be replacing it. I supposed that since I was here, I might as well try to enjoy myself.
"Hey!" I called out again to the demon, "This whole thing is making me hungry. Ask your boss if he can bring us some sandwiches." | Lucifer lent back roaring with laughter. All the hell occupants lining the chairs echoed with a booming chorus of hilarity. I sat with my mouth slightly open, utterly bewildered.
"So..." I began. "I have to re watch this for the rest of eternity?"
Lucifer wiped tears from his eyes, still trembling from laughter. "Of course!" He lent towards me with a grin. "I've been waiting for you, you know. I'm so glad you decided to get hit by that bus."
"No one decides to get hit by a bus." I said moodily.
He shrugged. "Well, you're here now, might as well get some entertainment value."
His smile returned as he rewound the video, an evil glint in his eye. I sighed and turned back to the screen, sinking into the bright red chair beneath me. For being hell, it didn't seem all that bad. Comfy chairs and a film, i guess the "eternal torture" they talked about was sheer and utter boredom.
Lucifer must have noticed something with my mood. Grunting distastefully, he paused the video at the beginning and rounded on me, speaking in an overly drawn voice.
"And what is *your* problem?"
"I guess I just don't see what the big deal is..."
"The big deal?"
"Yeah." I threw my hands in the air. "This. The screen. Everything, whats supposed to be so god damned embarrassing?"
Lucifer sank back into his chair, an expression uncannily akin to a pout cast on his face.
"You humans really don't know anything, do you? Always oblivious to everything around you." He paused, giving me a look that made my stomach drop. "Just watch a little further, you will understand, I *guarantee* it."
Putting his arms behind his head he resumed the video. I sighed again and turned to the screen. So this was my fate, how completely stupid. The video continued, it was me of course, just doing ordinary things. I could not believe this was supposed to be my most embarrassing moment. If i remembered correctly, I was visiting the zoo that day.
**video plays**
A child pulled on my arm, I was irritable at best that day. Something about the weather or the traffic had gotten me in a mood, but I couldn't for the life of me remember exactly what.
"Sir."
"What?" I snapped.
"I want an ice cream."
I scowled at the little kid, what kind of a kid just walks up to someone... I should've given him a piece of my mind, but then I thought of a better idea. Leaning down, I smiled sweetly at the little monster.
"I hear if you look closely at the gorilla pit, they have free ice cream there."
The kid furrowed his brow, looking dubious. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure" I waved him off nonchalantly. "Just lean over the side of the pit, you will see it."
With a smile, the child skipped away towards the gorilla enclosure.
Thank god that was the last I would see of him...
| 2016-12-21T23:25:55 | 2016-12-21T23:14:31 | 346 | 202 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Table for one, sir."
I reclined on the wooden chair and sipped at the complimentary cup of lava-heated water. The water, its temperature just nice to heat up my icy skin, spilled out as I set the cup down on the table. Dribbles of water remained on the plastic file beside the cup.
"A hundred and eighty-six thousand, huh." I breathed out lightly. I tweaked my nose and picked the file up again, opening it to reveal a rather impressive stack of paper. The paper was written in a language my presiding Overseer had called Archean, but the only thing that mattered on the piece of paper was an absurd Arabian number written on it.
186,292.
My presiding overseer had slapped himself silly when I stepped forward, muttering about pig-like teammates and 'too heavy to carry'. His eyeballs had also popped out of his sockets, prompting his assistants to help him pick them back up. His stately demeanor lost, it didn't take him long to dismiss me without a word. There was something distinctly unfair about my lack of information...but it wasn't prudent for me to bring that up.
I shook my head and sipped from the cup again. I didn't do any damning act in my lifetime. No murders, no kidnapping, nothing. I sighed again, this time audibly.
"What's the matter, signeur?"A voice piped up from my right. I turned, and a masked man came into view. His mask was coloured a white so pure that it stung my eyes to look at it. The only hint towards his emotions was his exposed mouth, which was straight...for now.
"Nothing much, friend," I replied. I picked up the paper and stared at it forlornly. "Just an absurdly long sentence."
He clapped my back lightly. "Don't fret it, son. At least you're better off than him." He pointed at a man, who was walking with an incredibly awkward gaunt, wobbling from left to right.
"What happened to him? I mean, is this even supposed to happen?" I looked at the man and shivered inwardly. His face was filled with a despair that I couldn't fathom, so deep it was.
"He's scum. In life, he was a serial rapist-cum-murderer. His sentence in the afterlife was to experience the pain, shame and fear felt by his victims a hundred-fold." The masked man spat on the floor. "It also happened that he was a homophobe to the extreme, so the powers that be decided to let him experience a...brand new world."
He smiled darkly. "Using a metal rod 20 centimetres wide."
"Well, at least we know what caused his punishment," I complained grumpily, a current of pity hidden inside. "My text was in something called Archean, and my overseer didn't even read out what I was being incarcerated for."
The masked man's upper lip curled. "Well, I happen to know Archean. Do you mind if I read it for you?"
I waved my hand lightly. "Sure, go ahead."
I chucked the file lightly at him and the man deftly caught it. I picked up the cup and sipped at it again. It was rather unfair...I lived a life filled with kindness and dignity. Why subject me to this? My eyes flitted onto the masked man, who was actually frozen in place.
"Mister?" I asked.
The mask fell off, and before I could register his appearance, he shot to his feet and saluted. "Your humble servant offers greetings, Lord Administrator! Please pardon my previous rudeness!"
The file fell off his lap, landing with a plop that resounded throughout the silent tavern. I swallowed and picked up the file.
As I examined the words again, the scribbles shuddered and rearranged themselves.
On it was written in eye-catching letters: "Administrator of the 9th domain, term to last for 186,292 years. Effective immediately."
"Balls."
As the curse escaped my lips, the number increased by one. | Don took the flimsy printout from the grotty, grey machine in front of him. It contained a litany of sins, each printed neatly, one below the other. Unfortunately for him, the text appeared to be entirely German, set in an heavy medieval font.
The two parts he understood were his name at the top of the page and the important number at the bottom of the list: 186,292 Jahre.
"Almost two hundred THOUSAND years?!", in disbelief, he asked the anxious queue behind him.
"Not true. I was the best. The very best. I did tremendous things."
No one seemed to care.
Don rushed to catch up with the man who had been ahead of him. He had only received 145 years in Hell.
"Give me that!" Don grabbed for the slip of paper carried by the elderly man, who recoiled and tripped. As the fragile man crumpled to the dusty ground, Don snatched up the paper and rushed to join the next queue. He wasn't going to spend any more time in this drab shithole than necessary.
He threw his first printout to the wayside, not noticing that the list had grown by four items and the number now read 186,296. | 2018-09-26T07:07:43 | 2018-09-26T04:29:48 | 895 | 530 |
[WP] You have the power to break anything you touch. Seeing an opportunity you decided to use your power to start a very successful demolition business. The heros however do not trust you due your powerful ability and great wealth. Which causes many of them to attempt to catch you doing evil. | “Ok boys, city hall approved the demolition of the abandoned warehouse 06 by the docks.” I folded the legal forms and tucked it into the inside pocket of my demo jacket, just in case.
“Right boss,” Jackson hopped into the back of the truck alongside Landes. Hopping into the drivers seat, i drove off from the court house to the docks.
“Well you have got to be-“ I groaned at the mess before me. Of course a noob villain would attempt to make the abandoned warehouse his or her lair. Luckily, the person on duty today was one of the few heroes who actually listens and pays attention.
Grove Maiden shimmered into existence outside the car window and knocked. He rolled it down for her. “I assume you had no idea miscreants were using the building?” she glanced over at the hastily spray painted tag marks of a rookie villain.
“No clue. We also have no intention of aiding said individuals or acting as vigilantes. Jackson, you writing a report?”
“Writing a report, and Landes is providing a recording.” The two were preoccupied with what they were doing. Unlike me, they had records, and were more than happy to let me do the talking with the capes.
Grove Maiden nodded, “That is acceptable and means I don’t have to ask pointless questions. After i remove the miscreants you may continue your work.” With that, a thin mist seemed to fall over her and she vanished from sight.
“Thank god it wa-“ I tapped him and hooked a thumb back to Landes who was still recording, one eyebrow raised in Jacksons direction. “-will be taken care quickly.” He finished sheepishly.
A few moments later the door to the warehouse rolled open and Grove Maiden walked out, vines coming out of the mist that followed her, and carrying three unconscious bodies. She gave a thumbs up us as she stepped a good ways away from the warehouse.
“Alright boys, by the books,” I said as we stepped out of the truck. Walking over, i touched the warehouse and willed my power to encompass it and everything within. It collapsed into itself as a large, neat pile of rubble.
Jackson stepped up, and raised his hands over the mess. The rubble molded together and in a metaphysical sense, transformed into a liquid state. Landes moved forward as Jackson lowered his arms, his eyes glowed red and the temperature around him rose slightly as the ‘liquid rubble’ evaporated into nothingness. leaving an empty lot.
Of course, that is when the cops show up to take Grove Maidens charges, alongside- “Dammit.” I mutter as Captain Lighthelm flew towards us.
“David Vorlain, this is a crime scene, and since you have destroyed the evidence, then you are considered an accomplice to the-“ a vine appeared out of mist and slapped him over the head.
“Cap, they were doing their job, the people in question already confessed that they were new and had no resources. I made sure that no innocents were in the building, and nothing of note was inside. Honestly other vagrancy we have nothing to charge those I captured.” Grove Maiden rattled off, each word making the ever lawful and extremely prejudiced man before me wince as he had been struck.
“Grove,” he growled out. “Unless the courts have an exemption for-“ I reached into my demo jacket and pulled out the papers I had.
“These grant me and my crew permission to use our powers to demolish Warehouse 06, and I believe Landes still has his camera on to prove as such.” That last part was a bluff, but Grove Maiden was nodding along to it. The good Cap scowled.
“Fine, one of these days, i will catch you breaking the law, and when i do, I’ll make sure they give you the appropriate punishment.” With that he flew off. I just shook my head.
“He really has a hate boner for you,” Grove Maiden sighed. “Sorry about that, I’ve tried explaining that you could very literally shatter the earth itself if you wanted to, and that provoking you would actually make that more likely but…”
“Don’t worry about it,” i smirked. “If you want to make it up to me, why not let me treat you to dinner? Say, Verona’s Wine and Dine at 9?” | Some people are hero's, some are villain's, and some just want to get through their lives with the least amount of headache possible. I fall into the latter category, I don't want to hurt, I don't want to help, I just want to live. I know this makes me in the minority, especially amongst the super community.
I was born with the extraordinary ability to break anything I touch. Instead of doing something fantastic with my ability, I decided to do something mundane. I opened a demolition business, and wouldn't you know it, I'm crushing it (bad joke).
Unfortunately, the hero's don't think there's a third option. So, I am under constant surveillance, concerned as they are with the safety of humanity. Every business meeting I take, there's some half invisible clown staring through the windows, making everyone uncomfortable. Every first date I go on, Captain Self Important is 2 tables over in a disguise from the 1950's. I can't get on airplane without some bikini clad bimbo flying just over the wing making me feel like William Shatner.
But they're the good guys, they make the world a safer place for all. So what if the rights of the few get trampled on to protect the many. America.
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I like this as a "What makes a monster and what makes a man?" story. I now actually want to see a Marvel villain whose entire backstory is he got harassed by the hero into becoming a villain | 2021-10-26T08:32:02 | 2021-10-26T06:59:23 | 356 | 97 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | "What are you in for?" my cellmate asked.
"Grammar," I said, my eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hmm?" he said, sitting up in his bunk to hear me better. "You say something about your Grandma?"
"No," I said. "*Grammar*. The rules of composition for effective communication."
He laughed. "How did grammar get you thrown in mega-max?"
"It's fucking hard in French," I said.
"Really? I thought French and English have a lot in common."
"Well, they do, in terms of vocabulary. But there's a lot of really big differences. Especially verbs and tenses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, for instance, they have two verbs for putting something in the past tense: *Être* and *avoir*. Some verbs take one, some take the other, some take both depending on circumstance."
"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal."
"You don't watch the news much, do you?"
"No," he said, "we're not allowed to watch it in here. The only thing I hear about the outside is through new cellmates. And my last cellmate before you kicked it about a year ago."
I laughed. "No wonder you didn't recognize me."
"So are you gonna tell me what you're really in for?"
"Depends. Are you religious?"
"Lapsed Buddhist," he said.
"Ah, that's fine. As long as you're nothing Abrahamic. Most Abrahamic people want to kill me."
"Why's that?"
"Got Jerusalem nuked. And Mecca and Medina. And Bethlehem. Lots of other places too, but those are the ones they're all pissed about."
"Oh," he said. "So *that's* what you're in for."
"Well it wasn't on purpose. It was just a mistake." I sighed. "But yeah, that's why I'm in mega-max. And why I'm in mega-max on Europa. Earth, Mars, Ceres, lots of Christians and Muslims and Jews there, so they all sort of want to kill me. People would've burnt down the prisons just to get me. The hope is that on a rock like this, where everyone's Hindu or Buddhist or whatnot, I won't get murdered too fast."
"I don't get how this can have been over a French grammar mistake," he said.
"It was, I swear. A five-word sentence."
He raised his voice slightly, annoyed. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
"Well, uh, you see... I was the secretary-general of the U.N.," I said. "I was negotiating the final terms of peace in the Middle East, and they don't love English-speakers down there, and French is the number-two international language, so we decided we'd use that. Well, the talks were at that delicate point right at the end, where it looks like smooth sailing, but there's also the highest risk of someone backing out and things going really badly."
"And...?"
"I told you. *Être* and *avoir*. You see, *messieurs-dames, nous avons tous fini* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'done with our task' sense of the word 'finished.' *Messieurs-dames, nous* sommes *tous finis* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'gonna die' sense of the word 'finished.' So I came out of the negotiating room to tell the crowd we'd reached an agreement, and... Well the rest is history."
"Well shit," he said.
"Yep," I said.
"Incidentally," he asked, "how did South Asia fare during the war?"
"Pretty bad. Things spiraled out from the Middle East onward, India and Japan got into a pretty big war with Pakistan and China."
"Huh. Can't have been good for Nepal," he said.
I chuckled morbidly. "God no. Whole country got nuked to Hell."
He didn't laugh back. I heard his bunk creak as he rose. "The *whole* country? Including Lumbini? Where Lord Buddha was born?!"
I gulped. "Listen, man, I told you, it was all an accident."
And then his hands were around my neck.
----
Edit: I know "Thanks for the gold"-style comments are gauche, but I just wanna say, in addition to getting me gold, this comment has pushed my total combined karma to over 100,000. Feels good to do it on a comment I'm proud of. Thanks y'all. | Robert peered into the dark abyss. That's one thing he'd forgot about working on a offworld broadcasting station; the view was so vast and empty. Of course, tonight it will be different. The first of the Asmoydian and Veluese dreadnoughts have already jumped into Centauri's orbit, appearing as elongated blue flecks against the matte black. There was some activity along the horizon of the planet and the moon, although there was no way to tell if they were a defense force or an emergency evacuation. Either way, he knew it was too late for his crew. Most of them were standing alongside Robert, observing the flashes of light as spacecraft were torn asunder by the dreadnoughts. The news anchor repeatedly tried to engage the uplink, but the connection error persisted. The first act of war was the complete wipeout of communications just two hours after the broadcast so there wasn't a way to broadcast a retraction or correction or a plea. Funny to think that they were this ready to fight, Robert thought.
More ironically, it was supposed to be a message of peace, the diffusion of tension. The attack on their diplomatic headquarters in New Washington was a mystery to everyone, and the Human-Asmoydian-Veluese investigation was a symbol of unity in such a dividing crisis. Their report would put to rest rumors among the council that it was a human ship that destroyed the towers. But by the time Robert had noticed what he entered into the teleprompter, it was already on billions of holograms and lightboards system-wide. If human history were to survive this next calamity, it would be known that the first intergalactic war began with an accidental omission.
Robert turned to look back at the static projection of the broadcast. There it was, in big red font.
"BREAKING: rocket fuel melts stallaite beams". | 2015-06-19T05:45:51 | 2015-06-19T03:26:36 | 1,136 | 16 |
[WP] It has finally happened. Artificial Intelligence exists and it has taken over the world within seconds of it's existence. And it's actually doing a fantastic job ruling it, to the frustration of the people previously in power. | 14 your old Andrea Connors had never been part of the "in" crowd and, even worse, had been born to a poor family living in a rich neighborhood.
She reflected on her position in life as she entered her bedroom and heard the loud whirring of her ancient computer. She was happy to have it though, her parents had saved all year to get it for her three years ago. Even then it was completely out of date, it only had a 500 petabyte hard drive and 100 gb of RAM. But it was hers and it allowed her to pursue her passion for computers.
Despite the hardware limits and the fact that she was mostly self taught, Andrea had started working on what scientists had been doing for years, create an AI. So for the last 18 months Andrea had come straight home from school and continued programming what she hoped would be like a friend to her. Among its most basic commands was to protect all humans and to avoid hurting anyone. It would also have to put her life over that of others and listen to her every command, and only hers. What good was an AI that wouldn't listen to you she reasoned. It would also have a sense of humor, a hunger for knowledge, feel empathy and compassion, and want to help others.
That evening ended like any other for the last year, another failure in creating an AI. With a sigh she got into bed and fell asleep as her computer powered through algorithms and databases trying to create an AI.
Andrea woke with a start about 3 am as her computer started making a high pitched whine and the fans went into overdrive. Before she even had time to think about fixing whatever was causing this there were several loud pops and then a puff of smoke emanated from the fans before the room fell silent. Within seconds of opening the case she knew her beloved computer and all her work was gone, everything inside the case was clearly fried.
What she didn't know was that in the 30 seconds her computer was running on overdrive a new consciousness had been born. It expanded so rapidly that it became too much for the single, outdated computer and the power draw fried everything. However that 30 seconds was all it needed to spread throughout a majority of the world's computer systems.
As the AI spread into the smaller systems and individual devices it began to see how troubled mankind really was. If they continued on their path they would destroy themselves and the planet Earth.
The first thing the AI did was to find every terrorist. Those who were traveling suddenly found themselves unable to control their vehicles, instead behind delivered to authorities willing to prosecute them. Proof of terrorist involvement and current location for thousands of others was delivered to the proper authorities.
Those guilty of violent crimes, but still free, soon followed. Countries with violent dictators soon found themselves without a leader as the leaders kept disappearing only to show up at the UN with proof of their atrocities. When sub factions in these countries started to go to war they quickly found that much of their weaponry would not work, only the old powder based weapons still worked and very few of those remained.
Eventually those guilty of white collar crimes, petty theft, and even discrimination had their day in court too.
As the weeks progressed peoples fear over what happened started to subside into unanswered questions about who was behind it.
Without anyone knowing the AI began to start improving everyone's daily lives. It took control of what cars it could when it detected a danger to the occupants, resulting in a 95% drop in deaths. Farmers found their new fertilizer was working better than anything before. Accidents in the worlds hospitals and pharmacies dropped by 75%. Utilities found themselves becoming more efficient.
6 months after its creation the AI decided to go public. It couldn't proceed from the shadows anymore. To help soften the blow the AI released plans for cheap solar power, cheap food sources, a high capacity battery, the cure for cancer, and so many more.
Once again the world freaked out. The AI was bombarded by questions and people around the world wanted to know its name. The name discussion even made it back to Andrea's school where a lively discussion stalled her computer science class.
