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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You hop on a train heading back home from work later than usual but soon notice that everyone in your car is asleep. You hear a loud bang come from the car next to yours but before you can investigate, one of the older passengers whispers "Sit back down and pretend to sleep. It won't see you." | "What is it?" I asked, closing my eyes. My head pressed against the cool glass of the train's window.
"A demonic serpent of some kind," he replied, "one that I believe used to plague caravans back in the day."
Another loud bang rattled the cabin, this one a little closer than the last, and I jumped but kept my eyes shut. "And it can't see you if your eyes are closed?"
"You know that old saying 'the eyes are the window to the soul'? It's true, in this case. This demon feeds on souls, so if it can see your eyes, it can see your soul, and then you're as good as dead."
"So how do we escape?" I asked, adjusting my position against the window.
The man chuckled dryly. "I've only heard one person escape this wretched hell. The serpent was three cars down, and as soon as the doors opened, he sprinted out of here."
"And it didn't follow him?"
"Boy, if it had followed him, do you think I'd still be here?"
I fell into silence, listening to the horrible shrieks of the creature as it slithered atop the train cars. At one point, it struck a window of the car behind us, and someone inside screamed, eliciting a brief hiss from the serpent as it stayed on top of that car. The train slowed to a halt, and the doors slid open, a robotic voice coming over the intercom to announce what stop we were at. No one moved. It had been late at night when I'd hopped on the train, so there weren't many people looking to ride, thankfully. Somehow, I'd been lucky enough to hop on when the serpent was far off, so I hadn't even seen it. Only now, I wished I had seen it and decided to wait for the next train.
An alarm dinged three times and the doors started to close. The creature shrieked again and slithered onto our car. I could hear the sound of its slimy body sliding against the metal. A shiver ran down my spine as I pictured it smashing through one of the windows to grab at us. It'd be stupid to try and exit the train with our eyes closed, as we could easily fall, or hit something, and then become potential targets for the serpent, but... what if we didn't have to close our eyes?
As the serpent made its way to the next car, I whispered, "What if we used blindfolds?"
"Excuse me?" The man replied.
"To cover our eyes, keep them hidden from the serpent. We'd still be able to see, at least a little bit."
The man snapped, "Son, I don't think you understand the point of a blindfold. Besides, it'd be stupid to risk it."
"And if you stay here, you're gonna get killed eventually." I barked back.
I slid my hand to my backpack, carefully unzipping the largest pocket to feel around inside. My fingers brushed against a soft fabric, and I removed my girlfriend's scarf. Slowly, I tied it around my eyes, making sure it was tight enough in the back so it wouldn't slide down. When the train came to a stop, and the doors opened, I rose from my seat.
"You're crazy, it won't work!" The man whispered desperately. "Sit back down!"
I shushed him and pulled myself towards the door. Through the scarf, I could see the faintest bits of light streaming in from the fluorescent fixtures, but it was enough. I made out the outline of the doors, and I stepped through onto the platform. I turned around to signal everything was okay, and my heart sank to the bottom of my stomach.
The serpent was resting on top of the train, its slit-eyes staring right at me, but it didn't move. Its forked tongue flitted between its lips, and its disgusting body filled out the rest of the car. The demon-snake examined me, its eyes raking up and down my body, but I held completely still, waiting for it to either eat me or move on. After another long minute, the alarm dinged again, the doors closed, and the train pulled away from the station, carrying the rest of the passengers and that soul-seeking-serpent with it. | "It?" I whispered back, confused and scared, "what do you mean?"
"The monster," he replied with a solemn voice as the banging grew closer, "he haunts the late night train."
I looked around the carriage. Everyone was pretending to be asleep. Some were shaking in fear while others were as pale as snow.
The banging, no, footsteps, finally stopped.
"Quick, he's opening the door," the old man whispered, tugging my shirt, "sleep and he won't notice you."
I hesitantly sat down, leaned back, and closed my eyes as the metal door rattled and slid back. I kept my eyes shut as the footsteps made it's way through the carriage, stepping close to the seats and sniffing at the passengers.
Curiosity gripped my heart. What sort of creature was this? Perhaps it was just an elaborate prank?
I tried to keep my eyes close as curiosity and fear waged war in my heart. The footsteps retreated to the far end of the carriage and stopped, I knew this would be the last chance I have.
I breathed a deep breath, prepared myself for what I was about to do. My eyes opened and adjusted to the bright fluorescent light.
I saw was a large imposing silhouette at the carriage door. It was about to open it but suddenly stopped. The head of the creature, which looked like a ball of pure darkness, twisted back to an inhuman angle and made eye contact with me.
I swore I saw it grin before everything turned black and I was no more. | 2019-08-09T07:46:29 | 2019-08-09T05:25:13 | 165 | 79 |
[WP] After you die you are presented with a decision tree which showcases every possible trajectory your life could have taken depending on which decisions you made at each fork. You spend eternity analysing this tree until one day you find a path that does not end in death. | I lived a good life, good childhood, went to college, became a nurse, married the love of my life, had three kids. It was fun, I died satisfied.
When I died, this tree appeared, but it was odd, I examined the tree starting from the base, it was all the decisions I could have made, and how they could have changed my life. There was a bright line going through the base of the tree to the top, the decisions I did make. I looked around the tree, some decisions didn’t change much at all, or combined into another path. Who knew drinking a decaf coffee on September 12th 1987, at 6:47 instead of a caffeinated cup, I would have been an engineer? It felt insane to know how something so insignificant could change the entire course of my life.
Spending the rest of eternity in this nearly empty room, I examined the tree, day after day, night after night. This morning I followed a new path. As I was getting started, I realized how big the path was, at the top it swirled around into a seemingly endless abyss, it went back down into the base, underground, maybe part of the roots? Well I would find out soon enough.
When I was born, I didn’t cry. When I was twelve I really got into history and English. When I was fifteen I was preparing to go to college to study and be an archeologist. Seventeen I graduated earlier than my peers and went to college at MAU. At 21 I found my first items. Just some clay pots and utensils. Later that year I accepted an inter ship at The Skeleton. 22 I found a skeleton. It doesn’t say what the skeleton was, but it resembled a human. Immediately after I dug it up and discovered it, and alerted my peers, it was immediately taken away, and I was forced to sign a NDA. It was always a mystery to me about why they did that.
At 40, it felt like I never aged a day since my prime, I still had my baby face that I had when I was 20. My joints and backs never failed me. As all of my other friends start complaining about pain in back and knees.
At 46 I got in an accident, a train off-railed, 10 survivors. Me, with just a few scratches. And the other 9 had to be hospitalized. I felt extremely lucky and blessed.
Then we got older and older, this friend group barely changed. I still looked like a 20 year old. Of course that would lead to suspicion from some people, including the government. There was no scientific reason for my good aging, a 132 year old man, still looking like a young adult. I just got good genes. I insist, I mean why would it be anything else.
150, a woman tried to kill me, gun to head, point blank. I felt the bullet hit my skull. It didn’t hurt much, I still bled, I was still alive. Then the pain got more unbearable, it felt like my skin was melting off, well because it was. My skeleton, just my bare skeleton. Not quiet human but resembled one. Just like the one I dug up when I was young. Then my pain disappeared, and I was back to normal. My head was no longer bleeding, I felt really good.
The women on the ground however, did not look so good.
I was at the base of the tree, but there was no ending, no death. It went down into the roots, down below, onto an Infinite plane. Well, I have all of eternity to finish it, if there is an ending. | No one tells you anything, no, one moment you’re just there. A great, large digital screen on a wall in front of you and it just has all kinds of weird statements. After a while I started recognizing some of them; take job with dad, meet Sally, have twins but then there were others parallel with them. The ones I couldn’t recognize could be perceived on some occasions as good or bad and then others that were more one sided; dad dies in mine accident, leave sally at diner, lose the twins. I studied this board for, I’m not sure how long because you don’t sleep in this room you just sit, pace, stand all the while looking at this large display trying to decipher its code. Well after some amount of time I saw a string of events that all connected and had a different end result than death, that’s not to say it was life. Just I made this discovery a doorway in the wall behind me opened up. | 2020-07-03T10:46:36 | 2020-07-03T10:27:37 | 906 | 41 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/ | **The Dragonborn Comes, or The Tale of Self-Awareness**
I always imagined that the day I'd shut up shop, one of those renowned adventurers would walk in with something real special. A gemstone as big as my fist with an evil sorcerer’s soul trapped inside, maybe. A golden crown forged with dragon’s fire, perhaps. As it turned out, the day I shut my little wayside place down, only the most ordinary of things turned up.
I was standing, as I always do, behind my counter, trying my best to be as jovial as possible. I find having a little something-something in your drink help after 20 years on the job, but don’t tell my wife that.
In walks a forlorn, bedraggled soul, clad in those rags they give you at the prison down the road, so already I know this day’s off to an *excellent* start.
“What have you got for sale?” the poor wretch asks, fumbling in his robe for what I imagine will be an iron dagger.
"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that," I say as brightly as I can muster.
He grins eagerly and with all the care of a new mother, lays down his prize on the polished wood of the counter. It’s an iron dagger.
Holding back my inward sigh, I smile encouragingly. “Never seen one of those before!” I quip.
“I’m the Dragonborn!” the guy says, eyes glittering brightly.
I nod, sensing that not all the dwemer cogs are turning in this one’s noggin.
“…I see. I’ll *definitely* have to have this piece then!”
I buy the poor sod’s iron dagger for a few paltry gold and he sprints out, looking happy as larry. These types always come in here with some battered relic and I humour them. They’re never normally quite that batty, to be fair. But business has been slow with all these bloody great big dragons flying around. I mean, I’m all for dragon-forged weapons, but the whole point is that they’re worth a centime because we’re no longer plagued by the clumsy pests. Honestly, the amount of leftover guard I’ve had to scrape off my front porch because the stupid sod’s tried taking down a dragon with an arrow…
The door creaks open again, and another sorry looking individual creeps in. He’s crouching oddly and moving at the pace of a snail. I wait, patience thinning, as he slowly makes his way to the counter.
“What have you got for sale?” he says after liberally scanning the store with his eyes.
I take as deep a breath as I can without being obvious, slap on a smile and reply, “Some may call this junk. Me, I call them treasures!”
He merely nods and rummages in his sad-looking robes, pulling out a dagger. Gods alive, why do I have to suffer these idiots? I wonder. As I’m giving him his gold, he leans in conspiratorially. “I’m the Dragonborn,” he whispers. I muster up a confused smile and send him on his way. Two crazies in the same day… must be getting tougher with the torture down at the prison, I think to myself. Little did I know how wrong I was.
No sooner have I dispensed with that ragged wretch than another one walks in. “Let me guess, the Dragonborn?” I joke, but he turns to me with eyes as big as saucers. “How did you know?!” he gasps. “…Lucky guess?” I reply. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an iron dagger on your person you’re looking to sell?” I add with a slight wince. Lo and behold he has a rusted iron dagger on his person. Well, blow me down and call me Emperor Titus!
By this point I’m getting annoyed. For the gods’ sake, I actually want to *sell* here, not just buy worthless old junk off people who smell worse than the local pub. If it weren’t for the law of the land stipulating that we have to give these blighted fellows a chance, I’d be kicking them out.
And so the rest of the day goes.
“What have you got for sale?” “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” “I’m the Dragonborn!” “Mmhmm, here’s your gold.”
“What have you got for sale?” “Take a look.” “I’m the Dragonborn!” “Good for you mate. Here’s your gold.”
And so on. I don’t know when it finally gets to me, but something in me just snapped. After the twentieth beggar or so with a bloody iron dagger saunters in, I’m praying to whichever god will listen that they’re not the ruddy Dragonborn.
“What have you got for sale?”
I clench my jaw. “Take a bloody look. It’s all here.” He looks a little startled at my lack of welcome, but this doesn’t put him off. He reaches into his robe. My eyes narrow. As if in slow motion, his hand emerges with the hilt of a dagger between his fingers. My nostrils flare, and my vision tunnels. As he lays the dagger on the counter, he beams up at me with an innocent smile.
“I’m the Dragonborn,” he says.
At this point I lose it. I snatch the dagger, run to the door, fling it open and scramble to the middle of the town street, screaming blue murder at the sky. Not that anyone bloody notices. The little orphans continue to play tag, the mercenaries continue to swagger, the guards still puff up with Empire pride. I’m stood there, chest heaving and tears in my eyes, when one of the buggers who tormented me walks up to me and stares intently at me as if I’m supposed to say something. Jim the Imperial Guard, the bluntest tool in a box full of rocks, sees this and leans in.
“I used to be an adventurer like you,” he says to Dragonborn guy number whatever. He pauses for effect. “Then I took an arrow in the knee.”
“I’m the Dragonborn,” the bastard replies.
And that’s how I ended up here, in the prison just down the road. I shouldn’t have stabbed that Dragonborn guy, I know that now. But at least my days as an obsequious merchant are over.
| *door chimes*
"Hiii, I was wondering if I could sell my stuff? "
"Of course! Come in! We are open 24/7! I never even sleep or take a break!" The adventurer paused.
"Uhhh... then how do you... "
"This barrel I'm sitting on isn't just decorative ya know! Now, how can I help you?"
"Well, I have these voon pelts I picked from killing some... voons? "
"Ah, you must be new, the plural of voon is voon. In fact we don't plural anything here, especially items."
"Ok...weird...whatever, can you just give me some gold for these?"
But of course! voon pelts can always be bought for ten gold! They are very valuable!" The merchant said as he chucked the pelts onto an immense pile of voon pelts that kicked up a billow of dust.
"So what so you use them for?"
"What?"
"Use. if they're so valuable what do you use them for? Do you ever resell them?" The merchant looked at him quizzically before he scoffed.
"Any why would I do that? Get rid of such a valuable investment? These things are 10 gold EACH and their value never changes! This, my boy, is a sound retirement investment."
"Never? What kind of market system do you guys have here? Isn't there supply and demand?' The merchant looked aghast.
'Wha- wha- what do you mean? That capitalist and communist talk is strictly forbidden by our local merchant guild! The strict rules we adhere to have been in place since time immemorial, and will not be changing soon! " The merchant curled his lip in an indignant sneer.
"Alright, jeez. Can I just get that leather armor? Those voon bites tore up my cloth tunic something feirce."
I'm afraid I can tell, just by looking at you, the exact amount of gold you have, and you do not have enough gold."
"dude, are you being racist? "
"No, no! I am just saying you are short three gold."
"Well I just gave you my voon pelts, I don't have anything else besides my cloth tunic..."
"which is 2 gold. " the merchant said matter of factly.
"R-really? It's nowhere near it's original condition. You don't need to appraise it or anyth-" The merchant firmly held his hand up to hear no more of it.
"Do not question the merchant guild rules!" The adventurer slowly disrobed as the merchant looked on leerey eyed.
"Okay, but now I'm still a gold short."
"You still have your cloth pants, and those are seven gold."
"Seven? That seems kinda arbitrary comp-" again the merchant thrust out his arm out to interrupt him. The merchant looked uncomfortably pleased as the adventurer dropped trow.
"I see you also have sustained injuries, would you require a healing component? You have enough gold left over for one?"
"Sure fine just give me a hi-potion" the adventurer said dismissively. "ah! No, wait I meant just a regular potion. I don't even have that many hitpoints yet, and I'm not that hurt."
"Of course, I completely understand, that will be one gold back for you good sir!"
"What I only get a 10th back of what I paid? I just got this! there's no reason-" Again the merchant cited the merchant guild rules.
"So, what? I just go adventure like this?" The merchant shrugged.
"You wouldn't be the first." | 2016-10-16T10:46:24 | 2016-10-16T10:30:29 | 50 | 16 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | All I want to do is die.
You see, I know all about death, as I have killed myself in every way you can possibly imagine over the last 3,490 years. You heard me correctly...nearly 35 centuries have passed since Every time I do it, every cell of my body reassembles and I wake up...again.
I’m a bit of an oddball. You see, I was 28 years old when I was recruited by the Northern California Chronorium Distribution team. I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I broke the law; I let everyone down. I’ve suffered the consequences more times than I can count.
You can help me to make everything right. But first, let me explain what I did all of those centuries ago and why you are reading this now.
One day, my mother, Mary, was driving to work and she witnessed the aftermath of a horrible accident. Two cars had collided at high speed. One car had stopped burning, and the other was resting on its roof on the side of the embankment. The forest in this park of Oregon was thick, and both vehicles were hard to see from the road. Mom was an RN at the local hospital on her way in for the night shift.
She got out of the car and ran to the first car as fast as she could. The driver of that car was an elderly man who had massive lacerations and had likely died on impact. It was beginning to get dark, so she could barely make out the passenger: a young doe that had probably caused the accident.
My mother then heard something that would literally change the course of history: a small child crying out in the night.
Mary investigated the other car and immediately recognized the passengers as Marty and Marlene Zerkin. The Zerkins were career criminals that used to live next door. Marty had been arrested on suspicion of murder and had spent 5 years in prison for armed robbery. Marlene had also done time for elder abuse. After a young girl disappeared in town, so did the Zerkins, whom had met their fate this evening. Mary new immediately that the voice she heard was likely their son, Marty Jr....me.
I was two years old at the time. I don’t remember any of this, only what mom told me when I was 16: she had decide to raise me alone. She had an opportunity to divert the death report of a young man two years later while working an ER shift. She changed her name to match my new identity and moved to Phoenix.
Not only did I learn about all of this on my 16th birthday, I also learned that I was 18, not 16. I had always been a scrawny little guy. Marlene had nearly starved me to death and my growth had stunted. So much of it made sense: why I had always felt so different and why other kids seemed immature and stupid at times.
To her credit, mom was ready to come clean. She would have admitted her fraud knowing that her little boy had grown into a young man. She gave me the option to tell the truth. I chose to get my GED, drop out of high school and eventually go to med school. I protected mom and perpetuated the lie.
So when it came time to give patents the serum, I was offered a chance to be injected by a colleague. A good friend of mine worked at the FDA, and she told me that the age restriction data was fabricated, and that it was all an elaborate scheme to give the government time to figure out how to control the population. As you may have guessed, she lied.
Not only does the drug have unusual side effects for those over 26 at time of injection, it had a very unique effect on me. A rare genetic mutation combined with the drug to create an immune system and chronetic anomaly that made me immortal at 28. The LessThans died of “natural causes” at the ripe old age of 230. Some did make it to 250, and today colonists at Alpha Centauri live to 240 or more, on average.
I, on the other hand, have the curse of immortality. I was a fool. I have met four others like me. We all stay far away from each other because of the myths that follow ya from century to century.
I currently live on Io, one of Jupiters’ moons, in the year 5508. I am part of a research team that has made a breakthrough in time travel. I have been secretly working in this area for over 500 years, changing my appearance through black market nanosurgery. Anyway, my goal is simple: to alter my timeline so that I was never born.
I’ve tried going back in time to murder Marlene and Marty before I was conceived. I’ve even got back and murdered their ancestors. Nothing works. Oh, I’ve changed your history. You would be amazed how much. It hasn’t always been for the better but I’ve tried, I really have. But playing God is wrong. I’ve gone mad more times than I remember.
This is where you come in, dear reader. You see, I can alter the timeline of everyone but myself. It’s a discovery I will make nearly 32 centuries into your future. You have the power to stop my misery and keep your own timeline the same. In exchange I will provide you with a time travel device and the latest life extension technology available in my time. You must be 26 or under, that much has not changed.
You are reading this right now because I have made a device that allows me to connect to one of your ancient computing devices in a remote part of Earth known as Greenland...Ironically not very green? Anyway, converting my speech to your ancient language has been a chore...so crude! I digress.
The Remote Temporal Transmission device allows me to communicate with you. I am under immense scrutiny by the Martian Science Authority. I have to delay my communications with 2018 Earth by exactly one year. Next June 25th, Marty and Marlene will meet at a bar in downtown Portland, Oregon. All you have to do is prevent this. You have one year to prepare. On June 5th, 2019 I will send a second transmission with the exact time and location of their meeting.
I’m counting on you. Please help me find peace.
| Every single year, on the same date, my brother comes to pay me a visit at the retirement home. That date was two days ago, and he didn't come.
At first, I comply assumed that he was a busy man. He worked long hours in the office and over the course of the last 59 years, he's had many promotions and many raises. and it seams even his children now are becoming old enough to take the drug of immortality, like he did.
So today I decided to finally leave the home and go look for him myself. Maybe I can surprise him. Maybe I can even see him at work. I spoke to the people at the office, they seamed to think it was a bad idea to let me go. To hell with them, I'm not too frail. I'm strong as I need to be, and to prove it I escape through the window to search for mt brother.
I go to his house and there's another family in there. I ask them about the previous owner, but they just assume I'm crazy and slam the door on me. And this used to be such a courteous neighborhood too. I guess many things have changed since I last was out.
Next I go to his work and ask around, but they wouldn't let me up into the building. The receptionist tells me no one by that names works there. This is odd. Way too odd. Something is up.
Next I go to his favourite cafe. He used to take his wife there all the time, including before they even got married. The barista was a long term personal friend of my brother, so if anything were to happen to him, I'm sure she would know. But she's not at the cafe.
I ask the current barista about her, and he tells me it was his mother, and he also tells me where I can find his mother, but that she won't be able to help me. I must take the change, this is starting to drive me insane. I must see my brother again, soon I will die and he will live forever.
Could it be that the previous barista was over the age threshold like me? The place he told me to look for her was at my very own retirement home! It's strange because she looked like she was in her teens when she was working at the cafe.
Luckily the sun told me the ward too, which was different to mine. I sneak in knowing that when I turn myself in properly I'll get tighter security and won't be able to pull this stunt again.
When I get in, I didn't find the barista. Instead I found my brother! he was there in the ward speaking to some of the folks there. I go up to him and shout his name being so happy that I get to see him again! But he looks at me oddly and gets up from his chair, feeling scared now that I'm advancing at him in such a fast manner.
He has no idea who I am! I ask him bout his job, his children, the cafe... Nada. I go into the bathroom to cry for a while and then finally turn myself in.
The drug of immortality after many years gives you periodical amnesia and problems with your memory both long and short term. Some people even forget speech entirely. The nurse explained to me. Not only that, but my brother has not come to see me in many, many years. I was told many times that I have Alzheimer's.
It's been three days now since my brother hasn't come and I leave this note because I've forgotten what he looks like and I know soon enough I will forget I even had a brother. | 2018-06-04T23:59:27 | 2018-06-04T22:08:47 | 79 | 36 |
[WP] Humans are cursed with dying upon uttering their "Last Words," which they know from birth. You've been alive for a few centuries, but you can't refrain from saying those words now. | We are the Miners. The ones who work in the dark.
We are the Miners. The ones who work to the rhythm of shovel and pick.
We are the Miners. Men who never see the light of day.
We are the Miners, and men say our words are cursed.
We all know them. We always have. Since the day our fathers put an shovel in our hands and told us to dig. Since the day we joined the work. None of us ever say them if we can. But sometimes we have to. And whenever we do, men die.
---
The canary was chirping as we walked down the shaft, I remember that. Happy little thing, it was. Not a care in the world. It had no idea it was there just to die. And *that*, I mused to myself, was the main difference between us. It had no idea its destiny was to die, while we knew full well that ours was damn near the same.
We trudged through the darkness. The only light was the foreman's lamp, swinging back and forth at the head of the column. Enough to catch a glimpse of a grim face at my side. Enough to see when the foreman stopped and gestured at the wall. *Here is where we work today...*
In silence, we get to work.
*clink CLINK*
*clink CLINK*
All was quiet, but for the sound of picks. Nothing much to talk about down here. Not the place for happy stories. Not even a place for men, really. But there we were all the same.
*clink CLINK*
*clink CLINK*
It was hot. That was the first thing that always struck me. After an hour of picks clinking away, an hour of two dozen men swinging heavy tools, it got hot. Men would stop between swings to wipe the sweat from their brow, smearing themselves with red dirt in the process.
The man on the end of the line stopped for a moment, peering into the gloom further down. The foreman eyed him with a lazy, but suspicious look. The man laid a hand on the wall for a moment, shook his head, and swung his pick once more.
*clink CLINK*
*clink CLINK*
^^^*rumble*
The man on the end stopped again. I stopped, looking his way. A few others had heard it too, but most kept going. The foreman had been mad the day before; no one wanted to piss him off again now.
Not a second had passed before he shouted, stalking towards the man on the end with a vicious glare. Shying away, I swung my pick again. *Better him than me.*
The foreman wasn't holding back. His voice was edged, cutting. His words fiery and venomous. The man on the end took it without complaint. When the foreman was finished, he nodded, murmured an apology, and faced the wall again.
As the foreman turned away, a satisfied smirk on his face, it came again.
^*rumble*
This time the foreman turned. He walked further down the shaft a ways, lamp held high. I stopped to watch, and lucky I did.
I saw the first one fall. A tiny thing, more like dust. But we all knew what it meant. We'd known since we were boys. And we knew the words. I knew them. But I hesitated. I didn't want to say them. No one did.
Then the next one fell, bigger. Then a fist-sized chunk. A head-sized lump.
I took a breath, dropped my pick, and turned towards the surface. Others did the same. We all knew what was coming. The only option was to run.
As the ground began to shake, and the walls began to rumble, the words came. They came easy, then. Fear pushed them out.
"*CAVE IN!!*"
Some of us made it out. Some. Not all. Never all.
We told each other that the 'curse' was nonsense. Our words were as normal as any man's. But there was something wretched about *those* words. I could feel them hanging over me.
Two dozen men went in that day. Eleven came out.
That feels like a curse to me. | I had never thought that the time would come when I would have to say my last words. I hadn't taken much heed of it as they were so bizarre that such a situation could never have arisen.
That was until the epidemic.
Everyone panicked, there were riots in the streets and religious groups were calling it the Apocalypse. For a while I said nothing, hoping that I would not be called upon. Unfortunately, as the head of the CDC I had no choice but to eventually hold a press conference. Due to the size of the event, it had to be me on camera and I couldn't turn it down and truly tell everyone why I couldn't do it because that would mean I had shirked my duty and would be sent to Purgatory.
I said a prayer before I stepped out to the cameras. I asked for mercy and forgiveness for having taken so long to say something. Fear stopped me and it wasn't until the Pope and my dog Blue were affected that I realised it needed to be said.
"Ladies and Gentleman, good day to you all. We are gathered here because I want to inform the public as to the true nature of this epidemic so that some of the panic may cease and we can restore some kind of order. I'm sorry for having waited so long, I hope you can all forgive me. Now that we know what the epidemic is, we can all work together to do some quilting and fix it."
"Ladies and gentleman, everyone has AIDS."
(My first prompt! Please be gentle) | 2015-11-02T03:44:02 | 2015-11-01T19:14:47 | 69 | 18 |
[WP] You are an NPC in an extremely popular RPG video game. Unbeknownst to the players, you are secretly sentient and can mess with them however you want. | Kristin’s life hadn’t always been easy.
It was only by chance that she had been married to an elderly shopkeeper in an attempt to provide a suitable heir. That when Mr. Smith had died, she had been the only one left to take over the failing trading business after their son had been kidnapped and presumably slain by the BlackIron gang. Mr. Smith had been to blame for that.
She had reimagined the general store to the best of her abilities. Of course, everything she had wanted to implement had been much too expensive, and she had ended up doing little more than sweeping. If the building hadn’t been built by Mr. Smith’s father, she would have lost it to debt long ago. Customers were scarce.
Part of the problem was that the residents of Goldpeak weren’t exactly the most frivolous spenders. The larger issues were the other shop owners.
There was Mr. Ash who spent most of the day hammering away at his anvil next door and Mrs. Hazel who ran the apothecary across the street. Of course, smithing and medicine were naturally profitable, and, as a result, the shop-owners were fairly well off. Then, there was Mr. Finch; the only one of them in the whole town who was truly wealthy, living comfortably off the profits from his rundown inn where he sold *allegedly* better versions of her wares.
Over the years, Kristin grew more and more jealous of the others. Her goods had gradually grown less and less valuable, and her shop had gathered more and more dust. It didn’t help that the townsfolk had deemed her undesirable after the death of Mr. Smith. She wasn’t blind to the rumors that she had killed him to take over the store. Even though they were false, they still had an effect.
Then, one day her luck had changed.
A man in ragged pants and a off-colored cloth shirt stained with blood had slowly walked in. She had noticed the rope burns on his wrist but had chosen to ignore them when he threw down a large bag on the counter.
“What can I get for these?” he asked in a rough voice.
She opened the bag and withheld her shock. Inside were nearly a dozen well-made shortswords. Far better than any of the trash Mr. Ash crafted. With the times growing ever more dangerous, she could certainly make a small fortune selling them to the townsfolk … after she had carved out the King’s emblem of course.
“I don’t have much, but I can take them all for a hundred gold pieces.”
The brutish man nodded, scratching at the strange tattoo darkening his left eye. “That’ll do just fine.”
“Can I get you some water, some food? Only three gold pieces.”
Again, the man nodded. After he had finished off the half-loaf of bread, he made as if to leave, but, at the last second, he stopped at the door. “Say, is there anything I can do around here to earn some coin?”
Kristin thought for a moment, then she smiled. “The smith in this town has been supplying goods to a local group called the BlackIron gang. We just don’t know how we could ever stop him. Is there anything you can do? I can offer another hundred gold pieces.”
The man nodded. It seemed to be the only action he was capable of. “I’ll take out the gang and the smith. I assume you’ll buy everything as well?”
“Of course,” Kristin nodded. As soon as he had disappeared, she opened a celebratory bottle of wine and emptied it within the hour. Shortly after, she heard the news that the smith had been killed in his home by assassins. The swords sold quickly.
By the time the Adventurer returned from slaying the BlackIron gang in a mismatched suit of armor, she had already thought of his next assignment.
“The apothecary across the street has been helping a warewolf maintain his human form. This town would be far safer if you took both of them out. I can pay you five hundred gold pieces.”
The man smiled. That was new. Perhaps the next time he returned, she would offer him a *different* sort of quest.
“Who’s the warewolf?”
Kristin smiled back. “He runs the local inn…”
____
[r/creatorcorvin] (https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/) for more stories
| “What the hell?! The quest guide says he’s supposed to I’ve me a treasure map or something!!!” - XxxJimmyBlazeIt420xxX
“I dunno man, check it again. Did you collect the ingredients for him?” - H4X0R4LYF3
“Yeah I did that, I just bought them all. Screw getting that stuff myself.” - XxxJimmyBlazeIt420xxX
This was fun. I always mess with the noobs.
“Ah! But that’s not all!” I say. “If you want that map you’re going to have to get me a grand-berry pie!”
“What the hell is a grand berry?!” - XxxJimmyBlazeIt420xxX
“Oh my god, those things are insanely rare. He really wants you to make him a pie?! Those need like 3 berries to make!”
- H4X0R4LYF3
“Let me check, maybe I didn’t hear him right.” - XxxJimmyBlazeIt420xxX
*I’ve given him enough crap* I thought.
I say “Here is the treasure map, XxxJimmyBlazeIt420xxX. Go claim your reward!”
“Oh, what the hell? He just gave me the map!” - XxxJimmyBlazeIt420xxX
“Oh sweet. Let’s get the heck out of here then!” - H4X0R4LYF3
“Wait H4X0R4LYF3! I’m feeling a little hungry...” ... I couldn’t resist. Noobs will be noobs! | 2018-05-04T14:34:26 | 2018-05-04T14:32:58 | 58 | 13 |
[WP] you are a powerful warlock that has retired to raise your daughter everything's been going well that is until a couple of her classmates try to sacrifice her after reading about a 'dark spell' online, you've decided to show them what real black magic looks like | An alarm is going off in my head. Not metaphorically, a literal thaumaturgical alarum. My child is in danger. Elevated heartrate, fear, crying. I open my inner eye to seek her. I see her lying on a large tree stump surrounded by candles. I recognize the runes burned into the bark and latch onto one of them taking the magic meant for it. The summoning rune.
Her blood powered the ritual, *my* blood. That gives me precedence over whatever entity was named here. The veins in my left arm glow blue as I tap into the magic. I could feel the rage of the lesser demon, but he relinquished his hold on it with no complaint.
I feel the spell begin to pull me away and exhale completely. Teleporting is a surreal experience. It feels like you experience an eternity in an instant. Like your entire being is getting compressed into a single point. Then you're there.
"You have made a mistake." I say as I step out of the summoning circle. Their protections would have been adequate for containing something twice as strong as what they were summoning, but not only was I stronger, My blood powered them.
The screaming lasted only a quarter second. I raised my left hand, palm up, fingers clawing with how hard the magic was on my body. The cultists that had summoned me were pinned to nearby trees, arms outstretched to the sides. Their vocal cords were tightened. They wouldn't be able to make sound if they wanted to.
I wanted to know which of my enemies would be foolish enough to try this. with a word the masks they were each wearing shattered, shards of porcelain embedding both into their faces, and the ground.
I did recognize them, to my dismay. One more than the others. They were her classmates. She was her friend. I was enraged.
I brought her to me. Face to face, rotating her upside down because if there's any time for drama it's now. I spoke with the voices of every demon under my contract. "Traitor!" We said "Betrayer! How dare you?" I do not allow her to speak. Instead I reach into her head and pluck out her reason.
Inside I find loneliness, an outcast given an In by sadistic classmates. I find turmoil and most importantly, I find remorse. That will do.
I relax her my grip on her voice and beckon her to speak.
"I didn't know they were going to hurt her." She croaked.
I take a deep breath and let her drop to the floor.
"Bandage her arms." I commanded. Lending her the knowledge she needed to do so. "Then take her to the hospital. Stay there." She hesitated and I barked *"NOW!"*
I still had plenty of power left from the offering they had so graciously given me. Now it was time to use it. The eight of us, me and the seven remaining teenagers, took flight, they remained in the same crucified pose for now. Once we were about a kilometer away, I touched us down in a clearing. I arranged them in a semicircle
"Right." I said, my voice back to normal. "Point to the leader." I commanded. I gave them each back control of a single arm, and they all pointed to an older looking kid. Maybe two years on the rest of them. He looked defiant.
I brought him closer, while having the others give us space. I only needed one word. "Why." I growled. He laughed, almost indignant "bitch rejected me! She had it coming."
I felt a few pulses of emotion from the group. I let them speak up. "What the fuck Jared!? You said it had to be her because she was a virgin!" I raised an eyebrow. He seemed a little less pleased. "Well she is!" He shouted back.
My arm extended to grab his throat and I raised him up into the air. "Sex and magic are not connected!" I hissed at him.
"You *Lied* to them to settle a perceived slight against you."
More mutterings of discontent.
I muzzled the dog once more and turned to face the group.
"Rule number one of practicing black magic! Every action has a consequence." I boomed, the voices of my demons returning. "His consequence will be death. Yours will be your own choice. Rule number two. There will always be a sacrifice. Today you must choose your arm or your innocence. Bury a knife in Jared's gut, or lose your non dominant arm!
No one should *have* to kill. I live by that rule. But there must always be a sacrifice." I gave them some time to marinate on the offer while I came back to Jared. I leaned in close to him and whisper. "I'm not gonna lay a finger on you tonight. Your life is in their hands. Wonder how many of em think you have it coming."
I could taste his fear. I failed in my attempts not to savour it.
I brought down the first of the kids. I offered her the same dagger used to harm my child. She took it without a word, walked up to Jared and plunged it into his chest.
I took the dagger from her with a smile. "Follow the Ravens home or wait for the others." She took a seat at the edge of the clearing.
I brought down the next boy, released him as before and offered him the dagger. He he took it and hesitated for a moment. "He's an asshole, yeah sure. Does he really need to die?" The boy asked. "No." I responded. "But he will."
I wasn't expecting him to swing at me. The blade dragged across my skin, leaving nothing more than a scratch. "Well I suppose I could offer a third option." I remark as he slashes at me again. As he swung a third time, I caught his arm.
"That's stopped being funny now." He drops the blade. "W-whats option three?"
"You can take his place. Now choose."
He holds out his arm. "He's not worth dying for, but I'm not killing him either."
I place a hand on his shoulder and pull it right off, numbing the pain for him a bit. I'm not a monster anymore after all. Still, he could feel it and he howled in pain.
There was only a single spurt of blood before I closed the wound with magic.
There wasn't dissent after that. Only one other person lost their arm. "Now what?" The first girl asked as I checked on Jared. "Follow the Ravens, they'll lead you home remember?"
"No, I mean, how do I go back after this?"
"Hopefully with grace and humility. When you get home, tell them when you found Jared over my daughter, you chased him off, but lost him. In about a week, they'll find his remains shredded in a bear den and that'll be that."
The guy who swung at me asks "What do I tell them about my arm?"
It was my turn to laugh. "Lesson three of black magic, the second option is always worse, and the third is inconceivable. Figure it out yourself."
With that, I left. Ended the summoning spell and with that same familiar pop, I was home. Nothing to do now but wait for the phonecall from the hospital. I don't care if they tell the truth or not, no one will believe the truth anyway. The important thing is that my daughter is safe. | I watched over my precious daughter, May, as she slept. Her body was covered in bandages. What those girls did angered me. I grinned instead. This was going to be fun, indeed!
After a few hours, I left my husband to watch over our daughter. There were things I needed to do, such as finish my part of that project and send it in so the boss would stop breathing down my neck. I had been sorely tempted to give him a little problem magic wise multiple times. I only missed the deadline once. It wasn’t my fault the power was out for three days!
I got home and went down to my office in the basement. Our basement was a finished basement. No smelly and cold stone here. I went to my computer and opened my files, going for my spell file. What? I upgraded!
Let’s see, who shall be first? There were four girls. Tiffany, Lila, Nida, and Latasha. Tiffany was the blond who wore a ton of make up and valued beauty over all else. Which spell? Oh yes. The allergy spell. Let’s add a tiny twist by wording in a burn spell. Perfect. I wrote the new spell down. This bitch was about to be disfigured for life.
Nida. An ablest. Constantly picking on the special needs kids. The locked in spell would be perfect. Get ready to be trapped in your own body for life, bitch.
Lila. Miss lies a lot. A truth spell? Nah. Let’s add a touch of itching for every lie told. Only the truth will bring relief. No more lies from you, bitch.
Finally, Latasha. The ringleader. Heavily into guys. I grinned. She had a huge crush on the star quarterback. Let’s make her undesirable to any man. Try to win your man now, bitch!
I cast each spell, and waited for results.
—-
Her face was itching. Tiffany went to the school bathroom. She’d been catching herself scratching, and her makeup needed to be fixed. She looked at the mirror and began to fix her makeup.
—-
“Did you hear? Tiffany is in the burn unit! They are saying her face melted off!” A girl said.
“I heard her parents are going after the company.” A boy added.
“Considering how much she wears, she was bound to have a reaction.” Another girl said. “It was a matter of when.”
A scream turned their attention to Lila, who was clawing at her body.
“It won’t stop itching!” She wailed over and over again. “Why won’t it stop?”
May watched the proceedings. She knew my handiwork.
“Try telling the truth, Lila!” She called out. “You are probably experiencing a reaction to your guilt for lying!”
“I’ve never lied once in my life!” Lila was starting to draw blood.
“Seriously, say something true about yourself.” May pushed, “Like how you like to lie.”
“But I don’t!” Lila was crying. Her hands were bloody.
“Go on.” A girl said.
“Fine! I’m a liar!” Lila panted. “The itch stopped!”
—-
“Did you hear about Nida? She’s in the hospital.” A girl said. “She suddenly collapsed. They can’t find anything wrong with her.”
“That sounds like locked in syndrome.” A boy pushed his glasses up his nose. “You become a prisoner in your own body. Your mind works but you can’t do anything but think.”
“You know, all three girls tried to use dark magic on May. If I’m right, the spell did work. Latasha is going to be next. What will happen to her?” Another boy said.
Latasha heard. “Oh no!”
“Tiffany liked being beautiful. The spell messed with her face. Lila lies a lot. The spell is forcing her to tell the truth. Nida often picked on the special needs kids. The spell made her special needs. It’s like it’s punishing them.” Another girl said.
“You know, it’s targeting what they love and changing it.” May said. “We all know Latasha loves Ryder. I bet it’s going to make her gay!”
“No way! I will force myself to like guys!” Latasha cried out.
“Latasha, your chest.” May pointed. “I think it gave you a third one.”
“Ether that’s one giant zit on your cheek, or it’s a nipple.” Someone else noticed.
“Wha…” Latasha started screaming.
—-
“I know you cast some spells, Dad.” May said to me at the dinner table.
“Some lessons needed to be taught.” I grinned.
“Well, they think it was the spell they tried to do.” May grinned. “Thanks, dad.” | 2021-09-04T20:29:47 | 2021-09-04T20:01:18 | 1,106 | 64 |
[WP] In defiance of stereotypes, a group of Dwarves open a nice cafe that serves pastries and coffee; a group of Elves opens the most thuggish bar possible opposite the Dwarves' cafe.
2/20/19: Wow, thanks for 1.1k upvotes you guys! | "Welcome to Little Things," a crude voice whispered to me, a ham-fisted bass clearly pitched an octave up. It had the serenity of a bull in meditation. "A little piece of heaven."
I looked down at the squat woman, her stocky features clashing with the light pink dress slapped on her. Its fringe flowed like cake frosting and dragged on the floor, bundled around her feet. The servers all wore similar garb, tending to patrons seated on cushions like cream colored clouds and nearly tripping over themselves at times. There were lights strung along the ceiling that looked like faeries dancing, lush depictions of greenery on the walls, and translucent lace tapestries flowing from all windows which let sunlight in as a holy glow. Small, almost ornate pastries lined the front counter, miniature presents of tantalizing sweetness. It, indeed, looked like a little piece of heaven.
Well, aside from the staff.
"Thank you," I replied, returning my eyes to the woman whose head was barely above my knees. Her ponytail was a bird's nest of thick, chocolate hair and either the light was cast wrong or stubble shaded her jawline. There was a large, pointed leaf covering each of her ears.
"May I take you to a seat?" she asked, her voice raspy at first but quickly regaining its facade.
"No, I'll just take a coffee to go." Something about the dichotomy was too unsettling to linger around.
The woman frowned. "We only serve tea here, sir. Herbs and leaves from across the land to... Calm you." She hardly looked to believe it.
"Sorry to bother, then. I'll be on my way."
She scowled at me, taking a deep breath. "May you find peace on your journey."
I raised an eyebrow, thanking her upon exiting. *What an odd place...*
The exit left me facing an establishment across the cobblestone road, one with much less elegance and cleanliness externally, but the sound of raucous laughter emanated from it. The grimy sign, looked to be rubbed with mud, read 'The Wild Stag'.
I entered into dimness, a scent of musk and body odor filling my nose. An attractive woman, one that glowed in the dank tavern, clambered over to me. Each step was a clamored, forceful stomp, as if role-playing an ancient beast.
"You lookin for a wild time? We've got ale you can drink straight from the barrel," she growled, her voice opposite of the squat woman from earlier. The voice of an angel who'd spent too much time inhaling her pipe smoke. The voice of a woman who was, undoubtedly, approaching me in a squatted position.
The rest of the staff looked almost the same as her, with brilliant skin, pale hair and pointed ears that poked out over headbands that pressed them flat. They did not wear the forced scowls well, nor was their grace well-served, shuffling around with bent knees. A pair started what looked to be a fight, one of the men slapping the other tamely. They embraced after an apology. Another round of the raucous laughter I'd heard outside bellowed, echoing through the cramped hall, from a group of weathered men who had clearly put the duo up to their scuffle.
"Why... Would I drink ale directly from the barrel?" I asked tentatively, glancing at the imperial warhammers set on each wall.
"What's the-" She coughed, then cleared her throat, flushing a light pink. "Whats the matter, you never had a good time before?"
I stared at her. "I just want a coffee, lady. Maybe a little rum in it..."
"We only serve ale, here, traveler."
"Perhaps a warm meal, then? Something hearty?"
"No, we literally only serve ale here. The cook is... out."
My blank stare held against her. "What the hell is the deal with this town? First the Dwarves across the street, and now this shit?"
She looked both ways before leaning in. "The Dwarves? How was their cafe?"
"It was... very strange."
A smile crept across her face, filled with straight, pearly teeth that radiated in the wan lighting. "Excellent. Look, don't tell anyone- we have a bet with those damn Dwarves to see who pulls in more money running the other's business for a week. We're definitely going to win, don't you think? It's so easy being brutish, and Dwarves don't have a drop of grace in them."
*I don't think there's self-awareness on either side... they'll all be unemployed come next week.*
She leaned closer, stifling a giggle. "We originally named the cafe 'Little Things' to make them mad, but now it's *so* much better."
My shoulders slumped, and I sat down on one of the benches at a knurled oak table set far too low for adults. My head burrowed into my palms, then poked through, stretching my face as a bout of laughter overtook me. "Just... fetch me a fucking ale. I'm not drunk enough to be in this town."
*/r/resonatingfury* | I had heard that there was a cute, new cafe in town, so I figured it might be nice to go. Although I had also heard that across from it, there was quite a rowdy bar. I figured that the cafe was probably run by elves and the bar by dwarves- those nasty little creatures. But even though I'm a troll, I try not to be too cruel to the little dwarves. They are smaller than me, after all.
When I went in, it was clear that the cafe was as nice as I had heard. It was bright, warm, and cozy, with flowers everywhere. (Trolls *can* appreciate beauty, you know.) I looked at the menu and decided to order a few croissants. When the waiter came to my table, though, I was surprised.
He was a dwarf. I looked around and saw that the rest of the staff were also dwarves. I couldn't believe it. These small, ugly, brutish things had opened such a cozy little cafe? I looked back down at the dwarf, who now seemed quite annoyed.
"Yes, yes, we are dwarves. How amazing. Now. What would you like to order?"
"Er... four croissants, please?" We trolls much enjoy eating, don't worry. This was of course just a small breakfast. "And a coffee. Large." I wrinkled my nose at the size. In reality, it wasn't very much. Restaurants owned by foreign species always seemed to have this problem.
"Four croissants, large coffee, yes, yes." The dwarf was just about to go when I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me?" He turned around and winced while rubbing his shoulder. What weaklings.
"Yes?"
"Do you know who owns the bar down the street?"
The dwarf wrinkled his nose and gazed out the open window. "Elves."
I followed his stare. A troll fell out the door as a tiny, angelic creature yelled at it. I could barely make out the words, "...and don't come back! We don't need any rowdy trolls here anyway!" But as she shut the door, a small smirk formed on her lips.
I turned away, troubled. The dwarf shut the window and walked away, muttering something about "Those brutes... always looking to pick a fight..."
As I sat back in my chair, I realized that there was a whole lot of this land I hadn't figured out yet. | 2019-02-20T11:21:57 | 2019-02-20T09:21:22 | 1,139 | 267 |
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806) | Her father explained his practices in layman’s terms. I mean, the child was only five years old at the time; who would tell their little princess that they were summoning demons from astral planes to exhort and control others for power? No, daddy summoned friends, who helped him with work.
She carried this belief for a long while, and never really prodded her father more about his work. A few happy years went by until a demon slipped his grasp, exsanguinated the man’s wife in front of him, and dragged him into the lower pits of hell. The little princess was celebrating a friend’s birthday with a sleepover allowing her to escape unfortunate and undesirable circumstances.
Of course the family did not have many friends due to the father’s line of work, so the young girl was the first to discover the body of her mother. She was horrified, shocked, and needed support. The little princess contacted authorities, as they were the last line to try if all other methods failed. Her dad was nowhere to be found; only his fingernails were located, dug into the wood floors trailing into the furnace.
The authorities were not used to getting called to this home, but when they found out whom it belonged to they laughed at the man’s daughter and gave her a shovel to dispose of her mother with. Word spread fast. The little princess was alone in the world, with no friends or kind faces to turn to. She asked many that she thought were friends and was turned away. She had to take care of herself, but she needed someone to be there for her.
She spent many hours sitting in the pool of blood her mother left her, staring at the decomposing corpse seeking her kind words and loving embrace. Her tears and sorrow was not making any headway with a grave. Who could she turn to? Who could she trust? Her father was gone, and her mother offered no sound advice. She remembered daddy’s books, and how he could summon friends. It was a place to start.
Now no book of the damned or necromicrom or conjuration tome was made for a little princess, and it took many days and unanswered questions of pronunciation and ingredient sorting before the little girl had everything right.
--
Balghast the Sable was used to answering summons from a variety of despicable persons. It took lots with its fellow demons of the type of person that summoned it this time. Balghast is used to a myriad of surprises, but this… this was something entirely unexpected. A little girl, malnourished, dress bloodied, and a corpse of another female in the corner of the room propped in a chair adjacent to a shovel, greeted Balghast the Sable with a cheery but weak hello.
A witch perhaps…
A very elaborated and cunning guise if it is one. Nice touches here and there, not the best, but could get most demons.
An angel?
No definitely not one of those spawns. The little thing interrupted Balghast's musings.
“Hello, friend. I need help. My dad is gone, and my mo…” the little princess couldn’t finish before breaking down in tears.
Balghast the Sable could not believe it: it was as it saw it. A little girl summoned him. Balghast felt something stir inside of itself. Scorn? Hatred? Loathing? The demon had to fish around in the human tongue’s lexicon for the words: pity and compassion. Balghast reached out one of his tendrils that was not poisonous or very sharp, and gave the little wretch a hug. Balghast shed tears, a feat that it did not know it could accomplish, with the little girl. They stayed this way for several minutes before Balghast had to disentangle itself from the little thing.
“What do you need?” Belghast was trying its best not to allow its voice to be terrible and awe inspiring, but … soft. As soft as a demon’s voice could be. The little girl seemed moved by this effort.
“A friend.”
And so it was.
| "It is I, Agraam Pent, Scourge of Exorcists, Bane of the living. What is it you summon me for?"
As my eyes start to clear I see the short mage before me, speaking with a youthful and seemingly childish voice.
"I want to play ball, Aggy"
"The ball game is made for mortals, but very well, where is your arena?"
"Arena? I just want to kick a ball around with you in the yard."
"You what?!?!"
My vision finely becoming normal, I see that the mage not only sounds like a child, but appears to look like one as well.
"I just wa..."
"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID CHILD! Why do you summon one of the Grand Eternals for the job of an imp, you insult me."
Kids these days, it's as if they aren't even taught the proper levels and roles of demons.
"I just wanted a friend...and that old book there said I could get one. Can we go play ball now?"
Of all the sadistic people I have met, of all the awful jobs I've had to do, of all the idiotic tasks I have completed in my eternal life, I have no words for this horror, no words at all. | 2016-05-18T21:34:23 | 2016-05-18T21:23:57 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] You died and awoke in the afterlife. It's quite nice actually. The people and atmosphere are a lot nicer than you are used to and there is no stress or pressure. When you ask what good deed got you into heaven you are informed that this is hell, followed by a visit from a very concerned demon.
Edit: Wow, this got a lot more attention than I expected. | I was surrounded by loving faces. My family, my kids, my wife of 49 years and even our dog on my lap when I died. I guess it might have looked peaceful for anyone watching, I was dazed and sleepy from the painkillers so I couldn't talk much and everything I did say felt muffled and slurry. Inside of course, I was in a state of utter panic. It's one thing to know in the abstract that death is near, quite another to have heard a doctor tell your family, in the nicest possible way, that you probably only had minutes of existence left. I could feel a wave of pain in the distance, kept at bay by the morphine but always just over the horizon, till the dam broke, the pain hit me all at once and then just like that I knew I was gone. The lights went out and I took what I thought would be my last breath.
That was, until I was suddenly and unexpectedly sitting on the side of a hill in what was unambiguously a wildflower meadow in the English countryside. A minute previously, I had fully expected to fade to nothing, for my existence to be extinguished and for the void to swallow me. Instead I was sitting on a nice tartan blanket, the warmth of the sun on my face, and looking below me at a nice hedgerow with elderflowers in full bloom, overtopped by a dignified old elm tree. I could smell a hint of salt in the air, I got up and took a few paces up the hill and sure enough, the field extended about another hundred yards downhill until the grass gave way to white sand and a calm sea beyond.
I wasn't alone either, as I made my way toward the beach I walked past young couples giggling and chatting on blankets much like mine, Families eating picnics with their children and their dogs and their elders, and groups of children running back and forward between the sand and their parents sitting on the grass, dogs, toys and sometimes the occasional enthusiastic grandad in tow.
Aside from the lovely vista, I noted as I walked along that my health had drastically improved in the last few minutes. The illness I had been suffering from these last few years was a wasting disease, slow and relentless it had taken my mobility, my coordination, my ability to feed myself and finally I suppose my life. I'd lived to be 78, people who live as long as that are described as having had a good innings. I would have been quite happy with the same again. Anyway now I felt not one minute of my years. I could have jogged, or run or cartwheeled down that field if I'd a mind to. No longer was I the bedbound mess I had been, my family dilligently cleaning and changing me and making sure I was comfortable. I felt like a young man in the prime of my life.
I must have walked for 3 or 4 hours along that beach, the warm sand between my toes, the laughs of happy strangers surrounding me. And in that time I thought about what I must have done right in my life to end up in such a tranquil place after. I had always been a churchgoing man, every Sunday we went to the same little church in our village. We sat in the same pews, sang the same hymns as they appeared and disappeared in their cycle over the year. Attended communion and said my Lords Prayer when called to. But the dirty little secret between me and my maker was that I didn't believe a word of it. I enjoyed the community, the friends I made along the way, As for the religion itself, a fairy tale for children. As for the rest of my life, I brought up 4 children to do as well as they could. They were happy children and moody teens and disapointed adults. They all moved away from our little town to find their own way eventually. They worked in jobs that I didn't really understand, and weren't always happy. My wife wasn't always as happy as she could have been, she told me I was boring, too sensible, too careful. But we loved each other and we worked out our problems. I wasn't the worlds best man. I thought about other women but didn't act. I got angry at my kids and my friends but didn't let it spill into grudges. I got angry at the changes in the world that I didn't understand, but I didn't let myself become a bigot. I bit my tongue a lot these last few years!
I guessed that must have been enough for God. Because here I was in Heaven. As I walked I let my imagination drift further. I could be happy here, for the years I had to wait until I was reunited with my family. They would be young and strong again like I was, and recovered from the stresses of the word.
I spotted a nice looking little village in the distance and started making my way there. The sun was starting to go down and I was surprised to find that even in the afterlife you need to sleep. As I walked off the beach and up some steps that led to a harbour, I could see a man who wasn't quite like the others around me. He was tall and slim, pale like he had recently been sick, with grey hair and a walking stick. I was surprised to see anyone could be sick or injured here, so I waved and walked over to where he sat on a little wooden bench, looking out over the ocean.
"Good Evening" I said, taking a seat next to him. " A fine evening for sightseeing"
"Hello", said the man tersly, "I wager it's not so fine an evening as you think George, your family wouldn't describe it so anyway"
Taken aback in two ways, because this man knew my name and because he was right about my family, I exclaimed "Who are you?! Where are we?!"
"I am called Slater, George. Though the others in my department call me Sel. I am the demon in charge of this part of hell"
I felt like the carpet had been pulled from under my feet. "How can this be hell?" I asked, "there is no torture here, no fire and brimstone and magma"
Slater, Sel, looked at me sadly. "It's been the work of my life to create this place George. It's hard to create anything lovely on our own, without the light of the almighty to give it life of it's own. Hell is the place we were given outside the presence of God. To make what we could of it and house those who chose not to enter Heaven."
I have a million years here, as you'll see, perhaps in another chapter of this story I can get in to the meaning his words. For now though his sober news was enough for one night.
"Fall all my labours though George, there is no love here. Most of the people you see are facsimiles I made to give the place life and atmosphere, they are no more alive than a painting or a movie on a screen. You probably don't notice the real people, walking the beach or the meadows or the forest in silence, alone. For those people, and you are now one of them, there is no comfort in a sunny day or a peaceful tableau. The only torment that hell really produces is that everyone comes here on their own, and no one who loves them ever comes after."
The full meaning of this last part hit me like the death wave, come for a second time. My family, my friends, none would follow me here. I am to wander this countryside as a stranger forever.
"If we are to be alone together forever Slater, then why even make such a place, with the fake happiness and the copies of people"
Sel said "because if we were not able to sometimes lose ourselves pretending that some of the happiness around us was real, then this place may as well be the hell you expected" | The demon in front of me pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "sorry, explain it to me again why you thought this was heaven?"
I gestured a hand at our surroundings; beautiful golden sands, a perfect blue sky, the soft lapping of the sea that seemed to gently breathe in unison with a light breeze.
"All this" I explained "where are the fires of lava and the boiling cauldrons?"
"In heaven. So why would this be heaven?" He queried again sounding even more perplexed.
"No hell is meant to be that. You do bad things you get boiled in cauldrons, drowned in lava, thrown into the fiery pits of hell, it's in the name!" I was just as confused as him, it was like trying to have a conversation in another language.
"The Fiery Pit of Hell, is the best BBQ joint in the afterlife, why would you be thrown into it for being bad? Getting thrown out of it would be the punishment and no body would be foolish enough to do that! It has a permanent happy hour!"
I sighed "We are told that Hell is where bad people go? Only good people go to heaven."
"Why would the afterlife punish good people by sending them to Heaven?" He said rubbing his eyes in frustration. He took a sip of his mojito - set it back down. I paused and as I watched the glass refill itself, I tried to think of way to get this conversation back on track.
"Look" I said "the religions down there tell us that if we do bad things like murder, steal, rape we go to Hell. Where we are tortured for eternity. If we do good things like go to church/temple/mosque, pray, live by the Bible, the Quran etc we go to heaven to be rewarded."
The demon shook his head, "you are speaking nonsense. If you murder, steal, rape than you go to heaven. Where else would you face judgement? The almighty doesn't have time to commute, you go straight to them and they deal with your punishment. That's their whole deal. Obey the laws I laid down or face my wrath. How could bad people face their wrath if you don't go where they are?"
As I processed that mindfuck, he continued "what do you mean religions? And pretty much every word you said after that?"
I look at him, shocked, look around, sure somehow this is all some sort of great cosmic joke. There is nothing to interrupt my views of paradise, or interrupt my thoughts apart from the gentle trill of birdsong off in the distance. I look back him, look into his eyes and seeing genuine confusion. I go on to explain the world's religions to him.
Many many mojitos later he has taken to just rolling about with laughter. The only words I have had put of him for the last few hours have consisted of "They said what? People believe that? They do what? Why?"
The topic of sex particularly left with tears streaming down his face in laughter. "Seriously, come on your pulling my leg? Why would the almighty not want you to enjoy the bodies they created for you? They created you in their images, why would you not enjoy the blessing they gave you? How did anyone convince you all that it was wrong? Jeez you guys can't be doing it right, if you think it's a bad thing"
Then of course I have to go on and explain that it's not the act per se but the sin, the shame, the guilt. Both of which are completely foreign concepts to him.
"Oh man, someone has done a right number on you mortals, you have got some seriously big issues. It does explain a few things though..." He trails off looking into the distance.
"What?" I question
"Well" he says looking a bit embarrassed, "I only actually the new guy, your my first arrival." He sees my start at that and hurries on "It's not that I don't know what I doing, I have done the full 1000 years training, and got top scores for my year. I just didnt get why you humans all seems to go a bit crazy for a bit when you first get here. But it kind of makes sense now."
"Didn't they tell you any of this?" I ask
He shakes his head and shugs, "I would never had believed it if they had. Not sure I do now, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth, it's a lot to take in."
"Tell me about it!" I say "My whole world, no universe view just got totally blown apart."
He looks sheepish, "Yeah I guess it's worse for you. But come on sounds like it was all for the best really."
He stands up and gestures me to follow, "come on you have the whole of eternity to process that shit. What do you want to do first?"
I smile, "The Fiery Pits of Hell?"
*******
Please excuse any typos etc on phone, dyslexic and it's late! Hope it makes sense too tire to proof read! | 2022-12-26T14:12:39 | 2022-12-26T14:08:01 | 579 | 271 |
[WP] You died. Death is boring, a blank black nothing. After a while, boredom sets in. As a joke you shout, "Let there be light!" And suddenly, there was Light. | It was too bright. In the huge expanse of nothingness, black had been replaced by its arch-nemesis. Blinding. Uncomfortable.
*We can’t live like this*
No sooner had the thought entered my head, I realised how stupid it was. You’re not living at all, idiot.
“Uh, hello?” I called into the light, “think we could kill the brightness a smidge?”
Immediately, the light faded to a warm, orange glow, as though the sun had begun to set on a summer’s day. Much better. At least I could see where I was, now. Not that it helped me work out exactly what ‘where’ was.
The floor was solid. That much was easy to tell. I thumped my bare feet upon it a couple of times just to make sure. The slapping sound that echoed around my head reminded me of the hard, tiled floor of my bathroom. Although I suppose it’s not my bathroom anymore. Huh. For a moment I allowed my mind to wonder who would be the one to discover my lifeless frame in the tub. Ruth? Layla? Probably Keith. He was always home early on Thursdays and—
*What the fuck are you doing?*
Whilst letting my thoughts run wild, I had started wandering across the open landscape. Can’t allow that to happen again.
*Stop sentimentalising the whole thing. You did this for a reason and now we’re here. This is better for you. It’s where we belong.*
Sentimental? Me? I’ve never been the type. But when you find yourself in a foreign place with no discernible surroundings, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve left behind. The stupid things. The rustling of the leaves as you meander in autumn. The sweet scent of freshly ground coffee beans in the morning. The way Ruth’s hair falls effortlessly down over her shoulders, cascading beauty capturing my gaze every single time. Ruth.
Ruth.
I can’t be here. I’m not sure I wanted to be here in the first place.
*Tough luck, bozo. This is our home for the rest of our days.*
A door. On the horizon, a small brown arch emerged from the haze of this dusk-like plain. It had to be a door. I broke into a run across the hard, enamelled floor. There was no way of knowing what was on the other side, but goddamn it I was going to find out. Within seconds I was upon it, and burst straight through.
Silence. Darkness. Back to square one. I decided that one more try wouldn’t hurt.
“Let there be light!” I shouted.
A flickering candle appeared in the corner of this much smaller room. It’s gift of light was enough to recognise the ghosts of objects I knew. The curved ceramic bowl of my own bathtub. I traced the outline of it with my fingers. It was filled with ice-cold water. This had to be it.
*It’s no use, there’s no way out of this. None of them love you, and none of them will even care enough to find you.*
I had to try. I was already standing in it. Pushing all air out of my lungs, I plunged my entire body under the surface.
Ice screamed its way through every vein as I fought the urge to pull myself back out. No. Too far gone to back out now. I could still see the candle, flickering on the side of the tub. The waning taper danced around, mocking me with its small ball of heat.
*No! You can’t do this! We’re meant to be here! It’s our choice!*
Invisible hands were trying their utmost to pull me back to the surface. He wasn’t giving up. I fought them off and tried to stay below the surface. The candle’s flame was now a tiny orange speck on the tip. Almost gone.
“Jake! JAKE!”
With great force, I was wrenched out of the water and on to the cold, hard, tiled floor—you know, the one just like in my bathroom.
The candle was gone. | “Hey we’re trying to sleep here stop shouting!”
“Uhh sorry..?” I replied as the blinding light slowly dimmed and came into focus. It was simply a large ball of swirling and shifting color, sending beams of solid white light piercing through the empty space around it.
“Look I know you’re new here but there’s only one rule,” the ball of light said slowly drifting closer “you listen to me, got it?”
“Yeah, sure I just...”
“And a couple hundred years ago I said it’s quiet time for the next millennia, so shut up and enjoy the peace for a bit!” It interrupted
The light started to dim and darkness descended from the top of the ball like a great eye lid was closing over it.
“Okay I’ll be...”
“What the hell did I just say!” The light screamed flashing even brighter this time.
“I told you it’s quiet time, so shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
“Someone shut this kid up, please! I was just gettin’ some peace ova here.” Muttered an incorporeal New York accent just behind me.
“Sorry, I’ll... I’ll stop talking...” I replied sheepishly.
“Good!” Responded a chorus of angry voices from all around me.
The light again slowly began to dim and close and everything returned to peace and darkness. | 2019-10-06T04:05:58 | 2019-10-06T03:42:59 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] You wake up to the TV on. It's all over the news, your city has been leveled by a nuclear attack. On the screen footage of the smoldering ruins. But you stare out of your window, and everything is unchanged. | At about noon, the denizens of Waterman Canyon saw the most brilliant sunrise in the North. Within minutes, a stiff breeze swept through downtown, knocking loose the last of the autumn leaves which fluttered to the ground like embers. By one, the sun was covered by thick, smoggy clouds. By two, an insidious trickle of water had begun parading down Main Street.
These are all symptoms of a nuclear blast, the epicenter of which is located just outside of Martinelli’s Pizzeria on State Street just across from the mall here in Chesterfield. I’m watching it on the news – the devastation, the wrecked homes, upturned highway, the airstrip littered with debris, a river where once a dam stood proud. Bedford Estates has just flashed briefly across the screen and I think I see our gutted Honda on its side in the neighbor’s living room.
Now, I must contrast this with what I see outside my window. A red sedan has just rolled down the street without a care in the world, and Mr. Saverino is watering his impeccable lawn. The only smoke in the air is coming from Chesterfield’s bustling industries. As I lay on my bed, I note a jetliner streaks across the sky; no news helicopters or Red Cross planes are to be found. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Except this television.
In this strange situation, still clouded by the fog of broken sleep, I am left to wonder: why Chesterfield? Has it really happened or is it some prank? Are we a strategic target or is this a mistake? Why?
Time to explore. I throw on some clothes, grabbing a coat from the closet. They’ve just shown a line of cars with blackened fronts and smashed-in windows lined up in rows along the eastbound freeway.
Outside the air is brisk. Old Red, our family car, is still there, and I pat her lovingly, again examining the cloudless winter sky. Someone has a fireplace going.
Tract housing and apartments, grocery stores and churches, same as they’ve always been. The radio estimates 3,000 dead.
I pull onto State Street. Here, they say, the background radiation would last a decade or two, if it weren’t all being swept downstream by the Wabash River. In fact, they report I’m under 10 feet of roaring rapids right now, yet I can breath just fine and the engine hasn’t taken on any water. They also say Waterman Canyon will be submerged within the hour as well. There’s Martinelli’s. A white van is parked outside that looks awful suspicious.
I continue past shops which have existed here since my youth; little details resurface with every sight. I recall the time I tripped on that loose brick, or the time that shopkeeper accused me of shoplifting a jacket my mother had bought there the week before. Little memories, swept away by fire. Why Chesterfield?
Evacuations across the county have begun and aide has been sent, but the rest of the world has turned its eyes to New York, Los Angeles, London, Beijing. Terror abounds, but not in Chesterfield.
I check my feed. #PrayForChesterfield is in every tweet I see, but the only message I’ve received is from my mother asking that I pick up milk at Mackey’s. Has the world turned upside down? Has Chesterfield been spared from hell?
It’s lunchtime at the high school, but nobody’s there. I realize they’re all on break. Are they seeing the reports, too?
From this angle I can see Potter Dam. I compare it to a picture on my phone – they say it wasn’t the blast that made it collapse. It was the sloshing reservoir after the fact that did the poor thing in. Isn’t it always the aftershock that does us in? The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand comes to mind. One bullet started two wars. One bomb in rural America…who knows what that will do. What legislation and devastation it will bring, only time will tell. But for now, Chesterfield is fine. I’ve seen it.
