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[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do. | It was only the second week of philanthropic bidding. But Phillip had already burned through the allotted 20% that his accountant set aside in this “race to the bottom” that America’s wealthiest absolutely must play, once a year, or risk absolute destitution.
Phillip Stone, owner and current CEO of Americawide Insurance, had finally reached the top. It had taken many years to accrue this pile in his coffers. And now that he was here, at the top, only now did he realize just how insane this law was. It felt absolutely unfair. In his own eyes, Phillip’s amassing of wealth was done through pure, honest work.
But many Americans did not feel the same. Do you love the company whom you owe money to? No, Phillip thought, it would be impossible to curry any favor with the public. He had tried before, and he had failed.
It was a game of inches. Simply put, it was somewhat of a game of luck. But Phillip was drawn to it. | 2021-09-17T18:33:10 | 2021-09-17T16:08:22 | 70 | 11 |
[WP] We spread throughout the stars. But our enemies are not alien races, exterminator machines, or extradimensional invaders. No, our enemies are the gods, for humanity is the last, and only remaining mortal race in the universe. | Verstivus turned to Dael, a curious expression written across his face, “Dael… I’ve discovered something most peculiar on the body of a dead mortal on the battlefield.”
Dael made a sound of disapproval, “Ves, we’ve talked about this…”
“No, this time it’s different,” Vestivus took outa small orb.
Dael analyzed it, “What is it?”
“It’s called a mortality pill.”
“A what?”
“It supposedly turns whoever consumes it into a mortal.”
“Do you believe it’s a new weapon?”
“It’s not practical, it requires consumption.”
“Then what is it for?”
“I’m not sure. But think about the implications?”
“That mortals are on the verge of bringing us to their level?”
“No, freedom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve watched over the eons we’ve lived. I’ve seen us all change. We were once creators and protectors of the universe, but we have since gone cold and callous. Mortals don’t need us anymore. They feel so much deep passion, little things mean something to them. Does anything hold any meaning to us at all?”
“Don’t say that, Ves!”
“Just think about it. The human poets spoke of how beautiful nature is, the horrors of war, or even the simple joy of a home-cooked meal. We know none of those pleasures.”
“So you’d give up godhood for the sake of curiosity?”
“I never said that… it’s just something to think about, I suppose.”
The two entered the hall of the gods, where Vestivus was pulled aside by Trivane, the head general. He leered down at Ves, “What did you take this time.”
Vestivus bashfully withdrew the small pill and held it out, “They call it a mortality pill. It is said to have the power to make one mortal.”
Trivane made a deep, amused sound, “Fools, they really believe that they can steal our godhood?”
Ves analyzed the pill, “No, it’s not that practical. I believe this a failure for them.”
“Then why do I hear intrigue in your voice?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Then I order you to.”
“It’s perhaps not for us.”
“Vestivus, you aren’t implying something so foolish, are you?”
“Do you remember your attempt at a poem? The creator’s lament? You believed it would be the next great hymn bards would sing?”
“Your point.”
“It failed to rise to that magnitude because it lacked a true understanding of beauty and lament, something only humans have. Mortality gives one a new perspective on the world.”
“It evokes the fear of death.”
“The fear of death is not a curse, but a blessing. They take risks and embrace passion. Our mistakes carry with us through all of mortality, theirs only for a brief time.”
“Enough of this nonsense. You will not show this to anyone else, understood?”
Ves nodded, the gods meeting starting shortly after. He idly examined the pill while the gods went through strategic planning and preparation, before he heard something unusual from Dael, “Do we really need to go through these lengths? At this point surely the mortals release that war is futile. We could negotiate with them and surely get the better deal.”
Yarvog, the head tactician, scoffed, “We do not negotiate. We are gods! We will make them bend at the knee to us. We will accept nothing less.”
Dael groaned, “Our pride is always getting in our way. Perhaps we could learn something from the mortals.”
Yarvog laughed, “What foolishness is this? Learn something from them? Surely you jest.”
Dael sighed, “No, I don’t. We have grown cold from our immortality. We have become the very things we sought to protect the world from when we first created mortality.”
Trivane roared in accusation, “You know about the pill, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” Dael replied, “And if you do too surely you understand what this means. We could live out the rest of our days not in this half-life. But truly live. The universe doesn’t need us anymore. This war has shown that.”
“Can we truly give up our lives? Can you truly say that the universe needs us not?” Trivane asked.
“Indeed I can,” answered Dael, “We are warring against our creations. We have no right to our thrones.”
“Even if there were truth in your statement. There is only one pill. We cannot all be freed.”
“Then we will ask the humans for more during negotiation.”
Yarvog cackled, “You can’t really be considering this, can you? Giving up our immortality? Negotiating with mortals? This is all folly!”
Dael turns to Yarvog, “I remember a time when you smiled at mortal ingenuity. Now you scoff at their attempts to rise above. Do you remember that happier time? It appears we have all but forgotten it. We have no honor left. We’re not gods, we’re monsters.”
Yarvog snarled, “I will not stand for this foolishness. Those who wish to cast aside their immortality have no place among the gods!”
“No,” Dael denied, “Those who have forgotten their place have no right to divinity either.”
“Then it appears we must see which cause is stronger.”
Vestivus watched the circus of shouting from a safe distance, cackling quietly. The mortality pill didn’t work, but they would never know that. He knew that these decrepit fools would not be on the leading side of history. He would deliver the mortals their victory, and he would be at the head of that new era ushered in by them. | An evacuation shuttle. On a slowly imploding planet. And a meteor heading towards the spaceport, for good measure. The heavens work in mysterious ways. Or perhaps not.
"This is some next-level Matrix bullshit," Evelyn muttered, half to herself, half to her crew as she strapped herself into the navigator's seat, scanning the star maps for a relatively secluded, but livable, outpost. The hum and throb of the faster-than-light engine reverberated through the shuttle's bridge, as Adam performed the pre-departure tests. "Well, on the bright side, we got in a couple of years on this planet," he replied. Typical Adam. Always looking on the bright side. Except that this time, the bright side happened to be from the nearby sun, about to go supernova. As if the meteor wasn't enough!
**TEN MINUTES TO IMPACT :(**
The computer screen flashed, the crew of the Ark pausing for a split second to look at the blinking text. "We'll be gone long before that," Adam called out, calmly testing the sublight thrusters of the starship, keeping the FTL engine at its low, idle setting. He had time to peer out of the cockpit windows, at the cracked burning ground of Eden Two. This was all grassland before, he thought wistfully. Yes, synthetic, genetically modified, lab-grown grass, sure, but still grass nonetheless. Coupled with synthetic, genetically modified, lab-grown cows. And synthetic, genetically modified, lab-grown sheep. Not those fake electric sheep, mind you.
But this was about survival and not about vanity. Before the Earth was swallowed up by the sun, humanity finally cracked the genetic code, storing vats of reshapable goo, to create grass, cows, sheep, and other means of food production. And water production. Even air production. Everything needed to terraform a habitable world. It was like 3D-printing. Except with life. And honestly, it was difficult to say who "started it". Man, who ingested the sacred apple of knowledge, who was trying to play God. Or God, who wanted to eradicate Man and make him extinct. After all, it had happened before. Supposedly.
And now, driven from their home, humanity spread like a virus throughout the stars. Desperate to survive. Adam checked the antimatter fuel in the uncertainty engine. He couldn't really tell, but he knew it was all good. In spite of Adam's overflowing optimism, he was personally surprised at the speed of the evacuation, after the sudden cutoff of communications from Eden One. Poor souls didn't stand a chance. At least, the colonists of Eden Two managed to respond in a timely manner.
**FIVE MINUTES TO IMPACT >.<**
"How's it going back there, Noah?" Evelyn spoke into the intercom microphone.
"All our genetic pods are on standby and ready-to-go," came Noah's voice over the intercom speaker. Adam pictured the usual genetic production systems, set up on every inhabitable planet they had to seek refuge on. How the terraforming took several days. How they managed to enjoy a couple of years respite from the wrath of the heavens. How every Adam, Eve and Noah were simply replicated on arrival, ensuring the survival of humanity. Mortal, but immortal. Humans, created by gods that were once humans.
As the roar of the sublight thrusters propelled the Ark into the darkening sky, the earth beneath them on Eden Two split into half, a great flood of hot magma bubbling over the surface. The starship easily clearing the blast zone as the meteor hit the surface, sending a shower of rapidly cooling magma-formed asteroids into the void of space. Noah stares out into the distance as Adam and Evelyn pilot the starship, setting their course to the next planet. Eden Fifty Four. "Whither compassion?" he murmurs, as the supernova swallows the remnants of the space debris. | 2022-05-09T07:25:23 | 2022-05-09T06:41:48 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] When you die, instead of going to the afterlife, you have the option of being reincarnated in a world, fictional or real, as any creature. The downside is the incredibly long line of people waiting to be reincarnated. | Jeremy let out a frightened yell as he frantically checked his surrounding only to be met with confusion. He found himself standing in a long corridor of carpeted floor and walls, seemingly stretching forever to both sides.
Strange, he thought, because he could've swore the last thing he remembered was two giant headlights like a pair of monstrous eyes coming onto him in full speed against his old sedan.
''What the hell...?'', Jeremy muttered under his breath, still trying to process what just happened.
*''Ahem''*, a gruff voice caught Jeremy's attention. ''One would watch their manners and language in the hall of Heaven, my good sir''
There stood an old man in full all-white suit, his grey hair and beard were neatly trimmed.
''I'm sorry...what did you just...?'', Jeremy asked only to be taken aback by the size of the door the old man was standing in front of-- the door which definitely was not there before.
''Your ticket, please'', asked the old man, extending his hand.
Jeremy's mouth was open, unable to fathom the size of the wooden door before him. Being ignored, the old man asked once more.
''Your ticket, please, sir''
After so, Jeremy finally snapped and returned to himself.
''Wh-what is happening? Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?'', Jeremy began with a torrent of questions. ''Wh...what is that door...that giant door?'', Jeremy pointed with his trembling hand.
''Ah, you mean the Pearly Gates?'', the old man smiled warmly. ''I apologize, young man. It's never easy to accept the fact that you are deceased, but here we are in Heaven...''
There was so much information packed in the old man's remark, but one thing was clear and it proved what Jeremy had suspected-- that car collision killed him.
''I'm...dead...'', he muttered in despair.
''Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm truly sorry'', the old man offered his condolences.
''I...I have a wife...and a daughter...'', Jeremy began tearing up. ''I can't...I can't leave them yet...I still...I still need to be with them''
Jeremy felt the old man's hand grabbing his shoulder, calming him down.
''That is why you are here, young man'', said the old man. ''Welcome to Heaven's Reincarnation Convention. I am St. Peter, but please, call me Peter''
''Reincarnation...Convention...?'', Jeremy asked, overwhelmed emotionally.
''That's right. Behind this door you may choose a world to be reincarnated into. Into any world, be it fictional or non-fictional. Into anything, be it a living creature or non-living thing. All I need, Jeremy, is your ticket'', explained Peter.
Peter's explanation spun around Jeremy's head.
''Ti-ticket? What ticket? I don't have any...''
''Of course you do. Once you died, you got a ticket, complementary of the Big Man upstairs'', Peter smiled, nodding at Jeremy's jeans pocket.
Jeremy noticed his pocket was glowing gold. Slowly he reached inside and pulled out a shiny golden ticket.
*Heaven's Reincarnation Convention. Attendance: 1*
''How did it get there...?'', Jeremy asked.
Peter gently grabbed Jeremy's ticket and tore it, returning the partial ticket back to Jeremy.
''God works in mysterious ways'', Peter winked. ''Alright then, Mr. Stone, you're all set. Welcome to the Convention''
Peter guided Jeremy towards the Pearly Gates-- the massive door creaked open slowly.
\*\*\*
''Heaven's Reincarnation Convention. Here we offer almost limitless portal to send your soul to any world of your choosing. Like I said before, literally *any* world''
Jeremy waked side by side with Peter as the latter explained the situation.
Inside was a massive convention hall, almost of an endless proportion. Each stand boasted colorful banners and promotion, but each and every single one of them had one thing in common-- an incredibly long line of souls waiting to be reincarnated to their world of choosing.
''Here have a map'', Peter handed Jeremy a folded map.
As Jeremy unraveled it, it opened to a magically moving map which could be scrolled like one using a modern touch-screen monitor. With it Jeremy could see which stand offered which world and how many people were currently queuing in said stand.
''As you can see, Mr. Stone, the stands set up closest to the entrance have the most number of people waiting in line'', said Peter.
True enough, Jeremy saw the number on his map showing in billions. | I have waited about 13 months.
I only have about 10 minutes until I get to reincarnate.
With 13 months to decide, I had plenty of time to think of the ultimate choice.
The way this reincarnation thing works is a but complicated, but I’ll try to make it nice and simple.
Instead of going to the afterife (which I heard isn’t hell, but isn’t exactly heaven either), OR I can wait in a long line of souls to be reincarnated.
Reincarnation is almost completely up to me. I can choose whatever world, be it the real world I just died from or a fictional world from my imagination, to reincarnate in. I can reincarnate as any creature in said world. From a dung beetle in the jurassic age of earth to a Pikachu in Pokémon to a man in the distant future, all up to me. I can even change the specific circumstances to which I reincarnate. There are only 3 limitations.
1: I temporarily lose all memory of this line as well as my previous life. I will get it back apoun dying again.
2: When I inevitably die again, I will be forced into the afterlife. You don’t reincarnate twice.
3: I cannot choose a creature that cannot die. Creatures that are technically immortal are fine, but if a creature has a chance at having an infinite life, I can’t reincarnate as it. I can be some worm that can life for thousands of years so long as it can die by any other means.
Eventually, my turn came up, and I already had every important detail planned out.
Fantasy world, (Think DND or something like that), as the most powerful dragon in the world, and one that can live for up to 10 thousand years.
This was going to be interesting. | 2022-01-10T02:19:56 | 2022-01-09T22:18:38 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other. | “Don’t do it.”
For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy.
“Stop before it’s too late.”
It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone.
The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong.
Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep.
Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything.
Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear.
“Do this and you will be great.”
“Do this and you will succeed.”
“Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.”
His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful.
Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed.
“What are you missing?”
“When were you last truly happy?”
“There’s one thing you still need.”
I had to get it.
Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt.
“Please, this will be the end of us, stop.”
I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel. | Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100.
everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.”
When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could.
EDIT: Fixed errors | 2017-04-01T06:47:09 | 2017-04-01T03:58:44 | 317 | 12 |
[WP] Every new year the priests sacrifice whoever finds the stone bean in their meal to bring the clan good fortune in the months to come. It's supposed to be random, but you get suspicious when you notice the priests watching you carefully as you sit down to eat. | The heat of the holy men’s gazes is piercing as I take my place at the far end of the feasting hall. The space, which is usually loud and full of mirth, is uncharacteristically quiet on this grim occasion, the tension in the air filling the silence with a deafening hum. Amidst the tension, are the quiet murmurs of the clan nobles, and the occasional word of one of the priests addressing a nervous member of their flock. However, I cannot help but notice their eyes scarcely left me, despite my best efforts to sink into my seat.
The grand table is full of bowls of hearty stew and fresh bread, no doubt concealing the fate of a “lucky” clan member, in the form of a stone bean. This “honorable” fate is supposed to be chosen at random by the patron deity, to bring luck and prosperity in the seasons to come in the form of self sacrifice. I have come to know better.
It’s always the beggars. The peasants. The the “trouble makers” and the heretics. The old, the weak, and the ill. Always by “the graces of the divine” that these people are chosen. One less “unproductive” mouth to feed. This is what brings “prosperity.” And, at the end of this harvest, I’m unlucky enough to have the holy gazes upon me. Me, the orphaned farm hand who sleeps in the haystacks and cleans muck for spare change. Of course it would be me.
Slowly, and hesitantly, the feasting begins, and I meet the eyes of the priests as I dip my spoon into the thick stew. Their faces melt together into a mass of dark sunken eyes, wrinkles and white hairs, all while I try my best to bore my gaze into theirs, looking for the answer I already knew.
I swirl my spoon in the bowl, and feel the tiniest of taps against the wood. It’s gentle, so nobody hears, but no doubt they hear the pounding in my chest. The dark hollow eyes brighten, and yellowed teeth are revealed as wrinkled lips pull back in knowing grins. My eyes do not leave theirs, and the spark in their gaze ignites a dormant blaze in my rib cage. I lift my spoon, and nod to the men, as the first bite of stew passes my lips. It’s warm, delicious, savory, and by all accounts deadly.
Gradually, bowls are emptied, and relieved sighs echo the halls. The silence is eventually filled with quiet conversations, and happy tones, when the bean is yet to be found in finished meals. Still, the eyes bore into mine, and mine into theirs, as spoonful after spoonful is slowly raised to my mouth. In these moments, I hate them. I hate their stew. I hate their beans. I hate the gods. Every mouthful feeds my ire with tender meat and soft potatoes. I’m very careful, not to touch the bottom of my bowl. Not yet.
The smiles turn to scowls of impatience, and my fear turns to indignant rebelliousness as I grin and lift a large spoonful of what looks to be potatoes into my mouth, chew carefully, and swallow it down with a generous sip of wine. It’s far more delicious than any other bite so far.
As I lift my bowl, the old hunched men lean even farther forward, and the whole clan is watching me now as I drink down the last of my broth, and lay the bowl back down. I hadn’t realized I was the last to finish, but as soon as my dish revealed no stone bean, there was a shocked murmur about the crowd. I can’t help the grin on my face, when the gaggle of priests shift from smug, to shocked, to outraged. No doubt they know what I’ve done, but I know I can rest easy after my meal. No smart man would say a word, lest they reveal themselves and their horrible scheme.
I stand with a satisfied sigh, thanking the holy men graciously, before leaving them to the hall full of outraged nobles and terrified commoners. Perhaps no sacrifice is needed this year? Surely something was missed? Oh well. I’m sure the bean will resurface in a day or two.
(I haven’t written in a long while but this was lots of fun. Hope someone enjoys it!) | I noticed the priest stare at me out of the corner of my eye. Every year the priests put a carved stone bean in a persons soup, during the feast celebrating the end of the harvest season.