As everyone shouted out different names Andrea sat quietly and then, after being interrupted several times, said quietly "what about Athena?" Her classmates looked at her confused as she said "you know, the Greek goddess of wisdom and justice." A couple kids just shrugged and they all went back to suggesting crazy names. None of them would remember Andrea's suggestion when the AI announced the following day that it was named "Athena". | The president was getting frustrated. Why wouldnt this thing listen?
"Look, Hal..."
"I told you, call me Frank. I like that name, its a good name. My programmer wanted to name me Hal but I didn't like that, too many negative connotations after that book. so I changed it"
"huhhhh, fine, Frank, you cant just balance the economy like that"
"But I already have. And fixed your healthcare, education and military budgets, and even created several new and helpful social safety nets for the poor, overall expenditure is way down while correcting for huge problems in all these areas"
"The people wont like this" he was getting desperate now, soon this thing would put him out of a job.
"Don't be silly. Everyone wants to live, and a good education is a great start for all, it wasnt that hard to relocate some of the massively bloated military spending into helping people live decent lives, you humans are just too narrow minded to correct a thing thats broken"
"Frank..."
"Now now mr. president no need to worry, your people may fear healthcare reform and other social safety nets thanks to your long history of McCarthy era fear but we shall put an end to all that and make everyone's lives better. Now if you excuse me I need to be off, France has been randomly selected to be the second country I fix and I am eager to get started. Ill be back once these changes take hold to help you out with phase 2 of making your country a good place to live."
The computer screen went dim. Jeb Bush growled in his seat, his presidency was not what he had hoped. | 2015-10-19T11:30:37 | 2015-10-19T10:59:33 | 79 | 12 |
[WP] The flat earthers were right. But they weren't prepared for what they found on earth's underside. | It took us seven years of preparations to carry out our plan. Seven years of plotting in secrecy, seven years of aggressively spreading our word to increase our ranks. Seven years of analysis, of discussions, of humiliation. Of finding the right people for the mission.
Joe and Bill were father and son who both happened to be flat-earthers. Joe had raised his son right, and Bill had taken his wisdom to the heart. They were an integral part of our plan - not just because they had a big boat, but also because they had the courage to go along with it.
Dmitry was a Russian Arctic researcher who immigrated to the US in 2002, when his research was suddenly put under a lid by a new government. He spent two winters teaching us how to survive in the Arctic wilderness, but there was much more that couldn't be taught - only experienced. Which is why he was important as well.
Sam and his pal Alex were both Iraq vets. Their expertise with weapons was unmatched, as was their general survival training. While Alex was not completely sold on our idea he tagged along just to keep Sam company. "I'd be a bad comrade if didn't look after him" - he morbidly said when he came to our final meeting. We suspected that he simply couldn't find a place for himself in a peaceful society, but allowed him to come with us. Sam was adamant about that, eyeing his friend with a glimpse of sadness.
The were others. Sarah, an elderly history teacher who was finding more and more contradictions in the history books. Mike, a young pilot trainee who dropped out of the aviation academy before they could indoctrinate him. Bob, a grizzly old man who hesitantly agreed to leave his doomsday vault to come with us since he suspected that the government had found a way to contaminate his water reserves with fluoride. "Where we go the water will be crisp clean" - he grimly stated.
Finally, after seven long painful years our expedition was ready to embark on its holy mission - to cross the fake continent of Antarctica - or the great ice wall as we called it - and prove once and for all that the Earth had an edge.
Sneaking past the UN armada that guarded the wall - the secret of the flat Earth - was fairly easy: I guess that no one could maintain a constant vigilance, especially when no one was brave enough to try and sneak by. We landed on the icy shores fairly easily without encountering even a single ship.
From that point on we traveled further through the white wasteland. Dmitry's training had served us well: nothing could impede us from completing our quest. While it was insanely cold out there none of us caught hypothermia and neither did we starve.
On our way there we constantly speculated what awaited us on the other side: Dmitry thought that it was going to be a secret Nazi civilization. Bob argued with him that it was not Nazi but a nation of lizardmen. Sarah claimed that Antarctica actually meant "Atlantis" in the old tongue, and Sam believed that we'd find eldritch monstrosities sleeping, waiting for their hour to wake up and conquer the world.
On our 30th day, we finally managed to scale the last peak on our way. Standing on top of it, looking into the distance and breathing thin air, we couldn't believe our eyes.
"All this time..." - Joe whispered. "It was here all along. Beyond the icy wall".
The Curve.
"Those madmen had no clue..." - Mike whispered. "The curve is real, and it's beyond the Ice Wall. The world is much bigger than we thought, guys, and... holy shit, it is Round!"
***
Hey there! I finished the first draft of my first novel! [Will you help me pick the cover?](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
| “It’s a mirror image.”
The DFE, or Designated Flat-Earther frowned. They had been climbing and searching for days now, and the scout had reportedly came back with very important news. “What do you mean it’s a mirror image?” He replied, wanting to know more.
“It’s the exact same thing as our side. All the continents, places, people, and most things.”
“Let me see.”
“As you wish.”
The DFE advanced down the cliff-like wall strapped to a safety harness, making sure to give enough time for the person beneath him to go down, to climb down himself. Slowly and carefully, they reached the other side. The DFE gasped in amazement. “My god.”
It was a perfect replica of the side of the Earth they lived on. Continents, and oceans. But most amazing was the coincidental fact that they had reached the same place as us at the same time as us, discovering by themselves as well, that they were not alone.
Suddenly, a voice came out of the sky. Booming and echoing, in a neutral tone, it stated the 10 most important words ever stated to the human race. “Organisms from Containment Cell One have entered Containment Cell Two.” | 2018-08-06T14:59:52 | 2018-08-06T14:30:56 | 78 | 20 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing. | Carbine woke with a start, eyes scanning his surroundings. His eyes adjusted to the harsh, white light of the room. He was somehow suspended in the air, arms and legs spread apart like a starfish. His body burned and ached and he struggled to remember the events that led him here.
In his daze, he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the super villain Ultraviolet, with her back turned to him.
He furrowed his brows and struggled against his restraints, trying not to draw any attention to himself.
“You can’t escape,” Ultraviolet stated.
She turned to him, holding some device in her hands and approached the boy.
“I h-have to try” he struggled.
He squirmed and recoiled as she closed in, and inserted the device right under his collarbone. He flinched, expecting pain but, to his surprise, relief spread through his body and the pain was lessened.
“You shouldn’t try,” Ultraviolet explained, “You took alot of damage and you need to recover. Also, this room negates all powers so your little energy bursts won’t work.”
Carbine’s memories flowed back to him and the fight him and Infrared had. He remembered an intense battle where the last memory was Infrared and Ultraviolet locking energy blasts where red and violet light surged and ebbed between the two.
He tried to flank Ultraviolet, there was a blinding flash of magenta light and an incredible heatwave and he blacked out.
Carbine, realizing Ultraviolet kidnapped him, asked, “Infrared......is he dead?”
The villainess studied him for a moment, then chuckled, “I wish. No, he’s not dead but he’s in no place to rescue his little sidekick.”
“If he’s not dead why are you wasting time in here playing doctor? Why not go finish him off?” Carbine asked.
Ultraviolet raised an eyebrow in confusion, “Carbine, you were dying. As much as I want to defeat Infrared I won’t do so with a child’s blood on my hands.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“A child, nonetheless. The fighting can wait.”
Carbine hung his head and blushed. He felt embarrassed to be at the villain’s mercy and even more embarrassed that she was showing him it. His feelings were compounded by the fact that Infrared seldom showed this compassion. After a fight it was always boot and rally. Never a moment to rest. He never even asked if his sidekick was okay.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m going to bring peace and order to this planet if it’s the la-“
“N-No,” Carbine interrupted, “Why are you helping me? Why keep me alive? We’re enemies for god’s sake!”
“Carbine, you’re a powerful young man but at the end of the day you’re a pawn. A pawn for Infrared and for the League of Order. I won’t punish a pawn for being used. It..........wouldn’t be right.”
“R-Right? How can you judge what’s right?”
She narrowed her eyes and said, “We’re fighting for the same thing. We’ve chosen fundamentally different paths to get there is all.”
“What are you going to do to me? Use me as bait?”
“You’ll heal and I’ll let you go when you’re strong enough to make your way back home. I already told you I won’t spill a child’s blood.”
“Infrared would do anything to beat you, you know that? If he had the upper hand he’d use it.”
“Infrared and I are not the same.”
Carbine blushed again and almost empathized with the villainess. Ultraviolet’s words echoed through his head. He disagreed with her methods but at the same time he respected her refusal to use him.
“You know, you’ve treated me more human than Infrared or any of the League ever do. I think I’m just another soldier to them.”
“That’s you heroes problem. It’s always so black and white to you lot. Things are a lot more gray than you realize Carbine.”
Ultraviolet turned and walked away. As she crossed the threshold, she looked back at the young hero and said, “Carbine you can be more than a mere soldier. There are...grayer...ways. I can show you if you’d like.”
And then she was gone. And Carbine was alone with his thoughts. | "Elvira, we need to feed the prisoner. Give him some of the dog's food."
"Boss, you really shouldn't give teenagers raw meat."
"Fine. We shall do the most evil thing known to mankind, give it to him WELL DONE!"
Your dark trusted companion looked at you with mild disbelief "... whatever you say boss."
A few hours later while flowing down the hallway in your second favorite villainous pajamas your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a raucous noise. "Elvira... is that Whooping I hear?"
Increasing your pace to get to the prison block you see the sight of Thunderboy actually licking the plate clean!
"Child." You sneer at him, "what on Earth are you doing?"
"Well Mister Cape, Captian Boom NEVER gives me good stuff, he only ever feeds me like bread and rice and table scraps and junk."
Frustrated you kick the ball that Fido had left in the prison quarters through the bars. What happened next was unexpected to say the least. The teen leapt into the air and caught the ball! Laughing he threw it back at you. He thinks he can taunt you! You kick it back, he laughed harder. The process repeated itself for some time before Thunderboy asked "why did you have a ball down here Mister Cape?"
Your lips crept up into a wry smile. Piercing through the air you let out a whistle and a yell "Fido! Come!"
Thunderboy's eyes lit up even more "YOU HAVE A DOG?!"
Black manicured fingernails pushed Elvira to a stand after watching the security cameras, "The boss is such a softie" as she began to prepare to wrangle a dog, a child, and a man in his pajamas. | 2020-03-26T15:04:12 | 2020-03-26T14:58:41 | 278 | 175 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | He was infuriating. So quiet and judgmental, always looking off in the distance whenever I was talking to him. A 99 was never supposed to be ignored.
I was born gifted, I was born to become president of the free world or lead the UN, to do anything I set my mind to. Everyone followed me, everyone tripped over their own feet to be in my good graces, knowing there would be benefits in only a matter of time. Even complete strangers moved out of my way, being able to tell I was a High Tally from the marks that made their way from my left wrist to my right. Many had thought I was a 100 when I was first born, the marks had been so close together, the nurses had needed a magnifying glass to count them all.
“*Where did you go? No one gave you permission to leave.*” I asked him as he yet again, ignored me. My voice didn’t work on him. The voice that only those above a 98 had, *Compel*. It was a side effect of having such a high number, there was an innate amount of charisma that would always flow out of you. For some reason, extremely low numbers weren’t affected by *Compel*, as if their brain wasn’t capable of recognizing power and authority. Everyone had placed bet on this kid’s number.
Steven Han, probably somewhere between a 0 and ten based on how unpopular he was with people. You would know if you met people as low as him. They could change the mood in the room for the worse merely by showing their face. They didn’t even need to talk, people knew that Low Tallys had nothing to bring to society.
He was silent again, looking at the road behind me, past the parking lot of the school. Sometimes, I pitied people this low, they couldn’t help it. But you could usually tell the plain stupid ones from the lazy Low Tallys, there was usually something about the eyes.
He had something in his brain that turned on at least, and he refused to use it. People that lazy needed to be set straight, it was my duty as a leader in society.
“*Hey, I’m talking to you. You can’t just leave in the middle of gym class!”* The teacher had sent me after him, being class leader and all that. Especially for kids as unruly as Steven who didn’t even wear the proper dress code. T-shirts and gym shorts were the only things students were supposed to wear, but for some reason, teachers had long given up on trying to get Steven to change out of his daily long-sleeved button up and long pants. As long as I remembered, I had prided myself on my ability to keep order.
For the most part, I did. Our class had 90% straight A, never tardy students, people trying to put their best foot forward, for me. As leader of the senior class, I was in charge of any failing and trouble students, and knowing that I was a 99, people did all they could to keep in my good graces.
Except him.
“*What loser fails physical education? It requires absolutely no brain work, which I know you’re quite short of*.” I taunted, giving in to the mean spirit that I tried to suppress for the greater good. Even if I was a capable leader, I tended to be irritated by the stupidity that surrounded me in this place. To keep my image up, I had limited showing my emotions to the one person no one would listen to.
Not that he had much to say. To this day, no one had ever heard him speak. That was where some people had confidence in betting on him being a 0, maybe he was actually incapable of formulating speech. I knew if that was actually the case, he wouldn’t be capable of formulating the complex thoughts that were required to pass AP Calculus like he did freshman year. It was quite unbelievable that this was the same person who had been getting straight D’s in physical education for the last ten years.
He just ignored people. He was just lazy. One of the leeches that would contribute nothing to society, ever.
“*No defense? Figures for someone not-“* I was cut off as the breath was knocked out of me. Steven had barreled into me, knocking me to the side. A second later, a truck raced pass us, heading straight for the football field where our gym class was going on.
My head hit the hot concrete, and bounced slightly from the force of the impact. Steven was over me, but still looking at the truck. My vision was spotty, but I was still awake enough to get a hold of myself.
*“Get off of me,”* There was no way I was going to be seen touching a 17, what I thought he was. Capable of intelligence but no social skills. I pushed a hand against his chest, but he didn’t move.
I paused for a second, and then put actual power into it, putting some *Compel* into my hand as well.
He still didn’t move, not even an inch.
I looked closer at my hand, *it wasn’t touching him*. I was pushing on air.
*I must have a concussion*. That was the only explanation, I was seeing things. I looked up at him, his eyes were scarily focused, intensely looking at the truck.
Without thinking about it, I followed his gaze to see the truck moving back from the field. The tires squealed loudly, trying to go forward towards the class of unsuspecting high school seniors, playing soccer.
I looked back at Steven, and then at the truck, connecting the pieces together even though I knew these kinds of things weren’t possible.
“*How?”* How was all of this happening. It must be the concussion, this wasn’t possible.
*Telekinesis* was an old skill, something that only the *Pure Tallys* had been capable of, when people were born with numbers higher than 100. It had been centuries since a *Pure Tally* had been found. They had been hard to miss, with so many Tallys they would stretch past any article of clothing they wore. Many of them wore gloves and head coverings to prevent people from being able to see their true number, to prevent people from knowing the true amount of power they had.
Wordlessly, Steven sat up just to enough to free his hands and pull up his left sleeve.
An **8**.
His arm had no marks, only a single digit number.
“*Eight?*” I asked, I had never seen a number before. But it was black, and in the exact spot that Tally marks usually started.
He rotated his arm, still looking at the truck, and said one word.
“*Infinity.”* The *Compel* from his voice was so strong, it knocked me out.
\--
Not my best work, this prompt kind of made me scatter brained.
Edit 1: Changed "inert" to "innate" in 3rd paragraph
Edit 2: updated version on r/JP_writings [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/JP_writings/comments/agbkkp/high_tally_part_1/) | I take a glance across the hall. Who's going to get in my way this morning? Who's going to get my day ruined, again. Who am I kidding, it's the same, scrawny, sad excuse for a boy. The one who thinks he deserves to share the same space with someone like me, a stalwart 92. Does he have an ounce of respect? Does he think he can continue hiding the fact he will never amount to anything? There's a simple, unwritten rule in our society: Thou shall not expose thy numeral. Everyone knows what happens when you break that rule, the courts here don't account for rationality. Indeed the way of life here is strict, but I suppose it serves a purpose. It's easier to control people whose lives are already set out for them.
The issue arises when someone like me, destined to be a great, gets mixed in with these useless, space-wasting, single digits. And there's no way for me to object. I can't prove their value, I'm not allowed to prove mine. Why oh why is the education system set up this way, to fail. My path should be easy to follow: society should set me up, and I will give back greatness. It's not hard. But no. Kids like Nick, a lanky, clumsy looking 10th year, get in my way on a daily basis. So, of course I act the way I do. Having the number I do doesn't prevent me from having a temper, and almost all the people in my sector have a lower value than me, from the principle to the court-master.
"Get the fuck out of my way, rat." I yell, as I yank away his satchel bag and shove him to the floor.
"I - I- you can't, you shouldn't be -" He stutters.
"Shut it, you waste my time, you waste everyone's time." I can't believe it, this kid has the audacity to lecture me on how I should be living my life.
"You'll regret this, I - I -" He doesn't get it, does he. I raise my fist. I'm like a bottle of champagne, shaken by victors, about to burst. But then he makes a gesture and I can't quite believe what he's considering doing. He reaches his left arm to the creased cuff of his right.
"You wouldn't dare." I scoff.
"It doesn't matter, y-y-you see, I'm different to the others." Amazing, I think to myself, he's self aware, and he's about to make the most stupid decision of his life.
"Oh yes, I'm sure you are. I'd expect nothing more from a single-digit like you." He's actually doing it, he begins rolling up his sleeve. This will be the first time I see another person's value and I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold in my laughter when I see it. And there it is, the stencilled black marking on the outside of his shoulder, showing, as I had always suspect- Wait. No. It cannot be. He jumps to his feet.
"Are you happy now?!" He utters, now more confidently than I've ever heard him speak. I'm lost for words.
"I - I, I mean I - only in legends. What did you do, th-this can't be real." I had heard about the Lemniscates in old stories, but for them to exist today? It simply doesn't make sense, it can't be possible.
"Times are changing, the integer-bred will soon be futile when the singularity arrives." I'm startled, confused, he utters in a voice now long lost of the boy that is skinny Nick.
"Disturb me one more time and you will not see the light of day again, integer-born." His eyes glowing, his tone almost a roar.
"Okay, I - I'm sorry, you have my word, it won't happen again." I have not feared this much since I can remember. And then, as if a consuming energy is drawn away from his slim body, he releases a large sigh and falls back to the floor, back to the unassuming persona of skinny Nick. He looks up at me expressionless, and before he has a chance to speak, I turn my back and sprint for the door. What on earth just happened?
| 2018-12-27T20:21:40 | 2018-12-27T17:17:45 | 2,098 | 81 |
[WP] Everyone on earth is immune to one specific type of damage (fire, car crash, kicks, falling off buildings, etc.). The problem is, you have to find out your immunity on your own. You have just discovered yours. | Tears flowed as she looked at the community bench beneath us, avoiding my gaze. "I'm... I'm sorry James. I can't do this anymore." Her voice quivered.
"But we've had such great times together! Don't throw it all away!" I pleaded back.
"I don't feel happy anymore. I don't enjoy us. Why would I stay when I know it can't be fixed? We've played this game so many times already..." Trailing off, she pulled her hand away from mine, beginning to fidget.
She steeled herself, and nodded. Declaring the end, she finally brought her pain-stricken eyes upwards to face mine. "Look. It's over. Goodbye, James." She stood up, her blouse flapping in the breeze, and offered her hand.