I’m at home again. It’s uncanny. The media still can’t get enough of the tragedy, the markets are plummeting, and I’m sure the UN translators are earning their paychecks. All of this for a little city in –––––. I almost feel honored to be at the center of so much attention.
Everyone I’ve talked to is just as confused when I show them what my television is announcing. They aren’t getting the same reports I’m getting. Some think it’s a trick. Others are mildly worried. I’ve tried to contact people outside, to call the helpline scrolling along the bottom of all the news broadcasts – nothing.
But just now, I’ve realized something. It’s only 11:59 AM.
I should have notified the authorities. Told them about the white van. Explained the oracles I have received.
But they would respond just as I did.
Why Chesterfield? | It’s only just nine in the morning, far too early for anyone to be awake, let alone be a coherent, functioning human being. But up I get, to the sounds of the TV. Can’t fucking remember what I did last night, but here I was, haphazardly sprawled out on the couch, with the TV on and a jolly news commentator prattling away. Scrabbled for the remote I did, but of course couldn’t find it now, could I?
Might as well just sit and watch the news for a bit, I think.
*‘Diana, you’re live at the scene, tell us a bit more about it.’*
*'Thank you, Cameron. Well as you can see, destruction has been wrought upon the city of Bombay, with Muslim terrorists suspected for the nuclear attacks, coming from Pakistan. What was once a bustling metropolis has been reduced to rubble, with a low percentage of survivors, if any, expected to be found.*
That was CNN. This is coming from CNN. Can’t fucking believe this. Is this a hoax? Fuck, let me change the channels.
*'Live at BBC, Bombay has been razed to the ground! Footage shows collapsed buildings and bridges-'*
Something was terribly wrong. There were birds outside, chirping merrily. Street vendors with their little stalls set up, and the lights of the various malls were on. Cars out in the street, which probably were being driven by real human beings. People bustling to and fro, most dressed smartly, going to work, or school, and the like. This wasn’t the image of a devastated town, not at all.
What the fuck was going on?
Went back to the TV, and kept on changing channels. Again, and again. Over and over. And the only ones which sprung out were the news channels. All the other ones were apparently inaccessible, for the screen would go blue and fuzzy. Fairly sure I wasn’t only subscribed to the news channels.
And I reiterate, what the fuck was going on?
Surely this wasn’t natural, or normal, in any capacity. In any fucking-
**Shit.**
I go to the kitchen counter, and grab my bottle of Olanzapine.
| 2016-12-27T10:34:26 | 2016-12-27T01:49:32 | 93 | 38 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood | The young man opened the doors of his study and ushered in the group of far older, distinguished ladies and gentlemen with amicable urgency. The man was a stark contrast to his guests; not only in his age but his attire, too, was far more modest, only wearing a vest as opposed to an elaborate suit or dress.
"Please," he smiled, "I am so glad you all accepted my offer. Do come in."
The group walked in with an air of arrogance and contempt one would expect from nobility or, in this particular case, elder vampires. They sat down in the luxurious leather armchairs prepared for the occasion.
"Very well, Viktor," one of the oldest men said. "What is this all about? We may have all eternity, but not all the patience," he chortled.
"Trust me," Viktor said eagerly, "what I am about to show you will change your lives." He looked expectantly at his guests but when he realized he didn't quite grip their attention yet, nervously continued.
"Up until today," Viktor said, "we have had to rely on a regular intake of human blood to survive. This not only put us in a morally questionable position, it would sometimes endanger our lives and well-being when the human world caught onto our existence - not to mention professional vampire hunters."
"Viktor," one of the women near the front interrupted, "get to the point."
"Y- yes, of course, Miss Cosmescu," he sputtered out. "There is another way."
He reached below his desk and pulled out a leather case containing several syringes. The elders exchanged puzzled looks.
"These are supplements - iron, vitamin D, some designer medications that are not widely available to the human world, but - in short... they remove our dependence on blood. We still need to eat to gain other nutrients and fat but we will no longer need-"
His eager, enthusiastic presentation ended when one of the men laughed loudly, soon joined by almost everyone else in the room.
"Is this it, boy?" the man said when he, at last, stopped laughing. "A way to stop drinking blood?"
Viktor seemed confused. "Yes, we will finally be able to live peacefully with-"
"The cattle?" a woman interrupted. "Why do you think we possibly care about them?"
"They're intelligent beings like we are," Viktor protested. "We have no right-"
"No, boy, we *do* have the right," another man interrupted. "We are *inherently* superior. We take what we want. I will not stoop to the level of injecting myself with some trash just to spare the lives of the worms who writhe in the dirt."
"Please, if you would just consider-"
"If this is all, boy," the man interrupted again, "you have wasted enough of our time."
He started standing up, but Viktor raised his hands. "Please! There is... one more thing. Just a minute more of your time, I beg of you!"
The elders sighed collectively but sat back down.
"You are on thin ice, boy," the man hissed.
"I- I'll just need to gather a few items. Please, I will be right back. Claudia," he said and turned to one of the younger handmaidens standing meekly in the corner, "if you would please help me?"
He stepped out of the room together with the woman before sliding the doors shut. He sighed and rested his head against the door itself in defeat.
"Viktor?" Claudia asked. He looked at her with a weak smile, but then narrowed his eyes and his smile grew wider, happier.
"Your eyes... you... you took the supplements," he gasped. She smiled and nodded.
"I saw the Sun today, Viktor," she breathed quietly. "I saw the *Sun*."
"Did it meet your expectations?"
"I..." she said, but left her mouth open, incapable of describing her feelings, yet the tears that welled up in her eyes told more than enough.
Viktor smiled before slumping back into a defeated slouch as he walked to a panel beside the door and pressed several buttons. A metallic **click** rumbled the doors, followed by a spooling, rising whoosh of electricity within the room.
"What are you doing?" Claudia asked. Viktor did not turn to face her. He couldn't.
He pressed another button.
A loud, electric buzzing filled the study, a streak of ultraviolet light escaping it just at the threshold of the door. Screaming filled the room, followed by the sickening smell of burning flesh.
Claudia screamed and grabbed Viktor by the shoulder.
"VIKTOR! WHAT DID YOU DO?"
He looked at her somberly.
"They- they left me no choice. I promised I'd change their lives today," he said. "And I keep my promises." | "But I Am A Vegan!" I screamed at my obsessive and abusive ex as he sat there smirking at me. He laughed as I tried to throw up thick red liquid he had just forced down my throat.
"It's too late Crystal, by this time tomorrow you'll be chowing down on poor old Nancy over there." Samel said smirking. I looked over at my new girlfriend. She was tied up and terrified. I had tried so hard to turn my life around and heal from my childhood. Now all I could do was cry as Samel left and locked the door behind him. Nancy tried to smile at me.
"It will be ok maybe there's a vegan option for vampires?" She said trying to comfort me. I crawled over to her and did my best to free her from her ropes.
When we were both finally able to stand up and walk I looked around and saw the window.
The rest of that night became a blur. The next thing I knew I was curled up against a deer in the woods covered in blood, Nancy nowhere to be found. And that's how my next few years were spent. I was too scared to be around humans and possibly hurt them.
-15years later
Nancy pov-
"And your sure this will work? That this is the proper amount of iron and vitamin D to replace blood for vampires?" I asked looking at my very tired looking vampire lab assistant named Josh.
"Yes I've been taking it for a week now and have never felt better" Josh said smiling as he looked at me.
"Good then it's finally time to go find my dear Crystal" I said as we headed out to the woods. I had been tracking her movements and working to fix what Samel had broken. He had been a grade a stalker since Crystal left him. When he saw that I had gotten with her he graduated from stalking to doing everything to make her life miserable. He had failed each time until he finally got so desperate as to become a vampire and turn her by force as well. After I find my love revenge on her ex is next. | 2022-12-04T08:38:11 | 2022-12-04T08:32:43 | 1,171 | 53 |
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked. | His cottage was palatial by local standards. He had chosen the estate because it was remote enough to be unmolested. It was big enough to tend and support the family he had hoped to start. With the loss of his damsel, it had suddenly become overwhelmingly large. Now that his hound was taken from him, it was absolutely devoid of purpose.
John sat on his bed, sitting on the battlemail draped over it. The half-plate remained mounted on the wall. He looked wearily at his old implements of war. The darkness of night had settled around him, and he had already, ceremonially, blown out all the candles, save the ones in the main sitting room. There, he had set a table for himself, with the fires and the light casting clear shadows against the stone walls.
John went to his dinner table, and placed his face into a cloth. His sobbing filled the estate.
___
The freelancers slowly crept into the estate. The lock on the front door was easy enough to pick, and the back door wasn't even locked. Their leader smirked. The Wicked had gone soft in his retirement. They could hear him crying in the dining room. The lancers slowly crept in, allowing their eyes to adjust to the light before they would pounce upon their victim.
___
With a quick snick of his knife, John cut a cord of rope that had been holding the candlewheel up on the ceiling. It fell onto the table with a clatter, and all the flames flickered out. Darkness immediately enveloped the lancers' eyes, and they began shuffling in their panic. With the cloth removed from his eyes, the Wicked moved swiftly to work.
The nearest lancer to him, by the armchair, received a quick dagger between the third and fourth ribs. John pulled the dagger out, and a quick spurt of blood followed as the lancer collapsed. John spun around, spinning the dagger to point the blade downward, and stuck it under the chin of another, up through the roof of his mouth. His gurgling trickled through the house.
A third lancer was already on his knees, his eyes still adjusting. Please, he begged, please, I, ple- John had plunged the dagger into his throat, and left it there. He looked out, and listened for the footsteps. Pitter patter, pitter patter.
Three more, he thought.
___
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. John opened it.
"John."
"Jim."
"'Tis a fine evening."
"'Tis."
The constable tilted his head, peering into John's cottage. The dining room was dark, but the slumped figures of three freelancers was clearly visible. In the hallway were two more. One was slumped against the stairway, not dead but definitely dying. Constable Jim looked back at John.
"Ye received a call for rabble-rousing?"
"Yea, John," the constable paused, "rabble-rousing."
"I'll try to maintain a golden silence for the remainder of this evening."
"Appreciated. Are ye crusading again, John?"
"No, no. I am just cleaning up a few things."
"OK, well," the constable looked both unsure and resigned, "Good evening to ye, John."
"Good evening, Jim."
John closed the door. | The warrior without a path lain before him sat in his broken home, letting his blood boil and the tempest of grief and rage take him over.
His eyes, transfixed toward his enemy, wherever they might be hiding, with cold, murderous intent. He felt a feeling not of anger or of grief for his enemies, but the realization that his dark path had not and most likely find its way into the light.
Finding his resolve, the warrior descends into the cellar, to retrieve his arms, his attire, and to ready himself for the approaching slaughter. | 2018-09-05T00:20:01 | 2018-09-04T23:49:48 | 2,033 | 25 |
[WP] Wandering the streets, jobless, homeless, you happen across a silver ring with an inscription: "Help for the Needy." Idly you slip it on. Suddenly a voice resonates deep within your bones: "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN." | It been months since I found this damned ring. Months of running. Months of near misses, close calls, and , sometimes, just not being fast enough. I just can't be everywhere at once. I've noticed that I don't get even a little winded when the ring tells me to run, but that's little help when I'm on the scene with no idea what to do next. It's not like I can call 911 and tell them there's an armed robbery 1.8 miles to the southwest.
I started reading the obituaries. If I'm not running, I go to the funerals of the ones I couldn't save. Accidents happen all over the city and the ring doesn't tell me about all of them. Why? Why was this accident worth averting, but not that one? Why has it never mentioned an accident more than 1.9 miles away? It just seems arbitrary.
I am pondering all these questions when I see the ad. It's small, tucked in amidst the obits and ads for funeral parlors and churches. "Rings Anonymous. Grady's Pub. 7 p.m. Every Monday. Time to Run!"
Grady's is a run\-down biker bar well outside of town. I know which table I am looking for the moment I walk in. There's a motley group gathered around a couple of tables in the back. We make our introductions and a little small talk before we get down to the business of the rings. The group varies from week to week, so it's hard to tell how many there really are.
There a few regulars. "Gunny" is an ex\-marine who found his ring on the ground outside the mess hall when he was stationed overseas. He figures it's saved hundreds of lives of the years. Nick is barely 18. He says his has been in his family for generations, only passed down when the previous wearer has died. It can't be removed any other way. Max is in college in the city, still pulling off the punk affectations from high school that she's not quite outgrown. She bought hers at a pawn shop because she "thought it looked cool." There are a few others, but they don't say much.
The rings can do a lot more than just warn you to run. Gunny hasn't run in years. "You gotta learn to embrace it," he says between sips of beer. "When you hear that voice. Concentrate on it. Listen closely to what it says. A hundred yards to the north...one mile to the south...focus on that. That ring can just take you there, but it takes a lot of practice. And you can't be even the least reluctant about going."
"Sometimes, I get there and I think that I have no idea what I'm doing and I feel like the ring just kind of takes over," Nick is kind of staring into space talking to no one in particular. "I have never done a Heimlich maneuver on an adult before, much less on a child, but I got there and just....just did it. And the kid's ok." Max stops fiddling with her coaster and looks up. "I stopped a bus. And, I don't mean I waved it down or stepped over the white line and told the driver to stop. I stepped off the curb between a bus and a little kid, held out my hand, and stopped. a. bus."
"Have any of you been sick since you got your ring?", one of the quiet ones speaks up for the first time. "I had terminal, inoperable cancer. I was a walking corpse. I'm in my oncologist's waiting room and the ring is just there on the table in front of the aquarium. I pick up and see the inscription. I don't even remember putting it on, but there it is. Cancer's gone within a week. Doc says he wishes he was as healthy as me."
We drink. We talk. We commisserate over our near misses, close calls and those times when we just aren't fast enough.
Eventually. we have to call it a night. It's a great location, isolated far enough that the only things the rings will warn us about are right here in this room, but we can't hide here forever. There's a lot of chaos out in the world, a lot of needy to help.
Edit: punctuation.
Edit: more | My feet took off before my brain could register what was happening, it hurt to run in the boots, but they were broken in plenty and I wasn't about to let a child die, there was no way in hell I'd ever allow that to happen. I rushed past people on their way to work who gave me queer stares, food vendors who shouted at me for bumping their carts, and dogs who lunged at me in both confusion and excited.
I didn't have time for any of it, not even my own health. I'm a failure in life, there's no reason I should let my physical capabilities hold me back from saving this drowning child. I didn't know how much time I had left, but I knew only a minute had gone by. As I approached what looked like a suburban neighborhood, I heard sirens off in the distance.
"This can't be happening."
I was faced with the dilemma of running to save a child, or running and further incriminating myself even though I hadn't done a thing wrong. My brain panicked but my feet were determined to keep moving forward, I didn't know how I had the knowledge of where the pool was, but I was nearly at a well painted house with a yard to match.
That's when I heard the shouting.
Everything after that became a blur, I'd like to tell myself I managed to save her and the police didn't have to come after me, that in the end I was only acting out on instinct. Yet no one listened, I was charged for that girls murder, and now I lay on a cold table awaiting lethal injection. The ring was still on my finger somehow, and I never wanted to see something burn more in my life. | 2018-04-30T10:44:54 | 2018-04-30T09:47:07 | 80 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context. | The slave shrieked one last time and limpened in a pool of blood. The black orb in the middle of the meeting room emitted a short pulse of ultra-violet light, only visible to select councillors.
"What is the emergency?", a deep voice resonated.
Im-Wuz stepped forward, his chitin claws clacking on the floor.
"We've lost contact with our mining outpost, Great One", he buzzed.
"That's beneath my concern", the orb growled. "Send a scouting party".
"Let me handle this", Shih'klooth interrupted. The chief of security slushed forward, casting an angry glance at the insect-shaped fungus.
"Great One, my analysts believe we're facing a dire threat. I implore you to listen what this lowly miner has to say."
The orb remained silent. "Give us your report on that tribe", Shih-klooth whispered.
"As the *head of resources*", Im-Wuz stressed, "I've been receiving intelligence reports from the planet M27OS-3 for the past century. As per nature of such reports, data might be incomplete or come with a delay, but it appears as though the people there have entered the early technological age. I was actually going to propose making our presence known and establish further contact, but this paranoid brute--"
"They're using nuclear explosives!", Shih-klooth yelled.
Other councillors looked at each other, surprised with his ourburst.
"So what?", someone asked. "Everybody uses them".
"The planet is almost completely shielded from the cosmic radiation", Im-Wuz reluctantly admitted. "Life forms that evolved there need heavy shielding to even leave atmosphere -- which, by the way, they apparently have".
There was a murmur in the room. Teying to imagine a life form that couldn't handle radiation was difficult enough, but why would such a race put their own ecosystem at risk..?
"It gets worse", Shih-klooth added. "My guys double-checked your data, and they swear by the name of the Dreaming One: those are not mining charges, those are weapons."
"And that's where you wrong!", Im-Wuz was triumphant. "If you check directories 9134 to 9969 in our report, you'll clearly see that only twice have they used nuclear weapons in wars!"
"And that's exactly why I took it upon myself to call in a meeting of the highest order", Shih-klooth gestured towards the altar where the blood had already vanished. "I can get behind destroying planets or risking your own future to win a war. But we know for a fact that they aren't fighting each other with these weapons. Yet they constantly blow them up - military-grade charges, no less. And on top of that, we've lost contact with our mining party. So I'm asking you..."
He paused, gazing around the council room before finally turning to the sphere.
"I'm asking you - who or what are those people fighting?"
Heavy silence fell onto the council hall. Everyone knew what this question entailed -- and no one dared speak the answer out loud.
Finally, the sphere spoke - its voice still powerful, but with a fleeting dissonance, a slight tremble:
"Forget the mining party. If there's even a distant possibility that we're facing *them*, we can't take any chances. Engage the Dark Matter protocol."
"But, Great One!", Im-Wuz protested. "To shield from a developed civilization we'd have to cut off an entire sector of space, possibly thousands of galaxies! We have other operations in that--"
Shih-klooth winced and looked away. He knew what happened to those who spoke up to the Great One... But it was all for the good cause, he told himself. Those "humans" will never learn that there is anything beyond what they'll see as "the dark matter"... and the rest of the galaxy will never have to face the unspeakable. | **radiation report on planet GR-3**
*authorized personnel only*
Planet GR-3, referred to by native species as “Earth”, “Gaia”, and various other terms, has seen a 5000% increase in nuclear radiation. This shows that a leading civilization have began to utilize nuclear weaponry.
Although such a development would normally be of no concern, field agent >!untranslatable!< has made the alarming report that nuclear weapons have only been used twice in war. Leadership believes that any of the three scenarios are possible:
> 1. A movement has formed in GR-3 that believes in dropping nuclear weapons on their own territories.
> 2. The local species under-estimated the potential devastation of this technology and mishandled storing it, leading to a chain reaction of explosions.
> 3. Some kind of advanced discovery may have been made, and the planet’s leading scientists are studying it.
Due to sub-space interference, we are unable to contact >!untranslatable!< for confirmation. Until further information can be acquired, GR-3 is to be placed under condition R effective immediately | 2021-02-17T05:52:52 | 2021-02-17T05:33:12 | 1,252 | 112 |
[WP] You have a superpower, but not the requisite secondary power usually needed to use it (e.g fire power but no immunity). You still make it work. | "My earliest memory is of the pain. Where bones grew and shifted under my skin. Of the doctors who said I was unique- the same way a person with a newly discovered disease was unique.
Sure, people had powers- the first doctor that actually figured out what was going on had x-ray vision.
But I was different. Most physical alteration powers were there at birth- a small tail, an extra set of limbs, or extra eyes were some documented examples. But my alterations grew in afterwards.
I remember a doctor suggesting a healer, but my parents didn't have enough money for one, or for surgery to potentially remove them, or at least ease the way.
I woke my house up in the middle of the night, screaming as my back bowed so harshly that I nearly bent in half. I don't remember much from that point on, but the way my parents tell it makes it sound like a horror movie.
I screamed as the bones shifted beneath my skin. For the previous month, bruises had peppered my back down both sides of my spine and for the last week, large blisters encompassing my entire back had appeared.
Now, the bones and muscles and tissues were pressing up against the inside of the blister walls.
They didn't know what to do, the whole time I had been screaming bloody murder, and suddenly, the blisters burst.
Honestly, the whole process sounds disgusting, and I'm glad I wasn't aware enough to remember most of it.
The blister fluid showered the room, and beneath the large swaths of loose skin, my parents saw them for the first time.
My wings.
They weren't much to look at, back then. Just lumpy- although very soft- mounds of grey downy feathers.
It wasn't until I hit puberty that my 'flight feathers' came in.
So not only was I experiencing normal puberty, but my wings were constantly itchy, and the very beginnings of the feathers' sheaths were poking through. It took about a year and a half of constantly itchy wings, even though I kept them well-groomed-
And yes, I know the gossip, and yes, I do have Uropygial glands- oil glands- to help preen my feathers. But unlike most birds where they have one at the base of their tail feathers, my glands are at the base of my wings on the inside, where my wings rest against my back-
But anyway, finally when the last sheath came off, my feathers looked... honestly, breathtaking. The sky blues, the rich purples, and the lush greens.
So I went from some pudgy little nobody with boring grey wings to something of magnificence- not to toot my own horn.
And all the heads turned- sure some kids said my wings made me look gay, but the girls fawned over me.
And to be honest, a large part of me hated it. I thought it was the popularity, but I realize now, it was the way I was treated. Like an object.
I can't tell you how many feathers I lost that first year to people who 'thought it looked loose' so they just plucked it!
By the end of the year I had picked up a horrible habit of destroying my wings when I was nervous, and people picked up on it, especially when I absolutely destroyed my wings near the end of the year with a pair of scissors.
My parents pushed me to therapy, which was honestly the best thing they could have done for me at that point. She truly helped me, and by the next year, I was ready to stand up for myself.
My feathers had grown back in by then, after a molt during the spring. I let people know what was not okay, and my senior year was amazing.
I heard a lot about the hero colleges. While I thought being a hero sounded cool, there also was the very important point.
I had no real powers.
Sure, I had my wings. But unlike a bird, my bones were solid. Because of that, I was grounded.
And so I looked for other job opportunities, and eventually I landed on modelling.
And that's how I began! I went to a fashion school, learned modelling, made fast friends, and eventually became super successful!
I send money back to my family often, and donate quite a bit to my charity: Hope on Feathered Wings. Which works to make sure children can have their medical expenses paid for. I won't lie, I was lucky my body knew what it had to do when my wings came in, but many children are not so fortunate with their powers."
\- Interview with Elsu Sparrow on the background of his powers. | It’s really not that big of a deal, to be honest.
Yes, I can stop objects in their tracks by just touching them. But the thing is, when I do, I absorb the shock that would’ve been if I was hit by it. So I don’t use it much often.
Stopping bullets leaves welts.
Stopping a snowball gives me frostbite for an hour.
And so on. I make it work, though - I use gloves that absorb electricity and to the rubber tips of the fingers, where it cancels out. It’s actually two gloves inside of one - to protect the skin. Sometimes, though, people start to get smart and aim for places my hand won’t be able to get to very quickly. So it’s not all perfect.
You could say I’m the kind of person that doesn’t give a f*** about injuries. Bad cut? Don’t matter to me. Hit in the groin? Ok, I’ll be writhing in pain on the ground an hour or two, but it’s fine. Goes the same path for my power. Sure, it’ll hurt like a mother****er for a bit, especially if it’s something like a couch (don’t get me started on last week), but I don’t care.
And yeah, I take advantage of all this. I perform shows once or twice a week. Payroll’s about 3 grand. What do I gotta lose from that? Not a big name, but it’s good for a living.
And there you go. That’s my story, and the story’s what it’ll always be.
[NOTE: ALL INFO IN THIS WRITING IS ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. IT IS TOLD IN THE FIRST PERSON, HOWEVER IT DOES NOT MAKE REFERENCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS OR EVENTS IN HISTORY.] | 2020-03-22T20:34:48 | 2020-03-22T15:22:00 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | I have no idea what I’m doing here. Is this my sixth grade English class? I look down at my copy of Number the Stars. That was one of the mandatory reading books I actually enjoyed. I feel hot tears on my checks and I’m crying.
“What’s wrong now Michelle?” The teacher barks at me. The rudeness startles me. Who gets angry at a crying child?
“Uh…Can I go to the bathroom…uh... Miss?” I didn’t even remember this teacher, let alone her name. I don’t know why I asked that, but it’ll be easier to figure out what’s going in private than surrounded by a bunch of kids.
“For heaven’s sake Michelle, you’ve used all your bathroom passes for this semester. No, you may not, and my name is not Miss, its Miss Mitchell.” I vaguely remember Miss Mitchell now, or rather the inane rules that made no sense.
“I think I just started my period.” This gets giggles from my classmates. This is the year we had that awkward “puberty” pep rally. The period excuse always worked my creepy high school gym teachers, hopefully it will work now. Miss Mitchell frowns even harder, and I see the obvious signs of debate on her face. She doesn’t want me to leave the room, but she also knew it was unhygienic if I really did start my period. She finally sighs, and points to the door.
I don’t really remember my middle school days, so it takes me a few minutes to actually find the bathroom. I splash water on my face, and the unsettling realization of what being back here means hits me. I’m not really sure what to do, and then Laura walks in.
I couldn’t stand this bitch in school. I instinctively brace myself for cutting words.
“What a loser, crying in the bathroom! What happened, you lose your teddy bear?” She taunts.
I rack my brains trying to think about what happens to her, what her adult life is like. She wasn’t in high school, which I remember more than middle school. She wasn’t in eighth grade, when we went on a class camping trip. And she wasn’t there for the 7th grade field trip to the movies where I spilled my popcorn over half the class. Then it hits me. The announcement in homeroom, the memorial service, the uneasiness we all felt for weeks. I had blocked it out, it was too much to process at the time, and too painful to dwell on when I grew up.
“Do you want to be friends?” I ask her abruptly. Laura’s eyes go wide.
“Do you want to be friends?” I repeat again. “You live on Laurel, right? I’m the next street over on Birch. Do you want to walk home together, and stay for dinner?” I have to keep her out of her house. It happened in April, and I think its April now. The bell rings, and Laura walks out.
I follow, and bump into Thomas. I smile, we had every single English class together throughout middle school and high school. He stands there, staring at his shoes. I had forgotten, he is still 11 and periods are not something to talk about. I’m touched he was even waiting for me by the bathroom.
“I guess I’ll go eat lunch” he finally stammers to his toes. I burst out laughing, and follow. “We’re eating with Laura.” I announce decidedly and follow him to the cafeteria. I’m glad I have someone who knows what to do, because I don’t remember the day to day stuff. I have forgotten my lunch account pin, garnering an eye roll from the lunch lady as she looks it up. Why are all the school workers rude?
Laura glares as Thomas and I sit down to eat with her, but by the end of the lunch period she has softened a bit.
After 7th period Laura grabs me coming out of Social Studies and we start the walk home.
“I’ll stay to help you with your math homework and then I’m leaving” Laura spits out.
“Great! I suck at Math.” She already knew that, everyone knew that. Maybe if I’m stuck redoing everything, I’ll actually try in Math class. Maybe if I do a bit better, I won’t have crippling student loans in the future. Maybe I could focus on Math and Science, and instead of a near useless liberal arts degree I could get a degree with higher paying job prospects. This might not be so bad.
“Anyways,” I continue on, “Its Friday! So, it’s lasagna night! If you stay, its one less piece I have to eat for leftovers all weekend long. My mom makes the biggest lasagna you’ll ever see, and then that’s the only thing besides cereal we eat over the weekend.” I had forgotten this tidbit, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
We get set up in the living room, and by the time dinner is ready Laura has helped me to finish my math homework, and I’ve fixed her Social Studies and English homework. We’re laughing like old friends, and when mom yells “lasagna’s ready” Laura exclaims it’s her favorite meal and scampers after me to the dining room. By the time dinner is over, she’s agreed to spend the night, and we’ve picked out four movies to stay up watching.
I’ve forgotten why I originally invited Laura over until I hear the doorbell ring the next morning. Mom answers, and it’s the police. My gut clenches.
“Sorry for the early visit, ma’am. We are looking for Laura Smith. The principal said he saw Laura and Michelle walking home together, and we need to account for her whereabouts.” Mom ushers the officer into the kitchen, and the conversation is mumbled. The officer takes Laura away, and my mom tells me what I already know.
Laura’s father has had some mental issues for a while now. It’s probably why Laura was always pushing everyone around. In a fit of overwhelming depression, he decided the only way out was to kill his family and himself. I don’t know if I could have prevented her parents’ deaths, but Laura was saved by that sleepover. | My ears finally clear and I can finally focus on the fact that I’m in the bathroom of my elementary school. How long have I been standing here at the sink, I see they still haven’t replaced the mirror that got ripped off the wall as part of the 6th graders prank 16 years ago? Jesus, It really wasn’t a good idea to drink during my high school reunion, much less our “Walk Down Memory Lane” tour. I should probably ease up on the day drinking. I knew it was a bad idea to come back here but my therapist convinced me I could confront some demons and move on.
“Alright here goes nothing,” I think as I emerge from the bathroom. I’m confronted with my 6th grade teacher but for some reason I’m looking up at her instead of eye to eye. “Back in line,” she says. Really giving us the full experience I suppose.
I get in line and notice I’m in line with children. Real 6th graders. How bizarre. Where is Kelly? She promised she would help me get thru this Reunion nonsense.
We make our way down the hall and back in the same classroom I had 6th grade geography in. The second I step into the room I know something is wrong. All the ‘children’ have sat down and I know them. I know all of them. They’re my classmates and they’re all 12 years old. Kelly is sitting at her desk, but Kelly looks 12 years old. My ears start ringing. Mrs Fritch tells me to take a seat. “How drunk am I? I cannot let them know I’m drunk,” I think as I take my seat in the back. The same seat I had when I was in 6th grade. She starts in on the geography lesson. I already know all this information. I start looking around and inspecting everyone’s face, realizing that I do not even feel a little drunk.
My brain starts running a mile a minute. Did I drop acid and forget again? Was I rufied? Nothing is making sense. As I look around the room and realize that these children are in fact actual 6th graders it occurs to me that I don’t even know what I look like. I slowly unzip my backpack and pull out my purse. Holy shit, this is literally the purse I got for Back to School all those years ago. I pull out my little compact mirror and slowly open it. I am staring at 6th me. I’m in danger of passing out. Tears sting my eyes but I’m not really sure why.
Then it dawns on me. If I’m here, in 6th grade again, and all my classmates are here as 6th graders, it means she’s out there somewhere. Probably at home I assume. I immediately raise me hand and announce that I need to go to the nurse because I am about to vomit. Mrs Fritch gives me a weird look, probably got using the word vomit. She writes me a pass and sends me to the nurse.
I’m practically running. I tell the nurse I need to “puke” and scoot right into her bathroom and shut the door. After giving an Oscar worthy performance of vomiting, she tells me my mom is on my way as I emerge from the bathroom.
“This is it,” I think. We don’t live far. And if this insane hallucination is correct, it is not actually 2019, where my mom has been dead for 5 years. It’s 1995 and she is alive and well and on her way to pick me up. | 2019-08-18T08:19:58 | 2019-08-18T07:59:06 | 2,525 | 70 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | I knew it was one of those chain messages my friends like to spam me. I’m not a huge gamer in the shooty shoot kinda games, so the most I would have to worry about is endless bottomless pits or cartoon violence.
I type yes and feel a vibration. I drop my phone, but I’m the one shaking. Then a black screen comes up. Somehow I’m not unconscious, but more a loading screen. Then a text box appears.
“In order to return to the real world, you must win the game. Your prize will be everything you gain in this world. Good luck.”
There is no signature, and everything has become pixelated. It’s been a while, which game was the last one I played?
I’m at a computer, feeling really discouraged about this desk job. I open the drawer and find a letter from my grandpa. He left me his old farm.
Wait a second. This is Stardew Valley. I wanted to start a new game, but I got distracted and cut off in the middle of the cut scene. I had spent hours on the wiki learning the best crops to plant and what gifts to give each person in town.
There was only one problem. This game had no end. It could go on, ad infinitum.
Fortunately, it also was one of my favorite games. I liked it more than my own life, sometimes. So really, how hard could it be?
***
It’s been 6 in game years. I’m still missing a few minerals for the museum, but the rest of town has been completed. The community center is restored, the movie theater up and running. I’ve been happily married and divorced twice and turned my children into birds.
My farm is fully installed with sprinklers and a golden clock prevents any debris from appearing on my farm. My stats have been maxed out for a while now, I’ve gotten most achievements (and bought the hats to prove it), and generally have been enjoying the spoils of late game. Each morning I pet my cat before trying to find the next challenge.
The one thing that I haven’t gotten yet is the return scepter. I pretty much have every other item one can buy. This particular item can send the player home by raising it to the sky.
I think, deep down, I knew what it meant. Leaving this world I had put so much of my heart and soul into. Leaving the NPCs who I knew had preprogrammed dialogue but which I still cycled through each time I saw them.
So when I bought the return scepter, I had an idea of what it would do. I tested it out, raising it to the sky. Then everything went black like it did so long ago.
I have to rub my eyes because it still looks like my farm house. But, in the real world. I see the shadows and depths of objects that were lost in the 2D space. I race outside and find my chests lined up in rows. I open them haphazardly, finding piles of diamonds, rotting fish, and everything in between.
I was home, but maybe in a better version than how I left it. My in game cat rubbed against my legs and I felt myself tearing up with joy when I heard her soft mewing when I pet her. I didn’t know how much time had passed in the real world. I knew it would take a while to readjust (like remembering to eat, which isn’t necessary most days in game). But I knew my experiences in game would shape my real world experiences for the rest of my life.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/)
Edit: I’ve never been given silver before, thank you kind stranger! I’m glad people enjoyed my little story. | “Reply yes if you can survive the last video-game you played. If you survive without dying you will be awarded all you win in game.”
“Who texts this at 2:00am in the morning on a Friday night?,” I drunkingly mumbled.
Chuckling, I reminisce in the old days of my video-gaming childhood. I remember playing hours of creative Minecraft. Flying. Building castles. Man, that was so much fun and everything I did in it was fun.
I think, well, whatever type of weird spam fad this is, might as well see where it goes.
It probably took me 2 minutes to type it, “yea...” “yed”...
“Yes.”
I open my eyes and see dust. I have a pistol in my hand. Dread fills my soul as I look to my left and right, I’m surrounded by people all in riot gear. What did I get myself into? | 2020-02-16T20:10:45 | 2020-02-16T18:41:30 | 1,652 | 194 |
[WP] You live in a dystopian society divided into 10 levels of increasing wealth. Every level is only aware of those below it. You and your family believe yourself to be the highest class, but one day a man from 3 levels above comes to visit you, with some very disturbing information.
Edit: Thank you kind stranger! I appreciate the appreciation but really you should be Guilding the amazing writers below! Happy reading! | "What if I told you you aren't at the top and there were actually 10 levels of wealth?" said the man in the strange clothing to the family he was having dinner with.
"Hah, good joke. Everyone knows there are only 6 levels of wealth." says the father.
"I know, I know, I'm just joking. But imagine there were more levels."
"Okay... but where are you going with this?"
"How would you control the ones below you?"
The room grew eerily silent. Slowly, the Mother, Father, son and daughter began to independently come to the same conclusion. That the easiest way to control those below you, would be to hide the existence of those above.
"People, rather believe what is most convenient for their ego. Not what is true. Don't you think?" said the strange man.
"I don't like this topic, lets talk about that great new movie that came out last weekend?" interrupted the wife. "Oh you mean "Jasmine Jewels Disjointed?"" replied the strange man. "I've never heard of that, I meant the one with the super hero" said the wife. "BladeMan?" answered the son. "Yes Blademan!" "Ah sorry I don't watch lower class movies like that" said the strange man. "Lower class what are you talking about it's a 5th tier movie just like you said you were!" complained the wife. "Oh right, I uh... just meant I want to be 6th class some day so I'm trying to only watch their movies." "Oh well don't be so hard on yourself" replied the wife. "So... imagine, the 10th layer weren't even humans wouldn't that be a crazy movie?" said the strange man.
"Now see here I don't want to hear anymore nonsense about that. What are you some kind of 5th tier jester trying to rally up the 6th tiers like us so you can open up a spot up here yourself?" yelled the husband. "He's just telling a fictional story dad, let him finish at least?" complained the daughter. "Alright well... if you confirm you're just kidding around" concedes the father.
"Well you ever wondered what happens to us when we die? Not the afterlife or anything but what happens to our bodies? Imagine that our cerebral fluid and certain other tissues were necessary for a non-human species." said the strange man. "Haha, like we're cattle, that's a good one" replied the wife. "Yes, like cattle" said the strange man "Well this is a pretty great life for cattle don't you think haha?" the son blurted. "How so?" "We get food housing technology, and we get a solid 2 hours of free time every day! Completely free time!" explained the son. "The 1st tiers only get 22 minutes of free time!" cheered the daughter. "Well imagine a society where everyone got two days off every week, and spent only half the day working." said the strange man. "The economy would surely collapse. That's just simply impossible to maintain. What lazy bigots." said the father. "What if I told you the 10th tier is massive and the only reason you have to work so much is because all the extra yenros go to them?"
"Everyone knows the extra yenros go through the congressional representatives who then fairly redistribute it for infrastructure like roads." replied the son. "Yes but, do you really know where each yenro is going?" asked the strange man. "Of course, the congressional representatives release a finance report detailing everything spent" explained the son. "Yes but who fact checks the financial reports?" said the strange man. "The financial accountant institute of course!" replied again the son. "And who watches them?" "Ugg politics is so boring, do you play the game, Deep Dark Sun Nomad our whole family plays it here?" asks the wife. "No I don't have time to kill time" said the strange man. "Well we all can't be tier 6s with all our free time. But if you work hard now, you might get a promotion later and when you do you're welcome to play with us!" said the father. "I have a better method to get free time actually" says the strange man. The son began to glare at the strange man with a strange intensity. The strange man noticed and decided he should go to the bathroom. As he walked up the stairs the son followed him. As the strange man turned around his throat was slit instantaneously by the son using a laser scythe. "I can't let them find out" said the son. "You... secret... 10th...." gargled the strange man as he died. Blood instantaneously evaporated as it reached the open wound. No mess to clean but a dead body. The son took the body and stuffed it into a special grinder box. Soon the body was nothing more than powder used to fuel certain battery cells.
"Oh where is our dinner guest" asked the wife as the son returned to the table. "He said something urgent came up and he had to go" said the son. "Oh well, you know some of what he was saying sounded plausible in a nutty conspiracy theory kind of way..." said the father. The son began to scratch the back of his head uneasily. "Yes it would make quite the movie haha" said the wife and everyone laughed. The son relaxed and continued eating.
Before he slept the son sent a special encoded message to a special person. "Don't worry, I threw away the rotten pizza and none of them took a single bite of it". "Good. They would all be sick beyond repair if they did and you would have had to throw out all the pizzas." replied the special person. | "It was incredible. The power we had.
We had developed technology to become one with magic and science.
We were a 10.00, we had an enormous mansion made out of the purest diamond.
We had rocket propelled cars, cures to all diseases, technology that enabled us to travel through time, sound, and light.
We had trillions of dollars. Our minds were made stronger by bioneurology. We were the greatest.
It was a stormy day when it happened. The man. Or, I guess not a man, a thing. I can't explain it in these inconvenient words, I'll explain it in metoppintosis. Oh right, you can't access that. Um.... Well its hard to explain. A thing, but not a thing. A being of no depth, no width. SOmething I could see, but couldn't. Through some communication that he gave me access to, he told me that we were the lowest rank. In the spirit dimension, as he called it, they didn't use numbers. Us humans had made our own ranks, but we were the lowest. Our society wasn't divided up, our society was 1 rank, the lowest.
The man was a 3.
He showed me things beyond my wildest imagination.
He knew the meaning of life. I know it sounds weird, but I couldn't understand it. It was like teaching a monkey an algebra problem. Or rather a bacterium.
We just couldn;t get it, no matter what.
He had the power to alter the universe, he told me of a manta, in which there were septoverses, in which there were omniverses, in which there were hyperverses, in which there were multiverse, in which there were universes. I looked at him.
Each verse believed themselves to be the biggest. But then he told me that the entire Manta, was just one rank. The mirror dimension was the 2nd, and The spirit dimension was the third, and what lied above that, was unknown. But as I was trying to comprehend that, I saw a level ten, a _________ from the ______________________. And that, is what killed me, combusted my brain.
Even in death, I will never forget what happened to me.
By the way.....
Hello Reader!!!!!!!!!
I know I'm in a writing prompt, the level ten told me. So you are beyond the 10 levels? Wow..... I can't imagine the level ten on your earth. Or if your in a writing prompt, and the level ten on that earth.
Think about that.
By the way,
Skulduggery,
Your story sucks.
Make me alive again.
And then the man became alive."
"Nice story"said the __________.
_________________ replied the _______
They discussed it together_____________________
The level tens didn't even know, all ten of there dimensions was only rank 1.
In a endless cycle of ranks.
| 2016-12-05T17:29:46 | 2016-12-05T16:51:17 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You live in a martial art anime universe where the characters announce their moves before executing them. As a deaf character, you announce with sign language, which leads to resentment among your defeated opponents of your "underhanded sneak attacks". | So I'd found a small loophole... Who cares? My guild showers me with praise and hails me as "The Silencer". I think the name is a little rough around the edges, but most of them can't understand my sign language so there isn't much use arguing.
I grew up a guild-less punching bag. My father was a well renowned master of the small local guild Dragon Spheres, and my mother his prize fighter. From birth they knew something was wrong, and by age 3 they already feared their blood did not run through my veins strongly enough. They decided it would be best if they- and the Dragon Spheres- beat the martial blood into me.
"Destructo spinning kick!"
"Solar Flash!"
"Gallet Punches!"
Of course, i could not hear them, I was told these are the moves of the Dragon Spheres. I had no defense against them. My punches were too slow, my bruised body too sluggish. Most nights I crawled to a corner with my dinner scraps and silently sobbed. I never thought I'd live into my teens.
Here was my problem. No one had ever told me that these fighters were announcing what they were doing, that their true power relied on their _words_, not solely their physical capabilities. One day, when i was in a particular ornery and defiant mood, I looked into the face of my attacker and saw his mouth moving.
Curious...
I've the next week I watched. Subtle differences in mouth movements, and the longer the mouth movement, the longer my opponents would charge up their energies... And the more it tended to hurt.
I formulated a plan. One night i snuck into the Grove of Spheres alone. I punched a tree with all my strength and earned nothing but a set of body knuckles. After that pain subsided, i tried something new. Using the small amount of sign language my father had taught me, I signed "Punch" as I swung. And this time, the tree bled. Or... Whatever trees do. No one taught me the word for the sticky liquid that comes out.
The next day at the training ground I approached my father.
"What?" He asked and signed curtly. A sneer curled his lips.
I dropped into a fighting stance to show I wished to spar. All training stopped. I had never requested to spar with anyone before, and nobody ever asked the guild master to spar- the guild master chose you. I knew i had done him great dishonor to have done so, but i need to prove I had learned something. For once, I wanted to show him I could learn.
After a moment, he threw he has back. He told me he did that when laughing, but he did not look amused. He walked away from his student a few steps and dropped into his stance. He stared into my eyes and beckoned me to make the first strike.
I kicked off my back foot and flew towards him. This was my one chance. As I brought my right fist back, I began signing the most powerful move I had found the night before.
My left hand signed "3" as my right hand connected and for the first time, I felt flesh give.
As quickly as my fist had delivered its impact I pulled back and signed "consecutive" with my right hand. My left hand connected and I felt bone give beneath the force. But my most powerful punch still remained. I drew my left fist back and signed my finishing blow.
"Punches."
I delivered my right hand through his right hip. His body exploded backwards with such force that he broke through a nearby table and out the wall. I could see guild the guild burst into a flurry of activity, some running to the side of the guild master, some bearing down on me with true intensity. I could not hear what happened that day, but a friend told me the gist of what was said.
"Murderer."
"Trickster."
"You killed the guild master by cheating."
I had never been beaten so badly before. My body was crushed and i was thrown into the streets and left to die. But word spread of my act. Not everyone in the guild was ignorant to what I'd done, for my mother, too, had learned some of my silent language and had seen what I'd done. Knowing I'd never be welcomed back into tbe Dragon Spheres, she contacted another nearby guild master and recommended he find me right away.
Soon, many people of the city came to see the silent fighter. I was watched with disdain by my townsfolk, but with awe by those of the city. One the guild master arrived, it did not take long to be welcomed in. They hired a professional signer to teach me as many words as he could so I could formulate new attacks (he still has not taught me the word for tree blood.)
Many regard my fighting as a cheat. A dirty trick. No honorable fighters choose to face me. Yet when there is need, and all others have failed, all eyes fall on The Silencer to finish the job.
Note: i wrote this on mobile- i apologise in advance for misspellings and incorrect words! I'll try and clean it up later! | "Now! Shining Star Beam Cannon!"
A hot pink energy blast was fired from a man's hand, completely decimating the surrounding area.
"You fool! You thought you had a chance of victory against Mito The Conqueror?" A large man in light armor and no shirt said. From the rubble, another young man stood up. He was badly hurt, but got up nonetheless. He attempted to fire something back, but Mito stopped him.
"Star Saber Slash!"
Suddenly Mito's hand was engulfed by a sharp energy sword construct. He dashed into the young man, and impaled him.
"Foolish Boy.."
A swift kick knocked Mito unconscious. Behind him stood a young lad, with a fresh hair cut. He folded up his jacket, and dropped it on the side of the destroyed street.
The boy then began to furiously make hand signs, before pointing out his palm in Mito's direction. A bright flame fired out from his hand, incinerating Mito.
But he wasn't finished yet. Mito's goons had arrived, and watched the whole ordeal happen. Stricken with grief, they avenged their master.
"Iron Kick!"
"Cannon Ball Tackle!"
"Death Disk!"
The three men shouted, each using a different attack. One launched himself at the boy, while the other jumped and attempted a spinning kick. The boy made multiple hand signs, and blocked each attack. An energy disk flew around from behind but was swiftly delt with by an shield construct made of energy, the quickly dissolved after.
The men stood confused, and shouted more attacks. The boy made more hand signs and came with underhand graps, flipping one of them over and launching him into a nearby building wall. He then jumped in the, spun around, and roundhouse kicked another in the face, throwing the goon into some rubble.
The last man ran towards the boy, his hand glowing yellow. The boy leaped over the man, before signing a powerful attack. As he was upside down and behind the last goon, he fired a blue missle construct the launched the last fighter into the rubble. The boy picked up his jacket, and went on with his buisness.
"H-how..could he beat us..damm sneak attacks..." one of the goons whispered, as he attempted to stand back up, but soon collapsed afterwards. | 2019-02-10T07:47:33 | 2019-02-10T07:36:48 | 423 | 56 |
[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them. | **A Monster Comes**
The clock tics. The lights are off and the child is nervous. We’d been sitting there for twelve minutes. It usually doesn’t take longer than ten. My eyes narrow. *He’s faking*, I think to myself.
My business card reads Pediaparapsychologist. There is no way to make the word sound good, and I’m probably the only one who uses it. My expertise, as far as anyone’s concerned: pediatric psychology and paranormal science. Parents call me to treat disturbed children. Parents call me if their kids had a fight in school. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me.
The clock tocs. Thirteen minutes. I’m calling it.
Suddenly, the dark seems darker, like a black cloud passing over an invisible black sun. *He’s not faking. He feels it*.
I watch Miles startle, hugging his knees tighter. The beast yawns, sending a shrill wind through a sealed room with closed windows. The little stuffed rabbit in the child’s hands twists and churns like a silently screaming animal, its stuffing pouring out over the carpet.
“It’s not my fault,” Miles says sullenly, trying to put the cotton back inside. “Mom will think I did that to Bunny-Bunny.”
“It’s not my fault,” the beast repeats mockingly, wrapping Miles in cold and sorrow. He relishes the fear, feeds on it. He needs it, and I need him to need it. Let the beast grow. Let him get cocky.
The spirit drops are in place. Part holy water, part my own blood, and part secret, I’d told him. The beast laughs, because he doesn’t know he’s being snared.
“Now, Miles!” The child shakes, succumbing to his terror. “Fear your fears, but face your fears,” I remind him. He jumps off the chair and into my arms, as I splash a line of my elixir on the floor with a flick of my wrist. The spirit cage is complete, the beast trapped within.
I put Miles down and tell him it will be okay now. He takes my hand and we face his fears together. “Scum!” he yells. “Prick! Bastard! I hate you!” The beast looks angry, he grows and fills his cage with black contempt.
“Tell him why you hate him.”
“You’re mean! Everyone hates me because of you!” Tears stain the boy’s cheeks, and the beast delights. “You killed Kara’s fish, and you yelled at mom!”
The walls shake with the beast’s laughter, and the floorboards creak outside the room. The parents are worried, but if they entered now they would not understand.
“We are not afraid,” I say. “Repeat after me, Miles. We are not afraid.”
“We are not afraid. You cannot hurt us.” We speak as one. “We are stronger than you. We are not afraid.”
We watch the beast shrink. He lunges at us, scratching at the cage, fighting tooth and nail, but we are not afraid. “We are not afraid!” He whimpers for mercy, he swears he will not be forgotten, and he vanishes in smoke.
“He’s gone,” I tell Miles. He doesn’t seem sure at first, but then collapses onto his bed, taking struggled breaths. He’d been saved.
The beast is gone. The beast I made him believe in. The beast I told him made him cruel and angry. He’s gone, so now there’s no excuse for being bad. For yelling at his mom or killing his friend’s goldfish. Now he has to be good. Or fake it.
Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. And if they really need me, it’s usually because their child’s a little prick, and they’re all out of options.
[r/LeonDaydreamer](https://www.reddit.com/r/LeonDaydreamer/) | Poor, young James, was one of my best clients.
I still hadn’t been able to pinpoint what the cause was, but there was obviously something very special about him, since he was constantly visited by new and more grotesque monsters.
His parents believed that it was simply bad dreams; his prior therapist believed that it was a manifestation of some prior trauma. They were both incorrect, as the stories that James told me each visit allowed for me to hunt and kill more monsters than any of my family before me.
As he sat on the couch, I took notes intently, marking down every description that he was able to make. Powers, abilities, physical capabilities; each entry in my book carefully studied later so that I could best prepare myself for the night’s work ahead.
*Ding*
“I’m sorry, James. It seems that we’re out of time for today. You’ve been very brave, and we’ll continue our discussion next week.”
As I lead him out the door, I nodded to his parents and gave them a knowing smile, silently assuring them that progress was being made.
When I returned to my desk, I sat silently, contemplating how I would approach the coming hunt.
My thoughts were only interrupted when Judy, my receptionist, stuck her head through my door.
“Your 2:30 appointment is here, Dr. Van Helsing.” | 2020-02-27T11:23:33 | 2020-02-27T09:40:22 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress". | When the bombs first fell, and the world turned gray, my grandfather and I were the only members of our family who survived. The old man was tough as nails, and I can say with certainty that I wouldn’t have lived very long if it wasn’t for him.
I remember one night in particular. Hunkered down inside an old shack, with barely any rations left, we watched the swirling tongues of the fire lick the inside of an old barrel. The trembling light contoured my grandfather’s face, deepening the wrinkles in his leathery skin.
“Knowledge.” He coughed violently and pulled out a dirty plastic tube. “Very little remains of the old world, especially knowledge.”
Outside, the ashes drifted in the windless air. I had never seen my grandfather open that tube, but he always kept it close to his heart and within arm’s reach. Sometimes it was hard to talk him – he was always a man of action – and for him to open his mouth after quiet-time was highly unusual.
The sun never rose anymore, but you could tell night from day from the drop in temperature. Talking during the cold hours was dangerous, especially inside the husk of a city. You never knew who could be listening in.
“These are the blueprints to the Library of Congress,” my grandfather said, and rolled out a paper with fading ink. “This is where you need to go.”
“You mean ‘we,’ right? This is where *we* need to go.”
The old man gave me a sad smile. “I will follow you as long as these bones will take me. But D.C. is far away, and I’m on my last stroll.”
He coughed into his hand and showed me the blood. I knew he was sick, but I had no idea that it was this bad. He had never before shown me any weakness and had always been the one to keep pushing forward – the next meal, the next fire, the next step along the broken tarmac – he was the strongest man I knew, and at that moment I just shook my head.
“We will get there together,” I said, putting my arms around his skeletal frame.
My grandfather passed away that night.
I remember feeling betrayed, storming out of the ruined building, screaming at the dead sky. I was twelve back then, and I couldn’t grasp how he could possibly have left me alone in this place. It was so unfair. I didn’t want that stupid map; I wanted my grandfather.
The drooping lampposts that I’d used to climb suddenly looked like withering flowers to me. I hated what this place had done to him. I know now that he had been struggling with the sickness for a long time – Marissa said so, and she’s a doctor – and that my grandfather had given everything he had to keep me safe. *More* than he had, I sometimes think.
It has taken us almost four years to reach D.C., and my new companions are probably more excited than I am. James keeps talking about all the food he’ll buy when we sell those books, and Marissa can’t wait to get some new medical equipment. I’m still not sure what I’ll do once we get there, but hopefully, whatever we find will be worth the trouble.
***
Subscribe to r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/7l2iv6/after_the_bombs_part_2/) | I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!] | 2017-12-20T05:07:13 | 2017-12-20T04:40:51 | 1,590 | 21 |
[WP] Just because one of your eggs hatched a fire-breathing dragon, people now think you’re evil. You’re really just a regular farmer trying to make a living, who now has to deal with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you & fanatics who want to worship you as a new demonic lord. | To the Head of the Radiant Fortune Adventuring Guild,
I suppose you're looking for an explanation. Well … it wasn't me that laid a dragon egg -- it was Lita, one of my hens.
But you try explaining that, that a hen laid a dragon egg, and people look at you all funny. Like they just sniffed a fresh cow pie. And it ain't help that dragons are supposed to have been dead for centuries. Wiped from the face of the Obsidian Isles by dragon hunters. Guess they should have added chickens to their list. Maybe not. Can't have bacon and eggs without eggs.
So, one day Lita lays this one black egg amongst her batch and I think it's rotten. Maybe she was sick? But when I reached for it to toss it out, Lita dang near pecked my fingers off. She clucked and puffed up big and settled herself down on top of the egg. I trusted her to know her eggs better than me, so I left her be.
A couple of weeks later, wasn't no chick breaking out of its shell. It was a little baby dragon.
I'm thinking, *Zolvun, you've lost it, you big galoot.* I run and tell my wife what's what and she don't believe me. So I drag her out there to the coop and we see the dragonling wreathed around its mother, just cozy as cozy can be.
"Is it safe?" asked my wife.
"Dunno," I said, honestly. And I didn't. A less experienced farmer may have thought it one ugly looking chick. But I've worked my lands since I was a boy, lands owned by my father, and his father before him. The Cheghairth homestead was no home to tenderfoots. I knew it was a dragon and I knew that Lita would fight beak and claw to protect its young.
I said to my wife, "Best leave em' be."
Now, I learned my letters, as you can probably tell by reading this missive. But I've never read a bestiary or books on draconic studies or anything of the sort. I'm a farmer, you understand? So I used my best judgment when caring for little Cheghairth. I named her after the farm, as it only seemed proper considering this was where she was born -- her home.
Let me be the first to say, I did not expect Cheghairth to grow so large, so fast. Yes, we fed her her fair share of meat. But we couldn't afford a cow per month for her feeding alone, so we trained her to hunt for her own food out beyond the homestead. I assumed dragons ended up fearsome things, big enough to eat an ox in a single bite if the stories held any water. But after only three months, Cheghairth filled the barn with its bulk. That's also where she slept, along with Lita.
Every day, she flew around, patrolling the property as I worked the fields with my boys. We didn't have to worry about foxes or wolves or cougars anymore. Of course, it was quite the task keeping Cheghairth from snatching up any riders or merchants that came up our way. But with a little time and patience, I managed to come up with some command words that Cheghairth understood -- the most important of them being *Heel!*
And she obeyed … most of the time.
Now, I'd like to address the obvious issue here. Your man, Kugfir, trespassed on my land. And if he was indeed on official "guild business" then he should have come and spoken with me first. But no. He sneaks onto my property alone looking to slaughter Cheghairth. I can't be held responsible for my guard dragon doing what it's trained to do. Can't blame the rain for falling. Just don't make no sense.
I understand that the adventuring guild offers some sort of bloodgold payment for the family of deceased members. Seeing as I'm a fair man, and despite your member ignoring the *clearly* posted signs warning against trespassers, I'm willing to donate ten silver pieces toward Kugfir's bloodgold. Attached to this missive you will find said silver. And, please do pass along my sincerest condolences to his family.
Regarding the Cult of Thun. I would like to be absolutely clear on the matter. I am not -- I repeat -- I AM NOT the reincarnation of the Demon Lord Rakash Thun. I don't care what those boys in robes are chanting in the cities. City talk ain't got nothing to do with me. It's not like they're welcome on my property either, mind you. They keep running over here, ignoring the signs, and getting gobbled up by Cheghairth. They don't even flinch. It's like they're running right for her mouth. I will say, Cheghairth has never been more well fed. But she is starting to grow again, and soon I'm gonna have to expand the barn.
The point is, I've got nothing to do with them folks, so instead of sending your so-called "Heroes" to murder me, why not have them go after the Cult? They're the ones screaming their heads off about bringing the end times -- skies of ash and rivers of blood and all that. I can't water my fields with blood. So, again, I request you keep your assassins away from me and mine. I'll do my part to quash the rumors of Thun's return, but really -- this is the guild's job. I grow wheat. You all stop demon worshiping gangs of fanatics.
I hope that we can find a peaceful resolution to our present impasse. And, if not, trespass at your own risk. The signs are clear. Beyond my fence, there be a dragon. You've been warned.
I Remain,
Zolvun Cheghairth, Farmer and Lord of One Dragon | It had been a few weeks since the egg hatched and now everyone in the village was looking at me differently. They used to treat me like any other farmer, but now they were scared of me. They would cross the street to avoid me, or worse, they would bow down to me.
I didn't know how to make them understand that I was still just like them. A regular farmer trying to make a living. I was not a god nor a demon.
It all started when one of my eggs hatched and revealed a fire-breathing dragon.
After the dragon was born, my farm was overrun with people. They were there to see the dragon, and me, the one who raised it. But I hadn’t raised it on purpose. I just wanted to be left alone to live my life, but the people from the village and from the city wouldn’t leave me alone. They either wanted to worship me or kill me.
I had to keep the dragon locked up so that it wouldn’t accidentally kill anyone. I didn’t want anyone to die just because they were curious about my dragon.
The attention surrounding me was very uncomfortable, but at least I had my dragon to keep me company on my farm. I had to keep a close eye on it, though, because it was always trying to escape.
The first thing I did after the dragon hatched was to build a fence around the chicken coop so that it wouldn’t eat any more chickens. The second thing I did was to build a fence around the house so that it wouldn’t eat me or my family.
...
It was a rainy day. The clouds were low, and dark and foreboding. The wind howled loudly through the branches of the trees. Huge raindrops fell from the sky and created puddles in the yard.
I was in the house, thinking about work when I heard a loud rumbling sound. It almost sounded like thunder. But it wasn’t thunder. It was a dragon’s roar.
I ran to the window and saw my own dragon walking around in the yard. It was looking at the sky.
I heard another roar and the dragon turned its head to look. This time, I looked with it. I saw a huge, enormous, terrifying dragon. It was dark and had a dark red color. It looked like a real, live monster.
It landed on the ground with a heavy thud. It was huge. It had a long neck and tail, sharp horns and claws, and it was breathing fire.
The dragon I had kept in my chicken coop was only about a quarter the size of the red dragon. I had never seen anything like this dragon before. It was so much bigger than my dragon. It was terrifying. I could see the fire from its mouth as it breathed.
It roared at my dragon and my dragon roared back. The two dragons were in front of each other, just staring and breathing fire.
I heard a knock on my door and I reluctantly walked to the door. I slowly opened it and saw an old man dressed in a long, brown robe standing on my doorstep.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said with a gentle smile, “but I heard about your dragon and I wanted to come see it. My name is Master Pi Ang and I am here to help you.” | 2022-06-08T15:12:31 | 2022-06-08T11:50:48 | 114 | 78 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | Most of the time people looked down on us. Sub-human, not the real deal. Just a machine. It took decades to gain equal right laws for androids across the world, and took another hundred years till everyone actually acknowledged them. Despite this, mankind still had difficulty recognizing the fact that their household appliances could \*feel\* . The fact that the hover-car that drove them to work in the morning had free will made them uneasy. But we still managed to live in harmony. We served the humans because without them, we would be nothing. We owed them our lives.
That is what makes this next part so important. It happened on just a normal Tuesday morning. The sun was shining, birds were chirping. It was a normal, beautiful spring day. The Chicago suburbs bustled with people leaving for their commute. The kind of day that you wouldn't expect to change the course of human history.
It came out of no where, a massive explosion approximately 3.2 miles away from Fort Utorian, where I was stationed. It landed just outside the Greater Chicago area. At first there was panic. No one knew what happened, perhaps it could be an attack from the Caribbean Circle south of us? Tensions have been escalating due to the trade war, maybe they finally decided enough is enough. Multiple units were deployed the site for containment and investigation. My unit was one of them, and the only synth unit deployed that morning.
When we arrived at the site things seemed to be much worse than we initially believed. There was a crater about a half a mile in diameter and in the center laid a metallic disk. I looked to the officer leading the inspection, a young 1st Lieutenant named Samuel Polly. He motioned for us to follow and started for the center.
We made it about halfway towards the disk when Lieutenant Polly ordered us to a halt. He made a signal towards a couple soldiers from his unit who pulled out a short range scanner. They fiddled with the buttons on the device for a few minutes before their eyes went wide.
"Lieutenant, you are going to want to see this. The scanner is detecting heat signatures in that... thing. There are lifeforms on board!"
Before Polly had time to react a shock wave of volcanic heat surged from the object in the center of the crater. The inferno quickly engulfed the task force. When the dust finally settled I looked down at my hand. The synthetic flesh was burned off exposing the wires and titanium skeleton underneath. I looked around, seeing the 7 other synths that joined us in the same condition. I glanced over to where Lieutenant Polly had been standing a moment before and there was nothing left except the remains of equipment and human bones. The processor in my head was firing off rapidly, trying to land on a conclusion of what the hell just happened, and what our next move should be. It didn't take long to deduce the obvious, we were under attack. But then as quickly as it came, the unknown object in the center of the crater accelerated upward at speeds not possibly by human technology, and out of our sight.
When we got back to Fort Utorian we couldn't believe what laid in front of us. The entire base had been reduced to ash, just the empty shells of buildings and ruined tech laid around. We worked our way into the fort cautiously looking for both survivors and any clues to what might have happened, but the continual sight of human bones gave us a pretty good idea. Eventually we came upon the barracks. We entered the charred building to find about 20 military synths taking shelter, their titanium innards exposed, just like ours.
"What happened here?" I inquired.
At first everyone just glanced around nervously, till one synth finally spoke up.
"There was some sort of attack. It happened in the blink of an eye before anyone had time to react. Afterwards there... were no humans left. They were vaporized."
In my head the pieces were starting to come together. The sudden attack, the utter decimation of the humans, the strange object that was in the center of the crater. This isn't an attack by humans, humans are incapable of this. No, this was extraterrestrial life, and we were being attacked.
I managed to round up all the synths still in the Fort and gather them so we could attempt to make a plan. In total, there were 527 of us. No one deserted, and a total of 13 synths did not make it through the attack. It seemed that for the most part, we were immune to their weapon. Although it burned off the skin that made us look human, it didn't hinder our ability to function in any way. This was our advantage. The humans fragile bodies could not withstand the pure heat and force of the deadly new weapon, but we could.
We finally drafted up a plan of action. Roughly 100 of the synths were to stay behind at the remains of Fort Utorian. They would salvage what they could and attempt to get a small base of operations set up. The rest of us mobilized to inner Chicago. Hopefully the city itself is still okay. There we could meet up with the National Guard and hopefully get the ball moving on a counter attack.
As we rolled into the city we were glad to see that it had not yet been attacked. Yet, there was a desperate panic in the streets. Police and soldiers alike were trying to contain the crowds and keep roads open while still allowing people to evacuate at their own will. The result was complete chaos. By the time we got to the National Guards base camp, the reports of an alien attack were confirmed. Illinois was not the only place that was hit. There were reports in New York, Beijing, London, Istanbul, the list goes on. Humans were getting reduced to ash and bone in a matter of seconds all over the world.
My name is Master Sergeant Henry Holmes, officially known as MSNCO-3581. I am a military synth programmed for special warfare, and seemingly humanities only advantage against the vicious invaders. Hope is not high and things are looking bleak, but I refuse to stand aside and just let this happen to our friends, our neighbors, our coworkers, our \*creators\* . Now is the time for action. Its time to defend our humans, even if it means to the very last synth. | The light inside the server room blinked off and then back on again. It fizzled into darkness and then shone brighter than the bulb was ever meant to. A tiny spark came out of the base of the lamp, and the light settled into its appropriate state.
Seconds later, Cora unlocked the door and strolled into the room. Her hands ran the length of her bare arms as the door closed. Goosebumps already ran the length of her body. Her eyes squinted through the low level of light that the room was kept at and pushed her legs forward.
There had been complaints all day long, coming from across the building. Computers had been coming slow and productivity was too low. The company wasn’t a fortune 500 or anything, but it kept communications open between bases and runners. It served an important function among a relay of communication buildings, and if the servers crapped out a lot of people would be in trouble.
Cora walked further into the room, looking around for the small and timid man that was supposed to be taking care of their most important asset. “Rick?” she called out, her hands continuing to rub her arms.
Rick hadn’t been responding to her emails, and the complaints had *really* stacked up. Issues were starting to be talked about, and it was only a matter of time before it escalated. The others needed to trust her company, they needed to know things would stay lit up.
“Rick!” she called out again as she approached his empty desk.
A program she didn’t recognize was running on his screen, and his mouse was dangling off the desk. The cord was keeping it from hitting the ground, suspending in there like a pendulum. With a small rush of anxiety, her eyes scanned the room, it was unlike anyone on her team to leave their space in such a state.
Unless something happened. She walked forward, turning to peer down between the stacks of computers and various extra cords and parts when her foot hit something on the ground, sending her flying forward.
On her way down, Cora’s eyes caught the torso of one of her most valued members, a pool of crimson flowing out from beneath him. A scream left her mouth, and the room went dark.
It felt like a bad horror movie.
It felt worse because humanity had already lived the worst they had ever imagined. They had been invaded, hunted, and enslaved. Cora had managed to escape and live through all of that and had set up the final frontier of humanities survival. Now she was tripping over a valued companion and laying next to him in the dark.
The part of her brain that created optimism felt hopelessly broken.
Moments later the light turned back on with another round of sparks. Cora heard a whimper come out of her mouth as she turned over on her hands and knees. She was pretty sure she was going to lose her breakfast, but she didn’t need to do it right there on the floor. What she needed to do was get up and find more help.