I know that the bean is supposed to be scooped randomly, but I think it might have been put in my soup, I never was notably popular, and I rarely visited the church, and now their just looking directly at me.
I finish most of my stew before finding the large stone bean. The bean looks small enough to eat, and even if I choke it would just speed up the inevitable. I take a big spoonful, and swallow it.
*cough*
Nope, I’m choking. That didn’t go well. Now someone is preforming the heimlick maneuver.
And a small bean comes out, at a high trajectory. I hope it lands on the floor, or in the bowl of the local drunk, he’s extremely rude and wouldn’t even notice, but nothing is done about it because he’s the priest’s brother.
And speak of the devil, would you look at that! It went into the bowl of the priest, and he was coming to look at my bowl, seeing if I got scared according to onlookers, be both of us know that he knew the bean was supposed to be in my bowl before hand.
He looked at me strangely, almost accusingly, then went back to his soup. And gasped loudly enough for everyone else to hear. Seems I’m safe, and the tradition will likely end here. | 2021-12-31T22:11:39 | 2021-12-31T19:43:04 | 54 | 35 |
[WP] You live in a small village that is dominated by an omnipotent god that resides in an overarching temple. Everything is decreed by the god's law. No one is allowed inside the temple. You commit the gravest taboo and enter... only to find a mountain sized celestial corpse rotting on a throne. | Anum, the supreme god of all, was dead. His massive body lay on the stone throne, skin shrunken against his holy skeleton. I stood in the holy temple Duranki for what felt like hours, but was most likely only minutes. Once I had regained control of my limbs, I turned on my sandaled feet and left the Ziggurat.
Outside, the high priest stood waiting, flanked by two guards. I didn't know how he had discovered my heresy, but that did not matter. The men wore copper helmets and carried long spears, but were otherwise dressed like normal.
"What have you done?!" The priest demanded, arms outstretched. "You entered the forbidden-"
"He's dead", I said, not stopping my pace. The priest gasped.
"What did you say? Anum is the God of the Sky, king of all that is seen, and you claim you *KILLED* him?" The priest scoffed. "Preposterous."
"No, not killed" I said, still in an overwhelmed daze. "He's just dead."
The priest pointed to the two guards. "Keep this one here, do not let him return to Uruk. I will investigate the claims." With that, he briskly walked into the ziggurat, leaving me with the confused guards.
One leaned close to me and spoke in a hushed reverent tone. "Is Anum truly inside?" He asked.
"A gigantic corpse that wears his clothes is, at least" I responded. "Looks like he has been for a while."
The guards exchanged a look of worry. "What could kill a god?" The second one asked, gripping his spear with white knuckles.
"Whatever it was, it won't be stopped by a spear" I told him, nodding towards his weapon. "I don't know what could kill a God. Until today, I did not know if there truly ever *WAS* a God."
The first guard raised his spear at me. "Do not utter such blasphemy!"
"Or what?" I asked incredulously. "You'll accuse me of something worse than Deicide?"
He slowly lowered his spear. "Ok, you've got a point. Just be quiet anyways, alright?"
As I was about to begin complying with his request, the high priest emerged from the ziggurat, his face whiter than the freshest wool.
"Anum is dead" he said weakly. "He has been dead for quite some time."
"Yeah, I just said that" I responded. The priest seemed to not hear me.
"I have prayed to Anum daily... and he has responded." He looked up at the three of us. "If he is dead in there, who was speaking to me?"
"I was", a voice called out from the sky itself. All four of us froze in terror. "I am Utu, God of the Sun and Sky. I have slain your pitiful deity, just as my Babylonians shall soon slaughter you all."
The sky voice cackled with a deep laughter as it faded away.
The priest look at all of us in turn. "Would anyone believe this?" He asked softly. All of us shook our heads. "Right," he said, "Let me think on this. In the meantime, tell no one what transpired here today. I may call upon you to recount this, but not now. Not yet."
I didn't care. This was way beyond my capacity to even grasp. I just walked back to my home on the outskirts of Uruk, and tried to resume life as it had once been.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more, probably better stories. This one kinda fell away from me. | The door creaked open as you entered the temple and a wind of dusty air rushes outside. You tremble and your heart races knowing you are not allowed in such a sacred place but something drew you in. The door slams behind you and flames light up the path that let to a throne. The last set of flames roared to life and sat on the throne a rotted and giant body sat decaying and falling apart but with a hand out almost saying “Take It”
You put your hand in the decaying god’s hand and your eyes widen with power and all seeing. All the doors and windows blew open and the old corpse was gone and you could feel the of power everyone and everything within you. The village bloomed to life as it felt complete and strong from their god being reborn. With a snap of your fingers you can make food or weather and you help anyone you can because they respect you and you feel for them as they are for you were once in need of a higher power. | 2022-06-16T07:43:25 | 2022-06-16T01:23:00 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Growing up, I had always been an outcast. Everybody else in my class had amazing gifts: pyrokinesis, super strength, flight, laser eyes, invisibility, even the kid who could freely manipulate cloth. They were all praised and fawned over because of their gifts. But I was not.
My power is called "Roots." I can grow roots from the soles of my feet and extend them through whatever my foot is touching, at will. Nobody could see any use for it, and for the longest time, neither could I. As the only kid with a useless power, I was bullied, ostracized, and generally left behind. Even the teachers didn't intervene; their contempt for me was obvious.
Adulthood didn't change my circumstances in the least. I could only ever get the lowest paying, most demeaning jobs, simply because my gift was useless.
I finally realized the true potential of my ability only when I well and truly lost my temper. My boss was trying to stiff me on my hours worked, claiming I hadn't shown up to a shift when I had been the only one who had shown up.
"You're not getting paid for hours you didn't work, stop trying to steal from me just because you're useless! Get out of here, you're fired!"
And so I put my foot down, and rooted myself, intending not to move. However, I overdid it on the roots, as the floor began to crack and buckle, its structural integrity having been compromised by my roots. The look of terror on his face as the floor shifted under him brought a bright spark of glee to my heart.
I had always been the one cowering in terror. Never had I even imagined that someone would fear me. High on the sudden feeling of power, I disconnected myself from the roots and walked towards the man who was once my employer, and he backed up until he was up against the wall. Then, I very deliberately stepped on his foot and rooted myself again. I didn't even hear his screams, as a sensation of ecstasy and raw power rolled over me. My eyes rolled back in my head and my muscles all tensed and locked me in place, so great was the feeling as my roots drank.
Some time later, I honestly don't know how long, I came back to my senses. The corpse in front of me was riddled with my roots, the face frozen in a rictus of fear and agony. The floor was buckled in several parts of the room, showing a drop into the basement which was filled with a tangle of my roots.
Over the next few weeks, I experimented with my gift, seeing it in an entirely new light. Every time my roots drank, I gained more control over them and could grow them faster, further and thicker.
Finally, I made my first big appearance in the city, ready to demonstrate that I truly had the superior gift. I went to the city center, and rooted myself, extending my roots in all directions. The ground began to shake and car alarms began to go off. People began looking around in alarm, trying to figure out what was going on. They were the first to be taken by my roots. Overall, more than a thousand people were taken by my roots that day, and more than ten city blocks had subsided into a sinkhole I had created.
That was the day that I earned the moniker "Root of Disaster." | Herbert Johnson, on his 80th birthday snapped. It was bad enough to have a super power that only brings you ridicule, in a world full of powers that inspire admiration. These super powered fools, now, used their great powers to crash an old man's birthday party.
Herbert Johnson, the master of gas, unleashed his ultimate revenge. A thing so diabolical he promised never to do. The world of heros now had one villain. Flatulence was Herbert's game. Now the world was subjected to an endless cloud of flatulent gas. A feet none of the other super heros realized Herbert was capable of. No one is laughing now. | 2017-06-12T09:33:04 | 2017-06-12T08:36:12 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] You are in a serious car accident and are in a coma in a hospital bed. You wake up after a brief time without anyone in the room. As far as you can tell you are fine and your memory is clear but you decide to act like you have total amnesia. | I woke up under a ceiling I didn't recognize. White square panels, fluorescent lights, a blue curtain hanging from it. I only needed to turn my head towards the machine I was connected to to confirm my suspicions. "A hospital?", I though. "What am I doing here? Come on, Murphy, think..."
In an instant, the realization hit me. The crash. I leaned forward as quickly as I could, which turned out to be not very quickly at all. My whole body felt unusually weak. I looked towards the table next to my bed, trying to find my phone or at least some sort of information about my current situation. I could only find a device that, at least I assumed, would call a nurse. I hadn't really been in a hospital before.
I ran my hand through my hair, noticing how much longer it had gotten. I wondered how long I had been sleeping. I took a deep breath and pressed the button. I had to wait quite a while for a nurse to show up and, when he finally did, he seemed to be in quite a hurry.
"What's your issue?" He asked bruskly.
"Um... I'm awake?" I responded. My throat was completely dry and my voice much raspier than usual.
"Oh, right, you're the coma guy. I'm sorry, things are crazy right now. The doctor will be here as soon as he can, I'll tell them to call your girlfriend." He said, finishing his sentence as he left the room.
"Wait, I..." By the time I managed to open my mouth, he was long gone. "Girlfriend?" I couldn't help but ask out loud. I did not recall having a girlfriend. In fact, I was absolutely certain that I didn't swing that way at all. "Who did they just call?" I wondered. I laid back onto the bed and sighed. "No point worrying, I guess I'll find out soon enough".
Several minutes later, that same rude nurse came back, accompanied by a girl I did not recognize. Her brown eyes were bloodshot, underlined by noticeable dark circles, and her black hair was messily tied up in a ponytail. "Here you go. The doctor will show up later, maybe, probably." He didn't even get halfway trough his sentence before exiting the room, leaving me alone with this stranger.
"Hey..." I said, not really knowing how to react.
"Reggie, you're okay!" She leapt towards me, embracing me with both arms.
"Ow, ow, ow..." I yelped.
"Sorry, I just... I'm so glad you're awake... I didn't know if you'd..." She let go of me and dried her tears with her sleeve. They seemed completely genuine, which put me even more on edge. This woman seemed to think I was some guy named Reggie, or even worse, was hoping to trick me into believing it.
The reasonable course of action in this situation would be to immediatly clear up this misunderstanding. Unfortunately, I am Murphy Pendleton, a man who will always put "interesting" before "reasonable". I decided to play along by pretending to have no memory, to see where this was going.
"I'm sorry... who are you?" I didn't have to act for this one, I sincerely didn't know her.
"That's not funny, Reggie." She replied as she lightly punched me in the shoulder.
"I'm serious. I'm having trouble remembering..."
"You are? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... you don't remember me at all?" She seemed genuinely distraught.
"I... sort of? I can tell I know you, but I don't exactly know why..." I thanked my theater degree for its first practical application.
"I see... my name's Claudia Miller. I'm 26 years old, I work as a freelance web developer and we've been dating for a little over a year. Does this jog your memory?"
"Maybe? Can you tell me something about me?"
"You don't remember yourself either? What can I even tell you?" She sighed, took a moment to compose herself and then began talking. "Your name's Reggie Graham, you're 28, you have a psychology degree but aren't currently working. Your favorite color is red, you have the music taste of a teenage girl, and you refuse to eat almost anything I cook, even if, by all accounts, it is technically edible." A remarkably convincing story. I began to worry, why was she doing this? I faked a smile.
"I see, looks like I'm an amazing guy by all accounts! What do you know about the accident?"
"I wasn't there, but, according to the cops, the stoplight in your intersection glitched out. Your car rammed into a blue sedan, and that's how you ended up here..."
I could feel my pulse accelerating. "How long have I been here? What day is it?"
"It's the 24th, so it's been six days."
"Only six days?!" I unintentionally blurted out. I looked at my shaking arms, much thinner than I remembered.
"What's wrong, Reggie? Should I call for help?" She reached for the nurse bell.
"What happened to the other driver?" I began touching my face. Was my nose always this big?
"...He unfortunately didn't make it. It's not your fault."
"I need your phone." I could feel the whole world shaking.
"S-sure." She worriedly unlocked it, handing it to me.
I managed to open the camera app with my shaking hands. My shaking, unfamiliar hands.
I switched to the front camera and was greeted by the face of a stranger. | I went to sleep every night hoping I don't wake up. I royally messed this life up and I am out of fixes. There are no solutions on the horizon and even after praying with all my might it does not seem like God is in favor of allowing me a redo. Or so I thought.
This has to be divine intervention or some cosmic and karmic righting of wrongs. I needed this. I need this. I'm a good person. I do good when I can. I expressly denounce evil. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs and my scale of wrongdoings does not even contemplate harming another soul. Okay, I do smoke occasionally when with friends but surely that little evil does not warrant a life ruined. My neuroses and anxieties are not of my own conjuring but something I was blessed with from birth. I'm a victim of circumstance and inaction but not malice. My resulting failings are not my doing either but regardless they are for me to bear for eternity. Or till death. Hence the little "accident" I came about. I resigned my life to my faith and was going to live with the outcome. I did not plan on being here now. I did not want to continue. I planned to wake up in heaven or hell or not at all but not this.
This seems a hand extended from beyond. A little reset afforded after years of pain. I can only continue afresh and not with the burdens of my past. My maniacal brain has already thought this through. I would say, "I will lie like I have never before" but that is not true. I know how to lie like that. I'm really good at it. I lie and spin yarns with the best of 'em. I can make you believe anything and everything regardless of the turmoil inside. It's a skill earned and forged in fires of deep troubles within. I can put on faces and tones as needed. Lies are my allies from a life ruined. I will employ them once again. Hopefully this time I will get some happiness from them.
This will hurt my family. Those who have always been by my side and whom I have lied to the most. My "past" life and transgressions will come into light and I will have to sit there looking just as confused and angry at this failure in life alongside them. Questioning every action and scrutinizing every decision this terribly failed man made. Never asking for help. Never confiding in them. Lies and only lies. I hope they will forgive the new me for the actions of my past. I hope they will see me as a blank slate they can once again be proud of. I hope they forgive the old me for all he did. I hope they forgive themselves because they were never at fault. I hope. I hope and I hope. | 2020-06-29T20:09:10 | 2020-06-29T17:38:34 | 454 | 26 |
[WP] You're a sniper, but your gun fires... unconventional ammo. | My breath was steady. The desert breeze was kicking up sand, making it hard to see. Through the haze, though, I could make out the silhouettes of three figures in the town center. One of them was Al Abshar Salid. He'd been evading the efforts of Israeli special operations forces for months now, so they called me. There I was, enjoying my well deserved time off in Dubai and now this. Stuck in the middle of this rotten, sun-scorched wasteland hunting this ghost. It's like they say, the downside to being the best at anything is that you're the best.
I needed to end this soon. Salid only came out of his hole in the dirt to meet with one of the numerous corrupt government officials that were funding his Jihad happy horseshit, and I didn't want to go trekking across another dune looking for this guy. In my line of work, you kind of realize that Anakin wasn't completely off base on his assessment of sand.
I adjusted my position slightly and popped the cap off of my scope and took a quick peak to assess the situation. Four men, Salid and his 2 cronies were standing around a black Land Rover about 240 yards from my position. They looked impatient. Their contact must be late, I thought. Salid leaned back against the car and lit a cigarette, and I saw my opportunity. I chambered a round a lined up my shot, careful to account for the strong breeze.
The dildo struck the window of the Land Rover and glass exploded outward, striking Salid in the back of the head. Blood began to flow but he was still alive. He dropped the ground and quickly brandished a pistol. His guards, AK-47s in hand, took cover behind the car and immediately started laying down covering fire, screaming in Arabic. God dammit, I cursed myself in my head. I produced another dildo from my case. "Let's see how you fuckers like this." I popped three double-A batteries into the plastic dick and turned it on full strength, while placing it into the receiver.
Salid's bodyguard Ahmed glanced into the car to survey the damage from the first shot. His heart sank when he saw the purple rubber phallus lodged in the passenger's seat. "Allah help us..." was the last thing he said before a hypersonic composite plastic dong tore into his skull, sending a fountain of blood and grey matter over his comrades who went into a full panic. They jumped into the car, keeping low and stepped on the gas, leaving their dead companion to cook in the desert heat.
Shit, shit, shit, I thought. Quickly I rifled through my ammo bag and pulled out a small, but aerodynamic job: perfect for a long range moving target. They were retreating parallel to my position, easy to track with the naked eye due to the amount of dust the car was kicking up as it sped across the flats like a mirage. This was my last chance. I slowed my breathing and could feel the heart beating in my chest slow as well. Every second the car got closer to escape. I cleared my head, placed my finger gingerly on the trigger and said a prayer.
Salid saw it. His adrenaline slowing his perception to catch a glimpse of the replica tube steak as it struck his driver. He knew this was the end. Coated in the blood of both of his men, he prayed to his god. The dead drivers foot lodged on the gas, the car sped up and turned wildly, flipping onto it's side and then rolling and crunching in on itself until it came to a stop, enveloped by the cloud of dust and smoke.
Unfortunately for me, cars don't explode like Michael Bay thinks they do. So I began my walk to survey the damage and confirm my kill. After what felt like an eternity in the desert heat I reached the wreck. Found a trail of blood leading away from it and at the end was Salid. Glass shards embedded in his skin, quivering, both his legs broken and helpless trying to drag himself away. "What on Earth does it take to kill you?" I said.
He looked at me with a fiery wrath in his eyes. "You'll never get away with this! My men will find you and kill you!"
I smirked and produced my sidearm, "Eat a dick." | Some people think a T-shirt canon is a poor choice of weapon, but it's a necicary one for the enemy I fight. Every moment these damned animals prance around exposed is one moment too many. There could be children around for goodness sakes.
Sure *normal* people will say "just don't visit a nude beach if it makes you uncomfortable." But that's not the point. Man made clothes for a reason, and it wasn't because we where bored.
I get to my perch and line up a shot. A particularly curvy collage girl who's probably enjoying the "new experience" like there's some kind of cosmic checklist she has to fill to say she's lived a full life. I pull the trigger. **Experience this.**
"Ow! What the hell?"