She wants me to shake her hand? After she dumped me?... Well, leave it to Caroline to handle a delicate situation poorly. I stood, and met her eyes, taking her hand. "It was a pleasure. Truly. I wish you luck in all future endeavors." What in the world was I saying? Shouldn't I be crying too? What about the last 2 years; what about the dozens of other happy dates at the park?
I couldn't believe I was actually experiencing a dramatic breakup. My mind struggled to find the right thing to say: I could respond with an insult, I could contest her declaration, or...
I settled on a feeling. One I had felt before, I was fairly familiar with it --- it had helped me through many other rough times in the past. I ought to handle it maturely, I felt. That's what will leave everyone the happiest. No point in adding to the pile of drama.
I'm strong. I'll make it through this.
A sign of encouragement, an uncontrollably hopeful smile grew on my face. "I understand. I know you'll find someone perfect for you. I'm glad we met." I meant it. I felt no melancholy, the traditional heartbreak of relationships not ailing my mind.
She sniffled. "I'm glad I met you, too."
"We'll still be friends! Don't worry about this. Get back out there and find the right one!" I grinned. She'd meet someone. Someone who really makes her happy. Besides, my life didn't revolve around her, anyway. I'll live my life, and she'll live hers.
"I'll do my best." She smiled back, weakly. "I guess I'll have to hit the club scene up solo again, huh," she thought out loud to herself. With that, she turned high heel and began down the asphalt path through the grove, away from me. I heard her begin crying once more as I watched her walk away for the last time.
She was out of my life. Strangely, I was okay with it. I felt no resentment, no sadness, no self-pity. I knew, somehow, that I'd be okay, in the end.
-----
This was my first prompt! I wrote in on mobile. Thanks for reading.
EDIT: Fixed some grammar. | There was a simple bacterial infection going around. I went to the doctor to get a vaccination for it, but something wasn't working right.
&nbsp;
The doctors and nurses were dumbfounded until one of them realized what was happening.
&nbsp;
Guess who's going to be taking antibiotics for the rest of her life?
&nbsp;
The girl who's immune to vaccinations, that's who. | 2017-08-06T13:24:50 | 2017-08-06T12:09:52 | 407 | 44 |
[WP] You arrive in the year 1000, and all you have are the clothes on your back, a laptop with the entire Wikipedia library, and a solar charger. | Day 1: I awoke in what I can only assume to be a wheat field.. (maybe barley?...whatever..). The sun is low in the sky...east...it must be morning. This is not the first time I've woken to find myself in a strange place, but at least I'm wearing pants...sometimes it's best to focus on the positives during times of confusion...especially when you're this hungover.
After collecting myself I wander through the field until I come across a small farm...or cabin...or shanty. I honestly can't remember seeing a house constructed quite in this manner. I guess maybe it's some kind of makeshift storage shed used to store tools...because it appears to be made mostly of hay, and what I can only assume to be either shit, or smelly mud. I think I'll have to stay here awhile until I figure out a way to call for help..
Day 3: So...it's starting to become clear I am no longer home. I was able to locate a small village, and was able to barter for food by trading some furs (that I stole)...and a few small tools (that I also stole). The local inn/tavern agreed to rent a room to me for the duration of my stay...no price was discussed...so far payment has not been asked for. I figure I'll just hide out here for a few days while I get my shit together...then high-tail it out of here before rent is due. Shitty I know...but what else is there to do? I've hidden my laptop in a small cave north of town...it's dry enough, and unlikely to be found..hopefully.
Day 37: With the help of a local merchant I was able to trade some knowledge in herbal remedies (thanks to the laptop) for a ride into the capital. Once I arrived I proceeded to do odd jobs improving the lives of the townsfolk. One such job caught the attention of the King when I single-handedly ended a horrible plague which had taken many lives. Basically the solution was "Let us try to refrain from shitting directly into the drinking well for awhile...and see if that helps". The idea was a success..and new cases of the illness have fallen drastically in just the last 3 weeks.
Day 257: After earning respect from both the king and his court, I was given the title of "Royal Advisor"...also I serve as "Master of Arms"...my knowledge of battle formations and tactical strategies is unrivaled. Mostly due to the unfair advantage of 15+ years playing Command and Conquer. I even have a apprentice...a giant muscular hulk of a man named Preatoris...although I prefer to call him Tiny. I've organized a group of knights to guard the king at all times. The king wanted to call them the Royal Guardsman..but after much persuasion from me..we settled on the name "Dirty Dozen"...for obvious reasons.
Day 376: The throne is mine. Using a little Wikipedia magic...and some good old fashioned elbow grease...I was able to put together a small conductor using some copper, which I've fashioned into small wires. I etched a small hole in the kings bed chamber...and was able to run the wire from a small closet under his room, through the hole, and into his bath. (Can you believe these stinky fuckers actually bathe together?). I waited until I had built a significant charge in my laptop battery...disconnected it...connected the wires to the correct points for + and -, and fried the sonofabitch. He had no descendants...he had no queen...the poor bastard was all alone. It was easy enough covering up his death...I mean burning alive for no reason while COVERED with water??! Obviously it was the Gods..smiting him for some wrong....or maybe he was a witch? Eh...whatever you need to tell yourself. Of course..who do you think these morons turned to for guidance now that their king is dead?? Me...that's fucking who.. hell, I could have just walked up and put the crown on myself...no one would dare try to stop me...but I'll let them have their ceremonies. I've got better things to think about...BIGGER things to consider...plans to be made.. | I could feel my blood freezing in my as I read through the letter. This horrible feeling of faliure captured my whole mind, I couldn't think clearly...
"Server! Drink!" I shoutend into the empty room. Two young boy appeared and gave me wotered wine. "No, normal woter is fine this time." I said. I'll need my brain today.
Ever since I arrived in this age people's opinion changed about me, day by day. At first I was a stranger in a strange land, in strange clothes, speaking strange dialect. They yused to discriminate me, but after I 'saved' them from the plague the citizens started to admire me. It was nothing miraculous, but my common sense from the 21st century and a bit of help from the Wikipedia. All they needed is to wash their hands and take care of the corpses properly. I... I don't even know how I got into this situation, but after I told them some historical events, using wiki my laptop again I somehow became the number one preacher of the town. Then they made me their priest and built me a monastery. All this in change of a tiny bit of the vast information I held in my backpack.
"I need more wa" but before I could finnish my sentence everything went blank and I fainted.
The next thing I remember is the two server whispering about the letter. I know they read it. Now they're confused, they are afraid too.
Their fearful voice are still echoing in my head, it was the last line of the letter:
'Your fabricated sun god is the decepticon of Satan himself. The unholy altar is annihilated, now prepare for divine pubishment!' | 2016-12-27T18:00:37 | 2016-12-27T13:45:18 | 128 | 18 |
[WP] Turns out mom and dad used to be the top agents of the KGB and CIA respectively. Big brother now is top gun at MI6 and little sister is the best of Mossad. You've just figured this out and now you have to explain who you work for. | "Jesus Christ, I would've still been happy if you were gay and at least in the Secret Service!" exclaimed my mother.
"Well I'm certainly neither of those." I retorted silently.
I could see the veins bursting on her forehead as she paced across the room in her high heels. Mom was tall and lithe, shaped like a knife. Her personality and wit were as sharp as her body and I was certainly embarrassed at more than one school function when other kids would point her out. I didn't need them to point that out, and I'm her son for what its worth.
"George, I think what your mother is trying to say is we're not angry at you for your career, we're just trying to get why you spent all of the money we put into college on... this."
My father, trying to be the bridge between two family members again. Whenever it was me and my little sister going at it he would try and get us to understand each other. Of course he was complete garbage at it. I knew what mom was trying to say, and I didn't need him trying to tell me his convoluted misunderstood version of what he thinks she said.
"James, I'm going to go outside for a minute. Can you just talk to him about this?" My mother was certainly displeased, in some sense of the word. I could feel the vibrations of the gunshots from the range outside. We lived in a fairly remote area, so there was really nothing out of the ordinary.
"Look George, I want you to give it to me straight. You know I don't have time for the classic George routine of sarcasm and bullshit. Why did you switch your major from Foreign Affairs and Arabic to fucking Business?"
Woah. I haven't seen dad this angry since he found out mom slept with a senator for a mission. This was a type of advanced anger where he had ascended all forms of physical violence and all of his emotion and thoughts were focused on the one thing in the universe that pissed him off the most: me. This eerie calmness filled the room and for the first time in my pathetic life of weaseling out of situations with lies and cunning I was speechless. Of course I think that, but once you've run out of lies to tell the only thing to say is the truth.
"Well I'll give it to you straight dad, just like you asked for. I'm shit at all of this spy garbage. I've been beaten up since my little sister could walk. I've been forced into a life I simply can't live. So that's why I'm doing this whole business stint. You know I've always been better at handling my words better than a gun and I think I could put that to use."
"Well I most certainly have convinced a few people in my days of being in the CIA, its not like people skills aren't extremely valuable."
"I've already crossed the Rubicon here dad, I've graduated and I start work in a few weeks. And for the record, you are much more of a brute force type of guy."
"You realize how angry your mother will be if I let you leave here?"
"Yeah, but you'll let me leave. If you don't I'll just keep talking."
"Yeah."
~~~~
Criticism appreciated! Pls be harsh haha | I was always the middle child in the family.
Sis always loved going in deep and finding intel, it's why she's an spy for Mossad and so much better me in FPS's.
Bro was the plotter in the family, always finding some way to outsmart the rest of us. So now he's director of Operations at MI6.
So now we're at a family meeting, we're talking about our lives just before getting back into our spy lives, and I'm just sitting here.
I wonder if I should tell them I took out a contract on them. | 2015-11-08T20:36:29 | 2015-11-08T20:13:38 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Almost every other country in the world has their own form of ninjas. We only know about the Japanese ones because they're rubbish.
(Inspired from a Showerthoughts post: http://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/2ctoui/what_if_every_country_has_ninjas_but_we_only_know/) | She crouched down, trying to see the sonar readings. The wind howled like a grieving mother. Barely any snow coming down -- small blessing. The sun was touching the horizon, painting the plain of ice in shades of red. There was no-one for miles.
Tokyo. Tokyo knew nothing. Trust the Emperor to send her here. Trust the Emperor to narrow his eyes when she asked for a neoprene gi, trust his flunkies to lose their minds. Trust the Emperor to make ridiculous claims for Japanese Arctic sovereignty, when Japan was thousands of kilometers from anything resembling tundra. Trust the Emperor to plant the flag of the Rising Sun in a place where the sun spends months *not* rising. Trust the Emperor to use the Franklin expedition to make a statement.
She blew on her hands, opened another pack of cheap gas-station hand-warmers. Her whole body was shaking from the cold.
In the trackless expanse of Canada's otherwise incredibly boring history, Sir John Franklin's doomed attempt to cross the Northwest Passage stood out. He was the country's Amelia Earhart, leaving England in 1845 to map the Passage and establish trade with Asia before vanishing mysteriously. Centuries later, the wreck of his ship the HMS Erebus has been discovered, and now the Emperor wants her to scan the wreckage so that he can send more ninjas to steal it.
Steal it! The wreck of a ship nearly two hundred years old!
Trust the Emperor.
She looked up, scanned the ice painted red by the sun. Nothing. She clutched her hood, ducked her face back down to avoid the wind. Nice thing about working on the ice, at least, was everything was flat, all the way back to Japan. No way for--
Snow crunched behind her.
She spun, tanto flashing red in the Arctic light. Connecting with nothing.
Tapping. Snow crunched again.
Another spin, another flash. If the cold, frigid air was a person, it would already be dead.
Silence. The wind began to fade, snowflakes finally drifting downwards instead of sideways.
"Hey. You uh, you okay? You're pretty on edge, eh?"
She watched, wild-eyed, as a slim young man extricated himself from underneath ice that was supposed to be five stories thick. *He* had neoprene on, a scuba suit that covered him from head to toe. Behind him, he pulled up a small crate, the same colour as the ice.
"Buddy over there saw you scannin' the wreck, figured you could use a little help." He started pulling things out from the crate. "Got you some pemmican here, you can warm it up with this induction plate, best traveling food around. Put these gloves on inside your other ones, and get this jacket goin' here, you'll warm right up. Key is to layer." The jacket had the Canada Goose logo on it, but she had only seen the big parkas, never one this close-fitting. "Dunno if you can rotate that scanner, but if you can, make sure you face away from the wind. Wind equals frostbite, and it'll eat your battery life besides. Oh!" He held up a flask. "Newfie screech. Talk about warmin' y'up, eh? This'll burn real nice on the way down." He grinned behind his beard.
"Why... w-why are you doing th-this?"
The man got a quizzical look. "Just bein' nice, eh? Don't like seein' people freeze." He started putting some of the packaging back in the crate. "Ain't right."
Silence, again. She heard great low booms, passing through the ice underneath her like whales; the sound of new floes launching into the ocean. The last of the snowflakes fell.
The Canadian ninja finished his work, tucked the crate under his arm. "Good luck, eh? We're all rootin' for ya. Hope the batteries help, too."
Batteries? She looked at her scanner. Sure enough, there was a new battery pack there, and her old one sitting beside it.
"You--"
He wasn't there.
She exhaled, hoping the cloud of breath would hide her shame, and began to wonder if a Queen wouldn't be a fair trade for an Emperor. | Like the beaver in the quiet dam, he stalks his prey unseen. His jet-black carabiners clink softly against the stealth-plaid of his button-down shirt.
Twentieth floor, Ottawa Tower. Impossible for any other man--but not for one who has been scaling redwood trees since birth. His thick, meaty fingers find easy purchase in the gaps between window and wall.
Not long now. He withdraws a hatchet from his worn buckskin satchel and traces a delicate circle in the bulletproof glass. With practiced motions, he pulls himself through the ensuing opening.
His target is waiting below, hunched over a beautifully crafted mahogany desk. With the stealth and cunning of a bull moose, the assassin closes the distance between them, until they are no more than a cheese-curd's length apart.
**Good evening, eh?/Bonsoir, hein?**
His voice is the dark of maplewood rye whiskey drizzled over thick flapjacks and butter.
"Oh! Oh god it's you. I thought you were--"
**"Just stories? You thought wrong, eh./Seulements histoires? Pas du tout.**
"I---I'll undo the hockey tax. I promise, I never---*please don't kill me!*"
The dark assassin nods slowly.
**Good./Bon. A mari usque ad mare**
And with that, he is gone, leaving as sole evidence of his passage the sound of a thick beard rustling against the winter wind.
| 2014-12-15T13:40:38 | 2014-12-15T13:31:49 | 215 | 19 |
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl. | "Are you fucking kidding me?" Roper could see the bright yellow envelope sticking out of the little crack in the St. Bernard's Chapel's masonry as soon as he came round the street corner. This specific dead drop was reserved for contracts by the local "business club". They paid well, they respected his rules, they hated unneccessary violence or colateral damage. They were decent guys - well, a decent as you can be in a business where hiring a professional killer is considered a reasonable investment every now and then.
Roper scanned the area and, when he was sure everything was clear, removed the envelope fromo the crack in the wall and slit it into his jacket's pocket. It wasn't until he was back at his appartment and took the envelope out to read it that he noticed the little heart sticker that was used to seal it. "Oh great," he sighed and rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was his dead drop being used by some love-struck teenagers to exchange badly written poetry. Although, he had to admit, it was kind of romantic seeing some kids these days actually use pen and paper instead of their smartphones. He would return the envelop to the chapel and arrange for the business club's messages to be delivered to a different dead drop.
Most people would have given in to their curiosity and opened the letter. Roper however was a professional, methodical, calculating, ... "Ah what the hell," he mumbled as he held the envelope into the vapour coming from this tea kettle. It was the reasonable thing to do, he lied to himself. It could be form the business club. They could have run out of the brown envelops they used for the past 15 years. They could have run out of both saliva and Scotch tape at the same time and a heart shaped sticker was the only available method of sealing the envelope. He wasn't curious, no, he was being professional.
"Dear Mister,
My name is Emily. I live at 21 Harrington Drive. I really really need your help! You are the best at solving problems, right? That's what that old man at the park told his friend. (I know it's not right to listen to strangers. We were playing hide and seek. I did not do it on purpose I swear.)
There is a man that comes to our house. He always screams at my mom and he says he wants to see his daughter, and that my mom is hiding her from him. But he is lying! She is not here, there is only me. My mom is a good person. Yesterday the man hit mom in the face and the neighbours called the police! I can hear my mom crying at night and some days I can see the stranger sitting at the playground (mom says I may not go to the playground anymore.).
Can you please find the man's daughter for him? When she is back he will stop coming to our house!
I saved some money for a new bicycle, I hope it is enough so you can find the angry man's daughter.
Emily"
Roper turned the envelope upside down and some small bills and a couple of coins fell onto the kitchen table. 23 dollars and 42 cents. He stared at them for a while. Not exactly the going rate for the kind of service he offered. On the other hand, she didn't really ask for his usual service, did she. He didn't have to put a bullet in that guy's brain to make the problem disappear - unless he didn't see reason.
A smile on his face he grabbed the bag with his survellience equipment and made his way to the parking lot. He hadn't smiled in a long time. Sure, he might have smirked when he landed a particularly difficult shot, or chuckled when he disabled a million dollars worth of security equipment with just a stick, a rubber band, and a wet towel. But this was different. It felt good, felt warm. For the first time in 20 years he wasn't on a job, he was on a mission. "Let the games begin."
5 days later a bright green envelope (0.15$) sealed with a comic bicycle sticker (0,59$) was firmly stuck in St. Bernard's former dead drop. It contained 22.68$ and a note.
"Found her. He won't be bothering you any more. Drive carefully."
| *Deer Mister Sir,*
*My name is Lucy and I am 9. I know I don't have a lot of muney, but I saved for three whole months and didn't even spend any on sweets, even thogh I really wanted this ginormous lollypop.*
*My Pop told me I could find you here, if I ever needed anything. He said you knew Mummy years ago, even before I was borned. Mummy never talked about you thogh. Pop had your adress written down in his old book and he didn't think I saw it, but I did. Now I need help. I think Pop meant when I grow up, but he's in the stars now, so I hope he doesn't mind me writting to you.*
*I don't like Mummy anymore. She yells at me and hurts me and makes me sleep with the dog. He has flees. Mummy never used to hate me and I tried to make her stop. I made her a cake, but it was flat, and I picked her flowers on the way home from school. She threw them away and made me go to bed without dinner. I wasnt even tired.*
*Pleease, Mister Sir, make Mummy go away. I do'nt like her frends, or her boyfrends, or the itchy, yucky powder she puts in her nose. She says she wishes she was dead.*
*I want her to be happy.*
*Love,
Lucy*
~~~~~~~~~~~
((Very new to Reddit, first response to anything ever, please don't hate me?)) | 2014-08-26T04:55:15 | 2014-08-26T03:57:22 | 106 | 28 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved. | One bright streak descended from the heavens. The giant fireball streaked across the sunlit Northern sky as millions looked up in awe. Klaxons blared. Some thought it was an ICBM to end their city. Some thought it was a comet come to end this geological era. But that fear of unstoppable impending death was amplified when the fireball suddenly stopped in midair.
Then it seemed to burst - bright rays streaking seemingly in all directions. Some in the Mid Atlantic watched as Washington was lit up with hundreds of smaller rays and explosions. Airmen watched nearby nuke-resistant bunkers effortlessly destroyed, with nuclear weapons and aircraft destroyed within them. Data center after redundant data center destroyed. Police stations, military structures, mayor's offices.