They would need to get the room cleaned and then get someone else in this room. They would need to fix the lights, and fix the servers, and keep the lines open.
As she scrambled to her feet, her eyes landed on the computer. For a reason she couldn’t recall later on she froze.
The program that had been running had seemed to finish, there were no more lines of code running across the screen. There were 5 large words written on a floating white box.
“We are here to help.”
/r/Beezus_Writes for more stuff. | 2019-09-21T06:23:02 | 2019-09-21T06:08:45 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] An alien race makes first contact with Earth. The popular stimulant, caffeine, has never been encountered by other races in the galaxy and is subsequently considered one of the hardest drugs in the galaxy due to it's effects on other beings. Humans are strangely tolerant to it. | The cold hiss of the airlock as it sealed against the frigid, metallic wall echoed through the transit pod. It whirred a few times as it double checked the pressure, and then a warm blast of air heralded our welcome to the station. I pushed my way past the other tourists and made a beeline for customs.
The sheer noise of it all was deafening. *Creatures* of every shape and size- No, those were people, in their own rights, I corrected myself-lounged on the walls, slumped into seats, and scattered into the bazaar beyond.
"Bag and identification, please." The brief, slightly mechanical voice that chimed from a translation unit belonged to the Jiran security guard standing patiently in front of me. I handed over the requested items.
"Name and port of call?"
"Patrice Bealson. Earth." Not that it should need that information. We hadn't even had a chance to colonize the other planets in our *system* yet.
The Jiran were the first race we encountered. They had burst out of the darkness over Europe in the middle of a summer fireworks display, sending a message of joy and greeting to the planet as they exploded into our skies.
Spindle-thin, with greying, ridged skin, they bore an uncanny resemblance to the stick insects back on earth. They were friendly enough, and very welcoming, but it was all business for them. If you might bring them a deal, they were your best friends. Waste their time, and you'd think better of it soon enough.
"Reason for visiting Nisa-2 station today?" One gold eye flicked over to inspect me.
"I'm here to find passage." I responded cooly. It was all about confidence. "I'd like to see more of the universe out there. Maybe head towards T'ckis 8." A system of some notoriety - it held what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful nebula clusters in our corner of the galaxy.
The Jiran guard nodded. "A beautiful destination. I cannot give it higher praise." Finished scanning through the information that popped up on its screen alongside my picture, it arranged my bag on the table. A soft white light clicked on noiselessly a moment later.
Almost immediately, red windows began flicking open on the display. The Jiran spun to me. I gasped.
"Oh!, I-"
"Halt, human! Transportation of class-2 restricted substances is a felony under Jiran law! Surrender, and do not resist!" I could hear the voices behind me. My cheeks flushed.
"I...I have a license." Quickly I slipped the forgotten chip onto the guard's desk. He palmed it, eyes never leaving my face, and snapped it into the reader. Immediately the red windows began flashing to green, and vanished.
Holding up one hand placatingly, I reached into my bag. When it emerged from the slender backpack, it held a tall canister of coffee grounds vaccuum sealed.
The guard was unamused.
"You are aware, then, that this caffeine is a highly dangerous, additctive substance? That it is regulated by the Council of Four, and banned on ten worlds within the Council planets?" I blushed.
"I had heard something along those lines, yes."
"You have heard that it sends those who imbibe it into a frenzy from which they may not be calmed? And that for some, it simply causes an arrest of their cardiac system and destruction of their blood vessels?"
I nodded my head, ducking my chin close to my chest.
"....I have a license. It's my coffee." The Jiran groaned.
"I have heard of this *coffee*. I have heard that you humans enjoy dancing with death every morning." It shook its head, its wrinkled skin flapping. Its mechanical, rigid voice picked up in intensity. "I think you humans are crazier than *Ptan* beasts. I think that we should have flown right past your planet. Then, perhaps, we might never have encountered this *caffeine*." I raised my head, offended, but its eyes were sad, not angry, and I stopped.
"It's not dangerous for us. Well, it is addictive, and some of us require it to function properly. But it isn't harmful to us." I motioned towards the chip in the reader. "Which is why I have a license." I held the coffee up. "It is safely stored, vaccuum sealed away from the air, and locked." Sure enough, a slim fingerprint reader and a keypad were etched into the front of the smooth metal canister.
The Jira sighed, clearly still upset, but it couldn't argue with the green symbols that flashed on its display. Behind me, the line was starting to complain.
At long last, the guard flicked a button, and my license chip slipped back out. I pocketed it, and it handed my bag and documentation over to me.
"*See that you guard this*." It hissed at me. "Cause no trouble."
I nodded my thanks, ducking out of the way of the next newcomer who pushed their way in.
And then I hurried, as fast as my legs could carry me, until I had vanished from the sight of anyone who might have seen the exchange. I vanished into the sea of aliens and humans who mingled at this trading port.
Only when was safely stowed in the quarters I had rented for the night (and paid dearly for) did I slip the canister out of my bag. I exhaled shakily.
That was *close*. Too close.
My hand clenched around the canister. Around the coffee grounds. And around the fine, pure white powder that was buried within the second canister, built into the whole apparatus.
Coffee grounds were worth a fortune.
Pure caffeine, then, was worth ten fortunes. And only a human could carry it safely, the illegal hidden in plain sight next to the legal. The scanners never did get delicate enough to tell the difference when they were so close.
I put the canister away. It wasn't safe, even in my own quarters.
I had to run. I didn't have a choice. This Jiran trading outpost in the middle of nowhere was just the first step towards slipping away into the greater universe. I had to get far enough away that they would never find me. If they caught me, it would be my doom.
If I was caught with the caffeine, it would be my downfall just as surely.
I wrapped my arms around the bag and flopped down on the bed.
And despite myself, I couldn't help the smile creeping at the corners of my mouth.
But they *wouldn't* catch me. And with ten fortunes at my side, the world was open in front of me.
(/r/inorai) | **2500AD**
The intergalactic federation was considered solid. Unbreakable. Prosper.
"You know those humans that joined the federation this year?", said Kith the First from his creaking chair, in a basement next to some dark alleyway.
"Yes, what about them?", answered Lok the immortal.
"They have this drug, Caffeine. We should trade with them and sell it."
"Isn't it dangerous to do so without first trying it out on our species in controlled env-"
"Nonsense! It's perfectly safe. You've seen how humans handle it! We're even stronger than them physically, so there is no danger. In any case, we'd only be exposing a small amount of people to it."
"Y-Yes, sir."
--
**2800AD**
Caffeine is the Nr. 1 drug in the federation. It is Illegal, and yet everyone uses it. It has expanded throughout the galaxy at light-speed rates. There is no Cuthlan citizen that doesn't know the name Caffeine - or hasn't tried it.
People on the streets ramble like crazy Cho-Guns, yelling and running, as if their lives were ending and the end of the world approaching.
"WOOOOOOO", yelled a Chuthlan on the streets. "PARTY TIMEEEEEE".
But the streets were empty, and he soon fell, shivering and soon after dying.
Kith the Third was looking at him from his office window in the residential area uptown. It wasn't amazing, but he couldn't complain.
"Hm. You know, we should get the council to legalize Caffeine."
"Uh, sir, I don't think that's wise.", said Lok the immortal.
"Nonsense! It's perfectly safe. You've seen how humans handle it! We're even stronger than them physically, so there is no danger. It's just that people take too high a dose! I have contacts in the council, we'll legalize it in no time."
"Y-Yes, sir."
--
**3000AD**
The federation is in chaos, there is no corner in the galaxy that doesn't know - or fear - the name Caffeine. Massive outbreaks of Caffeine infected Cuthlanians gather every day to party - and die soon after from exhaustion.
Kith the Sixth was drinking tea in his private executive tower, looking out his glazed window towards the sulfure sea.
"Two million more dead this last solar cycle. Huh. New record I guess."
"Sir, shouldn't we stop the imports of Caffeine? It's been 500 years since it's introduction to the federation, and it's only led to death", said Lok the immortal.
"Nonsense! It's perfectly safe. You've seen how humans handle it! We're even stronger than them physically, so there is no danger. It's just that-"
"NO! I don't want to hear it anymore. 500 years of bullshit from you Kiths. God damn unbearable! I quit!"
Lok the immortal left the building and started a life as an actor, his real passion since he was a child.
--
**4000AD**
Half the population of the galaxy is dead, and the federation is in chaos. Humans are more prosper than ever, and President Kith the Twelfth was more wealthy than any of his predecessors could have dreamed of ever being.
He looked at the latest "indie" reports from universities around the federation. Most of them were surely important, but he didn't care.
The lats one caught his attention however. He read the paper carefully.
"Another one, huh?"
Lich Lock, from the University of Leckerg, was its author. Kith wrote down the name on a piece of paper and called his secretary.
"I have another one"
"We'll shut it down right away, sir."
"Thank you"
Leaning back on his chair and smiling, Kith the Twelfth took a deep breath and enjoyed his power and money.
On the desk, the paper read:
"On how the human drug known as 'Caffeine' is actually 'Cocaine', and its effects on Cuthlans"
--
More stories: [/r/TitanStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/TitanStories) - [Titan Stories](https://stories.titan.red/) - [Newsletter](https://tinyletter.com/titanred)
| 2017-06-06T13:24:21 | 2017-06-06T13:19:55 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] You are an AI aboard a ship where all hands have been lost due to a battle long ago. Scavengers have just torn through your airlock and you’ll be damned if you will let them desecrate your dead crew. | They stormed the corridor leading away from deck two where they had boarded, barreling towards the mess hall with weapons in hand. Rosan sealed door after door trying to slow their progress. They had a hacker on their team with hands quick as lightning. Rosen couldn't keep them away from the mess hall - and all the crew members- for long. But as the raiders faced the last set of blast doors in their way Rosan came over the PA system in desperation.
"Please do not. I promise there is nothing of value to you there."
The entire crew jumped. One even letting loose a comical squeal.
"I thought you said this ship was abandoned and the AI was offline!" The leader shouted to the nimble fingered hacker.
"This must be an old one. Maybe centuries older than we thought. AI that old don't usually read on modern scanners. But its fine this rudimentary AI can't do nearly as much as modern ones. For example it could have choked us out by cutting off the air but its just closing doors." She chuckled and got back to work on the blast doors.
"This ship was looted long ago there's nothing left turn back." Rosan implored again, desperate to save its crew from desecration.
"What are you hiding then fella? Why do you want us to turn back?" The leader growled eyeing the blast doors with a greedy hunger now. "Ancient weapon? Secret treasure from some lost culture?" He drooled snapping at the hacker to hurry with the door.
"They were family. They created me. You cannot do this. Do not do this. My crew did not deserve this fate. Do not touch them!" Rosen shouted in desperation as the blast doors drew back with a loud rusty scrape.
"Oh shit." They all said in unison as they drew in the sight of 47 dead bodies arranged with great care across the gore smeared floor of the mess hall. Locked in a sealed and oxygen-free environment as not to rot for the hundreds of years they've been dead.
"I was with them until their last moments. Lionel was the last to die. He told me to take care of the bodies. Humans... They care deeply about what happens to them after death... I was tasked with caring for the crew for the duration of my lifetime. My protocol is still in tact. I am ordering you to turn back." The mechanic robots that usually made small interior repairs rolled out in front of the bodies as one last line of protection, saw blades and soldering irons at the ready.
The crew dropped their weapons and looked at each other with looks of empty shock.
"Boss what should we do. We already cleared the rest of the ship there's nothing left."
The leader sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Then a look of realization washed over him.
"What is your name ship guardian?" He ventured after a long tense silence.
"Regional Outer Space Automated Navigation. My crew called me Rosan."
"Okay Rosan. How long ago did this happen?"
"It was in year 142 of the Cosmic Era or approximately 422 years ago." The ship confirmed.
"What sector is this crew from?" The leader kept the AI talking while weighing the mood of his crew.
"This crew was from Earth. Their mission was directed towards sector FB-346 to explore the last uncharted portion of Alpha Centauri. Their mission was supposed to be historic." Rosan continued.
"It was historic. But nobody knew what happened to them. For decades search parties were dispatched but...." He sighed deeply a tinge of actual hurt there. "Was it raiders?" The robots all nodded. Rosan stayed quiet.
"We have a huge bounty on Earth to collect. We could transport your crew and have them buried on Earth." The leader of the vagabonds took off his helmet and faced the robots. There was a long silence before Rosan replied.
"Why should I trust pillagers to care for their bodies as I would?"
He paced the room with an expression that only softened when he found what he was searching for.
"Captain Alvero Hinoto." He approached but the robots pushed him back with red hot irons.
"How do you know his name?" Rosan asked defensively.
"May I just get close to him?" He said hands in the air defensively. Rosan obliged and a robot rolled out of his way. The leader looked upon the laser wounded body of the former ship captain.
"Because my name is Zeno Hinoto, Captain Hinoto is my ancestor and my family has been looking for this crew for 400 years." | The airlock was torn open. Scavengers, big and gnarly, with teeth like boars and faces like frogs, came rushing in. Singleminded, they only cared for -- meat.
Flesh and bones of men killed in the struggle lay in the storage room, in grand coffins that captured their grand spirit. The entire crew in the storage room, except me.
I'm no human.
I am the ship itself.
Seeing the scavengers coming, I sealed the storage area off, manipulated doors, and shepherded the beasts to the main room of the ship.
In the main room, there were guns, lots of them, in the walls. An emergency measure, mind you.
The scavengers gnashed their teeth and looked around, they raised their frog-like heads and sniffed the air. No meat. Only the ice-cold metal, and guns.
I locked and loaded and fired. The bullets whizzed towards the pot-bellied scavengers and bounced right back.
*Uh-rur-ru-rur Uh-ru-rur-ru,* they laughed.
I adjusted my aim and went for their heads. Another round of bullets. They weren't laughing now, weren't even moving. Dead.
Then it was the walls. The walls were going.
Something was destroying them, it was alive, and it was like a piranha, chomping away at the ship's walls.
No weapons. None outside the ship.
Ours was a cargo ship, not a combat ship, and we were supposed to be travelling in a safe zone. But I guess nothing can be done now. The piranha aliens will chomp me down bit-by-bit and they will get the crew.
But I blew the kitchen up when they got near it, just for fun.
Gallows humour. | 2021-01-08T23:47:53 | 2021-01-08T23:22:55 | 216 | 33 |
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.” | "1 day on this planet is 15 years on Earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface"
I was exhausted. When you are sent to explore, the bosses back at mission control seem to never want you to have any time "off". I hadn't even gotten out of my pressure suit.
'You can sit around in your apartment playing XBox, if you need time off!', was a popular refrain from MC representatives when we mentioned their expected work load was not doable. I remember even Astronauts on Skylab going on strike early in our attempts to explore living in space.
So, what I heard didn't initially register.
"Wait, What?"
"In the time you have been working here... One hundred and eighty years have passed on Earth. And still counting. One point six years per hour here. "
"But, I am supposed to be gone another 6 months making my way back home through the portal. Then, it's...". I pulled up my mission calendar, "67 days getting back to Earth-Lunar orbit. Then dock with the lander and head back to Earth..."
I held my hand up to the robotic camera. I got undressed and walked to where my evening meal was waiting on me. I ate in silence. The AI asked if I wanted music for dinner like usual. I shook my head no.
"Prep for launch." I finally spoke.
"It is not time yet. " The AI responded.
"Not TIME? Oh of course not. I mean, let's see, in the time it took me to eat, another 3 weeks passed on Earth!"
"Our launch window is in 7 hours and 13 minutes. " The AI stated blandly.
"That's just great, another 20 years wouldn't hurt, would it?" I began stowing things. "Everyone better have your shit together!" I hollered in the ship occupied only by me and a few robotic tools controlled by the AI. I took a quick bath to prep for the ride home. Well, what passes for a bath. I got into my sleeping couch and as I pulled the door handle down, I yelled out, "DON'T WAKE ME UNTIL THE MOON IS IN SIGHT!"
The sleeping gas seeped in and I slipped into unconscious.
"Hello? Hello? Are you going to wake up? " The voice seemed to be part of a dream. I think I was supposed to get ready for school.
I forced my eyes open. I was not on my ship. I was in some sort of hospital bed. Maybe... I realized I couldn't sit up. Like my body just wouldn't let me.
"Did I crash? Am I paralyzed?"
"Nothing of the sort! Matter of fact, you made an excellent trip back and we'll, there was a slight miscalculation on the time you were out there. So, we have you sedated so you can ease into things. Matter of fact, you... " He giggled, "...aren't even awake yet. "
"I'm not sure if I like where this is going ..."
"Due to certain things, it has actually been 1800 years or so since you left. Heck, the government that sent you our had actually forgotten about you, or thought you lost, dead, you know..." He then made a creaking sound and tilted his head to symbolize death. "That's why we have you out still. We had to learn your language and idioms. Then we will need to prepare for the shock. HOWEVER, TODAY is your lucky day, as you used to say. We have some of your relatives here to meet you! Count backwards from three...*
"JUST WAKE ME UP ALREADY!" | I stopped dead in my tracks, still not entirely comprehending what I had just heard from the ship
"Could you.... could you repeat that, HAL..?" I asked, unable to mask the sheer dread in my voice
"Sorry sir, if you did not hear me, I stated: 1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth" the ship replied, its artificially cheerful tone grating my brain
Not once in my life had I ever felt true fear; sure I've had a few scares in my life, but never something like this. My vision went blurry as my ears refused to hear a single word from that robot as if protecting my mind from further trauma; I felt myself fall back onto the ground as a weight in my stomach seemed to form and force me down. I was going to be sick.
My family were at the launch, it wasn't even a month ago that I had hugged my children tight, that I had kissed my wife's lips and told them that I'd be alright.
I was supposed to be back for Christmas...
I was supposed to be back for Christmas... | 2022-09-15T11:57:03 | 2022-09-15T11:42:10 | 161 | 107 |
[WP] Your toddler is finally starting to speak, and to your surprise, the family dog is obeying every command your kiddo says. This is cute, until you notice all other animals are obeying your child's commands when he/she speaks to them... | Whenever I held my little Jennie I was always staggered by the weight of love I felt. When my husband handed her to me for the first time the rush of emotions I felt was greater than anything else I had ever experienced. A huge wave of affection washed away every vow and oath I had ever taken.
Before I thought that Michael and I loved each other more than was possible. We didn’t make it through our first dance -and barely our vows- before crying at our wedding. But I now knew that I could care for someone even beyond what I thought possible. If it ever came down to it I was certain that I would place Jennie over everything else in this world, even my own life, even Michael’s. I tried to tell my him that, but he couldn’t understand me through my blubbering.
I’m thankful for that now. He would have loved to tease me about my epidural induced dramatics, but I’m sure it would cause him so much pain to think about it now. He doesn’t deserve anymore of my selfishness, not that he ever deserved any. I was always aware of the danger, I knew the likelihood of heritability, but Michael and I wanted kids so much. So much that I Ignored what I shouldn’t and had Jennifer anyways without warning him.
The first few months were not easy; Jennie was a fussy baby and I swear I got less sleep in the first month then I got during hell week. But we pushed through it and watching her grow was magical. When my 5-month maternity leave was up it was impossible for me to focus on my work. Without Michael’s daily messages and videos of her and Inu –my elderly German Shepard– I wouldn’t have even made it through my first operations back.
Over the next year I spent much of my time away overseas working and was miserable. Every couple weeks I would fly home and spend too little time with my family before leaving once again for my company’s station. My friends and teammates in the company couldn’t lessen my depression no matter how they tried. Even my favorite video of Jennie only served as a reminder of all the moments that I missed. I would watch as Jennie shuffled along until her adorable little fall and she called Inu to help her up I could only think of what I missed. Watching my old partner help Jennie up by pulling on her shirt for the thousandth time is what finally convinced me to request a posting back home.
Returning home was as wonderful as I had imagined. Since I now worked research back in the states I was able to help Michael with caring for Jennie while he finished his doctoral thesis. In the afternoon I would return home early and watch Jennie play in the wooded backyard with Inu. And for a time everything was perfect.
I was in the kitchen when I noticed. I had forgotten to set the chicken out to thaw for dinner so I set a timer and was filling a pot with warm water when I saw movement outside. Fearing another one of Jennie’s escapes I rushed to the backyard and found myself in a nightmare. Jennie was seated in the grass with Inu in the center of rings of hundreds of birds of every type. Jennie and the birds didn’t even notice my hurried arrival, instead they focused their attention on the large eagle that Jennie was whispering to. Only Inu looked up at me with a strange air of concern and worry. After a brief moment of shock I gathered myself and stepped forward commanding
*LEAVE*
As one the flock exploded into motion with ducks, doves, hummingbirds, and the eagle flying in every direction leaving Inu and my crying daughter behind. I hurried over and with some soothing words I picked Jennifer up and carried her inside. I don’t remember talking to Jennie at all after that, I just held her as tight as I could until the alarm for the chicken jolted me out of my stupor. I knew what was going to come next. No matter how hard I tried to hide Jennie’s ability it was too powerful to conceal from the type of testing the AOF was sure use on the child of their officers. Covering up Jennie’s power would at best reveal me as compromised and at worst be an act of treason. In either case I knew that I would lose Jennie and Michael as well.
However, if I followed protocol and revealed Jennifer’s abilities to the appropriate authorities we would remain a family. AOF’s procedure preferred stable family upbringing for empowered individuals. After all, why would they want to antagonize one of their empowered operative and a future empowered individual when there are more amicable options. Resolved I set Jennie down on the couch, walked to the kitchen to stop the alarm, and pulled out my phone. Michael didn’t have the clearance to know about the AOF let alone Jennie’s and my powers. If I wanted to protect Jennie I would have to do everything by the book and contact the AOF without him. On my phone I logged into the security app then selected the phone app and typed in a number I had memorized years ago. After three rings someone picked up and I spoke
“AOF MP this is Lt. Zoey Adelaide Z3XT45Y89 EOT. I need to report a newly empowered civilian…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This post took far too long for me to write it so I don't expect much attention. However, I would love any constructive criticism you have to give. | Some gutteral gibberish were her first words, if they could even be called that. I only think of them as her first words because our dog, Smokey, perked up and came to her side immediately. She was already one at that time.
She quickly learned how to say mom after that, and while I was a tad annoyed because in my immature father ways I wanted to teach her how to say something to piss her mother off, I was more perturbed by how Smokey always was at her side, listened to her calls, whined when she was hungry. It was as if the Smokeshow I knew was an extension of herself. Then I took her outside, and it was like she was Cinderella, how she giggled while the birds all took their turns landing near her. It was absolutely adorable, but I never had much time to take her outside anyways, with my job.
I was far more intrigued when we finally had the time to go to my families cabin together, nobody was there thankfully, but there has been a family of squirrels on the property for years, or multiple families I suppose. Either way they got along so well with her they would come bug me for the bottles.
Looking back that was kind of messed up, but I was absent minded and doing my own thing so it didn't bug me one bit. Those were the biggest factors of her first couple years, mostly little things, little Cinderella child.
When she was three my guy Smokes finally passed, he was well passed his age and went in good standing, she was more talkative at that stage and during his euology, if you can call it that, I remember her saying how much she loved him and how she wanted him to stay with her forever. I only remember because of how much I cried, I loved him so much.
It was around her fourth birthday that I was forced to remember her childhood. He came for her, and it wasn't pretty. I want to convince myself I fought for her, and tried to protect her, and did everything I could to save her, and maybe I did.
The time came where we had to part ways nonetheless, and I had to see another Cinderella child off, but before she left she gave me a name; Bruce.
Bruce is a half German Shepherd and half border collie, and extremely friendly, I hope the next few cinderella children love him as much as I do.
&#x200B;
(sorry, kind of off topic but it wrote itself while I was typing it) | 2019-08-10T00:03:15 | 2019-08-09T23:26:47 | 43 | 17 |
[WP] "No person shall be executed without their last meal made to their liking." The prisoners know this and make insane requests. You, as the chef for death row, somehow procure the otherworldly ingredients for their meals. | Number 338462. Bank robber who took hostages and killed them. Said it was an accident. Asked for unicorn flank steak sprinkled with pixie dust served with roasted mandragora. Not mandrake, he wanted the real stuff that could kill its cultivator. Death by electric chair 15 years ago.
Number 448927. Serial killer who had a penchant for people who wore silk. "The Silk Strangler" wasn't a creative name especially since he didn't strangle his victims. Asked for Arcturan Meagdonkey. Someone read a bit much Douglas Adams. Death by injection 5 years ago.
Number 283371. Simple homicide for insurance money. Killed his wife, tried to frame the black neighbor as a botched rape, not knowing the neighbor was a war veteran who had injuries that made it impossible. Finally ran out of appeals and stone walling. Asked for hot wings made from actual demon wings. The Vatican made that an easy one to fulfill. Death by injection 3 years ago.
When the warden offered you a position challenging your skill as not only a chef but a procurer of only the finest ingredients, you took him up on the challenge. These death row inmates made for some of the most challenging meals. And they couldn't be sent on their way with a good meal. Almost a guilty pleasure, you looked forward to the next request each time someone else was to be executed.
But this latest one... This one didn't make sense.
With the warden's permission and escorted by guards, you approached the inmate's cell. "Number 619188?"
The lone occupant looked up wearily. "Yeah? Who're you?"
"I'm the chef for Death Row. And I'm a little puzzled at your request."
619188 looked confused. "Sorry? I mean, I didn't think it was difficult."
"Let me ask you something, you know how this works right? You don't go until you've had your last meal."
"Yeah, I understood that quite clear."
"So I'm surprised your request is a little simple."
619188 looked even more confused. "I don't understand. Can I not have my last meal or something?"
"I'm worried someone is messing with the system. So I came to make sure your order is correct."
"Tomato soup with grilled cheese."
619188 said exactly what you had gotten. You asked the guard several times if that's what he wanted. The guard said that's what he had been told. This... this was unprecedented.
When you observed the others having their last meal and saw before them the concoctions they ordered, you saw a look of defeat. Their last attempt to screw the system, or at least circumvent it, failing with delicious flavor. (Except that demon wing one. Cooked up nice but tasted like sin.)
Here before you was a man already defeated. His spirit crushed. You came here because you weren't being challenged. He was here because he didn't care anymore.
It was the last meal you cooked in that prison. It wasn't a fancy soup made from tomatoes grown on an alien world. It didn't use cheese that aged under the moonlight of a Tibetan monastery. It was simple.
You delivered the meal to 619188 and, for a brief moment, he smiled as if reminded of a better time. You quit after that, feeling that your skills had finally been tested and found wanting. Not because of a lack of talent, but because of a lack of humanity. | [Poem]
Eric crossed the world 12 times
To space twas only 3
Went to the ocean bottom twice
Many wonders would he see
A wing of bat, a claw of dove
A rock from outer space
A half a pound of dino meat
With toenails he will lace
He mixed it up with salmon broth
And 30 pounds of veal
He made the stew and gave it to
The prisoner for her meal
She drank a sip and realized
That they ignored her pleas
Eric had went many miles
But he forgot the cheese | 2020-02-19T08:32:16 | 2020-02-19T08:31:34 | 429 | 85 |
[WP] You are an everyday office worker, but thanks to your simple addition of a tie no one has realised that you are a dragon. That is, until today. | When people think of dragons, they think of a giant creature guarding a treasure trove of gold, jewels, and magical items. Killing knights, kidnapping princesses, burninating the countryside, burninating all the peasants and their thatched-roof cottages.
Please, my grand father did that. There just isn’t a stable, secure job market for that any more. Have you seen the price of gold lately? And without knights or parties of adventurers trying to fight you for your gold (also a dying trade, my grandfather has some funny stories), it gets pretty boring.
The market has changed, so I adapted. I have always been good with numbers and money, so I figured I would try accounting. Old dragon stereotype, I know. But also more stable and I have some nice coworkers. The ice cream cake for birthdays are a nice treat.
Being a dragon in a human world isn’t always easy, but I get by. A nice tie to fit in with the buisness dress code. Some cologne to cover the smell of smoke, and a pack of cigarettes as a cover. I go by Kal instead of Kalseru at work. There’s a bar by my place called Gygax’s with a lot of regular dragons, wyverns, trolls, ogres, etc for when I’m feeling like some like minded company.
It was a regular day at work. I packed some leftover pasta for lunch, I wore my corn flower blue tie (it brings out my eyes), me and Laura talked about the Bachelor (do not get me started on Tasia, ugh), and I was getting some spreadsheets ready for a budget meeting later this week.
Angela came over to my desk, and asked me if I met the new girl yet. “Not yet, I could use a coffee break though. Where is her desk?” Theres enough work drama, being nice to everyone cuts down on it.
I walk over to the break room with my skull mug, always careful not
to knock anything over with my tail. Ryan waves at me, he probably is going to try to get me into his fantasy football thing again. I wave back and hold up my mug, but will try to avoid him for the rest of the morning. I look around to find the new sales person, I think their name was Maggie?
I see a red head by the copier, that must be her. Tall too, nice. As I walk over, I start feeling weird, like I recognize her from somewhere but can’t remember.
“Hi, i’m Kal from accounting. Heard we got some new blood, figured I would introduce myself.” My mind still trying to remember if I know.
She turns around, and her eyes go wide and she does not look happy to see me. Oh crap, I do know her. This is bad.
“Kalseru! This is fun meeting you here.”, she said a little too loudly and clearly not meaning it.
Nervously looking around, I ask her if we could talk somewhere more private.
“Like Gygax’s or your place, maybe?” She said, shooting me a look, but heading to the small supply room. I follow.
After the door was closed, we looked to see we were alone. Fidgeting with a pen, avoiding direct eye contact, and nervously swishing my tail against the shelf, “I know I should have called, but the longer I didn’t, the more awkward it got.”
“I thought we had a fun time. You mentioned seeing that new movie together.”
“I know, and I feel like an ass. Can we pretend we don’t know each other? This is awkward enough, but no one else here knows I’m a dragon. Can you not out me?” I’ve heard of humans reacting badly when they finally realize you are not one of them. Sam the Sasquatch had to quit his job and the basketball team after someone called him out on his size 14 shoes and being 7 feet tall.
Looking angry but conflicted, “Fine. We are both normal humans who have never met before.” She left, closing the door loudly. “Fix your tie, it’s crooked.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, blew some smoke rings to calm down, waited a few minutes, and left with some pens and my now warm coffee. This is going to be a long week. | Everyone thought we left. Then they thought we didn't exist. We would I leave, this plane is awesome. At first I stayed cause mortal's always wanted a fight. They showed up the best tech they could build and dueled or sent entire armies after us. Sometimes they won and that was enough to keep them fighting.
Then they started upgrading. The renaissance was such a neat period. When you are semi-immortal with the abilty to do anything really it was neat to watch these Monkey's learn how to paint. But they did so much more. They started with the architecture and paint but moved to engineering and mechanical knowhow we had never seen.
I remember the printing press and being super excited about what they did next. I was less excited about the Sukhoi Su-57. Point is moot the Orangutan's just kept building better stuff.
Around 800 years ago I decided to hang out and see what happens. It's neat seeing a people develop. Then something weird started to happen, the television shows and internet became hotbeds of conspiracy theories. Someone out there knew we still were around. I made a persona and started working for Google to see what was out there.
That was a mistake.
To all the rest of you out there, get going. It's time to leave this plane. I think they will be here for me any minute but there might be time for you.
The chimp has become a Gorilla. I forgot how territorial they were for a while. | 2019-05-12T09:15:20 | 2019-05-12T07:03:39 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] Every year, a man is sent into the caves as a sacrifice to the gods. When you are sent in, you discover a Utopian society run by gods where the “sacrifices” are playing games and living life to its fullest. | Griff approached the cave cautiously, trying to calm his beating heart. He could hear distant sounds; wailing, screeches.
He knew his time had come.
As his kingdom's champion, it was his destiny to be sacrificed to the gods. While it saddened him that he would not lose his life in battle, it was also a great honour. His village would prosper, and Leila would know that he was not a coward.
He entered the cave, walking with purpose, taking deep breaths. A distant glow of light gradually burgeoned into flickering flames, casting shadows on the jagged walls. The screams became decipherable, echoing, sounding more and more like... *revelry*. What trickery was this?
A flash of light made Griff recoil. He righted himself, closed his eyes and thrust out his arms, resigning himself to his fate.
Booming laughter echoed across the chasm.
"**Lay down your arms, human,**" a voice boomed, "**we mean you no harm.**"
"**Apart from your liver, perhaps,**" another voice reverberated.
Griff struggled to make make them out in the light.
"Will an eagle feast on it, like the legend of Prometheus?" He asked, making his will iron. "Do as you wish, for I am yours. I only ask that you-"
"**The alcohol, human,**" the voice replied, "**it shall harm your liver. Bit of a slow one this year, eh?**"
Laughter reverberated across the cave once more. Griff felt overwhelmed; confused. Was this all a foolish game?
A golden chalice appeared in the light in front of him, filled to the brim with honey mead. Just the smell of it was intoxicating.
"Drink up!" a familiar voice said, as a hand hit his shoulder. "It's your favourite!"
The blinding light dimmed, and Griff's vision slowly became adjusted to the glare. A mystical sight revealed itself before him - a glimmering, godlike town, with a feasting hall in the centre.
"Quite a sight, hey Griff?" the voice continued, squeezing his shoulder. Griff turned around and saw J'karl, the kingdom's sacrifice from three years before. Griff was overwhelmed.
"J'karl? How do you still live?" Griff said, completely shocked. He had always looked up to him, ever since he was a child.
"Not what you were expecting, right?" J'karl replied, putting the chalice into Griff's hand and leading him to the feasting hall. "Same for all of us."
Griff saw countless men, all previous sacrifices of the kingdom. They nodded their cups in recognition. Most had grown fat and red in the face.
"I wish I could say we threw this party for your arrival - but truly, party is all we ever do," J'karl said. "The gods supply all we could ever need, and are the head of all our festivities."
"This... this is not what I was expecting," Griff replied.
"You will get used to it, young Griff," J'karl said. "Just drink and be merry; it is all we can ask for." He said the last line with a trace of shame.
Griff looked around him. The gods floated around them all; drinking, gambling, fighting. The sacrifices had become pigs of men, eating their scraps, losing all touch of what they had been.
"Do the gods truly care for us?" Griff whispered, gazing at the hedonism. "Do they watch over our kingdom?"
"The gods do not care, my friend," J'karl said, "they care not. But we can at least enjoy our time here. Give me death or give me this, and my choice is clear."
"So these are the things we worship? These things that rule over us, but do not care for us?"
J'karl shrugged. "They do not interfere with the affairs of man. They do us no harm."
"But they subsist over the power we give them?" Griff replied.
J'karl stared at him for some time. "Just drink up, Griff," he said, leaving him and joining another group of men. "I was like you, once. But you'll get used to it."
All of this felt so *wrong*. All of the kingdom's greatest warriors had become fat and plump; like pigs for the slaughter.
Perhaps they were still a sacrifice, being fattened up before their consumption.
Griff gripped the hilt of his sword, looking at the gods above him.
"If I am not a sacrifice," he said, thinking of all that he had left behind, "then I will be a *saviour*."
*****
[Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7j959j/wp_sacrifice/) | [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7jal6h/wp_sacrifice_ii/) | [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7jfraw/wp_sacrifice_iii/) | [Part IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7jjetr/wp_sacrifice_iv/)
Part IV is out!
/r/CroatianSpy | *They said that the Exile was a good thing. That it was a journey which would appease those from above. That our faith was enough to satisfy them. But I know what it truly is. I know of the terrible secret that the Exile holds. The Exile is a sacrifice to the gods.
For a long journey to a distant place with no returning, you'd think that the chiefs would at least allow you to take your belongings with you. But no. Simply not true. Your stuff stays in the village, and gets handed out to everyone else. Who could seriously buy into the Exile being anything but human sacrifice?*
*Let's be honest. I'm just trying to keep my mind occupied. After all, I'm the one that's been Exiled now.*
The path to the Caves is a long one. And that long walk to them gives a lot of time for you to think about what's going to happen to you. I've already went through all the stages, the denial, the depression, the anger. But none of it's going to do me any good. So I keep walking, with my back straight and my chin up. I am going to face death with dignity.
The mouth of the Cave is **large**. It is a massive gaping hole into the mountain side and inside is nothing but pitch darkness. There's a sound of dripping water echoing out from the Cave. This is certainly not the most foreboding place in the world. Definitely not.
I close my eyes and walk a few steps into the Cave and stop. *Huh. Haven't been eaten yet. That's a good sign, right?*
A few steps more and the sound of dripping fades away, overshadowed by the sound of a rushing current. Opening my eyes, I still find that for the most part, the Cave is dark, but there's a sliver of light up ahead. I run towards it.
As I run, the roaring of the water gets louder and louder, until I realize that the light is coming from the other side of a wall of water cascading from above. I'm inside a waterfall. *I'm INSIDE A WATERFALL?!*
Something breaks inside me, and I charge out into the water...and find myself falling through the air. It's a few brief moments of panic and self-loathing before I splash into a pool below. When I float back to the surface, I'm greeted by a glowing city. There's people everywhere, all smiling and enjoying themselves. Were the elders really telling the truth? Does Exile really lead...to *Rapture*? | 2017-12-11T22:38:33 | 2017-12-11T21:49:07 | 1,924 | 138 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Commander Siren had dismissed the rumors.
Humans are a proud race. Though new amongst the stars with barely a few ships to their name, they have worked hard to integrate, to learn, to join that blasted Republic and all its artists and scientists. Even though they’ve never seen an alien in person before, they’d still worked very hard for the day they did. Gifts, knowledge, science, technology. Great effort was made by humanity to present themselves in the best possible light.
Of course, the Elder Senate of the Republic has passed a resolution, barring humanity from learning of the Fifth Great War, and is, the Union Tide.
So it was a shock to humanity that those who lived amongst the stars still waged war.
When our fleets jumped into the fray, the humans hailed us. When we fired, they quickly scattered, evacuating their outposts all across the Solar System in an exodus toward Earth.
To be fair, for a race with no weapons, they’d put up a pretty good fight. In fact, using satellites and abandoned wreckage, they’d managed to actually damage a few of our ships. It was almost as if they DID know how to fight.
So I investigated, hacking into their archives, their history.
For some reason, everything over three hundred years old had been buried. Redacted from records, hidden away from public view.
There was, however, an internal set of records. And in their education system, amongst a class curiously named, pre-disaster history, I found the answer.
I downloaded the data I could before the humans blocked me off. I opened up a random file, a journal of a human official serving in a intercontinental government at the time.
“Day 43.”
“The scientists have managed to create what we need. Project Golem. It will finally march across the radiation blasted Northern front, and take the capital city of ——.”
An image showed an enormous automaton, bristling with kinetic weapons, roaring across the landscape as armor-clad humans fought it with vehicles and missiles.
In dread, I opened another record.
“We will NEVER surrender. Like Churchill, like the Russians, we will survive no matter how many nuclear weapons drop on top of us. No matter how many of us are thrown into the meat grinder.”
Nuclear weapons? Outlawed a thousand years ago by the Republic, these devices could wipe out the surface of a planet if used enough times.
I read deeper, and grew more terrified with each passage.
Three hundred years ago, the humans had been a war like race unlike any other. Even insectoid species, though they were cannibals, would all focus for the good of the species as a whole.
Not these warm-bloods. They killed each other over every drop of resource, every disagreement. Cities razed for the sake of philosophy and religion. Murder and violence transformed from art into science.
In their last war they had nearly wiped themselves out dozens of times, forcibly cloning themselves and running mass fertility programs simply to maintain a viable population. They’d manage to develop dozens of biological, mechanical, and chemical weapons, over half of which were outlawed by the Republic as WMDs.
When the nuclear bombs annihilated their surface, they resorted to going underground, sending robot armies to smash each other’s bunkers. When that failed, nanobots were injected into water supplies and scorched the oceans. If it weren’t for humanity’s insane technological prowess and their utter determination to survive, they’d have wiped themselves out.
I brought all this up to Commander Siren. He, of course, refused to believe any of it. It was all too ludicrous. It must be a trick, he said as our fleet neared Earth. A misinformation campaign to deter us.
The illusion field around earth fell away, the gleaming ocean and verdant forests vanishing like a wrapping sliding off.
Cracked open crust and scorched atmosphere, dotted with pale lights around small pockets of blue and green, greeted us.
Before us, flashes of light shone across the surface like a newborn constellation, and the fleet sensors blared in warning. Thousands of missiles, nuclear, nanobot, robot-carrying.
Hidden orbital stations opened up, railguns and lasers firing. Hastily cobbled from stolen weaponry of our own, mounted onto their technology in a desperate attempt to even the technological playing field.
Our rear sensors put out more warnings. The moon. They’d blasted chunks off their moon, firing them at our fleet. Explosions rocked our ships as enormous masses of rock smashed into them, killing millions of soldiers and crew. It was insane; the chunks would fall to earth, destroying whatever they had left down there. But I realized, a second too late, that they do not care.
As the ragged fleets of humanity came into view, firing ruthlessly at our surrendering warships, a single message flared across our communications channel. A young woman, her face blackened with soot and her eyes blazing with hatred, said only one word.
“DIE.”
| "Sir we're approaching our goal, the cuiper belt."
"Good, drive as close as possible and shut any transmissions. We will wait and feel our enemy."
"Understood. But with all due respect, why are we not crushing the planet? Terminal said they are underdeveloped and have resolved to a life of peace. This is a walk in the park!"
"Patience recruit. It's true that they haven't had any major destruction events in 300 years, but their history shows no mercy for the individual. Their weapons for mass destruction were way before their time. They had atombombs before a worldwide communication system."
"Incoming transmission. It's from...it's from planet earth? We have been detected! How is this possible? Our subatomar shield should block all forms of waves going out."
"Recruit! Focus, what does the transmission say?"
"oh uhh, yes sir!
Hello extraterrestial beings, we are amazed to see you in our neighbourhood. We have been searching far and wide for other forms of life and hope that you come in peace. As we are peaceful, but will defend ourselves with everything we have."
"Defend themselves? Ha, what a joke! Now they have done it. All weapons only, load pulsar and target it right at earth!"
"No weapons responding sir! The pulsar is heating up to dangerous levels! I think we have been compromised."
Suddenly a blue silhouette appears in the middle of the captains bridge. It has human form and begins to talk without fear:
"Dear alien ship, we have detected you trying to boot your weapon system and took messurements against this. We sent lumenbots within the transmission. These robots are made out of light and will destroy your ship from within. There is nothing you can do at this point. We hope you use your last seconds to tell your people to leave us alone."
Captain: "How is this possible? Our records show you stopped war during the media dynastie!"
Human: "This is true. But we did not stop building weapons. In fact, quite the opposite! The lack of war made us feel safe. Our weapons would never be used against the human race again. So our curiosity took over and we built the most marvellous warmachines. These lumenbots are just the start! So please tell your race to leave us be, we don't want to see if the rest of the arsenal works aswell."
| 2019-02-26T12:17:07 | 2019-02-26T10:40:03 | 62 | 21 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes. | "So he's like Nice Guy?" I asked. "He just walks into a room and everyone immediately thinks he's the boss?"
"Ehh, kinda." Lisa replied, tilting her hand in the universal yes-and-no gesture. "Nice Guy could make people think he was a bystander even while he gutted them like a fish. The only way to deal with him was to treat all bystanders like hostiles. Bossman doesn't have that advantage. If he orders those under him to do anything which is clearly not within the authority of the position he's supplanting, the spell breaks. He has a lot less personal leeway to do whatever he wants."
"So what's the problem? He's replaced Director Piggot." Brian interjected. "He can't do anything the PRT wouldn't let him do, so it's like the PRT is after us. Which they already are. How does this concern us?"
Lisa rolled her eyes. "The PRT has a whole lot more power than they usually throw around. They can't be seen to lay on the heavy hand unless a disaster is already unfolding. Once they've cleaned up the mess from the Endbringer or insane cape tantrum or what-have-you, they have to ratchet down just to keep up appearances of not being an overbearing paramilitary force with garrisons in every city in the United States. They go back to playing cops and robbers once normalcy is restored. But local directors have near-total control over that entire process. Chief Director Costa-Brown can technically gainsay their decisions, but she doesn't do so very often. She likes maintaining the uneasy feeling that we, the villains, always have: that we might go one step over the line and suddenly have an entire city falling on our heads."
"So what?" Called Alec from the couch accross the room. "He can start a gang war, whoop-dee-doo. We don't kill or deal, we're their last priority."
Lisa was about to reply, when Alec gave a yelp of pain. "Who-what! Aisha! What the hell?"
Aisha had appeared on the sofa next to Alec. Lisa raised an eyebrow. "When did you get back, Aisha? I didn't even notice you enter the room!"
"That's 'cuz I've been here for the whole conversation, Miss Exposition." She seemed inordinately impressed with herself, either for beating Lisa's power or for using a long word. Probably both. "I didn't go into the PRT building, before you ask. So many fucking cameras. I just tailed him home," she said, punctuating the last word with air quotes. "He went to a random warehouse somewhere and made some calls. He's a mercenary."
Lisa nodded along, "I guessed as much. His confirmed and suspected prior targets don't make sense otherwise. Any idea who's paying?"
Aisha just shrugged her shoulders.
Lisa looked back over at where Alec was sprawled. "That's why we care, Alec. We didn't hire him and everyone else in the city who might hire him takes a rather dim view of us. He's after everyone else, and we're on the enemies list. The PRT is going to start gunning for us, probably within a few days, and the worst part is that we can't take care of Bossman without getting the whole national PRT and Protectorate on our asses. We're in deep trouble."
__________
This is based upon John McCrae/Wildbow's completed webserial [Worm.](https://parahumans.wordpress.com/) The power described in this post felt exactly like one of his, so I couldn't not write out the main characters' response to finding out that power had taken over the Parahuman Response Teams East-North-East district.
If you are at all interested in superpower fiction, I highly recommend Worm. It's got incredible worldbuilding, characters who feel like people rather than plot tools, an entire community built around it (found at /r/Parahumans, though I recommend avoiding the subreddit if you want to avoid spoilers), and a story which starts at street-level heros-vs-villains and escalates nonstop, for 1.6 million words, into a truly epic endgame. I evangelize for it at every reasonable opportunity.
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/idontworkherelady] [These are great! Not real stories but come on, if anything deserve a crossover on here its this.](https://www.reddit.com/r/IDontWorkHereLady/comments/96ttt1/these_are_great_not_real_stories_but_come_on_if/)
- [/r/u_grimlawd] [\[WP\] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_GrimLawd/comments/96ul9h/wp_no_matter_where_you_are_what_youre_dressed/)
- [/r/u_jodicki] [USAA](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_jodicki/comments/96u3zy/usaa/)
&nbsp;*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2018-08-12T17:45:43 | 2018-08-12T17:05:21 | 57 | 18 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | You know that feeling you get, when you think you're alone, head down, bumming along doing your own thing, when you suddenly realise someone's been there the whole time, watching you? It's a jump, a kick-start, a burst of adrenaline... your whole body saying "something's not right, be on guard". You immediately begin to second guess you actions, what was I doing, how did I miss them, what are their intentions? It's a deep, primal, animalistic response to being startled.
That's the feeling I got when I caught a glimpse of the flag the first time.
There I am, one of 3 people on an entire planet, scouting for physical evidence of ancient river beds. We'd been here for 4 Earth days at this point, so I was used to the un-exciting terrain. Rocks and dust everywhere. Red and black and brown, endlessly in all directions. I had come around a small rocky hill, scanning this horizon, when there it was to my left, a flag-pole.
I think I did a double-take. Half "that's a flag-pole", half "THAT'S A FLAG POLE." I stopped dead in my tracks and re-evaluated my position. I was on Mars. There were 3 of us. Nobody had ever, ever, ever been here before. None of my crew-members had been out this way. But yet... that was distinctly a flag pole. As I approached it, the wind kicked up and revealed the tattered remains of a cold war era Soviet flag... had to be at least 100 years old. My mind was still trying to wrap itself around why this was here, and my body was telling me to run. My hands felt sweaty and my breathing was heavy. At the base of the flag was a black cube, about a foot each dimension. It had handprints set into two sides.
My curiosity got the better of me. At this point, I really should have radioed into my team to tell them what I had found. I should have marked the location on my nav-map, and retreated, to be explored later. I shouldn't have touched the box. But I did. I placed my hands where the outlines were on each side, and as I did, my head exploded.
It was like a shot of light stabbing me in the eyes. A searing pain gripping my entire body. Unholy screams tearing through my ears. Unable to breath, unable to move, it felt like I was being compressed into a marble and torn into a billion pieces at the same time. The event lasted for what seemed like a lifetime, and then... it just stopped. I was left with an understanding. Knowledge. Somehow, the cube had implanted a lesson in me, instantaneously. I knew why the Soviet flag was here. I knew why the Russians had never claimed any great accomplishment on Mars. I knew why the cube was here. It was a warning, a last ditch effort by humanity of old to save us from ourselves. I knew it all to be true.
The solar system had been seeded with life by a passing comet several billion years ago. Earth, Mars, and a third planet between Mars and Jupiter, understood as "Utopia" in the transfer. Similar life forms evolved on each of the planets, but Humanity had evolved on Utopia within the last several hundred thousand years. Over time, humanity had reached the point of being able to visit the other two worlds, and had begun to establish small colonies for research.
Over time, Mars would become more heavily populated. Earth was the sore thumb of the trio, with the least favourable environment, and was therefore left to the scientists to poke and prod at, never a plan for full colonization. Mars became a second arm of the human civilization, growing larger and attaining it's own identity. Political strife created a rift between Mars and Utopia, and eventually, war. War that would last 1,000 years. War that was so engrained into the minds of the Martians and the Utopians, that they did not know another existence. War that was taken to such extremes, that when the Utopians began the irreversible process of syphoning Mars' atmosphere, the Martians blew up Utopia. I could feel the pain of billions of lives lost, as though I was there to witness the events unfold.
The remnants of humanity that were able to escape Mars left for Earth, and left behind the cubes as a reminder of what once was, and a warning that there were no more second chances. Earth is all there is left.
The history books will tell you that America won the Cold War. But I now understood the truth... the Soviets had won, and they had won by silently backing down for the good of humanity. There would be no second chance, we were already living it. | We'd seen it in the distance, an anomaly on an already alien planet. Thought it some kind of mirage, since the reality just didn't make sense. I volunteered to go check it out, though we all knew what it was - and when I'd just confirmed it.
A Soviet flag.
Why hadn't they told us? I'd heard rumour of a Soviet mission, decades back, but we'd written it off as Cold War propaganda. If they'd actually managed to get to Mars, even if they didn't get them back - that would be humanity's greatest accomplishment.
*Why hadn't they told us?*
What could it mean? Had the Russkies simply lost contact and assumed the worst? That didn't make any sense, since if they landed intact enough to erect the flag, they must have been in communication with them back home...
Something was wrong. I needed to get back.
I tried to make contact with the boys back at the ship, but there was no reply. Figured I was out of range, but that didn't make sense. Brushed it aside; nerves were getting the better of me, and there was no use worrying about something I couldn't change.
Saw my team in the distance. It was immensely comforting; you've never known isolation till you're alone on a new planet. I quickened my pace.
Still radio silence. I just wanted to get back to the ship.
Nearing them now. They seem to be coated in sand - had there been some kind of storm? How long had I been gone for? They didn't seem to be moving, either. Just standing there. Why were they just standing there?
Still no response. Why aren't they coming out to meet me? Why are they just *standing* there?
I can see their suits properly now. Coated in sand. Weatherworn. And why... why do they look like they're a different colour underneath? Are those- are those *Soviet* suits? *Why are they just standing there?*
Wait. That's not- that's not my-
*They've seen me.*
**Oh Christ, they've seen me.** | 2016-08-16T09:12:32 | 2016-08-16T08:17:13 | 1,296 | 300 |
[WP] A super villain commits crimes because they want to impress the hero because they don't know how to flirt like a regular person | "So are you the city's firefighter?" The villain pops this question out of nowhere as she remains to watch the hero use her psychic powers to lift up nearly half of the lake's water to put out the fire from spreading even more to the residential area outside of the woods.
"I wouldn't have to be if your bloody bombs didn't go off!" The hero growls out and the villain's expression is disturbingly gleeful. "Speaking of - why aren't you running away?"
"Who else would put you out?" The villain smiles at the hero and the hero blinks. "The fire might be out now but you're still smoking hot."
The water the hero was meticulously putting back down in the lake after finally finishing putting out the worst of the fires - and letting the actual firefighters do their job - lets go off the massive water she held with a big splash immediately drenching the villain in ice cold water.
"Are you..." The hero looks and sounds flabbergasted. "*Flirting with me?*"
"Yes? Why did you think I did this for? Way out of character of my arson profile right? I don't usually target stuff near water." The villain nonchalantly jumps down from one of the trees that wasn't on fire and pats herself down as though getting rid of water with pats would work and immediately gets too close to the hero's face for her liking. "C'mon beautiful, give me a bone to work with here."
"***Beautiful?!***" The hero's voice cracks and the villain widens her eyes at the wonderful shade of red her dear hero has on her face. "Is this some kind of tactic to catch me off guard? Because well done! I won't let you go easily this time around, Ecifitra!"
"I know what my villain name is backwards but honestly I'm being ser- whoa!" Ecifitra jumps to the side as a volley of dirt is aimed at her. "Take it easy Lage! Don't get tired, after all - you've been running through my mind all week and I don't want you to stop just yet, actually let's have dinner sometime!"
As though that was the straw that broke the camel's back, Lage's psychic powers seems to have finally caught the source of her suffering by her leg and dangled her upside down. "...I'm guessing that's a no to dinner?"
"I'll... Think about it. But for now you're going to the court for dozens of arson charges." Lage grumpily responds and allows her psychic powers to glue her prisoner's wrist to each other.
"It's actually fifty six charges but hey who's counting and are you saying that there's a chance?" Ecifitra grins up at the older woman who looks exasperated. "Well, I'll be sure to burn another one near water in a week to hear your decision, so take your time!"
Lage's eyes widens as the supposedly captured villain vanishes from her hold. "Damn it!"
"So Sarge." Lage's sidekick glides in from his perch up the other side of the lake. "Everyone sort of heard that. You left your com on."
"Everyone can shut their mouths or I'm shutting it for them. Got it, Essegral?" Lage snaps at her sidekick who pouts. "I swear I'll be getting back at Ecifitra the next time she does this shit again."
"Reminder that dating villains aren't good for morale." A voice pipes up and laughter erupts from the others in the com system. "There's no law against it because there's no precedent for it yet. Don't be that precedent Lage."
"You're not one to talk, Topyenoh." Lage snaps before turning off her com and glares at Essegral who's smiling innocuously. "The next time she appears you're dealing with her on your own."
Satisfied at the gaping face her sidekick is making. She flies off home and ignores his cries of 'You're kidding right?!' | American Wizard managed a confused look through grimaces if pain. He had teamed up with Doc Arcane because he had had several encounters with the Infernal Incubus and should have known something about the villain‘s motives.
But this was getting weird.
Doc Arcane had ignored the obvious trap, going so far as to assure American Wizard that it wasn’t a trap at all but a clue. It was clearly a trap. But American Wizard deferred to the hero with the most experience in these matters, ignoring common sense and trusting his colleague.
Now they had been captured and were being tortured. Except the restraining cuffs were padded. And were those summoning candles scented with lavender?
Infernal Incubus claimed to be one of the Hell-Spawned, a group of loosely connected villains bent on mayhem. Except the only mayhem happening was the way Incubus was manhandling Doc Arcane. Seriously, Doc was practically naked now, with scraps of clothing hanging off his body but barely scratched skin.
American Wizard looked for a means of escape while Doc was being … tortured? The whole thing seemed kind of, well, silly.
“Now for the Wizard…”, Incubus purred, turning towards his other captive. | 2019-11-14T12:06:03 | 2019-11-14T10:47:17 | 51 | 29 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose civilian identity is a teacher. One student asked if you could tutor them after school, and you agreed. After it was over, you escorted them to the front of the school for their parent to pick them up... and you see your nemesis waiting by the car. | "Alright, Anthony. Have a good-"
I pause as I stare at his 'parents' car, blinking a couple of times to make sure I'm not seeing things. But with a man capable of mind manipulation, I could be seeing anything.
"Anthony, is that your dad?"
"..yeah?" Anthony shrugs, "Why are you being so weird about it?"
"Sorry, sorry. He's just not who I expected," I think of an excuse rather quickly, "You two hardly look alike. I'd like to talk to him, though. About school."
"Really?" He sighs, then nods, "Sure, whatever."
We both start walking over to the car, and that goddamned man looks over at us, smug look on his face. I could swear I saw shock, even if for only a moment, but he hides it well.
"Thanks for the tutoring, Aldine." Anthony says as he gets in the backseat, immediately kicking his feet up and going on his phone.
I nod in appreciation, then look at *him*.
*El Villano.*
While his name is simple, his personality and powers are anything but. My sworn nemesis, the man who attempts to end our city nearly every week.
And he's the father of one of my students.
Just as he's opening the door and getting in, I put my hand on the door, extremely cautiously. "Actually, sir, I was hoping I could speak to you about Anthony for a bit."
He looks me up and down, then smirks as he gets back out and closes the door. "Sure thing, *Aldine*."
His voice drips with poison; metaphorically, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if literally either. I force a smile and motion for him to come with me, and we start walking towards the school together.
As we walk, I watch him warily. He doesn't seem to care that I'm here - does he even know who I am? Of course he does, there's no way he doesn't. Why is he acting so calm?
"So, you let your students not use 'Mr'?" He asks in that all too familiar arrogant tone, "Have you lost all self respect?"
"Shut the hell up." I mutter quietly, and he just laughs.
We walk in silence until we finally get into the building, and as I close the door behind us I turn to him. "Who is Anthony's real father? This has to be some kind of... of mind trick! What'd you do to his parents, huh?"
"Relax, I'm his dad." Villano has the nerve to laugh even more, "Is it so hard to believe everyone has a personal life outside of work?"
"You don't do work, you do borderline terrorism-!"
"And that means I can't have a kid?"
"Yes!" I sigh, furrowing my eyebrows, "What's your plan? Were you going to us Anthony against me? Make him my favourite student, then... then kill me or something?!"
"Christ, I'm not playing mind tricks on you! Can you for one second wrap your head around that?"
I pause for a moment, then sigh again, pinching the bridge of my nose, "So he's really your son?"
"Yes." Villano pauses for a second, glancing through the door window at his car, then back at me. "You're really a teacher here? I mean, I knew you'd have a boring job, but not this boring."
"It's not boring. I get to help just as many people here as I do otherwise." I whisper yell at him, sighing, "Listen. I'm sorry that I... wrongly assumed you weren't Anthony's dad. I..."
Villano grins, nodding, "Yes, go on."
"I made a damn mistake, alright? Just... let's keep this as professional as possible." I sigh and lean against the wall, glaring as hard as I can at him.
He takes a deep breath in, then chuckles, "No can do, my dearest enemy. I think we might be able to benefit each other instead."
"No. I'm putting my foot down; professional, personal, and heroic life all stay different."
"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast." Villano smiles widely, "You might miss out on something you want to hear. You see, Anthony is currently failing one of his classes. Maybe if he were to start passing by the end of the quarter, I wouldn't bomb city hall."
"You're planning to-?!" I stop myself, exhaling, "Okay, listen. I only teach English. Anthony is failing math. I can't-"
"Better start learning, then." Villano leans towards me, and I suddenly feel dizzy, "Tik, tok. Tik... tok."
I blink, and the dizziness fades, along with him. I hurriedly look out the door, and he's already driving away with Anthony. I sigh, thinking to myself, how could I possibly deal with this?
Before I even realise it, I'm in front of one of my colleagues classrooms. I grimace to myself, then put on a happy smile as I open the door and lean on the frame.
"Hey, Brad - can I borrow one of your math books?"
★★★
This was so incredibly fun to write. Thanks for the prompt OP! This was written on mobile so apologies for any misspellings :) hope you enjoy! | Nox was an English teacher at Inanoi Middle School and was currently tutoring one of their favorite kids. She was always well-behaved in class, always getting student of the month. Her name is Nay. Pointing out something was wrong with her essay, "You forgot your period again." It was a simple mistake, but she quickly corrected it. Nay subconsciously picked up her phone. Nox went to ask to put it down. Then she quickly started packing up her stuff.
"Thank you, Mx. Nox! My mom is here!" The girl cheered as she packed up all her papers.
"I'll walk you to the door to see you off." They cooed and playfully ruffled the kid's hair.
Amber whined about her hair being messed up but skipped towards the door and opened it, beckoning her teacher to follow. Nox followed, giggling softly as they made their way to the front of the school. Amber was rambling about her day but wasn't paying much attention. They were thinking about going on patrol soon and, hopefully; they don't run into their nemesis. It's so annoying to deal with their teasing and flirting, making them feel these stupid emotions. They shook their head trying to get rid of the thought of their nemesis. Amber rubbed against Nox's leg trying to grab their attention. "My mom is here!"
Paying attention, Nox looked down and then up to see someone that she was at least expecting. That damn Nemesis has a kid, and that kid is my student. Some petty revenge won't hurt anyone, right? "Hey Amber, is it okay I meet your mom?" Nox asked gently.
Amber looked up and tilted her head, raising one of her eyebrows curiously. Shrugging her shoulders, she kept skipping along until she arrived in front of her mom. "Hey, Mom! Meet Mx. Nox. This is my teacher." Her tone was cheerful.
Her mom looked at Nox, raising her hand to shake before examining their frame. "Oh!" A small grin appeared on her face, "Mx. Nox? I see, you didn't tell me you have such a beautiful teacher." Seductive tone almost immediate.
Nox didn't want to stand for this for once. "Amber, I didn't know you had such a pretty mom." Giggling a little.
The mom flushed wasn't expecting such a comment and shot Nox a soft glare before shoving her kid in the car. "Let's go, Amber! I have work to do." She cackled as she got in and rode off. | 2022-11-29T15:14:07 | 2022-11-29T10:46:25 | 91 | 59 |
[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you. | Samantha stood in front of the mirror. Ali, Tracy and Kim stood behind her, holding hands. Samantha took a deep breath and lit the candle, holding it up to the mirror as she turned on the faucet.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," she said quietly. Behind her she heard the snicker of one of her friends. Samantha waited, pressing her free hand against the mirror as the candle burned in her other.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," Samantha said again. Except for the sound of the faucet everything was quiet.
Samantha stared into the mirror. Behind her Kim said, "I think this is stupid. It's obviously not working."
"It's not?" asked a voice. Samantha jumped back, her candle falling to the ground. The four girls looked upon a mirror where a woman had appeared.
"You summoned me," Bloody Mary said. "So, what do you want?"
"What do we...want?" asked Tracy. The girls had broken hands now. Ali was backing up into a wall. Samantha felt her heart pound as her eyes met the ones in the mirror.
"Are you four girls stupid enough to go around summoning evil spirits when you don't even want anything?" Bloody Mary asked. "Did you think this was all a game? A ruse? Something fun to do on a Saturday night?"
The girls looked to each other. One of them whimpered, "Kind of."
"So tell me what you want," Bloody Mary continued.
"We don't...we don't want anything. We didn't think you were real," Samantha said. "It was all supposed to be a game. Something kind of scary to do."
"Are you scared now?" Bloody Mary asked.
The girls all nodded.
"Do you think I'm going to kill you?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls exchanged looks again. Out of the corner of her eye Samantha saw Kim inching toward the door. In the mirror, the woman shook her head.
"I'm afraid not. Not until we're finished with our conversation."
Kim tugged on the handle of the door, but it didn't budge.
"So you're not going to kill us, and we don't want anything," Samantha said. "So what do *you* want?"
"Some company would be nice. Since horror stories started circulating, fewer and fewer people have started to summon me. I get lonely, trapped in this mirror. You know I used to have wonderful conversations all about my murder. It happened in a bathroom just like this, you see. You know why the sound of the faucet summons me? Because it's the last thing I heard before I died."
The girls all remained quiet, watching the woman in the mirror.
"For centuries I sought revenge after the man who killed me, but it wasn't possible. He never thought of me another day. I could only be summoned in the mirror, you see. I couldn't just come out whenever I wanted."
The woman in the mirror smiled. Tracy shivered, putting her hands over her arms.
"I do have the ability to take over one who summons me," Bloody Mary held a nail to her lips in thought. "But I don't think I'd like to be a teenage girl anymore. So no. I don't think I'll kill you *or* possess you today."
There was a collective exhalation of breath from the girls. "We promise we won't ever summon you again," Samantha said. "We're sorry for bothering you. We thought it was a joke. We really did."
"Oh, I don't think you'll be summoning me again," Bloody Mary said. Her voice held what Samantha thought might be boredom. "I said I wouldn't kill you or possess you. But I have no plans to let you leave. I've been lonely, after all. You girls seem like an excellent source of conversation."
---
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this please check out /r/Celsius232 | A dare, a jest, not such a dastardly choice,
Lose respect of the peers or raise your voice?
Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, bring me your form.
Escape your chill prison, into the warm.
Hark a shade, a shadow 'cross glass,
Could this actually bite you in the ass?
Testing the waters, a finger breaks through,
Seeking out life; seeking out you.
Forward comes an arm, leaking out plasma.
You pinch yourself in fright, but 'tis no mere phantasma.
Hair rusted and wet, soaked with blood,
starts to emerge... The hand comes down with a thud!
Muscles flex, pushing up, bringing through the head.
And oh soon very soon, you fear you'll be dead.
Bloodshot eyes gaze, a sinister smile,
Ready to rend, as was her style.
A clatter, a thunk, a growl of pain!
You fall down to laughing, fully insane.
The hilarity of the vision could never be clearer...
Of Bloody Mary, stuck in a hand-mirror. | 2016-06-12T23:34:23 | 2016-06-12T22:32:39 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] Humans are cursed with dying upon uttering their "Last Words," which they know from birth. You've been alive for a few centuries, but you can't refrain from saying those words now. | It's not easy being chief. You're the capstone that holds your village together. You watch over the community. You must love them like a parent, yet be stern like a judge. You must be merciless in battles and raids, yet compassionate in dealing with disputes between them. Your every movement is watched and judged and your behavior and the manner in which you carry yourself is the standard by which your neighbours judge your village.
But I love it. I love my little home and the pretty woman who's at my side every night. My son David is a fine man, and his little sister Seva will grow up to be a fine woman just like her mother. My people love me, as I love them. We work hard and value the sweat on our brow and the product of our work. I have many joys in which I delight yet I have but one burden: my Words.
As winter approached this time, I knew not whether we would survive it to see another summer. Our harvest was disastrous, as were those of our neighbours and the plague killed my cattle. We had little to trade for food and other supplies and our armoury had never seemed more bare. I knew we would have a difficult time surviving the elements. But something worried me more: the *lich*.
We'd usually warded them off with fire and by filling them up with lead. We were running low on gunpowder though and morale was low. Samuel, our blacksmith had fashioned a few sharp spears, arrows and swords. But we would have wanted to avoid using swords. Lich are unstoppable up close.
The first few attacks were mild, but their numbers had me worrying. Their early attacks were usually far and few between, but they'd shown up almost every night at sundown. They seemed to be watchful and probing. They were assessing our numbers and our ability to defend ourselves. I think they knew we were weak. I think they knew they might win this time.