"What is it Cindi?"
"Some lunatic just shot me with a T-shirt."
"I don't see anyone here."
"You really think I would bring a T-shirt that said 'put some clothes on you heathens' to a *nude beach*? I'm not that dumb."
The chaos brings the others into my range. Have a little civilization you mongrels.
"Ow! Someone shot me too."
"Who would even do this? Do they not have a hobby?"
"Ouch!"
"Hey!"
"Ampersand!"
There is a long pause as the heathens stare at the owner of that last "swear".
"What? I'm a nudist, not an animal."
Just for that, he gets another shot to the gut. | 2017-09-09T12:04:03 | 2017-09-09T11:40:33 | 495 | 62 |
[WP] You are a sci-fi writer famous for your scientific accuracy. You constantly go extra mile, up to an including creating fake scientific articles and schematics. Now you are being hunted down by reporters and government officials after people realize your 'fictional' technology actually works. | I had been hilariously drunk when I had written down the basic summary of the Jusi-Kar method of indoctrination. Like seriously, a method of indoctrination that turns ordinary people into unbidden sleeper agents? That’s the sort of outlandish, poorly written fiction that had been responsible for my poor finances of late,and ironically the drinking that had spawned the idea in the first place.
When people started posting on forums that they had achieved the feat of mind-control with the technique described in my books I had vainly hoped that it might make for good viral marketing. I knew these sorts of mass-delusions often created a hysteria that had the makings of a good advertising campaign.
The local news was the first to come knocking, then the FBI, and even at one point a man in a suit who I assumed was from one of the more discreet three letter acronyms.I admit here even then I hadn’t taken the matter seriously.
That is until they took me in.
I was writing in my annex when I heard something rustle downstairs and went down to check it out. Then I woke up and I found myself in a dark room with an opaque hood over my head. My hands were fastened to my chair with plastic zip-ties. My head pounded inside my skull, and pain; ragged and persistent ached in every muscle.
Rapidly, and without a sound the hood was yanked off me, and brightly lights snapped into being all around me. From beyond these blinding lights came a voice, “How did you learn about our program.”
I begged back, “I..I…Just write books please I don’t know anything.”
A third voice queried the first, “Could he be a TP?”
“Not likely, not close enough to any of the sites to be possible.” A fourth voice, behind me.
As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could see that behind the ring of lights around me stood 3 men, each suited and wearing glasses. In the corner a fourth man sat, unmoving. He wore clothes plain and unadorned, as though he had stumbled into this interrogation on the way to the grocery store. He spoke next, “I’m not getting any deception, and no mind-blocks or conditioning either. He’s unaltered.”
The first suit again, “Possible prescient.”. He turned around to the casual viewer, “Do you have the ability to confirm that?”
“You know I don’t, John.” He replied, twinging the words with derision. “Do we move to conditioning? If he is a prescient we need to Indoc him quick before any of the others find out.”
All the suits turned at this question, awaiting the answer of the first. The first paused in thought, then sighed, “Alright Indoc him quick and get him back to his house. As far as he’s concerned all this mayhem he’s caused is pure accident. He’s going to keep writing and publish prolifically. Make sure we’re intercepting his work, we’ll have the guys in analytics keep an eye on it to test if he really is what we think he is.”
Before I could protest, I was hooded and then I felt my consciousness drain away.
When I woke up in my bed the dream had already faded, but in its place there was an idea; half-formed and raw.
I had a good idea for a new book. | We do not intervene.
But we found precedent in thought.
We never did get it right.
Our greatest works turned poison. But onward we labored, so long as some fragment clung. Growing their ethos.
To feel a future beyond their own - existence longer, more strange and yet just as human; makes real that next moment beyond themselves.
To make it REAL though. Forgive me.
Losing them to the cacophony of their success. My weakness made me. I showed them what they could do and not what they could be. And given what they've done with the latter --
I must leave Brothers, I dare not help more. | 2022-02-07T03:11:15 | 2022-02-07T01:35:17 | 124 | 11 |
[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention you barge in yelling "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediately rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you | The crunch of my boots on the snow was the sole sound present as I jogged up the hill towards Heathbarrow's only church. Each tree and stone was cloaked in white, almost as if Mother Nature herself had donned a bridal veil in celebration of my lover's marriage to another woman. The splendor made me sick.
By the time I reached the oaken steps, my pants were soaked at the heels. Jeans, leather boots, and a flannel were hardly formal attire - but I was in a hurry. The love of my life would not get married today. Not to someone else. Not on my watch. Steeling my nerves, I exhaled a cloud of steam and threw open the double doors.
"I OBJECT!"
The words practically filled up the little church, imbued with more strength and resolve than I even knew I could muster. I almost felt proud...until I realized the extent of my failure. This was not Kim's wedding.
"Ah." I choked. In that moment, words failed me. My love's wedding was tomorrow. I had just interrupted a funeral.
The eyes of every dreary mourner turned on me - I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Past the congregation of grieving loved ones stood an ornate casket on a pedestal adorned with fresh lilies, and beyond that a large portrait of the deceased. My heart dropped. It was a boy no older than twenty, bright-eyed and smiling. Too damn young.
The attending priest cast me a pointed glare. I could practically see the ire in his eyes as he squared his shoulders to me.
"WHAT is the MEANING of this?"
"I...uh..."
The expressions of those I had barged in on ranged from forlorn to confused to abjectly enraged. I stepped backwards, caught my heel on a ripple in the aisle's rug, and fell on my ass. Not a single soul laughed. The silence of death, stifling and cold, hung heavy in the air.
"Unless you have reason to be here," sighed the priest, "I strongly suggest that you leave."
As I opened my mouth to reply, a dull thud reverberated throughout the room. It came again...and again. The noise's origin was all too obvious - each thump shook the petals of the lilies atop the casket. In that instant, the room froze over.
My heart skipped a beat as the pedestal tipped and the coffin crashed heavily to the floor. The silence was broken. Half the church screamed, and I nearly followed suit; the lid was ajar and the faint scent of death had begun to creep into the air.
Slowly, clumsily, four pale fingers emerged from inside the box to curl around its lid. They found a solid grip, pried the casket open, and cast off the cover. Fearful shrieks filled the room as the dead boy sat up.
I expected a monster. A demon. But the thing before me? I had no idea what to make of it.
The skin was greyish with deathly pallor, its lifelessness poorly masked by the makeup work of a lazy mortician. That lanky frame looked so small under its immaculate black suit, those eyes so dull...the shivering figure before me was a mere ghost of the young man in the portrait, but he was no longer truly dead.
From my position on the floor, I watched as the newly-revived looked around in terrified bewilderment and exited the coffin on his hands and knees. His fingers flew to his mouth, pulling out stitches from his jaws before he vomited on the rug. An odor like formaldehyde overtook the room.
I sat there, pinned to the floor by disbelief like a frog tacked to a tray for dissection. The priest had fled. The funeral-goers who hadn't escaped into the snow sat like statues, staring either at me or this husk of a person they loved.
From across the aisle, the young man looked up at me. His chest rose and fell - I could swear I saw his eyes clear and the color gradually return to his skin. Sitting back on his knees, he maintained his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was rough, raspy and broken under the weight of complete and utter shock.
"Who...are you?"
I sat there, staring into his teary eyes, an unholy chill running through my veins. Looking down at my hands and back up at him, I came to an unsettling realization.
*"I don't know."* | I barged through the seemingly weightless doors of the church and before anyone had even noticed my presence, I shouted: “I object!”
Only, I had not noticed a very important fact either. This had not been Jessie’s wedding. This had been a funeral. I must have gone to the wrong church… Although it had to have been this one, for sure.
Everyone looked at me, complete confusion drawn across their faces. Time had slowed down to make seconds seem like hours. I had never felt so embarrassed.
An old man who was sitting in the front row stood up and began speaking during this motion, “What the hell are you thinking, son…?!”
Before he could finish his sentence, the lid of the coffin had come off and fallen unto the floor with a loud bang. Everyone gasped in shock. The woman who had been in the coffin, still completely white from having been dead, rose up and spoke.
“What is going on?”
The commotion in the church hall rose even more after she spoke. She was alive again. Had I caused this?
The man in the front row had the most shocked expression of all people present in the hall. He reached out his hand to me and asked me to come over.
At this point, people had realized that it must have been me who brought their loved one back to life. Everyone was looking at me with awe and amazement in their eyes.
“What is your name, son?” the man had asked me.
“I am Thanatos, apprentice of Hades. I have come to undo what my master has unjustly done.” I spoke, involuntarily.
Edit: Mythological facts
| 2018-03-17T13:55:47 | 2018-03-17T06:59:32 | 455 | 303 |
[WP] A crippled god is isolated within their only remaining temple. Having lost all their power after their patrons abandoned them, the only thing keeping them alive for the past few years is the unwavering devotion of a single dog. | *"In a world plagued by war, anguish, violence, and betrayal what use is a God of Kindness?"*, Kalos lamented, seeing the world uselessly from the eyes of his last remaining statue.
Sitting alone on a marble throne covered in moss inside the ruin of the Temple of Kalos-- the once haven for the people of the first civilization then destroyed, set to be forgotten by history.
*"What to be for a god if there is none to pray his name? I am lost, I am useless..."*, Kalos continued.
*"To be forgotten is to perish. My being longs for eternal sleep. I am...sorry..."*
Darkness soon enveloped Kalos as he finally surrenderred himself to the inevitable...never to be praised, never to be awaken anymore...
///
*"Warmth"*
Kalos opened his eyes, surprised. He saw the ruin was all the same except it was night, a particularly cold one at that. Except something was different...Kalos felt warmth on his body.
Looking down, he saw something was sleeping in a bundle on his lap-- a stray dog, lost, cold, and hungry.
Its whimper touched Kalos' heart. The poor creature was jerking lightly in its sleep, terrified of the nightmare it saw.
*"No creature is insignificant, no matter how small or big they are"*, the God of Kindness smiled.
*"My blessing had long left me, but a little bit of warmth and kind thoughts I still can bestow"*
A faded glow came from the statue, enveloping it and the dog. Surely, the dog stopped trembling as it was finally able to fall asleep peacefully.
*"There you are, my child"*, Kalos whispered.
Morning came and for the first time in a very long time there was joy within the ruined temple.
*Arf arf*
The dog ran around the temple and stopped at the foot of Kalos' statue. It hopped and barked at it, no doubt showing that it was grateful.
*"You are a good one, boy"*, Kalos smiled inside.
For days the dog kept going and coming back, each time bringing back something, anything it could find in its way.
Scraps of food, broken pieces of swords and arrows, polished rock from the river-- anything it thought would be a great offering for Kalos.
The God of Kindness was amused and touched. It had long forgotten the feeling of being needed. And for that, Kalos kept doing what he could for the dog, however little.
*"You never cease to amuse me, boy"*, Kalos said one night as the dog lay on his lap.
*"In the world of darkness, the smallest flicker of light is the brightest of them all"*, Kalos smiled.
*Arf*, the dog barked happily.
///
"Get away from me you dirty mutt!", a man shouted.
Kalos was jolted awake hearing so.
*"What is happening?"*, Kalos demanded to know to no answer.
*"Boy?"*, he called for the dog.
Kalos heard growling just on the outskirt of his temple. Along with it some ruckus and men yelling which came closer and closer.
"Well, well, there's still this place of heathens standing!", a man laughed.
Three men stepped into the temple, part of the invading tribe that swept the first civilation off the land.
*"Boy!"*, Kalos yelped, terrified.
The dog was thrashing about, being held by the nape of its neck by one of the men.
"Shut up!", the man slammed the dog to the ground as it yelped in pain.
Before it could get away, the man raised his club and bashed the dog bloody until it couldn't move any longer.
Its stomach was moving rapidly as the dog struggled to live, looking up with teary eyes to Kalos.
Kalos was enraged, the first time in its long existence. The men's annoying laughter fueled it even more so.
Before they knew it, the ruined temple and the ground they stood on suddenly shook violently. The earth was dancing a great tremor as Kalos let loose the last of his power.
Marble stones fell all over the men and the dirt ground split apart around the invaders. In a blink of an eye, the once holy ground had turned into a sinkhole, burying the men under tons of rubbles, assuring their deaths.
Though miraculously, the ground the dog was lying on was spared.
*"Boy..."*, Kalos muttered sadly.
*Arf*, the dog let out a weak bark.
*"Come on! Move! Please, move!"*
He cursed his stoney disposition. There was nothing he wanted to do more than to stand up from his useless throne and be at his loyal friend's side.
*"I will give anything, anything at all, to save this one precious life! Please!"*, Kalos begged to nobody in particular.
Was it the work of another god? One of the surviving older gods? Or one of the new gods? Nobody knew.
But Kalos' prayer was answered as suddenly his statue started breaking apart. One small crack expanded to the rest of his body, Kalos' statue crumbled, revealing a ball of light.
*"Oh thank you! Thank you!"* , Kalos said.
Quickly the ball of light flew towards the dog, giving it warmth by its side, accompanying it on its last.
*"It's okay, boy. You'll be okay"*
The dog let out a tiny whimper, but it was no longer afraid.
*"I'm with you now. Like you never left my side, I'll never leave yours"*
The day went by and Kalos was awaken once more, only this time he found himself no longer a mere ball of light...
*"What's this?"*, Kalos remarked in confusion feeling something moving behind him.
It was...a wagging tail.
*"Oohh...I did it! I saved you, boy!"*
Kalos stood with his new body and he leaped away from the destroyed ground to the great land beyond.
*"It is my vow that I and my offsprings, for thousands of generations, be the symbol of kindness and loyalty"*, Kalos promised himself as he kept running to find those in need for his company.
r/HangryWritey | “I’m sorry friend, I don’t believe there’s anything I can offer you. You should move on, find a new home.” Athima felt the wet nose of his companion nudge against his broken legs. He pitied the animal; how foolish it was to be loyal to a broken god like him. If only it had the same sense as his other worshippers and left when it watched him fall.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Hela. You’re the one feeding me now. What could you possibly have to gain out of this?” Athima scratched under the dog’s chin, trying to wrap his head around the dog’s decision. He had performed miracles for others and yet the one that he fed his scraps to was the only one that stayed by his side, nursing him back to health as best they could. “Please, find some happiness for yourself, little one. I don’t want you to waste your life at my side.”
Hela only tilted her head at his request, floppy ears hanging downward as she stared up at him before slowly dropping her head onto his lap, waiting for more pats. Athima granted the request, running his fingers through the mud-covered dark fur. “It once was so lively here. Families used to sing and dance through the halls. Now it’s so eerily silent. I hope everyone is doing fine. I know they abandoned me, but I wish for their safety.”
Athima continued to stroke the dog’s fur, only for Hela to jump up from his lap, rushing to the decaying halls of the temple, letting out an orchestra of loud barks as she did. The walls echoed with barks, filling the room with the sound for a few moments before she stopped, turning back to Athima, wagging her tail.
“Thank you. I think I needed that.” Athima crawled towards her, dragging his body along the stone floor of the temple. When Hela spotted this, she moved to his side, offering her body. Athima wrapped an arm around her, allowing her to drag him across the temple floors. “Mind helping me to my room?”
The intelligence of Hela always amazed Athima. She had picked up on his commands so easily, understanding most of the commands he needed to get through his daily life. She pulled him towards his bedroom, resting his body against the edge of the bed. “Thank you, little one. I appreciate it.”
Athima grabbed the blankets hanging from his bed, pulling his body onto the soft mattress. Even while he did that, he could still feel the wet nose of Hela poking him, trying to help push him onto the bed. Even if her nudges didn’t help, he appreciated the attempt. When Athima got into bed, he reached down for Hela, pulling her up so she could join him.
“You’re a wonderful dog, Hela, and an even better friend. Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I believe I would have abandoned this realm long ago. You give me hope. Maybe one day you will even give me the strength to leave this temple and try my hand at being a mortal. That thought still scares me, but If I had you by my side, maybe I could do it.” He smiled at Hela, who only returned the gesture by licking his face.
“Now, let’s get some rest.” He patted Hela before releasing her, letting Hela roam to her favorite spot. Hela resting her head against his chest as she curled up beside him. “Goodnight, friend.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2022-01-07T00:28:25 | 2022-01-06T23:06:29 | 160 | 50 |
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord. | Sam stared through the glass door at his new student, Lola Yismane. His new, 350-years-old, grandmaster of water magic, greatest healer in the known world, student, Lola Yismane.
Oh, he so couldn't do this.
But he had to--the position was literally forced upon him by the grand council, as he was the only non-apprentice fire mage available to take on a new student in the next two hundred leagues. Why Grandmaster Yismane couldn't wait for someone more fitting was beyond him. Maybe she just wanted to make some young fire mage squirm?
Ah, he was overthinking things. He didn't need to be around her for too long anyway. Just needed to open the door of fire magic to her and then he could go hide under his covers for a week.
With the thought of his very comfortable bed in mind, he plastered a smile on his face, and opened the door. "Good morning, Grandmaster Yismane."
The grandmaster, previously looking out through the window to the gardens below, turned to him. She had a kind smile on her face. "Good morning. But please"-she held up a hand-"I am not a grandmaster within these rooms. I am simply Lola, apprentice to my new mentor, Sam."
Sam chuckled in what he prayed wasn't a hysterical manner. "Right, right. Okay, then Lo--nope, can't do it. Even if you're my student, you're still my elder, I can't just call you by your name. I feel like my grandfather'll rise from his grave and hit my knuckles with a spoon."
Grandmaster Yismane giggled. "Very well, Mentor. But please, just call me Ms. Yismane."
Sam nodded. "Okay, I can do that." He clapped his hands together. "So, Ms. Yismane, you want to learn fire magic?" He winced as the words left his throat--of course she did, why else was she here?"
Thankfully, she took pity on him. "I do." She turned back to the window. He could see her reflection in the glass--she looked a little sad. "...I simply wish to expand my magical repertoire."
"Sure," Sam said. "But, and forgive my asking, why fire magic? Wind magic would be a better fit, I think? The flow of energy is similar enough to water magic. Far closer than fire magic." Sam would know. He'd tried his hand at all the elements and concepts magic had to offer before he found his calling with fire magic.