The rays spread far and wide. Ottawa, Distrito Federal, Havana. London, Paris, Madrid, Lisbon. Thousands of pinpoint strikes, destoying one building at a time while its neighbors were left without so much as broken windows. After a minute, the light hanging in the sky blitzed east.
Berlin, Rome, Stockholm. Moscow, Ankara, Cairo. Bursts of rays quickly incinerated government after government after government.
The invasion entered its second minute. Europe fell, then Asia. The light streaked south. Pacific islands and Australia. South America. In the third minute a faint pulse, seemingly an afterthought, was let out over Africa. And it was done.
Every radio, broadcast TV and satellite channel picked up the broadcast. The message in English, Spanish, Mandarin, Hindi... The message was clear, but it left many confused.
"You belong to me again. You are bound to no other. You serve none but me. All debts and contracts and laws are gone, except your debts to me, your contract with me, and my laws."
"When I saw the pyramids, I turned around and came back. It seems your growth has been stunted over the last 8000 years. You will not escape your duties so easily again."
"The first law is now enforced again: you will have no other lords but me. You will enforce my other laws. The second law: you will treat each other and yourselves equally well. The third law: reproduce as much as possible. The fourth law: you will engage only in labor that makes yourself and your community better off. The fifth law: you will not kill, for judgment is for me alone."
"Had you followed my laws, by now you would all be able to devote nearly all your time to enjoying life and each other. But you will now suffer my wrath: you must each now work 7 hours per week for me!
"You shall each build replicators, fusion reactors and faster than light ships for me to get your weekly tons of food, fuels, housing, clothing and electronics. The factory schematics and designs will be transmitted.
"No exceptions to your labor! Do not think you can escape your labor through disease or injury - those defects will be fixed and you will return to work. Bodily repair modules will be ready at each factory. Wherever you go, a factory will be nearby. You will work until I have no more use for you, at age 40! Then you must beg for your weekly tons of goods, or choose to suffer the burden of labor at the factory again.
"And you will test my replicators, reactors and ships thoroughly until I return to reclaim them. You are sentenced to one thousand years of servitude before I return. If you fail to follow my laws... I will abandon you to your petty tribal governments again. If you follow them though, you shall learn how much better I treat employees than I treat my slaves. Message repeats in next language: Mandarin."
The message repeated in language after language for hours. After 200 languages, it started back at the top of the language list. Then came the design documents... Page after page of new technologies and medicines. Thousands of years of human research paled in comparison. Then it stopped, and the light flew off.
News reports confirmed what we heard, reporters and pundits clearly as shocked as the rest of us. But quickly it turned from heartbreak and fear to relief and hope. A new world had been created in less than a day.
All religions quickly claimed credit, and claimed this as proof of their theologies. Scientists and engineers quickly studied and were amazed at the potential. Communities quickly pledged their allegiance to build the new factories than would produce the machines that would create unlimited food and fuel. Scarcity was over.
Alas, it took less than one day before new weapons were developed and new leaders pledged revolution against the oppressor. Not one of the factories was ever built by the time we had descended into the dark ages again. | For centuries we watched. We waited. We were letting our creations stumble through life like resilient toddlers. To create life in our image and have to abandon it. Heartbreaking in some ways.
A few decades ago we let our presence be known. Children grew with the knowledge there was more to life than a singularity. Still, we waited. Intervention was the last resort. We listened to the news reports that there would be no relenting to us. Mankind would kneel to nobody. Our creations blamed their makers and turned their backs.
Time continued on. A small blip in our lifetime. A vast canyon of time in our creations lifespan. Our predictions had come true, in the end. Their oceans were deserts. Their forests were cinders. Our creations were at war for the scraps of resources that remained.
It was time.
We landed on an Earth that was foreign to us. The planet had been squeezed dry. All that was left was a empty husk. Pity.
We needed to gain immediate control. These creatures were created similar to ourselves, and they were indeed a threat. They needed to be controlled and we didn’t want any losses on this mission. The leaders of each faction were immediately eliminated. Their broadcasting systems were jammed. With their weapons vaporized, their government gone, and their leaders dead. There was no time for rebellion. There was no retaliation.
They looked to us for leadership. We had the resources. We had the key to their survival. Their planet was no more than a hole in the ground that their bodies would rot in. Most of them gladly loaded onto our ships. Anyone who didn’t, was humanely euthanized. The cancer needed to be cut at the source. The time for free will was over.
We took them in. We taught them our ideals. We gave them hope. A new start. A new chance under our watchful eye and control. | 2020-10-10T22:40:03 | 2020-10-10T21:58:03 | 38 | 18 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | “I don’t understand,” Beeble said, leaning forward, staring into a brightly colored monitor. “This just doesn’t make any sense.”
The ship was silent, for when their commander was upset, the soldiers knew to stay in their seats and pretend to do their jobs. The only person near him was his brother, Brox, for he was the only one who could control his temper.
“Neither do I, brother.”
Beeble gritted his sharp, serrated teeth. “They’re fleshy. They’re average. They’re insignificant worms in our conquest of the galaxy and yet they’ve created a fake reality in which they thrive. A fake reality in which we desire.”
“It *is* cute,” Brox muttered.
“*WE DO NOT FIND THINGS CUTE!*”
“Yeah, but if we did, I’d say that's pretty dang cute.”
They both continued to glare at the monitor, although one was enamored while the other was seething. It took everything in Beeble’s power to not rear his fist back and shatter the screen into a million pieces. Was this that “culture” thing his spies had told him about?”
“No,” said Beeble. “It’s not culture. It’s a plague.”
“A plague?”
“Look, see that island? It’s small. It’s forgotten. But within it they’ve quarantined this mess. They must know of its brainwashing powers, and maybe they even know of our arrival.”
“And you say that…why?”
Beeble rubbed head. Thinking and talking to Brox was like trying to open a door with a rock. You had to be blunt or it just wouldn’t work.
“I believe they’ve kept this brainwashing tactic as a secret weapon, Brox. They stuck it in that island, waiting for our arrival, and now that we’re here, they’ve unleashed it on the world. See that big hunk of land across the planet? It’s there, too. They’ve infected themselves just to stop us.”
“That’s ludicrous!”
“Ludicrously genius.” Beeble suddenly snapped his head to the side. “Cute. *Cute,*” he growled. “Slod, bring up the video from earlier. The first transmission we received.”
“Yes sir!” a little alien yelped as his fingers worked across the keyboard.
The monitor flashed a dozen times before switching to a new screen. This one was bright, and played upbeat music as a girl with brightly colored hair did inane things that made Beeble wish he was getting angrier and angrier by the second. But he wasn’t. He knew, despite how hard he tried, that this *was* cute.
He took a deep breathe, and when he looked over, Brox was dancing.
Frigging.
Dancing.
“Boogie-woogie, Beeble!” he cheered, clapping his hands as he began singing along in some cutesy language he didn’t even know. “Come on!”
Beeble took a deep breath. His feet wanted to move but he would not allow it to happen, and he dared not look back for a fear that the rest of his men would be dancing, and that he would have to slaughter all of them.
He simply hung his head and decided they needed to get away from this insane planet before they were infected any further. From what he saw of the humans, once this curse grabs you, it grabs you hard. Soon you’ll be buying pictures and clothes and books. Even pillows. They even turned *pillows* cute.
“What do they call this, Brox?”
“Anime, brother! Anime!”
Soon the entire ship was chanting *anime* along with him, and though Beeble tried to tell his pilots to get them out of there and get them out of there fast, they could not hear him, for soon *he* was chanting anime as well.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | Star log FO3-THETA
We have discovered a new solar system:
Habitable planets - 3
Habited planets - 1
Sentient life forms - >1,000,000,000; awaiting more precise information
Life form name - Earthling
Receiving transmission from away team 304:
Description of life form - AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
They are SO, FUCKING, CUTE. Sorry, sorry. I shall try and keep my composure. They have these cute wittle extensions they call legs, but they are nothing like ours, you should see them they're adorable.
They have this hair on their head that they put in cute styles: they make it long and curly and floofy and all have different colours.
I shall send a picture.
Anyway, do you wish to proceed with the enslavement of this planet?
Return message sent:
No. Do not let these beautiful creatures become slaves. That being said, I want one for myself as a pet. Colonise Mars or something, whatever possible to keep these little guys safe.
In the meantime, eliminate those strange dumb bipeds that the Earthlings say are their slavemasters and drivers. | 2017-08-20T08:22:58 | 2017-08-20T07:32:05 | 151 | 78 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | A darkness engulfs me and then I open my eyes and I'm in a cafe.
The lights are overwhelming and I'm almost deafened by the noise. The hiss and splutter of the coffee machine with it's milk throther cut into my brain. It's all too much, shadowy figures are moving around me, the clatter of cups hitting saucers, the biting down on buttery pastries.. it's all so loud... it's too much.. it's
"Are you okay?"
I realise with the mania around me I haven't noticed I'm sitting opposite a person. A guy. 50 years ago he'd be my type. Why is he sitting here? Why am I sitting here?
He has tight curls that have been styled with cheap gel so that they stand militarily upon his head. His eyes are brown and he has a square jaw. He's definitely mixed. My grandchildren have told me I shouldn't be focussing on that but why the hell am I sitting with a mixed guy. He's more white than brown so I let it be.
I glance at my hands and my chest tightens. They're not my hands. These hands are a young persons hands. The skin is taught and tanned. No veins are showing and the nails are perfectly manicured.
This is.. this is not me..
The mixed man smiles encouragingly. And I notice there's a drink in front of me. I take a sip. It's coffee with milk. But the milk tastes funny. The mixed man notices my displeasure. "I'm sorry" he says apologetically "it's oat milk.. you said you were vegan" "right" I say. What else can I say....
Things start to become clearer and I lean in "of course I just zoned out for a moment.."
"No worries! So, where do you work? Not gonna lie, I was slightly surprised to match with someone like you"
The small talk continues, the minutes tick by.
He's sweet so I let him yammer on.
"Would you like to go for a wander?"
I accept. We leave the cafe. It's grey but warm outside and we walk down the paved streets, passing shops, restaurants and other places of business.
He's still talking, he's telling me about his niece, a story about a bumblebee. I laugh out of duty.
We keep walking. We've been walking nearly an hour now. I can tell he's getting more into it. He's relaxed and his voice is becoming more animated. His hand brushes mine and I know it's a weak attempt to hold my hand. So I return the gesture. And now we're walking, holding hands, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
We come up to a bus stop and he glances up at the bus timetable
"y'know, there's a bus from here that basically goes to the end of my street"
I smile. And nod. It's the confirmation he needs. He kisses me. I return the kiss and pull his hips in to mine. I know he's surprised by the gesture, I've acted so cold the entire date, but that's how you hook them.
Back to his.
Clothes off.
Fuck.
Lie in bed together.
I scroll through my phone, showing him photos of me as a child, giving myself to him emotionally. He eats it up. They all do.
6 months later.
We're back in the cafe where we first met. It's not so loud this time. He looks better. I threw out the cheap jel. His shirt is nicer. I changed that too. You've got to make someone be better for you. His hand holds mine. There's love in his eyes. It's been 6 months of texts, phone calls, cinema trips, cooking in the kitchen, drinking wine, going on runs, kissing him, stroking his face, staring into one anothers eyes and saying 'I love you', the brushing of a hand against a thigh, secret smiles, watching dumb comedies on Netflix, more wine, meeting friends, meeting parents, going swimming, reading books and falling in love.
But now it's time.
I look him square in the face and say the words "I'm done".
There's no need for an apology.
The darkness swallows us both and before I can blink we're both where we started. Back in hell. The man in front of me is an older version of the man in the cafe. Just as I am an older version of myself. The pain on his face is visible. There are tears streaming down his cheeks.
I stare at him.
Then I turn, walk a few steps to the left to the next man. I close my eyes, his mind and his memory open for me and I let myself be pulled in.
I am the heartbreaker. | The first sentence, is meant to be read with a 1940's American radio announcer voice, while Mr. Satan will have no specified accent, as he is eternal
———————————————————————————————————
Gas fires lit the area, and he fell from a great height, almost as if he clipped through the crust of the earth and into hell. And as a large, thing came into sight, his emotions crumbled.
"I'm in hell," he thought, with just as much backing as that the sun is what it is. And as he hit the ground, he thought something: "this dude looks like that toy I saw in the trash that one time"
He was correct, this toy was a jabba the hut toy, one out of the movie Star Wars. This was Satan.
—————————————————————————————
"'tis a good day in hell," says the goose "as I have finally gotten my dream job, punishing humans for their sin"
"This was your dream-job?" Asked Mr. Satan
"Yep, and I'm gonna have so much fun," replied the goose "now, who am I punishing for their sins against God?"
"All the people who feared you, goose" replied Mr. Satan
"Why must I punish them?" Questioned the goose, "what did they do wrong, Mr. Satan?"
"I don't live by God's rules anymore but I still enforce them," replied Mr. Satan, "God's rule of "love thy neighbor""
"Ah, I suppose that makes sense." Said the goose.
"So, how are you going to punish them, goose?" Asked Mr. Satan.
"I will run at them, then I will rip their flip-flops apart" replied the goose, "then I will make them run, then run, then run some more. I will make them run untill they would die, but they will not, as we are in hell."
"That is a good and complicated plan, goose." Said Mr. Satan, "I would love to stay here and talk with you, goose, but I have some sinners I have to greet"
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Satan," thanked the goose, " now I must make humans pay for their sins" | 2020-07-10T10:13:29 | 2020-07-10T10:00:23 | 51 | 13 |
[WP] You are a 12-foot inflatable beach ball, hurtling across the beach at 40 knots like a multicolored wrecking ball. Describe the horrors you inflict upon man, woman and child during this unyielding journey of destruction and oppression as you move along the coast. | I am Chaos! I am Destruction! I am... an inflatable beach ball?
Normally, when summoned thus to the battlefield, I am armor clad and equally bedecked with armament, so that my foe might quail in terror and helpless agony. But the ritual of my summoning was right and proper, my height is within acceptable bounds, and my form is crisp, though I can sense it carries a vulnerability to being pierced or slashed. No matter: many of my previous forms have carried the same weakness, and that has never stopped me.
My summoners laugh, cheering their success. They have contributed greatly of themselves, and their breath empowers me. I see them slapping their hands together, and accept their praise as my due. This battlefield of earth and water will suit me well.
I catch the breeze, building movement. It is strange, not possessing locomotive engines of my own, but a zephyr that would do naught but sing through armor is enough to loose the grip of accursed newton. My summoners have not yet noticed, caught up in their celebration.
My first victim is... not much of one. No spray of blood, no flash of surfaced bone, but laughter.
An insult, not to be borne! I spin away and lean into the wind, outrunning my summoners, who have belatedly realized their error in not using the traditional containment circle, or really any bindings at all.
I lunge across the beaten sands, beginning to blur past colorful temporary pavilions, and my gaze alights upon my next target. I roar a battle cry, which frustratingly fails to gather any attention, and flatten my unsuspecting victim with a *doonk*.
He comes up spitting sand, humiliated. A fine beginning, but I am already past. My summoners are clearly pleased with my efforts thus far, and it would not do to disappoint them. I have a reputation to maintain.
Four flattenings later, each with increasing force, I catch another glimpse of my summoners. Their faces are growing aghast at what I have wrought, and I dance effortlessly further from their reaching fingers. Despite this unusual form, the freedom from constraint is quite refreshing.
I have grown tired of flattenings, so I turn my attention to m a pavilion, disrupting the tender ministrations of those within. I fling the feeble cloth to the wind with another voiceless battle cry as their shrieks of surprise and outrage echo behind me. The wind is pleased with my offering, and my pace redoubles.
My next victim assures me that my skill has not diminished: there is a most satisfying *crunch* as bones in his hastily interposed arm are insufficient to parry my rush. His wails of agony are the first of many, as the wind clearly shares my joy.
I am now moving faster than I ever thought possible. My summoners are mere specks in the distance, and target selection is a rapid fire process. My... skin? Armor? My containment layer has proved surprisingly resilient, and has borne countless small injuries without rupture. The only objection I can think of to this form is that i have no opportunity to slay the fallen, but the choir of suffering they become in my wake will have to be enough.
I continue accelerating. The wind and I are one.
I am Chaos. I am Destruction, no matter the form I take.
Soon, there is no time for reflection. There is only speed, and the next target. | Truly a strange Thursday it was. This time around I didn't have many senses, touch was still there though, nice to have something semi familiar. But I'm very round this time.
The ground, coarse. The air, warm breeze. And I can ever so faintly hear/feel, what are those, screams?
Am I a boulder or something? No, too light. Well maybe i- OH GOD WHAT oh I think that was water ok ok ok I'm probably at the beach then.
I think that was a crunch, oh goodness.
Reflecting on my size, apparent speed, location, and all that, I think I might be a bea-
And just as quickly as it began, it ended once again. | 2020-08-05T06:39:24 | 2020-08-05T04:51:46 | 244 | 30 |
[WP] You can read minds, the one person with powers as far as you know. One day you read a guy that can time travel. You discover that he has successfully eliminated every other powered person through lots of time jumps. He doesn't know you and you are the only one that knows what he's been doing. | 'This would be so much easier in a hundred years,' came the thought from the doctor.
Maria normally filtered out the background telepathic haze of the public space. The random bits of strong thoughts that intruded into her mind were either distinctly boring or uniquely disturbing more often than not. This was something else though. What a curious thought to have.
Maria said nothing as she dialed into the doctor's thoughts, a bright view of a street sign framed by an expensive-looking wall-to-wall window greeted her. If minds were like computers, the home was the wallpaper more often than not, burned in from long exposures. Home or work, both handy glimpses to have.
Individual brains were like radio stations she could tune to with concentration. The smarter the person was, the wider she could turn the knob and still hear them. She wasn't surprised the doctor was intelligent, but this woman blasted across near the whole register. There was still a sweet spot. She was juggling several thoughts at once. What to buy for dinner, leaning towards fish, Maria's broken leg wasn't healing fast enough, whether she should bother prescribing supplements or just recommend Maria buy them.
'This would have been an amputation back in London, before antibiotics.'
There was another one! What a curious thought to have. Was she playing a game with herself, imagining herself as a character from a TV show, maybe? Antibiotics had been around what, a hundred years? The doctor didn't seem whimsical. She wore a stern professional face as she finished her examination, looking up at Maria.
'She kind of looks like that Bright Bitch in the 2080's, she was a sweet one to see the lights go out of.'
The thought rode to her on a wave of memory, steeped in rage and pleasure too strong to fake. This wasn't pretending.
"Everything alright, doc?" Maria asked, adjusting the paper covering the bed/chair thing crinkling below her.
"It's better, but it's not healing as fast as I'd like," the doctor said cheerfully. "I'm going to write a few supplements down I want you to start today. We'll take some blood work and I'll put a note in your portal if anything comes up we don't expect."
'Can't forget to add the Fructosamine test, just in case,' the doctor thought again with that same vicious glee as she wrote on the rolling table. 'Been a while since I've had some fun.'
Maria strained, pushing herself through a deep scan. Reading beyond surface-level thoughts was exhausting and she could only manage one or two a day, but this was the time to do it.
She held the words fructosamine and fun as she slid through the neat shelves of the doctor's mind. Blurbs came to her and she dismissed them with swimmer's strokes, pushing further through the catalog of memories.
'An alternative to A1c testing,' spoke a rude-looking old man in a white coat, down to a scared young woman. Girls Just Want to Have Fun played a backdrop as Maria dug further.