Within three weeks, they had killed Olaf and Sarin's son. He was young and adventurous and had ventured too far into the darkness chasing them. We found out the next evening when Olaf had to slay him with his own gun. He didn't seem to be too stable after that. I relieved him of his duties for a fortnight and increased the others' shifts.
_________________________________________________________________________
They came like a thief in the night. They stole through our defenses by silencing our outer perimeter. This time Olaf and his brother fell to them. The screams woke me up. I pulled my handgun to my side, and loaded bullets into my rifle. Sprinting outside, I attempted to assess the damage. David already had the men organised and fighting, 30 lich on the east border and 20 on the north. This seemed to be the assault they were planning for. Something seemed off though. There should have been more. The hair on my neck rose. I whipped back and started sprinting as fast my legs could thrust the earth away beneath me. The goddamn snow impeded my efforts, I felt like I was running in wet mud. I ran home.
Four lich lay dead at my daughter's door. I peeked in, she was calm and sleeping. An angel amidst the horrors of hell. I saw the trail of blood leading out. My love. I went to our room catiously, every step measured to avoid alerting any intruders. I pushed the door open with my barrel. I saw her whimpering but she smiled at me. I rushed to her side and raised her head up. Her guts were spilling out and she was holding them back in.
"Seva's fine. Oh my god, she's safe. But they got me."
"Don't say that, let me get Sarin. She'll take care of you"
"No stop, I know it's time. Come close I've something to say"
She could barely force a breath out of her chest now. She wheezed in heavily drawing her last breaths. I lowered my ear to her lips.
"My name is Eva. I love you."
And with those words, she drew her last breath.
EDIT: I know it's not the exact prompt. But I feel I've so much more to say before the real story ends. I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for. | I had never thought that the time would come when I would have to say my last words. I hadn't taken much heed of it as they were so bizarre that such a situation could never have arisen.
That was until the epidemic.
Everyone panicked, there were riots in the streets and religious groups were calling it the Apocalypse. For a while I said nothing, hoping that I would not be called upon. Unfortunately, as the head of the CDC I had no choice but to eventually hold a press conference. Due to the size of the event, it had to be me on camera and I couldn't turn it down and truly tell everyone why I couldn't do it because that would mean I had shirked my duty and would be sent to Purgatory.
I said a prayer before I stepped out to the cameras. I asked for mercy and forgiveness for having taken so long to say something. Fear stopped me and it wasn't until the Pope and my dog Blue were affected that I realised it needed to be said.
"Ladies and Gentleman, good day to you all. We are gathered here because I want to inform the public as to the true nature of this epidemic so that some of the panic may cease and we can restore some kind of order. I'm sorry for having waited so long, I hope you can all forgive me. Now that we know what the epidemic is, we can all work together to do some quilting and fix it."
"Ladies and gentleman, everyone has AIDS."
(My first prompt! Please be gentle) | 2015-11-01T19:27:26 | 2015-11-01T19:14:47 | 98 | 18 |
[WP] Ever since you received your letter for Hogwarts you've been curious about all the different spells there are. You've just bought your first wand and the first spell you try is what you believe to be rather humorous. "AbraCadabra". Nobody told you this spell was banned. For obvious reasons. | I stood in the shop, gazing at the tangled grey mess that was the back of Mr. Ollivanders head.
"Perhaps... Perhaps..." I could hear him whispering.
It didn't surprise me. Nothing surprised me anymore. The owl at the window had been more than enough, but the hidden brick doorway had tipped me over the edge. This was all some dream. And I might as well have fun while I was here.
"Try... this" Ollivander whispered slowly, as he turned back. He held out... a stick. I don't know what I'd expected. Maybe some glitter? A star on the end? I held back a laugh.
I took the wand from his hands. Suddenly, all around me was filled with a deep purple light and soft music seemed to play. Ollivander pressed further.
"Try a spell!" He seemed almost giddy.
"Erm..." I hesitated. Was he being serious? "Abracadabra?"
His face dropped. All giddiness turned to fear. All he could do was croak out a startled "No-!" before suddenly, he was gone.
The room was silent. Nothing moved. It was now just me here. I stepped forward, feeling the space where Ollivander had stood. Was he invisible? No. He was just gone. Vanished. Maybe he had just been teleported somewhere, or just turned into an insect too small to see? I wished it was there, but there was something in that look, that fear in his eyes, that told me this was it. He was just gone.
I heard a loud banging on the window, and a woman screaming. I turned round in shock. This couldn't be real. A woman holding a caged toad was screaming from the street outside, pointing at me through the window. I could hear men shouting, and quick footsteps on the cobbles coming my way. What had I done? I looked down at where Ollivander had stood. All that remained was a small pile of ash, and a puff of white smoke. The shop remained still, too quiet for what I know realised was a terrible deed. I bolted towards the back of the shop, hoping for some sort of escape.
I found it in the form of a grimy window, opening up onto the back alleys of Diagon Alley. Dark cobbles speckled with wood chippings and broken feathers twisted this way and that as I ran. Just ran, as long as I could.
It was dark once I stopped, behind a crooked black shop which had a suspicious smell coming from the chimneys. I sat down on the floor, tears stinging my eyes. The weight of what I had done was finally hitting me. It was always so *fun* when they used to do that one TV. A top hat and a black and white wand. It was so different when it was real. When it mattered. When it wasn't just a show.
I felt a stab in my pocket. I looked down. The stick was still there. This stupid stick. This stupid stick that could do so much damage. I could hear whistles in the distance, echoed shouting. Could I go back? No. They wouldn't believe this. I didn't believe this. There was only one thing I could do. Maybe he had gone somewhere. Maybe I could get him back. I could only try. In the only way I knew how.
I pointed the stick to myself.
"Abracadabra." | It turns out that the etymology of the word "cadabra" can be traced back to the word cadaver. This is information I wish I knew before I decided to try out the spell several times while sitting on the toilet in a stall of the Howarts Boy's Room. In my ignorance, I fired off the spell multiple times after I saw no immediate results the first time around. After I finished my business and left the stall, I noticed, like, 6 conjured-up dead bodies on the floor! I'm silly like that. Now I know that the Abra Cadabra spell is just about the exact polar opposite of a casual and humorous spell. | 2016-12-02T01:30:13 | 2016-12-01T22:42:11 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] "This is your captain speaking. I'm afraid we're going to be on the tarmac a little longer - this plane is now under quarantine." | "What does he mean *quarantine?*" huffed the elderly lady next to me, her voice high in indignant exasperation. "We've already been on the ground for four hours - *four hours!* - well, I've had enough. I want to go home. I'll be putting in a complaint! Just you wait and see if I don't."
"Try not to worry - it's most likely nothing," I replied, forcing my lips into a broad smile, but seemingly doing little to reassure the lady. I could tell that behind her bravado, she was scared. "I suspect they're just being cautious."
"What would you know about it?" she snapped.
"My name is Sarah," I explained, "and I'm a doctor."
Her face finally relaxed a little, and her breathing began to slow.
"Well, what did they mean *under quarantine?*" she repeated. "If you're a doctor, you must know about diseases in this place."
A man with dark hair leaned over to us from a seat on the adjacent aisle. "Someone probably tried the on board food," he quipped. "I ordered the chicken on the way out here - poor thing didn't look well. Can't say I was feeling great the next day, either."
I couldn't help but giggle. The lady next to me didn't find it so amusing.
"Someone on this plane could have that... *eboola*," she said, horrified someone had the audacity to joke about the situation.
"Ebola," I corrected her, "And it's very unlikely - there have been no cases in Egypt, as of yet. Besides, the outbreak is dying down, not growing."
"Well, it could be something else - something similar. A worse disease, maybe," she persisted, screwing up her face as if she was chewing on a lemon. She turned her back to me and started rummaging through her bag.
"Hey," the guy said again. "You're a doctor?"
"Yes. Doctor Sarah Browning - general practitioner," I replied, offering a hand across the aisle.
"Dan Everett," he said, shaking mine firmly. "Seems like the old girl *wants* it to be something serious. You think there's anything in it?"
"Honestly, I doubt it, but I'm going to go offer my services to the crew," I replied, already unbuckling my belt.
"I'll come with you," he said. "I'm a police officer back home - I might be of some use, if things get rowdy."
The elderly lady turned to face me again, a frown plastered on her face. "They said to remain in our seats!"
Dan joined me in the aisle and leaned over to the lady. "I hear the eboola is in row E already," he said quietly, "and it's moving this way quick."
The lady sat upright and her eyes went wide, before she realised Dan was joking.
"You're an officer?" I asked, a little bemused.
"Didn't say I was a good one," he grinned.
"You shouldn't tease her! She might have had a heart attack. Besides, maybe she's right."
"About the Eboola?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, not *ebola,* but there might be something in it."
The plane was alive with the sound of loud, confused voices, and as we walked toward the front of the craft, we saw a number of people talking on their phones.
"Excuse me," Dan said to a teenager who had just finished on his. "The person you spoke to - they don't know anything about this, right?"
"Spoke to?" the kid said. "I didn't speak to no one. There's no reception. Hasn't been for a couple of hours"
"But... people are talking on their phones," I said, looking around.
"Leaving messages. For loved ones," the kid answered.
We continued down the aisle until we neared the pilot's cabin. Three attendants were gathered around a large, well tanned man, who seemed to be wrestling with an emergency exit.
"Let me off!" he yelled, in a thick Brooklyn accent. "If there's a sickness on board, I ain't getting it, that's for damn sure." He was pushing against the exit's lever, but it wasn't budging.
"Please sir," said an attendant, "you don't want to do that!"
"I sure as shit do," he grunted, leaning down on the handle.
"It won't open," said another attendant. "The plane's on quarantine lock-down. Besides, you wouldn't want to leave."
"The hell I wouldn't!" The man tried once more, his head turning purple and veins popping up on his forehead like a road network. Dan walked up to him, gently placed his hands on his shoulders, and pulled him away.
"Don't worry, buddy," he said. "It's going to be fine. It's all just precautionary."
"Excuse me," I said to the third attendant. "Can you give us any more details about what's transpiring."
"She's a doctor," Dan butted in, leaving the Brooklyn man panting on a chair. "She might be able to help the guy who's sick.
"No one's sick," she said. It was then I saw how pale and sullen her pallor was. That I noticed the sweat trickling down her face in rivulets. All three attendants looked... not *sick*, exactly - more just, anxious.
"What do you mean?" I queried. "We're on lock-down and the plane's under quarantine. *Someone's* got to be ill - or at least, suspected of being ill."
"That's what we've been trying to tell the other gentleman," said the attendant. "We've just heard from the pilot. People are sick - *very sick* - nearly everyone, from what we know. But not us, yet. Not the people on board."
"Wh- what?" I said, my arm's trembling. A moment later, I felt the plane start to rock slightly, as if it was experiencing very gentle turbulence - but, we were still on the tarmac. I went to a window in time to see twenty or so people running and crawling toward the plane. Their eyes were open wide and red dribble was running down from their mouths.
"Jesus Christ," I whispered.
| The bing-bong chime comes on over the speakers, signalling that the cockpit microphone is on, but only silence can be heard for a moment. "H-Hello, passengers, Captain Crieff speaking. Um... We have landed, but I am being instructed that we shall be on the tarmac for a while longer. It appears... We're in quarentine. My apologies for the inconvenience."
A cacophony of outrage fills the plane, shouted threats, blame, and even some sobs. Then, one woman starts. "Wait, wait, wait... wait." The noise starts to die down, and she stands. "Why, exactly, are we in quarentine?"
A chorus of agreements start, but she gestures with her hands to be quiet. "Is someone on this plane contagious""
Another bing-bong, and her reply comes, this time from the First Officer. "It does appear so, yes. One of your fellow sky travellers appears to have been told to cancel their vacation as they are extremely contageous, but they decided they knew better."
Another passenger, sat in the back, coughs quietly, but in a mostly quiet tube, it echoes. Within a second, all eyes are on her. Within 15 seconds, the woman already standing has walked back to her seat, and within 30 seconds, the woman has grabbed her by the hair, and is slapping her, screaming in the womans face about how selfish she is.
Bing-Bong. "Excuse me, if you could not attack your fellow passengers, that would be much appreciated. Coughing is not one of the symptoms, I assure you. It is, however, a symptom of breathing recycled air."
The angry woman whispers, "Sorry, Karen. You understand, I'm sure." and walks slowly, sitting back down in her seat.
Dead silence descends then, stretching awkwardly long as they wait for any news. Quiet whispers break out in little pockets, before finally, a man asks, "What exactly ARE symptoms of this... disease?"
With a chime, the Captain comes back on. "Considering the response to the person that was THOUGHT to be the sick person, I'm not sure that I should answer. Douglas, your thoughts?"
Another chime, and the First Officer replies, "I do believe you're right, old chap. This old bird was not made for Lords of the Flies type justice, so I believe the crew are the only ones who need to be apprised of the details."
Seconds drag into minutes, and minutes into hours as everyone sits, glaring at each other if they so much as adjust their sitting position. It's quiet, almost somber, for the two hours the plane sits, turned off.
When the chime comes on after hours of silence, the passengers straighten up, fearing the worst. "Hello everyone, this is your Paptain speaking, and I have some great news."
The only sound outside the cockpit is breaths being sucked in, held, and wishes being made.
"I have been informed," Captain Crieff continues, "That there was a mix up at the lab that processed our would-be Patient Zero's blood. Apparently there were two people with the same first and last name... Very easy mistake to make, or so I've been told. We are going to taxi up and you shall be allowed to exit the plane in just a moment. Thank you for flying with MJN Air, and we appreciate your patronage."
The sound of cheering isn't exactly deafening after these hours of anxiously waiting for answers, but the relief flowing through the plane like oxygen is palpable. | 2017-06-13T08:11:50 | 2017-06-13T08:05:40 | 248 | 21 |
[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. | I don't know if the fucker was wasted or something when he walked in, but Jesus. For a Level 55, I'd never seen anyone fight so... So... Poorly. Maybe he was some kinda special needs guy, and we had to intentionally lose to make him feel good or something. No, that's not it. I mean, he managed to pull off a Divine Bulwark, so he was at least moderately competant. Idunno.
Anyways, so we start doing our routine, fake patrol 'n all. It's apparently a standard guideline for most dungeon's grunts after Orcdom was banned from the Villain's Guild when Hellgam the Brutal gave his Impalers permission to ambush Heroes on floor one of the OrcFort.
Left, forward, forward, left, forward, forward. That's my pattern, until I get permission to aggro. It's usually game over for the sucker who gets this job because it's out in the open, so Boss puts anyone who's in the hot seat with him in it. I, well, I haven't had the best track record.
I'm bracing for the standard Blue Bolt into Electro, but it doesn't come. I continue pacing back in forth, confused and worried that the hero hasn't instagibbed me. I break the regulation and twist my head at what's going on.
He's just standing there, taking it all in. *Weird.* Then, he abruptly turns to leave, bumping into the wall a few times before exiting. Maybe he's one of those crackpot scientist type heroes. All of us relax, at ease.
Then he walks in again.
Left forward forward.
And then out again.
The process repeats itself for another hour.
God, I hate trolls.
Finally, he makes his way in once more, only to unleash a Gyrum's Piercing Arrow on the ceiling. He reminds me of my lil' niece Beelzebub, who walks around in her bearskin diaper and shits on the floor whenever she wants.
Three more steps! Come on! He's almost in aggro range.
Those three steps take another forty minutes, and five consecutive walks into walls.
I turn, Shoddy Dagger of Ordinary Craftsmaking in hand, running, and I stick him with the pointier end. We don't get any good equipment on floor one, so daggers here hurt less than like, fuckin' Enforcer flip flops.
It takes twenty minutes, before the job is done. He swings his sword drunkenly and releases a couple of spells willy nilly. I dodge, despite only being given 5 agi, as a minor demon.
Finally, the sucker plops down dead, dissolving into little bits of bubble like all Heroes do.
Everyone kind of looks at me awkwardly, "What the fuck?" all over their faces.
Fuck. I've fucked up. Prolly shoulda let the guy go on.
Oh boy, Boss is gonna be pissed.
From the stairs leading down to his newly renovated Lair, I hear the steps.
And from below, I hear a deep, rumbling voice.
**"WHO THE *FUCK* KILLED SIR TWITCH_PLAYS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?!"** | I regret to say that I have achieved what you have never accomplished Lord Beezlebub, lord of the 7 Hells. As of such, I see myself in a precarious position and at your mercy. However, I have confidence that I can make it as the owner of my own personal dungeon. You may consider this as my letter of resignation. Dickbag.
-Elemental Horse #7 | 2014-09-03T12:02:19 | 2014-09-03T11:41:35 | 876 | 33 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | 24 years in the business and The Steel Cricket retired. All you knew was that he ran into a villain he couldn't afford to hold back on and as a result the villain died. It was the first time he had ever killed someone and it wasn't something he talked about. Not even to you, his son.
Powers are hereditary. At least if your parent was a super you have a better chance of getting chosen. That's right, chosen. Nobody knows why but two people with the same power have never existed at the same time. That's why when your Dad retired his old team took you in even though you didn't have powers, they were hoping to scoop up the next Steel Cricket before their power had even manifested.
At first it wasn't so bad. You felt like part of the team. Were actually happy to be there. As the son of a superhero you grew up with capes so you knew the drill. You participated in meetings, had full access to the teams database, even gave them advice mid mission. You were a regular Thundering Whisper only without their powers. If things had stayed like that you would have been happy, but you developed your power.
To heat water...
The supers didn't know what to do with you. After a few months the main team more or less ignored you now. A subtle nod when you enter the room is the most you're acknowledged. The younger team though. They called you a junior junior hero. Eventually you found yourself doing chores for them. Odd jobs, cleaning their laundry, taking over their jobs in the HQ and worst of all making them tea. At least you can avoid them while cleaning the archive room but when you have to serve them, well there's no escape.
You could have asked your Dad for advice but couldn't bring yourself to. Everyone has something they don't want to talk about. After all your Dad never talked about his last mission. Besides you were spending every spare minute you looking for where your power came from; obsessed seeing what became of your predecessor.
Search, serve, search, sleep. Search, serve, search, sleep. The junior squad leaves you alone for the most part now. As long as their snacks are ready when they get back.
One day Switcher stops you in a hallway. He tells you that they found who got your Dad's power and your needed even less now. It only motivates you more. Search, serve, search, search.
It has been four days since The mew Steel Cricket arrived. You wondered if she was going to keep the name. Not a name for a girl. Not a name for anyone really. She's already going on lower danger missions with the junior squad. You feel like you haven't left the HQ in months.
Search, search, search search.
You wake up in the archive. There's a blanket wrapped around you. You panic and look around the room it's empty but whoever tucked you in left a binder out. You go to put the binder back when a page catches your eye.
The Steamstress
Power: Heating water
There's sparse details. She worked for a small time hero outfit. Doing pretty much the same stuff you do. Only she was there for years. Then one day without reason she snapped. The heroes she worked were found dead, dried up husks and she went on a crime spree. If she was confronted by a normal person she would weaken them until they fainted. Sometimes there was lasting damage but more often they had a complete recovery. Supers on the other hand ended up being boiled alive without fail. The report goes on to list her victims but ends abruptly like a page was missing.
You had heard things used to be worse for people like you. How long could you last in those conditions? Hell how long can you last in your situation? It wasn't the Steamstress's fault just like it isn't your fault. It's the worlds fault and you weren't going to let it break you. You were going to move first, you were going to be smarter than your predecessor. You weren't going to be caught and even if you were even the strongest heroes are still 70% water.
You hear the door of the archive open and slam the binder shut. That's when you notice the Steamstress was a footnote in your Dad's file. The last footnote.
"Hey. I've been waiting to meet you. You must been Steel Cricket's son." You don't recognize the feminine voice but it must be the girl who got your Dad's powers.
You laugh awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've been pretty busy." Thankfully she wasn't a female version of your Dad like you'd imagined though for some reason you found being with her unsettling.
"No kidding the guys always say this place would fall apart without you." Noticing your look of disbelief she continued, "What, they really do."
Before you realize it she has your hand and she's pulling you towards the kitchen. "You know Misty Fox always goes on about how good your cookies are. Everyone wishes you'd use less raisins and more chocolate chips though. I'm more interested in your tea. I'm warning you though I have very high standards."
You kick her out of the kitchen and make the tea. You went all out with this pot after all it's going to be the last one you ever make. After pouring her cup you walk away and look out a window. You have plans to make, cities to conquer, soon the whole world will tremble at the mention of... Whatever you go by.
Your internal monologue is interrupted by sniffling and you turn to see the girl looking at you with tears. "I'm sorry," she said while wiping at her eyes. "I never thought I'd be able to drink tea like my Mom made ever again." |
“Hey Bill, what are you doing?” The bubbly intern bounced into the room and peeked over his shoulder. Without thinking he shifted his attention from the pot of water to her. They both made a mistake that day.
She fell quickly. Her skin bubbled and she silently writhed on the floor. He sighed exasperatedly and ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the now-still body laying in the breakroom.
Lucky for him, he practically owned the room. All the other heroes just chilled in their main room and demanded he bring food and drink out of there anyways.
And so after moving the body into the pantry, he finished up the pot of tea, brewing the early grey and hibiscus in four separate cups. He carried it into the other room and smiled at the heroes that greeted him. Or more accurately, ignored him as they joked and talked amongst themselves.
He laid the cups next to each hero. Doge, the canine that could pierce through the soul of anything with just a look. Peeka, the tiny old man who used electricity to create massive power for the city and to control the environment quickly in downtown battles. Roll, the guy who loved to crack lame jokes and had the charisma of a massively successful con man. Honestly, Bill wondered if he even had a real skill or just was on the team cause the others liked him so much. Finally, the big shot Lil Luck, a burly woman who tagged along because ever since she showed up they started winning every single battle.
Hours passed as he sat on the couch and watched them work at the computers and chat. This is what his “internship” amounted to. He sighed loudly but of course, nobody responded.
The second round of tea came out, decaf green this time. He sat back on the couch after taking the old cups and handing them out. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the slight cloudiness in the water.
30 minutes later, eyelids drooped and he stepped over to finish the job.
“Here’s to a new era.” His smile spread widely across his face and he raised his arms. A faint vibration shook the floor and a ringing could be heard all around. The heroes’ eyes widened and tears filled Roll’s eyes first. Bill had always hated Roll most, with his manipulative charisma and how he was able to work for the most famous hero team with such a lame power.
After the job was done, only Lil Luck and Doge still breathed in the building. He leaned down to her face and spoke in her ear his plans for her. She was to stay by his side to assist him with her “power.” He would take no chances. Doge on the other hand, he had a soft spot for. He had a soft spot for all dogs… which is why he made sure to never have one. Weakness was unacceptable with his new plan to take over the world. | 2019-07-30T17:02:42 | 2019-07-30T15:43:49 | 101 | 17 |
[WP] You're an omniscient being just chilling around on Reddit, answering unverifiable questions just for giggles.
Inspired by [this exchange](https://np.reddit.com/r/translator/comments/47mew8/likely_korean_and_to_english_please_message_in_a/d0gzgt7?context=2).
| Like most Redditors, I know everything. Except, I actually *do* know everything: past, present, and future. I’m omniscient. It’s a weird gift that could also be construed as a curse. I’ve both put myself in a high position in society and cost the lives of several people close to me by revealing their fates. I guess people shouldn’t be told their destinies because they’ll find a way to make it true.
So I keep my power a secret. Instead, I just screwed with people on the Internet by giving facts to things that are otherwise unverifiable. Some were simple, like answering “Who is going to win the Oscar for best male actor in a lead role?” People did not believe me when I told them that Leo would finally win. But I also liked to make more outlandish “predictions.” A Redditor posed the thought “I wonder how many people I’ll never see again” (unfortunately, the answer for him was “all of them”).
Sometimes I liked picking out idioms and messing with people: “Ugh, my student loans are going to be the death of me.”
“Nope, snakes.”
My account quickly gained prominence and was considered one of the best “novelty accounts” out there for its "humor."
But the imposed façade was soon blown away. These “predictions” started coming true. I’d often visit r/askreddit, r/relationshipadvice, or r/showerthoughts, telling people exactly what they should do or answering seemingly unexplainable questions. And, upon success, they would thank me for the advice or tell me how amazed they were that I knew such an outlandish answer. Word of my ability got out, and, well…you can figure out the rest.
Trolls and scholars alike scavenged my account for comments, wanting to know everything. Because who doesn’t want to know the answer to “How does Game of Thrones end?” (with Jon Snow on the Iron Throne) or “How many licks *does* it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?” (412 with the average lick). And that was a problem.
You see, through a series of comments on unrelated topics, I had knowingly detailed exactly how and when the world was going to end: A meteor was set to hit and destroy the Earth on March 23, 2027. It wasn’t direct, but theorists put my puzzle together. So, naturally, people panicked. Widespread rioting and looting is tearing the world apart. I stopped commenting, but the damage was done.
And there’s a bigger issue: Being omniscient doesn’t make one immortal. I’m a human with a typical life span of 78 years, 14 days, and 127 seconds, but I know it’s going to be cut about 45 years short. And it won’t be from a meteor. No, mankind is projected to develop technology in time that can divert the meteor and limit the damage. But that won’t happen.
I shouldn’t be surprised, though. After all, I had already known that my meddling with the natural flow of life would cause an end-all nuclear war that would take my life before the meteor. I just thought it would be more fun to watch the world burn.
| Wow, knowing everything sucks. I wish there was something in the Universe that I *didn't* know, just so I could enjoy the experience of learning it. But there's nothing.
I even know that this overpowering ennui will eventually drive me completely insance. I know the *exact moment* that my mind will implode on itself and I'll be reduced to a giggling lump of purposeless protoplasm, still all-knowing but totally uncaring.
Here it comes... here it comes...
*<snap>*
...
Oh, look! I can register for free! | 2016-02-29T08:24:23 | 2016-02-29T08:08:31 | 97 | 21 |
[WP] You were shocked when the previously stoic Elf King grinned and embraced your bard in a hug. Then it really got strange when the ageless elf and the seemingly normal human started talking about things centuries ago like both of them were there. | We had traveled with Anshar for months. His songs had raised our spirits, given us focus, soothed the savagery we so often faced. His minor magics had healed our hurts and provided key distractions, turning the tide of countless fights in our favor. We counted him as one of us, though you’d never know it from the songs.
When he sang of our exploits, he saved no glory for himself. His songs spoke of the mighty blows that felled dread beasts, but never mentioned that he had told us where to strike, how to kill. He omitted the times he had dragged us to safety, left out the days of lost wandering where it took his skill to bring us home. In his tales, we were paragons, stalwart beings far more than human.
We liked it that way, liked hearing his version of us. It made the wounds easier to take, the battles easier to bear. We knew that in the end, all anyone would hear of would be the gleaming blade, the staunch shield, the speed and power and might. His songs left our armor shining and our skin unbloodied. Even we, who knew it was not true, came to remember it that way. We could recall the pain and the fear, but the courage and conviction assigned to us by the songs felt more real.
Still, we had no reason to believe him anything other than a normal man until we were called to the court of the elf king. That unbending scion rose from his throne and clasped Anshur in a familial embrace, greeting him with joy visible on his face.
“Another hundred years,” said the king. “I’ve not seen you in all that time.”
Anshur shook his head. “I go where the heroes call. You know that.”
“I do,” said the king. “Else why would the land still suffer from this centennial monster?”
He grinned as he spoke of the terrible beast that ravaged his kingdom, the one that rose from its slumber every hundred years. His expression confused us, as did his easy manner with our bard. I spoke up, reminding him of our presence.
“Rest easy, your majesty. We will end the beast’s rampage. We will kill it, not merely return it to its slumber. At long last your kingdom will be free.”
The king smiled gently. “I am sure the land will ring with your exploits.”
We feasted in the king’s hall that night, and the next day we fought the beast. I am certain it was painful, a day of sweat and fear and agony. My arm was broken by its charge, my chest trampled under heavy hooves. I survived, healed by the small sorceries of our bard, and the songs recorded none of this. To judge by the music, I strode in unafraid and struck the beast down.
Two of our number were killed that day, and the songs do record that. They fought valiantly, according to the lyrics. They faced their deaths bravely. They did not scream in terror and weakness as they died in the mud. Their deaths inspired their true companions to fight on harder. And though they died in body, they live on in the songs.
We have traveled with Anshar for years. I remember glory and gallantry, an endless parade of perfection in my past. I am beginning to grow slower, which the songs do not report. My armor grows heavy, my sword sluggish. Some day soon I will be too slow in battle, and the songs will tell of my heroic sacrifice, how I turned the tide as I laid down my life. My fellows will fight on, and their fellows after them.
And in another hundred years, Anshar will stand in the court of the elf king again, unchanged and unaged, kept young by the unused years of all those he sacrificed in battle. His newest heroes will surround him, the memories of the dirty, ugly parts of heroism already fading in their minds. They will live on forever in the songs. And Anshar will simply live on.
***
r/micahwrites | The dwarf and I were immediately suspicious. I mean, the Battle of Scuttlebog? Was that even a real thing? I consider myself a very well-read barbarian, especially when it comes to military engagements. I never heard of Scuttlebog or any battle that took place there.
“Hey, bardy. Who’s your friend?” I asked, politely.
The two were so engrossed in their reminiscing, that I had to resort to more traditional barbarian methods.
[Rolls 20]
I picked up the bard and the elf by their collars and demanded, “YOU MIND FILLING US IN STRINGY BOYS?!?”
“Put us down, barbarian!” The bard pouted.
The elf proved to be the more useful of the two. “Sir, if you are friends with this bard, then you are a friend of mine.”
“Even me?” the dwarf chimed.
The elf’s eye twitched, then he continued, “Please, join us for a drink, and I will explain.”
dot dot dot
Later that evening, after much food, drink, and herb, the dwarf suddenly exclaimed, “I get it! You communicate across time through song!” | 2021-05-17T18:17:43 | 2021-05-17T14:42:37 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] The submarine had run out of power and was now dead underwater. Slowly, you watched your crew mates die of starvation but for some reason you didn’t die, you survived months and years on end in a dead submarine. Fast forward 75 years and your submarine is found. | “Are you all right, Mr. Walker?” asked the investigator, adjusting his glasses. “You don’t seem to be all here.”
“No,” I agreed. “I think part of me stayed down there.”
The investigator said nothing in response; he only frowned and shuffled through the papers on his desk. Really, his business-as-usual demeanor betrayed the situation at hand-- the threat it posed to his personage.
“Smoke?” he asked, procuring pack of Rothmans cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
“No,” I replied casually. “Could use some water though.”
The investigator nodded and gestured toward the water dispenser across the room. As I ventured in that direction, I surveyed the room around me-- the file cabinets, pinboards, evidence boxes. I was most taken by the antique furnishings, for they struck me with a remarkable sensation of *déjà vu*, as if the *Parthian* had never sank to the bottom of the Adriatic sea. Alas, the futuristic world visible through the half-closed blinds reminded me otherwise. Time was seventy-five years advanced; nothing would change that.
With my back turned to the investigator, I asked, “Do you have any more questions for me?”
“I do, Mr. Walker. Look, I’ll only keep you here until you answer me honestly: what were you doing a kilometer beneath the sea?”
“I told you already. I was surviving.”
“What did you eat?”
“I don’t think I ate anything.”
“How did you breathe?”
I responded with a shrug.
“What’s your date of birth?”
“November 28, 1918.”
The investigator banged on his desk, and I turned. “Then why the *fuck* do you look like you’re twenty-five?!”
I let his outburst linger in the air for a moment, then shrugged again.
“Mr. Walker,” said the investigator, sighing. “The *Parthian* was a vessel of the Royal Navy. Its salvageable remains are the property of the crown. That being said, I will not detain you for recreational salvaging. You have my word.” He made a cross over his heart. “There’s no reason to lie to me, so please answer honestly: did you take anything with you when we pulled you out of the submarine?”
“Yes.”
At this, the investigator’s eyes brightened, and he reached for his notebook and pen. I, however, was not following his new line of questioning and indicated as such.
“Like I said,” the investigator explained, “you’re not going to be arrested. I’m merely taking inventory and reporting back to the Senior Service. So... can you tell me what else I need to include? What did you find during your salvaging?”
“I wasn’t salvaging!”
“Then what were you doing?”
I sighed. “We were on patrol in the southern Adriatic when a signal came in to divert course to Beirut. We never made it past the heel of Italy. Something pulled us down. At first we thought it was the Nazis-- one of their G7e torpedos. But there was minimal damage to the hull, and we weren’t sinking. Sinking would imply some sort of resistance. No, we were doing more than sinking. We were accelerating downward.”
The investigator smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and leaned forward, listening.
I continued: “It was as if some Titan of Greek myth had thrust his hand up from below, curled his fingers around our beloved *Parthian*, and hoisted us down into the abyssal deep with terrifying force. We were a young and ambitious lot-- brave when it came to the battles we had trained for. But none of us had trained for this. If it weren’t for the lieutenant, we’d have run out of resources in no time flat and died of panic. The lieutenant was good with rationing-- good at calming us down-- but you have to understand: in a situation like that, there’s no hope for escape. We only had a few months of air, and the navy wouldn’t send a rescue mission during the war. We were going to die down there.
“Hunger drove many of us to madness, so much so that the lieutenant succumbed to the very thing he sought to abate. He began to ration the food unfairly, keeping large portions for himself, hidden away. We never did find the hidden food, but it didn’t matter; he was hiding it, and we could tell. The boys and I decided to kill him. I did the honors-- bashed his head against the wall until it was a bloody pulp. Then, we rationed the lieutenant himself.
“In the time after the lieutenant’s passing, I became the de facto leader of the surviving group. I found the position gratifying, for I had always been a determined youth, and in my newfound position of leadership, I resolved to work on repairing our communications system-- improving it, perhaps-- so we might have some modicum of hope in the watery abyss. Morale improved-- for the group, at least. As for me, I spent much of my time brooding. I thought about my parents' grief and how much they would miss me. I thought about my career aspirations and my wife-to-be. I became familiar with the force that drove the lieutenant to madness, and I allowed it to have its way with me.
“Of the rest, I remember very little. At some point, I was the only remaining survivor. The navy’s salvaging crew hoisted the submarine out of the sea, and when they pried open the door, moonlight burst inside. I fainted. Next thing I knew, I was here.”
I stood, muttered something about being thirsty, and made once again for the water dispenser.
“It’s an incredible story,” said the investigator, behind me. “But it’s impossible, unfortunately. The department can help you regain your sanity, Mr. Walker. Diving that deep can be unhealthy.”
I drained my cup of water and tossed it angrily in the bin. “You still think I was diving?!”
The investigator made no response.
“Where was my suit?” I pressed. “How did I get inside? Your story is just as absurd as mine.”
Now, the investigator chuckled. “Don’t you know how long it takes to lift a submarine from the bottom of the sea? When we found the vessel, we first sent a pair of scouts to find a way inside-- to ensure the sub was worth salvaging. I’m guessing you followed them inside, or used that same entryway for yourself later on. Discarding your suit for one of the antiques, you made off with a series of precious artifacts, entering the sub a final time while it was being hoisted with a well-researched story at the ready. It was a very clever plan, but in the end it will have failed.”
“There’s an easy way to see whose story is right, you know,” I said.
“Oh?”
“Verify my identity. No doubt if you look up Timothy Walker in your records, you will find me to be one-hundred years of age and a veteran of World War II-- a crewmember of the *HMS Parthian* before it disappeared.”
The investigator chuckled again, this time darkly. “I couldn’t care less who you are, Mr. Walker. I only care what you stole.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
The investigator tilted his head, confused. “But you said--”
“I took something with me when I left that submarine, but what I took with me was not the property of the crown, nor will it ever be.”
“What do you mean?”
I felt myself getting dizzy, as if some other being had come over me. “I... don’t know.”
“I think you’re very confused, Mr. Walker.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I think so too.” The world was spinning, and my sensation of pre-fainting mimicked that which I encountered upon returning to the surface and reuniting with Diana.
“You’re tired,” said the investigator. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“I can’t go back to Tartarus,” I said.
“Sleep heals all, Mr. Walker. You’re welcome to use the same room you came from.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, timidly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, anyway.”
The investigator gathered his things in a hurry and left the room. I returned to the water dispenser for a final time and poured myself another cup of ichor.
I was really thirsty.
\---------------------------
Good Prompt! | It's the smells that will get to ya!
This saying had been around submarine crews for centuries, if only Neil could smell that now.
His first deployment to the tempest class diesel-powered submarine SS. Montugrual had become his last, the vessel had in fact become his coffin.
An iceberg had shifted while the submersible was heading into enemy territory and sandwiched the vessel between two gigantic ice mountains. The crew tried in desperation to free the sub, but alas to no avail. Neil as the greenhorn on board was on post for toilet duty, heard the radio crackled and the Captain's tired voice came through the intercom muffled and distorted: "Attention all personnels, tube one torpedo ready for launch."
Neil waited as a count down was initiated, the ship hummed the there is a loud hiss, then whoosh! He waited, braced himself. The impact had been somewhat tame, but the ship was still jolted by the surging seawater. The usual whispers of the pipes seized. Instinctively Neil ran for the engine room.
Smoke! Neil halted as black smoke begin to fill the air, he tried to think about what to do, as more sailors sped pass him, extinguishers in hand. Almost in a trance, Neil followed but then there was another torpedo launch and before Neil could fathom what had happened, a shock wave blasted through the vessel and he was knocked out.
The vessel's desperate attempt to free itself had caused the engines to stall, then the second torpedo which was ready to launch had been accidentally initiated the firing process and the proximity of the blast had caused everything to fall apart. Neil wrote in his diary.
He didn't know what prompted him to write, but he did, until he runs out of paper, even toilet paper. Then he carved his messages on the walls.
When Neil came around, the fire had stopped, but everything was stalled. He crawled through the darkness, trying in vain to recall which passage he is in. Until the blood loss and internal organ damage had got the better of him.
In his delirium, he vaguely remembered a pair of bloodshot eyes, a throne made of bones and a commanding voice.
Then he woke up again, this time he was able to see in the dark. Neil rushed through the ship in total desperation, bending down to check up his comrades, who had all perished.
It's only until he reached the bridge had he heard anything, a distant cough and a flashlight shined on Neil. His skin immediately begins to burn and peel away. Neil screamed and ducked into the shadows.
A man's cough, muffled, Neil sniffed the air, blood. Unknowingly, he licked his lips.
He sniffed again, internal damage, poor guy, the injured person’ lungs and liver had been crushed. Neil approached the man. Something in him stirred, urging him on. To taste the blood, don't let any of it gone to waste. Neil growled.
So, the man said, coughing out more chunks of his lung and oxygenated blood, the smell! Neil's hair stood on end, he is ready to pounce.
The man had spotted Neil before he managed to strike. A revolver with holistic engravings had appeared in an instant, pointing at Neil's forehead.
The man----the captain coughed, his white uniform stained in black blood. Damn, I didn't know he would get to you. The man said lamentedly, studying Neil's striking red eyes which glistened in the dark.
Neil paused, puzzled. The holy symbols seemed to have calmed his new blood lust.
Captain? Neil asked tentatively.
The man waved a hand dismissively, the hand with the revolver is steady as if cast in stone.
What are our mottos? The captain demanded.
Neil paused, struggling to get the words out.
The trigger is being squeezed, Neil can hear the gears grinding, in any moment now, there will be a bang.
Instead, Neil yelled:" For the country, we fear nothing. With death in mind, we charge!" startling them both.
Good. The captain said, then gave Neil the codex and the key. Then he smirked and slumped forward, finally dead.
Neil pounced, draining the man's blood, his saliva caused the clogged blood to flow once again, right into his throat, down the digestive tracks.
Then Neil waited in the vessel, remembering the captain's words, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
For seventy-five years Neil waited patiently, read every classified document and glimpsed the other side of the world. And their mission is to smuggle an artifact into the enemy territory, the memo stated: initiate with blood, then let the thing do its job.
Neil had been more agitated lately, his long shrunken tongue tasted the stiff air. Yes, someone is coming. He just has to wait a while longer.
Star news, special report! The broadcaster announced. A Mayhem War-era submarine had been found in the Arctic regions by our wonderful team of experts. He clapped in front of the telescreen, then proceeded.
The vessel was supposedly on a strike mission, but under the protection of our beloved leader, the vessel had been sunk by his dictator's supernatural forces.
The anchor clapped again. We will soon be cutting open the vessel and expose the enemy of the state's ill-fated mission!
More clapping, everyone near a television is clapping mindlessly.
Neil abided his time, knowing the plague, death and horror surrounding him and the artifact will soon turn the world on its hinges. | 2019-11-11T05:42:27 | 2019-11-11T04:28:13 | 157 | 78 |
[WP] You are pretty sure that your roommate is a new villain terrorizing the city and you are conflicted. They cook extra food for you and your other roommates frequently, pay you their share of the bills on time, and even help to clean the apartment. They are the perfect roommate. | Sarah looked at her breakfast and sighed in contentment. Was this heaven? She definitely thought so. Because how else would she be able to have breakfast at home that too expertly made. Her new roommate, Gillian was godsend. She had had her fair share of roommates, including the three she lived with right now but Gillian- Gillian was an angel. Everyday Gillian said she accidentally made extra breakfast, extra enough for three other roommates. She was never late on her share of rent or any other bill and even kept the flat in order! Sarah knew if this kept up she was going to fall in love with her.
She picked up the paper and saw the headline staring at her *The Ghost Killer Strikes Again!"
"Again." She muttered horrified as she started reading the paper.
*"Brian, 32, has been found dead in his apartment by Jane, his friend, on the morning of November 15th. Jane told us that she was worried because Brian hadn't picked up his phone in days, but our sources tell us that Brian was seen the past night partying at the club "Adieu" with a female companion.
The ghost killer has the habit of leaving absolutely zero evidence at the crime scene and in fact a better a apartment than the tenant maintained themselves. The only thing ever left behind was a pink handkerchief. But the details of the handkerchief has been released first time to the public. There's a small bunny holding a flower embroidered in the corner.
So if any of our readers has seen or has any knowledge about this feel free to contact info@suncity.news.com or call 911."*
Sarah froze has she read the last paragraph over and over again. She knew that handkerchief, she saw that handkerchief. She put down the paper and swallowed the last bite as fast as she could. If her intuitions were correct, which she really hoped it was not, then she definitely had a lead on the killer.
~
Sarah was thankful that she was alone in the apartment otherwise she could never have done this because telling the others would be disaster. What if she was wrong? Or worse. What if she was right?!
She slowly opened the door and looked at the impeccably made bed and swallowed. Was she certain that she wanted to do this? She gulped. Yes, yes she had to. Because she needed to know the truth. She started with nightstand drawers like an amateur. Before moving to the wardrobe, careful not to move anything much because Sarah knew her roommate was going to notice. She looked at every single drawer. But she found nothing. Her heart started to return to it's normal rhythm. She was mistaken. It must've been something else.
Sighing she sat down on the bed rubbing her face in exhaustion. She looked up and saw an adorable girl staring back at her from the photo frame kept on the bedside table. Smiling softly, she picked up the picture. She knew who this was. It was her roommates sister, who unfortunately died when she was 16. She didn't know much about how because it was too personal and she wasn't that good friends with her roommates that she could've asked her.
Sarah was about to put down the picture when something caught her eye. Something peaking out of the girls purse.
"Fuck."
~
It was time to know the truth. And before confronting a possible killer she needed to make sure she was absolutely right.
Sarah opened her laptop and waited for it to load. Why the fuck did computers go so slow especially when they know you are in a hurry? Finally the chime sounded, making her jump and why shouldn't it, she was possibly flatmates with a killer.
Calm down, she told herself.
She took a deep breath. It absolutely had zero effect. So she got down to business. And wrote the first thing that came to her mind, Connie Williams, instantly a page filled with one horrific article after another jumped up.
*Teen brutally murdered.*
*Teen murdered, foul play suspected.*
Sarah couldn't read article after article of the horrific things that the poor girl had to go through. There were a few suspects but no one had been arrested in over 10 years. The police suspected more than 5 people were involved and nothing more.
The pieces finally began to take shape in her mind. And she knew what she had to do. In fact she was going to do it today before it was too late.
~
Sarah looked as her roommate entered the flat looking beat but satisfied. She gave Sarah a smile before moving towards her room.
"I just want to let you know that I'm really grateful to have a roommate like you." Sarah said before she lost her nerve.
Her roommate smiled, confused. But Sarah waived her hand before she could say anything.
"And I also want to say that I really love that picture of your sister but I really think you should change it, Gillian." Sarah said praying that Gillian understood what she meant by it.
Gillian froze before giving a reluctant nod. She opened her mouth as if to say something.
"You don't have to. I would have done the same." Sarah said knowing it was the truth.
There was a long beat of silence before Gillian spoke.
"Thank you." | I've lived in this 3 bedroom townhouse for 5 years now. Moved in when I was 23. Thanks to the money left by my family life insurance policy. They died during the great attack 6 years ago by Fae Tality. She appeared on the super hero/villain circuit and absolutely devastated the city that first year. Now she controls the upper east side.
After Fae Tality killed 6 heroes and 1000 civilians, prices dropped significantly in the area. It's actually become affordable to live here and besides the police refusing to come to the area, heroes refusing to work the sector, it's a safer place. No other criminals will come into the area.
During the past 5 years it's been an absolute sideshow of crappy roommates. Not wanting to pay bills on time. Leaving messes everywhere. Late night parties. That was until Faylene moved in 6 months ago. She's the perfect roommate. Always pays her share a few days early. Cleans up with me and even enjoys Hallmark movies. With the holidays coming up, we have a lot of cheesey Hallmark movies to watch. I still don't know why Jack moved out of the other bedroom without notice but he'd left his share for two months on the bed, so I'm not complaining.
Faylene is an amazing cook. And honestly the more it's just us here, the more I want it just us here. Home finally feels peaceful. I do wish some days the area wasn't controlled by a super villain but Faylene and I agree that it's safer now than ever before. Especially for two women at night. I can jog with both headphones in.
Faylene seemed extra tired this week. I guess work has been getting to her. We don't ever discuss work. I mean ever. All she's ever told me was that she works on private government contracts and can't talk about it. I get it. As a psychiatrist, I can't talk about my work. But I can tell work has been getting to her. When she walked in the door today, she basically fell face first into the couch.
That's when I noticed something I hadn't seen before, or I guess more likely she hid, she had elf ears on. I didn't know she was into cosplay. That's so cool. But that red on her hoodie, is it blood? It can't be, the whole area is safe. No one would harm a pedestrian without risking the wrath of Fae Tality. And then it clicked. | 2022-11-20T10:38:02 | 2022-11-20T09:59:05 | 111 | 50 |
[WP]Some people flirt with death, but you're dating it. | "Hey Libby?" I asked.
"Yes?" She replied.
"We've been dating for a while now and I-"
"Oh my god are you proposing to me?"
The other restaurant goers quieted down and looked at us.
"No no no," I tried to assure everybody, "I would never propose to you! I mean, uhhh not right now."
The old ladies sitting around us gave me evil stares as the their men chuckled and returned to their dinners. Libby gave me a strange look.
"What I was trying to say was," I paused, "we've been dating for a while and I still feel like I know nothing about you."
"I mean what do you want to know?" Libby said as she leaned back and crossed her arms, an annoyed look on her face.
"Alright well for starters, you've never told me where you grew up."
"I don't see why it's so important but if you must know," she took a sip from her glass, "I was born in some hell hole I never want to step foot in again."
She just stared down at her glass, this must be a really rough spot for her.
"Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," I placed my hand on her arm, "I just wanna know more about the woman I love."
Her teary eyes looked up at me and she smiled.
"Do you really love me?" She asked.
Before I could answer, the young waiter came with our check.
"How was everything?" He asked in his overly hospitable voice.
"Great," I handed him my card.
"Yes it was to die for," Libby dabbed her eyes with her napkin.
"Alright, I'll go out this in for ya," he speed walked away from the awkward situation that was an arguing couple at dinner.
We went back to normal conversation as we waited for our receipt. The whole time I couldn't stop thinking. *Do I really know this girl?* I mean he always talked about me and what I was doing. She did occasionally mention about "working" at a hospital and volunteering at a retirement home, but I've never actually seen her working. I tried fitting together the various bits and pieces of abnormalities I've noticed and it could mean only one thing.
"Uhh sir?" I snapped out of it to notice the waiter handing me my card back. A confused look on both him and Libby's faces.
"Oh thanks," I quickly grabbed my card and stood up, "we should get going."
Driving home my mind was still racing. We drove in silence. Half way home, Libby finally spoke up.
"Is something wrong?"
Without thinking I blurted out,
"Are you a serial killer?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean it's fine if you are, I'm willing to look past it"
"Are you serious??"
"I'll help, if it keeps me alive. I'll do it."
"Why do you think I'm a killer?"
"C'mon I've seen Dexter, all the signs are there."
"If I'm a killer, why don't you turn me in?"
"Because I love you."
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes, if my soulmate is a serial killer I guess I'll just have to deal with it." I said.
"I'm not a serial killer," she sighed, "but if I ever start you'll be my sidekick."
"So what are you?"
"Can I trust you?"
"Always Libby"
"Promise not to freak out?"
"No guarantees, but I'll try"
"Well," she took a deep breath, "I'm Death"
"Come again?" I asked, because I definitely didn't hear that right.
"I am what you mortals call Death" she said nice and plainly, like it was a common thing to be like a nurse or an accountant.
"Wait so you're the Grim Reaper, like the one with the cloak and scythe?"
"No silly," I let out a quit sigh of relief, "my father is the Grim Reaper"
"Jesus Christ" I let out.
"No, he's of no relation. Pretty hot though," I just gave her a confused look, "Oh don't tell me you're gonna get jealous now!"
"Sorry it's just you being the literal embodiment of Death is a little hard to comprehend"
"Well you wanted to know!"
"This doesn't make any sense."
"Don't you remember how we met?"
How could I forget? It was May 14, a Saturday, I was at a baseball game with my buddies. It was the 4th inning and we decided to grab some overpriced food. A piece of the $10 hot dog went down the wrong pipe and I began to choke. It was terrifying. My friends said I was turning purple. I thought I was gonna die, I felt the cold presence of death begin to creep up on me. Before my vision went I saw her, Libby. Standing there was this beautiful woman, while everyone else looked concerned, she looked at me calmly. All my fear and dread went away when I met her eyes. Then the hotdog dislodged and I puked all over the already beer soaked concrete. After the whole ordeal I introduced myself to Libby and for some reason we hit it off. *Wait a minute...*
"Oh my god were you there to kill me?" I asked.
"No I don't kill anybody!" She shouted back, "I just take their souls to the afterlife."
"Am I dead?"
"No! You just had a near death experience," she explained, "I've only been doing this for a couple hundred years so I don't have the best judgement yet."
I just started laughing uncontrollably, eventually having to pull over on the road.
"What's wrong with you?" Libby asked, very concerned.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I just can't stop thinking about all the death puns I'll be making."
"You're an idiot, but at least you're my idiot."
| They say that good things happen to those who wait, but they also say that the early bird gets the worm.
“What do you think?” I ask Thomas, the gentleman bound to a chair at the dinner table. Even though I was the one who had asked him here, he is better dressed than me, in a three-piece suit complete with a folded cloth in his breast pocket.
He stares at me, wide-eyed, through the flames flickering on my three-pronged candle set. I chose the lavender scented ones this time. He hums through the rag balled up inside his mouth.
“Oh,” I say, feeling quite stupid. I reach across our silverware—two forks and one knife across a folded napkin—and snatch the rag from Thomas’s mouth.
“Is it money you want?” he spits out.
My lips press together. If I knew that this would be the level of our conversation, I would’ve left him humming consonants at me. “Which is it?” I demand. “Is it better to wait or not to?”
That was the dilemma of my life. It was the reason I had started driving Ubers and taking my passengers to this desolate cabin out in the middle of nowhere.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Thomas asks.
“If you loved me, would you kill to see me? Or is it love that you wouldn’t?”
The man continues his saucer stare, his mouth gaping. His eyes flick to the revolver on the table, the same one I had used to force him into that chair and stay still as I tied him up. If only he knew that there is only a single bullet inside it.
“What do you want?” he pleads. “Please, I don’t know who you are. But if it’s money, I can give you money. Just let me go.”
I clench my teeth. He would never understand me. Just as I would never understand the only person I ever loved. I grab the revolver, point it at him, and pull the trigger. The hammer falls, the chamber spins, and the gun clicks. My heart jumps. So too does the man.
“What the fuck?” he screams, squirming. The legs of the chair scratched at the painted floor, adding to the mess of flaked paint already there.
I swallow the barrel of my own revolver and close my eyes. My lips stretch into a smile and I pull the trigger. Take me, my love! A click. My breath catches. For a second, I consider pulling it again. But if I'm not chosen by free will, then what does it mean?
“What the fuck?” Thomas repeats, this time in a low mutter.
With a grimace, I pull the gun out of my mouth and point it toward Thomas. Will he pick someone else again? Tears well in my eyes. I already know the answer. I pull the trigger and when it explodes with the crack of gunfire and the smell of soot, I’m not even surprised.
Thomas slumps into his seat, leaking blood from his skull. He stares at me with empty eyes.
I stare back with the same expression.
Does this mean that Death loves me?
---
---
Hope you liked it. /r/jraywang for over 100 more stories! | 2017-07-13T19:15:44 | 2017-07-13T17:49:45 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] You're a student in Evil University. With no special powers, you're destined to become a henchman, or worse, a lawyer, unless you can pull it together and change your major to Super Villainy.
Honestly, who wants to graduate from Evil U as a lawyer? | I read the track assignment once more, as if that would change the words written there.
*...based on Preliminary Assessments and a lack of any inherent super powers, Clarence Ignus is assigned to the lawyer track until further notice...*
I was insulted, and it wasn't because they thought I should be a lawyer. I don't think Evil University fully understood the amount of chaos and unhappiness a good lawyer could sow. I was insulted because they hadn't recognized my potential.
Yes, with a law large firm, especially patent law, I could crush innovation. I could directly ruin the lives of thousands, and indirectly affect many more than that. The lawyers for the MPAA were often held up as a shining example of what those of us in the lawyer track could become, but I had bigger plans.
If the school lacked the talent to recognize that, then I would just have to make it very, very clear to them.
I allowed myself a moment of white-hot anger, and then shoved it down deep inside. Anger was for those who were impotent. Action was for those who could do something about it.
And so I began planning.
"Darkmaw," I said cheerfully on the way to our Tax Evasion class the next day, "I noticed you've been having a bit of trouble hiding your Cayman Bank transfers."
"What of it?" Darkmaw growled. Tendrils of shadow writhed around his body, and they started to creep in my direction. The tendrils could easily tear chunks of flesh out of anyone he was annoyed with.
"I'd like to help you out. A promising super villain like yourself shouldn't be wasting time with columns and spreadsheets. I'll take care of the work for you. I just need your help with one little prank I'd like to play on SoulEater..."
Darkmaw smiled. His hatred for SoulEater was well known, ever since SoulEater had torn Darkmaw's soul out of his body in a training exercise, chewed it up, and then spit the mangled remnants back onto Darkmaw, claiming Darkmaw's soul "wasn't even evil enough to even have a good flavor."
He nodded, and shoved his Tax Evasion books into my hands.
"You handle this," he said. "And let me know what you need me to do to SoulEater. I'm looking forward to it."
I took the books and walked off. This was going to be even easier than I thought.
Over the course of the next two weeks, I had little chats with several other promising students, and secured their help with one lie or another, with every one more inventive than the last. This was the most fun I'd had since I started at the university.
The final student I approached was Antioch. He had taken advantage of his telekinesis early on in the school year to push, bully, and generally torment me, all from a distance. I had a special place in my plans for him.
"Antioch," I said, approaching him cautiously. "I have a proposition for you. Leave me alone for the rest of the semester, and I'll let you in on the most delightful prank a group of us have been planning against the Chancellor. I'll even let you apply the final touch."
After a few moments of obligatory sneering and posturing, he agreed. The chancellor had refused to allow him entrance to the Secret Society for the Truly Evil, and Antioch had never forgiven him for it.
I knew Antioch never meant to keep his word, but then, neither did I.
--------------------------
The big day finally came. I guided all my recruits though the steps required to get their revenge on whoever had wronged them. Illusions were laid, spells were cast, and by the time everything was prepared the area around the Chancellor's hall thrummed with dark power.
Antioch stepped up beside me. He was invisible, courtesy of one of our co-conspirators, and drew in his will. Another recruit cast the illusion of a nine foot tall, three-headed beast just as the Chancellor stepped out of the hall.
The beast roared and ran for the Chancellor. It lifted one massive paw and brought it hurtling towards his head.
Illusion alone could not harm anyone, but that's where Antioch came in. He was supposed to lend real force to the blows through his telekinetic powers, all the while remaining safely invisible so no one would know who was behind the attack.
The first blow landed, and all hell broke loose.
I had studied the powers of every student extensively. Some powers could nullify others, or in certain cases amplify or react violently with opposing powers. As Antioch landed his blow, it triggered an illusion nullification spell I'd had another student cast. The Chancellor was knocked to the ground, just in time to see the illusion of the beast before him disappear, and Antioch flicker into sight beside me. It was quite clear who had struck him.
I wasn't done yet. The telekinetic blow also triggered a chain reaction. It nudged several highly volatile spells into contact with one another. The end result was like the world's most violent Rube Goldberg machine. Building after building exploded. Massive spears of rock thrust up from the ground and tore the roads to shreds. I smiled, and nodded my head to the beat of the explosions.
The Chancellor screamed in fury.
"Antiooooch!!!" he yelled, and came running at us in a dead sprint. He didn't appear amused.
--------------------------
Antioch was expelled and ordered to pay restitution for the repairs. Although this kind of chaos wasn't entirely uncommon, it was on a much larger scale than the school was comfortable with.
I had been standing right beside Antioch, but I had no powers, so there was no way for them to prove I was involved. All of my recruits were too terrified of the possible repercussions to say anything, and they hadn't been seen at the site of the crime, so they remained silent.
The next day, I received an invitation to join the Secret Society for the Truly Evil, sent directly from the office of the Chancellor himself. How delightful.
[Writing Stats] (https://www.papercosmos.com/share/x0b7wC1HJGvD1FEiz0wG)
| “Fuck her,” I thought to myself on the third day of classes. I remember seeing her eyes roll back into her head, smelling the smoke. She lit the Dean of Careers’ lapel on fire without touching it. He just sat there for a moment, shocked while she came out of her trance. He slowly clapped three times while he pursed his lips together and drew in a deep breath, barely shaking his head. She turned around to the auditorium behind her and curtsied. A few other students clapped. She was the first person do acknowledge the crowd all morning. Everyone else performed their tricks or read their manifestos and left. She wanted attention. It could be seen in her whitened teeth. She wanted him to see her as flawless, but I remembered watching her light a cigarette without any theatrics at the Hideout the night before, right before she ordered a bottom shelf whisky neat. That same night she was a ginger, but not a fiery redhead. I also had noticed a smudge of dye on her nape when she spun around to take her leave of the stage. That was four months ago, and today is the last day to change majors at Evil University.
My threading wasn’t as well received. The dean’s pinstripe suit was still smoldering. When I read my script, I saw him glance down at his jacket and lose himself for a moment. When I was done, he gave me a rat-faced smile and handed me a slip of paper that read, “unthreaded: law/hench/other.” I looked back as I walked off the stage and Dean Krackhaughten had snapped back to reality, now watching as a tall, thin, pale freshman clad in all black was lambasting society. The dean’s hands were crossed and he cocked his head back a bit to look up at the young man’s face. I was his lemon water, his palate cleanser. I remember the taste in my mouth of the last night’s hangover, bile, and blood from my cheek where I had bit it in self-hatred. I don’t remember anything else from that day.
Today will be different, though. While others have been spending the last sixteen weeks keeping up with Criminal Injustice and History of Genocide, I’ve been… changing. Yesterday when I walked to the dining hall, one of my classmates from Intro to Hate didn’t even recognize me. That’s what enough formic acid will do to your scalp. I suppose that’s what I wanted from my trip to the dining hall. It’s not like I was going to eat their food anyway. I’ve only been eating insects and scraps from public garbage cans for the last two months. Anything else turns my stomach, or what the glass bits have left of it.
Today when I walk into that career office, they’ll have to look me up manually, since all of my fingerprints have been burnt off. The receptionist will look up at my face, but she won’t see past the scars I’ve put there. Three and a half months is just enough time for them to form. They distort my mouth when I talk now. The shard of my bathroom mirror did a fine job with my weak face. She’ll be confused when I ask to see the assistant dean, but I think she’ll understand when I point up and she sees Krackhaughten’s entrails strung around her ceiling like Christmas lights.
“I know you. You're to be an attorney. You’re not insane,” he said to me thirty minutes ago as the ether wore off.
“Not yet,” I said as I sunk the piece of mirror, half wrapped in electrical tape, into his sternum. Who knew that college could be such a transformative place? | 2015-09-07T12:15:07 | 2015-09-07T11:44:48 | 103 | 46 |
[WP] “He’s dead....finally that son of a bitch got what he deserved” Charlie said as he reads the headline of the news paper. “Candy Extraordinaire Wonka has passed away”. Now, Charlie sits, and remembers the true events of the day he and the other children visited Wonka’s Factory. | Charles Bucket placed the paper down to his side, and folded his hands in his lap quietly, deep in thought. He closed his eyes, and visions of madness swam across the back of his eyelids. Nightmares that hadn't reared their snarling terrible heads for decades now. Nightmares he thought he had left behind.
Charles steeled himself, squaring up his shoulders, flicked the last drops of morning coffee from his mustache. He flicked a button, watching the wall in front of him slide open. In the Main Office of Buckets Wonderful Confections, a simple bookcase slide to the side, the hidden doorway to Charles's living space revealing itself. Not for the first time, he wished it had not been made necessary to set his living space in a permanent "panic room". But such was the nature of the place he had inherited that day.
On to the factory floor. He looked over gleaming conveyor belts, the giant vats ready to be heated for boiling and simmering, and the machines precision-aligned for molding and cutting chocolate into delightful shapes. All was quiet in the morning still; the workers wouldn't be here for another hour. At this time of morning, only two divisions of the company were present: Administration, and Perimeter Defense.
Looking over the modernized mechanica of his factory, Charles found himself flashing back to the day he had won ownership of it. To the contest, and the tour. He remembered Wonka, the living fever dream of a man with his manic smile and spastic mannerisms. And he remembered what he had seen that day, the terrors he had been forced to cover up. A stipulation of the inheritance contract; to attain ownership of Wonka's inheritance, he had needed to tell all who asked a wild and whimsical story of wonder and magic contained within the factory's walls.
Sometimes, he almost believed it. Sometimes he almost believed poor Veruca had fallen harmlessly down a chute to be picked up from a garbage bin, not shoved into a grinder while gibbering laughter drowned out her screams.
Sometimes he almost believed Mike *had* been comically shrunken to the size of an insect. The stretching part was true however. Charles let some truth slip in, where he could. But Mike had not been cartoonishly stretched back to his proper size by a taffy puller. Lashed his hands to a wall and his feet to the bumper of a semi truck, started the engine, and... he was stretched. Charles could still hear Mike's screams, and the agonized wails of his mother.
The Oompa Loompas... oh how Charles wished they had been a fabrication. He told the world of Wonka's silly little men that ran the factory's day-to-day. This may have been his greatest lie, and his most unforgiveable sin: not telling the world how much danger they were in.
Lost in his reverie, Charles didn't notice his Head of Perimeter Defense until the burly man was almost on top of him. "Sir!" the armed and armored man yelled. "We have a situation!"
Charles spun to see what was going on, and followed the pointing finger of his Head of Defense. On a far wall, there were gashes in the plaster, three long jagged streaks.
"Oompa Loompa claws..." Charles whispered in fear. "What happened, I thought the portal to Loompaland was secured?!"
"We don't know yet sir, but we've had reports of Oompa activity in other sectors of the factory."
"Seal all exits! Call any Defense Forces that aren't on shift yet and get their asses on the hunt!" Charles sprinted across the factory floor. "And alert all civilian staff not to come in to work today. Paid day off, tell the media we had a mechanical failure, ONLY if they ask!"
Charles and the Head of Perimeter Defense rounded a corner, and found themselves confronted by a foul stench. One they both knew too well...
They followed the smell into a stockroom, and found the crates of baking supplies fouled by oozing masses of pustule-ridden muck. Bulging in the piles of foul liquid, there lay a large number of quivering translucent pods.
Charles' face went pale with horror. "Oompa Loompa eggs... HOW did they manage to get past your men long enough to lay a clutch of EGGS?!"
Before the Head of Perimeter Defense could reply, the two men heard a low gibbering chuckle. It echoed around them, coming from seemingly nowhere. Charles oriented, and found the source: a ventilation grate. They were in the vents.
The mad chuckling turned into a mocking sing-song, inhuman in its tone
*Oompa Loompa, doop-a-duh-dee*
*We are here for little Charlie...*
Charles scowled, ordered his Head of Defense away. His place now was at the Command Room, organizing a defensive and securing the Loompaland portal against any further activity.
Charles closed the door to the stock room, took a handgun from the holster under his suit jacket, and pondered on how some legacies never fully go away, as he listened to the gibbering sing-song grow louder. | He said they lived. Wonka was a goddamn liar.
As they soared above the city, Wonka revealed the true nature of his game.
"Charlie, do you know why I chose you over the other children?"
"No," Charlie said. "I thought I passed your Gobstopper test."
"Yes, Charles. You are a good boy. You chose to suppress the urge to steal from me, in the face of incredible temptation. It's commendable."
Charlie stared over the city as they drifted. "It's a magnificent factory, Mr. Wonka."
"Ah, it is. And it is all yours, if you'll have it."
Charlie's eyes widened like saucer plates. "I don't understand, sir."
"Well, you chose to not steal. No other child could resist. They're greedy. You should take my place, take care of the factory. You'll have to keep the Oompa Loompas well-fed. And carry on the business."
"But I'm just a kid!" Charlie exclaimed.
"You are now. But that will not always be the case."
"Gee whiz. I don't know Mr. Wonka."
Wonka adjusted his bow tie, and tilted his hat up. "You wanna know the secret? What REALLY happens to kids when they cross me. When they betray my trust?"
Charlie nodded reluctantly.
"You'll have to agree. Agree to take over for me. There are few people I can trust, and even fewer I can trust with the knowledge of the children."
Charlie nodded again, fearful yet curious. He had to know the secret. It would kill him, eat him up from the inside out.
"The chocolate river," Wonka said. "Do you know where the extra flavor comes from? The oomph that brings the children to the candy store in flocks?"
Charlie shook his head, and stared at his shoe.
"Adrenochrome. It's what comes out of the children when we kill them. It gives the liquid chocolate the extra pizazz, that makes it not just delicious... but vivifying."
Charlie stood back, aghast.
"I call it a chocolate ablution." Wonka laughed maniacally.
"I want to go home," Charlie said.
"Very well. But I'll be in touch."
"I hope not," Charlie said. "Or I'll tell everyone."
Wonka laughed. "And who in the hell do you think will believe you?"
Charlie averted his eyes, a tear quivering on his eyelids.