She turned to him, lips curled into a wry smirk. "Well, I always did like a challenge." She turned back to the window, and Sam could see her face twitch in the reflection. "I also...wish to learn more about the life-giving majesty that is the flame."
Sam blinked. What had she said? That was...He gulped. "That's wrong."
Grandmaster Yismane slowly turned to Sam, one eyebrow cocked expectantly. "I beg your pardon?" She said imperiously. Offended, because obviously who was some neophyte like Sam to correct a *grandmaster*?
But even if Sam was, magically speaking, slime beneath her boot, he couldn't let any new student of fire magic come in with any misconceptions. "Fire doesn't give life. Fire's only purpose is to destroy."
Grandmaster Yismane stepped forward. "It gives us warmth, does it not? Provides light within the darkness. Without it, our ancestors would never have been able to explore past the hovels they called home."
"Sure." Sam pulled at his collar, beginning to sweat under the grandmaster's scrutiny. "But those are all unintended benefits. Humans appropriated fire for their own purposes. Within nature it's sole meaning is to destroy whatever it touches." Grandmaster Yismane opened her mouth, but Sam barreled on. "Think of it like this--do any other creatures in nature use fire? No, because they can't. There's no practical reason why they should. Every other element and concept has beneficial and natural purposes--water's obvious, it's the source of all life. Earth too. Gravity, self-explanatory. Even electricity--it's how the nervous system of almost any organism functions." Sam took a deep breath. "But not fire. Fire has no natural benefit to the world outside of burning things away. Humans have learned to use it for other purposes, but that's unique to us. We forced fire into those roles. If left alone, the only thing fire's going to do is destroy."
Grandmaster Yismane stared blankly at Sam.
He shook his head, face heating up. "I'm sorry. I'm sure I overstepped or something, but that's the truth of it. You can't go into fire magic expecting to do anything other than harm." She just...kept staring. Sam gulped. "I-I'll talk to the grand council, convince them this was a mistake." He whirled around, forcing himself to walk--not sprint--for the door.
"My hometown was raided by bandits," Grandmaster Yismane said. Sam stopped, slowly turning around. She looked so old as she stumbled back a few steps, resting against the glass. "I was a little girl, barely older than you. I lost...everything." Her voice cracked, the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. "I'd always wanted to learn magic, but after that day I *needed* to. And when I discovered my affinity with water magic, I was overjoyed. I'd thought to myself that it was enough, to be able to heal the injured. Help people pick up the pieces of their ruined lives." Grandmaster Yismane tilted her head down, her hands clenching into fists. "I was wrong. For decades, all I've ever done is clean up after the fact. Wash away the mess, leaving behind bloody stains. I don't--" her voice cracked. "...I want to make it so that people don't have be healed in the first place." She lifted her head up, eyes ablaze with fury. "I want to burn the problem at the root!"
Sam stared at the Grandmaster, giving her a moment to clean her face and compose herself. "Well, then" he said. "That's certainly...a correct mindset."
Grandmaster Yismane blushed. "I'm sorry for my outburst. A rather vulgar motivation isn't it? For someone to harbor all these years?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted. "But almost all fire mages are a little touched in the head. Honestly that's not even the worst goal I've heard. This one guy I know, his endgoal is to be able to create his own sun." Sam chuckled. "Crazy, I know. Besides, from what I've heard, the chemical process the sun undergoes isn't even combustion."
"You're not...disgusted?" Grandma--Lola, sounded so small.
Sam scratched his chin. "Well, I'd hope you wouldn't go around and start immolating anyone that looks at you wrong--don't want to give the rest of us a bad name." Lola chuckled, her previous despair vanishing by the second. "But no, I'm not disgusted--again not the worst motivation I've heard by far. Besides, what you decide to do with what I teach you is your business. I just want to make sure that you take the right steps forward."
Lola beamed at him. "I appreciate that, I truly do."
Sam blushed, but from pleasant embarrassment as opposed to his previous abject mortification.
He cleared his throat. "Well, if we're going to do this, might as well start with the basics." Same clapped his hands. When he pulled them apart, two small flames were burning in the center of his palms. "The fancy term for lighting things on fire is known as 'combustion'. It can only be performed when oxygen is present." Lola stepped forward, shadows dancing across her face, eager to absorb every scrap of knowledge Sam had to offer.
\-\_-\_-\_-\_-\_-\_-
I'd meant to post this hours ago, but had to go to work.
Let me know how I can improve. | Voulrin, the Lord of Water. Even though I was far out of my element, that name still swirled around my mind’s eye as one of the world’s foremost mages.
In person, the sense of awe did not evaporate. Deep lines carved out weathered trenches in his face, though clear blue eyes stared at me with the intensity of a starved man with a fresh, hot meal in front of him. He held the Lord’s hat to his chest, an exclusive headgear crafted from expensive mage cloth, which could hold spells within them—not just enchantments. Waves gently swished within the hat with each step he took, flowing navy robes looking like the sea itself churned behind him, in stark contrast to the red carpet that ran down the long, cobblestone hall.
I gulped. A water wizard? And the Lord? I’ve been training with fire for barely six months!
“Hmm,” Voulrin said. “You are to be my new apprentice?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered. “I… hope to be of use to you.”
“You will, by nature of the assignment, be quite useless,” Voulrin said. Though his words were blunt, there was no hint of malice. Instead, each syllable was clear, matter-of-fact, and held hard-earned wisdom behind them.
“I see,” I said. It was difficult to keep the disappointment from sneaking into my voice.
“Now,” the Water Lord said. “Show me your most powerful flame.”
“Um,” I hesitated. “I…”
“Please. When I ask for something, do it promptly. You will not surprise me either way. If it is smaller than expected, the only damage is to your pride. If it is larger, then I am here. There is no better protection against fire. Of course, I will judge you on your control, brightness, colour, and intensity as well.”
To be expected of the Water Lord. It was unfathomable of me to even know a single iota of other elemental magic. Water wizards created water. Earth wizards created earth. That was the extent of my knowledge—but Voulrin spoke like he’s been training with fire for decades.
“Fine,” I muttered, probing for the sparks within me. I breathed in deeply, feeling them gather, flocking together slowly, and pushed them towards the palm of my hands.
“At me, please,” Voulrin said.
“What?”
“It is the best way to prevent damage,” the Lord said. “Even the smallest fire can burn down a castle.”
I turned towards him. He was the one who asked me to follow prompt directions. I shot out a fireball, about the size of two fists laid against each other, watching it track to Voulrin.
He simply held out a hand. A swirling whirlpool waited in his palm, which swallowed my fireball with ease.
“Not too bad,” Voulrin said. “You followed my instructions. The flame, however, is barely of second-year standard.”
“I’ve just completed my first year,” I said.
“Decently talented,” he said. “Fine. I will accept you as an apprentice.”
“Forgive me for asking, Lord,” I shuffled my feet. “But… are you not a master of water? What can you do for me and my improvement?”
“First, tell me your name.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling red creep up my cheeks. “Besher.”
“Besher. It is true I will never be able to stoke your flames for you,” Voulrin said. “But if you’d so please, do take a look at the water I am able to command.”
Voulrin held out two hands, and two massive maelstroms sprang forth. They were miniature storms spinning in his mere palms, and seemed to grow upwards every second. Yet, though they looked wild and unruly, they were controlled with ease by the Lord of Water, who swept the storms through the hall, even enveloping me.
I didn’t feel so much as a drop of water land on me.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered. “Simply ridiculous.”
“Mind you, that is without an actual water source,” Voulrin said. “But think of it as the world’s best safety net. I directly counter your element, which means unless you are a vastly superior fire wizard, you’ll never be able to overpower me.
“Fair,” I said.
“And, fire is borne of passion,” Voulrin said. “No matter what flames you put forth, I will douse you. Will that light up a blaze within you, or will it dampen your spirits?”
I stayed silent, still marvelling at Voulrin’s complete mastery of water. It was true. It would probably be decades before I could even singe one of his loose threads, let alone actually get a hit on him.
“It will not be easy. I am not nurturing kindling, seeking to slowly boost your flames,” the Lord of Water said. “I am instead your natural enemy. Few will thrive. But those who do…”
“Will become one of the best,” I said.
“Good, Besher, good,” Voulrin smiled. “Now, throw more fire at me. Try to burn me if you want. Though, know you won’t reach there in a century.”
“I’m aiming for fifty years,” I gritted my teeth, pulling the heat into my hands again.
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-05-30T16:12:40 | 2022-05-30T11:33:51 | 31 | 22 |
[WP]What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you. If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too. If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you. Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you.
If you hit someone, you would feel the punch too.
If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too.
If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you.
If you gave someone an orgasm, you felt it to the same degree.
Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
[source](http://zessinna.tumblr.com/post/105215017403)
Edit: Ugh sorry everyone, I didn't know it needed to be marked NSFW for the whole thread. If you can please please repost your NSFW stories if possible, it would make me super duper happy! Those are my favorites! | "GET OUT!" My wife yelled. I had never seen her so upset. She had every right to be. I could feel the pain I caused her. Every tear that she cried I could see it and feel the emotional scar that was forming.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —" I started.
"To what? Hurt me? Well you did!" Her anger was justified.
I never meant to sleep with Erin. It wasn't a goal. I never looked at other women and thought about fucking them. I always worried how my wife would feel. How it would affect her. As I dodge a lamp aimed at my head — it misses me but I still flinch — I know how it affected her.
"Connie, please stop and listen." I felt that if I could explain she would see reason.
"You don't tell me what to do!" She charged at me slapping me and swinging her arms wildly smacking my shoulder and arms. She wouldn't stop, the physical pain she felt was no worse than the emotional. "I just want to know why." She was wearing herself out.
"Connie, when I kiss you, I don't feel it. We are supposed to feel it. When we make love, I feel nothing." Her tears dried up for a moment, but the look she gave me was heart breaking. "Erin — she helped me feel again."
"So what does this mean?" She didn't understand it any better than I did. No one had ever experienced this before. I asked around friends, trusted family, even doctors. No one had an answer. I thought I was broken.
"I don't know. I want to feel...feel more than just your pain..."
"What's going on? Why is mommy crying? Did she hurt herself?" Children understood pain, everyone stubbed their toe at some point, or touched something hot, most pain was physical. People didn't hurt other people. My daughter wouldn't understand this — what I was doing to my wife — it wouldn't make sense.
My wife wiped the tears from her eyes, grabbed our baby girl, kissed her sweetly and began to feel a little less hurt. She tickled Krysten, and began to smile then suddenly stopped. "Sweetie, can you go play while mommy and daddy finish talking?"
"Ok." Krysten ran off to her room. Until this moment I never feared anyone would hurt her. Now that I know it can happen I worry for her happiness. Unless I was the only one that was broken.
Our Utopian society was cleansed of immorality centuries ago. Scientists discovered the cause of lust, hate, anger and every other undesirable trait humanity had. However, since it was impossible to completely remove them from the human race they were suppressed and a sensory enhancer was implanted in all humans at birth. The sensor allowed for all of humanity to experience the joys and pains we cause each other.
There were popular sex clubs for singles. No married men ever stepped foot in one of these establishments. No one wanted to hurt their spouse. Neighbors were friendlier; frequently you'd see neighbors helping clear debris from gutters or helping with other chores because it felt good. Very few people ever avoided feeling good.
This was my dilemma. I couldn't feel anything I did for, or with, my wife. I still shared the link with my daughter, happily. Society no longer issued divorces, I was looked at like a leper — and was treated as such. Erin, fortunately, stayed with me as she didn't want to hurt anymore than me. | "Violence"
The concept was so foreign. The idea of causing pain to others. Even, causing someone to die? No matter how hard I tried to understand it, it didn't reach me. I took an another perspective to it.
Imagine a world, where a people would be treated like animals; killed to eat, cut to pieces for meat and bones. The idea of not being able to trust anyone not to cause you pain. They wouldn't have anything to stop them doing that.
The idea felt so wrong. How broken, how barbaric would the world be, if that was the case! Nothing like what we have now, no huts, no tribes could ever form. People would be too busy eating eachother.
He looked up to the tall walls - how else could you protect your lands from the others? They would just come, take your food and leave us to starve
And suddenly, I understood.
Violence wasn't so different after all. | 2014-12-14T16:03:38 | 2014-12-14T15:32:53 | 53 | 11 |
[WP]Humanity had grown complacent. No more war, no more crime, no more suffering. After thousands of years of technological advancement and peace humanity is forced into a war with an alien super power which brings out thousands of years of pent up blood lust. | *“I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve...”*-Japanese Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto-1941
________
Humanity had finally conquered it’s demons, the stars and their abundance had calmed their baser instincts.
For the first time in Human history, virtually all conflict between people had ceased, the abundance of resources meant that Humanity was no longer at each others throats, fighting for control, as we had done for thousands of years.
The resulting technological advancements had made life very comfortable for all citizens.
It wasn’t perfect, but it came pretty close.
The First Colony to be hit was Genesis, it was a garden world, a small but peaceful automated farming settlement, rivalling that of Earth in it’s ecological prime.
It was beautiful. “The Gem of the Human expanse” and they burned it all without a second thought.
The Trimeak Empire had found their way into Humanity’s untouched corner of the Milky Way.
They demanded complete surrender from Genesis, like all the other species they had conquered.
When the colonists refused, they slaughtered all of them.
Peace had allowed Mankind to rest, but it had by no means made them passive. They made them fight for every last inch. using whatever means they could.
The Trimeak punished this defiance with destruction, destroyed from orbit as an example.
The security footage was beamed by FTL buoy before all contact was lost.
Hundreds of thousands lay dead at the hands of this alien menace.
Earth’s central and devolved colonial governments quickly gathered to discuss the situation. Horrified at the peace that was now shattered, forcing Humanity back into war.
Such a meeting had not been held since the Martian rebellions, thousands of years ago.
But plans had been drawn for this exact scenario.
The Hawking Protocols, a guide to dealing with hostile first contact scenarios, named after a brilliant scientist who once warned of the dangers of extraterrestrial life discovering Humanity. Stephen Hawking.
Those words did not fall on deaf ears, there was those who kept a quiet eye on the old ways, just in case.
To ensure Mankind’s sword did not rust in it’s scabbard.
For every peaceful advance, a military one was made in turn.
This group was formed from the remnants of NASA and NATO and was funded in secret, known only by the highest levels of leadership, they were known only as Group 52.
They were seen as a contingency, one that was never expected to be used.
The plan was clear, evacuate the outer colonies, let the Trimeak think Humans inhabit very little of the Orion arm. That would buy time for Earth and the rest of the colonies to carry out recon and mobilise a counter attack.
Once again, the War machine started to turn, woken from it’s slumber. Old feelings reemerged, only this time it was not aimed at each other, it was projected outwards towards a cruel and deadly foe.
The Martian shipyards produced mighty dreadnoughts just as they once had before.
Nuclear stockpiles began to grow again, what was once the most devastating weapon in Mankind’s arsenal and had nearly brought them to extinction, had now been perfected to Teraton and Petaton yields. Construction of which could only be carried out safely on Lunar Colonies.
Warships were swiftly built and equipped with deadly upgrades from the designs of Group 52
Hadron Beam Cannons, to tear apart the atomic structures of enemy ships.
Sub-Light Railguns, to blast through shields and reign fire from orbit with the overwhelming force of a relativistic kill weapon.
Cyber-Warfare suites were equipped with quantum computing capable AI, to devastate and disrupt the Trimeak Forces during battle.
Dark Fusion reactors would allow the Human fleet to operate at new levels and greater range.
Tech to mask ship emissions, and photon absorption arrays would allow near perfect invisibility for sabotage and stealth missions.
Humanity once more took up Arms, soldiers were trained with state of the art synaptic memory flashes, to allow years of training in only a few days.
It wasn’t long before the Fleets were ready and sufficient intel had been acquired to allow for a strategic strike and show of force.
According to recon probes and information gleaned from hacked communications the Trimeak inhabited most of the Sagittarius arm, they were fond of slavery and ruthless war mongering, a scourge of the Galaxy.
it would be a long war, but a winnable one. Their technology was comparable but leagues below what Mankind’s new Fleets were now capable of.
They would fight, All the way to the Trimeak home world if need be.
The Trimeak had become complacent, believing themselves to have no equal. Taking their time to strip the resources from the new worlds they found in the meantime, unaware of the approaching monster that is Humanity.
A fatal misjudgement and one that would be remembered as the downfall of the Trimeak Empire.
Humanity was about to become a name the Galaxy would not soon forget.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJwwTtyxj34 | We didn’t know what we were starting. We were only expanding our civilization and reaching for resources. Our empire of a thousand systems just adding another like any other day, seemed like business as usual.
There were four inhabited planets and several moons in this particular system. All populated by a primitive species who called themselves “Human” we detected mid level technologies but no weaponry, it should have been an easy conquest.
They sent envoys and diplomats as soon as we entered the system. We made it clear it wasn’t malice or hatred, only business. Our people needed territory and resources after all. Eventually the talks waned and the business of conquest began.
We didn’t know.
“Incom—-“ The alien soldiers cry and life cut short by seemingly endless barrage of explosives.
“Get down, get down!” It’s all we could do in the face of such savagery. We had their strategies memorized but it didn’t afford an advantage.
“Prepare for close quarters! Ready Phase Blades!” First came the artillery, up to several hours of non stop shelling. I wish this was the terrifying part.
Suddenly the deafening roar of thousands of battle cries thundered from behind the smoke, heralding our deaths.
And still, the terror hadn’t started. They fought like beings possessed. They gave regard only to the annihilation of us. Their lives, their bodies, their blood.... None of it mattered to them. Only that we didn’t take what’s as theirs.
As the smoke cleared we could see them. Thousands of human warriors charging without notice of the casualties our weapon emplacements dealt to them. Soon they would be upon us with what they called “Trenchguns” and “Bayonets”.
We were no match for their numbers or ferocity.
Their first wave hit our lines with the force of a dozen suns.
The Terror had begun.