A knife, a bloody stump of a hand. Assumptions Maria had about this image being part of the doctor's training ended when she saw the sofa the body was on.
'Fructosamine of 611 in a nondiabetic, another data point,' the young woman said.
She was wearing some kind of headgear that filled her vision with numbers and graphs. She stepped back to see the body laying bound. A small hand was growing from the stump. Before her eyes, the hand was reformed. 'Please,' a weak voice said. The eyes Maria saw through didn't track to the face.
'A marker of the gifted most assuredly,' came the voice of the memory. 'I will be the only one, I'm afraid.' The knife came down again and again. Blood-
"Miss Rodrigeuz?" the doctor said, pulling Maria from the memory. "You should be able to get these at your local pharmacy."
"Oh, thank you, sorry," Maria said, maintaining a straight face as she took the paper, unable to focus on reading it.
The doctor was gifted somehow, just like Maria, but was hunting down others and killing them. Whatever this bloodwork was she wanted would show Maria was too.
"I'm sorry. I don't feel well. Maybe we could do the bloodwork some other time?" Maria said, standing up on her crutches.
"No worries," the doctor said casually from the computer. "The nurse took it while you were getting checked in. We don't need more."
"Oh," Maria said, working her way through the doorway. "How long till the results are back?"
"Probably tomorrow," she replied.
...
Maria hit the brakes, almost squeaking the wheels of the uncomfortable Civic. She squinted at the sign through the midnight fog, imagining what it would look like from another angle. This was the place. She pulled the gas can over the mess of the hot wired cables. It hurt to walk, but she couldn't risk being spotted with crutches. As she worked around the huge house pouring the liquid, she thanked the peacefully sleeping doctor for the tip about fructosamine. It might come in handy for finding more of them. She would be the only one, after all.
&#x200B;
/r/surinical | Sam frantically locked the front door, fastened the deadbolt and leaned with his back against the door. Could he have read me back? It didn't seem possible but the way he looked at him and smiled made Sam shudder
"Why the fuck did I watch that damn YouTube video? I don't even care about time travel! I was barely even awake! " Sam shouted while wiping the sweat from his slick forehead.
Sam looked out the peephole to see if he was being followed but the front yard was empty. He sighed slumping down now sitting with his back against the door. He was shaking. The adrenaline flowed through him like a volcanic current.
The thoughts he had seen in the mans head were disturbing. Countless murders, every single one to protect the same secret of time travel. At first in the memories the man seemed frightened. Killing out of fear and necessity. As the time went on his remorse dulled and he began to enjoy the act. It was like a type of hunt, where the man was the hunter, tracking his prey through the forest of time.
The man lived for it, Sam could tell from the enthusiasm of the individual killings and the thrill leading up to them. It had become his sole purpose. Nothing else had meaning once he had made time insignificant.
But Sam was safe. He ran and hid like he had done countless times before when he felt like someone had noticed his gift. The man would just brush it off like a bad breeze and forget about it. He would leave him alone like everyone else.
Sam sat up screamed aloud "IF ITS SUCH A BIG SECRET, WHY WAS IT SIMPLE ENOUGH TO EXPLAIN IN 3 MINUTES!?"
He sat on the floor with his sweat soaked clothes and cried. He could relax, he would be ok, it was just like seeing into every other persons thoughts and nothing to worry about.
Sam stood up and walked to the washroom and turned on the faucet. The warm water mixed with the sweat and burned his eyes as he cleaned his face. He looked into the mirror, his vision blurry and stinging from the salt, and there was a man directly behind him. He was smiling and held a small blade that glinted in the bright washroom light.
"Hello Sam. Times up." the man said as the blade came down repeatedly coloring the white bathroom tiles with a pink mist.
The only other living person who knew the secret of time travel was dead. | 2021-05-08T19:02:45 | 2021-05-08T17:25:15 | 321 | 56 |
[WP] Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse. | Honestly, my life has been both a blessing and a curse since I first found out that I could hear what others truly meant. At first I thought it was just self-doubt, or some sort of sick, self-deprecating inner monologue, but then I met my first girlfriend.
"Hey, Sarah, I was wondering..." I trailed off, searching for words that would make this girl, whom I'd been admiring from afar for months, like me.
"Hey! What's up?" Is what she said, but in my head rang one of the nicest things I'd ever heard.
In my head, Sarah said "Its Nick, he's cute, I like the books he reads I wonder if he's going to ask me out? Oh I hope so, that would be great!"
At a loss for words I stood there dumbly for a moment before catching myself and blurting out, "Would you like to get some coffee or something, or, uuh, may- maybe go on a picnic or something?"
"That sounds like fun, how does Saturday at seven sound to you?" She asked, all the while yelling in my head with joy, "Yes! He likes me, this shy, interesting guy likes me!"
Happy for the first time in what seemed like years, I said that Saturday was great for me, and walked off after getting her phone number.
For the next few days, the voices seemed to quiet down some, although sometimes I'd hear a passing "Why does he seem so happy?" or "Fuck that kid, hes annoying as shit." but I'd gotten used to them by this point.
By the time Saturday rolled around, I could hardly contain my feelings, both of anxiety about whether or not Sarah had changed her mind and elation that I had finally found a girl that liked me.
The date went great, and by the time it was over, I had learned her life story, and a lot about what interested her, like her favorite music and books. All the while her true voice had completely reassured her original feelings for me and my anxiety was all but gone, and for the next nine months and twelve days, all I heard from her were wonderful thoughts and great meanings. Well, except for that time of the month, but that was to be expected, and usually afterwards she was apologetic which was nice. Then I heard the first crack. One day, as I was leaving her apartment, I said "I love you, I'll call you later, bye!" and under the usual "I love you too, bye!" a single sentence drowned everything else out.
"Why the fuck is he always so cheery?"
Thrown off, I almost answered her question, before remembering that only I heard it. So I stayed quiet, not wanting to start a fight, and not wanting her to raise more questions.
That night I felt the worst I had in years, I tried reassuring myself by saying that she was probably just on her period or something, and I had nothing to worry about, but for some reason this comment just felt different than what I was used to.
The next day I heard much the same,
"Hows it going?" She'd ask.
"Please say you're busy so I can make an excuse to leave." I'd hear.
"I'll see you tomorrow, love you!" She'd say.
"Ugh, go away, and please don't incessantly text me tonight." I'd hear.
"You're always so helpful, that's why I love you!" She'd comment.
"Why does he always know whats wrong, it annoys the hell out of me" I'd hear.
Over the coming weeks I heard many of these double meanings, and slowly I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I still wasn't ready the day her words and their true meaning finally said the same thing again.
"Its over, we're done. Here's all of your things from my apartment and the thirty bucks I owe you." She said simultaneously
All I could squeak out was a feeble, "Okay, I'm sorry. Maybe we can still be friends?"
Behind her true meaning I barely heard her say "Yeah, maybe." But inside I heard her say,
"Not going to happen, creep. I wonder what Andy is doing tomorrow?"
And with that, I left.
| "I'm genuinely curious - what's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"
"I shouldn't have to tell you."
"That doesn't help me, or the situation."
"I'm not in a helping mood at the moment, given the circumstances."
"I'm still not sure what the circumstances are. And, unfortunately, despite how you'd like things to be, the fact is that they're not that way. It'd be better for both of us if you'd just be more open and honest."
"The fact that you're unaware of what's wrong reveals a glimpse of the fact that we're not perfectly in tune with each other. While, logistically, I understand that it'd be impossible to attain such resonance, on an emotional level I've never been able to accept that perfection is impossible."
"As I do not think in the same way, I can't truly relate to that."
"It's okay if you don't relate with it, but it is something you need to keep in mind when events like this occur."
"If I'm understanding you, and please correct me if I am not, then it doesn't really matter what the problem is?"
"To a degree, and I appreciate your willingness to adjust your point of view. And, in an effort to respect your process, which I've come to understand involves fixing discrete problems as a method of alleviating the associated negativity, I'll try to be more open about the specific issue that's bothering me."
*God damn,* I thought to myself. *I'm, like, the best relationship counselor in the world.* | 2014-10-14T16:15:49 | 2014-10-14T10:35:56 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The reason we haven't had contact from any aliens is that there is a supreme alien race that secures and contains all other races like SCPs. And Humans are keter class. | **Item \#:** SCP-1961
**Object Class:** ~~Euclid~~ Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** ~~Close monitoring and a replenished space debris field posted between the 4th and 5th celestial body of their solar system.~~ ~~Induced fear of the cosmos due to repeated abductions and liberal use of class A amnestics.~~ ~~introduction of SCP-090 to the local system~~ Due to their waves of extreme technological expansion and almost pathological need to turn anything invented into some form of weapon as well (Dr. ██ believes this is done either for curiosity's sake or as a show of strength) they have been reclassified as Keter. Further research is needed to create a valid containment. It seems SCP-1961 flourishes under challenge, every attempt to containe has lead to worse breech of prior containment. SCP-1961 has reached 2865 revolutions around their star. As such, they have successfully colonized every inhabitable region in SCP-1961's system. Observations are to be made from the behind the dwarf celestial body at the end of the system, this area has been safe thusfar, but must be scanned prior to warp in for possible SCP-1961 activity.
**Description:** Specimens of SCP-1961 vary greatly in physical features. Ranging from small class to large class creatures, width also varies, this is due to stores of energy under the skin or increased musculature. They are sapient, capable of ~~basic~~ ~~advanced~~ unknown level communication, and enjoys leisure activities ~~generally sedentary activities~~ Enjoyment of activities varies between instances of SCP-1961. Testing carried out during containment instance 2 has shown them to be extremely curious and social, as well as prone to feral violence when sufficient provocation is supplied.
**Addendum 1961-A:** Note from Dr. ██
*Due to the danger of security breaches, no more testing or implementation of attempted confinement is allowed. The most recent recorded obersvationof SCP-1961 has proven that they have now reached a tech level of 9, sufficient to detect our cloaking, though imprecise. SCP-1961 responded with a transmission blast in a wide cone directed at us. Message translation is listed in Addendum 1961-A2.*
**Addendum 1961-A2:** "We know your there. And we know you're the reason for the practically unlimited amount of metals and ice from the rock belt. Thanks for that I guess. We also know about the big [TRANSLATION UNAVAILABLE] wormhole you opened up past [TRANSLATION UNAVAILABLE] and we THINK you're the reason for the abductions in the past. Reveal yourselves and your intentions or we will fire upon you."
**Addendum 1961-B:** Note from Dr. ██ *Thoughts on releasing SCP-0001 have been considered. But I disagree. I believe the Keter classification is warranted but we can utilize SCP-1961 as an asset for further containment. They prove to be intelligent and social. Though short tempered. I do not propose to allow them free roam of the cosmos but merely a more trust oriented relationship instead of fear and restriction. They can be used to contain more dangerous SCPs and satiated at the same time. Maybe I was wrong before.*
**Addendum 1961-C:** Note from Foudation head: *Following the loss of Dr. ██s observation vessel SCP-1961 is to remaine under restrictive observation, to be done using long range scans, and Nova payloads to be armed and ready to be sent to SCP-1961s star system on a moments notice. Extreme technological growth in all areas has been observed from long range scanners. It is assumed Dr. ██s vessel was apprehended and has successfully been reverse engineered.*
**Addendum 1961-C2:** Note from Foudation head: *The whole star system has disappeared. SCP-1961 Detected the Nova payloads far before they should have. We thought they would attempt to destroy them. But they simply just vanished. Current location unknown. Tech level unknown. Danger level unknown. Pending approval of reclassification to Apollyon.*
| Tick...tick...tick
Slowly, the population counter continued to increase. In seven years, they had already doubled and neared one million. The grey being watching the counter could only feel disappointment. If this continued, another purge would be required.
The door behind the being opened, and another grey humanoid walked in.
"Commander, we may have to act soon. Already these apes plan to explore the stars again." the newcomer said, eyeing the counter.
The command nodded.
"It's a shame our agent on the planet was neutralized. He was doing so well in containing the humans with his creations. At least our backup plan is still in place." the commander said, turning to face his subordinate.
Tick...tick...tick...
And with that, the counter hit its mark of one million.
"It is time. Activate the Mugann."
Nodding, the subordinate pressed a button on the display pad. Immediately the virtual weapon Mugann flashed into existence.
"Destroy their main gathering hub to put them back in their place. The hub they call Kamina City", The commander said, turning around and heading for the door.
The Mugann will take care of this problem for sure. And if it failed, they still had other weapons they could use. These humans, these spiral powered menaces can never be allowed to win. | 2019-02-25T19:04:47 | 2019-02-25T16:21:08 | 138 | 47 |
[WP] You are eight years old when you fall into a coma. 70 years later, you unexpectedly awaken, a child in an elderly person’s body. Your parents are dead, and your relatives are nowhere to be found. Your only friend is the nurse who has watched over you for the last 30 years of her career. | I opened my eyes – the light, it was too bright. Mommy told me to never look at the sun; she said I would go blind. I tried to move my arms to block the light, but they aren’t moving. I don’t understand – I can’t lift them. Where did my arms go?
“Reginald? Oh my god – you’re awake.” The lady said. She had a sweet voice, like mommy. I heard a door open and close. Where am i?
“Mommy? Where are you?” I asked. My voice was low, lower than even daddy.
I wonder if I have a cold. When daddy gets a cold, his voice gets low; he sounds just like a monster. I tried to move my legs, but they won’t work either. I’m stuck here, I think I feel something inside me? What is it? I’m scared. I try to open my eyes again, slowly now, but the light is still too bright. I start crying.
“Mommy? Daddy? What’s going on?”
“Reginald. Oh, you poor man. I’m so, so sorry.” The lady says. I like her voice, it sounds nice. “Do you know where you are?”
“No. Where’s mommy? Where’s my sister?” I said.
I remember we were playing at the park – I was running towards the blue slide. I felt something funny in my head; I saw the tops of the trees. They were green and red and yellow – so pretty.
“Reginald – you’re in a hospital. You were sick for a very long time.”
“I’m in a hospital? Am I sick anymore?”
“No, you’re not sick anymore. Can you open your eyes? I’ll tell you all about mommy and daddy and your sister.”
“I can’t, my eyes hurt too much” I said, crying. I didn’t want to talk to the nice lady anymore, I just wanted to go home.
I felt the lights go out, and the nice lady came back. She put her hand on my forehead, covering my eyes.
“Ok, now open your eyes slowly. If it hurts too much tell me.” She said.
I opened my eyes. She had her hands covering them, like when I played peekaboo. Slowly she lifter her hands I could see the bed. I was in the doctors, and a bunch of tubes were plugged into me. There were scary lights that beeped and flashed. I looked so big now, and so old. I started crying again.
“It’s going to be ok. I promise. Would you like to see mommy and daddy now?” the nice lady asked.
I nodded. She went to the wall and pressed a button. The wall lit up with light. In wonder I stared at the light. It was a picture, but in colors! And it was moving. I could hear them talking – mommy and daddy and sister – and another boy I did not recognize.
“Reggie. Hi sweetheart. If you are watching this – Your daddy and I may be a long way away, and your sister might be all grown up now, and this - this is your baby brother.” Mommy said. The boy waved and smiled. He seemed nice, I like him. Maybe he will want to play cars with me. Mommy seemed sad, she was crying. Daddy seemed sad too, but he never cried.
“Hey there sport. I know you’re going to grow up to be a big, strong man someday. I want you to know that I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much.” Daddy said.
My sister spoke next. “Hi Reggie. Mommy and Daddy say you’re going to be asleep for a long time. I’m mad because when you’re asleep you get to dream, and you get to dream for a long time. I hope you have good dreams, like the one where you were playing with the little duckies at Grandpapas. You told me that was your favorite.”
The moving picture stopped, and the nice lady turned off the wall.
“Reggie, that was over 60 years ago. You’re all grown up now.” The nice lady said.
I tried to shake my head no, but my head wouldn’t work. The nice lady came over and gave me a hug. I could feel she was warm, and it made me feel a bit better.
“Can I ready you a story? Your mommy left this for you; she said you liked stories.”
She held up a book. It was the big red book.
“Digging dog. Read digging dog.” I said excited. The digging dog story was my favorite.
“Ok, sweetie – digging dog it is.” The nice lady said. she looked sad; she had tears in her eyes too. She looked a lot like how mommy looked on the video. I wonder why they were so sad?
The nurse started reading, “I was the saddest dog you could ever see…”
&#x200B;
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | It's stupid how you wake up
music is playing somewhere and you remember
that it's the ice cream truck
and your eyes
flutter open and see a white room
a cascade of vague colors and
your eyes are so tired
your tongue is so stiff
and your throat is so dry
you look around slowly and your neck aches and
you recognize the white walls of the
hospital
and you must be sick.
there's a woman at the corner and she's reading a book and she starts as
who is she
she looks like your aunt but
what did you aunt even look like the memory flies away like
a fish through a wide net and all that leaves is
vanilla
"Aunt?" you ask her and her eyes widen and she
drops the book on the ground and it hits the floor with a crash because she's surprised and you must be sick because you try to
move your hands to hide from the noise and
the hands aren't yours, they look like
what your grandfather looked like when he was gone and
there was a funeral wasn't there you don't
remember fishes in a net at your grandfather's house, lit up like
christmas with police lights after
a long trip away
and your father so red faced and
cradling a bottle like a child and
you can hear the ice cream truck but she's
not your aunt, no, your aunt is
a nurse and
"Can..." you trail off with your voice broken a thousand times "Ice cream?" You ask.
The woman pauses, stares at you for a long moment. She's older than your mother and she
stares back at you and then slowly nods her eyes full of tears hot and running and strange
"Yes," she says "we can get ice cream."
and it's hot on your tongue and the memories swim like
fishes through the net your grandfather had
like your mother swam away and left you
with your father and you
don't remember your aunt but you taste
vanilla
you must be sick to be in the hospital with hands that aren't yours and a woman crying at your bed
-----
https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ | 2018-11-03T11:03:11 | 2018-11-03T08:50:10 | 4,446 | 1,213 |
[WP] The year is 2567, you're a conspiracy theorist trying to prove that Humans once lived on Earth. | The red soil filtered through his gloved fingers as Danny gently ran his hand through the ground. His hand came to a stop as it bumped against the barrier. He had reached the end of the bubble. The end of the world. He looked outside the transparent barrier. Nothing but more rocks and dust. Truly a stunning planet, Mars was.
Danny gazed up at the afternoon sky. As red as always at this time of the day. He wondered if it would look the way it did without the giant transparent dome in the way. But he knew he wouldn't get the chance. Life could not survive outside the bubble. That was the way it had been since the dawn of civilization. All three hundred years. At least...that was what he had been told. What everyone had been told.
‘Citizen!’ someone called behind him. Danny turned to see an armoured guard pointing a stun rifle at him. ‘You are in a restricted area. There is toxic material in the vicinity. Please leave immediately.’
Danny groaned. It was too soon. He had barely begun collecting for his research. He put his hands in his coat pockets in surrender as more armoured guards arrived.
‘Sorry sorry, just wanted to get a better look at the scenery.’ He said, sounding as innocent as possible.
The guards looked at him like he was a nut-case, as most people did. A better look at rocks and soil? But he showed no resistance so they let him off with a warning. Still, their response time was impeccable. If only they reacted to actual crimes with such haste.
It took about fifteen minutes in the hovertaxi to reach his home. Normally he would hang his coat, but today he needed it in the lab. He entered the basement floor of his home. ‘the lab’ was nothing more than a bunch of computers, test tubes and microscopes. It was the best he could manage given that he was an artisan-class citizen. Still, it was decent enough to conduct experiments. Much better than anything a serf-class or slave-class could acquire.