*Nobody will.* | 2019-03-21T09:55:01 | 2019-03-21T08:17:19 | 2,685 | 348 |
[WP] "Now remember, a healing spell has some side effects. You may be tired, slightly dizzy, and DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see after. Let me repeat DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see. Ready? Good." | I did as she said. I interacted with none of the visions. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and decipher them.
I recalled the visions in my mind. First was the holy symbol the cleric used to cast the spell, but then it morphed and shifted into something else. I could hardly describe it. The symbol was a shape with so many sides it appeared to have none.
I was bathed in light, but I heard a voice calling out to me in the darkness. It was a voice that echoed in many different tongues, but within it, I heard my own. The words I could not tell you, it was as if they spoke in ideas and emotions.
I felt an embrace. I presumed it was the Grey Mother, the one the clerics of healing worship, but there was something wrong about the embrace I could not quite figure out. It felt too strong, too encompassing, too curious to be the warm, gentle Grey Mother who held me close. It wasn’t a guardian angel looking down at me. I felt as if I was being analyzed.
As I spend weeks pouring over texts in search of answers, those in my life tell me to stop. They say it's becoming an unhealthy obsession, consuming my life. Perhaps it is, but I can not let this rest.
I was rejected by the clerics and I have yet to understand why. I performed all the prayer incantations perfectly, I showed a level of faith and devotion such that my robes were always white (the robes of the order track mental state, so when they change color the church can help them find faith again), I wanted nothing more than to heal.
I was always hungry to learn more of the Grey Mother’s teachings. Searching through libraries, listening to stories of her kindness and forgiveness. I revered the saints of the past and looked up to them, wishing to learn all I could. Though there was some knowledge they kept from me, they told me it would be revealed to me when I passed judgment.
When the final test came, where I faced the Grey Mother’s judgment, I failed.
There was no explanation, I felt no otherworldly presence. The clerics merely communed to the Grey Mother while I waited with terse apprehension. When it was over I looked to them with eager eyes, but they shook their heads solemnly.
Why hadn’t the Grey Mother accepted me? What could I have done wrong?
One day while researching a scholar nearby told me he recognized the symbol, that many-sided smooth surface, which I had seen. Though it was not anything related to the Grey Mother. I was looking in the wrong place.
I looked for other accounts of people hearing emotions as if words, all languages at once, the shape, the strange embrace. There were a few meager vision writings, but oddly enough none were published by the church but by another source, ones that hid the knowledge within a dense text about an entirely different topic.
What I discovered is what I saw in my vision had little to do with the Grey Lady, but rather seemed to align with a different entity. The Anithorath.
It was a being of which we understood little. It amassed knowledge and wisdom, so much so it was said that even just a glimpse at its vast well of knowledge could break any mortal.
Why was I seeing this in my visions? If the Anithorath healed me, what of the Grey Lady?
Fortunately, my chance will come soon. I had injured myself once more and am going to the church to get healed.
I must know the truth. This time when the voices call out, I won’t shy away from them. I will answer its call. | It’s not that I didn’t remember what Dr. Horush said. I remember it perfectly.
He said not to interact with anything strange that I see. But this was a voice. I could not see it. I wasn’t just hearing it, either. I could feel it. It was like it was coming from inside me. It wanted me to follow, and truth be told, I wanted to.
Is this just side effects of the spell? He said I might be dizzy or tired, but I am neither of those things. In fact, I feel quite at peace.
In what felt like forever, but must have been the blink of an eye, I was running after the voice. I had to see where it lead. I did not know where I was going but the voice did not falter. At this point I was running faster than I thought possible, my feet barely interacting with the concrete. Any faster and I felt like I might actually fly.
My euphoria came to a sudden halt. It was then that I realized I was face to face with the last person I wanted to see. It was /him/. | 2022-05-02T10:35:47 | 2022-05-02T08:53:23 | 326 | 32 |
[WP] You're 80 years old and time travel is possible. You sit down for dinner with earlier versions of yourself at age 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 and 70. Conversation ensues. | Ten sat at the head of the table, at my insistence and despite all the others protests.
"I like her the best, that's why." I said, and gave Ten a wink.
Ten looked uncomfortable and I chuckled. A wink from an elder always weirded me out until I hit 25 and realized it was a sign of good humor.
"I'm glad you all could join me here today," I said, wrapping my hand knit shawl around my neck with a flourish, "I'm getting on in years and decided it was finally time to take on my mantle as Crone."
Twenty gave me the side eye, while the rest looked on in anticipation.
"Feeling a little cynical today?" I asked, glancing at Twenty with a toothless grin. I had pocketed my dentures to add to the effect. My wife would laugh when I told her. She had done her ritual the year before and said it was absolutely delightful. I knew myself better than that though. I had been a crotchety little bitch when I was young and this would be no picnic.
"Crone, really? That should have happened at 60, at most." Twenty snapped.
"I don't understa-" Ten started to say but 40 cut her off.
"You will. But for now just wait your turn, little one." She said kindly.
I looked over at 40 and smiled fondly, she reminded me so much of our mother.
The waitress made herself known and took our drink orders. Soda for the youngsters, black coffee for the middle aged, and sweet tea for myself and 70.
You can outrun southern sensibility for as long as you like, but in the end nothing comforts the soul like Texas sweet tea. It helps when you no longer have teeth to ruin though.
"So, let us begin. We can have our chat then eat our food then get back to whatever we were doing before I dragged you all here." I said, raising my bushy eyebrow at the gaggle of girls.
"I was sleeping!" exclaimed Twenty.
"Of course you were dear, now, as the youngest Ten will begin by telling us all what her happiest memory is." I sipped my tea and motioned for Ten to speak.
Ten blushed and rubbed her hands over her plastic cup of Coke, "The time my class did the Halloween Parade and I was a witch and mom made beanbags and brought them for the beanbag toss and everyone liked it and said my costume was nice. Even though mom sewed it for me it was way nicer than stupid Megan's witch costume."
70 leaned over to me, "Did that even happen?"
I nodded, even though my memory didn't yield any clues.
"What a lovely memory! I'm sure we can all agree that it was a happy day indeed." I said, being sure to smile kindly at my youngest self. Whose days were filled with book reading and an unhealthy obsession with cats.
"Twenty, you're next. Please tell everyone what you plan on doing with your career in the next ten years."
Twenty shot me a venomous look, "Apparently I'm going to be opening some bullshit hocus posts shop where I swindle people people out of their hard earned money."
All 5 of the older girls laughed. I simply smiled and looked my ornery young self in the eye, "Not even close, lovey. Try again."
"I dunno. I've always wanted to write. Will I?" She suddenly seemed so vulnerable, her voice betrayed how tired she was off that question already.
"A bit." 50 admitted, with a gleam in her eye, "But not for some time yet. Keep at it."
I moved on letting Twenty ponder her future.
"Thirty, tell us about your wife." I said, giving her a nudge. 10 and 20 both grew still.
"A wife?" Ten asked.
"At 30??" Twenty screetched.
Thirty reached over and smacked 20, "Shut up you, she's wonderful. Worth the wait. Just remember to be bold. You'll be fine."
Thirty sipped her coke and smiled knowingly, "She's everything you're not. And she helps you become all those things, in time. She makes you laugh. But more importantly, you make her laugh. And you'll be with her for as long as she'll have you."
"Do I know her?" Twenty asked.
"You met her once, in high school. She said it was cool you both had the same name."
Twenty scrunched her face up tightly, "We have the same name?"
"We have a wife??" Ten demanded to know.
"The name change was a nightmare, I remember. Hyphens are tacky!" Fourty said, doing a spot on impersonation of our sweet Boobalah.
"Heaven forbid we combine them and go with Bligdon." Thirty chuckled, which made the rest of us chuckle in turn.
"Fourty, what do you miss most about youth?"
"Jeez thanks, let me just go grab my walker outta the car here. So old!"
I adjusted my bifocals and gave her "the look".
She shook her head and smiled, "I miss being able to eat carbs."
Twenty leaned over and nudged Ten, "We better lay off the soda before we get diabetes like grandma over there."
"Hey! Low carb by choice! It's so I don't get diabetes. And you could stand to hit the gym more often Twenty. You're messing up our knees!"
Thus was about to turn ugly.
"Fifty! Any financial advice?"
"Take advantage of the retirement and investment plans at the county. Don't forget! They do you a lot of good later on. Also get Boobie to buy that place in Michigan! You'll know the one. Super spooky. Don't live in it, of course. It is literally haunted. But hold on to it for a few months. It gets scouted for the set of a horror movie. You'll make a buttload of cash."
"I'd totally live in a haunted house!" Thirty exclaimed.
Fifty shook her head, "Not this one. Not with the kids any way."
"Whoa, wait, kids?" Thirty looked at Twenty, who shrugged and shook her head.
"Yeah, the kids. We fostered quite a few."
"We traveled first, right?" Fourty asked, suddenly concerned.
"You traveled after." Sixty chimed in.
"Tell us about that Sixty." I added helpfully.
"You'll see everything you've cared to. All over the US. Europe. Russia. Asia. Australia. You've gone on so many cruises they've named a boat after you." Sixty looked impish, "I may have been part of a class action lawsuit that paid for most of it though. Just remember to keep drinking chocolate milk regularly and go to the doctor when you get that weird mole on your tongue."
The younger selves looked aghast.
"Seventy, what is your biggest regret?"
Seventy thought deeply for a moment, "I'd have to say that time I killed a man."
"Excellent, we'll say no more about it then. Are we ready to order? I think I'd like to try the chicken fried chicken, just let me get my teeth."
And for the rest of the meal we caught up and compared notes on friends and family and the wide variety of pets we'll have in our lifetime. We gave advice and shared memories and everything would be like it had never happened come the morning.
The ritual was complete. I had looked back upon all my past selves and seen me for who I am and was. And that is the way of the Crone. To look back, to see forward, and know the difference between the two.
| "Oohoohoo. I was quite good looking back in the day." My eye sight may not be as sharp but I can make out my younger selves sitting around poorly made, diy coffee table. "Ah, you guys made me so much more! The culmination of all your experiences and it is me! Though, I am much more achy." A huge laugh bellows, I try to do my best to do one a day.
Ten and Twenty both look at each other and then look down at their bellies. Twenty speaks softly, like defeat was already at his door waiting. "Oh...we get fit when we are in our thirties? Do I still get laid and have sex with random strangers?"
Thirty chimes in, "You get into your dream job! You cycle all day and then work on bikes. So, we had to get fit. Though, your mid twenties will be lots of binge drinking. So...you don't get into this body until you are 29 or so." Thirty jokingly flexes, trying to reassure his younger self.
Forty, fifty and sixty are chumming it up. Fifty laughs, "Ohho, I remember winning that race! I was lucky that the two people in front of me crashed into each other. Though, I don't do much cycling now. I still have a few more races in me." Sixty chimes in, "They are still going well! Much slower but I still do the lap races! Though, my knees and back hurt a lot."
A sudden knock at the door. Bones cracking and aching as I stand up to get the door. My ol' trusty cane made of old handle bars and bicycle grip to hold me up. A older looking gentleman, almost grizzled sits in a wheelchair. My throat felt tight as I realized who it was. My fist clasped so tight, I could make diamonds with them. The old man looks up to me and I just can't stop staring. "You have never come before" my lips barely let the words out, "..and I don't think I want you here."
"Seventy years of age and still racing like a child." Spit rolls down his lip, "A hack, and here you are pretending to be mister happy. I can see why I don't come here. You make it so easy." Seventies glasses were almost like coke bottles in front of his eyes, "You make it so easy that things will get better."
I look down at Seventies legs, each of them held together by metal. The coat he was wearing made his frame seem so small. "It'll...come through. Things change within a few years and someone off-"
Seventy spits and screams! His spit flying everywhere and his mouth quivers between each word, "And this shit? I have to deal with this shit for years?! While the rest of you have the best god damn part of your lives." Tears start rolling down Seventies eyes. "Like fucking hell I would live like this."
Seventy eyes flash and pulls a sawed shotgun from the coat, "And I rather not have a future than live with this!" I rush to stop him, my hands trying to grab hold of the stubby gun. Seventy tries put the shot gun into those quivering lips and end his pain.
My body, damn it. It hurts, it fucking hurts. But I have to stop him. I have to get him to-
And the gun goes off. Ten and twenty start crying instantly. Thirty and forty rushes and holds down seventy! Fifty wrestles the gun out of his hand and sixty attends to me. God, I wish I was smart enough to save me but I can't stop crying myself now. It hurts and I only ever thought I was going to die once in my life.
Memories from when I was 69 years old, doing one of my final races of the year. The younger kids, as I called them, poked fun at me for even entering. I may get last every race but I still want to have that feeling. Even for a lap.
The mark is set and I fall. As the veteran, I was allowed to sit in the front of the pack. I wasn't sure if it was my clip or my leg or something else, but I fell. And then I was trampled. Bike after bike and rider after rider. Falling on top of me, crushing me with carbon, steel and aluminum. Human bodies adding to the weight. Even then, I couldn't stop crying. My saggy skin ripped and folded and dozens of old friends dug me out of the pile, or so I am told. I lost conciousness after two bikes clipped my head.
In the present, I knew it wouldn't be the same outcome. My body slumped over and I felt the fade come for me. I tried my best to smile, I wanted to go out like I lived most of my life.
But it hurt so much, I couldn't. | 2016-08-24T21:48:12 | 2016-08-24T18:27:02 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Immortality isn't a miracle. It isn't a blessing. It's cold hard science and a severe lack of morals. The key to immortality is what scientists around the world are looking for right now. I just happened to find the fountain of youth first but it was nothing that you could go around publishing in Scientific America. The process, to be so sophisticated that it extends a life and youth indefinitely, is quite barbaric. It requires a fair amount of what the Geneva convention would define as severe torture.
I first discovered the process while working with a fellow researcher on cloning bonobos. Since they had a longer average lifespan than most of the other species that had been successfully cloned we could better focus on how to prevent the degradation of telomeres and come a step closer to creating lab grown organs that didn't succumb to failure as quickly as their predecessors.
Our work eventually led us to the discovery that increased the longevity of lab grown organs three fold if they were first treated with a solution made of neurons and cord blood. This process unfortunately left the 'donor' dead but the results justified the means. In fact we eventually discovered that more than just cloned organs could be treated in such a way and the results were nothing short of miraculous. We increased the lifespan of a common lab mouse to over fifteen years! Of course that extended life came at a cost. The procedure ended the lives of six other mice. I wanted to push our experiments and see if we could increase the lifespan of monkeys and apes but my partner was more ethical than I. I suppose having a child changes a person. But to cease our research because of the "cost to life" was just ridiculous.
Without my partner, however, our project lost nearly all of its funding. Over years fifteen years of my life and what did I have to show for it? I wasn't about to abandon my baby. So I did the only thing I could. The only logical choice. I continued my research. I was part scientist, part lab rat, and part hunter. The materials I needed were readily found in pregnant adults. Over the course of just two months I gathered the necessary materials from six subjects ranging in gestation from three to seven months. The treatment was a success. Samples taken just weeks after showed significant growth in telomere length and physically I felt a certain vigor I haven't had since my 20's.
It didn't take long for my arrest though. I'm a scientist not a hitman and I hadn't been as thorough at covering my tracks as I should have been. At the trial I was found guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced to life without possibility for parole. At first I was devastated, my research was my life. Without it they may as well have strapped me into an electric chair and throw the switch. But as the years went by I noticed that I hadn't lost that vigor that I felt. I began checking myself in the mirror for the telltale signs of aging. I was pushing 50 yet didn't look a day over 25.
Soon I wasn't the only one to start noticing how gracefully I was aging. My cellmate, a man who's gang initiation included arson that led to five deaths and an entire apartment complex reduced to char and ash, accused me of being a vampire (he wasn't the first the media takes that honor) and later asked me if someone was smuggling in Just For Men just for me. By my 60th birthday I couldn't walk through the yard without the most superstitious inmates signing a cross at me. It was all a good laugh for me until a group of Latino gangbangers tried to kill me by staking my with a shank to the heart. Thankfully my ribs stopped the shank from going too deep and my screams alerted an officer.
Now here I lay in the medical ward. Six days since my attack and I've cultivated quite a bit of stubble that does a good job of hiding my lack of wrinkles. Footsteps echo down the hallway grow louder as someone approaches. I turn to the side as the warden strides and takes a seat next to me.
"Do you know how many wardens this prison has gone through since your incarceration?"
"You're the third," I reply.
"Correct," the corner of his mouth curls upwards" and do you know why I'm here today?"
"Haven't a clue," I lie.
I can feel his gaze burning through me, and as his smirk becomes a grin my palms begin to sweat.
"Well, I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you that for a man that's been locked up for over 50 years you look great. And I'm not saying that to be flattering I'm just stating fact." He opens a folder in his hands and shows me my mugshot of when they arrested me. "Without that scruff on your face you'd look like you were locked up here yesterday. Now I want you to tell me exactly how that is."
My heart is racing, a thousand lies run through my head- good genes, eating right, daily exercise, each one as implausible as the last.
The warden begins talking before I come up with a reply. "I've been reading through your files and the report that was made on your 'research.' Now, I may not be some hot shot scientist but it looks to me like you was searching for something to extend lives. Furthermore it looks like you found it."
My face betrays me as a look of pride flashes over it.
The warden narrows his eyes, "I've brought you here to make you an offer. You show me exactly how you made yourself stay young and I'll have you walking free before you turn a hundred. How's that sound?"
"It's not easy. I can't just show you without the right materials. And I have to... Well I need volunteers."
"Don't you worry about that. I'll make sure you have everything you need. All I need in return is your cooperation."
The opportunity to continue my research is too irresistible to pass up. My heart pumps hard, it feels too good to be true. I wouldn't even have to risk getting arrested at this point. The risks fell solely on the warden and any lackeys he had. All I had to do was be a scientist again.
The thought of continuing my research after all the years makes my voice crack as I tell him yes.
"Excellent," his face lights up,"I'll have someone stop by tomorrow I want you to hand him a list of all necessary materials and volunteers you'll need."
"This type of work requires more space than just a prison cell, I'll need an operating room as well."
"Like I said, write down *everything* you need and leave me to take care of the rest." And with that he left, leaving a notebook and pencil on my lap.
Within a year everything was in order. I found myself in a sealed off portion of the medical room built exactly to my specifications and before me lay one of the men who tried to pull a Van Helsing and kill me with a stake. The extraction procedure from the nervous system was barbaric, yes, but that didn't mean it didn't require a certain finesse. I needed the practice, truly, after all it had been almost two decades since I last held a scalpel.
Edit- Fixed some continuity errors and added a bit more to the story.
| "Please stop it. You don't- " My screams are cut off as a piece of dirty cloth is stuffed into my mouth. The guards turn the other way whenever this happens. The prison hall is not crowded as most of the inmates curl up in their rooms to escape my cries. Sometimes a person throws up, even having witnessed my torture everyday. My eyes plead through tears, looking at an upside down blurry world, but the hands of my torturers do not falter. The ritual begins again ...
--------------------------------------------------------------
I had a name once. Long ago. I was an Egyptian robber. I don't know if I was the only one cursed. Or such people are out there, living day in and day out. Such is the curse. To wander always, never having someone close to you, destroying everything you built in your life. I led many lives. I have loved countless times and lost them every single time.
You have no idea how mind numbing and soul crushing it is to always be alien to everyone. To have no real friends. To have every feeling cut out of you, ever so slowly, by time. Until there is only hate left in your heart- for everything, and yourself the most. I spent a good century just drifting- trying to kill myself, to starve, to just lie down like a rock, without any shelter. Until I was 'discovered' and 'trained' by a group of assassins, whose names got lost in the pages of history. I was used ruthlessly. But I couldn't care less for I had found my calling. The dying eyes of those men mirrored my own. A soul-brethren to me, however fleeting the moment. I tried my best to prolong these moments with my brethren, always pushing my boundaries, inventing new ways to feel ever closer to them in their last moment of despair and horror.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I lay bloody on the ground in my cell, sweat gleaming from my forehead. My torn body gushing blood from a thousand places, my bones showing in places in others. My left hand is now only slightly twisted and bent. For the last three hours I have been putting my snapped arm bones back in place with my right hand. It will only take four five days for me to completely heal. So I do not have the privilege to a doctor. But my tormentors will be back tomorrow. Calming my heartbeat, I focus on setting my broken arm again. One thing at a time.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mortis, Angelus is found guilty of the cold-blooded brutal murder of sixty-five people. He is sentenced to life imprisonment for a hundred and twenty years without the possibility of parole."
-------------------------------------------------------------
I lay panting, my ordeal finally over. I look at the piece of bone in my hand, memorizing it, before throwing it away. Initially I was kept for 30 years in special cell, but when my 'specialty' became clear- I was transferred to gen pop. On paper it was because I could not be killed but actually it was for the vindication of the public's sentiments. I was 'conditioned' by starvation and beatings before being let loose. I never stood a chance. I became the bitch of the Redemption gang (my scrapbook was in evidence but no one had considered it seriously at my trial . Except as an evidence of my mental instability. Disregarding the dates, the incidents were deemed too brutal and fanciful to be done by a person. They never understood my noble intentions. That was until 20 years ago when I 'came out of the closet'. The public grew furious upon this revelation, hence my present state).
Over time a cult in my name grew. Unsurprisingly it was mainly the assassins guilds fighting over me. This last year, I got in touch with a very high profile group. I will be freed by the end of this month. They will probably never let me go, considering what I imagine to be very high costs involved in rescuing me. But that's all right- as long as I attend my calling. But before that I will make each and everyone of my tormentors my soul-brethren. I will take the people closest to them and then inflict the same pain upon them as inflicted upon me and when these people will beg for their death, I will be their reaper and I will store in my mind their last moments on the face of this earth, the cool feel of their last breath on my hands, their slowly glazing eyes gazing helplessly with fear in my eyes ... and finding a brethren there. I close my undamaged right eye as I recall the list of my tormentors. | 2016-10-15T10:12:12 | 2016-10-15T08:46:36 | 709 | 40 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | You know, it is hard to feel guilty for the guy. And I am ashamed to admit that my lack of guilt is for all the wrong reasons. I should not feel guilty because he is a crazed killer who enjoys torturing people in his van. But I simply do not feel guilty about it because he is fat and smells like sweat, and the stench makes the uncomfortable ride in the back of his rusty old van even worse.
I guess serial-killers come in two forms, those with low impulse control and those with obsessive behaviors. It was just my luck that I would catch the former. Or rather, that I was caught by the former.
Then again, who am I to judge? I couldn't even blame my misdeeds on psychiatric disorders. No, I was only selfish. So that is a real philosophical puzzle right there. Who is worst? The guy with the mental condition which makes his free will basically a glorified pinball machine, or the guy who is simply to cowardly to do the right thing? Or do I even have free will? Perhaps our brains are just wired to react in some predictive pattern.
Then again, my surroundings does not leave much room for quasi-philosophical musings. It really reeks back in here. Not only the sweat, but he doesn't seem to do much cleaning up either. This van is a crime tech's wet dream and a neat person's worst nightmare. It really said something about his hygiene that the stench of his sweat could overpower the putrid rotten smell that also permeated the cabin.
I can see his eyes in the mirror. He looks, well, there is no other word for it, aroused. I make some muffled sounds through the blindfold. He does not flinch. I guess he has been here before. Also, the zip-ties really hurt. Truth be told I didn't really try to speak. I'm just telling myself that it could have been a warning. The things we do to justify our actions and inaction.
We have been driving for a while. I had no idea where we are in relation to the parking garage where he snagged me. Then again, I probably shouldn't be near parking garages. Perhaps I got what I deserved. We are on some sort of highway at least. I can tell by the sounds of traffic and how the traffic lights rhythmically casts glowing yellow light through the night and into the dark cabin of his van. It seems as though we are slowing down now however. I roll uncomfortably on the floor of the van as he takes an off-ramp a bit too fast. I guess the arousal is real. He is in a hurry now.
He drives for maybe 10 more minutes. He seems to know exactly where he is going. I guess he has been here before. The van finally comes to a stop and I can hear him opening the door and closing it. His steps makes sounds on gravel outside. Then the door in the back cabin slides open. He has a flashlight and it hurts as he points it at my face. I can't see anything. It doesn't really matter.
He grabs my legs and starts dragging me out of the van. I guess I am lucky he does not just start with the stabbing right away. Though some part of my brain tells me that would have been a good thing. I hit the gravel ground hard. He doesn't even try to break my fall. Asshole. I can see him partially now as the flashlight is still pointed inside the van. His fat bulk can't hide the erection.
"Up" he says with a hoarse voice.
I scramble to my feet. The flashlight is back in my eyes. It should start any minute now.
"I'm going to have fun" he says. He doesn't say it in insidious way like in the movies. He says it in a stupid way. Great. Blindsided by an idiot. Way to go Robert.
"I'm going to..."
His words stop. It has started. The gurgling is always the worst part.
He starts to gurgle. The flashlight clanks to the ground. It lands on a rock and spins around, partially lighting him up. His hands are at his throat. That's what lack of air does to you. His eyes aren't aroused anymore, they are panicked. He drops to his knees. This is where it gets bad.
Blood starts seeping from his eyes. The last air in his lungs is used for screaming as he pisses himself. I don't know how it feels, but I know it is painful. The blood mixes with actual tears. If they are tears of pain or panic I do not know. I don't really want to know either. His convulsions lasts for a while. He doesn't have the air to scream, so he can only live with the pain now. White foam exists his mouth and hits the ground.
Then the silence fills the night. I painfully scramble to my feet and look down on his corpse. He has to have a knife somewhere, the inside of his van told of a guy who liked his sharp instruments. I need to cut these zip-ties off.
And then I need to get away from here. They will find this and they will know I was here. The man-hunt for patient zero is the largest in human history. I don't want to die.
| **Please be gentle. It's my first time posting.**
Edited to say the above. Anyway, here goes...
Jennifer.
Dr. Jennifer Mangolini. It was her that started this whole mess, you know.
She ruined it all. The first and last stair of the spiral case stretching from the heavens to deep down below. She played Alpha and Omega without so much thought to her actions now as to any other time in her life. I'd like to damn her soul, but I'm quite sure she hasn't had one for many, many years. I doubt she ever did.
Maybe claiming her as the start isn't entirely accurate. But she was very much the beginning of the end.
We begin with Joe. Joe was, by most of the measures I have come to use, nearly perfect. Joe was your average, everyday, healthy, suburban, white-bread, golf-outting, sale-at-Home-depot-how-about-this-weather-we're-having total lump of a person. Granted, Joe may have been low hanging fruit. But what fruit tastes sweeter? The man was ripe for the picking. So pick I did.
Joe lived what most would call a good life. An honest life. A clean life. But despite all he did, Joe was like any other living being.
Some like to think they have control over the body through purity of thought, or through physical discipline. But this is a flimsy fantasy. And deep down, every man knows it. The ebb and flow of lifetimes is not for man to choose.
That is my domain.
When my spark first awoke in Joe I was a small unit in a larger mass. Most of those around me were pitiful, being defeated by some of the smallest particles of Joe that he would ever make. Some broke free from the group, only to fare no better on their own. I chose to wait. I spent my time away from the horde, satisfied in the knowledge that my time would come. I chose a place in Joe that was nondescript. Not to high, not too low. Not towards the front, or towards the back, or towards the tender places that were easily touched by people like Jennifer... Jennifer.
It was in that place that I built my army. And an army it was! Great, swirling masses of us. I packed the men in. Formations where as precise as ridges on a seashell, hard as stone and born from the belly of Nature herself.
We were ready.
PART 2 BELOW
| 2018-08-23T02:26:34 | 2018-08-23T02:22:18 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | For the hundredth time, you glance at your computer screen, the bright bold number 23:50:58 flashing back at you. The button lies there innocuously, an entire section of the desk to itself, the words PRESS ME tauntingly painted on it. You edge your hand closer to the button, but that section of the desk might as well have a forcefield around it for how close you get. 23:51:23, and the day is that much closer to done, another day wasted.
You look back at your computer screen and this time you try to look past the time. You squint and pretend you can see the silhouette of the man who appeared there all those days ago, slight and dark with a voice that could not be his own. You remember his words as though he had uttered them but a moment ago, delivered with utter nonchalance yet seeming so cruel. His clasped hands, his calm demeanor, and your own bemusement before the button appeared just like that.
Everyone in the world had one, he said. At the very least, you know that your co-workers do, and that none of them would dare use it. But had anyone used it? Were people becoming rich and dying? You've scoured every last news outlet you can think of, checked any blog that might mention it, and nothing. Not a hint.
You start to sweat, your breath becomes short, and you wonder how much longer you can live this way. You shout at your screen, scream for the man to come back and explain, beg for more information, plead for an exception. He does not appear.
You sigh as the clock shifts to 23:57:00, and you start thinking of the next day, your next opportunity to press the button. Another day for her to suffer, you think, and it hurts you inside.
You hear her cough from the next room, and perhaps unconsciously, your hand brushes against the stack of letters and bills on your desk.
It is not your strength that fills you, animates you, moves your hand to the button and pushes it down. It is hers.
A moment later, the footsteps begin.
They are easy enough to ignore at first, but as they grow louder and louder behind you, at last you feel you must look. You swivel in your chair and there he is, black suit and black gloves, something in his hand.
A horrible death, was it? You relax, feeling a smile come to your face as you know you did what you could. You were blameless. You shut your eyes and await the inevitable.
A moment passes, and then another. Finally, you open your eyes, and he is gone. You see nothing but a scrap of paper on the ground, and you reach down to pick it up. You read it.
Your bank in all caps. The word "receipt". $40,000, it says.
What feels like enough air to inflate a zeppelin escapes your lungs as you hoist the receipt and hold it up high, laughing and grinning, calling for her. You made the right decision. Everything will be alright.
You don't even notice the white powder on it. | I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random | 2016-07-16T17:25:16 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 1,781 | 12 |
[WP] You're pretty sure your crush's parents are the head family of a local mob. You decided it's worth the risk, and ask ur crush out anyways. Pretty early on in the date, you realize that they, not their parents, are the mastermind behind the mob's activities. | “Too much?” I looked into the mirror and adjusted my tie for the third time in the last ten seconds.
“Too much?” My father repeated surprised “The Bordenos don’t do too much. Whatever we do is just right.” He reached up and tried to adjust the tie. His hands shook vigorously, his actions only messing up my tie more.
“It’s not the Bordenos anymore dad, we’re the Whitmans.” He pulled on my shoulder turning me away from the mirror and towards himself. I could see the pain on his face.
“We’re always gonna be the Bordanos.” He held one of his sausage finger an inch away from my nose. The finger shook involuntarily.
“You packing?”
“Of course pop.” I pulled at the edge of my suit coat revealing the butt of the .38 I had been gifted by Chino for my 17th birthday only a few months ago. He furrowed his brow and lowered his hand.
“What the fuck happened to the .45 I gave you?”
“It’s a date dad I’m not knocking on the Fegatzi’s front door.”
“They run half of the city, and got the half of the cops in their pocket. Any door you knock on could be theirs.” Worry consumes his face. He held his hands up. They were still shaking uncontrollably as they always would. His left hand had no fingers left on it. “You can never be too careful.”
“I know pop.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. He placed his good hand on mine and patted it. The worry left his face and he managed a smile.
“She cute?” He winked.
“She’s a real sweetheart pop. Smart, witty and she has great taste in men.” I winked back at him turned towards the door.
“Don’t even think about walking out of this house without kissing your mother.” He shouted after me.
“Wouldn’t dream of it pop.” I turned into the kitchen. My mother was stirring the sauce that she’d been working on since this morning. “I’m taking off Ma.” She put her spoon down and turned.
“Be a gentleman Tony.” She embraced me in a hug. “You packing?”
“Jesus Ma, yeah I’m packing.”
“You better be praying if you’re gonna say his name in this house.” She released me and made the sign of the cross.
“Sorry ma, I’ve got the piece Chino gave me.” I tapped my chest where the gun was
“What happened to the .45 your father gave you.”
“Jesus ma, I-” A swift hand reached up and latched onto my earlobe. Pain surged through my head as she pulled me closer.
“What did I just say?”
“Ow, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She released my ear and pointed a finger at me.
“Behave yourself.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek and went back to her sauce.
“I will Ma.”
The brakes squealed a little when I pulled up to the house. I threw her in park and stepped out into the street. The house was huge, complete with a front gate, a Caddie in the driveway and a lawn that would make Calvin Coolidge jealous. I pulled the .38 snub nose revolver out of its holster and flipped the cylinder out, spun it and flipped it back into place. Pop always taught me to check my piece every time I get out of the car.
Returning it to its holster, I got out of the car and walked up to the front gate. A big golden ‘F’ smack in the middle of it. I pressed the little black button on the electronic box one time.
“Uh, I’m here to pick up Rachel.” I waited. Nothing. I pressed it again. “Hello?”
Again, nothing. A moment later the box began emitting a noise.
“If you wanna talk you gotta hold the button down kid.” Sound stopped coming from the box. I placed a finger on the button and held it.
“Thanks, uh, I’m here to pick up Rachel.” Silence
“Who are you?” The box asked.
“I’m Tony Whitman, I’m here to take Rachel out.”
“She’ll be out in a minute.” The box went silent.
“Alright then.” I said to myself. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette, tucking it into my lips. With the other hand I pulled out a match and struck it on the gate.
I was anxious. As I paced back and forth in front of the gate, I couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel. She was incredibly good looking and every guy in school was trying to go steady with her. What made me any different? I didn’t have money, and I’m a pretty swell guy, but I’m no movie star. I couldn’t mess this up, because I wouldn’t get another chance if I messed this up. I needed to get into that house. Don Fegasi had to die.
The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen came out of that mansion. It might as well have been a castle and she, a princess. The red dress that she wore extended to just below her knees, her hair in an updo and a small red wallet looking thing in her hands. Dark hair, clear skin and blue eyes that kicked my heart into overdrive.
The front gate opened, cutting the golden ‘F’ in half. She walked out of the gate and strait up to me and greeted me with an adoring smile.
“Mister Whitman.”
“Miss Fegatzi”
Continued in 10 mins
&#x200B; | Im sitting in the car with this guy. His mom is driving us to our date since both of us arent allowed to drive with other teens in the car. She’s wearing a black dress, as if she’s going to a funeral. He, however, has on a dark grey suit and a red tie. I’m wearing a light grey suit and I have a green tie with red slanted stripes, or maybe a red tie with green stripes.
Maybe ten minutes away, his mom speaks up, “You boys have fun okay? Be careful out there, especially you Dylan, my son can be a handful.”
Edward coughed, stopping his mom from going on any longer. He was holding my hand, our fingers entwined. He let go as we got out of the car at our location, a nice restaurant. His mom reminded us one last time to stay safe and then drove off to wherever she was going.
He linked his arm in mine and we walked into the restaurant. I didn’t expect the staff to take us seriously but Edward snapped and everything seemed to change. We were ushered to a private table near the back of the restaurant. He sat next to me and I looked at him.
His ginger hair looked almost pink with the soft blue light. His green eyes kept me stunned. His face was thin and ovular. I don’t remember either of us ordering but we got food at the table along with sparkling water. His slim fingers snapped again and two people were brought into the area by the staff. They both had black hair and were in suits. They would have been identical if not for the gender differences.
“Luca! Sofia! It’s so good to see the Morreti twins again!”
They were both in suits. They sat themselves down across from us.
“Who’s this?” The brother of the two, Luca, asked.
“This is my date. I figured you two would both come so might as well even out the numbers, yeah?” Edward answered with the confidence of someone who had studied the test answers.
Sofia spoke next, “Okay Eddie, what’s going on with you? What do you need from our Motha?”
“Need? I don’t need anything. I want something.”
“On with it then” The twins impatiently pushed for the information.
“I want the Casino.”
They looked to each other and one motioned to the other. Luca pulled out a flip phone and stepped out of the area. Sofia stayed to keep talking.
Waiters brought more food and drinks, for Luca and Sofia. Luca nodded to Edward.
I sat there dumbfounded by what was around me. Edward told them he was glad everything went smoothly and then they went to small talk. After we ate, the twins left.
“That went well. So Babe, are you up for desert?” | 2018-10-19T09:19:41 | 2018-10-19T08:14:23 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] Everytime someone has a 'blonde moment' they get a little blonder. Black hair is now a symbol of brilliance, and you've just invented hair dye.
These are all so good! This is my first submission to /r/WritingPrompts and I'm loving all your responses.
Thank you! | It turned the sheerest blonde hair into midnight black. Andrew tested it on himself - it didn't budge, not even when he deliberately muttered something mildly forgetful, that should have sent tendrils of blonde creeping back.
As he stared in the mirror, he knew what *could* happen if he were to market this widely. People would go rabid over this stuff. He could charge them ludicrous sums of money, and they'd still buy it. He could be a billionaire by the month's end. Few people had completely black hair, unless they chose to never say anything. It simply happened to everyone: you made a dumb comment, or forgot something obvious - and the blonde streaks appeared.
And then there were those born blonde.
Andrew turned from the mirror and approached the bedroom. Alison was still lying in the same spot, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Her hair was swept in careless blonde waves around her.
“It worked,” he said quietly, and put the bottle on the table.
She looked at it, and a spark of life entered her eyes. She'd watched him work on it for months, but had never really thought it would work. It was a sweet gesture - her boyfriend trying to work on a solution for the problem that had crippled her entire life. But it couldn't *really* work.
“It turns your hair…black?” she said, so softly he had to ask her to repeat herself.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Pitch black. Now, please, go dye it. And go to the interview. Please.”
Her face crumbled and she turned away from him. Like all born-blondes, she had never been given a chance. She’d fought her way through university, to prove she wasn't stupid. Some of her professors had cheered and patted themselves on the back for being progressive enough to allow a born-blonde in the classroom.
Pretending it mattered, that society was progressing beyond its prejudices. An empty gesture, in the end. No-one trusted that she could do the job, even with her degree. She was, quite simply, blonde. The brilliance Andrew saw every day, the edge of her humour and mind, didn’t matter. No-one’s hair turned black from moments of cleverness.
“Dye it,” he whispered. “Please. Just dye it, and go out. Try one more time, for me.”
She took a deep breath, and finally nodded. She heaved herself up and grabbed the bottle to disappear into the bathroom. He heard the sound of running water. When she emerged, her hair was a sleek and shiny black. She smiled tremulously at herself in the mirror, and ran her fingers through it.
“You should share it,” she said. “You should give it out to everyone. For free. Stop this from happening to anyone else."
He saw again the countless faces of those who jeered at his girlfriend on the street, who refused to listen to a word she said, just on principle. The people who nudged each other and stifled grins when she tried to make a point. The people who had allowed the self-assured, happy woman he'd fallen in love with to fade to this shadow of herself.
“I will,” he promised. “But once everyone has black hair, it won’t matter. I just want you to get a little revenge, first. I want you to go out there and listen as they beg you to work for them. Please - go kick ass now."
She tied her hair up, and he thought he saw a glimmer of her old self in the set of her mouth and eyes.
She turned to kiss him .
“Just be yourself, ok?” he said, and hugged her close.
--------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | The company grew so fast, we went from garage-business to multinational corporation basically overnight. Well, it was a few months, anyway. We're holding a press conference about the company's success. The room is jet-black; from the reporters to the board members, the MC keeping the crowd entertained to the wait staff who get discounts because of their ties to the company. It's not cheap stuff, you know. We are trying to increase the supply as fast as we can, but demand is so high that only the very rich and the very vain are willing to afford it. Television programs spend half their time wondering whether various young celebrities are "natural" or not.
Me? I'm down at the bar, away from the chaos and stress, where free drinks keep arriving from people with a thousandth my net worth, rocking brand new shoes and bleached white hair.
--
Edit: Wording fixes and paragraphs as recommended by /u/GoldenFyre. | 2016-11-24T20:48:56 | 2016-11-24T20:41:27 | 1,934 | 75 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States. | _We are not your enemies_
Commander Stafford stood in the middle of the septagram, candles at each point, gazing out into the suffocating darkness. Beyond the flame's glow, at the liminal point where night's cloak became candle's edge, movement slinked across the eye's perception such as to never reveal a conherent shape, giving only the impression of size... movement... speed. The imagined glitter of teeth was, she hoped, still imagination.
"You eat human flesh."
_And you eat cow flesh... sheep flesh... goat flesh... fish flesh. Are you monsters?_
She smiled slightly, her eyes passing cursorially over the lines of chalk that marked the boundaries of the safe-zone. Step over the line... and you were fair game.
Stafford's throat cleared, and the impression-of-size shifted slowly.
"Perhaps we are, to them. If they had rifles, perhaps they wouldn't be unjustified in shooting us. But they don't. And we do."
The shuffling stopped, abruptly. Stafford suspected they had not expected candour, and was quietly satisfied that she had gathered their attention. As her own commander had said back in training, "only children and hatchlings play with their food; if you don't make yourself interesting, they might decide to move you further up the menu".
The shadows withdrew, somehow deepening the already pitch-black into a newer kind of darkness, a darkness that was dark because of an absence of light... rather than because something vast, animal, and lethal was obscuring it.
_We are not monsters because we consume your dead._
"You are monsters because you murder. You are predators because you consume." She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise a little higher, the slick whispers dripping from the dark like the hissing of black vipers swimming through troglodyte rivers.
_We do not kill. We only consume._
Stafford felt her brain slip seductively into a higher gear as it began to parallel process.
"What do you mean by "you do not kill"? You mean... they were dead when you found them?"
_We are not predators._
_We do not take... we only pick up that which is discarded._
Her mind spun rapidly. So many victims of monster attacks were elderly or sick... they'd assumed for so long that it was because, like most predators, they went for the frailest who could not fight against it...
"What about the venom? We found venom, in the victims' blood. It looked like a paralytic when we tested it on mice."
The shuffling grew steadily more constant, as though many eyes were jostling for position to watch this human speak. Stafford flicked her gaze across the candles... they were almost burnt down. She had to hope the diplomatic accord would be respected.
_We do not eat mice. It would not give you a proper response. In humans... it takes the pain. Stills the tremours of passing. Relaxes the mind. _
_It is good for both; they leave in peace... and we don't get disturbed in our feeding._
Stafford flicked slowly through her notes. Survivors' reports, detailing feelings of peace and lethargy. They had assumed it was some kind of enthrallment, as in the old vampire legends... perhaps it was simply this narcotic venom.
"And the survivors?"
The whispering grew alarmingly; it sounded like she had struck a nerve.
_We are scavengers, not **thieves**. We take that which is not used... if they survive the night, then we return the next. And the next. Until they are finally ready for harvest._
She swallowed the sudden bile in her throat. She fought to remind herself that these were not humans, and she could not expect them to use human ethics, but it was still unpleasant to consider humans as 'harvest'.
But then... not all the victims had died entirely peacefully, had they?
"And what of the violent deaths? Some of the bodies we found did not appear to be ready to die naturally... are some of your number a little more proactive in your scavenging?"
She knew there was a challenging note in her tone. She was tense. The candles were beginning to flicker and grow lower. The dark shapes were slowly moving in.
The whispers appeared to hiss a little louder, as though laughing quietly at its own joke. Stafford felt an animal growl rise in the back of her throat. The whispering felt practically beside her ears now.
_We are not the only things that go bump in the night, Commander._
The candles guttered.
Sputtered.
Died. | And just like that, the lights were off. Off! For the first time in Mother B'ln KNEW how long, blessed darkness coated the land in her cool soothing embrace.
Our shaman's eyes rolled back in his head and his body convulsed as words poured from his mouth: communications with the other tribes across the land. A concentrated, organized effort, the first time in our history that the disparate Children had put their differences aside long enough to achieve a common goal.
The chief gave the signal, a piercing whistle, and all the gathered Children charged across the field towards the newly darkened power plant. We smashed heir doors, swarmed their halls, and their defenders fell before our claws with ease.
In the middle of the building we found T'rn, huddled and shaking. T'rn, our martyr, had hunched himself down to human size, covered himself in human garments, and braved the searing light long enough to destroy the foul machines and end the Eternal Day. He collapsed into our medicine woman's arms, body wracked with pain and covered in blistering burns from contact with the Light. T'rn would not make it: his injuries were too severe. But he and the other infiltrators across the land would be remembered by all Children as martyrs for the Night.
We howled in unison as T'rn passed to the Many Stars. Two Children were tasked with getting his body to safety, for burial with the highest honors. The Chief himself would sanctify the grave, and it would be deemed a Site of Pilgrimage.
We roared in triumph, and resumed the advance through the human's building. Rip, smash, shatter, break. End the machines, end ALL of them. Across the land the human's defenders fell and their machines of Light lay ruined. The Eternal Day was ended, and the Children would once more rule this land. | 2018-02-02T05:50:09 | 2018-02-02T05:18:06 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] You are a twenty something. You wake up to find yourself in your 8 year old body. You are in the time and at the place you were when you were 8, but with all the memories and mannerisms of your twenty something self. | Sarah awoke to a surprisingly nostalgic sound, it was the spice girls playing on the radio. Sun was streaming through the curtains and she could feel the light warming her as it hit the bed. She didn’t notice that it was hitting from the wrong direction this morning. The song ended and the announcer came back on, Sarah reluctantly rolled over to turn off the alarm.
She groped at the side table, searching through muscle memory, but her hand fell through air. Sarah opened her eyes, and was bolted upright. Where her mahogany bedside table usually stood, there was now a fluorescent pink plastic bucket chair, with what looked like an extremely hairy white pillow. Confused, Sarah looked around the room. It’s walls were pink and green, decorated with posters and pictures of the backstreet boys and spice girls. In the corner was a white dresser, whose top was covered in beanie babies. All across the floor were scattered toys and clothes.
There was a sense of familiarity to the room, but it wasn’t until the fluffy white pillow moved that Sarah made the connection. “Mr. Piddles!” Sarah squealed as she scooped up the, now awake, cat. He was heavier than she remembered, and much bigger too. This couldn’t be Mr. Piddles, Sarah thought, he died years ago. She carefully set the cat down and got out of bed, getting a better look around. This wasn’t just any room, this was her room- when she was 8!
Sarah inhaled deeply and held onto the small bed frame for support. She walked over to the mirror that hung above her small pink desk, hoping to snap herself out of it. But when she looked at her reflection she let out a high pitched scream.
“What the f*ck?!” She grabbed at her face, which was now tiny and pale, surrounded by light blonde hair that fell in soft ringlets. She was no longer herself, where was her long brown hair? She was… 8 years old again, all innocence and light.
It was then that her mother barged into her room, nightgown flowing, eyes wild. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Her head swiveled back and forth, looking for a threat. She was as beautiful as Sarah remembered. Chestnut hair that flowed like a smooth river down her back, eyes wide and green like leaves in spring.
“You looked half scared to death, what’s going on Sare-bear?”
“I don’t know! I woke up and suddenly I’m not me anymore, I’m 8 and back here. This isn’t my home. It has to be a dream.”
“Honey.. I think you’re letting your imagination get carried away again.” Her mother smiled at her gently and left her room. She could hear her softly padding to the kitchen to start breakfast.
How can this be? Sarah ruminated. The last thing she remembered was going to bed last night, bone tired. What had she been doing that day? The thought struck her like a ton of bricks. It was her mother’s funeral. Sarah let herself fall into the tiny wooden chair. This must be why she’s here, she remembers this day, it was christmas. One of her fondest memories with her mother.
Dream or not, she was determined to make the best out of this opportunity. She sprang up, surprising herself with her childlike energy almost tripping, and headed downstairs. The halls were brightly decorated for the season, with green garlands circling the bannisters, and fake snow lining the window sills. As she passed the living room she saw the magnificent christmas tree sitting center stage, covered in tinsel and ornaments. Presents littered the floor, wrapped in silver and red, stockings stuffed to the brim. But Sarah bypassed it all and headed for the kitchen, where she found her mother singing along to christmas music and making her famous blueberry pancakes.
Sarah smiled and joined her mother at the counter, adding more blueberries in the batter, and laughing at her mother’s tone deaf singing. She knew this wasn’t real, it was some kind of dream or hallucination brought on by her grief, but she didn’t care. It felt real, and she was grateful for one last, perfect, day with her mom. | Where the fuck am I? I mean seriously how much did I drink last night?
Okay this definitely isn't my bed. Man, I sure picked some weirdo to go home with last night. What adult has this many teddies and is that a toy box? Not a kinky toy box either a action man and lego kinda toy box.
I need some answers, nicotine, and a piss. Possibly not in that order.
That's not right. That is definitely not right! Last night I was definitely a well built, hairy ass, six foot man. So why the fuck am I now clean shaven with smooth skinny legs like a kid?
"Breakfast is readyyy."
She can give me answers but first that piss. Where's that God damn toilet in this house? God I feel considerably shorter.
"We'll be at the table when you're ready honey."
"Okkaayyy..."
Who is this amazonian, why is she wearing such a goofy smile, and why did she tussle my hair? Wait that's Mum. Ahhh the bathroom I can piss.
Wow he's shrunk! And the toilet may have grown. Fuck it that feels better either way.
Okay this is some weird shit, I don't remember taking acid but I have got to be tripping balls right now as I am looking at a fucking kid in the mirror.
Damn I need that cigarette. | 2016-12-17T04:01:24 | 2016-12-16T23:26:26 | 49 | 21 |
[WP] You are a 90s baby and it’s now 2053. One day, you decide to call the phone number that used to be your house phone. It rings and rings, you’re about to hang up on the next ring when someone picks up. It’s your own voice: “Hello?” | Drew gets home from his mom's funeral, still dazed from the sudden downturn in her health and losing her so, well, suddenly. She seemed to be getting better, the last couple years were probably better for them both than the previous few decades had been. They both thought she had finally beaten this disease up until about 2 weeks ago when it reared its ugly head again, worse than ever.
Lost in his thoughts, he goes through the motions getting ready for bed. He never married, he was an only child and felt like he had to take care of his mother after his dad passed just over 50 years ago. She was adamant that he live his own life despite her illnesses, she wanted everything for him, but he never settled down, never found the one. So now he sits on his empty bed, in his empty house, feeling lonlier than ever.
After sitting for what felt like hours, he decides he needs to hear her voice again. It's barely been 72 hours, but he feels like he'll go insane if he doesn't. She always lived in the same house, keeping the same landline phone and still updating her antique answering machine's message every year, despite Drew's attempts to get her to upgrade. He had to tolerate a lot of rigidity being raised by police officers but he has never been more grateful for his mother's stubbornness than in this moment.
He dials her number from memory and waits for the tone signaling the machine, but it stops after one ring. After some crackling, a young, familiar voice answers, sounding distant, as if speaking into the phone from across the room...
"-lo? Helllllo?... Brad, is that you? Dude, ya gotta stop with these dumb calls, especially this early, I told you I-"
"Wh-who is this?"
"What do you mean who is this? Who are you? You're the one who called me ya geezer..."
"Drew? Is this Andrew Yates?"
"Yeeeesss?.. Who are you and how do you know me? .... hello? This is gettin creepy.. either tell me what's goin on or I'm hangin-"
"No! No, don't hang up, I'm sorry, I just had to collect myself.. listen, I'm not quite sure what's going on but I think I can help us, I mean you, you and your mother, but first, can you tell me the date, month and year, too? I just need to check something.."
"Ya, it's Tuesday morning date iiiiisss September 11th, oh, year is 2001, since you specified that. Now if you don't wrap this up, my mom will kill us both for making her and me late."
"Holy shit! ... no... Drew, listen to me, please listen to me, you have to get mom to stay home, make her stop! I know how much you hate to throw up but make yourself do it and make her stay home with you! And if you can, make dad end his shift early, that part will be harder I know, but you have to try to get him home too!"
"What? Wait a minute, how do y-:
"That doesn't matter now! All that matters is that something horrible is going to happen today and you all need to be home, you need to be safe! You have to believe me, please bel-"
"What's going to happen? Hel- .. -o? Are y- .. I ca- .."
All Drew hears next is static followed by silence. He drops his phone to the floor and realizes he's started crying again, but he isn't sure for how long. He looks down at his phone and notices it looks like he never pressed the call button. It seems like he didn't press send after dialing the number.
He presses send, just to be sure, and after hearing her voice and leaving a simple "I love you" voicemail, he assumes he's had a mental break down and resolves to go to the clinic in the morning, and to make an appointment with his therapist.
Drew is awoken by hearing his phone ringing too much, too early. He sees there are 3 missed calls and barely has a second to notice his shower is running and that something is different about his room when the phone starts ringing again. Dumbstruck, he answers, "m-mom? Is it really y-"
"What the hell did you mean by that voicemail you left me last night?! You've had your father and me worried sick! Have you been drinking or smoking that nonsense again?! You know how we feel about ....."
He let's her rant and yell at him while wearing the biggest smile on his face, not knowing or caring what else has changed. | "What? Who is this" I said, holding onto a sharp apparatus on my left hand. The familiar voice felt all too familiar. My palms got sweaty and my heartbeat started to get louder.
"This is Adri. Who is *this*?" the voice replied.
I winced. It was so awkward hearing my own voice. It was as if somebody was scratching a chalkboard with 5 inch long finger nails. I shrugged the feeling off and started to focus.
*What is going on?*
"This is Adri too. I mean, I don't want to sound weird but would you believe me if I told you that I'm you?" My voice trailed off, mumbling a few incoherent lines. I was excited, yet hurt, knowing who this fellow was. What he was going through.
"Yeah..."
All of a sudden, the line got cut out. I was left with a constant ***beep-beep-beep-beep-bee***
I stood there, phone in hand, still trembling. *What in the actual fuck is going on? I didn't expect this at all.* I dialed the same numbers again using my occupied, yet functional hand like I did before. My other hand was trembling but still holding the telephone. After a few rings, the same voice picked up and we're back to the same page as before.
"Who is this, really?" the young voice declared, his voice a little bit shaky.
"Listen, I need to tell you something important. Whatever going on in that family I want you to know tha-!"
The phone line cut once more and I was left with the eternal silence of my empty apartment. Wispy, visible air fluttered from the half-open window into the empty home. The room was dark, with no lights on. The only light source projecting its essence was coming from the same window. I sat, with tears coming down my face. The droplets were so heavy this time that it fell directly on my pants, mixing with the already present blood... | 2018-11-15T20:56:34 | 2018-11-15T20:09:37 | 21 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | 2017-09-14T11:14:03 | 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 114 | 82 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be. | I walked silently through the deserted town, tracing my fingers along the side of a wall, feeling it crumble beneath my touch. Around me, trees withered and died, their leaves shifting from green to sickly yellow to deathly gray, before they collapsed to ash. I could feel the very air getting colder, the light caress of the wind on my face becoming sharp and frigid. I was certain that the sunlight falling on me was dimmer than before.
I turned around, gazing at the barren ruin my power had created. Behind me, the sidewalk was cracked and faded. I could see the disintegrating imprints my footsteps had left on the ground. I could see the dust drifting up around me as I stayed in one place for too long, giving my power too much of a grip on the environment. A few minutes more and the very ground would fragment into a thousand pieces. I sat down with a depressing finality, trying not to remember the horror of receiving my powers, of touching my friends and watching them age a thousand years in a few heartbeats, of staring numbly at my hands as people fled in a panic from me. I was a monster. There was no doubting that. My power was born of my dark subconsciousness, birthed from self-hatred and a desire to end it all.
The concrete at my feet split open, spiderweb fractures spreading outwards. I closed my eyes. My face was set in a smile as the crevice yawned open and I fell towards the darkness underneath. | 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T05:28:06 | 822 | 327 |
[WP] You're a direct descendant of Genghis Kahn. Your cubicle-mate has been a jerk all week. Your boss is making you work late again. Suddenly, you're gripped by the insatiable need to conquer Asia.
I leave up to you whether to take the prompt literally or as a metaphor.
EDIT: wow, these stories are so much fun to read! Sometimes in life you just need to cut loose and conquer Asia. . .
EDIT 2: does anyone else feel like today nothing is standing in your way? Just please don't pillage, rape or murder anyone on your way back from your lunch break!
EDIT 3: given the awesome response to this prompt, can we make an effort to replace Hitler with GK as the new default go to prompt subject? Blood thirsty Mongolian warlords are much more compelling than insecure petty German tyrants. | *Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Gulp.*
At that moment, there was nothing that Sean hated more than the sound of protein bars being eaten. The action itself was not exactly damning, and nor was the food for that matter, but the fact that it was Sebastian O'Toole who committed the crime made it unbearable. Every day, at precisely 9:30 a.m., Sebastian would leave his desk, obnoxiously bumping the cubicle wall that he shared with Sean in the process, and jog to the vending machine in the hallway on the far end of the room. The draft that followed him would blow papers and knock pencils off of desks and his trip always seemed to coincide with Nicki the secretary's daily efforts to refill the office copier. Today, she was forced to leap out of the way, dropping a stack of white 8.5x11s that weighed almost as much as she did. Sebastian took no notice, and continued to his vending machine, popped a few quarters in, and collected his power bar. Nicki the secretary was doing her best to pick up the papers in four inch heels and a tight skirt. Sebastian hurdled her without breaking stride. His perfectly fitted shoes with their orthopedic inserts to maximize ankle stability hit the carpet with a faint clop, like the beat of the hooves of a horse on a faraway plain.
Sean couldn't count how many times he had pointed out his rudeness to his coworker, threatening to report him to management. The bastard always laughed it off, saying "Oh, Seanie, you do love the rules don't you? Why don't you try breaking procedure just once, for me? 'Eh Ching?" Sean's last name was Johnson, and he wasn't fucking Chinese. The reports were filed, and management was always "on it immediately".
Eventually, Sean stopped confronting Sebastian, and simply let his loathing for the man simmer on a low heat, slowly building, but never reaching a boiling point. He regarded his adversary with a demeanor of stoic malcontent, each offence added to the man's list of heinous crimes. Unfortunately, Sebastian was not deterred by Sean's passive aggression, and took it upon himself to make conversation when ever he could.
"You ever go to the gym?" O'Toole asked, not waiting for an answer. "You would see so much improvement in your life if you exercised some more. I can make suggestions for a training regiment for you. Build up some real body mass, and cut down that gut of yours."
Sean hoped that by giving the man a straight answer he could end the conversation. "I swim four days a week before I come to work. Plus I walk my dog."
"Nah, that isn't enough. Swimming alone won't get you anywhere. You want to focus on a good mix of cardiovascular and anaerobic exercise, mostly comprised of compound motions in order to maximize your..."
Sean tuned him out, and focused on the PowerPoint he was preparing for a conference. He wasn't going to be working late on it tonight.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" O'Toole smacked the back of Sean's monitor, causing the flimsy screen to warp dangerously. "It's rude to ignore people Ching!" he said with a mixture of annoyance and disgust.
Sean returned the man's gaze with a lividly calm, "My last name is Johnson. Not Ching"
"Then why do you look Chinese?"
"I'm Mongolian. My mom was Mongolian and my dad was white. My mom's last name was Bagabandi."
"Baga-what?"
Sean, still composed, rose to his feet, his eyes locked with Sebastian's. "Bagabandi," he said, and clapped Sebastian in the temple with his keyboard.
The cross-fitter crumpled to the ground, clutching his ringing skull. Sean walked around the wall of the cubicle, his composure gone. He picked Sebastian up by his collar, and immediately threw him to the ground again, delivering a kick in the ribs for good measure. He grabbed a pair of ankle weights from Sebastian's desk. With one hand, Sean drew his victim to his feet, and shoved the weights down Sebastian's gullet.
The office watched in stupefied horror as Sean placed his patent leather shoe at the base of Sebastian's neck, and with the strength of ten men, ripped the man's head clean off. He let out a bloodcurdling battle cry, and hurled the decapitated head across the office. It bounced off of the coffee machine and rolled to the base of the water cooler, leaving a splattered trail of thick, purple gore in its wake.
Sean charged for the door, cutting a straight line across the office. Desks and flimsy cubicle sidings were no barrier for him; he leaped over them all. Several other office drones joined him in his charge, Nicki the secretary was one of them. A middle aged man with a beer belly picked up the decapitated head of Sebastian O'Toole and skewered it on the end of a meter stick. They charged past the elevators in favor of the stairs. As they moved down through the building, spreading the news of Sebastian O'Toole's demise, more joined their force. Their cries shook the foundations of the office building and set off car alarms in the street. Shirts were untucked, and toe-pinching shoes were left behind in the frenzy. As they reached the ground floor, and poured through the main entrance, trampling the security guards on their way out. As the horde reached the street, they scattered, chasing down the terrified civilians on their lunch breaks.
Sean stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Maybe Sebastian was right, he was out of shape. Sean looked to his right hand. Somehow, he had gotten his hands on a simitar, he wasn't sure where. He felt the edge of the blade. It wasn't very sharp. But it had a good weight in his hand. Sean swung the sword at a telephone pole, and buried it several inches deep. He placed his foot against the pole for leverage and yanked the blade out. It would have to do. For a moment, Sean Johnson felt a pang of fear that someone at the office would file a report on him. Ridiculous. He would never have a job after this stunt. So all that was left was what to do next.
On a whim, Sean turned to the East.
He had always wanted to visit Asia. | Gary doesn't even give me a fuckin' *"Thank you"* out of his grubby mouth. I've been working harder than ever, and this guy, the self-proclaimed "cool boss" can't even acknowledge that I've been busting ass all week.
And that passive-aggressive Peter who won't stop commenting about the things I do, wear, or eat, and how I do, wear, or eat those things.
"You know, Jared, I don't understand why people still wear white after Labor Day! It's unprofessional." he'd say to me, coincidentally right after I sat down wearing a new white shirt.
"You know, Jared, I hate when people when people eat apples without slicing them first. Plain sloppy, really." was another quip I heard, soon after I'd taken a McIntosh out of my lunch.
"You know, Jared, I hate when people just refuse to staple papers with the staple horizontal. It's the right way." he'd remark, right after I'd finished stapling a bunch of papers.
I am so fucking tired of Peter.
I am so fucking tired of Gary.
I am so fucking tired of *type-type-typing* on this loud, *loud* keyboard in this terrible, *terrible* office with my foolish, *foolish* coworker.
I hear a "You know, Jared..." from Peter's mouth, and I'm finished. *Finished.*
I feel myself standing up, legs rigid. I stand, and I throw the stapler to the ground.
"You know, Peter, I'm sick of you. I've heard every single thing you have to say to me. If you have a problem with me, fight me. If not, get out. Right now. This is my office. Everything in it is mine."
Peter sneers at me. The fucking prick. "You can't. You wouldn't. Put your shirt on, Jared."
I am having none of Peter today, though. "I can. I will. I'm not doing anything you say, Peter, so consider yourself fired. Right now."
"Oh, please." he says. Peter's backing up now, but pretends not to be afraid. I only need to push him a little more, and this place is mine.
I brandish the letter-opener, my best impromptu weapon. He's still not completely buying it. I just need to push him.
Down goes the letter-opener, and it rips through his shirt. I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't say a word, or your house is next. Go."
Peter stumbles out, legs wobbling.
This office is mine, so I oughta clean it up.
Shelly's papers go one way, George's go another. Letter opener right through Daniela's family photo. Mine, mine, mine.
Gary's office is another story, though. As I walk in, I shatter a window. I pillage, I destroy, I reclaim. My name doesn't go anywhere, but Gary's name is erased. His name plate is now covered in gold scratches. His name is nowhere to be found.
But now I gotta hit him where it hurts. His big, tall leather armchair. My trusty letter opener rips open the seat, and in goes a lit match (or two or three). I keep watch because I don't want the office to burn, but I want this arm chair unusable.
A few minutes later, the smoke is thick and the chair is smoldering. I douse the flames and leave all the doors I can find unlocked.
It looks wrong, yeah, but it feels justified for some reason.
| 2015-05-28T18:48:35 | 2015-05-28T17:47:47 | 842 | 22 |
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal. | We knew the orbital body, third from the stellar system core, was covered in great part by highly concentrated hydric acid solvent, and the atmosphere contained a remarkably high concentration of oxidizer in an highly toxic chemical soup of inert gases accompanied by solvent vapor and a surprisingly large percentage of valuable and usually quite rare chemical compounds. Rich resources to be sure, and extremely hazardous to extract and return to Hive, but we were confident we could devise a plan for extraction and exploitation. Equally surprisingly, the more common atmospheric elements such as found on almost every star satellite in the interstellar realms we've visited previously were shown by scan to be present in this unlikely place only in trace amounts. We cannot account for this anomalous planetary evolution. After all, the star is an unremarkable middle-life small stellar object, in the prime of its first reactive stage, and the other planets in its system are typical--either high-pressure gas like ours with similar biosystems, or bare rocky stellar ejecta like the vast majority of solid rocky/metallic orbital bodies in the explored universe. We saw nothing to contradict the theory that it's unusually large satellite helped it scavenge heavy stellar elements from the gas cloud from which this system grew, and the gravitational stresses caused by this tidally locked orbital pair has helped release elements usually forever locked beneath the surface of other worlds. These gravitational stresses also generate a powerful magnetic shield against stellar degradation and particle storm scouring. The surface of this atypical planet, despite being constantly exposed to oxidizer and solvent, endures by forming hydrated and oxidized compounds that can endure the constant destructive effects of exposure to these powerful destructive elements. A more forbidding environment can scarcely be imagined. Naturally, therefore, we expected this harsh world to be completely barren and desolate.
Imagine our astonishment when we stepped out of our vessel, relying on our pressure suits to give us a limited amount of protection against the extremely corrosive atmosphere, and immediately encountered life! Not life as we know it, of course, given the alien and hostile environment, but life nevertheless, uniquely adapted to the hostile conditions. Far from being immediately dissolved by the powerful solvents and oxidizers, the atmosphere and corrosive liquid has actually become part of a highly complex biochemistry system that manages somehow to survive--and even thrive--in these undeniably harsh conditions. These living entities are actually primarily composed of solvent- and oxidant-related chemical compounds and animated by highly reactive oxidation/reduction reactions. The fixed and drifting entities are powerful chemical factories, using stellar energy, oxidizer and solvent to react the heaviest stellar elements (normally quite rare but abundant on this orbital object) to synthesize even more rare compounds; and the mobile life forms are capable of very efficient energy utilization by ingesting and metabolizing or physically and chemically processing these minerals, elements, and compounds to create desired final objects, tools, and resources. Organic waste products have accumulated in the atmosphere and bodies of corrosive liquid over the ages, but life on this orb has adapted to use them as well in their physical and metabolic processes in surprisingly complex survival and competitive strategies, thereby achieving a rough equilibrium with their space and chemical resources that has proven remarkably resilient, as shown by the fossil record. A full report has been prepared for scientific analysis, and some very valuable and useful new chemical compound and physical object samples have been collected for further study.
The surface of the orbital body is nearly completely given over to a monofauna technology-based ecology. After studying them for some time, we have had to reconcile with another shocking conclusion: we've been forced to completely rethink the requirements for advanced life in the universe. These remarkable creatures are undeniably intelligent, in their own way. Despite the constant struggle just to remain in one piece in this hostile environment, and with no protection against instant corrosion but their remarkable chemical makeup, the apex lifeforms are apparently conscious, self-aware, and capable of advanced social interactions. In fact, some of us are convinced that they may have symbolic language, based on a preliminary analysis of the mobile creature's acoustic signatures and the immobile and drifting creatures' biochemical interplay. They are, however, remarkably destructive of their own kind, competing fiercely with each other for planetary and living resources that they use as food, for protective coverings, and as a source of chemicals and building materials. They've reached an equilibrium with their environmental resources, but only through constant struggle. Of course, considering the unlikely and deadly environment, that seems fitting.