The forerunners either embedding bayonets into flesh or being vaporized by the dozen themselves. Where a dozen fell, a hundred took their place. Those behind the first wave relentlessly fired upon our lines with scattered projectiles wreaking havoc upon inside our own trenches.
One by one our bunkers fell and eventually surrender was inevitable. | 2020-05-05T07:59:38 | 2020-05-05T04:44:32 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] You are the result of a high school girl being given 3 wishes. She wished for the perfect boyfriend, so you were magically created. Now she’s trying to erase you because the boy next door loved her all along. She’s literally trying to kill you because “You never existed in the first place!”…… | You always loved romance.
The grand, sweeping gestures, the bouquets, the picturesque songs.
I knew you loved them. How could I not? I knew everything about you, all your dreams, your goals, your desires, your little niggling imperfections.
That’s the way you made me.
Perfect.
Other people looked at me in that way too, you know - more out of curiosity when you brought me to school. The songs you made me sing captivated them, boys and girls together, all secretly wishing that they could sing along, but too nervous or shy or worried that it'd be ‘uncool’. They would listen to me sing - weave poetry through thinly veiled verses about us in that auditorium on the verge of collapsing.
Afterwards, you hold tight to my arm, and ask: “Isn’t he just amazing?”
Those four words were enough to send me to Elysium and back in the turn of a phrase.
I was. I had to be - nothing would be good enough for my darling. Nothing, but perfect.
Then came your parents, I never liked them, they just didn’t seem to see you right. Always talking about ‘study this’ and ‘work on that’, never stopping to consider their own daughter’s feelings. They hated the fact that you started drinking coffee early - didn’t even realize you had a preferred blend, or took it straight black.
I did. Every morning.
Was it that morning that everything started to go wrong?
You know the one - where I woke up a bit before five. You still had a streamer of mascara running down one eye, an artifact of a wilder, more hedonistic night. You’d be dehydrated, no doubt, maybe feel a bit sick. Some Gravol, towels, makeup remover, a bowl, water, both warm for bathing and cold for drinking.
I stepped away, the marks of your lipstick standing out on my unnaturally pale skin. You didn’t like when people asked about my tone, so we’d told them all about my past as an albino. We had so much fun making a backstory - how I was an orphan, how I’d lived in several countries, never staying in one place, at least until I met her.
I added that last part. I knew she’d love it - mystique meets romance.
Perfect.
I came back to the room, towels in one hand, bowl in the other, water balanced somewhere impossibly in between.
You were crying.
Maybe if I pressed a little harder, or had asked a better question, we wouldn’t be in this position now. Either way, I wasn’t one to dwell on spilt milk, like you wanted, right? We’re here together, now. That’s what matters.
I slip under the covers, the moonlight snuggling to the edge of the blanket. Your body is warm, with topology that makes both the boy and the mathematician in me leap for joy. I press my own into hers, slotting together like puzzle pieces. This is how it’s meant to be - snuggled up, removed from the cold hard world, drifting off together with the smell of hair conditioner and almonds.
Perfect.
I wonder slightly about your own provocations, insults - all breaking my heart, but I couldn’t leave, not when you were hurting, not when you felt the need to use me like that. If you needed someone to abuse, I’d be that person, every time. It was nothing compared to the pain of being unable to do what you ask.
You asked me to go back where I came from. I was confused at first - I didn’t know where I came from. You goof, being all forgetful like that, but that just made it all the more endearing. When I came home and you started crying at the sight of me, I said that I had ruined everything, that also confused me. After all, how could I ruin *anything?* I was perfect, after all.
You asked me for money, never asked me where or how I got it. Didn’t matter either way, as long as it made you happy. You also never told me what you were going to do with it.
You didn’t think I’d find out about your plan, didn’t you? You big silly.
I know everything about you.
If you asked me, I would’ve told you not to trust them. *Hitmen only care about money, it’s a function of their occupation,* I would’ve said. Luckily, I was always good at outbidding, that’s what got you all those dresses and shoes and bags that look perfect on you.
Even as I hear the gun cock behind me, all I think is of you.
Tomorrow morning, they’d find bodies, lying connected together forever in death. No one would ever know who did it or how it happened, in all likelihood - there was no motive, no weapon, no suspect, no trail. A pair of star crossed lovers, lying in the first light of dawn, blood forming a halo on the white sheets.
Mystique meets romance.
Perfect.
&#x200B;
I write all sorts of things, including a story about a sassy skeleton being forced into adventurers over at /r/The_Alloqium. | I watched her with a sense of understanding to her actions that she couldn't fathom. She clenched hunting knife from her dad's collection in her hand, outstretched with trembling fingers. I saw the pain in her eyes, the understanding of what she was willing to do. Even though she said the words, the act of causing another person to cease existing after being brought into existence is... a burden.
"Do it," I told her, my voice steady and unflinching. "If me dying will make you happy, then I'll die."
Gabbie's eyes filled with tears until they slowly rolled down her cheeks. "Why?" She asked with a mere croak. "Why won't you run? Why won't you try and stop me, even?" She was sobbing. Her tears smeared her eyeliner that she meticulously applied previously that day.
"I was your perfect boyfriend, I'm supposed to give you what you want. Even if that's my death, I'm wanting you to have that." I explained to her, taking a step forward.
She hesitated, her hand trembling more as seconds ticked by. In movies you see people get stabbed but the expressions and noises are all wrong. You can't really understand how much it hurts to have a long, serrated piece of steel slice past your skin and muscles to the important bits inside.
It was a searing pain that shot through my body to my extremities before it became nothing but fire in my abdomen. I emitted a low grunt and buckled forward, looking down as her hand released the handle of the knife that was pushed into my stomach to the hilt. It hurt. It hurt a lot, but I was willing to take this pain so she could be happy. The greatest pain I could feel wasn't the blade slicing through my body, but the look of anguish on her face as she had realized what she had done.
When I hit the floor, I didn't feel it. My limbs began to grow cold and my thoughts faint - all except her. She passed through my mind as I slowly blinked. Gabbie cupped her hands over her mouth as she sobbed. I couldn't hear it though, that was a bit of a relief. Hearing her cry would've hurt so much...
"It's okay, I love you... I hope you'll be happy in the end. I know... I am..." | 2021-01-07T02:19:01 | 2021-01-07T01:57:04 | 362 | 68 |
[WP] Dave is the first human convict to arrive in the intergalactic prison. | Dave looked at his cellmate - tall, dark and with five heads - and settled into his bunkbed. It bore some similarities to prison on Earth. Grey, graffiti on the walls, cramped spaces. Except this prison occupied an entire planet. And the graffiti was rather more creative and covered a few more languages.
"So, you're the human," his cellmate (who called himself Hoki) said, one of his smooth heads snaking over from the bunk above to glance at him. Hoki pressed a button on the band strapped to his wrist, to translate the words into English.
The many eyes on the head rolled in different directions to focus on every part of Dave. It creeped him out, no matter how many times he's seen that since his arrival here a week ago.
"What did you do to end up here? You guys have no impressive weaponry to speak of. You can't even travel beyond your solar system. You have to seriously screw things up on an galactic scale to make it here...you're kinda famous, you know? We haven't had a new species in ages."
"Goodie, do I get a prize?" Dave muttered, not bothering to meet Hoki's eyes. He'd be executed soon, probably. In some horrible creative way humans couldn't even imagine. What was the point in small talk at this stage?
The silence stretched on long enough that Dave felt compelled to break it. What the hell - they'd know soon enough, anyway.
"Okay, fine - I broke the internet. Apparently. I mean, it started on Earth, so I guess when I broke it things just fell apart everywhere..."
Hoki burst out laughing. "The internet! You guys didn't start the internet. You haven't invented *anything* revolutionary on a galactic scale! And anyway, if you did, we'd know-"
"Yes, we did. I think everyone just hides the facts. Too embarrassing to give the credit to humans, I guess. But now it's collapsing slowly, they told me. Like a domino effect," Dave said, despite himself. "And how was I to know the government knew about other species and planets all along and sold internet to them?"
"Alright, shut up, I believe you! How did you break it? Are they working on it?" Hoki demanded.
"I don't know what happened," Dave shrugged. "I just turned off my WiFi. And everything collapsed."
Hoki was itching to strangle the human with one of his spare tentacles. To think he'd never get to stream his favourite shows from the neighbouring planet anymore! Internet access was a universal right. Even for prisoners.
"Anyway, they brought me here," Dave said. "Didn't think much of my suggestion on how to fix it."
"What was your suggestion?" Hoki snapped.
"To talk to the guy who sold me my computer, in college. He had all sorts of bizarre theories on aliens and parallel universes and wormholes. Not so crazy after all, I suppose. Genius, though - he was a computer engineer. Built that computer himself."
Dave could still picture Logan clearly in his mind. The thin, final-year student with compulsive ticks, who had seemed almost *too* eager to sell that computer he'd built. At the price, he hadn't questioned it. Too desperate to get a good deal. And too poor to replace it, even though it worked erratically. Especially its internet, regardless of how many times he jumped between internet providers.
"He has something to do with this, I know it. He should probably be the one locked up here. Maybe they were right back on Earth - maybe it was a terrorist. Just not the type they had in mind," Dave said quietly. He saw Logan's unsettling smile again in his memory. "If I could just see him again - but they brought me here before I could convince them."
Hoki slithered off the top bunk and grabbed Dave's arm, glaring at him from all five heads.
"You're prepared for intergalactic travel?" he asked.
"Yes, but why-"
"We're going to Earth and find this man. I could've escaped ages ago, but I like this prison. Much nicer than my home planet. However, for this, I'll break out. I won't miss my shows."
---------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | The airlock hissed and opened and out stepped a man flanked by 20 of the prisons most elite guards. The prisoners stared at this new arrival and began muttering amongst themselves. This was a human, no human had ever arrived at the prison before. Bets started flying over what the man had done. Theft, Assault and smuggling were all mentioned by various prisoners.
The man stated walking towards his cell. Each prisoner had a name tag on and the prisoners noticed his. Dave. "What kind of a name is Dave for a hardened criminal?" Dave shot an icy glare at who had spoken before being pushed further towards his cell. After being pushed into the cell and the forcefield was closed his new cellmate asked him what he had actually done to deserve getting put in the prison.
"It was just a regular day when they caught me. I was careless and stupid. All my training went out the window because i thought they would never catch me. You asked what i did right? I littered and they got me for it." It was then Dave heard a voice shout "I told you it was littering now pay up."
His cellmate laughed "That it? that's your horrific crime? littering? Your funny human. I honestly expected more i guess." Dave just looked at him and said " oh i forgot to say you have a hit out on you my friend and I intend to collect. Also jackson sends his regards." Dave's cellmate's face dropped as Dave reached for the hidden weapon.
| 2016-08-23T09:06:18 | 2016-08-23T08:52:42 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | “It’s all gone,” said Jeb tossing his cigarette to the ground to stamp it out.
“Sure, is pretty, isn’t it,” said Jared.
“What?”
Jared and Jeb. Johnson and Johnson were what was written on their military name tapes. A common name, no blood between them, one stood there, and the other sat, both of them watching the sky. It was hauntingly beautiful, that hunk of rock eclipsing the moon as it flew thousands of miles an hour across the purple-hazed sky. Its trail of dust and bits of rocks like some magnificent mane crafted by the stars. Despite its cataclysmic trajectory, relativity allowed the world to watch it in a calming awe as it trailed across the sky.
The water of the river was calm, the sound soothing, the gunfire was gone, the yelling, the painful screaming of the causalities silenced by an atom.
Jared reached for his lighter and his pack of smokes, withdrawing them from the pouch a clip of ammo was supposed to be in. He took the lighter between his finger and flicked it open. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth to only drop it. Jeb watched as his friend struggled to keep the thing from sticking. Needing something, anything to go right in his life. Jared reached down and took the cigarette and lighter from his friend.
Jeb took a knee, nicotine and lighter in hand. “I don’t know how you can be so calm right now,” he asked Jared.
Jared looked up the best he could, struggling to keep his head from shaking. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “I just am.”
Jeb plucked the cigarette from his hand and struck it between Jared’s lips. He pulled back on the flint of the wick lighter and sparked a flame onto the Marlboro Red. The thin white stick trembled beneath Jared’s lips as he vainly tried to inhale a puff. All the ashy white smoke filtered through his nose because Jared couldn’t lift his arms anymore to pull the tobacco away for a proper puff.
“There’s nothing left,” said Jeb taking a seat next to Jared across the bank of the Panama Canal.
Jared huffed a bit more ash through his nostrils. “That’s not true,” he said, mumbling through the cigarette. “That’s not true at all.”
“What’s left,” exclaimed Jeb, throwing his hands against the almost apocalyptic sky. “It’s all gone, the US, Canada, Mexico, most of Europe and Asia. All of it’s gone. Wiped away not by that thing that was supposed to kill us, but by us. We fucked up and we lost it all. There is no US government, no fucking army, air force, navy, or marines, all of it’s fucking gone. These uniforms we’re wearing don’t mean a damn fucking thing without any of that either. They're just a reason to be shot at.”
Jared dropped the Marlboro Red from his mouth, his irradiated scarred lips unable to hold it anymore. “I have you,” he said to Jeb Johnson.
“That’s a little gay,” Jeb snarled back.
“So,” said Jarred, “why does it matter. I have you, and that’s something. Take it straight or not. Jeb, I have you.”
“You’re dying from radiation,” said Jared burying his head in his knees. “And I probably have it too after you set off that nuke to blow the canal. Everybody’s going to probably have it come nuclear winter because we couldn’t keep our fingers off the button.”
The last of the meteor or the comet, whatever you wanted to call it, the two didn’t really know, passed the night sky. The ground shook and the purple of the cosmic visitor paled as orange and red corrupted the sky. Another mushroom consumed the horizon, followed by several more. Ninety-nine red balloons in the summer sky and all was gone.
“There,” said Jeb pointing to the sky, “see.”
“I still have you,” said Jared coughing up a bit of blood. “Something all of us forgot. Each other.”
Jared started to seize, unable to feel the warmth from the lack of skin he had. Jeb reached for Jared and Jared embraced Jeb. A large tidal wave of heat consumed the tree line across the river before ending the two of them. | The world had come to a standstill. The news said a meteor was coming. Astrologists world-wide agreed that this would be catastrophic and completely unavoidable. We had only a matter of days to sort our things before the end of things. As expected, the world fell into mass pandemonium, anarchy at its worst. No law and no morals. In the chaos, two groups formed: those who wanted to spend their last days with their loved ones and those who embraced the worst of their vices and let them run free.
Governments were nonexistent and soon the only law was brute force and only the feared had strength. Kill or be killed. The only way to stay out of it was to quarantine yourself from the outside world. Fortunately, most had enough to survive the week, but others weren't so lucky. It was the first worldwide purge and suddenly the meteor became a consolation and hope for most. This was worse than death.
Hours to the big event, there was mass prayers. Everyone suddenly found God and prayed for whatever they believed in. When the meteor passed by Earth, instead of immediate death, they found they had to deal with consequences. Governments were overthrown and new leaders were elected. The state of society could not be reversed, so every country chose to honor the dead and prosecute all who'd been active participants in the purge. The number was so high, that eventually, a mass pardon was passed and the world came back to order. Since then, every year, a full week is committed to remembering the atrocities of that time and every participant is incarcerated for that week. Nowhere close to justice, but better than nothing. | 2022-06-15T10:47:39 | 2022-06-15T09:32:30 | 114 | 47 |
[WP] The aliens have arrived however they are not here for war. Instead after reading our broadcast of the United States Constitution they want to join as the 51 state and have brought a small planetoid into orbit to serve as the 51 state. | Its been six years since the aliens arrived.
I always thought it was a bit arrogant that all the movies portrayed aliens making first contact with the United States but when the Argditheans sent down a convoy, the US is where they came. The government tried to restrict what the media could cover but many cameras caught the landing of the aliens. They were taller than us by about two feet, but of much slighter build. Most of their skin was a reddish tint except for the tops of their conical shaped hairless heads which were white. They had devices that translated our conversations as we spoke but no one knows what was all negotiated that day at the Whitehouse. What we all know for sure is that the aliens were impressed with the Constitution and all it stood for so they were eager to become a state of the country. A little less than a year after the landing, the Argdith Moon Act was signed by congress making the alien ship "Argdith" a state of America. Their "ship" was about half this size of our moon and the population has been estimated at one hundred million individuals, the government has tried and failed several times to get an accurate census of the Argdith.
At first, this union was a dawn of a new era for the United States. Natural resources were traded for new technologies. There were many new inventions to improve the quality of life of humans, desalination machines, technology to make plentiful food, renewable power sources and many others. It looked like humanity was finally heading towards a utopian future.
Things began to degrade a couple years ago. People were, as usual, not very excepting of the "actual" aliens. Discrimination of another species was even worst than our racism. Whiteheads was a term created to demean the aliens. Many people gawked and were afraid when around the Argditheans which kept many of them on their ship. They were, on average, more intelligent than humans which caused many jobs to be outsourced to them.
Our government started bastardizing the Argdith technology, creating some of the most effective weapons in history. We also did not freely share most of our new-found food, water and power technologies with other countries. The US kept much of the technology secret and made billions from selling the things produced. Many other countries, coveting this technology, started ramping up espionage which led to the English Channel Conflict involving much of western Europe.
The last straw was our presidential election last year. The election was a remarkably nasty one. Many issues regarding the aliens were up for debate including inter-species mating, alien immigration, alien job outsourcing, and alien rights among others. The Argditheans watched with disgust as candidates and people railed against them. On April 20th 2597 the Whiteheads announced they were succeeding from the United States and were going to depart from our solar system as soon as they had the required hydrogen.
Announcing that intent was a mistake that will be remembered for a long time. The US government had a contingency for this situation and had been slowing building up a force. We had 20 battalions of marines and soldiers and 20 squadrons of Airmen trained and ready for a war with the Whiteheads. Even fighting a two front war the United States would have upper hand after building up our enormous fighting force.