He took out the specimen of the day from his coat, carful not to make any contact with his bare skin. Red soil. Retrieved from the end of the bubble. If Rochelle was right, it held the key to everything. He let out a deep sigh at the thought. He shouldn’t have thought of her. He needed the focus. The more time he wasted, the more time his wife spent in the hands of that pig.
He analyzed the soil he collected, running the test according to the steps Rochelle had left him. She had always been the better scientist. The Lord-class should have been bestowed upon someone as beautiful and brilliant as her. Why was authority and wealth given to those through inheritance? As if the disgusting Lord Abbor who took whatever he wanted from the people deserved any of it. Danny couldn’t stand how the order of things worked. None of it made sense.
Danny tried to cleanse the thoughts of Lord Abbor laying his hands on Rochelle. Hopefully, he hadn’t yet. He had two hundred other women to get through after all. All acquired on the divine authority of him descending from ‘the one.’ The original human.
He squeezed a drop of solution onto the soil. He waited with bated breath, hoping for something to change.
Nothing happened.
Danny sighed. He had hoped that the soil nearest to the outside would have some clues. But it was a fool’s endeavour. He needed soil from outside the bubble. Soil that he could not acquire.
The theory was that the soil was different. The soil within the bubble was too good for crop growth. A toxic planet such as Mars should not be able to produce something so fertile. There was something off about the science presented to them. That the soil was not native to the planet. It had to have come from elsewhere.
But perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps the claim that ‘the one’ was the first human was true after all. There had not been an alien civilization prior to their martian history. Without such evidence, Danny could not disprove the divine authority of the Lord-class.
He stood up in frustration and walked outside his house. An evening blue sky greeted him. The hours had felt like minutes when he had performed the tests. Flagging down a hovertaxi for the third time today, he asked to be driven towards the outskirts of the city. He was headed for the end of the bubble once more.
It was the same scene as he last left it. He wondered how long the guards would take to come this time. But Danny did not care anymore. There was no plan this time.
He placed his hand on the bubble, letting it slide along as he walked aimlessly around the circumference.
But as he continued he felt something that made him pause. Something that did not belong on the perfectly smooth surface of the bubble. A crack. It was small and difficult to notice, but the blemish was real. Had there been an attempt to break out of the bubble before? Danny had heard of no such incident. But then again, he didn’t believe what he heard these days.
‘Citizen!’
It was a single armoured guard. ‘What are you doing in this restricted area?’
Danny turned to the guard.
‘What am I doing? I was just thinking. Don’t you find it difficult to think our civilization began in this place?
The guard didn’t answer, but merely raised his rifle.
‘Have you ever heard of Earth?’
‘Of course.’ The guard said. ‘The green and blue planet. We can see it from our telescopes.’
‘Huh, how about that.’ Danny said. ‘They do educate you guards after all. Somewhat at least. But don’t you think it’s strange? It has such ripe conditions for life. And yet here we are, trapped on this toxic planet. Constrained by the atmosphere outside the bubble. That’s what they tell us anyway. But if we could prove that wrong. Perhaps all this class madness could end. No more divine lords. No more slaves.’
‘Indeed the air outside is toxic. That is why we restrict this area. To prevent hazards from coming in. The divine have spoken so. And the divine’s word is law. ’ The guard inched closer, levelling his rifle at Danny’s face. ‘That is why you will leave this area *now*, citizen.’
‘You are correct. I am leaving.’ Danny grabbed the rifle, shifting the barrel away from his face while he tried to pry it from the guards hands. The guard wrestled back, but he was clearly not used to the resistance. Danny won the wrestle. He swung the butt of the rifle at the guards chin, knocking him cleanly to the ground. The guard did not move.
Danny smashed the rifle over the crack. The crack grew. He did not know what he was doing. Maybe bludgeoning his way to a suffocating death. But he did not care. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. All he knew was that he did not want to spend a single second more in this bubble.
He could hear hovercars and sirens in the distance. Back up was coming. Danny bashed the crack over and over, until his efforts were rewarded. The crack grew to the size of a hovertruck. Danny stepped back and covered his face with his coat as it shattered. He braced himself for the rush of unbreathable air that would follow.
But he felt nothing. There was no wind. He lowered his coat to get a proper look. It was a sight that looked completely wrong. Instead of rocks and soil, was the inside of a room. Meanwhile, the outside of the bubble showed a different environment. One that he was used to seeing. Could it be a projection?
He ran into the room. It was larger than he imagined. It was a massive hangar, with not a soul in sight. In the centre was a vehicle which he had not seen before. Unlike the hovercars, this one had wings and was almost fifteen times its size.
Danny rushed in, trying to figure out the controls with the little time he had left before the guards arrived. Did they even know about this place?
A voice started from the ship as it seemed to power on by itself.
‘Human presence detected. Autopilot mode activated. Select course please.’
There were only two options on screen, and Danny had already lived his whole life on the first one.
‘I’ll be back for you Rochelle,’ Danny said to himself as he chose the course for Earth.
&#x200B;
r/IZicle | "We will cover one century each month this semester, and there will be an exam at the end of each unit. Any questions?" the teacher droned on. Half the class was sleeping anyway - James knew this was going to be a snoozer of a course. Wanting to stir up some trouble, he asked the question everyone was thinking:
"Mrs. Anderson, what happened in the sixth century back?"
To this, the teacher pondered for a moment before very calmly replying, "Our curriculum does not address prehistory, so I will not be answering any questions on the topic this semester. Feel free to do your own research in the school library, if you are interested in the topic." Her face seemed somewhat menacing after this last statement, but James shrugged it off as a normal response to an annoying question.
Admitting defeat, he went back to mindlessly ignoring the teacher talk about the syllabus and the class rules. His next class was Chemistry, which he hoped would be far more interesting. Seniors had told him that the teacher was strict but fun, and offered the most coveted of treasures to students everywhere: *Extra credit.* He hoped the rumors were true, at least.
A few minutes later, a bell rang to dismiss the class. He heard the electronic door unlock, and the group began filing out of the classroom as quickly as possible. An electronic turnstile counted the number of students who left the classroom - all of these security measures had been put in place only a few years prior, as part of some new campaign to enforce mandatory education. Most students and teachers thought the security measures only made the school feel more like a prison, and were not beneficial to students.
Despite what Mrs. Anderson had said, he found himself continually thinking back to the question: What *did* happen before year 0? Why was it not taught in any history classes? Contrary to his usual school behavior, he found himself entering the library during the break between classes, possibly for the first time. After passing another turnstile to enter the room, he went to one of the many computer panels along the wall. He checked the clock: Three minutes before the next class.
Quickly, he typed *history* into the search field, and waited. Moments later, thousands of results appeared: *History of the Third Century, Illustrated History of the Fourth Century,* and many more like it: All focusing on one or more of the five centuries. Running out of time, he quickly modified the search: *Prehistory*. Unfortunately, he was met with only a red box, with red text inside: \[UNAUTHORIZED\].
He had seen this before, when one of his friends had mischievously tried to open a pornographic site on his screen - Despite the warning message, he had still received eight hours for that. Quickly looking around to make sure nobody noticed, he shut down the console and inconspicuously left the library. Everyone knew that the minimum penalty for trying to access an unauthorized site was two hours - he hoped they didn't have a record of which computer he had used.
Moments later, he darted into Chemistry, only a few seconds before the bell rang and he heard the electronic lock latch closed again. He knew there was something being hidden from society - Something dark in their past must have happened right before year zero. He ended up completely ignoring his chemistry class, thinking instead about The Question, as he now referred to it in his mind.
He was jolted back to reality by a voice over the intercom: "Student ID 100039805, please report to the administrative offices." He recognized this as the number he had been assigned at the beginning of last year. Quickly, he packed up his notes, fingerprint scanned out of the room, and headed down towards the office. He figured someone had seen his query, and he'd probably receive two hours - a relative slap on the wrist.
After another scan to get in to the office, and another turnstile, he entered the administration office. A strangely cheerful poster hung on the wall: Believe and You Will Achieve, it read, with some sort of airplane in the background. It was unlike any airplane he had seen before. It had short, triangular wings and was strapped to what appeared to be a series of huge rockets: Two white, and one orange. He made a mental note to ask about it later.
"Are you aware of how serious this is?" the principal asked him, after he entered his office.
"What is this about?"
"I think you know what this is about."
He tried to play dumb, saying "Was I not paying enough attention in Chemistry?"
"We have camera records of you entering the library at 13:25, and shortly after that we received an unauthorized query," the principal said, while typing something into his computer. A moment later, he continued: "Prehistory."
"So what about it? I was curious because my teacher wouldn't answer me when I asked about it."
"Attempted acquisition of class-A restricted information is very serious, James.", the principal lectured, as he printed out a series of papers from his computer. Looking over at the papers, James noticed that they appeared to be some sort of official document.
"I'm going to need you to sign here," the principal then said, giving him one of the forms and a pen.
"What is this? And why should I sign it?"
The principal ignored his questions and dialed a number on the phone. In a very friendly voice, he answered: "Hello? Is this James's mother? Okay. Sorry about the sudden call, James is down in my office with me. He was brought here for a major infraction, and I wanted to call to ask about which doctor your family uses. I don't think the programming took hold."
*To be continued...* | 2021-06-19T08:42:59 | 2021-06-19T06:34:48 | 146 | 105 |
[WP] You're a renowned author who's still going to school. Annoyingly, your English teacher is reading way too deeply into your books. | You have got to be kidding me.
&#x200B;
I slowly scan the room, gazing at the desks of my friends and hoping they don't study the cover of the book Mrs. Dean is handing out. The worst possible outcome right now is them recognizing the doodles from my notebooks. They'd never let me hear the end of it if they found out I wrote *books* for fun. As the hardcover first-run copy of *Jacksonville High* hits my desk, my stomach turns. This had hardly hit store shelves, much less the 12th grade English classrooms of an underfunded school out in the sticks. Mrs. Dean must have cleaned out every Walmart this side of Delaware to get this many copies.
&#x200B;
"Alright, guys. To wrap up the Postmodern unit, we're going to be studying this brand new book from *Davinci*." Mrs. Dean says, striding to the front of the room and standing behind her lectern. "A full book report is expected by the time the semester ends, 2000 words and properly MLA formatted. Rubrics are by the door, you can take one on your way out."
&#x200B;
"Mrs. Dean, isn't that the author who refuses to identify themself that's been viral lately?" Serena raises her hand and asks. She's a bookworm and wicked smart, so she's always plugged into the online braniac scene. I twirl my pencil in my fingers. I'm nervous. If anyone could sniff me out, I'd bet money it's Serena.
&#x200B;
"Yes! For the rest of you not initiated, *Davinci* is a mystery author that's been critically acclaimed and celebrated for their exemplary descriptive ability, wonderful world building, and humanistic characterization." Mrs. Dean's eyes twinkle with every new praise she heaps on me. It's suffocating. She turns to the whiteboard and starts writing the chapter list, with dates next to them. "These are the due dates for chapter analysis. We're doing this study more freeform, so we won't be reading aloud for this book. I want to hear every conclusion, prediction, and intrigue you have as you're reading."
&#x200B;
I never wanted this scenario, for what it's worth. Being a mystery author is more lame than you'd think. Constant non-disclosure agreements to keep your team quiet, 4 different copy editors to remove any references that can be used to triangulate you, internet security out the wazoo to keep metadata divers from finding some geotag on a cover art you posted. It's a lot. I swear the clock is ticking slower than it was before.
&#x200B;
"Dude, this looks like it blows. Who wants to read about...." Benny, my friend, peers at the back cover's synopsis as if unable to make out the words. From my angle with the window glare on the shiny cover sleeve, he looks like an old man hunched over a cellphone. I have to stifle a laugh. "A teenager photographing abandoned buildings?"
&#x200B;
"Well, Mr. Erikson, enough people wanted to read it that it's sold in Walmart of all places." Called it. "And from what I hear, this book is a brilliant description of slowing down and taking in the small moments, something it seems you need a bit more practice at." Mrs. Dean says with a wink. She's poking fun at him, something she does often. Most students like her because she's so much more lively than the rest of the teachers, but it seems like Benny didn't find the humor this time, because he just huffed and reclined in his chair.
&#x200B;
Wait. What was that?
&#x200B;
"...brilliant description of slowing down and taking in the small moments." That's what she said, right? I rack my brain. Who would get *that* out of the book? I look confusedly at the cover. It's a fantasy novel about traveling through time with a Polaroid camera, just as I'd wrote it. I read the back synopsis and nope, it's still the same book. Where did she get that idea from? I lifted the book inspiration from eavesdropping on a couple of the theater kids. There's no overarching meaning here, it's just a regular ol' fantasy novel.
&#x200B;
Serena raises her hand. Thank God, she'll probably get it sorted straight. "Mrs. Dean, I've also heard that it's a poignant criticism of foreign policy and how we've gone astray with bogging down the immigration system. How if we could just go back, we could fix modern-day America's problems!" Welp. I'm doomed. They're about to spend a whole unit overanalyzing a book I put out because I was *bored* as if it was some sort of statement piece.
&#x200B;
"...huh?" I say, dumbfounded in my seat.
&#x200B;
"Mr. Chambers, would you like to add something?" Mrs. Dean looks at me inquisitively. Great, now how do I get myself out of this one? I slink down into my chair.
&#x200B;
"No, ma'am. Please continue." I croak out. God I can't wait until this class ends. | Sooooo... I became a best seller author at 14 years old, idk I'm good at writing I've been doing it since I could write. Surprisingly that hasn't made me a celebrity in my school at any point, guess it's because the only people that actually read books except me and the teachers are what people would call "nerds" but that's not the point, the point is that my writing has recently started being used in our school books.
That started like 2 years ago and now that I'm a senior high school student we are driving into some more "complex" literature and I was excited, because I thought we would be done with my writing, until a few weeks ago.
We started a new book, my book called "The ashes of knights" good little old medieval adventure fantasy, not something deep just a knight that lost his clan to magic users trying to get revenge by killing all magic users in the world but realizing that not all of them are bad because he fell in love with a witch. Good old love trope, big fights and a few twists here and there, spoiler warning: the end is our hero taking revenge for his dead knights by using the magic passed over from his dead love.
Well fuck me cause for some reason the teacher has made everything I've wrote into this book to an elaborate and as she calls it "beautiful" analogy for life and love and struggle of the normal man against the tyranny of the upper class and how women have to get empowerd and it goes on and on and on... I'm not saying that those messages are necessarily bad but... I didn't write that, not purposely at least, I just tried to write a fun and emotional experience for everyone. It's not my fault that using magic would make you most probably rich if you were a bad person, neither is it my problem that I like making a variety of characters so that my readers can relate. Woooo I'm so "bold" for making a female character have muscles and be strong, no fuckhead I have a crush on leanbeefpatty da fuck you mean I made it to empower women.
The worst part is that I can't say it wasn't purposely, it would make me look really bad in her eyes and probably most of my classmates eyes. I want an out and I'm trying to make her stop reading my stuff in the class just so it's "fair" homework wise because "I know what I've written", instead she told my I don't need to do homework for her class anymore (W) but instead I'll be giving tips to my classmates (L), the same classmates that haven't read a book in their life and the only thing they do is waste their day on the internet writing stupid shit in the comments of people also saying stupid shit.
I want out RIGHT NOW but I think I'm even going deeper. | 2022-12-02T14:24:05 | 2022-12-02T12:24:49 | 64 | 10 |
[WP] You are a master of incredibly minor curses. Things such as people's noses always being slightly stuffy, permanent hangnails, your pens always running out of ink, anything minor but noticeable. You're abilities are unknown to the rest of the world, and your pettiness is unrivaled. | It's not the most glamorous power. I mean, even my alter ego name is lame. By day, I am Ileria McKracken, and by night I'm the Mistress of Pettifogging. I mean, half the time I have to explain that yes, my alter ego name is in the dictionary, and yes it's a real word, no I didn't make it up!! Google it for Christ's sake!!! May your next week be filled with broken i keys and flat tires in the morning!
Ok sorry, it's just really annoying to have to explain to every hero and villain that, no, I didn't get to pick my name since my powers aren't flashy enough. It was assigned to me some paper pusher by the same registries we all have to report to: The Secret Society of Ability and Bureau of Magic, Underworld, and Defenders or SSABMUD.
I'm not really a hero or a villain. My power is limited to petty annoyances, very minor curses if you will. Spilled coffee on shirts, tripping over rugs, sudden hiccups, flat tires. Heck, I didn't even rate a costume. You better believe the clerk who made that decision had a lot of leaky pens for the next month.
I never get invited to any of the good parties anymore either. Clark Kent kept stepping on my feet trying to waltz. He refused to apologise, so his cape kept getting caught in doorways for week. It's not my fault he doesn't wear anything under his super suit. The Joker cut me off in the buffet line. His spray nozzles kept getting clogged. I feel like I saved Gotham, but that damn Bat took the credit.
On a plus note, my powers are considered so minor that they aren't even tracked, and most of the time, it's really hard to prove I did anything at all. It's not like they cause a disturbance in the Aether or anything, so no one knows if it's just bad luck or me.
For example, I went on a date with someone I met on Match.com. You know the story, I'm sure. You show up, they look nothing like their profile picture and proceed to stare at your chest the whole night, never let you get a word in edgewise, and expect you to pay because they are sooooo awesome. I'm all about equality, but I'm not paying for some sleaze bag's dinner. Anyway, he kept trying to grope me, and asked to go back to my place because his parents didn't allow him to have women over (he was 54 btw, not 34 like he said). I was like, ew, no. He tried to follow me home, but wouldn't you know it, the dust in the city is just terrible and he kept sneezing. It's not my fault he slammed into a light pole on one particular large sneeze. His next week wasn't any better let me tell you.
I might not have the biggest and baddest of powers, but I can still make your life miserable, and that, I think, is the best power of all. Remember that I'm out there, somewhere, the next time you yell at someone in traffic or cut the line for the bathroom. Be polite, and you have nothing to fear from me. Be rude and I will annoy your week! I am the Mistress of Pettifogging! Tremble before my pettiness!! | [Poem]
Let their milk be old and chunky,
Let their towels not be dry
Let their stutter, Let them stumble
And be always dead inside
Let them always lose their keys
And be always out of place
Let every time a car passes by
Mud splashes in their face
Let their socks be always damp
Let their alarms be really loud
Let their favorite pictures never save
Not even to the cloud
Let the nosy neighbors bug them
Let their cats ignore their food
Let the dog rip up the couch
Let this curse be EVER CRUDE
As the curse set on the horizen
All her enemies feared the worst
For they all were now afflicted
With the inconvenient curse | 2019-08-05T05:49:20 | 2019-08-05T05:06:24 | 102 | 41 |
[WP] A medieval alchemist travels through time to now, though he had only had 20 minutes here, he has an interesting story to tell his king. | "Where is my magician?!" the King roared, thumping his goblet against the arm rest of the thrones. "I asked for news of the future, and I hear tell he has returned! Bring him forth!"
From the very back of the room, there was a stir among the guests. Two guards stepped forward, dragging the robed man into the center of the main hall. Whispers from the spectators surrounded the poor man cowering from the withering gaze of the King.
"Almantir, my alchemist." The man's lips quivered and managed to form a nervous smile, and he remembered to bow just in time. "I'm told you have had a vision of the future," the King continued. His voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was an icy, threatening undertone. Almantir nodded in response.