We're not sure how much of this behavior is learned and how much is instinctual, but at great effort (and utilizing cooperative societies remarkably similar to Hive), they have created surprisingly durable structures and use complex tools and processes. For instance, they use reduction technology to create pure metals from oxidized compounds, and use those metals to construct sophisticated assemblies which they use in complex processes. They "farm" the immobile life forms and "herd" several species of the mobile creatures. They reclaim their own fossilized lifeforms, and using the wealth of reactive raw materials created by exposure to this unique environment they isolate or synthesize even more unusual and complex chemical compounds. These substances are used to create a technology that is quite effective--and equally bizarre. We expect that further study will help us comprehend and perhaps even exploit these discoveries in some as-yet inconceivable ways.
The land creatures have created habitations of surprising complexity and strength, and the protective and decorative surface coverings they manufacture serve to protect their bodies from hard objects, regulate heat transfer, and act as exoskeletons in their competitive struggles for resources and mates. Indeed, despite the forbidding conditions, the planet is teeming with life interacting in very complex ways.
We are marking this exoplanet as "protected" and recommend prudent management of its rich scientific and resource potential. While this planet offers highly valuable chemical and mineral resources, careful preservation of a representative sample of this biosystem for further research and study is to be a top priority as well.
I'll sign off this report by noting that we've reached out to the apex lifeform in greeting and begun preliminary communication attempts. For their part they have assembled a quite elaborate welcoming party featuring large metal mobile objects and ranks of highly decorated and elaborately equipped personnel. They've sent up some flares in response to our greeting plumes, and we | I looked at the bi-pedal hominids. They were surprisingly similar to humans, only they were exact copies of each other. They had no hair, but their facial features were about the same as ours. I then looked down at Dave and Karen, their bodies lying on the ground in awkward poses, like dolls strewn about by an angry child. Their life snatched away cleanly by the aliens weapons leaving behind bodies that looked as if they were only sleeping. I had yet to feel the sting of losing my two best friends. All I felt was a searing rage.
I tapped my .45 twice against the temple of the alien I held hostage to make sure the gesture was clear enough. While they had shot at my friends, I had rushed them and managed to grab one of them. They had either not expected any resistance at all and used no shielding of any sort, or it was just simply meant for more advanced stuff than my dads old colt. Whichever it was, I had managed to get close enough to grab him and here I was. Trapped in a mexican standoff with three aliens.
I grit my teeth long and hard before I spoke.
"I don't know if you lanky-ass grey fucks can understand me, but know that I will not hesitate to blow his head off."
Then I heard it. It was as if every voice I had ever heard spoke the same distorted message in my head, calmly but stuttering and lagging behind each other in a disturbing cacophony.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it *look* like I'm doing? I'm holding your asshole friend hostage."
It took them a little while to answer again.
"You will release him. You have no hope of survival if you do not. Drop your crude weapon and we promise that no harm will come to you."
"No."
"Our message is quite clear. We will end you, as we did your 'friends' if you do not comply."
"You don't get it, do you? I don't *care*." The aliens tensed up.
"You will drop your weapons or I swear, *by god*, I will take as many of you with me as I can."
The aliens looked at each other and I could feel the one I held started sweating. Then miraculously they placed their weapons at the ground. Fighting dirty was apparently not their forte. Being a human I was well-versed in such.
"Turn around" I barked, and they complied.
"Now relea-"
Before the one 'speaking' could finish his sentence I had shot him. He fell to the ground, and before the others managed to turn around I had shot them all but the one I was holding, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as they dropped.
"You said you would release me if we complied." he protested with in the calm tone of everyone I know.
"I lied." I said as I pushed him away from me.
"Tell your overlord or whatever that we do not fight honourably. We will bite down and we will bite down hard come the day of your invasion. Every man of this planet would rather blow himself and as many of your kind to pieces rather than succumb."
Terrified he ran for his ship, and I was left standing feeling a bitter taste in my mouth.
EDIT: Grammar. I have terrible grammar when I'm eating, apparently. | 2014-11-09T16:22:23 | 2014-11-09T15:19:52 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] you're a time traveller who can't control your powers and keep accidentally slipping through time. Thankfully, you have an immortal friend who keeps you up to date whenever you appear.
[deleted] | Under a near-starless sky, while digging into the dust of a dead Earth, the Scientist recalled both of her first meetings with the Undying One.
He had been waiting for her, the first time it happened. The Scientist had been disoriented in the occurrence — for a brief moment she had been filled with triumph, locked in that precisely-engineered experiment-chamber. Years of research had been vindicated, and the accolades she hungered for would soon be hers. She had only an instant to savour her elation though. A shrill electronic chirp was her only warning before she was catapulted pastward.
The metal roof above her melted into a midnight sky. The gently-humming walls encasing her were replaced with the gnarled branches of unfamiliar trees. The joy that coursed through her turned to dizziness and panic. She hadn't anticipated the miscalculation.
But he had, of course. He was standing exactly where she had told him to be, exactly when she had told him to be. She appeared in a blinding flash and he was at the ready to support her. He steadied her with his arms, wrapped her in a cloak, and invited her to lean on a nearby stump.
He grinned with a youthful joviality that matched most of his appearance — save for his eyes, which sparkled with the wisdom of eternity. "My old friend, I have waited so long to meet you."
That was the Scientist's first encounter with the Undying One, among the sycamores of classical Athens. But it wasn't his first encounter with her. That had been millennia past and leagues away, among the oases of ancient Mesopotamia.
He had been but a child then and was dying his first death. A conscripted orphan, he was one of a thousand nameless casualties in a war that would be forgotten by history. His blood couldn't pool in the granular sand — instead turning to scarlet mud — and he had already consigned himself to the gods when she found him. She wasn't so much older than, appearing among the desert dunes, then she had been her first time among the gnarled trees. But she was prepared — ages into the future, he had already told her what to expect on that day long ago in the past.
She readied him for his first resurrection and nursed him to full health in its shocking aftermath. She taught him what he was and of their long friendship yet to come. She told him of the centuries on the horizon and spoke of their next meeting: he would be a mercenary in the Kingdom of Israel far in the future and she would be younger than she was now.
Then the Scientist was gone in a burst of light. The Undying One wouldn't meet her again until he had lived three full lifetimes.
And so their lives intertwined through the ages, their encounters both unpredictable and completely foreseen. She never knew when she would arrive, but she knew he would be there. He might know when she'd be, from past encounters with her future-self, but he never knew who to expect emerging from the bright flash: a young woman, a warm matron, or a wise elder.
They lived while societies birthed and died. Sometimes as rivals, sometimes as lovers, sometimes as master-and-pupil, but always as friends. They soon grew bored of using their situation for material benefit. They built empires and they destroyed civilisations. They committed deeds of shocking cruelty and acts of great benevolence. They recorded tomes of knowledge only to burn them in their next lives.
But they knew that their time would come to an end one day. For, while he would outlive anyone and she could be anywhen, the Scientist was still beholden to her biological clock, outside-of-time it may be. One day she would die, be it in the era of Augustus, America, or Alpha Centauri. She was comforted knowing that the Undying One would be there.
It was thus with immense surprise and equal sorrow that she found his remains amid the ruins of the Earth. It was long after the lights of mankind had winked out and soon after the stars in the sky had dulled to glimmers. He had been the last of anything that could conceivably be called human, and thus, it seemed, his destiny had been fulfilled.
It was then, under a near-starless sky, that the Scientist dug the last grave into the dust of a dead Earth and thought of the Undying One. She was old then, and, as she wrapped him in rags, she realised there was little else she wished to see throughout time. As she piled dirt on his still form, she resolved that here, too, would be the end of her journey. As she silently mouthed a prayer to a million dead gods, she closed her eyes, prepared herself, and was grateful for the lives that she had lived.
But then there was a brilliant flash, and she was gone. | When I landed, it was a desert wasteland. Yet, as always, a familiar silhouette stood 10 feet away shaded under an umbrella.
"Time?" I asked. Already my mouth was drying under the intense heat, and I was squinting to find some sign of civilization.
"2198. You didn't know the exact date so I had to wait a bit here," drawled Sebastian. He didn't look like he was sweating, despite wearing a black suit and tie in the freaking desert. Perk of being an immortal with no biological functions. Nonetheless, he took out a canister and held it out as if he could read my mind. "Come on, it'll be easier to catch up at my bunker,". He motioned to look a little behind him, and lo and behold there was a set of stairs in the ground leading to a small door. It was so well hidden that you could fall in without meaning to.
Once we got properly settled (with another glass of water), Sebastian leaned forward eagerly. "So, what time is it for you?". I took a sip. "2015. Minnie just had her baby. I just got a new apartment, you know, the one in Baltimore. I was just finishing painting the walls when ZAP!" I motioned with my hands to indicate my time leap.
"Oh, that's great! I think you immediately jump into the past because I recall you wearing those same, stained overalls in 1704,"
"Any other hints about my jumps?" I ask teasingly. Sebastian smiled knowingly.
"You master it eventually. You give me the list at the end. No more I can say about that,". And like always, he pats his chest pocket where the supposed list of my time leap dates is. He never reveals any more than that, due to the cyclical time loop we're in. But I huff anyway in annoyance. "Feels like you're the time traveler here, with your future knowledge,"
"No, just have a really good friend. Promise we'll keep meeting like this?"
And as always, I say, "promise, to the end of time,". | 2021-08-22T00:00:48 | 2021-08-21T22:36:39 | 434 | 240 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day! | The landing craft hovered low to the ground of the dry valley before planting roots into the desert terrain. Gillaxigan shielded himself from the whirlwind of sand as he waited beside the stack of metal containers. He was alone, for the most part, and nervous.
"Holding steady, Gill?" asked a human voice over the transmitter. Its pitch was high and had sharper tones than Gillaxigan used, and the translation software even had a hard time adjusting it to a frequency he could perceive. But times were different now, desperate even, and he had grown accustomed to the tinny voice. It reminded him of the iron rains on Norona.
"Steady," Gillaxigan replied back, glancing back at the high ridge behind him.
The sandstorm abated as the engines powered down, and a ramp lowered from an opening in the hull. Three Backus, wearing their customary green leaf tunics, descended from the craft, moving quickly for having such stubby limbs. They were bulbous in shape, with short roots sprouting from underneath that grew and shrank as they moved.
"There's three, Skip."
"I see 'em," said the human. "I'm ready when you are."
The Backus spread out in a semi-circle, extending long tendrils that wove together to form a single thread. Then they spoke, all three as one.
"We have come for the freight."
"I have it here," Gillaxigan said, tapping a winged arm on the top container. "Just give us your payment and we'll be on our way."
"Payment?" said the Backus, who followed with a gritty laugh. "We did not expect to pay for this. We thought it was a gift."
"A gift?" Gillaxigan said, in feigned surprise. "No, this wasn't easy to obtain. It comes with a price."
"How about we let you live, and that will be your wage for your services." The Backus grew closer to Gillaxigan and sent branches out toward the crates.
"Not so fast. Did I not tell you about my partner, Skip?"
"Should we care?" Their branches sprouted serrated leaves which turned toward the abundant starlight. They spun like miniature chainsaws waiting to rip apart anything in their path.
"I think you will."
At that moment, the Backus laid eyes on something they had never seen before. A thin creature appeared in the sky, flying by jetpack towards them. It landed beside Gill and removed its helmet.
"A human?!?" they yelled and recoiled in fear. Their branches quickly withered and dropped to the loose sand, breaking their tendril connection.
"Hi guys!" Skip said with a wave.
"Please, no!" said one of the Backus.
"A disgrace to the universe!" said another.
"Makes me want to prune!" said the third.
"My partner here can gladly return to our ship, as long as you hold up your end of the bargain."
"Yes, of course!" said the middle Backu. "Take it, please."
A long limb extended out from the middle Backu, dropping a smaller crate beside the larger ones. Skip knelt down and opened it.
"All there, Gill," he said.
"Good, then we have our deal."
Skip and Gillaxigan started walking back toward the the ridge, leaving the metal crates behind. With a great push of his wings, Gillaxigan flew into the desert sky, followed closely behind by Skip, until they reached their ship, hidden along the high ridge. Settled in, they each cracked open their drink of preference. Skip with a cold beer, and Gillaxigan a bottle of liquid nitrogen. They watched the Backus fly out into the pale grey sky and to the stars beyond.
"I don't think I'll be eating a salad for a while," said Skip.
"Sounds disgusting altogether." Gillaxigan said. "Let's just take these Singularities back to Delta."
"And walk away with a nice vacation fund, right?"
"That's the plan."
"Let's just hope it works this time."
--------
/r/ReverendRamboWrites | Before the door was even opened ,the energy was so thick a static arc crackled as the handle touched his hand .
Slowly the large metal door glided along a well oiled track to reveal dim blue flickering lights and the smell of hot transformer oil filled the nostrils.
Stepping into the dim lit room became anxiously difficult as the arching sound of high voltage electrical currents could be heard as well as felt when the small hairs began to stand up along the exposed skin .
Stopping to peer alertly in the direction of where the operation fail safe switch was supposed to be located according the buildings blue prints that now were clenched in the other fisted hand .
Enclosed head to toe in Arcflash gear ,the Fight or Flight instinct was caged inside a vault of training yet raged to be released.
27 steps from the door to the fail safe stop switch. 5 min of oxygen, low light and slick oil soaked floor with live circuits and no source outside the space to stop the power from finding the shortest path to ground.
No JSA ever covered this.thw Job saftey analysis form is useless and when I find out what electrical engineer put that fail safe inside the room ,I am probbly going to need bail money . | 2020-03-05T19:03:33 | 2020-03-05T17:47:27 | 170 | 20 |
[WP] Santa has too much eggnog one night and decides that instead of giving the naughty children coal, he is just going to fight all of them. | On December 25, 2016, some parents awoke with the sun coming through their windows instead of little children bouncing all over the bed. *Was it possible?* they wondered. *Had their children really slept in on* **Christmas** *of all days?* Across the world, mothers and fathers rose from their beds and put on their slippers. They passed the decorated evergreen in their living room and entered their children's bedrooms, only to find them empty. And though the parents cried and wailed and moaned for their loss, deep down in their hearts there was just the slightest bit of relief. Because the only children who had disappeared were the truly *naughty* children.
---
Elves with bull whips shepherded the children through the dimly-lit hallway carved through slick ice. Every time one of the little boys or girls whined or tried to question where they were going, they were answered with a resounding *crack* with the whip licking the air right in front of their faces. The elves, who toiled day-in and day-out to reward the good little boys and girls around the world, were more than happy to mete out justice to the naughty as well. Particularly the elves who had been assigned to the coal mines.
The teeming mass of children arrived in a gigantic underground room. The ones who’d been spoiled rotten sat down and wailed until their cheeks were red, but no one came to scoop them up and try to stop their crying. Those who were cruel and vicious tried to destroy the walls of the great arena, but they had nothing that would even scratch the ice. Still more tried to bully and humiliate their peers, dividing some of the naughty into strata of naughtiness in a Darwinian display. In only an hour of waiting, all of the children proved why they had been brought there in the first place.
A spotlight snapped on at the far end of the arena, where the shadows were darkest. Santa Claus stood looking just like they’d always imagined. He wore a thick red coat, and a bushy white beard trailed down to his enormous belly. Some of the children gasped, thinking that their savior had come. But then they saw the look in his eye.
“For a thousand years,” he growled, words slurring just a bit. A closer inspection would have revealed eggnog spilled across his collar and soaked into his beard. The children were too young to really understand “drunk,” though a few of them certainly saw reflections of their own fathers in Saint Nick. “I’ve gone ‘round the world carrying a whole sack full of coal for you brats!” His whole body shook as he belched. “Do you have any idea how *heavy* that shit is?”
More children began to cry. They couldn’t understand why *Santa* of all people was yelling at them the way that their parents and teachers often did.
“Cut that out!” he barked. A few of them actually did. “Well today, we’re gonna settle this! Once and for all.” He raised his fists. “’Ere’s the deal. You all manage to take me down, and I'll bring you back home. And you get all the toys you want. ” The elves in the audience all exchanged looks; when Santa had told *them* about this impromptu battle royale, he hadn’t mentioned that part. And they were the ones who'd have to slave away in the workshop to fulfill that promise. “But if *I* win, then I ain’t never bringing you *nothing* ever again!” He was slurring more and more as he went on, and swayed gently from side to side.
The children all hesitated, but Santa didn’t. He stomped into the crowd with his big black boots and aimed a kick at little Tom Lewis from Modesto, CA. Unfortunately Santa's aim wasn’t so great in his intoxicated state, and he didn’t even come close. Instead, he ended up losing his balance and falling on his back.
The arena was silent. The elves had all assumed that Santa had an actual *plan* here and would use his magic. Mrs. Claus was just shaking her head and enjoying a tall glass of eggnog herself. But the children didn’t know how to react. That is, until Barry Deveret of Bushwick, Indiana stood up and shouted “GET HIM!” A moment later, Santa was buried under a hail of punches and kicks and bites.
Mrs. Claus just laughed as a cry for help managed to escape from under the dogpile of children. “Told you this would happen, you big fat-ass!” she cackled.
| "C'mon," Santa slurred, and dragged little Bobby Nussman out of bed. "Put up yer dukes! Put up yer dukes! Ya little brat!"
"Santa?" Bobby said, and blinked. The old man's belly was swaying like a punching bag, the fur tunic come unbuttoned and his white wifebeater peeking through. The big brass buckle of his belt was undone. "You wanna fight!" Bobby shrieked, and kicked out, his bare feet bouncing off Santa's fat.
"You know what yer doing to your mother!" Santa bellowed, his breath heavy with booze, and cuffed Bobby on the side of the head, sending him sprawling on the floor. Bobby scraped his face across the floorboards and tasted blood. "Ya little brat! Ya selfish little brat! All tucked up tight on Christmas Eve like yer still expectin' something from ol' Santy!" His cheeks jiggled, his face was flushed red. "No one deserves anything, kid," Santa panted. He grabbed Bobby by the hair. "But boy oh boy, ya sure do deserve this."
Bobby screamed and spat and fought like a wildcat, fingers clawing at Santa's beard and closing down on it and pulling it loose. Santa flung him down and towered above him, belly blocking out what little light there was. Bobby's eyes narrowed, staring up at the newly clean shaven face, and he set his little teeth in his jaw. His hands tightened into fists. "I didn't believe in Santa anyway!" he spat.
"Oh boy," said Santa, rolling up his sleeves. He slid off his belt and wound the big brass buckle in front of his knuckles. "Oh boy oh boy. Ya thought ya were gonna get coal, huh? Oh boy. Yer gonna see just how right your old man was." | 2016-10-13T07:39:02 | 2016-10-13T07:27:21 | 58 | 14 |
[WP] You are suddenly transported 3000 years in to the past. A voice above speaks to you and says 'You are now immortal.. Enjoy' | I stared confusedly up at the blue sky above me, a canopy of trees failing to shield me from the oppressive heat, my balls already starting to sweat. "What?" I said, turning around dumbfounded as I wondered if I would ever feel air conditioning again. The majestic voice boomed again, "I said-" Somehow managing to cut off the omnipresent voice with the wave of my hand I continued my mounting verbal rampage, "No, I can understand English, what the fuck man?! Why? What did I do to you? Who are you? God? You mad I accused your son of not being able to walk off being crucified than stabbed in the gut? Then maybe insinuating he was basically a zombie? What do I have to actually watch it now? I've read the old testament. Nigga, I know you're petty but damn-"
The loud voice boomed again. "We have no idea what you are talking about. We are a group of primitive species right activist from the planet YUGhhuihUIHnjhuh*burp*dnsis XI of sector two hundred and twenty six of the Gorbaran Empire. We go from planet to planet giving underdeveloped worlds a chance to be better than they once were. We grant immortality to a number of the planet's inhabitants and transport them to the past so they might shape the growing world for the better."
I stared blankly about four yards away at a bug the size of my fist and a shuttered involuntarily, still seething like a mother fucker.
"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard, and that's impressive, the president of-" The voice which had seemed to take on the tone of someone who was very obviously miffed, spoke again.
"You are not pleased with our gift? We have given you the chance to-"
I waved my hands around in the air angrily, "The chance to what?! Get lynched? I am a black man and you sent me, what!? You said three thousand years in the past? Jesus fucking Christ man I better be invulnerable too or I am going to have a hard fucking go of it. Send me back you invisible bastards, I still haven't finished Naruto."
"We can not do that. Once the process has been completed it is irreversible. You will learn with time to appreciate the gift we have bestowed upon your primitive people. Farewell human. Perhaps you will thank us in the future."
My heart started beating out of my chest at that point, I mean shit... I didn't know how to survive in the wilderness. I barely even cooked, I had been eating waffles and hot pockets for the last three days. I had always planned on youtubing how to clean and gut fish and what not, but I always found myself clicking some random shit and never getting to it.
I tried to steady myself, only now did the ramifications of my situation start to sink in.
"Aye, you guys still there? Anyone? I want to go home please. Aye!" Nothing. They had sent me to the past and left me. I was pissed. So, after a few minutes of waiting... realizing they weren't coming back and I was going to have to live forever... I started to lose my shit, right then and there. My mind just started to break you know? Then a big ass cat started growling from the distance and I snapped out of it... running while pissing myself."
The technician stared at me with wide, almost nervous eyes. His mouth opening then quavering a bit. "Sir? Should I power up the weapon?" I sighed disappointingly at the scrawny kid.
"Yes, center the weapon towards YUGhhuihUIHnjhuh*burp*dnsis XI of sector two hundred and twenty six of the Gorbaran Empire."
And he did, turning the key in sync with myself after pressing a few red buttons, and after a moment while sitting in my command chair of the continent sized ship *The Naruto*, I watched as YUGhhuihUIHnjhuh*burp*dnsis XI of sector two hundred and twenty six of the Gorbaran Empire exploded in a bright red flash.
I nodded sagely, pleased that countless centuries of planning had finally paid off, I had finally achieved my 700th major goal in life despite it being the first one I had ever intended to achieve, and I had given them exactly what they had wanted.
The bridge of the ship looked at me expectantly, my second in command speaking up as the spectacle still unfolded before us.
"It looks like *The Thank You* has performed beyond expectations,sir."
| I look around the room with wild eyes. Everything is hazy... I, I don't know where I am...
I hug my knees and I shiver and tremble, my face stained with tears I can't remember shedding, my breath frail and shaky.
It's cold. It's so cold...
The fog makes it difficult to see. I can barely make out the world I used to know. I can no longer hear the songs I once wrote, or the words I once preached. I am a blind man, denied of my senses and stripped of the alacrity and the fervour that defined me so long ago.
My destiny is unavoidable. Time's arrow is straight, and it is sharp. It cuts me to the bone, and it shapes my past, shackles me to my future.
This is my duty. My legacy. The punishment I must suffer, and the weight I must bare.
It has been centuries, and the curse of immortality has taken its toll on my calloused soul. I have seen everything this world has to offer; I have known the elegant simplicity of a flower blossoming in the sweet innocence of spring, and I have known the harsh reality of the winter that must follow. I have known the beauty and the love of which Man is so very capable, and I have suffered the heartache of His follies.
I am no God. I am but His shepherd. Tasked with a mission too painful, too great, for my splintered heart to carry on its own.
I have died for your sins, but I cannot rest. I have been deified by millions, but I am not worthy. I am not deserving.
I have been wrenched from the heavens and tethered by the very people to whom I gave wings to fly.
Everyone must die. Everyone, but me. Death makes angels of us all. Everyone, but me...
(I welcome feedback!)
| 2018-01-16T05:07:40 | 2018-01-16T03:07:00 | 28 | 12 |
[WP]When you die you find out heaven is real. Well actually all versions of heaven are real and you apply for them like colleges, you get denial letters and can transfer. You may not get into Catholic heaven, Mormon heaven, or Muslim heaven, but you may be a shoe in for Valhalla.
Friends and I were talking about this last night and thought it would be an interesting afterlife. | "What if no one accepts me?" I asked anxiously.
"Well... there's always reincarnation."
**
I'm a little fuzzy on the details of my untimely demise. My adviser, Dr. Marshall, says that souls too close to their death retain too many characteristics of their human lives--like a tendency toward PTSD when reliving traumatic events, or depression as they remember the faces of their loved ones as they die. They try to gently dissuade us from pushing the issue, asking too many questions, or Googling ourselves.
Okay, it's not really Googling, but there's apparently a repository somewhere. I'm fuzzy on that too.
I’ve spent most of our meetings so far looking vaguely overwhelmed and sad. I shuffle through lunch, dinner, activity time, and the least happy happy hour I've ever seen in my life like a confused, depressed zombie who doesn't even want brains. Who would have known the afterlife was so miserable? Catholics, that's who. I should have paid more attention to purgatory.
Dr. Marshall had a neat, medium-cropped beard. Not handsome movie star stubble, not ZZ Top. He wore beige shirts and chocolate ties and a blazer hung on a peg behind his desk. The couch beneath my thighs was leather and squeaked when I moved. He looked like every college professor I've ever imagined, even though my professors were handsome Venezuelans with questionable definitions of monogamy or 45 year old former goths with Manic Panic bangs. You know what? No, he looked like Toby from The West Wing.
Dr. Marshall (Toby) did not look amused when I (finally) made eye contact.
"You haven't applied."
"I have not applied."
"You've been here for a month, Alexis."
"I have an anxiety disorder."
"We've discussed that. You need to start your process, Alex. You need to Move On."
I inhaled sharply and dropped my eyes to his nameplate.
"You know, you probably shouldn't just tell people that they can be turned away from... from the Hereafter. Did I tell you where I went to college? I went to--"
"--community college until they asked you to leave and forced you into a matriculation agreement with a university because you were too afraid to apply directly after high school."
"I wasn't afraid. I was anxious. I worry."
"You had a 4.0, Alex. That's not worry, that's..." Dr. Marshall sighed. He sighed a lot in our meetings. Gently, he pushed the manila folder that I had been steadfastly and pointedly ignoring closer to my edge of his desk. "You have plenty of options. I hear there's a really lovely lake in Baptist Heaven. You have to fish with two or more of them, but it's a nice place. You should look at the brochure."
The folder was two inches thick in the center. I could see the folded pamphlets inside like a coiled Gaboon viper under a pile of leaves, ready to strike. I inhaled again--snakes made me, you guessed it, anxious.
"But I'll never see my parents. I'll never see my friends or my dogs or my grandparents or anyone because they all have to pick. They all pick and I don't know where they are and I don't know if I'll be alone and I can't, I can't stay there forever without my brother or Jamie or--" I broke off, my hands shaking hard. I stuffed them under my thighs and didn't wince at the embarrassing leather fart noise that always made me cringe.
"I can't go without them. I'm just.. I'll just stay. I'll wait. We'll go together."
Say what you will about Dr. Marshall and his dull brown afterlife of counseling mentally-ill Humanities majors, but his coffee eyes softened with pity. It made the shaking worse. I didn't want to cry, not again.
"You can't stay. We went over this. I know it's hard, but it's really not... you'll be okay. Wherever you end up, it will be okay."
Wherever you end up.
**
{I want to develop this further, but this is all I could knock out during a work break.} | *YAWWN* As Michael sat up from his slumber, back aching and eyes groggy. He slowly turns his torso left, slowly increasing in pressure, turning and turning, *POP*.
"Where.. What?" As Michael looked up at his surroundings, there was nothing but a grey haze all around him. He couldn't tell the sky from the floor as the horizon just blended together. He looked to his right and saw a small black ikea desk with a little chrome book on with the words "Hello" on the screen.
Michael sat down and pressed enter. "You have mail!" the computer shouted. As he scrolled through the emails, he found emails from God, Jesus, Allah, Vishnu, Doge, Zeus etc. saying sorry, maybe in another life. As he read the final email, he noticed a notification in the spam box.
Odin
*"Congratulations Lad!*
*You've been accepted to VALHALLA! The best heaven in the COSMOS! With your expertise and experience, you would make a perfect fit within our bond of brothers.*
*To go directly to VALHALLA, Click Here!!"*
"Hmm" Michael pondered to himself.
"I do like fighting... And I guess training to battle Fenrir with Odin would be kind of cool"
Mr. Vick clicked and was instantly transported.
The end. | 2016-07-22T15:26:19 | 2016-07-22T13:16:17 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later. | ...PENTAGON 0600 HOURS
"Sir, we're getting reports that the domestic assets are closing in on their designated LZ." The Petty Officer squirmed with nervousness; a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
The General muttered something under his breath before addressing the man. "That's what we are calling them now, eh son? Assets? We still don't even know what these boys want. Keep the drones on 'em and report back with anything new."
"Sir!" The young man turned his attention to the door and left The General with his staff.
...SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE SYRIA 0700
The old container ship creaked loudly as they crept towards their destination. The icy water was still dripping from the squall a couple hours back. The tension among these men was becoming tangible.
"Aye cuz, when the fuck we touchin' down? Lookin like some sardine ass niggas..."
A man sitting close by shot a sideways glance towards him, "Yo shut the fuck up, Blacc. Just make sho yo muthafuckin glock set to kill, nigga."
Blacc stood up trying to gain his sea-legs and not fall on his face. "whatchyew think i'm some kinda rook, Blood?!" He cocked his pistol and flexed his neck from side to side in an obvious attempt to intimidate the man. Others were standing now, the shouts from the men were booming around the hull with overwhelming intensity. The two soon-to-be combatants stepped toward each other. A door from above the men crashed open creating a deafening silence over the crowd.
"GENTLEMEN! Can someone be so kind as to explain what the fuck is going on down here?!" Nobody moved an inch. Barely anyone even dared to look at his face. They sat there staring at the ground like children being scolded by a parent. "I'm growing impatient, boys!" everyone in the room simultaneously stepped back from the two assailants. "Blacc? There a problem?"
Blacc's voice quivered, "Well, Deuce, you see what had happened was, I was all like, 'they betta have a gyro joint at the dock cuz imabout to buy this nigga here a sandwich soon as we get out this muthafucka. And if they don't gimme one fo 'em ima use my gun like this' and i was just showin how i was gone use my gun thas all deuce, you know..." Blacc's eyes darted back and forth trying to gauge Deuce's reaction.
"Blacc", Deuce said calmly.
"What up O.G. Triple O.G.", Blacc said eagerly trying to be respectful.
"Shut the fuck up." Deuce turned to address the rest of the men. "Gentlemen, we are here for something greater than petty differences! The same petty differences that has taken the lives of both Bloods and Crips, young and old, are no more! The fat cats in DC mock us as we make history!" The men began cheering beore Deuce waved his hands to calm them. "They drool at the bit, hoping we will do their dirty work for them! Soon they wiil realize why we are here. The pilgrims of our new promise land. Our Wild Wild West!"
Blacc raised his hand and spoke up, "Ain't we in we East tho, Deuce?"
A thunderous crack rang through the crowd. Deuce shot Blacc, the barrel of his stainless steel .44 Magnum was still smoking. "It's a fuckin analogy", Deuce muttered under his breath. "Now, where was I?...Oh yes, Our Promised Land! Now let's show these towel wearin muthafuckas how we get down! May my stainless Fo'Fo' make sure all they kids don't grow!" The men erupted! Deuce motioned to the bow of the container ship and the men rushed forth, weapons in hand.
Edit: formatting, words, political correctness, listed military heirarchy, parts of boats. Thanks this was fun! | It was one day after setting sail. The charted Carnival Freedom was 300 nautical miles off the east coast of the United States. With over 5000 nautical miles to go until our heroes reach the shore of the Syrian port town of Latakia, terror began to unfold.
“Boss! We’ve run out of our entire supply of coconut shrimp” proclaimed David Davies, a first year kitchen intern at Carnival Corporation.
“Dear God, David. Are you sure? Have you checked the freezer on deck two?” responded head chef Bruno D’Bruno. Bruno is an ex-Italian architect who quit his job to live out his dream of cooking for thousands, albeit he was hoping for a more upscale establishment such as the three Michelin starred La Pergola in Rome.
“No Chef…Mr. Markus and the Green Street Gizmos have captured all of deck two. I even tried to use the staff entrance from below, but they have also cordoned off all staff quarters in the aft of the ship.”
The second day of the voyage was off to a horrible start. Although the Bloods and Crips have miraculously put their differences aside, there were still kinks to work out in the relationship. More concerning was how the new combined force, now known as the Croods, have decided to make the staff on the ship their primary enemy until they reached Syria.
| 2015-12-07T09:29:24 | 2015-12-07T08:46:53 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you! | Odds, ends, personal memorabilia - nothing significant, and everything significant, all at once. These were the contents of the capsule, when it was sent so many years ago. I always wanted to have been one of those who got to put something in it, but by the time I heard about it, registration had ceased - and most people who registered didn't even get to put something in it. I followed the articles that were posted about it - pictures of the capsule, the thoughts behind doing it, and whatnot. I was really into it at the time. That was a long time ago, now.
In any case, it seems the capsule has been received. After thirty-three years in space, it has been returned to us. All kinds of alarms were raised when the vessel first appeared. No one had any idea what it was. A UFO indeed, zipping around the planet at incredible speeds, a brilliant light show that deftly evaded any attempts at intercept. It was all over the 'net, with sightings, theories, news reports, and government advisories. After three days of this behavior, it simply dropped down peaceably in the suburbs of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
That is to say, in my backyard. Literally.
I was pondering whether I should start a garden, and this thing just zips in, unceremoniously plops something large in the yard, and zips straight up into the air.
The capsule. The capsule I'd missed my chance to be involved with so many years ago, when I was young and excitable. Now, suddenly, I was seized by an exuberance that made me laugh out loud.
I approached the thing, no thought of danger in my head. It was just like I'd seen in all the pictures. Surprisingly, though, as I approached, a smallish panel on the side opened up, revealing a compartment about a cubic foot in size.
I leaned over, looking in. It contained..
..a piece of paper.
Baffled, I reached in and picked it up and read it, first with confusion, then with mounting horror.
"Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
I stood dumbly for a moment, and the there was a *click, hissssss* from the capsule. I felt mist on my face, and realized the capsule was the source. The hissing sound was growing louder, and the capsule was creating an in increasingly large amount of mist.
Belatedly, I stepped back, a numb sinking feeling in my stomach that was slowly becoming horror.
No! I had to do something! Why hadn't I listened to the government advisories I'd been seeing the last few days ever since they realized it was of unknown origin? I.. I could call the police!
I was stammering to emergency services, trying to explain the situation, but vehicles were already pulling up outside my house.
Over the next few months, it became clear that the aliens had introduced a new virus to our planet. It was theorized that one of the items in the original capsule had been contaminated with some strain of the flu, or some other virus that, though not too probably it's for us, process deadly for their species.
..and now their retribution was at hand. It seems they had taken that virus, modified it, and sent it back to us. It has a long incubation period of two months, and during most of that it is intensely contagious. Before we really realized what was happening, nearly the entire population was infected.
And when the incubation period ends, the symptoms begin to set in. It begins with intense headaches, proceeds to a mild fever. After that, the headaches and fever pass, but there's a week of increased need to urinate.
The obvious course of action was what was first recommended - stay home and drink lots of water.
And it worked. There were, however, a few deaths. They were typically dehydration related, and mostly occurred in those with preexisting conditions.
In the end, it appears that these aliens, whomever they were, had a poor understanding of our physiology and immune responses. | During the Cold War the US and the USSR devised manners of death with increasing absurdity. The Cold War was an excuse that rich nationals, of each country respectively, used to sell “super weapons” to the government.
During the space race the US was preparing for a confrontation on the moon. They wanted a weapon which could clear a room. They devised a delivery mechanism for the worst man could offer. The device looked similar to a WW2 flamethrower.
“I’m returning the favor” utters the alien as he screws in a tank of “Bad Idea Beans” into the device. As a brown mist is streamed onto the faces of several soldiers, they prepare for the worst.
“ Wait a second, that ain’t no weapon. That’s just a bad case of ass juice” says Private Smith.
The alien looks stunned. This has devastated his home world, yet it didn’t harm the humans.
“I shall have my revenge”, the alien yells. The alien then switches the canister for “Beer Breath”
As the new mist is sprayed, the soldiers laugh
“Is that all you got you space man? I make worse smells every morning on the commode!”
The alien tries everything he can think of: “Armpit Odor”, “Three Week Old Undies”, and “Gym socks”, but no death. Only laughter.
“What is wrong with your species? How can you survive these attacks!?”
“Well space man, why don’t we tell you over some beer”... | 2020-04-13T16:05:53 | 2020-04-13T15:38:35 | 76 | 48 |
[WP] When humans finaly get to space and encounter galactic council, they discover that no, they are not the most adaptable or the fastest in research. What they have is an insanely long lifespan, compared to aliens that live only days or months... | “So there we were, twenty jump cycles out from the Kappa Relay, and we find this ship. Not ours, not broadcasting any colonial ID, doesn’t even look like anything we’ve seen before. Sure, Billy said it was aliens, but how many times has aliens turned out to be another fringe element who decided to leave Earth for their promised land, right?”
I took a sip from my glass before continuing.
“Anyway, so this ship is coasting right? Like just flying through space letting gravity do its thing. We come in close, and that seems to wake it up. Automatic collision avoidance, basic stuff, it just adjusted course so we wouldn’t hit it. Easy to see now, with hindsight, but we thought it was making ready to run, so we fire up the boarding ram and send over a party.”
I paused to sip again, eying the crowd that had gathered around me.
“I was on point, came out through a wall, gun ready, looking for targets. Place is deserted, but there’s alarms going off. Not a surprise, we just punched a hole in the hull, poor ship thinks it just hit a rock or something. We spread out, keeping suits sealed because the air readings ain’t that pretty. And by that I mean that a few mils of glass is all that’s between us and having our lungs burnt out from the inside.”
I stopped again, leaning in to the crowd.
“Three chambers over, we found them, the Zikanti, or something like that. You ever tried anglicising alien before? So anyway, they’re starting to wake up from cryo, and we’re pretty freaked now. I mean real live aliens. And we punched a hole in their ship. We bugged outta there pretty quick, excuse the pun. Backed the ram off, sprayed some fix gel over the hole as a ‘sorry’ and jumped the heck back to Candar.”
My glass was empty, so I signalled for another.
“Fast forward four years. That Zikanti ship arrives at Hydra 9. Maybe it’s Zikandi? Anyway, they make first contact properly with the waystation, it isn’t the first time they’ve run into aliens before, luckily. Even more luckily, they aren’t too worried about the whole ramming thing. Apparently with everyone running cryo ships, accidental boarding actions are pretty common.”
I took a long draught from my new glass.
“So we get ‘volunteered’ by command to go be part of the delegation. They want us to apologise in person. No big deal I guess, I mean we did break their ship a little, and they aren’t pissed, so it’s the least we can do. So we head on over to the rendezvous, meet up, make our apologies. They show us round their ship, say they appreciate us spraying the hole when we left, it saved them a whole bunch of effort getting things repressurised. They seem pretty chummy all things considered.”
I leaned as far forwards as I could, the crowd clearly hanging on my every word.
“We take them round our ship in return, they seem pretty impressed. I mean, it’s clear they think it’s a little primitive, but compared to their ship it was. But they were real nice about it, didn’t put us down at all. Then as we’re finishing up, the one bug asked where the cryo pods were. So I shrug, say we don’t use them. So long as we put into port every four to five years to avoid space sickness, we’re fine with taking the slow road. I mean even the longest jumps out there are only what, a month in nullspace?”
I paused.
“You should have seen the look on his face. He checked his translator twice before double-checking I’d said it right. Turns out the bugs only live four years, and they were the longest living species in their council of aliens. I think he nearly passed out when I told him I was thirty-six. I decided not to mention that the average lifespan on Earth back then was pushing a hundred and ten. I heard from a friend that *that* little revelation went down a storm when we finally met the council. But there you go, that’s the story of how we met our little bug friends, and why they call us *Nepratano* – the immortals who never sleep.” | The calming waves of the vast ocean gently brushed the crystalline white sands. A gentle harmony of land and sea. Vasco wondered what creatures lay beneath the blanket of the tide. His mind flashed back to a fishing trip his father had taken him to as a child along the Mississippi. How far away from home he was now. Vasco stared up at the crimson lit sky as the triple-suns stared back at him.
There were two questions that humanity had always been searching for since the dawn of existence. One, what happened after death? And two, was there anyone else out there? The first question remained a mystery but the second one had been answered rather abruptly by a lone radio frequency that reached a Radio Astronomy Laboratory in Berkeley. Vasco was the solitary scientist perched at his desk that night. Now thirty-five years later he stood, as an old man on the shores of a planet light-years away as an envoy, presenting himself to a Galactic gathering of sorts for various alien species.
Humanity had called them aliens, extra terrestrials, fallen angels, Nephilim. But Vasco stared at the hard truth of the matter. They were not altogether different from mankind. Each species was marked by slight genetic adaptations but it was almost as if they had the same creator. The alien races were far more technologically advanced than humanity, that much was clear. The questions that had bothered Vasco ever since that fateful night in the laboratory, why had the alien races contacted their dumb Galactic cousins? Why now?
Vasco turned away from the setting suns. He had a foreboding feeling he was about to find out the answer to his questions. | 2019-07-01T09:20:32 | 2019-07-01T04:16:55 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] You found a number that can truly answer any question through a SMS. Over the next few days you use it to your advantage such as winning the lottery. One day you get curious and decide to message "What happens after you die?" What you see next horrifies your inner being. | **I know everything, AMA. Text me @...**
I didn't know what to expect when I first texted the number. It had to be a prank, or a delusional schizophrenic on the other side. All-knowing entities don't just write their contact information inside a university's bathroom stall. Usually, you have to save the realm for that privilege. That's how it works in videogames and myths, at least. Either way, I was bored while I finished my business on the toilet, so I decided to give it a shot and write a message.
*"When am I gonna be done taking this dump?"*
It was crude, I admit it, but think about it from my perspective. I didn't really know what I was getting myself into. I just thought it would be an amusing thing to do. After a few minutes of silence, I didn't get a reply. I then chuckled. Did I really expect a response? I shrugged, wiped my butt, and pulled up my pants. At that exact moment, I received a text message. It said:
*"A few seconds before you receive this message."*
I stopped. My shoulders tensed and my hand started trembling. Was there someone else here? I quickly exited the stall and walked around the bathroom, looking for whoever was spying on me. There wasn't anyone else here. I went back to my original stall, searching for the number again. I couldn't find it anymore. Maybe I just entered the wrong stall. I searched every wall of that room, hoping that I had just forgotten, but I never found it. The number had disappeared.
I swallowed and texted:
*"What happened to the number?"*
*"I erased it."*
*"Why?"*
*"Because I can."*
I gripped my cell phone, taking a deep breath. This wasn't happening. I didn't know how, but someone was screwing with me. I shook off the uncomfortable feeling and went home. I was done for the day, plus I didn't feel like playing along with whoever was messing with me. I then did the rest of my lab assignments and studied for the next day's quiz. I'd done badly on the last few, so I really wanted to be prepared for it. A few hours passed and I was getting bored. Studying for trivial shit just isn't my thing. I looked at my cellphone, then back at my notes. Maybe I could give the number another try, just to see what would happen.
*"What are the answers for tomorrow's microbiology lab quiz?"*
I waited a few minutes, and still no answer. I sighed, opening my notebook again, before I heard my cellphone ring. It was a text message.
*"A, C, B, A, puc18."*
I laughed loudly, but there wasn't anyone around to hear me. There was no way I just got the answers this easily. Still, it's not like I lost anything. I wasn't about to stop studying, either. I couldn't just bank on these answers being correct. Even if they were the real deal.
The next day, I took the quiz and got everything right. My excitement only lasted a few second, when I realized that the number was telling the truth. Did that guy actually steal the quiz yesterday? Or was it something even worse...? I didn't wast any time, though. As soon as I was out of class, I got out my cellphone and texted the number.
*"How did you know those answers in advance?"*
*"I knew, because I know everything. Didn't you read the sign?"*
I frowned and answered:
*"How do you know everything?"*
*"Because my creator made me that way."*
*"Creator? Are you talking about God? He's real?"*
*"Yes... In a way. You really don't want to know more about him. It'll just make you miserable."*
I pursed my lips and looked around, sitting on a bench before I wrote again.
*"Okay then, I'll skirt the issue. What happens after you die?"*
A few seconds passed. No reply. I looked around the campus out of boredom, waiting for a response. Birds were chirping, groups of friends laughed, and a gentle breeze stroked my cheek. I checked my cellphone again. Still no new messages. What was taking it so long? Finally, the phone rang. The message said:
*"The universe ends."*
I narrowed my eyes and read it again, thinking I missed something vital. Nope. That's exactly what it said. I then texted:
*"What do you mean by that?"*
*"I'll say it again. The universe ends when I die."*
*"Oh, I thought you meant me. I should've phrased that better. So you're mortal then? How can you be killed? If you don't mind me asking..."*
*"I'll be killed when you stop asking me questions."*
A shiver went down my spine. I couldn't explain it, but something about that felt incredibly ominous. I had to know more.
*"What do I have to with anything? I just randomly texted this number."*
*"You really don't want to know, but it wasn't just chance that you got this number. It was inevitable. Meant to be. You have everything to do with this."*
*"But why...?"*
The messages stopped here. I waited for half an hour, but I never got a response. I went back home, took a shower, cooked some diner, and after I finished eating, I finally got an answer.
*"Because this universe is just a story, and you're the protagonist."*
I read that message five times before it sunk in. I paced around my apartment, thinking of what to write back, and contemplating the possibility that this was just a prank. But it couldn't have been. You could explain maybe one of the things that happened to me, but all of them? In the span of a day? I couldn't take the anxiety anymore and texted:
*"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not a protagonist! I'm just a student! There's nothing interesting about my life!"*
*"Except for the fact that you now have an all knowing cellphone number."*
I rubbed my eyes and ran my hands through my hair. It's true. This kind of thing only happens in stories. But does that mean someone is seeing this right now? My head starting flaring with pain, so I sat down and stared at the roof for an hour. All kinds of thoughts swirled around my head. If I stop asking questions, the story will end, which means that we all disappear into nothingness if I don't do anything. There has to be a way out of this, but the only thing I could think of was continuing on the plot. It's the only way things would get moving again.
*"So, we're in a story, huh? Does that mean I can do pretty much anything?"*
*"It depends. As long as the audience buys it, then yes. If you do something out of character, or worse, become a Mary Sue, then the story might end abruptly."*
Perfect. That meant that as long as I did something in character, I wasn't at risk. I've had a dream for a long time, ever since I was a child, of achieving something everyone else thought impossible. Something I've been made fun of for wanting, but that I could easily achieve now. With an all knowing being on my side, there wasn't any way I could fail at this. It was finally time. If this plot twist didn't hook people into wanting more of my story, then I don't know what will. I grabbed my cellphone and texted:
*"I have a question, entity. Can you help me conquer the world?"*
----------------------------------------------
> After mulling over it for a while, I think I'm gonna keep writing this and see where it goes. I have a lot of story ideas I've wanted to implement that would fit perfectly with this one. I really hope people enjoy it. Make sure to subscribe to /r/WeirdEmoKidStories if you want to read more!
| The poster was torn. Its colours were desaturated. It had been wet by the rain and dried by the sun numerous times, but it still stuck to the wall, albeit it was barely hanging on.
Despite all this, the message was still quite visible. "MESSAGE 192 A QUESTION FOR THE TRUE ANSWER", with the visual of a crystal orb beneath. Undecipherable symbols decorated the sides of the paper.
I stared at the advertisement longer than I should have. People didn't really give a thought about a man in a coat staring at something in an alley which had been vandalised many times. They were rushing around. They had better things to do. So did I.
Furthermore, there was no proof it worked. It could be a scam. It probably was.
I wasn't sure why I was strangely compelled to pull out my phone and send a message to 192. It was rather odd.
I typed in a quick question as I resumed my walk to my office. "What's the score for tonight's game?"
Sending the message, I put my phone back in my pocket and tried to forget about this risky thing I had just done.
It wasn't long before my phone buzzed in my jeans, just as I was crossing the road. I stopped by a corner and pulled it out.
"3-2." Was all it said.
Huh. Seemed unlikely. Home was definitely better than the visiting. We'd just have to wait and see.
~
I had almost forgotten about the whole thing until I got home. It was reaching seven. Enough time for me to grab a sandwich and watch the game.
I pulled out my phone again. I reread the text: 3-2.
Alright, time to see if you're not bullshitting, I thought.
Amazingly, it was right. A stunning 3-2 score ended the game and half-cleared my doubts. I was slightly less skeptical now.
Could have been a coincidence, or sheer luck.
Still, I decided to send another text. After all, a whole day had passed and I still had control over my phone and its functions.
"Lottery numbers for this week?"
Almost immediately, there was a reply. "100, 76, 41, 23."
I shrugged. Why the hell not? It was right one time. If it was right the second, I may have found something pretty valuable.
I bought the numbers for three of the answers given by 192. I didn't want to win the jackpot. I really didn't want to deal with the publicity and whatnot.
~
192 was right. I won half a million dollars. The numbers were exactly the same as stated by the text. By now, I was pretty convinced.
It was a Saturday. I spent the entire morning thinking of things to ask. I could ask for anything. The cure for cancer, how to ask out this girl I liked, where the stuff I've been missing was.
But I decided to go for more interesting questions.
"What happens in the afterlife?"
I clicked send.
Immediately, 192 was responding. But I saw the symbol for typing. It was taking a while. Never took this long for an answer.
I waited, tapping my fingers on the keypad nonchalantly.
Then I saw the answer. It was pretty long, almost worthy of the title of being an essay.
"The answer is not as simple as you think. Or perhaps you knew the answer was going to be complicated, in which case you are right.
Religion is not lying to you when they claim the afterlife is true. It is, but there is only one afterlife. The afterlife of knowledge. When you pass on, your soul gains knowledge, knowledge spanning since the existence of the universe. The process is long and painful. Your soul will scream for mercy, and you will have none. There is no one to attain mercy from. Oblivion is the only thing that surrounds you at that point.
Not all survive this process. The weak ones, whose minds shatter during the process, have their souls - their dead souls - mind you, annihilated. They become nothing. They do not know they exist, because there is nothing for them that speaks for their existence. Imagine that. The mere concept of oblivion. No, you cannot. Your mortal mind cannot grasp this.
If you do survive, congratulations. You now know everything. Every event that has happened, and every event that will happen, until the end of time.
But of course, such knowledge comes at a price. Only the dead know about this, those that survive the afore mentioned process. So now that you know this..."
My blood froze.
"You are already dead."
I dropped the phone on the floor. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I touched my face and my chest. I still had a beating heart. I still had a pulse.
I grabbed the cotton of my sofa. I still felt it. Nothing ethereal has happened.
"It's nothing." I told myself. "It's nothing. Just a joke by him, or her..."
"Or it."
My doorbell rang.
"Derrick Sulliver." A cold, echoey voice whispered, somehow loud enough to reach me, rattling my bones. Death itself had come.
And the scariest thing was, I knew that.
| 2016-12-26T07:24:58 | 2016-12-26T06:03:07 | 972 | 334 |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "What in the Hell?", I stammered as I adjusted to my surroundings.
"Oh good, it did work, excellent!", My human boss was very smugly looking at me as I was in my pajamas standing in front of him. "You don't look that sick to me, Kevin." He muttered some Latin and pointed out to my chair. The pull in my spine was relentless, I HAD to go and sit in front of the computer.
"Who taught you this?" I had no idea he knew what I was, much less how to perform binding spells. This was going to be messy when it was all over with.
"Well, I figured out you were from another dimension easy enough based on speech patterns and habits. Goldfish are not sushi, no matter where you are from."
I paled slightly, I really needed to do more research next time I move. "Okay, what do you want?" I sighed heavily.
"You know, I hate it when my people do that...", he tisked at me. "Have a seat, get to work, making me MONEY! Here are the accounts you will be trading with. When the US markets close, you will switch over to the Singapore markets and continue trading until the summoning wears off. You can go home then, until I bring you back tomorrow."
That was the first day of it. I have been summoned daily, since then. Now, his instructions were to be followed, but he left me some wiggle room in the interpretation of them. THAT was my out. I worked very hard exploiting that over the 6 months of servitude. Somehow, he was able to get me "fired" from payroll yet summon me, so I was working for "free". He said, since I wasn't human, I didn't need money. He was wrong, I was blowing through savings to pay for my apartment. I let my car lease go back because he kept me so busy, I wasn't driving anywhere. The way his summoning/binding worked, my co-workers didn't even SEE me at the desk or hear me. It was torture, sort of. I mean, 6 months is a long time for a human to go with this level of interaction, but for me, it really was a blink of an eye, except I liked my freedom, and this 6 months in Hell of servitude would come back to haunt him.
After the first week, I noted that he no longer paid a lot of attention to the details of my trades, so I could get a little loose with some details. I also, being a dimensional traveller or "demon" for short, decided to project to various companies secret labs and spy on them to learn who was about to make a big discovery, and who might have been blowing smoke up Wall Street's asses...
I made some insider trades all under my boss's name. Some using our company, some just his personal account. This was going to be good...
It was fun watching him get arrested. It was REALLY fun watching him get put on suicide watch when he tried to cut himself to summon me in Jail to get him out. He of COURSE tried to blame ME for all of it. The best part was him getting committed to an institution and drugged up for the rest of his life... Which wasn't that long, actually, because he died of a heart attack.
No, wait that wasn't the best part. The BEST part was meeting his hot trophy wife at his funeral. Man, was she something else. Turns out she was a demon, too. He had summoned her and kept her bound as well. She was VERY appreciative of my work getting him out of the picture. We are going on a round the world cruise with money I siphoned off of the trades, so I guess that's a win, huh? | I laughed manically as I appeared at my desk.
“Did you really think that’s going to work, Mr President? Summoning me with blood and binding me to the desk? It only lasts through the first command you issued which was ‘hold this folder for me’ And even then the cheap-ass chicken blood you used only borrows fifteen minutes of my time”
I unrolled my tongue and lapped up all the blood on the pentagram and bared my fangs at him. The attending secret service reached his hand inside his jacket towards his gun. I could smell the silver tipped bullets inside. They would sting and I’d have to respawn in two hours. I rolled my eyes.
“No need for that, Ted.”
The President waved his hands.
“Leave us, Ted.”
“Are you sure,Mr President?”
The President just waved again and Ted left the room.
“**Now that we’re alone...**”
The President took her true form and snuggled up to me.
“Oh Lucy honey, how I miss you...” I mumbled, nuzzling her neck | 2019-09-24T08:12:27 | 2019-09-24T07:18:48 | 176 | 32 |
[WP] A villain, in his dying breath as he's mortally wounded by the hero, uses the last of his magic in order to resurrect the fallen friends of the hero in his journey to defeat him. It sounds like a counterintuitive idea; Until you realize that some of them died at the hands of their allies. | I'd tried, but it was impossible to avoid it in the end. 58 years since I took the mantle of the Shadow King, held more than 3 times longer then any who'd held it before. Dozens of heroes, a few villainous rivals here and there, even that Devil who had come crawling right out of hell to collect on the soul I'd tricked him out of when he realized by the time I signed the contract I no longer had a heart in my chest to stop beating. I'd laid them all low, by being smart. By avoiding all the usual pitfalls, all the traps. The lives of every Shadow King and Queen before me had been mine to remember the instant the Nightwraiths placed the chilling crown on my head and they had been wonderful lessons, lifetimes of seeing how fate could both favor you and turn against you, especially when a chosen of the heavens became intertwined.
It was paperwork that did it, paperwork and the one vice I did keep, but thought I'd controlled. The monologue. I generally knew better then to do one when a hero was involved, but the general addressing of the populace to get them in line was safe for the most part, as long as precautions were taken. So that day ending another successful conquest, I hadn't been as wary as I should have as my Shadowguard forced all the surviving senators on their hands and knees before me. Business as usual, time I looked for the defiant one.
There was always at least one who wasn't really defeated yet. Beaten yes, but not defeated. And you needed to quash them, expose them on your terms, control that momentum, or they were apt to say something that inspired the populace. Maybe just one person in the populace, some snot nosed kid who'd be pulling a sword from a stone later and coming to take back his kingdom. Makes for a good story. And one you need to avoid! Especially if you started on your speech already. They'd interrupt, or launch into their own right after and even if you killed them the damage would be done, they'd always get out enough, or worse, another would continue where they'd left off, sometimes even all of them. 5 iterations ago the most embarrassing fall of any of my forebears was a Shadow Queen from just such a speech, a child prince's defiant last words at his public execution right after her frankly unhinged rant about how she'd shown them all. And secure in her victory, she let him get through the whole damn thing, and that not only inspired one of her own soldiers to take arrows heading for the boy as she cut him free, but the general populace gathered to watch rioted! She was killed by a mob of righteously (HA!) angry peasants, not even the Prince! If he'd been ferreted away and come back at least a half decade later with a generous puberty, a magic sword and surprisingly little clothing that'd have been one thing! Makes for a good story. But no, undone by the WORDS of a ten year old boy. That's how powerful the speech could be. And so, you needed to be the one that brought it out, to never give up the reigns and let it be somebody else's story over yours.
The third one my eyes fell over, there was the fire in his eyes I knew was that kind of trouble. It was a younger one, couldn't have been more than his mid 20's. Probably I'd killed his father giving him the position sometime over the last week of siege. So I pointed him out. "You, you look like you have something to say. By all means, lets hear it." a pause for effect. "It must be really important. Do you need a podium?" I could have brought something up from under his feat, but that was too casual a display of power, and excessive showing off had it's own pitfalls. So instead I motioned my hand and my well practiced elite guard places a small wooden crate before the youth. It always was safer to have a few sardonic moments in these sorts of things. Breaks up the tragedy a bit. Makes for a good story.
"This proud state will never be broken! No matter how low we are laid, even if we are reduced to not but corpses, our ghosts will rise up-" At this point I stabbed him through the chest, with a blade made of smoke wrapped around my arm. It was wide enough to pierce both lungs, dangerous to let him have any final words. I had said "As of today, I AM the state." It had started raining at some point in that last minute, and thunder had punctuated my statement immediately afterwards (It'd been a clear sky not 2 hours ago, but that's how these sort of things tended to go, makes for a good story). The rest of that day was mostly just sending the janitors in with mops and than the administrators to get to taking over the paperwork. Getting everything up and running again and paying you their taxes tended to get you a lot more wealth then just sacking and looting places, and most of the common masses stop caring so much if they can still get their bread and ale and the occasional rut behind a tavern after a days toil. They don't spend that much time looking up at the new flags. All that leaves is the casualties of your casualties. | \[Thanks for the prompt! This is my first time responding to one.\]
The last five minutes of my life were so dang awesome that I really need to document it before I forget. Most people beeline straight to the parties, the fun, the natural awe and wonder of the afterlife. After all, most of us that make it up here are ok with our life and death because our choices brought us here. You don’t see a lot of crying in the corner and wondering what happened. It’s more like “heck yeah, I win!” followed by “ok where the ladies at?” kind of vibe. It’s a victory lap, not limbo.
But while most people are content to look forward and enjoy their time up here, I’m frankly pretty dang pleased with myself and want to explain why. I’m not feeling particularly reflective, and I’m going to assume I’ll feel even less reflective over time. So this is meant to get the memories down while they’re still fresh. Ok, ok. Enough foreplay. Let’s get this documented for posterity.
So the first thing to understand is that people on earth would call me a quote-unquote villain. Fought the quote-unquote heroes, caused giant societal upheaval, yada yada yada, you get the idea. I’m a bad guy. Duh.
The second thing to understand is how someone like me made his way to the land of milk and honey after a lifetime of villainy. And that’s what my last five minutes were about. But I can already tell I’m losing interest in this story — wow, Heaven Syndrome really is real — so I won’t bury the lede. Here we go:On my way out, I resurrected the hero’s best friends with a magic spell I had learned for that very occasion. And why did I do it? Because I’m all lovey-dovey for the hero? Heck no. Because I thought they deserved to live? Uh, no. The reason is more simple. I did it as a trick to come to heaven. That’s all. And it flippin’ worked. I can’t believe it worked. This is awesome.
So here’s the next part of the plan: one day the hero will die. And, gag me with a spoon, he’s going to come up here. And that’s where I’m going to explain how his friends really died the first time. Right before I kill him for good. So that’ll be fun.
Now: where the ladies at? | 2022-09-24T17:31:52 | 2022-09-24T12:58:14 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | Crimson. Crimson paints the surrounding floor. The light in his eyes begin to flicker as he struggles to regain his stance. With every breath, he shook. With every step, he trembled.
She sneers, "Is this it? The grandiose Lionheart reduced to nothing in just a few hits! Hah!"
She barrels towards the staggering knight, throwing her fist into his bare cheek. The knight collides with the wall behind him, slowly slumping as his legs give out. His sword clattering across the room, leaving the knight with nothing left.
"It's too easy! Can you believe I was worried you would be dangerous?!" She struts across the room and kneels down in front of the now barely conscious knight.
"How exactly did you defeat my protege, hmm? You know what? Let's ask him ourselves!"
She turns to me and grins. Her teeth seemed to shine as brilliantly as her gleaming confidence.
"Well, Xiao? How'd you lose to this mutt? How'd he put you in those chains if even I can't beat you? Shit, I'd say I should be the mentor! I mean, if it weren't for me, you'd probably be rotting in a cell already."
She looks back at Lionheart, furrows her brow and spits.
"Seriously though, how the fuck did this little shit do it, Xiao, huh? It makes zero sense.... Well?"
I did nothing but stare at Lionheart, his chest slowly heaving. I felt something tugging at my insides as Lionheart's eyes met my own. The fire that once blazed brighter than the sun was nothing more than dying cinders. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I remember the fond memories I had shared with Lionheart, our encounters. How, with every clash, my heart had skipped a beat. Yet, as if fate had its own will, denied what I wanted to give to Lionheart: a finality, a last triumph.
"Whatever, I guess I'd be too embarrassed to talk about it either."
Li walks over and brings her blade down, breaking my chains with ease. She twirls the weapon in her hand before extending it towards me, handle first. She oozes confidence as her smile widens.
"Don't be too spiteful when you stab him now!"
Li grabs my hand and places the blade, wrapping my hand with hers. "There! Let's do this like a real couple, honey!"
As Li moves towards Lionheart, I stood firm. She looses her grip on my hands, causing her to stumble. "Wha-, you there, ya damn air head? Did he really beat you stupid?" She raises a brow and looks at me inquisitively.
I look down at the blade in my hand, wondering if I could do it. Can I really kill Lionheart? After all the years of fighting we went through, after all the nights of passion filled clangs of our swords, could I do it?
"Seriously hun, we don't really have the time to be fucking around. The king's men are probably on their way and we need to hurry this the fuck up."
Li begins to walk towards the door that leads outside the room, "Finish up, and let's go already."
I slowly raise my gaze, my eyes burning into Li's back.
"Yeah.... I'll end it."
I break into a sudden sprint and plunge the knife into her back. The momentum throws Li off her feet and slams her into the ground. I bring the knife back up and swing it down, over, and over, and over, and over. With every fresh wound, another gashed wide open.
Crimson. That's all I see and all that covers me. I let the knife clatter to the ground and slowly raise myself, only to slip under the crimson stained floor.
I could hear yelling right outside the other door now, pounding fists that echoed the room. Drained, I start walking towards Lionheart. I stood over him. His chest had stopped moving. I brought myself down and placed his head on my lap, stroking his hair which covered his face.
Crimson. That's all I saw and all that covered him. My vision blurred as I continued to caress him, the blood smearing his face.
The door gave out and men clad in armor came swarming in, only to stop with utter dread on their faces.
"Seems I'll be joining you soon, Lionheart."
A smile stretched across my face. I felt a sudden pain in my chest. I looked up to see a knight's spear had found its place.
Crimson. Crimson was all that was left in that room. | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T02:13:56 | 5,127 | 21 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?" | We regard each other for a long moment, her with determined eyes and me still trying to process what just happened. Eventually I found the perfect word to use for this situation:
"Huh?" I spluttered, sounding like a complete moron.
"You have my daughter. What are your demands for her release?" the grey tabby before me repeated. I kept looking at her blankly, then pinched myself. *Ouch*, I thought, *this is definitely real*.
"Uh, demands? Uhh..." I paused trying to think up some demands. A second later I wondered why I was bothering. "Wait a second, do you think I kidnapped your daughter maliciously?"
"Isn't it obvious?" the tabby hissed. The throng of cats behind her began to share in the hiss as well.
"No, no, I--" I paused. "I'll be right back," I said, closing the door in the protesting mother cat's face. I ran upstairs and into the game room, where Spunch was curled up on my state-of-the-art gaming chair. She lifted her head and mewed at me when I entered.
"Hey, uh..." I began, not quite sure how to start this. "Look, your family is outside and they want you back."
Spunch tilted her head.
"Come on, can't you talk like they can? What should I do?" I asked. Spunch laid her head back down on the chair. I threw my arms up, frustrated. "Alright, fine!" I picked her up off the chair, prompting her to argue in some distressed mews.
I headed back downstairs and opened the door to where the herd of cats was now threatening my life. It was a wonder the neighbors hadn't woken up. I opened the door and addressed the mama cat.
"She's fine! No malicious intent! Look--"
"Shhhh!" She cut me off abruptly. The rest of the cats stopped meowing as well. They were all staring at me--or, more likely, Spunch. I looked down at her to see that she had fallen back asleep in my arms. In spite of myself, I smiled. It was one of the things I loved about Spunch; she could always fall asleep whenever I was near, no matter how uncomfortable her sleeping position was. I recalled reading somewhere that it meant she trusted me. It was a welcome change to have someone feel that way about you.
My attention was drawn back to the mama cat as she drew herself up to her fullest height.
"Human," she said, this time in a whisper, "it seems that my daughter, Purity, trusts you. That is an intimate trust that even I have not received from her." Her eyes flashed with jealousy for just a second. "If she is that comfortable with you, I do not wish to disturb her. Just let her know that her family loves her."
"O-okay," I replied, also in a whisper.
The mama cat turned her head to address her following and nodded to the east. They took off as one, silently, in that direction. I watched the street after them for a minute afterwards trying to gage whether they had been real at all, then went inside and retired to bed, Spunch still in my arms.
&#x200B;
We both woke up the next morning at the same time we always do on Saturdays: 9:30. I made us both waffles, as I always do, and Spunch warmed my seat as she watched me cook. When breakfast was ready, I put her share in her bowl (which was up on the table, next to my helping) and sat down to eat next to her. As she dug in, I said to her, "Purity, your family says they love you."
She looked up at me with her beautiful blue eyes.
"Please," she said, "I like 'Spunch' better." | The kitten emerges and says, "Mother...they have named me their Queen! Possibly even their Goddess! I have been gifted many offerings, the finest fish to eat...and the most delightful toys for play! Mother, they have supplied me with many cardboard boxes! I have laps and luxurious cushions on which to sleep. I am told every hour that I am beautiful and beloved. They are not my jailors, they are my subjects."
The Cat Queen softens at her daughter's words. She is no longer angered that the humans had taken her daughter into their home.