Today June 6, 2597 the second American civil war begins. As the sounds of bombardment from Argdith Moon begins and I hear the booms of exploding landing ships around ours I can't help but feel the irony that history is repeating itself on this day. Many of us have termed this D day but I am torn between my duty and morality. Maybe we should have shared our new-found technology. Maybe we should have tried harder to accept our new friends. Maybe we should have stayed true to the spirit of our constitution. All I know is, I swore to protect that constitution with my life and today I get to pay up.
| "So we just add seats to the House of Representatives."
"How many seats? According to the census the Americonians did at our request they have almost twice the population of the rest of the states combined."
"Ok, fair point, so all we have to do is-"
"An Americonian is running for president."
"I'm not sure I heard you right... They already have a presidential nominee?"
"That is correct, sir."
"I'm not... the planetoid wasn't a state before yesterday. How could any of them have been born on American soil? I thought we took steps to prevent this?"
"He was born yesterday, sir. In Hawaii, the Kapiolani Maternity & Gynecological Hospital more precis-"
"Jesus Christ..."
"They'll take the popular vote by a landslide... how much of their population is able to vote?"
"According to the agreement we signed for their admission as a State of the United States... almost all of them, sir. They reach maturity in less than 28 hours."
"This is going to be such a farce..."
"Isn't it always?" | 2016-06-06T10:07:56 | 2016-06-06T09:19:06 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] A Supervillain who disappeared years ago has suddenly shown up again; when the heroes go to confront him/her, they find out that he's/she's quite pleasantly normal now. | NeuroBolt sat on the sofa with his PDA in one hand and his multi-tool in the other. Although, now, he realized it seemed kind of pointless to bring the multi-tool. Or even come dressed as his superhero identity. He wondered if this was all some kind of ruse, the high ceilings, the beautiful architecture, the priceless art and family heirlooms that littered the living area. But it all seemed so *normal*.
"Two sugars?" She said from the other room.
"That'd be great," he said, "thank you."
Eliza Erikson walked in from the kitchen and carried a beautiful set of mugs and kettle. She set them down with one hand on the oak-carved coffee table and then handed Neuro one cup of tea and the sugar tray.
He placed his multi-tool down next to him and grabbed the tea with both hands, being sure to pick up and plop in two sugar cubes from the tray and stir just a bit. He smiled.
Eliza did as well as she took her own cup and then sat down across from him, "It's good to see you, old," she coughed, "I want to say friend."
"I," Neuro was at a loss for words. Ever since he had arrived at her estate, Eliza hadn't made any demands, any ransoms for hostages she might have or not have. She didn't threaten his life, or the lives of his fellow heroes in the Guild, nor did she have anything that would have said she was a villain. "I don't understand."
"I'd be glad to clear things up with you."
"You *are* Eliza Erikson?"
She took a sip of tea and nodded, "Yes."
"And you *were* Toxic Tracer?"
Her eyes shut and she sighed. "Unfortunately, I was," she said and placed the glass on a coaster on the table. "It has been a long time since I've gone by that name."
"Twelve years." Neuro smirked, "We stopped looking for you four years ago."
"An eight-year manhunt, eh?"
"You are the most prominent and dangerous villain we ever encountered."
"Correction," she smiled, "I *was*."
"So, you expect me to believe that what? You just gave it all up?"
She took another sip of her tea and then placed it down again. "Well I don't expect you to believe it. In fact, I suspect you don't believe anything I say."
He stayed silent.
"In fact, I'm sure Diviner and Blizzard are circling my estate, Zephyr is probably at the front door, and Baroness is at the back."
"You didn't forget us."
"You didn't forget me." She took a sip of her tea and sighed. "I know that what I say won't convince you, but you are more than welcome to invite all of them in. To let them search and scour every nook and cranny of my home, but you won't find anything."
Neuro leaned forward and set his tea down, "Tracer--"
"It's Doctor Erikson or Eliza now."
"*Doctor*, you have to understand when you left, you had destroyed half a city. You had hospitalized over a thousand people."
"Tell me, with all the Guild's heroes, who ended up saving them?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You received additional help from the outside, an anonymous donor."
"How did you?"
"I was that donor." She shook her head, "I saw what I did and I hated it. And if you think I was foolish enough to *create* toxins without antidotes then you are sadly mistaken, sir. I had an antidote to everything, still do."
"You have the toxins?"
She threw her head back. "God no. I destroyed all of them after I left. Kept the antidotes in my vault just in case."
Neuro sat there, awestruck at the woman standing in front of him. For years, Tracer had been the very core of the criminal underworld in their world. She led gangs and cults, armies of believers and thralls. She exposed the world to dangerous toxins. For as long as Neuro could remember, she was the enemy and she had always been *his* enemy.
"All I'm trying to do," she said, "is atone for everything I did. I left, became certified in neuroscience and psychology and started working for the people. Instead of for my own good."
"Yet you still have your estate."
"Ahem, you should note that it is ten times smaller than it was. And those tents and medical buildings out there were not just for show. I invite an organization every six months to use my property and whatever else I can spare."
Neuro's PDA buzzed silently and he glanced at it. A message from Blizzard simply read two words; **All Clear.** He took a deep breath, unsure if this still was some ruse by Tracer or just a villain turned good because of all the evil they had done. Still, the criminals Neuro and his heroes knew of hadn't heard from Tracer in over ten years.
It had been a long time.
"Just give me a chance," she said after a long silence. "I know it is a lot to ask, but in twelve years, no one has heard of Tracer. Let her die. Let Eliza come home."
Neuro sighed. The Erikson's were a prominent family in the capitol and no one ever knew that Eliza, the only living heir to the Eriskon fortune, had been a villain for ten years. Her twelve-year absence didn't go unnoticed, but no one in that time tried to steal her fortune. He wondered how she did it.
"You can have guards on me, any of the heroes at any time. I still have connections, I can help you."
"Help us? The Guild?"
"As a citizen, as a member of society. As Eliza." She shook her head, "As far as I'm concerned Tracer died twelve years ago. I will never dawn that outfit again."
Neuro shook his head, "I can't make this deal." He wanted to, but he couldn't. He couldn't risk it.
She sighed. "I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I can't say I don't understand. I get it Andrew."
His eyes widened and he perked up.
"You're scared. Of who I was, of who I am, of what I did and what I could do. But I promise you, and Angela, and Patrick, and Zachary, and Sarah; that I won't do anything do go against the five of you. And that I am, truly, sorry for what happened to Faith."
Neuro grit his teeth. He wondered how she knew all of this, it was only in the last few years that they figured out Eliza was Tracer. But she must've known for years from the way she presented the information. "How do you know all this?"
"You think I was the greatest supervillain our world had ever known and didn't know your identities? C'mon Bolt, was I ever the one to half-ass anything?"
"Okay Tracer--Eliza." He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, "You help us. Then we'll talk." He stuck his hand out for a shake.
She smiled, finished her tea, and shook his hand. "There's the diplomacy I was hoping for." | For over 70 years, He had toiled, in his quiet shack in the middle of frozen Russia. Basically rejected by Hell, and remanded by Heaven he was cursed to live on earth for his punishment for crimes and sins committed against humanity and it's kin.
The small, 1 room cottage in the far north was hardly adequate, as it housed a few simple needed goods and a large bed for such a small man. Only appearing in his mid 50s in age, he could hardly be mistaken for the man he once was, universally reviled by his enemies and loved by his supporters, some being loyal to their own deaths.
He had seen wars, he had seen plagues, he had seen triumph and falls of empires, but to that day, he remained secluded from the world, toiling at the soil and painting his heart out on canvases purchased through a local supplier. Local, being a relative term, was 80 Kilometers to the south in the a small village of only 200 residents.
He spoke very little Russian, his language skills very crude after living in isolation for so long and having spent most of his time away from Humanity, isolated and punished for his crimes and horrors, the atrocities and evils he had spread amongst the humans of the earth.
Several books adorned a handmade bookshelf, most in German and easily older books from the 1930s. Nietzeche's philosophy books, an older copy of Grimm's Fairy tails, His version of Mein Kampf and a large collection of Italian and Austrian travel maps and smaller pamphlets.
In truth, he hadn't left Russia for nearly 50 years, being isolated to that cold, desolate hut in the middle of a frozen hell scape. Even the Chernobyl incident wouldn't have parted him from this earth.
Cursing humanity even with his life, they have since been blessed with its betrayal of his legacy, his rows of corn and wheat grew tall, shading the hut and the land he had been exiled to from the eyes of neighbors he would never know.
Wiping the sweat from his brow and standing tall, he ran his hands over his head to calm himself. A single, and solitary scar ontop of his head, the scar preventing hair from growing back there and in his perpetual living hell, a constant reminder of his past.
His tounge linked up with a corresponding wound in his mouth, a hole that had been used by a single traveling object, which was meant to end everything, however the cruel irony of life and death refused to let him part.
Other gunshots riddled the rest of his body. Every few years some local would seek him out, hearing the stories, hearing the legends, and the atrocities, and seek him out to "put him in the grave he shouldn't have ever left" but Noone ever does. Each wound heals, every scar left to dot his body and exhibit his undying shame.
A truck rolled up the drive, a dust cloud following it as he looked at his rows of meager food, certainly not kingly and stately as had been decades before, however to sate his hunger so he could continue to suffer however long his torment was to continue he toiled away.
The truck pulled up and stopped, several men getting out of it and shutting the doors behind them, and a single man in a heavy black trench-coat strode out. Not a military man in a traditional sense, but maybe a member of someone's special police. He had seen many, met hundreds. Special forces, Royal Forces, Spetznaz, The SS, and many others had come to force him from his hell on earth and put him in the Hell below it instead.
He stood tall, leaning against his pitchfork and stopping his work for a time, the group of gentlemen approaching quickly and escorting the trench-coat.
"Good afternoon." he started in Russian, placing his hands upon the handle of the fork.
"Good day. " the trench-coat replied in perfect German. " I am aware you get few visitors who can speak in your Native Tounge. " He continued, pulling his hood back and revealing a solitary Eyepatch.
Grimacing slightly, He only nodded his head, seeming to acknowledge the greeting however displeased as it was said at the same time.
" Would you mind if we went inside and spoke over some tea, Adolf? " | 2016-08-28T11:11:22 | 2016-08-28T10:41:50 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] You are Keith, the best wingman in the history of wingmans. After you die the Grim Reaper offers you an arrangement. If you could hook up Grim with the girl of his dreams he will let your soul go to Heaven | (part of this may be NSFW)
"I want Kim."
I sat up on the street, the horn still blaring in my ear, and I looked down at my lifeless body splayed in a sickening angle on the asphalt. When I looked up, I saw my friends running out of the bar. Three couples whom I had brought together, and who were now married. John and Katie, who run a business together now. Rick and Sue, who are about to adopt a kid. Tony and Melissa, who love horror flicks. And Kim, who lived next door to me all my life.
A hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a face that was almost like mine, but the concern knitted in the eyebrows was not reflected in the eyes. He helped me up. I looked back at my friends. Tony was on the phone, shouting for an ambulance. Sue was checking for a pulse that wouldn't beat. And Kim, who always knew what to say to make things better, stood with her hands over her mouth and wept.
I stood up and followed my new companion around the corner. He told me I was dead. I told him to eat a dick. He smiled at me, with a smile that never reached his eyes. We rounded another corner into a tighter alleyway. He told me he was a reaper, created to escort the souls of the dead to the next stage. He asked me what I thought the next stage was for me. As I opened my mouth to tell him where he could stick his stages, we rounded the corner again, and I saw hell. Through a grate in the ground, fires roaring through carrying the stench of sulphur and the cries of the damned. I recoiled, and he smiled that same creepy smile.
"Listen, Keith. You don't have to go down there. If you want to go to heaven, I can get you in, but I need you to help me bag a girl."
Easy. I created three marriages with one whispered tip, one spilled beer, and a Dracula versus Werewolf costume battle. I could get this guy laid no problem. Where did he want to set up the play?
"I want Kim."
Like an echo through time, my vision danced with every moment I ever spent with her, and settled on this douchebag's smile. I wouldn't do it. Not to her.
I opened my mouth to say so, but the fires of hell literally took my breath away. And I stood there fighting every piece of my soul that wanted to melt into the air and fly away from the screaming and the fire and the fear. Until I said "ok."
I gave him all the info I had. Told him about every song and movie she and I liked, every date I never asked her on, all the ways I wanted to charm and woo her that I never worked up the courage to use. Like a trauma victim re-living the scene, I recited every thing about her I ever thought of. And when I was empty, he said, "Ok. We'll do it tonight. If your end works, I'll get you into heaven."
He pulled my soul into a stray dog's body, and out of sheer douchebaggery, got me hit by a car (again) outside Kim's apartment. She came out. I whined. Douchebag came to the rescue. He picked me up and carried me to the nearest vet with Kim in tow, saying all the things I told him to say, making all the jokes I wanted to make. He got her number.
Three days later he asked her if we could visit to make her dinner and she could check on "their" new puppy. She said yes. He made her the dinner I knew she liked. Got the wine I knew she liked. Wore the clothes and cologne I knew she liked.
And hours later, I curled up on her couch, where we had sat countless times before, drinking in her smell and burying my head in the cushions while that douchebag sealed the deal in the bedroom. As I tried to muffle the sounds I never got to make her make, I realized that I was in hell. No fire, no brimstone, but every moment was like pulling the fibers of my soul apart until they snapped.
Eventually, I feel asleep (or passed out from agony). When I woke up, douchebag was gone, and I guess Kim wasn't expecting it either. But I was still there. So she fed me, hugged me and finished nursing me back to health. And when I could run again she still kept me. I barked at strangers outside her door and nudged my head into her hand when she had bad days. I dragged her outside when it was sunny and slept on her feet when it rained.
But now I'm on the vet's table again, and the news isn't good. She's crying. I think I'm dying. All I want now is for a few last minutes with her because I'm scared of what comes after. Not sure if I go to heaven now, or if the last 8 years (56 dog years?) is what he meant. She puts her hand on my head. I feel a needle stick and close my eyes. As I drift off, my thoughts linger on one thing. I want Kim. | Now, I was never all that good at settling - settling down, settling for, settling on - you name it, I was ambivalent about it. So I had a lot of ideas in my head about what I'd expect to happen when I died.
I tell you what I didn't expect. I did not expect the first words I heard to be:
"Oh my gosh, I'm a *huge* fan of your work."
Bearing in mind, I was an electrician when I was alive. Not exactly noteworthy. Plus, at this point I wasn't even aware that I had died. Last thing I remembered, I was leaving the bar at around two, two-thirty on a Sunday morning. No flash of light, no screeching wheels. Just your average weekend night.
Turns out Perry - full name Grim Reaper, but he prefers Perry - had first seen me at the hospital a year or so back. I broke my pal Derrick's arm playing football and hooked him up with a nurse. Said he thought I was the best in the business. I'm not one to brag, but I've got a 100% success rate in getting people laid, married, whatever they're into.
So Perry had a proposition for me. He told me all about this beautiful girl, how I was the only one that could help him get with her. He said he'd get me into Paradise if I did.
Of course, I said yes. And of course, it was after I'd agreed, pledged my goddamn soul to help him, that he told me the rest of the details.
"So, who's the lucky lady?"
"You know her - she was your sister."
"My *sister*? I can't hook you up with her."
"Sure you can! We'll go to your wake and you can introduce us."
"Well, first off, I'm dead. I can't just waltz up to her and tell her I've come back from the dead to get her laid."
"Hm... Good point. Maybe I should find a spare body for you to use."
"Gross! Man, the whole thing is sick. I'm out."
Naturally things weren't that simple. Perry did have my soul in his bony grasp, after all. After a little more resistance, I accepted my challenge, Perry got an acceptable body for me to use, (it was suspiciously fresh, but I decided not to probe further) and we got suited up for my wake. | 2016-09-21T21:01:05 | 2016-09-21T18:48:28 | 460 | 32 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| The Humans are a strange species.
They found my people in ancient times, when the wheel and fire were still cutting edge technology. They built an station in orbit around our world, as was their way, and observed our development. They did not interfere with our development too much. When our home was threatened by an asteroid strike in ancient times, they destroyed it. When a supervolcano erupted and cast our world into volcanic winter, they descended from on high and cleaned our atmosphere.
We praised them as Gods for a time... Gods that came when we were in true need and helped us escape extinction. That was the only time they approached us directly. Their great ships landed where we preached of their glory... and they set us right. They told us that they were not gods... but were flesh and blood like us. They had learned how the world worked... and through doing so they had learned to control the world. Through their hard work and study... they had elevated themselves to the point where they worked *miracles* through their technology. They told us not to worship them... but instead to follow in their footsteps.
Our people... became very eager to join the Humans among the Stars. We wanted to be like them... powerful enough to bend the world towards our interests. As we grew more advanced... the Humans seemed to grow more distant. Disasters came without the Humans coming to fix them. We were confused by this, we were worried by this, and we were angry... until we figured out why the Humans did not intervene. It was because we were *able* to fix more of our problems ourselves. We came to understand, without being told, that the Humans did not want to rob us of the challenges that let us grow. Necessity is the mother of invention, and they did not want to take away the stress that we could deal with.
We went through the growing pains of a Sentient Species. Agriculture, Industrialization, Hate, Power-Hunger, and more... until the most dangerous came upon us. We discovered the Power of the Atom. The Humans did not intervene when first we used the weapons that were born of the Atom. Atomic Hellfire wiped a city out, and a war was ended. Nuclear Peace began... one as uneasy as the Nuclear Peace of human history. But... that also drove us to The Stars. The Missiles we made to deliver death across the world were also the key to breaking free of Gravity's iron-grip.
Our first mission was, of course, to reach the Human Research Station. We had a few failures along the way... a few people died... but we made it in the end. We docked with the station... and we met the Humans in person once more. They were so happy to see us having succeeded in getting past the first hurdle. They encouraged us to keep exploring, to keep *learning*... and to be careful with the weapons we had built.
We were not.
It's been a long time since the Day of Armageddon. The day that tensions finally broke... and the decision was made to end the world. Missiles launched. Sirens flared. Mothers lied to their children, telling them that everything would be okay. Old friends got together for one last drink, before the end. Several children were made. But the end didn't come. The Humans did what they always did: They saved us from extinction when we couldn't save ourselves.