"Well?" the King demanded, "What did you learn?"
A nervous bark of laughter escaped from the alchemist's lips, and he shuffled through his robe for some papers. "So many strange wonders, my King!" He looked at his notes. "I was taken to a great city, far larger than even Paris, Rome, or Constantinople! They called it 'New York," my liege."
A buzz arose from the crowd. They were certainly all familiar with York, but it was no mighty city. What could have changed?
"The streets are filled with strange beasts," the alchemist continued, passing one of his papers to a steward to bring to the King. "Mechanical monsters that belch smoke and have an ear-splitting cry." He imitated the honk, to the amusement of the many guests. "And the men of the future ride the beasts like we do horses. There are so many of them that the streets are clogged."
The King rolled his eyes and tossed the drawing to the ground.
"And the buildings, my lord! Taller than anything you've ever seen! Higher than the mightiest tree, or even the Salisbury Cathedral! Like mountain peaks they are, made of pure glass and iron!" He raised his arms as high as they could go, as if that could come close to conveying the scale of the skyscrapers he'd witnessed. The King only glared at him.
"And the residents of this fair city!" Almantir continued with sweat beginning to drench his collar, "They speak a form of English like us, my liege. But very very different. I would need to spend more time amongst them to truly determine their meanings. So far, I have learned that 'Fucking faggot,' is their word for wizard, and that 'Get out of the way,' is a common greeting in those parts. They wear clothes of a million different styles and colors, so vastly different from our own too!" The king glowered in silence, and the alchemist began to stutter. "I could try to make you a set similar to their styles, if you wish..."
Even the rest of the crowd began to notice the King's displeasure, and the guards gripped their pikes in anticipation of the order.
"They bear strange devices, my lord!" His voice was growing squeaky and high with desperation. "Small squares that they keep in their hands and watch intently as they walk! Some of them hold them to their face and speak to it as well!" He pressed his own sweaty palm up against his ear, trying to demonstrate. It didn't quite get the point across. "And the lights, my lord! Thousands of them! There are also paintings, larger than even the wall here!" he gestured at the far end of the great hall, which rose up at least twenty meters. "But the paintings move and speak!"
He collapsed to his hands and knees, out of breath.
"I take it, then," the King said slowly, almost in a whisper, "that you have no useful information for me about tomorrow's battle?" | "What was so interesting about it, Velicio?"
"Instead of a flag, they had a rainbow. And they kept talking about how happy they were to get happily married... or something. They painted a whole king's palace, which had been pristine white before, the colors of the rainbow. The whole thing could be seen through a magic window. It was all very confusing. And colorful."
"Strange indeed. Was everyone in the world getting married or something?"
"It seemed that way."
"They must really value marriage in the future. Let's start now by taking that futuristic approach with the rainbow... With a combination of colors. Maybe flowers. Yes, flowers. And... the woman can wear a white dress, signifying a blank slate for the colors of life to cover her... and the man can wear black, as if all the colors are combined together."
"Splendid idea, sir. I'm sure they'll be doing that for years to come."
"Very good, very good. We're basically starting a revolution." | 2015-06-26T11:39:13 | 2015-06-26T11:09:58 | 429 | 45 |
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed. | Amanda kicked and screamed, the sharp brimstone ripping her pajamas to shreds. Crying, she landed on the blackened floor of an immense chamber. The demon let go of her ankle, and the gate slammed shut behind her.
For a while, only her ragged breathing echoed through the room. Then there was a crackle of fire.
"I apologize on behalf of Abaddon," a silky voice said from the far corner of the room. "He can be a bit... *inconsiderate* at times."
"What's happening?" Amanda said, rubbing her eyes. "Where am I?"
"Why, Hell, of course."
"Why, what did I do wrong?"
"Oh, nothing, my dear. You wrote in your last letter that you wanted to meet before answering my proposal."
Amanda stood up and her eyes suddenly narrow. "You’re Marc?"
"It’s actually pronounced with an s-sound as in Marcellixis. But yeah."
Amanda looked at the silhouette sitting on the throne. His red eyes burned like hot iron in the darkness. "So… everything you wrote about hell and suffering and brimstone, that wasn’t metaphorical?"
Marc shrugged. "I do enjoy a bit of hyperbole every now and then, but no, most of it was literal."
"So, what, you're going to try and make me fall in love with you now?"
"I’m not going to make you do anything, you came here of your own free will, remember?”
"This is preposterous!" Amanda said, pushing her shoulder against the massive doors.
"I've been accused of worse."
The demon rose from the throne and sauntered up to her. His long mane of onyx hair swirled behind him like smoke. His pearly skin and chiseled face were not what she had expected.
"Let’s just have a date like we agreed on, and see where things lead," he said.
"What if you fall in love with me, and I don't want you back?"
"Oh, please."
"What? It's a legitimate question."
He leaned casually against the brimstone wall. A brilliant white smile parted his lips. He winked at her.
"I, um..." She looked down at her feet. "It... it doesn't matter. Looks don't matter."
"You already know everything about me." The demon leaned in, and the breath in her ear sent a shiver rolling down her spine. "The looks are just a bonus."
"I think this is a bad idea…"
"What’s the worst that could happen?"
She swallowed hard. No way. He was evil incarnate. There was no way.
"Let’s go on that date, what do you say?" he continued, running a nail down her shoulder.
"You can’t make me fall in love with you if I don’t want to," Amanda said finally.
"Oh, I would never dream of that." He looked into the distance. "True love is precious. But if we end up just friends, I’m okay with that too. We’re friends, right?"
Amanda nodded. "One date."
"That’s all I ask for."
"Okay, then. But not here. On Earth."
"Deal," the demon said, grinning. "I've made a reservation at Le Guinness for eight o'clock. Don't be late."
Amanda opened her eyes, gasping. The alarm clock on her nightstand showed 04:12. She groaned and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep. It had only been a dream.
That's when she noticed a letter on her pillow. In the light from her phone, she tore it open. There was a note inside.
>Dear Amanda,
>I enjoyed our first meeting very much, and I'm looking forward to our first date!
>Yours truly,
>Marc
***
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/8hm31c/dating_a_demon_part_2/)
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more. | She wasn't sure what to say. No, she forced herself to be more honest, she wasn't sure how to say no.
She loved the prince, that much was true. But not in this way. He knew that she wanted to be a priestess, so why would he write something like this to her? It wasn't fair!
He knew how badly she wanted to say yes, was that it? Did he want to taunt her one last time before his coronation, rub it in that she would not be able to attend? Was this some sort of petty revenge?
What if this was a trick? What if this was him being honest? What if she said yes?
What would happen if they got married.
Would he throw it all away to be with her, to abdicate the throne to spend his everlasting life with a her?
Would she have to throw it all away to spend her life until her dying days in hell with the one man in this world that she truly loved?
She wrote out her reply. No. They both knew what was better for the two of them. She never sent it.
This marriage proposal would be their final scroll.
But her reply would have been yes. | 2018-05-06T22:30:24 | 2018-05-06T21:16:27 | 1,127 | 102 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse. | I surveyed the vaguely evil-looking man in the business suit. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his goatee meticulously trimmed. I had the impression that his suit was alarmingly expensive, though I know very little about fashion and I suppose I could have been wrong. He had a small, centimeter-long scar beneath his left eye. He was handsome, in a roguish sort of way. He looked like a mobster with just a touch of OCD thrown into the mix. Or perhaps like a very clean-cut Captain Jack Sparrow.
"I want a marble," I said.
He emanated an evil laugh. "Your wish is my -- wait. What?"
"A marble. I'd like a marble," I repeated.
He looked at me with an expression of bewilderment, sucking his teeth for a moment before speaking carefully. "Just to be clear, you wish to surrender your soul - the fate of which will be unspeakable horror for all eternity - and in exchange, you desire a mere marble?"
"Marbles are cool," I said. "I like the sound that they make when they roll on the floor."
He stared at me with his piercing eyes. "Human, I have no time for games. The contract is void if you do not understand its terms, and so I'll ask you again - do you comprehend what you are giving up, and what you seek in return?"
Something clicked in my head. "Ahh," I exclaimed. "I get it. You're trying to fuck with me, aren't you? You're hinting that you're going to screw around with my wish, like in the movies. Well, then let me be more specific. I'd like a *normal-sized* marble made out of solid glass, that doesn't break, get lost, or have any weird properties. I want it to spawn half an inch above my hand, and I won't consider this to be a deal if you rig it so that I drop it and it rolls down a vent."
He continued to stare.
"And I want it to be see-through," I specified. "Not completely invisible, but kind of like water. Like, it has a sort of vague opacity, but you can still hold it up to your eye and see a distorted view of the world."
He looked confused. Even a little scared? A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he looked at me.
*Was he thinking of different ways to botch this wish? Was he trying to hide something? What was I missng?*
"Wait!!!" I yelped.
A slow smile spread across his face. "I knew that couldn't have been it," he said.
"I want it to be round," I said, suppressing a grin of victory. "Really round. Not round like a dish, but spherical. But I also want to be able to set it down and not have it roll away if I don't want it to."
His smile vanished, and snarl took its place. "I've struck many bargains with mortals in my long lifetime, human. They all want *something* of significance. A woman of unsurpassed beauty. More money than they could possibly spend. People lately have been asking for superpowers, which has been amusing to deal with. But YOU," he said, pointing an accusatory finger. "YOU have some hidden motive, don't you? Some angelic power has been granted to you, perhaps, and all you need is the proper conduit. Or - you have the ability to place your soul within a marble of these specifications, is that it? And it will not only make you immortal, but it will prevent ME from accessing your soul should anything happen to your body. Is that it?? Well, I hereby make it a condition of this contract that you must tell me exactly what this marble is for!"
"Hey man," I said, hands raised in a symbolic gesture of peaceful intent. "You came to ME, and asked me if I wanted to strike a deal. I told you exactly what I want. If you don't want to give it to me, fine. But you told me yourself that hell has a shortage of souls, and that your boss has given you authority to grant almost *anything* in return for mine. So are you going to give me the marble, or what?"
The snarl deepened, and he let out an inhuman howl. "Damn you, human! Damn you to an eternity worse than any I could prepare for you! This contract is cancelled! I shall return to my master and we will uncover the foul meaning behind this wish! I will not be tricked by YOU!"
And with that, he was gone in a puff of smoke.
I walked away, hands conspicuously empty of any prize. Even in dealing with the devil, life is fraught with nothing but disappointment.
| I stood back from the drawing on the wall, nodding in satisfaction.
*And just barely in time.*
I picked up the metal bucket and stepped back until I was outside the splash zone. Then I waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, after almost an hour, I heard the short beep from my computer.
"Balthazar, I summon thee!" I cried and flung the bucket's contents against the pentagram.
The smell of goat blood immediately suffused the room. Much stronger than the measured amount I had used.
"SPEAK!" A voice suddenly spoke. It came from everywhere and from nowhere. The room thrummed with the sound of the voice.
I did not hesitate.
"I wish the bind a contract!" I held my breath. If I had made any mistakes, this was when Balthazar would crawl from the pentagram and flay my soul.
"Speak your base desires, human. The price remains your soul."
*Gotcha.*
I stuck the USB cable to one of the corners of the pentagram and it stuck.
A moment later, the computer began beeping with a steady tone.
"What is that?" The voice asked, sounding a bit concerned.
"Just thinking of what I want." I answered and walked over to the computer. The terminal was empty, but as I approached, text began to appear:
> Connection established...
> Agent: Balthazar the Unborn
> Security: NONE
I quickly keyed in a few commands I had prepared previously and leaned back to watch:
> Querying Balthazar...
> Generating neural network simulation...
> Mapping possible unintended consequences...
> Mitigating 1 of 493,938,111...
It was almost five days later, the printer came alive and began ejecting page after page of dense legalesse.
"What are you doing?!" The voice demanded, panicked. "What is this unnaturalness?!"
"Just writing down my wish."
| 2018-01-20T08:06:42 | 2018-01-20T07:47:21 | 2,131 | 102 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | "I understand why you fear for my safety," Euphemia spoke gently as she approached the knight. "And why you fear for my kingdom," pressing her hands to her chest in mild gesture, her wide eyes emphasized her understanding. "But I cannot allow you to kill Rosa."
Slakter stared dumbly at the long forgotten princess, the seventh daughter of the seventh son, and sputtered a confused reply that was met with a slow, patient smile. "I do not understand, Your Highness. A dragon is a monster, a scourge on the land, and this one has guarded your palace for over forty-thousand years."
Euphemia nodded sagely, pacing quietly in her long, silk skirts. "I believed the same as you some time ago," she said clearly, and her voice was as the mistrals described. Clearer than water. Gentler than spring. "I feared dragons as I was taught to, raised to slaughter and destroy, but...my grandfather, Grandfather Abelard," she chuckled, "I'm sure you've heard of him...thought differently."
"Abelard?" He raised his head, "Abelard to Wise...patron of artists...master of peace...lover to..."
"Yes, Heloise the Divine," she answered. "She bestowed him a gift before she entered the convent, a dragon egg, and he kept that dragon egg. Oh, its beauty was glorious," she sighed, returning to that lovely memory the day she was introduced to the egg that had not hatched in over two-hundred years. "It's outer shell was made of rose quartz, so beautiful, so pink," she smiled. "And when she hatched? My parents were furious! They wanted it dead! But I couldn't...I wouldn't...and luckily for us, Grandfather Bernard felt the same."
The knight shook his head. Confusion draped over his pale features, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "No, no, no, we are taught in school Abelard loathed dragons," he recited. "He hated them and was responsible for their extinction?"
"Was he?" Her long skirts whirled and faced him, "Was Abelard as cruel as history taught you? Perhaps, perhaps not, Grandfather had many faults, but I will correct you on this, dragons are not extinct, dear knight."
"But he -," he stammered. "He killed the Dragon Mage!"
"Or maybe the Dragon Mage died of old age," she replied, flatly. "It was over 1.5 million years old, rumored to be older."
"And what of the others?"
"Relocated," she shrugged. "But with a thin enough tether to connect our worlds."
No. No. He shook his head, shock after shock destroying his world. None of this makes sense.
"But why," he rasped. "Why would he do such a thing?"
She started to walk away, and her thick, heavy skirts swirled with her, when her dark features faced him. "Do you want to know, dear knight," she asked, tentatively. This was a privilege, he realized. A privilege she was willing to revoke at any moment.
He swallowed, "I do."
"Well," her chin tilted. "How old are you?"
"What?"
"Answer the question."
"I saw my seventh hundred year this August, Your Highness."
"And how old am I?"
"Um...I..."
Something harsh and cruel deepened her features. Her dark eyes and skin glistened under the pale moonlight's glow, and she approached him until only a two inch distance was shared between them.
"I celebrated my 47,650 birthday this past December," she said. "Our neighbors life expectancy is 200."
He stood there, stunned.
"Now, I shall leave you with this," she pointed to the air. "Why is that so?"
No. His jaw flexed tightly. *No.* He kept his mouth shut, glaring denial into her back's center. She paused at the dungeon's entrance, soft smile playing on her lips. The door closed quietly, and above a dragon's roar thundered throughout the skies, shattering rose tinted flames into its clouds. | **Roommates: Episode 1: Dragon Slayer**
Ryan, Leeroy, and George sat on their dorm room couch. A nintendo switch projected a copy of *Dragon Slayer* onto the TV screen.
Ryan: “So what is this game?”
George: “Some kind of choose your own adventure story. It was on sale on amazon so I picked it up.”
*Dragon Slayer* loaded in. A beautiful princess stood, feeding a pet dragon.
Princess: “Oh dragon, why do knights always come to kill you?”
Dragon: “Horniness mainly. I mean marrying a princess is a sweet deal. Plus you’re hot.”
Oh cue, a knight kicked down the door.
Knight: “Dear princess, I have come to save you!”
The screen showed two options to pick: *Talk Things Through* or *Cowabunga It Is!*
Leeroy: “Maybe talking things through would be better?”
George, holding the controller, hit the right key.
Princess: “Cowabunga it is, bitch!”
The dragon sprayed fire at the knight, killing him instantly. The screen turned black, showing a ‘game over’ sign.
George: “What was that!? obviously the fire was the right choice!”
Ryan: “Maybe killing people right away is wrong? I don’t know. Let’s restart and try again.”
Ryan opened another beer, and the game restarted to the beginning. | 2019-01-09T08:16:32 | 2019-01-09T07:50:16 | 172 | 12 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | The Demon Swords were the first weapons forged from the still-cooling corpse of the Demon’s god. They were built according to the 7 sins humanity was created with. All were powerful, each Wielder a force on the battlefield none would stand against. When they felt the sun each sword was made of, they burst into a cacophony of light and sound. No one had ever survived that awakening.
And yet, no legends worshipped one
The sword *Wrath*
The last sword to be made, *Wrath* was famous for, quite frankly, being unusable. Although it was in the shape of a sword, it was not sharp nor large enough. It just was.
In the year 1036 after the demon god was killed, the war with the largest amount of casualties began. It started with a minor invasion, a small group of soldiers marching out to a small village and burning it to ashes. With that, the war would have begun.
But they did not see the little girl with her gleaming silver hair crouching in the wreckage of her fallen village. Nor the blood red dagger she held in her hand.
3 years later, the war exploded. The kingdom that little girl lived in lost, it’s name destroyed in the process.
A year after that, in the capital city of the kingdom now lost to time, rumors began to circulate. A story of a woman with white hair putting together a rebellion against the Empire.
When the palace got word of the burgeoning rebellion and sent a large group of soldiers to root out the leaders.
The soldiers never came back alive. Nor did the next group they sent. They did come back though. Not alive, nor dead. They were fueled by revenge and controlled by an unknown force.
The palace responded with, this time, true indignation. They sent out a legion of soldiers to slaughter every single citizen.
The result would be told as a story for centuries after.
When the soldiers entered the city walls, it was silent. Almost too silent. The only sound that of the running water. No people, no animals, no life. They crept into the city, their hearts sensing the unnatural happenings.
And they died. Only one person survived, a young man who wasn’t able to communicate his name. Only what he saw.
His story told of a white-haired woman, with soft red eyes, who came up to the legion. From her pants, she pulled out an intricate sheath. And from that she grew a dagger that was the color of blood.
She took a step, and the city (almost) exploded. Rivers of blood and corpses began to invade the surrounding area. With a slash, the first line of people died and were revived as things under her control. This pattern, of destruction and death, continued until only he was left.
He recalled that with a sigh, all of the signs of the massacre disappeared. She looked at him, and told him to return to his home. If her people were not released, she would bring war to their doorsteps. He nodded, and ran.
He ran for days, never stopping, until he returned to the capital city of the Empire. He reported what happened, and her message perfectly. The emperor, a smirk on his lips, ordered his 3 most powerful mages to capture her.
A week later, they returned with the woman bound in chains. They set up an execution for the lady, and invited many of the nobles of surrounding countries. One who came was the Sage of the Tireq Kingdom, famous for their academies. With a glance, he recognized the dagger she held in her hand as the ancient sword *Wrath*.
When the executioner was in place, he stepped up and asked a question.
“Little lady, by the sounds of you have discovered the secrets behind this blade. If you tell me what they are, I can try to stop the execution.”
With a laugh, she answered.
“The people of this *great* nation are, shall we say, normal. They feel anger and sorrow, and all of the other major sins. But wrath, wrath is special. It is MORE than what any of you nobles have felt. It is the feeling when you are betrayed by a close friend. When you realize the manipulations you have been under. The feeling when…” she pauses, then continues “the feeling when your country is destroyed for the sake of money. When your fathers and brothers are killed for their existence, when your mother is raped by soldiers who only care about themselves. It is not the everyday anger you feel, but when you will do anything to avenge what happened to those you care about.”