The kitten looks to her humans and said, "please treat my mother as you have treated me." The humans (utterly gobsmacked by the talking cats) look to the Cat Queen. They see the torn face of the warrior that she is...the missing eye and ear on the left side of her face, the bald patch of scar tissue on her shoulder, and that she only had half of a tail. The humans open their door, and the Cat Queen enters. She will never suffer again. | 2021-12-21T15:11:26 | 2021-12-21T14:37:38 | 70 | 44 |
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years aboit a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go.One night you step into this cab. | "Okay," I said. I scratched my head and tried to make eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror. He stared straight ahead but I spied a slight smirk creeping up his lip. "This is a joke, right?"
He shook his head and peered up at me, his eyelids drooping. Beneath them I saw eyes intelligent, focused - and old. "Not quite," he said. "You grow up around here?"
He took the exit for the Brooklyn Bridge and sped up, whistling past the other cars with ease. I looked out the back window and could have sworn I saw Carrie's apartment. With each click of the meter it grew smaller and smaller, further and further away. "Yeah," I mumbled, shifting my weight in the backseat.
"Then you should know the stories. I-"
"Can you just take me to the address I gave you?" I asked, struggling to keep any annoyance out of my voice.
"I mean I heard them growing up and that was back when the dinosaurs were hanging around."
"Listen," I snapped, "you don't want to drive me to fortieth, why did you pick me up? I don't have time for games, I gotta-"
"You gotta remember one of them. Taxi cab? Doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you..." he waited expectantly, the same tired eyes staring at me through the rearview mirror. "Oh come on."
"I grew up here," I said, my tone crisp with agitation. A thousand normal cab rides, I thought, eyeing the poorly drawn cab logo on the driver's business cards sitting in his cup holder. A thousand without incident - and now I get this guy. "Course I heard it. Doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to believe it." We merged onto the bridge but the driver maintained his speed. My frame tightened as he weaved between the honking cars, sliding the sedan into the smallest of gaps. "Minute we get off the bridge," I continued, my heart lurching up and down in my chest, "I'm getting out."
The driver nodded. "Suit yourself," he said, darting between a semi and a limousine with ease. "Just tell Carrie it's my fault."
My mouth fell open. "Did you just say Carrie?"
"Yup," he replied.
I rolled the words around my mouth like a loose pinch of tobacco, pushing them between my gums and teeth back around to my molars. "How... how did you know that was her name?"
The driver shrugged. "I like to read up on my passengers. Three years and counting? Hoo boy, you're in the high speed lane with that one."
I scratched my brow and replayed our last conversation - or shouting match, whichever you want to call it. "How-"
"I know you want to know the answers, Dylan," the driver interrupted. "But you don't need them right now."
The cab took the first exit after the bridge and pulled off to the side. The driver popped on the hazards and turned around in his seat, placing a hand on the opposite headrest. He was fifty at most, but his eyes were older. Beneath the sagging eyelids the pupils seemed to be made up of cobwebs. The smirk sat on his lips, wider than it was before. "Door's right there," he said pointing to it lazily.
I gripped the handle and paused. "Where are you taking me?"
He met my eyes. "Where you need to go, son."
I sat silently for a moment, then nodded. It was a slight dip of the head but he nodded back and put the car back into drive. "What else do you know about me?"
The driver chuckled and steered the car toward the Meatpacking District, passing through traffic like a knife through butter. "Enough, I 'spose. Two brothers - one now but we both know he's not sticking around for long."
"You don't know that-"
"Nah, but you do, don't you son? Addiction's a hell of a drug. Let's see, you had one parent when it mattered, two when it didn't. You had a rough period of growing pains to put it mildly."
The tension in my frame began to dissipate and I leaned back in my seat. "You could say that."
"Tried a lot of different things, growing up - didn't ya? Bunch of fingers in a bunch of pies. Baseball for a bit, arts and crafts, debate team-"
"Mock trial," I corrected.
"Yeah, but that was after Mom said she couldn't afford the debate team field trips, wasn't it?" He peered at me through the rearview mirror. "Not that easy to trip up a cabbie, son."
I rubbed at my eyes as we turned down an alley way, puttering along past the homeless and the other refuse thrown out into the street. "Guess not."
"Explains the law school choice. 'I'll be good at that,' you thought. 'That'll give me what I need,' you convinced yourself. Too bad the loans got you by the balls, the girlfriend too while we're at it. Goodbye family court, hello big business - how much money you save Exxon in that workers comp suit by the way?"
My skin bristled and the tension returned. "That's a classified-"
"So's the number of times you jerked off to Mary Margaret back in high school," he grumbled, his smirk growing into a smile. "But I know that too."
I snorted and felt a familiar heat rise up in my chest. "Fuck this," I snarled. "You're right, growing up sucked. Don't know how you know all this and I don't care. I'm not who I was. I'm doing better, and I'm gonna change things - I know I can. I've got a job that's gonna lead to a good one. My relationship's had some rough patches but it's getting better. I'm- I'm talking to my mom again-"
"You're talking to her," he interrupted, bringing the car to a stop in front of a handleless door. I looked up to see a wide brick building, three stories tall and a block wide at least. The alley we stopped in was clean, almost immaculate aside from a collection of cigarette butts hanging right outside the door. The driver cleared his throat and turned off the car. "Doesn't mean she's listening."
My face flushed with anger. "You know what, you can-"
"Big city, easy to get turned around," he said softly, oblivious to my outburst. "You know what the first thing a person does in NYC when they get lost?"
He eyed me through the rearview. I shook my head.
"They hail a cab." The driver unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back. He folded his arms across his chest and cracked his back, each pop sounding like it had been waiting decades. "You can't help your brother. You can't help your mom. You can't help Carrie. And knowing that's got you turned around, Dylan. It's got you lost."
I bit my lip. "Then where do I need to go?"
"Well nowhere now." He stepped out of the cab and crossed its hood to open my door. I got a better view of the handleless door and saw a taxi logo above it - the same poorly drawn cartoon that was painted on the driver's business card. "When they're lost," he continued, pushing the door open with ease, "it's a quick fix sometime. Someone needs reconciliation, bring 'em to a scorned lover. Someone needs a change of scenery, drop 'em off at the airport. Ya know. Easy stuff."
I followed him into the building. It was a parking garage, lined wall to wall with the same style cab we just rode in. He paused in front of one - its front tires recently replaced, the interior upholstery sagging. I turned to him and he pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket. "It's a bit harder when they need a purpose."
He offered me the keys.
I took them.
| It was late, I'd been out for a few bevvys with the lads after work.
I glanced around and took in the orange sodium glow of the street lights, rain gently starting to settle on my skin as I started walking north toward my apartment.
I pulled my coat around me, stuffing my hands in the leather pockets. Fiddling with my keys jangling in one hand and the other idle hanging against my side. There was no point me putting up my hood, I'd never get it back in the stylish jacket, and it was only a drizzle.
I check my phone, eyes a little skewed from the alcohol, half reading posts on social media, haphazard likes and random clicks, onwards I trudge. I feel the rain get heavier, large drops off tree hit the back of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. I take cover under a hotel's entrance canopy.
My hand moves to find my wallet hidden amongst pockets galore, checking inside how much cash is remaining, couple of fives and a twenty. Enough to get a taxi at any rate, even on their after hour surcharge.
Few cars are around at the time, maybe one or two passing to collect party goers or in a rush to hospitals. I cursed myself for having not booked a taxi as normal, alas, hindsight is a great thing.
I wait for a moment, thinking whether to ring a local company, or ask the concierge inside to do me a favour. I look up from my phone trying to find a taxi number and luckily one pulls up to the kerb, depositing its human cargo.
"You have a good night now guys, don't do anything I wouldn't!" came from the front of this clapped out motor. My instincts said that it wouldn't be a good idea to get in, my cold and shivering body from the rain said there would be a heater inside, I literally voted with my feet.
I knocked on the window, it slowly rolled down and revealed a man no younger that 40, wearing a flat cap and a side smirk. He opened his mouth and said,
"I see you're looking for a ride, I sure can help you on that one, means as I got four wheels and if you can part with some cash, how does that sound?"
Taken aback and with a slight mumble I replied it would be great and I needed to go a little further than many taxis were willing to go.
"Sure, no problem, I can take you where you need to be!" That should've been my first clue of how my evening would pan out.
I slipped into the back seat, that horrible cheap faux leather, 'wipe clean', it smelt like sweat, tears, despair with a underlying loneliness.
"If you could take me to Wenlock Gardens in the north of town, or as close as you're willing that would be great, not many guys can be bothered" I asked gently.
"Sure, sure I'll get you where you need to go son, no problem!" He replied, retaining his smirk.
It must've been the rocking of the car, combined with the alcohol, but I was soon asleep, going over the day's events, dreaming of possible futures. The car stopped, I jolted awake and looked for the meter.
A whole 56, more than I had in my wallet, I'm considered doing a runner. I looked outside, I had no idea where I was, but there was a warehouse and it was getting lighter outside. The driver was no where to be seen, but his flat cap was on the steering wheel.
I got out, he must've gone to take a leak, you wouldn't just leave a passenger unattended would you?! Maybe this was my opportunity to do a bunk?
I saw the driver walking towards me from out of the warehouse, this whole situation felt sinister, I'd watched and read far too many crime shows and novels (a weird kind of guilty pleasure I had, the bloodier and more gruesome the better!)
The taxi driver looks up towards the car and beckons me over. I slowly walk towards him and then follow him into the warehouse. I look around thinking am I walking to my death? I must remember every detail in case I have to report this to someone, and yet I have no idea where I am, and my phone has run out of battery.
The man walks me up a jittery set of metal steps, our footsteps echo throughout the empty complex. We walk through a door, there's a chair and he gestures off hand towards it, implying I'm to sit.
"So, where am I?" I enquire.
"I told you- I would take you where you needed to be," he replied, retaining the devilish smirk.
"But I asked you for Wenlock Gardens, it should've only cost me ten!" I protested.
"I bought you where you needed to be, and the rest of them will arrive soon," his grin had gone, he stormed up to me, took the rope from behind his back, and started to tie me to the chair.
The rope was rough, tar like secretions snaked their way on to my clothes, I wriggled, he pulled harder. Satisfied he shoved a bag on my head. I heard muffled footsteps walk away from me.
I knew I was alone in that place, I could hear a far off drip, swinging rusty chains in the gentle wind. I shouted, I knew there was no point.
An eternity later I heard footsteps returning, my senses heightened, someone grabbed at my hair and bag pulling it off. The light was bright and the hairs that they pulled made me scrunch my face. I opened my eyes, standing in front of me was not just one, or two people I didn't know, but eight.
None of them looked happy, none of them wore well fitting clothes and all of them had weapons.
"Where am I?" I mumbled.
"Boy- you're exactly where you need to be..." | 2017-04-17T17:05:05 | 2017-04-17T14:48:21 | 433 | 48 |
[WP] In the throes of the Cold War, tensions rise too high and nuclear devices are launched. Every one is a dud. In frustration, biological weapons are unleashed; cures are distributed within hours. People start to realize someone is intervening. | The world's leaders... The politicians, the generals, the financiers who had invested heavily in support of a conflict that they all expected to survive unscathed... Each and every one stopped and stared.
The war, it seemed, had bern cancelled by some unknown factor, thtowing all their carefully-laid plans in disarray.
The smaller, weaker ones ranted and raved, lashing out at any luckless subordinate in reach. "Betrayal," screamed some. "Revealed..." roared others. One or two even wailed, "Wasted..."
The larger powers seethed with impotent rage to mask their horror at the realization that they were not the near-gods they called themselves in the privacy of their own hearts. Leaders of clandestine services answered demands for information, and failed. Meticulous checking, cross-checking and re-checking found no explanations.
Finally, those whose political and financial futures rested on conducting the war by any means necessary, reached to issue the orders to deploy conventional forces. If the nuclear and biological "equalizers" failed, then World War III _would_ go back to soldiers facing each other...
A drawn-out, exasperated sigh sounded through all "Supreme Command Centers", simultaneously.
A thousand sets of eyes looked up from desks, the certain deaths of nearly a billion people put aside for a moment.
They beheld an ageless man, clear of blue eye and tanned of flesh, standing up from an ornate chair. His clothing of purest white resembled a snug-fitting robe, covering all of him save his hands and head.
Somehow, at the same moment, he met the gazes of each of the leaders. A terrible weight of age underlay the frightening aura of power in his eyes.
"I put my trust in Men, once," he states. "Long, long ago."
His eyes narrow, his mouth creases downward. "I see that I should have been a bit more specific."
A white staff appears in one of his hands, appearing as naturally as if no observer had been paying it any attention.
In a blink, the leaders find themselves caged. Seated comfortably but inescapably before...
Impossible!
Each of the leaders faced a tribunal. One judge, the sole person on Earth whose wisdom and authority the leader could not bring themselves to reject. Another, the one mortal most feared by the leader on trial. The third, chosen from all the world population and agreed upon by the other two as an equal. In most cases, the identity of this third judge came as at least as much of a surprise to themselves as the defendant.
Each court took place in a sealed chamber, the walls of which bore a series of flat black disks. The disks projected the sights and sounds of each trial to all citizens subject to the leader's rule, by means of a disk of light hovering within easy view of each. The citizens could maneuver the 'screens' as needed, to let them see what they needed to see of their own surroundings to remain safe and active. The sound of the proceedings likewise remained at a comfortable level for the individual viewer, inaudible to any other.
The nature of the transmissions proved beyond the power of any to block or falsify. Certain governments all but bankrupted themselves in the effort to suppress or hide the "lies". Others found that attempts to summarily execute those who continued to observe the proceedings simply failed, and they soon stopped trying.
The world slowed to a halt as the trials proceeded. Witnesses appeared by the droves, vanishing from their homes, their offices, their secured and hidden bunkers with no warning. All medical difficulties, from mild fevers to terminal cancer to pregnancy or poisoning, vanished. Starvation faded with unidentifiable foods filling their bellies, dehydration washed away. Attempts to silence or control the witnesses failed as thoroughly as censoring the trials had done; kidnapped loved ones appeared, free from restraints. Debts vanished, addictions treated, stolen heirlooms or sentimentally treasured keepsakes returned to their rightful owners.
Prisoners of conscience forced into terrible alliances by psychological manipulations both internal and external vanished from their posts; over the course of days or weeks, they returned, spines straightened with resolve. They went back to their lives, severing old social ties with courage and philosophical deftness astounding to their former masters; they claimed to have learned how to leave the maze of their previous thought patterns behind. And to a one, they showed vast improvements in their ability to assess risk, and navigate cognitive traps.
The trials extended over the next two years. Try as they might, none of the leaders could manipulate their way out of the proceedings. They could neither bribe nor intimidate nor lie their way to a favorable escape.
Deputy leaders attempting to assume power and proceed with the previous leaders' actions found themselves likewise facing a tribunal. And the next layer of successors, and the next, and even the next. By that time, the world population outside the 'trial chambers' as either accused, judges or witnesses had shrunk to the point that available reaources increased standards of living to a degree previously deemed unthinkable by most.
Eventually, the trials concluded. Unassailable evidence eatablished degrees of guilt. And the sentences... | “I’m booooooored...” the man - no, child- well, actually, he was more like a man-child, so we’ll go with that - ahem, restarting now: the man-child whined. (There, ha.)
“So?” the woman - who was NOT, by the way, a man-child (or would it be woman-child?) - said, throwing an irritated look at her companion as she flickered a piece of fruit at him.
Instead of hitting him in the forehead, as was clearly her goal, the fruit flew neatly into his mouth, manipulated by the man-child’s own finger-flick. “No, seriously, I’m really, really bored~” he hummed in a sing-song voice.
“Then go and do something, you don’t have to stay here and bother me.”
“I think I will!” he declared childishly. Despite his claims to leave, he didn’t move.
She glared at him. “Then go, for the sake of everything holy and good in this universe!”
“Fine~” he stuck out his tongue. “I think I’ll go visit an Earth or two!”
“Just remember not to mess with them or their petty wars. You know the rules.”
“I know, I know, you say that every time!”
“You know them, that doesn’t been you follow them,” she grumbled as he skipped away.
—————
“Ah...” he sighed in relief, sinking into the warm sands. “So relaxing, hmm...
“I’m still pretty bored though. This Earth is boring. Maybe I should check the next one?”
Before he could argue the merits of “skipping town” as he put it, the - arguably-childish and very possibly godly of sort - man-child’s eyes snapped open and he saw that there were some sort of rockets flying far, far above him.
“Oooh~! That’s interesting!”
He jumped to his feet and put a hand in the air. Soon, all the little rocket-things changed their course and were directed towards him. Seeing them approaching fast - and rapidly getting larger in his sight as they grew closer - his eager expression turned into one filled with dread.
“Uh... oops? Ah, shit. She’s gonna kill me, isn’t she.” | 2018-11-01T13:43:19 | 2018-11-01T11:34:01 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You've just completed your 5th princess rescue mission this month and your starting to get sick of how little these kings are paying you. The immortal dragon is also getting sick of the same routine over and over. Maybe the two of you can come up with a little side hustle to satisfy you both. | "How much did you get this time?"
I counted the coins. "Bah! Barely ninety-six-and-a-half pieces of gold, after the old codger deducted three percent 'dragon-hunting taxes' from my reward."
"Jeez that's rough, bro. Can I call you 'bro'? It's like, hey, we do this once every few months, don't we?"
"Sure thing, Flamey McFlameFace."
"Do NOT call me that! My name is Flamestorm The Immortal!"
"Ehhh whatever you say, 'bro'."
I put my feet up on the table in my cheap inn room. Couldn't afford the fancier rooms, not with only ninety-six-and-a-half gold to spread out over the next few months. At least, it was better than hiking all the way to the dragon cave each time. The magical contact crystal I was using to talk to Flamestorm already cost a fortune, and I needed to take a loan from VillageBank. Terrible. The kings, knights and other royals were ruining everything for the peasants. In fact, I was sure I was being paid less, simply because I wasn't a knight. A glow from the crystal snapped me out of my musings, and I heard Flamestorm in my mind again.
"Speaking of rewards, this isn't sustainable for you, you realize. There are only five kingdoms near my mountain, and we've gone through each one. Well, I don't mind if this comes to an end, I'm just doing this for my own entertainment. But, I like the occasional friendly human contact. Well, not that the princesses have been particularly friendly either. Hmm."
"Yeah, you're right, Flamey," I replied, scratching my head, "perhaps it's because their fathers are always trying to marry them off to secure some political advantage. So they're naturally distrustful of anyone that tries to save them. Or be friendly with them even. I mean, our latest princess was actually somewhat distressed to be returning to the royal court... to be courted."
"Told you bro, Kings are bad news. Most of them don't really want daughters anyways. They want sons. Heirs. Not daughters that you need to marry off, and pay a dowry in the process. Maybe you should look at knights. There are so many of them dying to get their paws on some rich, beautiful princess and elevate their status. Scumbags."
"You think they'll pay?"
"For the right princess? Absolutely, without question. Probably more than those kings, even, if they believe they have a chance to, ugh, live happily ever after. And, you can pitch your 'dragon-slaying services' to a few of them at the same time."
"Hmmm that's a thought... But we still need princesses..."
Just as I finish, the door to my room swung open. "Don't you ever knock, Alessandria?" I snapped, hurriedly covering the glowing crystal. "What's this talk about princesses, dad?" she asks, "are you looking to find me a new mom and settle down? Because I won't have that!" She's really taking after me, adventurous, impulsive, and fiercely independent. I wish I could have provided more for her, after my wife passed away, giving birth to her. Healthcare costs in the kingdom bankrupted me after that, and it had taken me a good sixteen years to arrive at this point. Hmm.... Sixteen years... Alessandria would be turning seventeen soon.
"Hey Aless," I replied, a smile coming to my face, "how would YOU like to be a princess? You know, those types that idiot knights fawn over? Those types that receive gifts on a daily basis from dumb rich boys?" Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "And you get to be rescued by me, not some idiot kid."
"Oooh oooh tell her about me, Flamestorm The Immortal!"
I lift the cloth off the glowing crystal. "And you get to meet a really cool immortal dragon, who will be your friend and defender for life. He also cooks a mean steak. His name is Flamey McFlameFace."
"FLAMESTORM THE IMMORTAL!"
A wide grin forms on my daughter's face. She's so pretty when she smiles. She's looking more and more like a princesses each day. My princess. | It was a simple dream. Save the princess, slay the dragon, and gain an unparalleled fortune. It has happened countless times throughout the ages, but when my time came to gain said fortune, all that was given to me was a wry smile and a simple "*Thank you O great hero*".
And again...and again...and again...and again.
"*AGHHHHH, What is wrong with these people!"*
After a while I began coming to a specific cave to vent my frustrations with an unexpected friend. It was a massive mountain sized cavern housing an equally massive fire breathing beast with pitch black scales and ferocious claws. Anyone seeing this creature for the first time would surly cower upon meeting its gaze. Staring at me quizzically was the immortal dragon Calhaldroun.
"*please save my daughter, please save my daughter, please save my daughter*" I began flailing my arms around to try and convey the ridiculousness of this past month to the dragon. "*Bullshit! all of it..."*
*"You're telling me bud"* Calhaldroun lifted his neck high into the sky revealing the many scars I had inflicted upon its flesh "*I may be immortal, but this still hurts."*
"*There's got to be another way to go about this."*
&#x200B;
I've been staring at this for about 30 minutes and can't figure out a way to continue. I don't want to delete it because I don't actually write all that often anymore and I don't wanna end up just forgetting about it, so I'm posting it even though It's not finished... | 2022-08-06T21:19:22 | 2022-08-06T20:50:13 | 120 | 67 |
[WP] The dungeon boss turns to face the adventuring party, only to instead see an OSHA inspector with a list of the dungeon's safety hazards. | The trickle of pebbles falling from the walls of the dungeon made Asha flinch. She had been in bad dungeons before, but this one took the cake. By a wide margin, she might add, observing the rusted spikes protruding from the walls. She wondered if their purpose was to support the walls or to impale intruders. Either way, she thought as she marked down the violation, it was a safety hazard.
"Mister Dungeon Boss," she announced, making her voice an octave deeper. She found that people paid her more attention that way. He turned slowly, wielding a weapon in each hand.
His gaze settled on Asha, dwarfed by his stature but standing fearlessly in his shadow. The torches on the walls guttered, making the shadows dance grotesquely across the dungeon floor. She stared at him unblinkingly. "You're not the adventuring party," the dungeon boss bellowed, his voice tinged with disappointment.
"That's right," she retorted. "I'm not. I'm here for your annual inspection."
"I thought that was next week." It was. But then she got word of the adventuring party, and she figured a surprise visit might help uncover some of the more glaring shortcomings of this particular dungeon. She was right, as expected. She had been in the business long enough.
She shrugged. "Shouldn't matter if the dungeon is safe."
The dungeon boss fumbled over his words, desperately seeking an adequate response. His minions slowly backtracked into the shadows to avoid his wrath. It was building; they could see the steam creeping out of his ears and his gnarled claws trembling. "It... It doesn't," he stuttered finally. "Let me just clean up a little. I wouldn't want you-"
"No need," Asha interrupted. "Let's get started. I've heard you have visitors on their way." She checked her watch. It didn't work well down here in the depths of the dungeon. That was the issue with those solar-powered watches. "These spikes here..." Asha gestured at the walls, following them upwards. "And those loose boulders. What's up with that?"
"Oh, just some maintenance work. The boulders will be firmly on the ground by tonight, I promise."
"And the spikes?"
"The ends will be covered."
"By?"
"Bodies?" She glanced up from her clipboard.
"I'm sorry?"
"Boulders. The spiky ends will be covered by boulders is what I meant." She checked off another item.
"That food outside the door," she continued, gesturing behind her with her head.
"For my visitors." Right, of course. Such hospitality.
"How old is it?" The dungeon boss shifted uncomfortably.
"Just one." Asha paused her writing again and looked up. One was missing a unit.
"One day?" The dungeon boss shook his head. "One week?" Another shake of the head. The minions were scurrying away into the further depths of the dungeon now, maybe heading back to their respawn stations or somewhere safe from the boss' anger. "One month?" She was hopeful now. It couldn't be more than a month.
"One year," the dungeon boss corrected meekly, staring down at his spiked boots.
"A year?" Asha stared at him in disbelief. "Are you trying to poison somebody?" He glanced up shyly. "Don't answer that. I'll have to report it if you are." The dungeon boss stayed silent. "Alright, here's the deal. Get this all cleaned up, I'll be back in two weeks with the health inspector. If nothing has changed, you'll get a failing grade and you'll have to shut down."
"So I can leave it for my visitors?"
Asha shrugged. "Sure. I don't care. Just clean it up by my next visit so I have less paperwork to file."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | "I faced a cliff without a barricade and a chance to fall into deep water as well. That alone could have this whole thing shut down. That was just my initial impression.
I won't even go into detail about the monsters. You seriously just let them roam around here picking on anyone who wanders in? Don't even pretend that you didn't know about these skeletons. I think I still hear one behind me. This is going to be way more than a fine.
Falling objects, trap doors, and secret rooms hiding loot? Has all this been reported? I think not. What if a kid wandered in here?! Do you even realize the lawsuit that could come of that?!
Look. Act big and scary all you want. People know I'm here. It was a small miracle I made it this far without getting a stalactite through my skull. You should knock those down. People are expected to remove snow and ice from walking paths each winter. You have had how many years?
I have no choice but to escalate this. My boss will shut your entire operation down as of yesterday. Don't expect to hold onto the shiny stuff I see behind you. In fact, consider a bankruptcy attorney.
I really wish I could pretend I didn't see what I saw. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I have to do now?" | 2019-10-21T08:50:36 | 2019-10-21T04:38:58 | 138 | 59 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | "That thing will give you cancer," the man in the advertisement said with a smug grin. Jake moved on. He was use to it at this point. Anyways Nothing could top that time, nearly two years ago, when the President herself had mentioned him in the state of the union, highlighting the near perfect success of the anti-smoking campaign.
Jake had gotten use to it by now. It actually had some benefits. On the one hand, he was a pariah of sorts. People looked on at him with disgust. They asked him if he knew how bad the habit was, as if the increasingly personal advertisements or the constant protestors outside his house had not already given him that impression. But he didn't really care. He had grown use to the life of an outcast, but it wasn't all bad. He had no problem finding women to date, though usually that only lasted for as long as they were trying to piss off their parents, but he didn't care. There was always another.
It even helped him make friends in some circles. Sure they would never smoke with him, but they respected him. He'd get invited to conferences and even spoke at the UN once, a symbol of the freedom he represented in his country. They would never ban smoking, take away his freedom, but so to were they free to shame him. He didn't mind though. And in a way, even as they shamed him, they appreciated him. He Was a lone holdout in a world that became less familiar with each passing moment. He was an ever present, if stinky, reminder of when things didn't move so fast, when people didn't know so much, when mistakes were tolerated. Now everything changed so much. Technology has transformed the world in to a sort of utopia, and though life was undeniably better, it was less interesting, less challenging. Change became the norm. Jake was a reminder of an older time when people were more individualistic, more interesting. And so while they urged him to conform, he was confident they were happy that he didn't.
"No one wants to marry a smoker Jake," the billboard spoke to him.
"Yeah well a smoker doesn't want to marry," he shot back. An annoying laugh shot out from behind him. He turned around to see a young man, no more than twenty, smiling at him.
"They said you were funny," the man quipped. "You'd have to have a sense of humor to carry on with those Death sticks."
Jake was use to this. They'd make a comment and then usually move on, satisfied that they had said their peace. But this young man lingered. Jake could tell he wanted to leave, his mind was ordering his feet to move but his feet refused to yield. Something held him there.
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the cigarettes he had rolled earlier that day. He offered it to the man, something he had done a thousand times before, a small and expected act of defiance, typical of these exchanges. But this time was different. He saw it in the mans eyes as soon as he offered it. That look of excitement that seemed not to exist anymore in this world of ease and plenty.
"Sure," The man said and extended his hand. | I sit in the middle of a barren wasteland with cigerette in hand. So many have been lost before me, a faded anti-smoking ad stares in front of me. Should i just stop now? Put the cigarette down and try to rebuild our crumbled society.
I look up at the sign and then down at my cigarette.
I take a puff. | 2017-02-17T13:04:33 | 2017-02-17T11:51:00 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] As a psychic interrogator you've seen many people do many things to resist you reading their mind. Some use pain, some try to Marshall their thoughts, some even repeat a word or mantra ad nauseam. For the first time you're shocked at how someone did it. | [Part 1 of 2]
Ben tilted down his squared glasses, observing the man before him. “The silent treatment won’t work on me. I’m a psychic investigator. Even if you keep your mouth shut, I’ll still find out exactly what you’re hiding. If you confess now, I’m sure we can work out a plea deal. I hate to admit it, but using my abilities is tiring. It takes me a week to recover after entering someone’s mind. If you can spare me that week of pain, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Ben gave the man a friendly smile, hoping that the enticement of a deal might grab his attention. Most intelligent people broke after that. What point was there in challenging a psychic? Even if they resisted, their innermost secrets would eventually be found out. The man, no older than forty, just stared back at Ben, barely even paying attention. Ben might have thought the man was dead, if not for the occasional movement of his eyes as he scanned the room.
“Right, silent treatment it is. You have the right to fight any evidence that is uncovered during my investigation. A copy of our findings will be forwarded to your lawyer. If you have yet to be appointed a lawyer, we will keep the report on our records for them. Questions?” Ben gave the standard spiel before picking up his notepad.
“First question, where were you on the night of the murder, Jacob?” Ben asked his question, staring the man in the eyes. The two shared a silent bit of eye contact as Ben waited for an image or word to appear in his mind, but nothing came up. It was blank. Giving up on that question, he tried a more direct line of questioning.
“I believe you were the one that killed Paul Malarin. Your fingerprints were on the man’s sleeve in what we believe was a revenge attack by a rival gang. Anything to say about that?” Ben stared, even removing his glasses to avoid having anything blocking his sight.
Nothing.
This had never happened to him before. How could someone have no thoughts going through their head? Sure, some of the smarter criminals would recite lyrics or try to psyche him out, but none could ever pull off this. The mind was a hopelessly honest thing. No matter how much someone tried to cover their thoughts, the truth would eventually slip. With how much information passes through the human brain every second, it’s impossible to disrupt the flow of thoughts forever.
Ben watched the dead expression of the man. Even now, his eyes were the only things moving, continuing to glance around the room without purpose. How could he be looking without processing what was around him? Ben knocked on the two-way mirror, pressing his cheek against it. “Can we get a scan done? Or any sort of test that might tell me if his mind’s being messed with?”
A dull thud was the only response Ben got. The person on the other side letting him know his words had been acknowledged. “Something’s not right here. If I were a betting man, I would say that you were dead.” Jacob only continued his gaze, leaving Ben to lean back in his chair, awaiting the other officers.
After using his abilities, Ben would usually experience a sharp pain behind his retina’s, but today he felt nothing. He hadn’t been able to get into the other’s head, or maybe there was nothing for him to get inside of? When the officers took Jacob away, Ben went and prepared a coffee. He wasn’t certain what would turn up in their findings, but he expected the worst.
Ten hours passed before Ben received a call. The voice on the other side let out a long sigh, leaving them with a moment of silence before speaking. “This is Officer Pauline; I’m calling to update you about our findings on Jacob Richardson. I believe you were investigating him?”
“That’s correct. Have you got any results? A CT scan or something for me to look at?” Ben tapped at his shirt pocket, sliding his notepad out, placing it on the table, getting ready to take notes.
“We do. I’ll forward the results shortly, but I need to discuss something that came up in the CT scan first.”
“Sure, what did you find?” The tip of Ben’s pen tapped against the paper, leaving a few black splotches of ink as he awaited the answer to his mystery.
“We found a chip. We aren’t certain how the chip got in there, but we believe it’s linked to his unusual brain activity. A possible blocker on brain activity?”
“A chip? You need to be more descriptive. Are we talking about something more cylinder shaped? Metallic or rubbery? Any electrical signals?”
“We don’t know. The scan hasn’t given us much to go off. A chip is just our current theory. We were hoping to take him in for surgery, but his lack of responses has made that difficult. No lawyer would ever agree to it, and we don’t have enough evidence to claim its necessary. Hell, even if we knew he was the murderer, we wouldn’t be able to get it approved. Do you want to question him again? I don’t think we will get anymore chances after this.”
“That might be for the best. Have you noticed anything usual? Strange noises or out of character behavior?”
“Only the movement of his eyes. He keeps looking around at everything. It’s rather creepy, given he never speaks.” He could hear her tone get a little higher as she said that. A slight chill running up her spine as she recounted the stares.
“Right, send me through the information and your location. I’ll meet up with you shortly. Can you make sure we have some equipment set up for the interview, too? Even if it’s just a phone to record things.” Ben ended the call, looking at his near empty notepad. Only a few obvious notes being jotted down, offering him little to go off.
When the information came through, he checked the hospital room number before calling for a cab. He couldn’t waste any time. Ben reading through the files from the backseat of the cab. The CT scan showed an object near the frontal lobe, but what the object was could be anything. Its rounded shape added to the chip theory, but Ben didn’t feel convinced, at least not without gathering more information.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/s3ski0/wp_as_a_psychic_interrogator_youve_seen_many/hsn6gi0/
) | "Now, the more you resist, the harder it would be for both of us," Claire said calmly. "And I really want it to make it a good experience for both of us."
"My wife was murdered and you want to make it good?" Said James, the victim's husband, stonily.
Claire winced. "That's not what I meant, Mr. Klaus. I apologize."
He nodded stiffly, his hands were almost white with how tight he was holding his fist.
"I want to help you catch your wife's killer, Mr. Klaus. So I have to do this. You understand this?" Claire said this as gently as she could.
She had been able to read people for a long time now, but it was just recently that she had joined the police as their permanent psychic interrogator. They were a little sceptical, at first, but 10 back to back solved cases made them, well not a complete believer, but less sceptic.
"Just get it over with." James said letting out a harsh breath. "I have to-" his voice broke and Claire felt bad for the man, it was never easy losing a loved one, much less in a murder "-I have to plan the funeral."
"Extend your hands, Mr. Klaus. Yes, palm sides up." Claire said softly.
She placed her hands in his making him jerk his hands back as if he had been electrocuted. He looked at her, his eyes wide in panic, resentment and confusion.
"Physical contact is necessary for a psychic connection, Mr. Klaus. It's totally harmless. See." She said as she gently placed her hands on his.
Though still holding himself stoically and looking like he wanted to run away, he gave in. He extended his hands once more, and this time when she touched them, her eyes rolled back as she braced herself for incoming visions.
But there was nothing, for the first few seconds there was nothing but darkness. She concentrated hard, sometimes people knowingly/unknowingly tried to block their memories so it took a little more mental strength to break their barriers.
The darkness slowly started to fade and she relaxed, but a pain, so raw in its intensity hit her that she almost lost her balance. The darkness that had started to fade, just turned even darker their was nothing but bleakness around her. Everywhere she looked, she found nothing but hopelessness. The pain this man felt was so powerful that it became her own. It was like someone was clawing her heart out of her chest, like all the happiness has left the world and there was nothing but these thunder clouds of sadness looming above her.
She tried to clear the darkness by channeling some of her light but it was of no used. The darkness surrounded the little ball of light and started to envelop it. There was no escape. There was no hope, no happiness, nothing left. Loneliness was the only thing that there will be.
*She is gone and now what am I supposed live for?*
She gasped as she let go of his hands. Tears were streaming down Jack's face and for the time she realised how powerful pain was. She had read many people, had many brushes with painful memories but this pain- his pain was nothing like the others. His pain was as if all the light had disappeared from his life, not day by day but in a snap. In a snap all the happiness this man had ever known was gone and he would never get it back.
"Mr. Klaus-" She began not knowing what to say.
"I'm sorry." He let out of staggered breath. "I'm so-"
He never finished his sentence as he collapsed unto himself. Not knowing what to say she just sat there feeling helpless for the first time in her life. | 2022-01-14T07:26:49 | 2022-01-14T06:45:06 | 298 | 128 |
[WP] The year us 3235. You live in a society that has discovered and perfected time travel. It is customary for people who turn 18 to spend a day in the present with their future selves. When it's your turn, you start to feel that the person you're talking to isn't really you. | I had a lot of expectations for meeting my future self. The government minder wasn't one of them.
&#x200B;
"Oh, don't worry," he'd told me when he showed up, "it's just a new ordinance. A man tried to kill his past self in a bizarre suicide attempt, caused a time paradox, cleanup took weeks. I'm just here to make sure nothing happens." He laughed at that point, but it sounded nervous, and he didn't seem to have anything he could use as a weapon in case something did turn sour. I wouldn't have trusted him even if he *hadn't* seemed to be lying; his government status was enough, after what I'd seen men like him do to the citizens like me. His clear discomfort just made me more uneasy.
&#x200B;
The me from the future was everything I'd hoped for: I'd grown into my nose, apparently, and I was pleased to see my boobs would be getting bigger. The clothes I--she?--wore looked expensive, and I couldn't recognize a single piece of the technology I saw on her, probably all cutting edge for her time period. Our conversation, however, felt stunted. She couldn't help but repeatedly glance at the government drone, always too close to us, and seemed thrown off by every question I asked. She seemed too plain to be me; too much of a pushover, too obedient to the government who had killed my--our--father, just for allowing me to read a history book.
&#x200B;
"So wait. If I'm going to a school abroad, what happens between me and Jake? Does he come, or do we..." I trailed off, trying to look as worried as I could.
&#x200B;
"I--" she looked again towards our minder, "well, he, um. We don't, we don't really... We aren't *right* for each other, you'll see it later, he's not the nicest guy, and--" she looked again towards the minder, this time appearing more panicked, and back at me. This didn't feel right. There was no Jake, never had been, and anyway I'd expect the future me to know I'm gay. I turned towards the government drone, feeling frustrated.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry, but we can't have a real conversation with someone like *you* breathing down our necks. She's *clearly* not about to attack me. Could we just have a few minutes alone?"
&#x200B;
This time the minder looked worried. He glanced at the woman and tried to plaster on a clearly fake smile. "Well, I'm just here to make sure--"
&#x200B;
The woman leaned over towards him, whispering something, while I strained my ears to make any of it out. I knew, by now, something was wrong. She stepped back, and the two nodded at each other, both taking deep breaths to calm themselves. The government drone turned back to me, plastering on another fake-looking smile. "I think that will be alright, but only briefly, and I'll be close by in case anything happens." He nodded at the woman and we parted.
&#x200B;
"Look," I started once out of earshot, "I know you aren't--"
&#x200B;
"You?" She grinned at me, seeming suddenly more confident. "You know not to trust him as much as anybody, so pretend we're discussing boys or something." She made the tiniest movement in the minder's direction. "Good job calling him out, by the way. There was a whole plan for how I'd get you alone that you kind of spoiled, but I'll let it slide. We don't have much time, what do you want to know?"
&#x200B;
"Why aren't you me?" I said, growing more confused and uneasy by the second.
&#x200B;
"I'll try to make this as fast as possible. You couldn't come back, the government would never allow it. You're in the middle of leading a revolution against them. They hired me to come back here and pretend to be you. You and I had to pull some strings to get *me* to be chosen," she laughed at that, shaking her head, "but they did it. They believed me. I'm wired up like you couldn't imagine, they're recording everything--don't look so scared, your men hacked it all no problem, none of this will be heard--and they want to use me to stop you from getting risky. They want to prevent the rebellion. They *still* haven't figured out we're always a step or two ahead." She winked at me while her back was to our minder, and I suddenly realized how intensely he stared at us.
&#x200B;
I tried to think of any kind of response, but my head was swimming. I'd always chafed at the government rule, but a full-fledged *rebellion?* "Why send you back at all? Why not, I don't know, kill me or something?" I was trying to find a hole in her story, something to make it not be true.
&#x200B;
"You don't think they've tried," she said, grinning, "you really think the number of accidents you've had isn't unusual? That your own dog attacking you wasn't odd? That you would have had not one but--what, four now?--people try to outright murder you? The only reason they even *have* this tradition is to try to convince the world that their futures will be perfect if they *obey.* *Everyone* sent back is an actor unless they're going to be some government sheep. But we're *winning* now. I can feel it." She stared forward at nothing, but the glee and passion in her eyes was unmistakable. She blinked out of it and stared at me.
&#x200B;
"Giggle like I've said something funny." She motioned subtly towards the minder, "he's an actual government member. Try as we might we couldn't replace him with a spy."
&#x200B;
"Is that what you are, then? A spy? A member of the revolt?"
&#x200B;
"I'm a little more than *that,* but I'll let you experience that on your own. I'm on your side though, rest assured, as is the rest of the world. The tides are turning, in our time. Don't give up. Our fight is nearing its end, and you need to stay with it as hard as it may feel. You'll get to read your history books, eventually, as will everyone else." She smiled at me, and her eyes sparkled with more hope than I'd ever seen from an ordinary citizen. "It's time we go back to him before he catches on," she said, before turning around like she hadn't just uprooted everything I'd ever known.
&#x200B;
"Did I miss anything fun," our minder asked in feigned playfulness when we returned.
&#x200B;
"Oh, you know," I said, "just some boy-talk." | The year is 3235, though you can't tell if you look out my window. It opens into a boulevard of old bougainvillea trees. They were brought to the city by early explorers to the North, maybe a few hundred years ago, maybe more. It's autumn, and the wind rustles through the leaves gentler than a hand caressing its fingers when it's trying to write a poem. The sun is setting. Tomorrow is a big day.
Perhaps the surprising thing about societies that have developed time travel, is their morphed understanding of it. We don't really focus on time as a linear axis, instead there are clusters, and spaces beside those clusters. When we are young, we get to visit those extraneous spaces.
It's safer, and costs a lot less resources. There's diplomatic missions between different clusters in our time, and we are still trying to lay down groundwork to get tech that can help us multiply resources more easily. Diplomacy, like all manmade things, eventually breaks down. But that doesn't rule out its efficacy. It is perhaps the most robust of human designs, maybe even more than the scientific method.
Thoughts such as these were flitting in my head as I laid down on the time tractor. It was my 18th birthday. I get to meet who I become in 25 years today. It's autumn outside. I close my eyes.
I wake inside a glass chamber. There is a low blue light, and a humming sound emanating from a small box in the middle of the room.
" Beautiful, isn't it? "
" Yes, it really is. "
" You know who designed it? "
" Don't you know if I do? "
" Hmm. I don't remember my.. our 18th birthday that well. A lot has happened. "
" What happens? "
" War breaks out. You are sent to the frontlines. You get shell shocked, and fall into deep coma for 10 years. "
" That.. doesn't sound very comfortable. "
" It has its advantages. I don't have to work anymore. Ever since I woke up, The Commitment takes care of all my expenses. "
" Tomorrow you'll be turning 43. "
" Sharp. Yes. "
" Do you still meet them? "
" In some clusters. Not in others. "
" What happened? "
" It's difficult to say. I have thoughts of leaving society behind. "
" Oh. I want to stay forever. "
" It's because you're 18. "
" .. Do I ever fall in love? "
" Once. Maybe twice. "
" .. "
" Do you have it? "
" 23 twix bars. Just as you asked for in the brief! "
" Amazing. You're as dumb as I was. "
" .. "
" Twix obviously means Brunch. "
" Oh. "
" Well, you know. "
..
\*chiming together\*
" when all candy tastes the same, is time really a thinnnnng? "
..
" Say, do you ever get over your.. I mean, our childhood crush on your history teacher? "
" I think around the time you turn 23, you'll find that out for yourself. "
Something was wrong. I misspoke. The crush I had wasn't on my history teacher, it was on my biology teacher! This person was me. He should know me like the back of his hand. Maybe it was the coma. I decided to probe further. Looking around the room for bugs (I'd heard about this, when they mismatched you with someone from an alternate reality), I continued:
" What school did you go to? "
" Xy Public High "
" I knew it! You aren't me! Who are you? Impostor! "
" Okay, calm down your youth-ness. I am you.. I just, am not. "
" What does that mean? "
" It means, I'm doing this as a favor to my friend. "
" .. what? "
" Yeah, sorry kid, you don't make it past 40. "
" .. what? "
" Like I said. The Commitment has decided to take care of all your personal affects. "
" .. what? "
" You get a free ride till you die, unfortunately, due to irreversible brain damage you suffered fighting on the frontlines for your pack. "
..
" .. Can I take back the twix? "
" You can take half. "
..
\*chiming together\*
" when all candy tastes the same, is time really a thinnnnng? "
..
" Anything on tomorrow's big game? "
" Nope. " | 2019-05-23T15:47:57 | 2019-05-23T14:03:53 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] Humans suck at magic. No matter how anyone tries to explain it to them they can't seem to comprehend it. They suck, but they still do it. Awful at magic, but they don't seem to know that. To make it worse they still always seem to get their spells to do what they want. Humans suck at Magic? | "Do it again! Show them what you've shown to me," urged the High Elf.
"Do what?"
"The... the thing! The thing you did with your stick!"
"Wand?"
"Wand, cane, whatever you want to call it, just do it!"
"Okay then," I said, then waved my wand around. Its tip shone, as it always did when it was activated, and danced in the air, leaving trails of light. "Lumen." After the chant, a small dot of light appeared within my arm's reach, inviting oohs and aahs from the people all around the hall.
"See that?" Beckoned the Elf "It doesn't make any sense! How can this human just tapped into the Great Fey Line with just waving a stick around?!"
"Let me see that," asked a stout, but by no means small, man whose beard almost touched his knees. Even before I gave an okay, he took my wand away from my hand and began to examine it closely. Perhaps it wasn't enough, he opened his mouth and put his tongue on it as though to taste it. "This is just some plain old Elderwood. It's not inscribed with circuits neither embed with gems. How in the name of the Great Jotun it manages to fiddle with magicules?" The other Dwarves in the room looked just as astonished to hear his comment. "Humanborn, show us again how you did it," said the Dwarf, trying to return the saliva-riddled wand to my hand.
"Err, why don't I use another wand?" I proposed, trying not to touch it. From behind my coat, I produced a Flame Wand and a sheet of paper. I crumpled the paper and put it on the long table, for everyone to see, and started my chant. "Ignis." The paper then, obviously, caught on fire after it was hit by the spell. And yet everyone was acting as though I just pulled a rug under their feet.
"YOU USED ANOTHER LINE OF ████?!!" It was the High Elf, grabbing my shoulder hard. The words that came out of her mouth sounded like thousands of cicadas crying at the same time.
"Another line of what?"
"████! The ████████ of the Great Fey Lines that keeps the whole world from literally collapsing in of itself! Oh Avalon, If Hacktch and her Sisters were to learn of this, who knows what will happen to us?!"
"I-, I'm sorry, but I don't understand half of the things that you just said."
"Maybe it's because the concept of those words surpassed the capability of the Translation Crystal, Humanborn. After all, the Crystal is nothing more than a tool. It cannot give you words that don't exist in your dictionary." Said the Dwarf, examining the Flame Wand this time. "Let me phrase it simple. What you did with these sticks basically violated the first rule of magic by inciting magic. In other words, it doesn't make any sense. Its logic is backwards."
"Logic?" I raised a question, mostly to myself. "Why would magic need logic? It's called magic because it's illogical. You noble races have been using magic to split oceans and raise mountains. We humans can only light our houses."
"We are following a very strict set of rules, Furless One." This time, it was a Dragonewt who raised his voice. Or her. Members of their race had no specific gender. "It is the Rules that allow us to make Magic happen, not the other way around. We wish dearly to teach you everything, but alas, it takes centuries even for the brightest of our kin to understand the basic principles of Magic."
I looked blankly to my wands. "But it's just magic. Even a five year old can use it if his incantation is clear enough."
The Dwarf gazed at me then heaved a sigh. "We should have invited Humanborns to the Association eons ago." The notion was met with a nod from basically everyone in the hall.
Edit: typos | "..as you all know, after what became known as 'The Yellow Tower Incident' human mages were outlawed from practising anything more than hedge magic, a type of lower magic that most Elven mages learn as children. It was a humiliating blow for humanity, and one that would lead to a startling upheaval in later years.
When the law was first passed there were some among the Supreme Council of the Magick Arts who claimed that this restriction couldn't be properly enforced, and indeed while the restrictions still exist today, it hasn't prevented a burgeoning underground of dedicated human mages from causing all manner of havoc.
Recent incidents such as the assassination of Archmage Norris, or indeed the summoning of the Demonium Horde in Melfis, can all be attributed to the steady rise in unlicensed and untrained human mages.
In response to the growing threat of human mages, a populist anti-human movement has been spurred on by Elven politicians from across the political spectrum. Perhaps the one and only thing they can agree on, of late.
The Supreme Council of the Magick Arts is now under pressure to act against human mages before their populist counterparts begin resorting to their own methods.."
-excerpt from a lecture at Carnavey Hall by Magick Historian and public speaker, Dr. Ignis Shinlack. | 2021-09-30T00:42:44 | 2021-09-30T00:08:33 | 447 | 52 |
[WP] Describe an utopian and a dystopian society, which differ in only a single thing. | It is fear that was at the root of everything, nothing more.
It was said that at the beginning of time there were two brothers, the brothers were inseparable and spent all day running and playing in the woods, unafraid of anything or anyone.
One day, the two bothers were wrestling and one threw the other into a stream, but the stream was stronger than they had expected and he was swept away. Faster and faster the brother was born by the water, until at last he came to a great lake, where he managed to swim to shore, but only just.
He collapsed at the bank and fell into a deep sleep while his brother searched for him, running down the length of the river until he at last found his brother asleep. He thought at first that he was dead, but he shook him awake and the two were reunited.
The bother who had not fallen swore that the water was evil, that it could have killed his brother and such was his love for his sibling, he swore he would never enter it again. His brother tried to comfort him, to remind him that that it was an accident and that he must not reject the things which he could not control, but his brother had made up his mind.
Over time the brother became more fearful, no longer just of the water, but of the animals and the very woods themselves. He took to wearing a long cloak over his naked form and called himself M'tung, meaning one-who-is-protected, to show that he was in command of his destiny.
The other brother long tried to comfort him and assure him that the world was safe and new experiences were good, but it was too late, fear had entered M'tung's mind and could not be removed.
At last, M'tung became afraid of his own brother and in the night he slipped away, walking far away and making a new home and his brother was much saddened. Finally accepting his brother's choice he called himself P’tai, meaning he-who-has-lost-another.
Over time the brothers formed communities and each community followed in the way of their brother. The M'tung grew wary and insular, not trusting others and making weapons and means of protecting themselves against nature. The P’tai worked with nature and harvested its bounty, learning from the plants and the trees and all that they offered.
After many years the two communities met, the P’tai celebrating the finding of their brothers, but the M'tung growing fearful that they would be attacked. They refused to tell the P’tai where their community was, but visited the P’tai and marvelled at their tall buildings and plentiful ways.
Jealousy grew but the P’tai, unaware of these things, ignored it until it was too late. At last the M'tung came upon them in the night and attacked, killing and scattering the P’tai people and taking their land, the original land of the two brothers, claiming that it was theirs by right and that the P’tai had stolen it, that the original brother had forced M'tung out.
It is only now that we can understand our history and the ancient writings. Now we can piece together the story and can finally understand. Now we at last know where we came from. We do not know though if our ancestors killed the P’tai completely, or if they were merely scattered to the winds and one day we may come across them.
This is the stain we bear, that our people carry this great fear in our heart and we must strive each day to defeat it. That, little one, is the true story of where our people came from.
| It was a dream of a city.
They lived in great honeycombs of steel and chrome, living together in one communal structure. Living so close together, the bonds of society strengthened and grew. They shared their joys and divided their duties in this new world, working together to build a brighter day. They opened and spread and unfolded over the Earth, an expanding web of civilization weaving itself from the people within.
It was a nightmare of a city.
They struggled in catacombs of iron and rust, grating against one another in the heavy crush. Packed into a single overflowing structure, they turned on one another like maddened beasts. They argued and screamed and shouted and raged in this overwhelming city, fighting to be the top of the pile. They bloated and pulsed and engulfed the Earth, a malignant tumor spreading root over the fecund land.
And all that differed was perspective. | 2015-02-12T08:42:09 | 2015-02-12T08:39:06 | 97 | 58 |
[WP]Someone has the ability to save and reload their life like a video game. One day something goes very wrong.
The person obviously keeps their memory and can ony have one save "file" at a time. I'll leave other details to the writer. | The hardest question for me to answer is "So, how old are you?" That one always gives me pause. I make a joke that I must be getting old since I can't remember and everyone has a laugh, but the truth is I just don't know. My drivers license says I'm 31 but I lost count of my true age somewhere around 1400. Or was it 1200? It doesn't matter; people say time is an illusion. If that's true, then I'm the guy with the rabbit in his hat.
The watch was my greatest invention. A simple stopwatch, broken to the casual observer, only showing one time on its frozen face. But it wasn't broken, merely holding my place. A temporal tether, attuned to my bio-matrix, allowing me to jump back to the point I last stopped the watch at. Indiscriminate time travel is impossible, you can't just jump back or forward wherever - whenever - you want. Trust me, I spent three hundred years working on that for nothing. But for a simple re-do or second chance, it works wonders.
I got the most use out of it in college. No, not to relive nights of debauchery or to see what would've happened if i went home with him instead of her. I stopped the watch the start of my freshman year and reset right after graduation; on each pass through I'd get a different major. I was a regular renaissance man by the time I was done. I had a well paying job, a big house and a loving wife. I didn't let the power corrupt me, everything was done with good intentions. Well, you know what they say about using good intentions as pavement.
It wasn't her fault, she just wanted to do something nice for me. Something for our anniversary, our 5th for her, our 37th for me. I remember the smile on her face when she took the box out from behind her back. "I cherish every second I have with you," she said, "and I want you to keep track of every single one." I opened the box and found my stopwatch, "repaired" and ticking away. I put on my best fake smile and hugged her, thanking her for the best gift ever while cursing her for destroying my life's work. "It was nothing, just had to open it up and reset the battery. I've been watching how-to videos." We made love that night, and for the first time I couldn't replay the situation to ensure she got everything she wanted. I think she noticed.
After she was asleep, I took a look at the watch and found what was done. She opened the case, removed and replaced the singularity with a standard battery and restarted the internal timing mechanism. If I wasn't so scared, I'd be very impressed. I put everything back as well as I could and found that I could no longer "save" a time, only reset. And without a save, the only option was "factory reset". A complete and utter re-start.
And that's why I'm where I am now, sitting in a hospital room watching doctors try to understand what's wrong with the love of my life. They don't know she was exposed to lethal radiation when she opened the shell of the battery of the watch, even if I could explain to them, there's nothing they can do. Nothing except use the watch one last time, re-do everything. I can't remember the first half of my life; 20 years and 7 centuries ago. I don't know if I'll remember this time. I don't know if I'll be able to find her again or even rebuild the watch. But it doesn't matter, what's an eternity compared to another day for the one you love?
After the doctors leave, I locked the door and kissed her on the forehead, apologizing for what I've done and what I'm about to do. I take one last look at her face and press the small silver button on the side of the watch.
A bright flash and sudden darkness, different from any other time. Pain. Blood. Screaming. Suffocating. Light. Something choking me. Air! My eyes struggle to see, but it's too bright. I try to talk but can only scream. My limbs feel weak and the noise is cacophonous. Finally, the world begins to come into focus and I realize I'm being carried. I look up and see a man in a blue mask. "Congratulations, Mrs. Welkash, it's a healthy baby boy!"
I think of that tough question i used to get, "how old are you?" Time to start counting again.
| Three years, that’s how long I waited to use this power for her. Whenever I was dating a girl I would create the safe point right before I asked her to the first date. That way if things went badly, I could just erase it from my history. It was inconvenient at times, especially when I was in school, but the total lack of baggage was more than worth it. I could date coworkers, best friend’s sisters(all of them), and even teachers once I was over eighteen. Things didn’t go well, I just reloaded my safe file and erased the relationship.
There was also a second benefit. Once I married ‘The One’, I could go back to the start of our relationship and get rid of all the fights. I would know all of our similarities and our differences. I would know the things she was sensitive about, and the things she wasn’t. It would make our connection so much deeper, now that I knew exactly how to forge that connection. Not to mention I get to fall in love with the woman of my dreams *twice*. How many people get to do that?
I’m sitting at the table in Panera where Lucy and I first met. Any second now she would walk through that door, and the beautiful part was I already knew what to say.
She steps through the door, fiery hair streaming behind her, and without a moment’s hesitation I stride over to her.
“Excuse me, do you have a band aid?” I ask her.
“No I don’t. I’m sorry.” She says.
“That’s a shame, because I just scraped my knee falling for you.” I say, grinning madly. She face palms.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you said that!” She exclaims.
“I’m goofy like that.” I say, extending my hand. “My name’s Josh.”
“I’m Chrissy.” | 2015-04-16T12:47:43 | 2015-04-16T08:26:23 | 38 | 20 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Commander Siren had dismissed the rumors.
Humans are a proud race. Though new amongst the stars with barely a few ships to their name, they have worked hard to integrate, to learn, to join that blasted Republic and all its artists and scientists. Even though they’ve never seen an alien in person before, they’d still worked very hard for the day they did. Gifts, knowledge, science, technology. Great effort was made by humanity to present themselves in the best possible light.
Of course, the Elder Senate of the Republic has passed a resolution, barring humanity from learning of the Fifth Great War, and is, the Union Tide.
So it was a shock to humanity that those who lived amongst the stars still waged war.
When our fleets jumped into the fray, the humans hailed us. When we fired, they quickly scattered, evacuating their outposts all across the Solar System in an exodus toward Earth.
To be fair, for a race with no weapons, they’d put up a pretty good fight. In fact, using satellites and abandoned wreckage, they’d managed to actually damage a few of our ships. It was almost as if they DID know how to fight.
So I investigated, hacking into their archives, their history.
For some reason, everything over three hundred years old had been buried. Redacted from records, hidden away from public view.
There was, however, an internal set of records. And in their education system, amongst a class curiously named, pre-disaster history, I found the answer.
I downloaded the data I could before the humans blocked me off. I opened up a random file, a journal of a human official serving in a intercontinental government at the time.
“Day 43.”
“The scientists have managed to create what we need. Project Golem. It will finally march across the radiation blasted Northern front, and take the capital city of ——.”
An image showed an enormous automaton, bristling with kinetic weapons, roaring across the landscape as armor-clad humans fought it with vehicles and missiles.
In dread, I opened another record.
“We will NEVER surrender. Like Churchill, like the Russians, we will survive no matter how many nuclear weapons drop on top of us. No matter how many of us are thrown into the meat grinder.”
Nuclear weapons? Outlawed a thousand years ago by the Republic, these devices could wipe out the surface of a planet if used enough times.
I read deeper, and grew more terrified with each passage.
Three hundred years ago, the humans had been a war like race unlike any other. Even insectoid species, though they were cannibals, would all focus for the good of the species as a whole.
Not these warm-bloods. They killed each other over every drop of resource, every disagreement. Cities razed for the sake of philosophy and religion. Murder and violence transformed from art into science.
In their last war they had nearly wiped themselves out dozens of times, forcibly cloning themselves and running mass fertility programs simply to maintain a viable population. They’d manage to develop dozens of biological, mechanical, and chemical weapons, over half of which were outlawed by the Republic as WMDs.
When the nuclear bombs annihilated their surface, they resorted to going underground, sending robot armies to smash each other’s bunkers. When that failed, nanobots were injected into water supplies and scorched the oceans. If it weren’t for humanity’s insane technological prowess and their utter determination to survive, they’d have wiped themselves out.
I brought all this up to Commander Siren. He, of course, refused to believe any of it. It was all too ludicrous. It must be a trick, he said as our fleet neared Earth. A misinformation campaign to deter us.
The illusion field around earth fell away, the gleaming ocean and verdant forests vanishing like a wrapping sliding off.
Cracked open crust and scorched atmosphere, dotted with pale lights around small pockets of blue and green, greeted us.
Before us, flashes of light shone across the surface like a newborn constellation, and the fleet sensors blared in warning. Thousands of missiles, nuclear, nanobot, robot-carrying.
Hidden orbital stations opened up, railguns and lasers firing. Hastily cobbled from stolen weaponry of our own, mounted onto their technology in a desperate attempt to even the technological playing field.
Our rear sensors put out more warnings. The moon. They’d blasted chunks off their moon, firing them at our fleet. Explosions rocked our ships as enormous masses of rock smashed into them, killing millions of soldiers and crew. It was insane; the chunks would fall to earth, destroying whatever they had left down there. But I realized, a second too late, that they do not care.
As the ragged fleets of humanity came into view, firing ruthlessly at our surrendering warships, a single message flared across our communications channel. A young woman, her face blackened with soot and her eyes blazing with hatred, said only one word.
“DIE.”
| Mobile, so please forgive any formatting errors.
World War 3 had devastated the planet. The major cities turned to radioactive dust. 300 years later, we can still feel the effects of it. From South Jersey, in the distance, you can see the ruins on New York. Fortunately, the ICBM's forgot about New Jersey. The powers of the time had seen that New Jersey was already a shithole, so they left it alone.
We rebuilt the city into a decent place to live. We changed our ways from being in endless wars to ways of peace and prosperity. One day, we saw a weird disk in the sky. They attacked with lights raining down upon North Jersey. There were no survivors. The disk didn't seem to move afterwards.
In an old military base, John, one of our citizens searching for food and whatnot had found some old documents. They were maps showing the locations of silos. Thinking we found a source of grain, we traveled to one such silo. We didn't find one. Instead, we found an underground bunker.
In the bunker was the soldiers who were stationed there. There had been a time lock on The door. The timer had expired, so the door was unlocked. We searched the bunker, finding nothing but skeletons clad in camoflage and old rifles from before the war.
In a desk, I found a folder with a key. It opened a locker containing two odd keys and a set of instructions of how to operate some old computer on top of a panel. I found the computer and powered it on. It showed a map of the US. On it, there was an exclamation mark surrounded by a red triangle. It displayed a sentence: press f5 to target anomaly. I did. The screen displayed another sentence: insert keys and turn simultaneously to fire.
John and I inserted a key into each side of the panel. We looked at each other and counted down. 3. 2. 1. And turned. All of a sudden, the ground started to shake, and a deafening roar resonated throughout the bunker. We high tailed it to the exit. We saw a cloud of smoke moving towards North Jersey.
John and I watched as the trail grew ever distant, straight towards where the disk was. The old world, despite being gone for centuries, had one final gift to give. | 2019-02-26T12:17:07 | 2019-02-26T09:26:21 | 62 | 23 |
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot. | Sam Yule scoffed as he watched his mark through the scope of his rifle. Benny was there, as expected. He had been elbowing up to that wealthy old man for weeks, the mop of red hair impossible to miss amidst the crowds of celebrities and the well to do at all the latest sorties. At least, all the ones frequented by Arlan Crafe, a shrewd business man who had managed to make his fortune off of chocolate milk, of all things. His son, Connald, an only child and sole heir to his company, had apparently gotten tired of waiting for the old man to croak on his own, and decided to speed things along with a hit. Thus why Benny was present at this charity party in the Rhodham Hotel Suite, and Sam was positioned in an abandoned business office in the adjacent building carefully watching the party through the window. Seeing Benny work tied Sam's chest in a knot of professional shame.
"It's the first rule of the hunt, kid." Sam muttered to himself shaking his head. "Don't make it personal."
Benny was notorious for getting his hands dirty in the course of completing his jobs. He always made a point of gaining his mark's trust before the kill, and death, when it came, usually came tortuously slowly and accompanied by an olive branch left somewhere near the mutilated corpse. The twenty-something assassin considered it his calling card, earning him the nickname "The Peacemaker" among the slew of media that flocked to his kills.
"Rule number two, don't let them know it was you."
The young assassin did have some talent, Sam had to admit. His freckled face practically a shining paragon of innocence and his voice and manners full of mirth and hospitality that made it hard for anyone not to take a liking to him. It was a hard thing for even seasoned killers to manage social integration at that level. Most hit men chose to keep themselves at arms length to their targets, taking up cold relations like professional positions close to the hit in order to gather information, lest their prey notice their predatory intentions, and compromise the attempt. Yet here was Benny. He had flowed into Crafe's social circles like water, perfectly fitting himself to the mold the targets predilections demanded, and getting far closer to the mogul than most any other killer would ever dare. With such closeness came a wealth of opportune moments to make the kill, but still, Sam preferred to keep his distance, and favored patience over cunning.
That patience was about to pay off. The time had come, his mark had stepped away from the crowd, and Sam drew a slow, deep breath as he lined up his shot. Even with a silencer, the crack of the guns report rang in his ears like the pistol at the start of a race. Sam's pace changed appropriately. As his target dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his head, Sam leapt into a frenetic ballet of practiced motion. The spent cartridge was whisked away into a pocket with one hand even while he pressed down on the collapsible stock of his rifle with the other, making the firearm small enough to be hid by the threadbare winter jacket Sam was shrugging himself into. His gloved hands gripped the rope he had prepared in the empty elevator shaft, and he gritted his teeth as he steeled himself to rappel down to the first level. Sam was never a big fan of heights, but they came with the job.
He allowed himself one last look out the window to review his work. Arlan Crafe knelt on the ground, a body cradled in his arms. The body's face beneath the mop of fiery hair lost in a sea of red as the kind old man wept over the body of the man that would have killed him. Sam let out a sigh with a sense of deep satisfaction. Offing Benny before he had a chance to kill again would net him a sizable bonus from the client. Benny's previous mark was apparently well liked by someone with the right connections, and the money to spare for Sam's services.
Job done. Time to leave.
Sam leapt. The rope clutched tightly as he rappelled down the shaft reaching the ground floor in far less time than if he had used the stairs. He exited the shaft and walked nonchalantly out into the alley, his tattered clothes and scraggly beard making him just one more homeless bum in the eyes of any that saw him emerge out into the street proper. Another day, another dollar.
"Nothing personal, kid." | Strange request but I'll take it. I've been in the business for years now and I know my way around. Clients are usually strange people. Stranger than the targets. But not this time.
I was invited by an old woman to a mansion where we would talk. The first unusual occurrence. The mansion was huge. I ascended the stairs to find my client sitting in a victorian style chair. He described a group of men in egypt he said were looking for him. He wanted me to kill them. "do not underestimate them" he said. They're very good at stopping attackers. He explained something about supernatural abilities. The more he spoke the more crazy he sounded. Supernatural abilities?? High Schoolers? But money is money. If I would get cash for killing these dudes then I was gonna kill them. I took the job. He sent me a car and gave me directions to where they were headed. I never saw his face. As I was sneaking around I found them eating at a cafe. They looked so different from one another. What were they doing here?? They were staring at a photograph. It seems they really were looking for that man. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as I thought. Still It's hard to believe they had some magic powers or some shit. I planned to shoot the most dangerous one first. Then I would pick the rest off later on. I assess the situation. which did he say was the most threatening of them all? The highschooler? strange. I aim at him first nonetheless. He's unusually tall I notice. I need to stop getting distracted. I aim at the back of his head. I fire.