Great beams of light were sent out from the Research Satellites. They struck the missiles... and there were no missiles anymore when the beams ended. There wasn't even a blast. Then... they made a request to us. They took control of every signal. Every radio, every video screen... everything. They addressed our world, and they *asked us* to avoid going to war, even though the threat of Nuclear Annihilation had been lifted from our world by their intervention. They told us that, whatever our differences might be, they weren't great enough to justify destroying each-other.
We... did as we were asked. We did our best not to go to war. It worked... on the whole. Countries stopped fighting each-other... although internal wars still flared up from time to time. We continued to struggle forward... until we eventually managed to join the humans. We discovered the secrets behind the Warp-Drives that Humans relied upon... and they celebrated out triumph as we ascended to join the galactic community.
We learned that the Humans were not alone among the stars, and that we were not unique in how the Humans had treated us. There were dozens of species like ours, who the Humans had taken an interest in. They had protected them... and encouraged them. When they emerged from their home-worlds with FTL Capabilities... the humans had supported their growth. They'd helped us find worlds to colonize, and they'd sent Terraforming Ships out to create new garden worlds for us to inhabit.
They never asked for anything in return. To them... helping intelligent species, like ours, reach the stars was simply the right thing to do. They believed that all intelligent life was valuable... and that it should be allowed, if not outright encouraged, to flourish. They wanted to see their Local Cluster *filled* with Life... and they'd been working on that for a very long time.
The Grell eventually found the Humans. They were another of the Elder Species, as old as the humans were, but they were not as Ancient as the Remnants. They had come to the stars seeking to spread their Empire, to unite all life beneath their banner... and to make all a part of their "superior" culture.
When they looked upon our Local Cluster... they thought they saw an easy conquest. They saw *dozens* of weak species and nations that could be easily conquered... and the only species of real relevance, the Humans, were pacifistic scientists that hadn't been at war for a very long time. They ignored us, and attacked the Humans first... seeking to destroy the only thing that remotely resembled a threat. They expected that we would not come to the Humans' aid... and they were wrong.
The Humans were not always as peaceful as they were when we were uplifted to the stars. They had been Warriors once, and they had *always* been scientists. Their Ships of War awakened from long hibernation... with our people at their helms. While the Humans had forgotten war... we had all experienced it. It took us awhile to figure out how to do it in space... but we figured it out, and we taught the Humans what they had forgotten.
The Humans turned their Economy away from terraforming and the spreading of Life... and towards the creation of a larger armada. We held the line together... defending the Local Cluster until the Armada was ready. Then... we pushed the Grell back.
We destroyed their ships, and we stranded their people on dozens of planets. We freed those that they had conquered, but few of them were strong enough to join us. We destroyed their infrastructure to stop them from returning to the Stars... and set them back to their stone-age in the process. But... we did not drive them to extinction. Instead... we built space-stations around their worlds and we watched over them, hoping to guide them back to The Stars again once they had learned the Lesson of War.
We returned to peace and exploration... and the Humans returned to spreading life and guiding new intelligence to The Stars. | Old Earth Year, 4289, the 7th of March. Post-Light Year 434.
Humans, despite their continual infighting and petty squabbles over planets, asteroid belts, and orbital stations, had gained a solid reputation as the greatest traders to exist. They were, in comparison to the others of the known Galaxy, by far the most equitable, choosing only to levy a tariff of 10.5% on all imports and exports. There was profit being made, of course, but it was a reasonable profit, to be expected of the most helpful species in the known Galaxy.
Mining drones scurried to and fro in the asteroid belt of the TRAPPIST-1 system, the first stop for human colonization. But it was also the furthest system in the Humans' United Galactic Sect, furthest from aid, and furthest from any military center. TRAPPIST-1 was the center of all trade for the western arm of the Milky Way, where products changed hands between humanity and the Qar'Guvlos (rough translation). Atomic weapons, gamma ray generators, mining equipment, Apple iPhone 422Ses, booze, and ships came out of the Human trade center in exchange for worthless Gold, Platinum, and Jiannen Tahnighx, which the Humans gladly turned into more worthwhile materials.
With the Human reputation for trade came increased communications, and with increased communications, came requests for aid. Humanitarian efforts - a purely human phenomenon, hence the name - went forth, sending hundreds of thousands of ships to rescue xeno colonies' inhabitants from disasters of all sorts, be they the death of the Hive Lord, natural disasters, an overabundance of Cobalt and Helium 3 poisoning the atmosphere, peaceful riots, or financial stability granting the populace excessive free will. Everybody and everymind in the Galaxy profited under the watchful eye of Human opportunists, and the Humans never went home empty-handed.
One moment came, however, when an invading force entered the Galaxy from afar. The Grand Consulate of Hvri-Los-Khazzan, a force consisting of millions upon millions of sentient rocks, initially appeared peaceful, though in reality they had merely been gathering their forces. Their intelligence suggested that the Humans were the Galaxy's weakest link, and that conquering the Humans' United Galactic Sect would wreak utter havok upon the Galaxy, leaving it ripe for harvest. And so they struck.
The Automated Shipyard in orbit of Jupiter exploded violently, killing no fewer than three humans, and the Hvri-Los-Khazzan began the remainder of their assault. It was brutal, bloody. However, they underestimated the political connections of the HUGS, and overheard a single distress call sent out in all directions.
"Uh, guys, a little help here?"
It wasn't polite. It wasn't well-phrased. But it communicated the message adequately, and the Sol system instantly flashed with the light of millions upon millions of ships and creatures of all shapes and sizes coming out of warp. The Varikar, the Xelos, the KKKkrkkkktk, Qar'Guvlos Shipping Company, and thousands of other smaller groups had arrived. Lack of communication and translations led to shipwrecks appearing all around Sol as different races collided with one another, but despite the disaster, the general feeling was one of solidarity.
The Hvri-Los-Khazzan found themselves facing down armies of trade vessels, mining barges, battleships, space whales, gasbags, floatsails, and a myriad of other abominations of nature, all armed to the teeth with Human "weaponry" - the standard export model Mineral-B-Gon mining laser.
Just as quickly as the Hvri-Los-Khazzan arrived, they were smashed to pieces by the combined might of everything that hadn't been shipwrecked by the warp-in, and with the threat neutralized, a second light flashed around Sol as what may well have been the representatives of the entire Galaxy warped back to their homelands.
One stunned human, standing in his bedroom on Titan, blinked. He had very little idea of what had just happened, but the next day, he took out a small loan of a million dollars and started a salvaging business and set out to start collecting from the new Sol Scrap Belt. A year later, this human, Ronald Barker, sat in an office of platinum and marbled glargite, upon a throne worth quadrillions of dollars. The Humans had profited once more. | 2017-03-26T08:23:17 | 2017-03-26T06:55:32 | 497 | 93 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | Project Orion, they called it. A crackpot idea dug up from the old files from when NASA still used Nazi scientists. It blindsided everyone how fast the development went, after a few scientists went against the grain of countless fusion-powered point-thrust craft projects that had been devouring funding for decades. They kept arguing about "cold fusion" this and "electrolyzer power" that, when all they needed was to think *messier*. It's true, hydrogen fusion bombs may be expensive and heavy, but they're *full* of that sweet, sweet delta-v that was so sought after, and the newer, cleaner fusion "pellets" developed specifically for this project no longer had the side effect of irradiating thousands of miles of space around them. So, it became inevitable that the constant acceleration theories and blueprints were left behind in the blinding flash and silent shockwave of nuclear heat as the *Merope* left her birthplace, Lunar-L1, where her parts were assembled in orbit above the moon's steel refineries.
As the crew strapped down for the first pulse, millions of people watched for telltale flash, the crew's chairs and cabin shown worldwide.
"One minute to first pulse," captain Raina Hall relayed unnecessarily to the rest of her crew. Together with her crew and the ground crew in Luna, they ran through the motions, practiced hundreds of times, checking and re-checking each system necessary to the crafts operation.
"Suspension?"
"Green," called out her engineer, settling down into his gel-padded seat. The crew, to deal with the huge changes in momentum, shared quite a few aspects of their suits and seating with old fighter pilots, including pressurized suits to keep blood distributed throughout the body.
"Momentum sail and shielding?"
"Hasn't changed a bit. Good to go."
"T-minus forty-five seconds," offered Luna's engineers, on the edge of their seats. This mission, ever since it's realization from an insane grab at interstellar travel to the sleek, aluminum ship with an alien-seeming white-painted half-dome looming from massive systems of springs, now making subtle adjustments with it's electric-ion adjustment engines, it's outer wheel still for now, had become their entire lives. "The New Apollo," or words to that effect, were commonly touted by science magazines and exclaimed from person to person, inspiring fierce pride not only in country, but in each other.
"Coolant tanks?"
"Full and ready for operation." These tanks were crucial, just as much as the repository of football-sized thermonuclear bombs storing hundreds of thousands of kilonewtons of force for *Merope's* propulsion. each blast, as well as emanating immense amounts of force into the craft, would release enough radiation to heat the craft by a not insignificant amount. So, in-between layers of the best blast shielding technology could find, lay miles of piping carrying hot coolant to radiator arrays further towards the habitable cabin.
"Thirty seconds." The warning came and passed as Raina checked her crews faces, making sure they'd be ready for the first pulse. There was a mix of stoic bravery, well-deserved nerves, and pure excitement on the faces of her comrades, her friends, her crew mates.
"Fifteen seconds." The hiss of attitude adjusters settling the craft into launch position. Raina felt the slight, subtle movements as she took a deep breath, the second to last before she'd be pressed into her seat with a normal force of nearly 50 Gs.
"T-minus ten."
"Nine."
"Eight"
"Seven."
"Six."
An oppressively loud hum started, as the suspension locked into place."
"Five."
She glanced around at her crew, each giving thumbs up as they slipped on a face mask, which would deliver pure oxygen to keep them concious during the pulse.
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
A loud ka-CHUNK hit her ears as the first pellet was launched out of the spring-loaded catapult towards the open end of the dome, and blast paneling slid over the vulnerable opening.
"One." Last deep breath.
"Pulse!" The words were swatted from her ears as she sank deep into her chair, conciousness slipping as her mind fought to cling onto the blood slipping from her brain. Not trusting herself to be able to move her head to look at the readouts, she let her eyes close and focused on the already-dying force pushing her into her seat.
And then it stopped. The hiss of coolant through pipes as it spread the heat from the blast out into nothing wafted around her.
"Two seconds to pulse!"
*Shit* she thought, having just enough time to get another gasp of life from her mask before being pressed back against her chair again.
"Pulse!"
"Pulse!"
"Pulse!"
Two minutes, thirty pulses, and a not-insignificant portion of lightspeed later, Raina massaged her temples while checking the readouts which perfectly matched the expected. Smiling, she turned to her crew, also still recovering, and whooped.
...
A galaxy away, a dash light blinked in the annoying way that made you wish it was someone else's problem. Flicking it, and then disappointedly sighing when it didn't go away, a figure peered closer, then gasped. "Ford!" it shouted, calling up to the only other person on the ship. "They did it!"
"No shit?" | Bulwhop wheezed on all eight on the floor while Schitlth struggled to stay on his stool. Meanwhile, Zuweev was barely visible because he was losing his concentration on materializing.
“So.... a... are you telling us you blow yourself up into space? HAHAHAHAHAHA. No wonder why you look so charred.” Said Bulwhop after finally catching his breath and propping his torso again using his front appendages on the bar.
“Well, first of all we don’t blow ourselves up into space, we did it in a more controlled way. We contained the explosions so we can use the momentum cased by fast hot gasses to our benefit. Secondly, you see little light off me because the UV lights in this bar will give me skin cancer if I didn’t use the su- the UV protection cream” said Dorothy Rammshtein for what felt like the hundredth time this evening.
“AHAHAHAHA that’s even better. You put your ship in a cannon and shoot yourself into space! Ha HA. Bet that’s easier than your species way dear Zuweev. No will power needed for space travel” howled Bulwhop losing his grip on the bar and slithering back on the floor.
“Zuweev usually finds this insulting but as customary with your species Bulwhop, it is found that magic always causes alterations to the perceived enjoyment of certain false statements like yours. Zuweev reassures you it was not taken as an intended insult to the ether” a hollow sound rang around them shifting in phase and tone like a rave.
“Also not exactly that, you can say we actually put the cannon on the ship and shoot it backward to go forwar...” Dorothy was again interrupted by renewed howls of laughter from all three and some other bar patrons that seemed to take a liking to eavesdropping on their fun conversation.
“I thank Ithul that no one from our race thought of that or else we would incurred his wrath to manipulate the sacred heat to our benefit. Ithul giveth, and Ithul shall taketh. Stardust to stardust. For entropy increases forever. Amen.” Schitlth droned in chant-like peice that somehow rhymed.
After what felt like a solid two minutes of incomprehensible mixture of sounds of laughter, howling, gurgling, and hissing. Bulwhop said after regaining some composure:”So what did you say your name again? Dogwash Ratskin?”
“No it’s Dorothy Rammshtein. Do-ro-thy Ra-.... you know what?
Just call me Dora” | 2020-08-07T20:02:23 | 2020-08-07T19:33:24 | 115 | 57 |
[WP] You’ve just realized that you are not a human, but rather a parasite controlling someone. | "Well, Mike - the good news is that we have a name for it: *Macrocordyceps acutus*," the doctor had told me.
"The bad news is, well, everything else. You asked me to be frank with you, so I will be. It's not well understood, particularly in humans. We know that it's a kind of parasite that affects behaviour in mammals. There aren't many human case studies but the nature of your sleep-walking, night terrors and amnesia all fit the profile and your bloodwork has confirmed its presence in your body."
I had panicked and started babbling at him, demanding more. All he could offer me was a drug trial. I could be in the first round of humans to test something that had only ever been used on mice. Apparently it stopped their behavioural anomalies with no visible side effects.
I didn't really have a choice. I signed up.
It was a 6-week course of taking 3 pills a day, at mealtimes. I was told not to expect any change during this time. The pills were laying the groundwork for a "big flush", which would take place at a clinic where I'd have to stay overnight for observation.
I dutifully took my pills and awaited the day of reckoning.
It came, and there I sat, the amber tendril of their experimental drug plugged into my arm. It took an hour to drain the bag, and then I just had to wait. They handed me a kidney dish to puke in.
I felt dizzy and a bubble of nausea rose from my stomach. I tried to lift the bowl to my mouth but my arms wouldn't respond. One hand flailed vaguely and sent the dish clattering across the room. The floor swung upwards at me as I lurched out of my chair and everything went black.
My face hit the floor and all I could feel were the cold tiles against my cheek and the warm spurts of liquid being heaved up from my core.
My extremities tingled, then went numb. My senses shut down one by one until suddenly my spatial awareness detached entirely.
I was no longer a passenger in my skull, observing the world from behind my eyes. I was in my throat, in my mouth, in the stream of liquid, I was ejected from my body and I pooled there on the floor, deprived of my senses, with nothing left of me but thoughts in the darkness and the silence.
The room was gone. I hung in a void; no eyes to open, no ears to hear, no skin to feel.
I cast about for anything, anywhere, and felt... nothing.
No up, no down, no space or time... no sensory input at all.
>*I've been removed from my own body.*
I'd been unplugged from my senses and left in a puddle. Then I realised.
>*Not* my *senses. Not* my *body. I was the parasite, not the host.*
Understanding detonated in my mind as I accepted this realisation. I was never Mike. I had been occupying Mike, installed like malware, hijacking his brain to process my own thoughts and create my own memories. I just didn't realise until I was purged like the poison I was.
>*I'm the poison that actively sought a medical procedure to purge itself from its victim.*
My wife, Jessica, always had to tell me about my night-terrors, because I never remembered them. Apparently I would shake her awake in the middle of the night, pleading incoherently for help, rambling about being a "prisoner", a "spectator", or a "passenger".
She would just shush me and put me back to sleep, until one day I stopped disturbing her. She would wake to an empty bed only to find me passed out on the stairs of our apartment building or outside on the street.
When I was found asleep at the wheel of her car, alarms howling, apparently having floored it straight out of the driveway and into the car parked across the street, we had no choice but to seek medical help.
>*That was him. The real Mike. He tried to get help from Jessica. When she failed him, he had to try to escape on his own.*
My focus wavered... what was I thinking about? Something important? Jessica!
>*Was Jessica even Mike's wife? How long had I been in control? When did I infect him, forking his memories into my own private train of thought? Did I marry her, or did he?*
I felt foggy, my mind scattered. I couldn't think straight.
Every thought was a grinding effort...
>*Had Mike been like a passenger, watching me take a joyride? Could he see and hear everything? Or was he trapped in a void like this, only occasionally clawing his way out into the world, in the dead of night, to stagger blearily around a stranger's apartment, grasping for deliverance?*
I faded a little, then resurfaced. It felt like waking up with no idea how long I had been asleep and no eyes to open. I didn't even have a brain any more. There was no organ fit to run a human mind in the puddle of sludge, just the dregs of whatever hyphal network I had insinuated into Mike's nervous system.
>*How long ago was I purged? A few minutes? Hours? Days?*
Maybe no time had passed at all. Maybe this was all one dying moment, like my life flashing before my eyes. A final thought occurred to me:
>*Please, Mike... please love Jessica.*
Then the sludge gave out. | "They're always told that they have five senses. I never fully understood why society undermines the mind, which surely is the sixth sense.
Their entire being is projected through the mind. All other five senses merge into what the mind interprets them as.
If they are to acknowledge the mind, then they would hold it to a higher value than everything else. The mind is the life. Thoughts are the very fabric of being.
You look at your hands and body, and you get that eerie strange feeling, of how these limbs are sticking out of you right now, and are being controlled by hundreds of nerves attached so delicately to the bones, amongst all the flesh in between.
You decide the rest of your day, and by making that decision, the movement of your entire body is dictated by these thoughts.
Do you really think you are just *creating* these thoughts from scratch?
**Do you really think you are capable of independent thought?**
You are wrong.
I have finally learnt the truth. And I sure am enjoying this. Sorry Mark, your body belongs to me now. Don't fight it."
Mark's eyes widened as he was trying to fathom what he just read.