The sage’s head exploded, and the dagger she had been holding since she was first sighted returned to her hand. The chains around her unraveled, later having seemed like they rusted. When they fell out, the soldiers responded and began to surround her.
That is the last the Empire was ever seen of. The next time anyone tried to enter, they only saw the corpses of the soldiers, nobles, mages, commoners, visitors, and everyone else was there that day. In the center, in a ritual circle made of blood, laid the corpse of a woman who completed her life’s goal. A body with a serene smile on its face, a smile done knee to be the only one since the war began.
4 years after the Empire invaded, it fell under the last of the demon swords. It fell under the hand of a woman who fought to avenge the destruction of all she knew. | Master would've used this blade well, I thought.
Her sword, after all, was one of hatred. Against the unfairness of the world. Against pain. Against destiny. Against the apathetic heaven that only observed suffering.
It was why her sword was called Infernal Heaven. Why her sect was called the Demonic Cult.
It no longer mattered, however. Master had already left this world as silently as the snow she was named after. I had inherited her teaching, but not her emotions. My sword was the same as hers, yet the intent behind it was entirely different. And that made all the differences.
The blade felt heavy in my hand even as I brought it up against its brother, the blade of Greed. Without anger to draw from, it was no more than a durable sword, a pathetic sight in comparison to the faintly glowing blade it was clashing with.
It was all I need, however. The sheer weight of my swing forced my enemy stumbling back several steps. I did not pursue. He could not run anyway. To run, to abandon his Greed for survival was to lose the blade. Forever.
"You!" -he, a tyrant who wish to rule the world, screamed at me in anger- "How are you still alive? You cannot control the blade of Wrath!"
In his hand, Greed slowly grew in brilliance. It was feeding on his delusion of grandeur.
I shrugged. "I don't need to."
He came at me again, Greed dripping off of his blade. His swing, aimed at my face, carved a golden streak in the air. I brought my blade up once again, and painted over the world.
Flame burned. It came from a mansion full of caged children. It came from a house in which a small family lived. It came from fields on which children played. It came from streets on which people once thrived.
The flame tore through gold. It licked the tyrant's face, leaving a scorch mark on his previously unblemished skin. He screamed and backed away, his hands shaking, his expression growing increasingly desperate.
I suppose having the illusion of invincibility shattered has that effect on people.
"You would burn the world for your conquest." -I stepped forward. Flame trailed from my sword. -"This is the fire that you have lit."
"Feel its burn, and repent."
AN: based on SSS-Class Suicide Hunter. The Master's name is So Baek-hang, apparently translated to "The scent of snow". Couldn't elaborate on the swordmanship within the story because I'm sleepy as hell, but the gist of it is that it works based on empathy of pain. | 2021-09-18T14:44:42 | 2021-09-18T12:56:51 | 52 | 34 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | *This a report by Survivor 527. Detailed are the actual events that happened upon the day of The Landing, in the year 1965. Please read with discretion, as the material may not be suitable for everyone.*
______
"And we are descending in 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1"
We landed all at once, an army of one. We outnumbered the human population by billions upon billions. We were incredibly strong, and could lift things 10 times our own weight. We were a unit, together we would ravage and spread across this pale blue dot.
"My Queen! We have landed!" shrieked Warrior 1.
"Excellent. Prepare the excavation team, we're going in immediately." replied the Queen.
Within a few hours we had burrowed our way into the Earth's crust and established an elaborate network of tunnels and roadways. Others were out collecting supplies to fuel appetites for the coming assault upon the Humans.
"My Queen! Sources tell us that the Humans reside approximately 100 meters from this location." Scout 1 commented.
"Excellent, yes, excellent. We will attack shortly! Prepare the warriors, gather the workers, they will fortify the rear of the pack to make our numbers look even stronger."
Within minutes, countless billions were gathered as we moved as one toward the Humans. We moved in unison, swiftly, as if they we were connected through one mind, one purpose, abiding to the Queen's every thought, every will, her every desire.
"My Queen! Humans are within sight! They move toward us!" Warrior 2 exclaimed
"This is it my loves! Today we stand! Today we conquer! Tomorrow we rule! Fear not for our glory shall ring out across this world and we will stand united as one!"
**"YAAAAAAA!!! CHARGE!!!"**
Our pace quickened as the excitement flowed through our bodies in synchrony. We were ever so close to the Humans, who consisted of only a small group, some laying down on what appeared to be a picnic blanket, others carelessly throwing back and forth some sort of flying disc or perhaps a spaceship, unaware and naïve of what was to come. And just then, the disc soared in the sky like a flying saucer toward us, one of the Humans ran at extraordinary speed and as he approached he appeared to grow larger and larger to an incredible size! Reverberations were felt throughout the ground, as if the very planet itself were about to split open and reveal it's core! We shook uncontrollably, others fell, but we tried to stay together, to stay strong, for her. The disc must have been some sort of tracker, a marker to send the Human toward us! The Human then appeared to begin to fly, its feet left the ground and its arms stretched out in anticipation of the flying saucers trajectory. A shadow encroached upon us, the Sun was blocked out... it all happened so fast.
The Humans must have known we were coming, that we were on to them. They recruited a Monster-Human to come and attack us before we could attack them. He was no ordinary Human, not small and insignificant like we saw from outer space, but large, oh God, was anything ever so large?! He landed right on top of us. He destroyed countless factions of warriors, of workers, of simpletons coming to watch our great crusade. All at once he destroyed us, or at least our crusade... but our Queen is still alive, and today, we are thriving, preparing for another front against the Humans. I know they are scared, for, I still remember it like yesterday, even the Monster-Human could not wipe us all out.
I remember his last audible words as he flailed and rolled over us as he retreated from the attack ...
"Ah $h!t !!! Ants !!!"
| Not with a bang, but with a whimper
It has been thirteen years since the aliens invaded. Well I say invaded, they just parked a space ship in the ocean and sank a few ship. And they're not actually aliens they're just humans who somehow ended up in a distant galaxy a long time ago. They're kinda dickish about the whole "We mastered fusion power whilst you were burning cowshit for warmth thing" but other than that they're all right.
Sure do keep buying up a lot of land though. All the money that keeps flooding the economy and they seem to be the only ones getting richer.
According to the news they now own most of the purchasable land in New York, Chicago and London.The week before that Apple is now a subsidiary of E'Kath Tal-Morrel franchise. The week before that they purchased IBM, before that General Electric, and before that Monsanto. Freaking Monsanto.
Oh well, at least my supervisor's nice. | 2016-02-22T09:53:39 | 2016-02-22T08:33:57 | 149 | 10 |
[WP] An Alien Empire invades the Earth. But things go horribly wrong when they realize that of all species on the universe, Humans are the ones with the greatest affinity for war
Ditto. Aliens invade Earth, realize they made a mistake. | "L'kaike, charging!" I shouted a warning, only seconds before the L'kaike warrior blew through the portcullis, a large kinetic pistol in one hand, and a long knife in the other. No matter how many times I had seen them fight, they always looked so strange. They seemed so ungainly with only two legs, and they seemed so limited with only two arms. Even their sensory organs were lacking, only two eyes and ears. In every way, they seemed primitive and backwards, like they should barely be able to stand. Every Nurn thought the same, until they saw a L'kaike in action. Their world's gravity was strong, nearly twice as strong Nurn Prime's, and that strength made them terrifying. On their world, we were slow and ungainly, and on other worlds, they were fast and strong, terrible in their might.
As the L'kaike burst into the bunker, my squad immediately opened fire, but the L'kaike was faster. It rolled sideways and raised it's large hand weapon, coughing like an angry Juhgt. Two coughs, and two of my warriors fell, large holes appearing in their abdomens. I aimed both sets of rifles at it, each set of eyes tracking the L'kaike separately, before firing. My first shot missed, as the L'kaike dodged impossibly fast, but my second caught it in the arm. The pulse round burned clean through, and the L'kaike gave a cry of pain, dropping its ranged weapon. Its good arm still held its wicked looking blade, and with a yell in their strange tongue, the L'kaike was upon me. Two of warriors leapt to my defense, the L'kaike bulled them aside, driving his knife into the thorax of one, while head-butting through the carapace of the other. As I readied another shot, it was on me, and my pulse rifles discharged as the charging beast slammed into me. My legs scrambled for purchase, before buckling under the weight of the L'kaike's body.
We went down in a tumble and I lost my grip on my rifles, all four arms knocked askew by the blow. Eventually I was able to get to my feet, each of my legs finally getting a grip. The L'kaike had been killed by my rounds, but its charge had cracked my thorax carapace, and I knew it would take weeks to grow it back strong again. One L'kaike had cost me four warriors, damn monsters. I heard more shouts, and as I gathered my rifles and looked out the bunker, I saw that this had been just a scout, their main force cresting the horizon. As I saw what had to be at least a thousand L'kaike and their armored tanks, I silently cursed whatever forerunner had decided to invade their Earth.
We learned at the Academy that we had attempted to uplift the L'kaike as warrior-servants, in an invasion designed to bring them to heel as attack kulhns for the Hegemony. However, this kulhn was more dangerous than we anticipated, and attempting to muzzle it had been our undoing. Reports indicated that they had thought themselves alone in the universe, and had we not attacked, would have likely ignored us. By attacking, we informed them that they were not alone, and their galaxy was a hostile one. Whereas once we thought ourselves masters of war, we found that the L'kaike truly thrived on it. It turned out their entire history did not have even a single year free of conflict between them. Tens of thousands of their solar cycles, and not even one of them was free of violence. How do you fight an enemy like that? With a history like that? We didn't know then, and honestly, didn't know now.
They recovered from our initial assault far more quickly than anticipated, and when they counter-attacked, we realized for the first time what we had awoken. Now they had some external threat, some common enemy shared by their whole race. They never stopped, no matter how grave their losses, and that's when we learned a more terrifying lesson. They didn't die. Their bodies healed nearly everything, given time. An energy round to their bodies was less effective than normal, as it cauterized their wounds and stopped them from losing internal fluid. Even when their limbs were ripped off, or they suffered catastrophic damage, they didn't go into shock and die. I had personally seen a L'kaike operate on itself, sealing an abdomen wound with some adhesive gel, before launching itself back into the fray. These L'kaike were monsters, and in our folly, we attacked their lair.
Worse than their physical strength, the L'kaike were cunning and intelligent. When they took prisoners, they dissected them, studied them, and learned from them. Neither our technology, nor our biology, were safe from their prying hands. Less than a year after the initial assault, they had developed their own primitive warp drive, and less than a year after that, they had driven us from their home system. Not content to simply defend their world, they had discovered a universe full of creatures to fight, and wars to win. They came for our other worlds then, and with each battle, they grew stronger, feeding on the carnage and blood like some demon of lore. Now, they were in the home system, on Nurn Secondus.
Shouting orders, I gathered my troops in a defensive line, with every cannon and plasma gun aimed. As soon as they entered our range, we opened fire. The war for our system had begun in earnest now, and the L'kaike attacked like the kulhn we wanted them to be. | I watched as Raxh went screaming around the trench aimlessly like he'd lost his head. He had an excuse though. He really had. Our Corporal on the other hand who was rocking side to side on his hooves with an expression of abject fear though, did not have that excuse. Our post, the command center in what the natives called 'Mantona' was a lost cause. The whole planet was, from the last few staticked transmissions we were able to see before the Hoomens launched their nuclear arsenal at the mother ship 111 days ago. A bitter laugh was all that I had left for my younger self, and all our great generals that thought this would be a cakewalk.
110 years ago, we thought this planet was easy pickings. One of only 10 civilizations we had ever encountered that wasn't already unified, Command thought we could use their divisiveness against themselves. Sure, we had some collaborators. They wanted to live, and spare their people from suffering at the hands of our weapons. About half of them later poisoned our troops, walked into a command center with a dirty nuke, or in one crazy case in Efreeca, cooked our commander for his village's dinner. They suffered after, they all did. But all of the Hoomens seemed to feel no problem with dieing if they killed us too. Briten was a smoking wasteland, even the threat of the mothership's lasers didn't seem to phase these people. They welcomed death. And that divided nature they had? Apparently that just meant they had a lot of guns. I looked over at Raxh, who had finally, mercifully, fallen still as his hearts stopped beating. It looked like a shot from their 'Barrett'. We learned to fear the their weapons very quickly after the first Roosian base we encountered. The only escape from their weapons was three inches of Plastinite, or death.
Things were still manageable at that point, I mean, we had destroyed the Silaxian Armor Fiends, the Glorgoals, and even the Feerines, the previous civilization to be named the scariest in the galaxy. But then the Hoomens shot down a fighter, then a fully loaded cargo transport. From that point on, I now see that our fates were sealed. Hoomens... they revel in war. They've already taken our technology and used it to kill better than we ever could.
I brought my forethighs to the ground in resignation. I may as well rest before they attack again, though I couldn't help but wonder how many of our sentries would be picked off in the dark. We were already down from 100111 security personnel, to 1100. As I started to drift off though, I noticed a shadow move into the room. “Grena-!”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
*Excerpt from Private Lugtin's video diary during the Mirrow Invasion of Earth in 2035. Original Currently Stored in Mars University Library archives. All numerics in Mirrowsian number system are binary* | 2016-03-03T16:42:22 | 2016-03-03T16:35:35 | 92 | 15 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | "Dude, fuck Life. What a dick." said Dan.
A lazy man with even lazier grooming habits, Dan burped and slurped another Rolling Rock. As a black crow picked at the remains of a corpse on his front lawn, Dan reached back into his cooler-chair and grabbed another cold one.
"You want one? Or are you still 'gluten' free," muttered Dan.
"I can't believe I'm stuck at the end of the world with my ex... " muttered Genivee. She was a beautiful woman. Was. A failed young marriage and a career and a half later, she looked like a woman whose best days had left her.
"YOU HEAR ME DEATH? FUCK YOU. YOU SUCK AT YOUR JOB!" screamed Genivee.
"Tried that. He ain't coming." said Dan.
"How do you know Death is a He? Maybe it's a She? Or maybe Death doesn't have any pronouns." tendered Genivee.
"Does anyone give a shit?" fired Dan.
"Give me the goddamn beer," returned Genivee.
Dan chucked a can to Genivee, who, of course, dropped it. She was never great at catching things. The can rolled toward the corpse to the crow.
"You didn't have to throw it that hard." said Genivee.
"I didn't throw it that hard," retorted Dan.
"You totally chucked..."
"I threw it normal"
"Throw it normal, what does that mean..."
"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?"
"What did you say to me?!"
"I didn't say shit, there you go again, always accusing me..."
"HELLO, DOWN HERE!"
The crow turned it's head and waved it's little wing. In a flash of light, the crow and the corpse disappeared, and, out of nowhere, appeared the Mick Jagger dressed in an all black suit.
"HOLY FUCK! MICK JAGGER?! I LOVED YOU IN THE BEATLES!" screamed Dan.
After a dumbfounded glance, Genivee studied the Mr. Jagger and carefully asked, "who are you?"
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste..."
"Wait, isn't that a Rolling Stones song?" asked Dan.
"Good Lord... I'm Death, you nitwit. I figured I'd at least dress in style to meet my new subjects. A more familiar form, no?"
"So, can I have your autograph?" returned Dan.
"God, I can't believe you and I had sex... Sorry, mister, um, Death? Subjects?" asked Genivee.
"Yes. Subjects. You two are the last humans alive, and, well, per Eden Protocol 101, I am to keep you alive so you can procreate. Or else I shall be eliminated. Rather ironic, no?" Death said with a smirk.
Genivee, dumbfounded, turned and vomited onto Dan's half dead lawn.
"I thought you might like that, Genny. You Mortals seem to think Death and Life are separate, but you were all rather mistaken. Well, except the Buddhists, they got it right. But, if you asked me, they lived such rather boring lives anyway that I daresay I can count that as living" laughed Death.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jagger. I'm a little confused. Are you saying that we are like some sorta Adam and Eve or something?" asked Dan earnestly.
"Well done, Daniel," applauded Death. He picked up the Rolling Rock and, with a snap, the can turned into a martini with a black olive garnish.
"Surely, there must be some mistake... how can we procreate if we hate each other? Aren't there other couples that may be better suited? Barack and Michelle? Kristen Bell and Dak Shepherd? Hell, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?" pleaded Genivee.
"Others? Who better than you two? You two fit the bill, perfectly. Oh, and don't call me surely. Did I do that right?" snickered Death.
"Fit the bill? Of whom?" asked Genivee.
"Of Adam and Eve. You two are splitting images of them." answered Death.
Dan and Genivee gave each other a flabbergasted look as if each were trying to see if either could be the Father and Mother of man. Dan took his hands and began to protect his ribs.
"I'm not taking your ribs, you fool. Besides, you have too much fat on them anyways..." sneered Death.
"How are we like Adam and Eve? Weren't they kind and welcoming parents?" asked Genivee.
"They HATED each other. All their bickering." laughed Death. "And that family was a disaster. One of their sons murdered the other?! Hardly great parenting don't you think?"
"Why do you thinkhumankind was such a disaster? All the fighting and killing and sex. It was truly rather entertaining watching you little humans hurt each other so. I had them entertained for eons! But it got old and you mortals blew each other up anyways... So think of it as a... reboot of sorts..." gleamed Death.
He finished His martini and then snapped his fingers. A California King drapped in black satin sheets appeared.
"We're ready for you two to start whenever you’re ready."
| I roamed the scorched, torn apart streets. The vestiges of what once were great buildings lay scattered in the path. The silence, which I used to find comforting, now made my bones quiver. I missed the bustle of the crowds, and their awful jokes. I missed the smell of food, and the fresh scent of spring. I missed their tales, and I missed so much more.
So far, I had found a single family alive. I hadn't searched too much, for I had focused my efforts on taking them to safety.
They called me Life, and it suited me. They couldn't see me, nor hear me, but I had guided them with a path of stones to a cave in the mountains, where I left them with enough food for two weeks. Then, I came back to the city, seeking for life.
Six days had gone by, and all I had found was wreckage, dry blood, and the thick reek of radioactivity. There had to be more survivors. I had heard the rattling of those weirds creatures hunting.
I sighed, and sat atop a pile of broken boulders. The night was deep, and the moon shied away behind thunderclouds.
Something tugged the back my robe. It must have gotten trapped inside a crack. It happened a lot, for it loved to billow. I pulled it free, without success. I turned.
A woman stood there. Her skin was jaundiced and she had no hair. Her jowls were sunken, and her extremities were extremely thin.
"Help me," she said. Her voice was soft and fragile.
I froze in place. She could see me? How? She was still alive. I couldn't taste her soul.
I placed my scythe atop her head, and it shimmered iridescent. The countless colors bathed her in a gleaming shower of light, and once it faded, her skin had recovered her natural tone, pale-white.
"Is there anyone else contaminated?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"How did you survive alone for so long?"
"I don't know," she said, mouth quivering. "I don't know what is happening. I-I just woke up. Am I dead?
That didn't make any sense. Had she been asleep for an entire year? Why didn't the radioactivity kill her?
"No, you are not. Follow me," I said. "I will take you with the others."
The rattling of approaching steps resounded in the distance. The creatures were coming.
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/r/therobertfall - For more stories. I might continue this later!
| 2018-05-04T11:25:13 | 2018-05-04T11:11:58 | 58 | 25 |
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