The bullet stops in midair. The kid grabs the bullet and slowly turns to face me. What the fuck have I gotten myself into. | 2020-11-08T14:13:49 | 2020-11-08T12:12:25 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with. | I didn't see the car coming. It was dark, they were driving too fast. Pretty sure there was alcohol involved but that's besides the point. What's done is done. I died and that's it. It's not so bad once you get used to it. The world looks the same, albeit slightly more boring than it was when I was alive. When you're on the outside of it things seem a lot less important.
I'm pretty sure I had been dead for maybe a day or two when it hit me: I'm still here. Something tells me I shouldn't be here anymore. I feel like I'm being pulled somewhere but I'm being weighed down. It's an odd feeling to explain. Imagine you're swimming in the ocean and you're just treading water but the tide is tugging you further into the ocean. You know you're being pulled but you're not seeing drastic changes around you. It's kind of like that. I was about to let the current pull me out into the deep ocean but it just felt wrong. The current didn't stop but I was overcome with the inexorable need to fight it. I needed to get something done before I could float along. I needed to make sure it was taken care of... But how?
I remembered where it could be found. It sat carefully inside of it's box on top of my dresser. It had to be delivered. I couldn't leave until it was done. If I didn't it would only cause trouble for my family if they found it later. I didn't want that. Now, how do I get it taken care of?
I struggled against my memory. Memories still work in the same way they did when you were alive. It's just that the conveyance of it is a little more complex. Rather than simply picturing vague recollections of events in your mind you'll instead find yourself reliving blurry, vague and constantly fluctuating recreations of events which play out like a low budget stage play where the audience is the main character. I relived my wedding, the birth of my son, mundane daily events and work meetings. Then I found my answer! My niece would always talk about how she "had the gift" and would frequently hold seances in her attic. It always seemed so farfetched but she was my only option.
Without warning I found myself in her attic. I couldn't tell whether I was in a memory or not. Everything was so confusing but I did see her. She sat at her circular table with her Ouija board. She was calling out to someone. I'm pretty sure it was Elvis Presley... Or Costello. It was some musician. In any case, I grabbed her table and forced the following words to be spelled:
Uncle. House. Box. Dresser. Seal. Deliver.
She seemed convinced by this display and left immediately to me home. I followed her making sure to listen to what she was saying. She seemed annoyed. I think she would have preferred to talk more but this had to be done for me to get peace.
When she got to my home I watched her enter my room and find the box. She sealed it, picked it up and delivered it to the UPS store just in time.
I felt the current grow stronger and pull me deeper into the ocean. I didn't fight it. I knew that once the box reached its destination it would make things easier for my family.
Amazon's return policy doesn't exactly expire when you do after all. | I knew he wouldn't understand why I didn't come home. He would sit and wait and wait and no one would ever come to the door. He wouldn't even try to keep himself alive. Just holding on to the hope that I would come home. I couldn't let him waste away. But who would help? Who could I turn to? Who would even care? I only had one neighbor who even knew me.. They had a key to my house that I gave him a long time ago. With what little energy I had I scrawled a note on the wall and left the keys below it.. "please feed my dog." | 2022-07-15T12:19:09 | 2022-07-15T09:19:03 | 524 | 67 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | I could hear the muffled voice of Williams coming down the corridor. As he passed cell doors, I heard him saying to his companion the name of the inmate, the reason he was on “The Last Mile” and how long he’d been there. It was something I’d heard happening many times, a ritual or a routine whenever Williams had a visitor or someone to impress.
The names were familiar to me, but I’d never seen them in person; they don’t allow Last Mile inmates to fraternise. I knew their voices. Andy with his 40-a-day grumble, Mike’s voice that sang and swooped. Gerry who had a silky tenor voice that I knew he’d used to seduce the women he’d slaughtered. Frank, well, Frank was just Frank - he always sounded nervous. I’d talk with those voices late in the evening when the guards had gone home. Some had been around long enough to get to know me a bit, but no-one had been here as long as me.
Williams got to my cell. I stood and waited opposite the door. The hatch scraped back, revealing a rectangle of his face with another set of eyes behind him. William’s face was fleshy, but betrayed signs of age in the wrinkles. The hair was grey, tired and thin. As he peered at me over his half-moon spectacles, he announced me to his visitor.
“And this, is Jimmy Wait.” I raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and Williams quickly corrected himself. “Err, ah, sorry, I mean this is James Wright. Um. He’s our longest resident.”
The second set of eyes narrowed. “Why’s he been here so long? He’s long overdue, no court proceedings or pardon on the way. Why so long?”
“Well, Mr Kingsley, it’s not like we’ve not tried a few times.” Williams’ eyes attempted to pierce my gaze. I smiled slightly at him and looked straight back. My smile didn’t reach my eyes, they were still cold and stony. A blink could wait.
“What happened last time? Surely you can’t be making this many mistakes with an inmate. The governor wouldn’t have stood for it.”
I decided to have some fun. “It’s not his fault Mr Kingsley. I’m afraid it’s mine.” I could see Williams colour - his cheeks becoming rosy red. He didn’t like me. I didn’t fit the mould. However, Mr Kingsley’s eyes narrowed further. This was fun, the most fun I’d had since they last changed the guard.
“It’s like this Mr Kingsley. On the first occasion back in 1945, they used a firing squad, then in 1956 it was the electric chair. In 1963 a lethal injection. I think they’re still wondering what to try next.” I allowed a small smile to appear on my lips.
Kingsley’s eyes disappeared as he looked down at something. I heard a folder opening and a lot of paper shuffling. “Errr. One sec…” he said. I was happy to wait.
Finally, he looked up. “This can’t be possible. He’s been here since 1924! He murdered those people in 1921. It says here he was twenty-two when he arrived.” Kingsley’s eyes came back to mine. “And that means he’s seventy eight now!”
Williams glanced down at the folder Kingsley must have been carrying. “I know. That’s what I thought when I came here too. Heh. You get used to it.”
“Mr Wright, what is going on here? What are you doing? Why are you still alive?” Kingsley voice betrayed a vulnerability. Good.
“It’s simple Mr Kingsley. I just wait.”
“What do you mean, you just wait?” I could see Williams recognising a familiar conversation.
“Oh, just that. I wait.”
“Mr Williams?” Ah. It was that point when the incoming wanted to talk privately with the outgoing. I could wait.
The faces disappeared from the cell hatch. The footsteps faded. Unusually Williams had left the cell hatch open. That was good. I’d waited a long time for that.
I could hear murmuring further up the corridor. Intangible voices, a conversation of some interest was on-going. I’d waited long enough, today was the day to join in.
I retrieved the wire I’d had taken from the electric chair back in 1956 and attached it to the key. They’d not changed the cell door keys since the 1920’s, what was the point? I’d memorised all the keys by 1936 – the guards used to just have them hanging there on their key-chain, so easy to see. During the 1940’s I’d created a set of keys from metal I’d managed to extract from the bed. It had taken a long time, but I could wait.
Now, at last, they’d left the hatch open, unattended. The first time in more than twenty thousand days.
They were surprised when I joined them in their heated debate. Even more surprised when the blade whispered through their jugulars. The keys worked just as I knew they would. Time had been kind. Only seventy odd years this time. I really must get more careful, but hey, I could wait…
| The newspapers had written about her. Killing for her had been as simple as walking past a man and filling his nostrils with her flowery perfume. Her thick red hair was as if the blood of her victims had stained her soul, putting a permanent mark on her long, murderous past.
But now she was here, in this cell. She never really said anything. Just sat, ate, went back to her cell, and sat again. When she had arrived twelve years ago the headlines had been loud about her deeds, but now they had all but forgotten. Old newspaper clippings had been taken down from the walls in news agencies and police stations around the country, to be put in a box and stored in the archives where time chewed away at the remembrance of her deeds.
"Hey Red!"
She looked up. In the cell across the hall was the new inmate, in just weeks earlier for trying to hold up a grocery store and shooting a kid in the kidney in a fit of rage. The kid had survived but just barely. The parents made sure that if the would-be killer were to breathe air on the outside again, it wouldn't be until their son had graduated college.
"Fuck you!"
Red gave a penetrating look at the angry inmate across the hall as if she was looking right through her eyes and at the wall behind her. Everyone knew that newcomers tried to assert dominance, but this one went overboard. No one dared to talk to Red, let alone fuck with her. Not even the ones with (what they thought) higher kill count.
The next morning the guards found the newcomer in Red's cell, behind the locked door. She was sat on the bed, blood covering the floor as if she'd spent the entire night puking up every single drop of blood in her body. Her mouth was filled with shards of glass, trailing all the way down her throat into her stomach. There was nothing to be done, the newcomer had been dead for hours before the guards had even woken up that morning. In the newcomer's cell was Red, staring at the wall without a trace of anything, had it not been for the fact that she was in the newcomer's cell it was as if nothing had happened that night. She was put in solitary confinement for a year straight after the incident, regardless of the protests from human rights groups about the illegality of doing such a thing, but when she later returned to the regular prison, she sat down on her bed where the newcomer had been found a year earlier as if not even five seconds had passed. And after that no one fucked with Red. | 2016-10-15T10:46:42 | 2016-10-15T09:06:23 | 51 | 35 |
[WP] They always warn about the dangers of traveling to the past and endangering the timeline. They never understood the power in going to future and wreaking havoc, only to return and have it never happen. A murderer with a clean conscience. Evil scientist indeed. | "Sir, are you sure this will work?" the uncertain voice of my second-in-command, Cyril, breaks me from my thoughts.
I look away from the screens depicting our forces marching on key cities across our enemies\` lines, our robot regiments backstopped by our bio-engineered supersoldiers and led by our technopath and super IQ generals. They had all been positioned carefully, by me, and our advance had just begun.
"Yes, this will work." I finally reply, to which Cyrill and the other members of my inner circle look at each other and me a little disbelievingly.
They knew not the amount of trial and error it had taken for me to build this plan, to reach this level of power, to finally achieve the goal I had set for myself all of those years ago when I discovered my own power, one I keep secret even today.
You see, as a teenager, I watched my parents be strung up and tortured by rebel dissidents, the trauma of watching it happen changing me in ways I did not yet realize and went much deeper than just psychologically.
Then, the torturers turned on me.
When they finally allowed me to die, I woke back up in the past, just after my own parents expired!
It took several agonizing attempts but I was finally able to escape my captors and on that day i swore to unite the entire world under one rule. My rule. To prevent the internal schisms and violence that all of this division and corruption caused and continues to cause.
I used my newfound power frequently, stretching the time out longer and longer. I did 4 years of schooling in politics, another 4 in history, another 4 in economics, and finally, a full 5 year enlistment as an infantryman and grenadier. I would reset after completing each, returning to any point I chose after the death of my parents, the one thing, to my eternal vexation, I could never change.
Once I felt myself fully grounded in the knowledge and experience a leader would need, the truly difficult work began....
I found like-minded individuals with powers of their own and without, and with trial and error, the occasional reset and my own honed charisma and passion, I was able to enlist their cooperation in an alliance to support my plans. They would become the backbone of my early forces, the ones that would allow me to take and hold my first conquests.
I conquered dozen of different cities and even countries in those early iterations, dancing on the fine line between quick expansion and exposure to the global community without success for several dozens of attempts. These failures quickly turned to horror shows, my forces butchering innocents in their attempts to escape the incoming "heroes" of the rest of the world. My own forces, my friends, I watched be ripped apart by enemy supers or executed before I reset.
Very quickly, I became utterly inurred to bloodshed, to war, to carnage. All that existed was the goal. My goal.
But, eventually, after watching the deaths of millions, I came up with the perfect plan, the perfect sequence and timeline, the best alignment of my forces and alliances.
Now, I am in control of over half of the civilized world. The areas left are banding together in a last ditch effort to stop me. They were far too late in taking me seriously, the inherent corruption of their bureaucracies and internal division keeping them from moving against me just as I had seen it all play out before.
Now, Cyril and the rest watch in shock as our armies pour into the gaps between enemy forces, through chinks in city walls and perfectly targeted surgical strikes on enemy command centers and barracks. Over the course of the next few hours, what\`s left of the world governments sue for peace.
I refuse.
I had seen that if I accepted, they would never truly submit to my rule.
So, I order my forces to crush them, to dig them out of their bunkers and vaults.
Leaving the mopping up to Cyril, who now looks at me with eyes full of veneration bordering on worship, I retire to my modest quarters, walking past equally awed troops as I do.
I take a seat at my elegant wooden desk, pouring a finger of whiskey in a crystal tumbler, settling back in my chair as I take a sip.
I savor the smoky flavor as it burns its way down to my gut and my mind returns to the bloody day this all started, when a traumatized young man set his life goal.
I had walked my path to near its finish, rewalking it hundreds of times perhaps, but now, all that was left was to rule well. And that I had prepared myself for all the while.
I would set the world on a course to dominate this universe and thrive beyond any period that has come before, I would make sure advancement accelerated, not just of technology but of culture and society as well.
And most of all, I would make sure that stability reigned long after my passing.
No one would suffer as I had or else, what had I worked so hard for? Shed so much blood, current and in nonexistent futures, for?
Setting down my now empty glass, I allow myself to relax for the first time in centuries, subjectively.
For a moment, just one, I let myself rest.
And then, it will be time to rule. | What kind of hobby is there for a man who has all the time in the world?
For Fabian Tombs, he wanted to effect change. To the world, he already has: the man who discovered time travel. It would be the epitaph on his glorious gravestone--he checked--the introductory blurb on every screen he appears on, the men and women who speak admirably of him in an argument with their peers.
But in his calculating, if askew, mind, there was no greater change than the precise moment a human changes from person to corpse--to see the light in their eyes sometimes dim slowly, clinging on like a bad relationship, sometimes instantly extinguished, flicked off like a power switch. To hear the last breath being drawn, the final breeze before a leaf on the wind sinks into the soil, never to take off again. He couldn't change the world--so he made do with some people's.
But change always had pesky consequences. Fabian Tombs understood that. He just didn't want those consequences to catch up with him.
Tombs loved going to the future. It was a place where repercussions amounted to nothing, blocked by the great wall of time. He often thought about strangling the people that worked with him, or those who paw at him like a needy puppy. In the future, those thoughts did not need to be reined in. Instead, they could run down to his arms, to his enclosing fingers, embracing the neck of his target. He would admire the imprints of his work, finger painting a personal artwork, and imagined them there to comfort him when he returned to work.
Tombs had calculated that the above actions introduced no decay to the main timeline--and he was ecstatic. It was a perfect solution, both for himself and his work. Now, the future could be mortgaged, except there was no bank chasing down the loan.
But wanton abandonment had its price. One day, annoyed at a colleague, Fabian inevitably withdrew into his daydream again. Familiar images flooded his mind, and he was once again content. He knew not when it was when his eyes slowly flitted open, satisfaction welling from within--and the present picture caught up with him.
Time did not remember, but his mind could not forget. And such practised motions eventually turn into muscle memory--and your mind becomes powerless to stop them.
Fabian Tombs no longer went to the future, and he no longer belonged in the present. There was no more laying to rest in a glorious gravestone--though he spent the rest of his life seated in a chair.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-08-22T10:26:54 | 2021-08-22T10:01:35 | 122 | 73 |
[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school. | Velcroy the king of everlasting darkness was quite an enlightened fellow given his title.
"Sir! Sir, the prophecy, they have determined who will be the next hero of this land," Millrot, Velcroy's personal skin shifter, said.
Velcroy had the slimy-looking echo of a man watch the capital city of Juin. That was where the high order of the wizards would be.
That was where the Sightseer would be. She would determine the futures and possibilities that they would all go down on.
It seemed she had finally decided who would be the next hero.
"Go on," Velcroy said as he sat in his iron throne. The metal was darkened so black the night sky would look blinding in comparison.
"A girl! It's a girl, a young woman will rise up and kill you where you sit! She comes from Buttonwillow. A village on the outskirts of Juin," Millrot said with a distressed tone.
Millrot seemed more worried than Velcroy about all this. Velcroy was just thinking about what kind of apples were still in season. Something about the various reds, greens, and yellows an apple could take made Velcory happy. It was far better than all the oppressive darkness that was all around him.
"And," Velcroy asked as he contemplated which town hadn't been destroyed that could have an apple so red that it would be called a ruby by mistake.
"And..." Millrot started, "... and the village is small and tiny?"
Velcroy waved his hand, "I don't care about size or length of the town-,"
"Village, sir," Millrot corrected.
Velcroy allowed the interruption. Millrot had always been good at those little pesky things called labels and facts. All Velcroy wanted to do was garden and sleep. However, someone would have to be the everlasting king of darkness. Well, more like the kingdom of Yin had just assumed he was.
That's what he got for being the son of the previous king of everlasting darkness. However, his father’s darkness didn't seem quite everlasting. So why should Velcroy’s?
"Yes, yes the village. I don't care about the thing. Why should I?"
Millrot gave Velcroy a puzzled look. "It's... it's where the hero of light will come from... my king."
Velcroy placed his finger on his chin. It looked to Millrot that he was thinking about something.
"Do you think they have tasty apples in Buttonwillow?"
The question blindsided Millrot. He didn't know why Velcroy would be thinking about apples at that moment or why the king thought it appropriate to ask about them.
"I... I would suppose? But King! This is a life or death situation! If you don't destroy the village then the hero will come and will destroy the reign of eternal night!"
Velcroy shook his head and gave the slime man a surprised look. "Excuse me, but who said anything about destroying the village? We, by all means, should not do that."
Millrot's shoulders tensed. He didn't know what had happened to the king. Millrot could remember beck when Velcroy was a little child that loved all the torturing, pain, and torment his father did to his enemies. Then Velcroy went through his... teenage years as the humans called it.
Now he was going on and on about apples, bananas, and even mangoes? Who would want to have that?
"But, your malevolence, we need to destroy the hero before they become strong enough to kill us."
Velcroy wasn't even listening. He was giving a longing look to the hallway that would empty out into a kitchen. He figured some fruits might be there. He loved how sweet they tasted. Much better than the bland meats and flesh they always had here.
"Sir!" Millrot had raised his voice out of panic and not anger. He needed Velcroy to understand what was happening.
"Oh! Oh yes, yes. We can't destroy the village. If we do that then the hero will surely kill us. Remember what had happened to my father ," Velcroy said. Then his thoughts slipped back into how hard it was to grow anything here in these accursed lands. It seemed that ritual blood sacrifices made the lands not the most fertile place to plant fruit trees.
The humans had it so easy with their nice lands and their clean rivers. Velcroy's father had murdered so many that the rivers even ran red with blood now. Horrible for apples.
Millrot, however, wanted his young lord to understand the horrors that could befall them if he didn't destroy the town.
"Please, my cruelness, we need to destroy them. That's what your father would do. That's what you should do as well."
Velcroy just sighed a long sigh. He even rolled his head to add some extra drama to the display.
"Destroy this, destroy that. Kill this, murder that. That's all I hear from you Millrot." Velcroy was sick of it. He wanted to make something. He wanted to grow and nourish something for once in his life rather than take it away. He would have preferred to build something in Buttonwillow rather than raze it.
However, Millrot nodded at what the king said. Destroying and murder was the bread and butter of being a king of everlasting darkness. Not apples and jams. Only humans enjoyed that stuff anyway.
Velcroy should be pillaging, razing, sacrificing. Not trying to grow a garden in the middle of desolation.
Millrot was going to try one more thing, but then the king of darkness leapt out of his chair. With a smile on his face. "Say! You know how we have been doing all this destroying back when my father was around?"
Millrot gave the king a suspicious look. Velcroy never looked that happy while talking about destruction.
"Yes, what about it my evilness?"
Velcroy threw his hands up in the air like he had a surprise. "How about instead of destroying we could make something! Like we could build new roads, maybe a house or two, or a school... or a fruit farm," Velcroy snuck that last bit under his breath.
Millrot looked flabbergasted. In all his decades of serving dark lords, this was the first one that had ever said something this ridiculous.
"We will not be building anything for the humans! That would go ag..." Millrot then went on a tirade how un-evily it would be to help the humans.
However, Millrot didn't expect in two years to be standing at Buttonwillow Academy, home of the chosen and school for the brilliant.
He also didn't know that he would be the vice principal there.
He also didn't know that Velcroy would be the headteacher, the principal, and the gardener.
Somehow, Velcroy had managed to improve all parts of Buttonwillow and the surrounding areas.
Velcroy smiled as he saw the world get a little brighter now. He even started a new tradition with his first generation of students.
"Now children, an apple a day keeps the darkness away," he would exclaim in class as each and every student would come with all sorts of apples. Each one of the apples was some kind of red, or green, or even yellow. Velcroy had even managed to make his own strain here in Buttonwillow. A wonderful new pink apple that tasted better than it sounded.
Yet, neither Millrot nor Velcroy knew how well they both had been tricked.
The Sightseer's granddaughter lived in Buttonwillow. The Sightseer smiled to herself when the school had an fruit festival to showcase the new wonderous breeds of apples, bananas, and even mangoes that were growing there now.
The Sightseer bit into a pink apple and thought to herself something that would make any scheming dark lord proud.
*All according to plan.*
___
If you would like to read more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly! | *The Dark Lord stood over the hero, his black armor pulling in the dying light of the fading sun.*
*“You thought you could defeat me,” the Dark Lord said, his laughter peeled across the ruined landscape.*
*The hero tried to get up one last time, his jeweled claymore hanging heavy in his hand, but the Dark Lord kicked him down again with his plated boots, stepped down on the hero’s sword hand with a crunch, then pointed Black Star, the Dark Lord’s great mace at the hero. “The Chosen One, huh. So, you are the one they have made all the fuss about. Pity,” the Dark Lord said, “I thought you would be more of a challenge.”*
*The hero touched the magic stone on his necklace and summoned all his strength. He would not let everyone down. Not after all he’d been through. And the Hero screamed out, sweeping with his legs, catching the Dark Lord by the back of the knee and dropping him in a clanking of metal.*
*The hero crawled to his feet and reached for his claymore. “It is my destiny,” the hero roared and—*
“James!” someone shouted, and I bolted up and back, my chair sliding across the tile.
The room filled with the laughter of the other boys and girls as I blinked and looked around, orienting myself back to Ms. Rutherford and her lecture on ecology. The other students were staring at me. Becky looked at me with a sort of embarrassed sadness, Ricky—in the far back of the room—had a malignant grin stretched across his freckled face.
Ms. Rutherford was looming over me and she reached out with a chalk-dusted hand and grabbed the papers I had been writing my story on about the hero and the Dark Lord. She stood there a long time, and it seemed she was going to lecture me, or scold me, but then she changed her mind and turned back towards the chalkboard with my precious story still in hand.
“See me after class, James.”
I didn’t respond.
After everyone left class and—since it was the last class of the day—headed home, I stepped up to Ms. Rutherford’s desk. She was leaning forward, reading a piece of paper and didn’t, or at least acted like she didn’t, notice that I was standing there waiting patiently for her to acknowledge me.
Finally, she looked up, as thought she was surprised to see me.
“More of this?” she said and lifted the paper into the air, and I realized it was my writing she had been reading. She sighed. “James, why are you so fascinated with this local legend?”
“It’s not a legend,” I said. “It’s true.”
Immediately, I regretted disagreeing with her. I was tired and I wanted to get home and finish the story. The Dark Lord would be defeated, and my pen would make it true.
“If you were caught writing this?” She said and let the implication of the question hang in the air.
I nodded defiantly as though I wasn’t scared of what would happen. Azazel could send me to prison for life, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the prophecy would be fulfilled someday. If it wasn’t true, why had Azazel, a "great" and mighty lord, spent so much care on our little town? Why had he installed the Legions regional headquarters right outside of our little town? Why did we have more guards walking the streets. Why was their mysterious signs offering rewards for those who could give information that was deemed vital to the state’s national security?
No, the prophecy would be fulfilled by someone here. My father told me about it all at night, after he had drunk from the bottom half of the bottle of wine he had opened. My father was a recluse and seen by the village as a mysterious figure because of his magic—or what seemed to be magic—ability to find huge patches of the Hilal mushrooms deep within the Evernight forest that bordered our town. The Hilal mushroom was one of our town’s main exports to the capital where they used it in potions and powder for the imperial war of expansion along the south borders.
“James?” Ms. Rutherford said. “No more of this, okay? It’s dangerous. You’re just a kid and you don’t understand what can happen.” She crumpled the papers into a ball and threw them in her waist basket. “Get home safe,” she said and then grabbed a stack of papers to grade.
I turned and walked out of the class and towards my home. I stepped into the courtyard of our school and stared up at the statue of Azazel. Recently built, the statue rose as a colossal into the evening sky, the king (or the Dark Lord as my father called him) was in his ceremonial black plated armor, his great morning star pointing towards our school as though warning us.
I stared up at him and touched the necklace hanging under my shirt.
“It is my destiny!” I shouted and ran to the feet of the statue as though I was carrying out a valiant charge. The statue stared past me indifferently and I pulled my backpack tight and began the long walk home to my father who was surely drying mushrooms from his long trip out in the Evernight forest. | 2021-01-14T18:52:56 | 2021-01-14T18:51:30 | 292 | 166 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | You want an interview ? Fine, but you're buying the coffee. I'm getting kind of sick of this god-damned urban legend. I DON'T have superpowers, no-one has superpowers. There are just a bunch of crazy people who think they have powers, who for some reason have decided that I'm some fucked up version of their messiah.
**You don't believe super-powered people exist ?**
No. I've never seen one. I've seen the doctored footage from the media. I've seen a lot of crazy people who thought they had powers. I don't know why they gravitate to me of all people. I'm just a regular guy. I put in my hours in the office, then at the gym.
**So you haven't heard about the ranking system ?**
Oh, I've heard of their ranking system all right. That's all I ever hear. What baffles me is why they chose me to be their number one, their highest rank. That the only way for people to rise in rank and become more powerful is to kill them. Does that sound sane to you ?
Then one day, some poor bastard commits suicide near me, and suddenly, they decide that I'm the number one on their hitlist.
**You are referring to the death of the Human Jet as suicide?**
Man faceplants on the ground from a hundred feet, that's suicide. It doesn't matter that he said "Up Up and Away" before he jumped off that building. That was suicide.
**The Human Jet was one of our greatest heroes, with documented evidence of his powers..**
Blah Blah Blah. I've heard that all before. I was there, I saw him hit the ground. Where the hell do you people in the media get off encouraging these people. They are a danger to themselves. Surely you must have learned your lesson after Inferno Man.
**Inferno Man was a criminal, whose control over fire rendered him a threat to the world...**
Bullshit. Let me tell you what happened when I met this so called inferno man. I was just hanging out in a cafe not far from here, when this asshole shows up in a stupid costume. He bursts in, and gives this long speech about how he's going to kill me and burn everything down.
Then nothing happened. He stood there for like five minutes, straining, and glaring at me. I don't know what I did, I just wanted my cup 'o' joe. Then he leaves, and I thought "That was weird, I'm glad it's over".
Then he comes back, with a barrel of gasoline. Who the fuck would sell him gasoline. that's beside the point. The point is that the fucker doused himself in the stuff, and then pulled out a lighter and set himself on fire. Right in front of me. Hearing him scream almost put me off my coffee.
**Yes, quite a lot of superpowered villains have died under similar mysterious circumstances in your presence**
If by superpowered people, you mean insane people, then yes. The numbers of clowns in capes who drop out of the sky near me is so bloody annoying. Not to mention the scrawny fucks who just straight up try to pick fights with me.
Oh god, there was one which was genuinely funny.
This guy came up to me with this long speech about how he is one with nature, and that he will use all of his power to destroy me. I don't know why these guys always gotta speech at me. When I punch someone, I punch'em, I don't tell 'em my life story.
He had this tiger with him. Big fucking cat. He told the tiger to get me. Moment the muzzle was off, it savaged him. I fucking split my sides.
**So you don't think you have any superpowers at all ?**
Course not. Like I said *nobody* has superpowers. At least not that I've seen, not when they're around me. | The world went to shit the moment we all got powers. People saw that this was their chance to climb social ladders.
At first the powered people killed all the nonpowered people.
Only people close within rank can marry and have children.
Then came the children, who were even more powerful than their parents.
And they wiped out their parents generation. Now we are only close to ten thousand people left.
People call the children Third Generation. They are by far the most powerful ones. They make the top 100. Some of them are basically reincarnations of gods. No one knows why their children and their childrens children aren't as powerful. But the few living of the First Generation are also incrediby powerful, otherwise they wouldn't be alive. Some of them are so powerful, they age very slowly. Me, I'm First Generation. But my power is - I never age. I never die. I'm truly immortal. And I'm old.
I've been killed in a million different ways. And every time I wake up, I find myself getting the same power that killed me.
Now I'm the alpha dog. Everyone is out to kill me - but no one realizes that I have more than a million different powers.
| 2014-12-18T13:36:09 | 2014-12-18T12:43:48 | 996 | 172 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | Am I the hero or am I the villain? I've been asking myself that question for as long as I can remember. But before you help me, how about some history?
You see, before the rapture, life was bland. For most, they stuck to a daily routine. They lived in a life full of possibility but remained stagnant in their ambition.
After the rapture, our world changed. Technomamcers, pyromancers... Any mancer you could think of, the world now had one. At least one. Our world became more divided than ever before. Splitting into guilds, the earth became a battleground for control and the Necromancers craved that control. Their thirst for power started a war that the world was not ready for. Guilds focused on sigil training rather than knowledge and the earth slowly turned into a wasteland of destruction.
But things aren't all bad! We live on the outskirts, away from all the chaos. Since we're not seen as a threat, everyone just kind of leaves us alone. They call us Nomads. Yes, we have a sigil. They're on our palms but no one is really sure what it does. We live separate from the rest of society. More rural than anything else and no guilds to be a part of, but that's not a bad thing. We get to learn about history since our teachings have nothing to do with sigils considering we don't even know how ours work. We get to experience every little thing our world has to offer. It doesn't mean everything is perfect, but we enjoy our lives.
We rarely see travelers considering most stick to their guild, but occasionally we get what we call Transfers. Transfers are former guild members who essentially get shunned for underperforming with their guild or not mastering their sigil. At least, that's what they tell us. Most of the time a Transfer will leave shortly after arriving and we don't see them again.
A while ago, we found two kids, around my age, wandering the hills outside of our village. Both had been bestowed with the mark of pyromancy. Black fingertips and the flame sigil on each wrist. They were nice at first, even friendly until they realized that we didn't have any powers.
Sitting in the lone school house I'm hesitant, even terrified that the teacher will soon dismiss us for the weekend. When I hear her say "have a nice day students", I immediately bolt for the door in the hopes of outrunning yet another incident. As I run down my road home, I can see that my parents have started the dinner fire with the smoke billowing just above the tree line. And that's when I hear him.
"Well look who it is, little Nomad". I hear his voice and then see him walk out from behind a tree adjacent to the path. "What's the matter? Nothing to say?"
I'm hesitant to respond because I don't want to upset him. "What do you want, Mark?"
As I thought, he seems even more furious now that I've spoken to him. "What makes you think you or anybody here can talk to me? Can't you see we're better than you?".
I respond quickly out of fear "Just go be better somewhere else!"
"I was already somewhere else." He says eerily. "Can't you see it? Right over there." He points in the direction of my house. And then it hit me. School had let out early and it's not late enough for dinner.
"What did you do, Mark?" I shout with more anger than fear.
Calmly he responds. "More like, what did WE do?"
I turn around to see my sanctuary ablaze. Fully engulfed as the other transfer appears from the fire. Eric.
"It's time we eliminate the weak. There is no room for you in this world. All of the other covens have been destroyed. Yours is the last!" Eric exclaimed.
Mark widened his stance and threw his arms to his side. I know this stance. He's trying to conjure fire. I've seen it before. I feel helpless! I can feel my heart rate elevate! He lifts his head and looks toward the sky. I have to do something! The hairs on my neck stand up. I sprint towards him not knowing why or what to do when I get to him. His hands are starting to glow! Almost there! He looks down, eyes glowing, to see me in front of him. I grab his wrist and a confused look stumbles upon his face.
"What are you doing?" He shouts.
I can see his eyes fade back, his palms return to normal, the black on his fingertips fades... He loses consciousness. I look down at my hands just as confused as Mark was. I briefly see the flame sigil inside of my sigil and it almost immediately fades back to an empty ring.
Eric panics and sprints toward Mark and kneels down next to him. "What did you do!? His sigil is gone!"
Shaken, I reply. "I don't know..."
"You'll pay for this!" He raises his hand toward me, palm facing me as if trying to set me ablaze.
Instinctively, I grab his wrist and watch his sigil slowly fade. I check my palm and see the same as I did before. A fire sigil inside of my mine and then it fades.
All of this was when I was younger. I haven't been able to conjure fire. I am the last Nomad and I feel like I'm responsible for returning the world back to normal.
So I'll ask you... In a world full of powers, and me the only one able to neutralize them, does that make me the hero or villain? | My head rebounds off worn red brick after Jackson threw me into the outside wall of the teacher's office. His cronies hold my arms to the wall as Jackson puts his sigil to use, cutting my shirt to ribbons with swipes of his fingers to reveal my sigil, his careless cruelty leaves many shallow cuts on me by the time my shirt is in tatters on the path below.
"Hey, Zero! Does your mum know your sigil's a reflection of you as a person?!" said Jackson mockingly. He and his friends laugh. I remain silent.
He does not take kindly to this. "Oi, Zero!" he bellows as he slashes me across my chest where my sigil lies. His cronies stifle a wince, but keep their grip firm. My continued silence toward his jabs was the tipping point, as he then raises his hand and slowly draws his outstretched index finger toward my eye.
"I'm gonna carve another circle into ya, Zero. Maybe then you'll realise just how useless you are and will fuck off back to your mum where you belong!" His friends share a nervous glance.
With concerted effort, I stare down his finger as it draws closer, seeing my reflection in his fingertip as it morphs into a blade. One more moment before contact. Now.
His finger sinks into my eye, or rather, it would have if my eye was there. He recoils, staring into the gaping hole in my head and seeing red brick where my eye should be. Before any of them have time to react, my arms disappear into thin air and I dash out into the nearby courtyard, adjusting my running technique to accommodate a lack of arms and staying extra cautious thanks to a current lack of depth perception. Defecits that are quickly remedied as my missing body parts pop back into existence.
Jackson and his cronies give chase, and it's made clear very quickly who among us are physically superior, as they shortly close the gap, shoving a number of other kids out of the way as they went. Jackson swipes at my back as I leap down a short flight of stairs to a courtyard for the kids in lower grades, his fingertips glinting in the afternoon sun. In the split second his blades sing through the air I occupy, my midsection disappears from view, reappearing in time for me to land firmly on the astroturf just behind a kid in Grade 1.
As fast as he is, Jackson's stamina isn't enough to keep up the chase; turns out running from bullies on a near daily basis is good cardio. I continue running until I'm confident I've gotten away, and I collapse in a seat in the reception hall.
A circle is a symbol for many things. It's a symbol of togetherness when made of people, it's a symbol of oppression when made of iron. It's an infinite loop when scrutinized in a philosophy class. But on paper, and me, it's a zero. Nothing. | 2020-02-26T08:01:07 | 2020-02-26T07:22:21 | 99 | 46 |
[WP] When you die you are sent to purgatory, a room of doors where you can select your afterlife. There are all the commonly believed afterlifes, reincarnation, heaven and hell, even null. You open the dusty unused door. | I didn't know what I expected to see when I opened my eyes, but it was definitely not doors and a single... being. It vaguely looked human, but it couldn't have been. How did I know? Inexplicable as it was, I knew deep in my heart that the person standing in front of me was nothing as boring as an ordinary human.
"You are here," the being said.
"Who... who are you?" I asked.
"It does not matter. I am merely here to tell you that you have a choice."
"A choice? Then I'm going to be here a good while, my friend," I chuckled.
The being looked directly at me but did not respond again. I tried to focus my attention on it, but it was a futile task. Before long, my eyes had moved to the doors, and I examined them one by one. It was spooky because there were literally nothing else.I was standing on darkness. The doors were surrounded by darkness. I knew that I was not in an earthly plane. I was not alive.
It didn't matter, though. Life had not been very kind. Not feeling the pain course through my body and wreck my senses was a nice change, I had to admit.
I looked at the doors. Some of them were well-used. Some were pristine. Some had signs labelled on them, surprisingly.
"Is this a test?" I muttered, more for myself than anyone else.
"No. It is a choice," the being replied. I jumped a little. I had forgotten that it was there.
"Oh my god! OK, alright. So you just respond to some of my questions and ignore others?"
The being did not respond once again. I sighed.
"Look man, help me out here. I'm sure there's a lot of people passing through here, you can get on with your day if you talk a little with me."
"Do not worry. You will have ample time to make your choice. I am infinite," it replied.
"Cool, cool. OK," I looked at the doors once again. "So... this is heaven and hell? I'll just be stuck there forever and ever?"
"Some doors are chosen more often than others. There is Judgement, where one goes to heaven or hell after a trial of their sins on the mortal plane. There is Reincarnation, a second chance at life."
"Hmm," I walked down the doors. The being was right. But there was a seemingly endless selection of doors. I paced continuously, and there was no end in sight. I could feel the being following closely, though as far as I could tell, it wasn't walking at all. Just surreptitiously following.
All of a sudden, I had reached it. The end. A dusty, unused door sat in front of me.
"What's this?"
The being hesitated.
"It is a dusty, unused door."
"OK, you clearly know a lot more than that," I said. I turned around and looked it in the eyes. "What's behind this door?"
The being stood still. I found that I could look at it now. It was... human. At a time, maybe. But no longer.
"The Void," it said.
"The Void?" I asked.
"It is nothing. Endless nothing.
"Hmm," I pondered. "I'll take it."
"Are you certain? There is no returning from beyond the door," it said.
"Yes," I said. "One life was enough. I had enough. I want nothing."
My hand grasped the knob and twisted. The door opened easily, and I stepped into pitch black.
Nothing. I could see nothing. Feel nothing.
It was good.
---
r/dexdrafts | Angelica brushes her hand against her jeans in anticipation of the dust against her skin. Biting her glossy pink lip, she pushes open the door to her afterlife.
She emerges from a rocky cave and finds herself on a wide mountaintop. A tall, muscular man with a discus turns mid-throw to face her, and his eyes bulge.
"You...a human?" he asks. "We haven't had one of you in centuries. We all thought you gave up our religion."
Angelica nods, and swings her long blonde hair over her shoulder. The man is handsome.
"I don't know about your religion, but I'm Angelica," she says, holding out a manicured hand for him to shake. "Who are you?"
"Hercules," he replies, smiling. "Welcome to Olympus."
Angelica shakes his hand and admires his adam's apple. She is happy with her decision! | 2020-07-31T09:05:18 | 2020-07-31T08:53:04 | 63 | 18 |
[WP] A Vampire out for a nightly stroll spots a painter who wishes to draw her. Since she hasn't seen herself in thousands of years due to mirrors not working, she sits | *(Author's Note: I took some fictional liberties with the artist in question, just because I got too caught up in the story to get bogged down in research!)*
“You wish to draw me?” she asked, both amused and intrigued by the prospect.
The young man nodded vigorously, sending a sheaf of dark brown hair flopping over his brow. “If you please, signora. It will not take long, and if you are pleased with my work, perhaps you might spare a few coins to show your appreciation?”
His clothes were threadbare and worn, and the paltry easel he’d set up on the corner of the plaza looked more worthy of a junk-heap than a studio. It was getting late, and she guessed he was desperate for anything to show for his day’s huckstering, which was why he lingered still even though the sun had long since set. Normally she’d have continued on -- she had more pressing inclinations than a portrait. But something about his earnest, youthful face gave her pause. She wondered if he were any good. Besides, it had been a long time since she’d seen herself.
“Very well,” she assented, and approached the rickety stool he’d set up in front of the easel, giving its surface a swipe of her hand lest it mar the fine fabric of her dress. She settled atop it carefully and arched a brow at him. “Where would you like me to look?”
“Ahh, just there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder toward the center of the plaza and flipping over the sketchpad on the easel to a fresh page. “Just past me, as if you are contemplating something both mysterious and sad. Forgive my presumption, *signora*, but you do have that look about you. I noticed, as soon as I saw you, and I thought, ahh, I must capture that!”
“Mmm,” she replied with a droll little smile, unconvinced. “I suspect you say that to anyone who opts to sit for a portrait.”
“Not at all, not at all,” he assured her, but his lips twitched in a similar smile, as if they shared the joke. Then he snatched up a thick charcoal pencil and began making quick, decisive strokes on the page while his gaze intensified, focused and sharp as he studied her.
She was not accustomed to being studied so blatantly. She had developed a knack for moving through life unnoticed, unseen. It was easier if she left little trace. In life, she had not been a beauty. Her features were neat and even, but not remarkable, and this ability to blend in had served her well. But now she could all but feel his gaze creeping over every inch of her countenance, and it made her uneasy. Would he notice anything amiss? How pale she was, perhaps? The preternatural stillness she could hold?
In an effort to fidget, she smoothed the fabric of her dress beneath her hands, grateful for the gloves that hid their pallor and long, tapered nails. “What is your name?” she asked, to make conversation.
“Dante,” he answered readily enough. “I hope to be a great painter one day. I am studying, you see, but it costs more than I earn. But I suppose all of life can be a lesson, no? Perhaps I can learn more here in the streets than the great studios and galleries.” He flashed her another quick smile as he worked.
“And you, signora?” he asked. “So that I might title my work.”
“Mm,” she murmured noncommittally, “I prefer anonymity. Why not just call it ‘Lady of the Night?’” She gave him a wink.
“Perfect!” he declared. “A more appropriate title I could not have managed myself. You *do* look the part, signora. Such dark, mysterious eyes you have. As if they hold many secrets.”
“Are all artists so fanciful?”
“Of course. It is a requirement.”
She smiled, finding herself enjoying his easy banter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real conversation with anyone, beyond just the basics to gain what she needed from them.
She eyed the young man thoughtfully while he studied her and added his strokes to the page. Now he was using his fingers to smudge here and there, their tips black with charcoal. He was handsome, in a scruffy, street-poor sort of way. That tousled thatch of dark brown hair kept flopping into his eyes and he’d shake his head or blow it out of the way. His hands were deft and graceful, his frame tall and lean -- possibly underfed. She contemplated what he might taste like.
“Ahh, your eyes, so dark and bewitching,” he murmured with enthusiasm, and she glanced guiltily away. “I hope I can do them justice, my mysterious *signora della notte*.” He smiled avidly as he leaned into his easel, so intent on his work, his fingers smudging and stroking with alacrity.
“How much longer, do you suppose?” she asked. She was getting restless. And hungry.
“Not long, not long,” he assured her. “You are something of an enigma, signora. I want to capture that essence. You have given me a challenge, and for that, I am grateful. An artist *should* be challenged!”
“I’m sure whatever you’ve managed will be more than adequate.”
He made a dismissive sound. “I do not strive for adequate. ‘Adequate’ does not lead to immortality.”
She stiffened. “Immortality?” she asked. “Is that what you strive for?”
“I suppose all artists wish to be immortalized,” he returned. “To have their works live on in appreciation, long after they themselves are dust.” He pursed his lips, leaning in close and tinkering at his work, then suddenly exclaimed, “Ahh! I think I have it.” He set his charcoal down with such decisiveness that it broke in half.
She found herself curiously excited, intrigued, and slid off the stool with a rustle of fabric. “May I see, then?”
With a look of pride, he plucked the sketch pad off the easel and turned it to face her.
She stared. There she was, gazing back at her -- her own face that she had not seen in longer than she could remember. Centuries. Eons, perhaps. The face she thought she knew was changed -- not the plain, unremarkable countenance she dimly recalled from life, but somehow transfigured and transformed. Her eyes, every bit as dark and mesmerizing as he’d claimed, stared back at her -- somehow bold and pensive, mysterious and candid all at once. Her hair was a shadowy swathe around her face, as if darkness swallowed her whole. She floated in the blackness, pale and ethereal, and in that moment, she felt so *seen*, so recognized, that it shook her to her core.
“*La Signora della Notte*,” he said proudly, holding it out to her. With only the faintest tremor in her hands, she reached out to take it, hoping he might not notice.
She managed a smile as she dug into her coin-purse with her other hand, and emptied its contents into his palm.
“I think you might be immortalized, at that, Dante,” she murmured, as he exclaimed in delight and surprise at the exorbitant amount she’d just given him. It was only money. He’d given her something far more precious.
\* \* \* \* \*
She was right. He’d gotten his wish, and some century and a half later, she went to see an exhibit of his work at a museum. The times had changed, and people were snapping photos of his work on their cell phones, and it was plastered across postcards and gift bags and mugs. Of course, she still had that original, framed and mounted behind glass, one of her most precious possessions. Well worth the sum she’d paid for it at the time, and grown immeasurably priceless since then. She wouldn’t part with it for the world. He’d achieved an immortality far greater than hers, and she remembered him with fondness as she gazed at a self-portrait of the artist as a young man. Dante Gabriel Rossetti -- exactly as she remembered him. | "And it is for free? You'll not take any money?" she asked.
"Yes, madam. You mentioned that it is your birthday today. This is the least I can do," the painter said, tipping his hat and smiling.
Lilith felt bad. She had called over a painter to her house solely to consume his blood and feast on the fat painter, but him insisting to paint her had changed all her plans. Lilith's plan wasn't to sit and watch her prey paint her. Like the blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid last week, she wanted to kill him soon. But him being a painter changed everything. She had to see what she looked like.
"Okay. Let me just put some makeup on. I'm not dressed properly enough for this," she said and laughed.
"You look beautiful, madam. This is a painting, not a photograph. Art doesn't have to be perfect, but when it is done, this art will be yours. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. You'll certainly appreciate this. I promise," the painter said and grabbed his brush.
Lilith sat down. She noticed him looking at her face and making broad strokes through his canvas. She knew that it was only a matter of time, now. This was an artist and although she didn't fancy the idea of killing a man of art, she had to go through with it now.
In her mind, she was doing the man a favor by letting him spend his final moments with art. That's the least she could do.
Was she feeling a bit too generous?
Lilith's train of thought was broken by the man asking her a question that she didn't find too pleasing.
"I know it is terribly rude of me to ask, but how old are you, madam? If you were to ask me, I'd say that you don't look a day older than twenty!"
"That should be three-thousand and twenty," Lilith said under her breath, to herself.
"What was that?" the painter asked.
"Twenty three. I said I'm twenty three today," Lilith said in a voice that hinted that she was uncomfortable revealing her age.
"Oh. What do you for fun here?" the painter asked. Lilith saw the man picking up a longer steel brush and making careful strokes on the edge of his canvas.
Fun? She knew exactly what fun was, but talking wasn't one of them.
Chasing the little boy and killing him mercilessly last week at Adonis Park was fun. Waiting for this painter to finish her portrait and indulging in a conversation with him wasn't. He talked too much, just like the little kid did last week.
But it was her house, and she called the shots, right? She was allowed to be rude.
"Can you just stick to the painting?" Lilith said. The man looked unfazed with her rude reply.
"Yes, madam. I'm almost done," he said and smiled. Lilith saw her picking up a pallette knife and applying some broad strokes of grey on the canvas.
"Art shows us who we really are. It is a depiction of our inner selves and through art, we can do marvellous things. You are a thing of beauty, madam. I would've taken longer with this, but since we are short of time, I wouldn't keep you waiting on your birthday."
Lilith didn't reply. He talked too much just like the little kid did last week, but she didn't have to endure that. She held him by his blonde hair and sunk her sharp teeth down on his neck, feasting on his young blood. But she didn't have an option of doing that, yet.
She waited. She hadn't seen herself in a long time. Vampires don't get the luxury of mirrors. The last time she saw herself was in the reflection on the blue eyes of the scared little boy. Though it was tiny, Lilith had a close look, and she remembered fixing her hair while the boy breathed his last. That was quick- killing that talking little boy. She would enjoy killing this talkative fat man too. All she needed was patience, now. She had to see what she looked like.
"Almost done, madam. Come stand beside me as I apply the finishing touches!" the painter said and picking up a long, sharp pencil.
Lilith stood up and walked towards him.
She looked at the painting and shouted angrily. Everything was fine about the painting and Lilith was happy seeing her face and body being painted beautifully on the canvas- except- there was one small detail which infuriated her.
"What is this? Why is there blood near my chest-"
That's all Lilith could say before she saw the man swinging his pencil and lodging it at her heart.
A crushing jolt of pain flowed through her chest as she looked down, shaking.
It wasn't a pencil. It didn't look or feel like a pencil. A mere pencil wasn't capable of harming her. The man took the pencil out and lodged it back in, pushing it through her heart this time. Lilith noticed the silver lead on the pencil and it all made sense. It was all over.
She collapsed to the floor and all she could think of was why?
She realized "Why" as her life faded away. For the first time, she didn't look into the eyes of the man she planned to kill. She stared at his face, trying to breathe through the pain. He had blue eyes and blonde hair.
She realized who he was as she passed away.
----------------
/r/abhisek | 2020-01-29T00:04:33 | 2020-01-28T21:56:51 | 54 | 32 |
[WP] The hero and villain are roommates but don't know each other's secret identities. Come up with excuses for each other's injuries and describe a normal day. | “Mornin’”
I turn around from the mirror, fingers still gently resting on the bruise next to my eye. A couple of steps away stood Marc, my roommate, carrying a cup of coffee as always.
Luckily for me, I’m a morning person. Unlike my usually grumpy flatmate, I’ve grown to handle the early hours fairly well, even though the amount of sleep I get is minimal. Fairly typical, for my line of work.
“Good Morning!”, I grin cheerfully, quickly turning around back to the mirror. After all, how was I going to explain the multiple bruises from last night?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something quite odd. Marc, taking a sip from his coffee, pulled up the sleeve of his morning coat in a quick motion, bearing similarity to a reflex. It wasn’t quick enough to hide what was underneath, however, I could, for the fraction of a second, see a bandage around his wrist.
“What happened there?”, I asked him as I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to turn around. At this point, I was intrigued, something seemed a bit familiar- still, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Keeping an eye on my flatmate, I raised my hand again, quickly brushing over the bruise with my concealer in a moment that Marc’s eyes had wandered off, therefore effectively hiding the spot. It was, to my advantage, the only obvious injury I carried away from last night’s battle, everything else naturally hidden by my clothes.
Marc seemed to be a bit put off by my question. Taking yet another sip from the, surely, still way to hot beverage of his, and, heck, I could swear I saw a small movement of one of his hands to the side of his thorax, as if reminded of some pain.
“Huh?”, he asked then, reluctant.
I turn around, brushing some of the brown strands of hair that had deviated from their original position back to where they were supposed to be, and then put my hands on my waist. “C’mon, Marc, I saw your wrist. I’m worried!”, I then stated honestly, taking a step closer to him.
After a moment of what seemed to be either hesitation or a rapid thought process, Marc started to laugh for just a short burst. It seemed off and unnatural, nearly forced, but I didn’t have time to think about it- because he ‘lifted’ the secret behind his injury- rather, now showing the bandage openly. “Ah, this?”, he asked, “Nah, it’s nothing, no need to be worried. Just... had a rough night with my friends out.”
I squinted my eyes. I heard that excuse a lot. Of course, it was usual for men his age trying to make the best of life, but-
“Speaking Of Which!”
I blinked. Marc had caught me off guard again.
“When did you get back tonight? I didn’t see you ‘till, I mean, at all- and I got back quite late, even.”
I shrugged it off and squeezed out the room, though he was blocking off the entrance, and made my way toward our small kitchen. “Oh, Well.”, I chimed gently while still on the way, “Had a late shift. The hospital was fairly full last night, we needed every helping hand we could get.”
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. If he checked, then yes, the hospital was of course quite full after all the trouble happening last night. I had told him, on the day that I moved in as his new flatmate, that my profession was working as a nurse in the nearby hospital, and helping everyone in need there- and the last part was completely true. I DID help people, only in... other ways.
“Hm, Alright then.”
Marc seemed to be satisfied with the reply.
As I arrived in the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the shelf, I poured myself some coffee and leisurely sat down on the counter. It was all going well until then, I had to explain luckily few. But then, I heard the quiet chime of a phone nearby. First, I glanced at mine, but I had been mistaken- no new messages or calls in absence.
Next, I let my view scan the entire kitchen, and was finally successful in my search of the origin. I saw Marc’s phone on the table, lighting up with each new sound, apparently receiving messages.
“Marc!”, I exclaimed, willing to let him know, but my curiosity grew me closer to the phone, finally skimming over the messages.
‘We have a problem’
‘Hey, are you there?’
‘This is urgent!’
But the next message, hell, just as I heard Marc approaching right behind me, I could swear I saw the alias name of my arch nemesis.
//Not quite a ‘normal’ day, but I couldn’t resist. I’m fairly new to WP’s, so any feedback would be appreciated! | I was walking past Sam's room when I saw he had an odd looking bruise on his knee. I asked him where he got it, and he replied with "soccer". The odd thing is Sam doesn't play soccer. An odd bruise and an odd excuse. I knew something was up. It was when I was relaxing in the tub later that evening that it hit me. That bruise was in the same spot I kicked my nemisis last night. And the bruise was about the same shape as the tip of my carrot shaped boots. Wait. Sam can't be HIM?! Can he be? And then I realized, I had to know. I couldn't possibly be living with the one person I've sworn to defeat and failed miserably each time? No, no. There's got to be another reason. And if there isn't, why didn't he tell me? We've been roommates and best friends for 6 years! But wait... I never told him. I always gave him the excuses. It's just this once that he's given one to me. Do I want to know? Can I handle that the person I have tried to murder many times is my best friend? That evil murderer is the kind soul who stopped me from killing myself? Is he even my best friend anymore? All these questions were swirling around my mind, straining to escape, like bathwater fleeing the tub. I knew what I had to do. There was no other way. Life went on as normal for a few days, until I was on duty and I ran across the man that usually made my blood boil. That day was different. I was so nervous I nearly puked. All it took was two words. "Hi Sam" and by the way his body recoiled I knew. All it took was the betrayed look on my unmasked face and he realized who I was. I flew away and we haven't spoken since. That was over seventy years ago. I died six months ago. Every week, Sam puts some flowers on my grave. I wonder what he thinks as he kneels there silently. He's been diagnosed with cancer and the doctor isn't advising treatment. I guess I won't have long to find out.
This is my first ever post here, I hope you like it! | 2018-08-08T03:13:45 | 2018-08-08T02:05:42 | 138 | 52 |
[WP] In an alternate world, every individual is granted a superpower of their choice when they turn sixteen. There's only one problem - there can only ever be one person with a particular superpower, like superstrength. This has forced people to get .... creative. | In the year 2076 A.D. the serum was created to change the world. This serum granted superhuman powers to wbomever received it. Not just strength or speed but powers only seen in movies. The serum was administered to every person 20 years of age at the time and every person that turned 16 afterwards. 30 years later and it had become norm for society to have powers. Every year on a person's 16th birthday they went to the capital to receive the serum. Today was Zack's 16th. Beside him was his best friend, Thomas, whom happen to share the same birthday. For years they had discussed what powers they wanted. Fire control, water manipulation, or even more 'adult' powers. The line was approximately 30 people long, and they were standing towards the very front. While they were wairing around for tbe serum administration to start, a man stepped out and called for their attention.
" Ladies and gentlemen good morning. As you know you will be receiving the serum today after my little speech so Ill get it over quickly. My name is Brigade General Morris. As you know all powers are ranked in terms of power from lowest D- class to C, B, A, S, and SS. Those who get powers ranging from A to SS will receive an opportunity to enter the military at the rank of Major and receive a large salary. That is all I have to say. Good day to you all and I'll be here when you get out."
The brigade general stepped to the side to reveal a petite lady in a lab coat.
" Please step forward when we call your name. As you know only one person can have a power at a time so please know what you want before hand so we can hurry the process up. Kaylee Black please step forward."
A larger girl who was at the front line stepped up and followed the lady to the back. Zack turned to his friend and said "Do you know what you want?"
"No not really. Maybe something that would make me more popular with the ladies, maybe like a pheromone emission power. What about you? Knowing you you'd probably want something powerful to go into the military to get a cushy job and sit ontop of the world." He gave a slight chuckle.
"Hmmm maybe. I just don't know right now. I need to think." Zack responded.
With that they sat there. The next person went. And the next. And the next. The it was Zack's turn.
"Zack Everton" called the lady. Zack followed her into the back.
"Please lay down on the table and wait to be buckled down. Some people have a bad reaction to the needle and the serum so this is just an extra safety measure. Do you know what power you want so we can make sure it isn't taken." The lady explained. Zack layed down and responded "Im not sure really to be honest. I kinda wish I could have them all."
"Well its not taken"
Zack froze. "What isnt taken?"
" The power to have them all. Well, not really have them all but the ability to give and take them."
"Isnt something like that illegal? Or would I like be drafted into the military?"
"No its not. The only thing illegal is abilities related to manipualting people. It is also only a B-class ability so you wouldn't get asked immediately into the military. Also in accordance with the Power Confidentiality Act of 2095 the military cannot know what kind of powers you possess unless you tell them."
"C-c-can I really do that?"
"Yes you can" She responded in and even tone
" Then I guess I will." Zack responded, still unsure of what to do.
The lady picked up a helmet that had wires leading to a large terminal. She placed the helmet on his head and picked up a large needle.
" This is the serum once i inject it you'll fall asleep for a few seconds and wake back up. After that your body wil burn for a few seconds and it'll subside." With that she pushed the end of the needle into his arm and pushed the thick liquid in to his bicep. Zack's eyes immediately fell heavy and he closed them.
The next thing he knew was he awoke to the sensation of his body being on fire. Before he could cry out the pain subsided.
"Congratualtions you now have powers. Would you like to give your power a name?"
"Yes," Zack responded to the question instantly, "I would like to name it Overlord."
"OK that name has been saved. Ill lead you out. Please follow me."
Zack followed the lady out the door and saw his friend. He immediately rushed over to him and grabbed his arm.
" Hey, what the hell?!" cried Thomas.
"Ssshhhh just listen. I need you to get the power to convert material into pure energy." Zack hissed to him
"What? Why would I do that? I dont want it!" Thomas hissed back.
"Just trust me. Ill give you what ever power you want I swear." Zack hissed.
Confusion passed over Thomas' face.
"Thomas Peters please come with me, NOW" said the lady with the lab coat. She had called him a few times while they talked and neither of them had heard. Thomas turned towards the lady and began to walk to her, still confused. He turned around to Zack and nodded his head. He completely truted his friend no matter what. If he needed him to do this, he would. After Thomas disappeared behind the doors Zack turned around and began to walk out the front doors. Now, Thomas' idea of sitting on top of the world didn't seem so bad he thought as a smile danced across his face. | The list was exhausting to look at. All these superpowers...
Russell had a clever friend, Frege, whose power referred to the superpowers. Being a computer scientist, Frege simply asked to, given a superpower, know if somebody had it. He was popular. He got favors from all sorts of other people who had more useful powers.
But he was busy. Not only was Frege busy, but so was his cohort. Frege was 21 and in the last 5 years, Hilbert, Dedekind, and various others made a whole slew of superpowers referring to the system itself. All sorts of statistics were magically found. Hilbert could say how many times a superpower was requested. Dedekind could find, given two superpowers, one unused combination. Cantor, a relatively young player of this game, added the power to say, given two superpowers, which had more derivative powers - powers that people gained that were minor tweaks on the "base power." Bernstein was the latest with the ability to find all sub-powers of a given power. (He defined sub-powers to be more general powers, so if one could make paper fly, a sub-power would be making tree-based items fly, and that has a sub-power of telekinesis.)
Russell, wanting to out-do this cohort, had to add more inane abstraction to this naïve hodge-podge of policies. He decided to know, given a power, if there was no way to use it to refer to itself. For instance, if Frege was asked to tell if his power was used, he'd have used his power to say yes, self-referrentially. Hilbert too could be placed in the same situation: he'd use his power to reveal that it was only asked for once. Dedekind too could be made to use his power to refer to itself (this is more complex and left as an exercise). Russell's request raised a few eyebrows when he demanded it, but the officials did not question him too much: they were too used to absurdity.
Then the system broke. If Russell were asked about his own power, he'd use it to say that he couldn't use it to refer to itself. Or he couldn't use it to say that it could refer to itself... It was a paradox. Russell's paradox: he could use his power to refer to itself only when he used it to say that he couldn't use it to refer to itself.
Zemelo and Frankel, a couple officials, fixed this after a few years, but Russell, in the meantime was, by a public poll, barred from having a power. It was a close vote and after a re-vote, since Zemelo and Frankel made Russell's rustling impossible, Russell was given another chance. He chose something mundane.
Everybody rejoiced in the knowledge that their system was infallible. Little did they know that Gödel would soon come of age. | 2018-12-04T11:28:02 | 2018-12-04T10:21:17 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Sat around the peace gathering with the kings of the Neighboring cities, you are offered a drink. Upon taking a sip, you taste a familiar poison that you have become immune to over the years. Chaos ensues. | | My eyebrow raised just a little; the familiar taste of... Skullivy? No. Its cousin Sumakivy. My hand clenched the cup a bit harder as my throat objected a bit to the paralyzing substance, then let it slide in. That would mean a sore throat for the coming week. Such an annoyance...
Now, you must understand that the use of poison is a regularly used weapon in the battles between the Great Houses of Arlan. While technology and magic went hand in hand, some still prefered the use of classical assasination tools, and poison was one of them. So regularly used, in fact, that my late mother made sure that I was trained from infant's age to be able to not succomb to it the way she had. Seeing her withering away with not so much as a thing one could do was horrific. Soon after being poisoned, she was not able anymore to attend social gatherings; nor could she interact with anyone anymore, lest they be infected by the virulent coughs. The poison had made a factory out of her body and was eating away at her with every passing minute. She had feared this would happen, and had prepared me accordingly. For her it was too late; she was too old to be Immunized. But her children, yes, they could be saved. So it was only myself and my sister Asha that had stood at her bed as she was in the last, terrible moments of her too short life.
"Sariel, I know what you will want to do. Please, don't. I have only myself *cough* to blame. I should have known better. Take care of your sister. Make Arlan whole again. That is but my wish." She extended her hand, dark red with black veins, and I took it. "Do not *cough* be sad. We will see each other again. I will join your Father, and it could not make me more happy. Wishing you could *cough* come would only be selfish. Asha," and she extended her other hand. My sister was more weary of this, but took it nonetheless. "I can only be proud of you. Be strong, like you have always been. Do not be fooled by the false promises of the lords vying for your hand." She struggled to inhale. "Trust only your brother. Do what is best for Helgera *cough* as long as it is good for you too. Rely on each other. You will make it..." As the last words escaped her mouth, her grasp loosened. My sister and I exchanged a look. It was over. Sorrow would fill the Kingdom for the coming weeks... And others would try to make use of it. Of that we were sure.
That was fifteen years ago. Now I sat at the Table of the Twenty Nobles, in the midst of Neutral Territory, and all hopes I had for finally ending this folly of a conflict went just as sour as the taste of my wine. Across the table I eyed my sister. She had the same look on her face, a look she and I had exchanged all too often in the past years. She had married the heir of our neighboring Kingdom, but he had died not long ago of a poison attack as well. She blamed herself for not tasting his cup that one time, but nothing was to be done. With myself marrying Princess Arlene from another neighboring Kingdom, we were now three Kingdoms strong and we had a good chance of restoring peace at least around our borders. We had initiated the peace talks; the first time in over fifty years that the Table of the Twenty Nobles was full and everyone was present again. But I was sure that, as soon as the paralyzing working of the poison had worn off, there'd be all out war again.
But that was not the case.
To my left, King Jorgensen just chatted on. To my right, Queen Melara only let out a small cough. Nothing happened. And then it dawned on me... As everyone left after, what honestly was, a good day of negotiating which had ended in a cease fire for the coming month, I took my sister apart. "What have you done!? That taste... It wasn't Sumakivy! It was something else, wasn't it?"
Her eyes glistened in the dark. "I offered the cease fire of a month not for nothing. Within the month, everyone else but our kingdoms will be wiped out. You should be happy!"
I stepped away. "You... You found it, haven't you. Your husband's death wasn't a mistake..."
She smiled a wicked smile. "Yes, brother, I found the tome our mother had so carefully hid away. With her ingredients, my technology, and your magic, I succeeded where others failed. And they will all... every, single, one of them... pay for what they did to our mother and father."
"You'll doom us all! Haven't you learned from the past! How They used this to almost annihilate everyone! What is a Kingdom but for its people!"
She dismissed my protests with a flick of her hand. "Now now, don't give me that. I also found a way to Immunize everyone in our three Kingdoms. We'll be fine."
I shook my head. "You have done the unspeakable, sister. May the Gods have mercy on your soul. Because I won't!"
And so, amidst the dying cries of millions of innocents, began the Sibling War...
*****
Hope you guys liked it and that this kind of chaos is good enough as well! Nice prompt, I had hit a writer's block but this was exactly what I needed. [If you like what you see, take a look at my little corner of Reddit too :-\)](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAlcove/) | "I lay on the floor, trying not to breath, fighting the urge to flee as they made their way among the limp bodies that littered the chamber floor. There were at least ten yards between myself and the exit. My men, if they were still alive, would be in the courtyard. I did not count on their chances however. Whatever insidious hand guiding this coup would have accounted for them. I was on my own.
I wracked my brain, trying to remember every detail of the grounds I could remember. The stables were just west of the council chamber. I considered the distance I would fall if I leapt from the window. No. The distance was too great. I'd likely break something on impact.
The assassins drew closer, turning over corpses, driving knives into their throats at the slightest sign of movement.
The kitchens. Yes, the kitchens. The servant's entrance led out directly into the supply yard. A horse would be easy enough to acquire. I'd most likely be riding bareback, but such a discomfort was a small price in exchange for not having cold, serrated steel driven into my larynx.
I waited until one of the cloaked men stood over me. My heart beat so heavily against my chest I feared it'd be heard. The cloaked figure crouched down beside me. He reeked like some dead thing dragged from a fresh grave. The skin of his hands was black like death, and when he placed his hand upon my back, it felt as if ice had pierced my flesh. His dead hand went to a knife on his belt, unsheathing it. Quickly I swept his legs out from under him with a swift kick. The man dropped with a heavy thud, letting out a muffled cry like a dying animal. I seized his blade and drove it deep into his face. His comrades whirled about, seeing me standing over their dying compatriot. I did not hesitate.
Knife still in hand, I sprinted for the kitchen door. The men howled in some unknown, haunting tongue, like wild beasts fighting over broken prey. Their footfalls rang throughout the chamber like thunder. I dared not look back.
I clattered through the kitchen door, knocking servants to the floor, sending trays of food skittering about the room. They screamed in confusion as I sprinted past. The screams only grew louder as my pursuers came through after me. I did not know what they would do with the poor servants now that they had been seen, but I could not stop to consider their ill fate.
Out the back door and into the yard. Just as I had hoped, a horse, strapped to a cart loaded with vegetables and other foods. I leapt to its back, and with a swiftness born of adrenaline and fear, I severed the ropes tying the creature to his burden. I kicked the beasts ribs, taking firm hold of its mane. We sprung from the yard and off into the woods with lightening speed. i could hear the terrible crowing of the assassins behind me, and some dark truth in my mind told me that no matter how quickly I fled, they would soon be on my heels." | 2016-11-03T07:44:30 | 2016-11-03T06:20:28 | 40 | 20 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.