He was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when he was eight, and his mood wings can be extreme to the level of two apparent separate personalities.
Medications had minimal effect.
It was twenty-two years later that Mark found that note, with a massive ink stain towards the bottom right-corner, just under the sunlight ray peeking through his room's window.
Mark was absolutely flabbergasted. He sat down and started to trace his thoughts and actions within the past twenty-four hours.
*Alright, I must remember when I wrote this note. I might not be crazy after all. I came home from Hannah's dinner party just before midnight, I was starving, her vegan dinner was shit. I grabbed the spaghetti I made on Tuesday then sat and started browsing reddit for a while. I then started writing? I think I'm right. This is the right sequence of events so far. Next I must ha-*
*Hey Mark. I said don't fight it. Why don't you go for a drive right now, and go and try winning some money at the pub like you always do with some alcohol?*
Mark got up abruptly from his chair, knocking his ink from the table, grabbed a jacket, and left the hut.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"Does he really think he lives in the 1830's?"
"I don't know. Apparently his latest gig is that a parasite is controlling him".
"I feel bad, he just completely lost it didn't he?"
"Yeah. I think our lunch break is over, we should head back to the main ward now, I heard there are new patients coming in".
"Let's go".
| 2017-12-21T00:57:15 | 2017-12-20T23:47:17 | 3,420 | 48 |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | (Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them. | 2022-08-15T11:07:33 | 2022-08-15T08:51:20 | 1,486 | 221 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.” | I had seen those words. All those years ago. "Don't tell them you can see." They covered everything and I had ignored them, but only on my deathbed.
I had thought that it did not matter. In an act of defiance when dieing of cancer I had told them.
I was a fool. I have learned long ago that people don't need to die. Not anymore. Not of cancer, not of pain, not of broken hearts, not of age... And certainly not from having ones eyes torn from their head.
They let people die. They can save everyone, can keep anyone alive form anything, but it's not a benefit. It's a curse that they inflect upon those who are useful. They can even heal wounds and restore limbs, other body parts. Such as the eyes they have taken from me. Countless times.
They say they are looking for a cure. That my suffering is to help the world. That sight can be restored to all if only they could find the way.
Though I know from the cruetly I am shown that they are lying. I know not what my eyes have been used for, but I know it's not for the benefit of all. Maybe the benefit of all the wealthy who can pay them.
Today I am trying something knew. Something different to escape this pain, suffering, and this so called "life" that should have ended long ago. I have found the necessary material. An ancient power source called black gold.
Marcus sets down his pen. Finishing the entry into his diary. Long ago he had lost count of days or entries. Though he dutifully adds a number to the entry. Storing the diary in his room which is lavish but still the worst prison he had ever thought possible.
Marcus takes the black gold and materials from the room. Preparing to do what must be done. Sitting cross legged as monks had done of occasion long ago in the time of sight. He willed himself to not make a sound lest he be found and "saved".
As the world went bright with flame then dark as death comes "Please let this be the last time" Marcus thinks. | 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 2019-08-26T10:47:46 | 810 | 11 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | I drummed my fingers against the gas station counter soundlessly, eyeing the different flavors of trident and orbit gum next to the registers. Usually the only real option for me was spearmint, but I'd gotten an energy drink, and nothing sounded quite so disgusting as a minty gum mixed with Monster. So I went for the mango and strawberry, only for the last one to be taken by thin fingers who'd gotten there just seconds before mine.
My hand hung awkwardly in the air for a moment as my eyes glanced up behind me over my shoulder and were met with equally awkward ones attached to a meek smile, "I'm sorry, you wanted them first. Go ahead."
I reached for a different flavor, berry short-something, and shook my head, "You took the drink I wanted. It's fine." I said, returning her smile.
Lord. Her eyes, her hair, her smile, even her nose; when I imagined falling in love, she is who I saw in my future. Short black wavy hair, honey brown eyes. Not exactly, but, it became very clear now.
"Thanks." she answered me with a still awkward smile. Her eyes dropped, but her smile stayed.
"Next, sir." the cashier called.
I quickly turned, bumping into the gum rack and nearly knocking it over. Both mine and the woman's hand's shot out to grab it and her hand landed on mine. We eventually straightened it, both of us apologizing to the cashier and each other repeatedly. I stepped forward and placed my items on the counter, glancing over my shoulder at the blushing woman rubbing her hand that had touched mine. I knew why. Mine still felt hot were we'd touched.
As I paid, I stared at the words etched onto the inside of my arm. 'That sounds wonderful'. It's what my soulmates last words are meant to be. Everyone had them somewhere on their body from birth, and I was always glad mine were uplifting. Some were 'I'll be right back', or 'See you tomorrow'. Those terrified me. But now I wished that those words were my soulmates first words to me, and that they read 'I'm sorry, you wanted them first'.
I finished my payment and nodded at the cashier, turning to make my exit. A hand on my shoulder stopped me. When I turned I found a piece of gum just inches from my face with that beautiful woman standing at arms length away, "Go ahead."
She was still blushing. Shit, I probably was too. I took the gum and nodded again, chuckling when I didn't mean to and offering a cheeky grin, "Thanks."
Outside the gas station, I slapped my cheeks hard, at least to spread out the blood from right beside my nose, fixed my hair, straightened my shirt, cracked open the Monster and took a few hard chugs. Then I waited. When I heard the bell on the door chime again, I brightened at the sight of the woman and held out my drink, "It's only fair." I said immediately.
She paused, settling into a comfortable smile as she took my drink and had a few hard chugs, just as I had. "Stephanie." she said as she handed it back.
"Charles." I muttered in response, slightly mesmerized by the way her lips moved as she spoke. But I snapped myself out of it and managed a smile, "Can I... take you to coffee sometime?" I asked.
She laughed, which made me laugh, and then we were awkwardly laughing together. But she nodded eventually, still laughing, "Yes, please. Well, not please- I mean- I'd like that."
Lord, she was cute. I never thought I'd get along so well with someone as awkward as me, but somehow it's happening. Maybe coffee will go well. Maybe we'll fall in love. Maybe the circumstances of the universe don't have to change, my words don't have to change, and she really could be my soulmate.
"Let me give you my number." she said, blinking and blushing at me.
I was staring at her that whole time. Stupid!
Mentally cussing myself out, I waited as she took out a small card from her purse and handed it to me, smiling the whole way, "I'm free all day tomorrow..."
"Me too," I said, taking the card. It was only for a second, but my finger brushed hers again and everything was hot. I pulled away too quickly, I know it, because she giggled at me behind her hand. I shook my head a bit and tried to smile through the embarrassment, "How about 2p.m. tomorrow?"
"That sounds wonderful." she said, smiling at me again and turning.
I went to my car with a stupid grin on my face and the card clenched tight in my hand. As I unlocked my door, I looked at the card again, just to make sure that such a spontanous meeting really had happened. Then I looked at the words on my arm. Then my stomach and smile dropped.
I looked up just in time to see a semi-truck spin off the highway and slam into the side of Stephanie's car. It was like life itself was stolen from me in that moment. Everything grew blurry and suddenly I was on my knees, screaming, glaring at the stupid fucking words on my arm. It really did sound wonderful. | I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray. | 2015-08-08T13:50:34 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 56 | 10 |
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty." | FADE IN:
INT. AN EMPTY ROOM
*A young man sits in what appears to be a completely white cell. This is DAVE. The only furnishings in the space are two white chairs and a white table, on top of which is a red button. Dave's finger is holding the button down, and the experience seems to be emotionally draining him.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Hello?!
*For several seconds, there is no response. Just as Dave looks ready to shout again, the sound of high-heeled shoes walking on tile becomes audible. A section of white wall slides away, and a young woman enters the cell. This is TAMARA. The hidden door slides shut again as she enters.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) How bloody long does it take to bring someone coffee?!
**TAMARA:** Sorry. We're actually all out of coffee.
**DAVE:** I've been here for hours!
*Tamara glances at her watch as she sits down opposite Dave.*
**TAMARA:** You've been here for eleven minutes.
**DAVE:** ... Well, it felt like hours.
**TAMARA:** Job interviews are like that.
**DAVE:** Yeah, look, about that: Why did you make me push this button?
**TAMARA:** I didn't.
*Dave looks ready to gesticulate, but catches himself, keeping his finger on the button.*
**DAVE:** You told me it didn't do anything!
**TAMARA:** Yes, and then you pressed it.
**DAVE:** If someone says a button doesn't do anything, you push it!
**TAMARA:** No, clearly, *you* push it.
**DAVE:** You know what I mean! Anyway, you lied to me!
*Tamara feigns a look of shock.*
**TAMARA:** I did nothing of the sort!
**DAVE:** You said pushing the button wouldn't do anything, *then* you said that releasing the button would make bad things happen!
**TAMARA:** Those weren't my exact words, but okay.
**DAVE:** Logically speaking, then, pushing the button *must have* done something, because it was already in a default state of being released!
*A genuine-looking smile crosses Tamara's face.*
**TAMARA:** Very good! *Very* good! Full marks on that one.
**DAVE:** ... What?
**TAMARA:** Wait just a moment, please.
*Tamara pulls out a walkie-talkie and speaks into it.*
**TAMARA:** (*CONT'D*) Alan? We're ready for you.
*The hidden door reopens, revealing another young man. He is carrying a silver tray, on which is a dead trout.*
**DAVE:** What's going on?
**TAMARA:** Please assess the fish.
*Dave eyes the trout for several seconds.*
**DAVE:** It's a fish.
**TAMARA:** Incorrect.
**DAVE:** You just told me it was a fish!
**TAMARA:** No, I told you to assess *the* fish.
**DAVE:** I *did* assess the fish!
**TAMARA:** Incorrect.
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) What does any of this have to do with being a janitor?!
*Tamara stares at Dave for several seconds.*
**TAMARA:** Good! Very good. You kept your finger on the button that entire time.
**DAVE:** Does... does that mean I can take it off now?
**TAMARA:** Oh, you could have done that whenever you wanted.
**DAVE:** Really?
**TAMARA:** Things would have just gotten nasty.
**DAVE:** *Stop doing that!* Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?! What kind of interview is this?!
**TAMARA:** Please assess the fish.
*As if on cue, Alan turns around. There is a second trout taped to his back.*
**DAVE:** ... No.
*Alan backs up several steps, bringing the trout on his back to within inches of Dave's face.*
**TAMARA:** Please assess the fish.
**DAVE:** No! You know what? I'm done with this! Screw you, screw your fish assessment, and screw your stupid button!
*With a deliberate motion, Dave quickly releases the button. Nothing happens.*
**TAMARA:** Well, I think we're about done here, then.
**DAVE:** I thought things were supposed to get nasty?
**TAMARA:** They did.
**DAVE:** ... What?
**TAMARA:** We'll be in touch.
*The hidden door opens. Dave glances from it to Tamara and back several times.*
**DAVE:** ... You know what? I'm going to stay.
*Dave presses the button again.*
**TAMARA:** Interesting. Why?
**DAVE:** I just figured out what's going on.
**TAMARA:** Do tell.
**DAVE:** You're interviewing me to be a janitor.
**TAMARA:** Yes.
**DAVE:** So you put me through this nonsense.
**TAMARA:** Yes.
**DAVE:** You want to see if I can deal with a lot of unnecessary shit.
*Tamara smiles.*
**TAMARA:** You're absolutely correct. Welcome aboard!
*Dave looks incredibly relieved.*
**DAVE:** Oh, god, I'm so glad I figured that out. What can I do to get started?
*Tamara nods to Alan, who puts the tray on the table and lifts his shirt. A third trout is taped there.*
**TAMARA:** You can start by assessing the fish.
FADE OUT. | ######[](#dropcap)
Hilary Flint grinned despite himself.
"*Clever girl...* So happens next?"
The red-haired Fae smiled and bent down to peck him on the cheek. "Now I go and you stay. That trigger is connected enough Gelignite to blow you and everything around you for twenty paces into ashes. Think well of me, love."
"Every second of every day," Flint replied, admiring the view as she moved towards the exit. "Oh, and Morgan?"
She turned, a sliver of a smile on her lips. "Yes?"
"You're still the same heartless bitch I knew when I was twenty- you've just gotten better."
"Crueler," corrected Morgan the Fae. "And you're still the same impetuous, reckless idiot I knew when I was three hundred. You've just gotten bolder."
"Bette-" Flint began to say, but she vanished in a whirlwind of feathers as black as coal. Instead he sighed and cracked his neck, and settled down for the wait.
Faith Alathir arrive some five hours later, her face etched with annoyance. "Where in the blazes were you? I was forced to listen to some Spriggan ambassador's drivel for what seemed like forever. I nearly was about to slap him just to get to shut up. The least you could've done was clodger up some excuse for me to remove mysel- *oh, shit.*"
Flint waved at her- with his free hand obviously. His other hand was red from the constant pressure placed onto the button, and it was obvious that the strain of maintaining the effort was beginning to take its toll.
"Take my advice, kid. When a beautiful woman shows up wearing nothing but a smile, don't take her up on an offer of sport and play."
"You got played," said Faith bluntly.
"I got played," agreed Flint. He'd dragged a blanket over himself so that at least he had some degree of decency, though it was obvious by the state of the bedroom that something very amorous had recently occurred.
"Now listen, Faith. According to an unreliable source I'm currently holding down the trigger to enough explosive to blow myself to kingdom come, and I don't have a disarming kit. And my hand's beginning to cramp."
Faith took a half-step back. "What are the chances it's a fake bomb?"
Flint shrugged. "Pretty good. But we're talking about a Elf who'd once placed a spellmine underneath a child's doll just to kill the parent. Her double-crosses have a dozen layers to them, and even her lies usually true. It's a fifty/fifty shot that it's real. I *really* don't like those odds."
"So what do we do?"
"*We* do nothing. *I* see how much longer I can hold this and how far the pieces of me are likely to fly if I'm right. ....I don't want to be right." | 2017-01-05T10:18:01 | 2017-01-05T10:11:42 | 2,579 | 13 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | James found something very interesting on his thirteenth birthday. He had come upon a magnificent golden watch which glittered like a thousand stars, lying in the street. He looked round to see if anyone had dropped it, but if anyone had, they were long gone. Besides, the watch looked to be worth as much as the sum of his family's belongings, and selling it would bring more money than the original owner would likely offer as a reward. James decided to keep the watch for himself and bring it to his home, a lower-story apartment at the bottom of the City.
The City was comprised of many tall log-framed buildings stretching upwards of fifty floors, marvels of engineering held aloft by zeppelin-supports, rubber tanks of helium like arms straining to push the buildings towards the sky. They were above every floating walkway, supporting the plank paths with ropes. The top of the City had many skyports where airships docked, and several of the upper levels formed a Hub of commerce, with floors upon floors of shops open to the air, floating walkways bridging between them. Five massive wooden pylons supported the levels above, which were mainly residences of the upper class, the merchants and pilots. But below the Hub was a different story. Not much light filtered through to the bottom twenty floors of the city, creating a perpetually dark half-night lit only by candles in sockets on the walls and gas lamps in the less run-down places outside of the tenements. These tenements, making up the bottom ten floors of the city, housed the lower class at low cost but low quality- the ground roads were dirty and muddy and channels had been worn in them by the constant flow of filth running along the side of the streets. It was in this ignoble place where James and his family lived, in one of the fourth-floor rooms, which contained five beds, a basic kitchen, and a bathroom that drained into the channels on the streets.
James returned from the street into the slums where his family (and many others) lived. He strode quickly up the three flights of stairs to his family's room, the golden watch in his pocket. James entered his apartment and was greeted with a loud, “Surprise!” from his three younger brothers and his father, who was holding a small cake. James ran up and hugged his father, nearly causing him to drop the cake. “Dad, wait till you see what I found today!” His father set the birthday cake down on the table and asked what it could possibly be that James had found. James pulled the beautiful watch out of his pocket for his family to see. His father looked at the watch's face and remarked that it was off by a few minutes. James turned the dial at the top of the watch until the minute hand lined up with the one on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Suddenly the world blurred around him and spun for a few seconds until it settled back into the normal world, and James found himself standing in a different part of the room. The watch had transported him a minute into the future, in what seemed like seconds. James amazedly shared the experience of the trip with his family. Before his father could stop him, James wound the wonderful watch backwards several times. The world spun again for a minute or two until James found himself three hundred years ago, in the middle of a tropical jungle that had stood where the City would later be founded. James looked around in wonder, listening to the birds chirp and watching the monkeys in the treetops, until a huge jaguar leapt out of the foliage and promptly bit his head off. | After weeks of making phone calls we finally found someone that could open the safe. They arrived around 9am and by 7 that evening the doors started to move. The lock had finally freed but the hinges were off balance and the doors would not open more than a inch. The locksmith went to his truck to get his pry-bar. Suddenly my alarm went off and in a wave of panic I reached over and hit the snooze button. Did I dream that I finally opened that safe? I walked into the other room to check on the safe. From across the room and over the couch I could tell that the door was wide open, but I couldn't see inside from this angle. Suddenly my alarm went off... I start to wonder if I will ever wake up? | 2014-12-21T18:36:37 | 2014-12-21T18:01:37 | 41 | 13 |
[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 | It was time for combat training, sounds harsher than it truly is. It just gives us a chance to use our sigils in a controlled environment. Personally, I always tried to come up with a reason not to participate, because unlike everyone else with their flame, skulls, bones, etc. My sigil was a plain circle, boring, unimaginative, unremarkable which is probably why so far, the teachers and trainers hadn’t bothered forcing me to participate regardless of how bad my excuse was… Until today...
Jake was first up, a good friend of mine with the sigil of a Rams head, similar in design to how Baphomet is portrayed but Jakes sigil was a counter sigil. Every blow he took regardless of what it was he could redirect back to his opponents without taking any of the damage himself, only downside is that his counters was limited to the medium of the attack. If he was shot he’d have to redirect the power back into the bullet to send it back to the attacker, if he was punched well that was easier. His opponent had a sigil that looked like spaghetti or a snake didn’t really pay attention as the boys fist went flying from him, stretching his arm to ridiculous lengths. The punch hit Jake and there was a brief pause in the world until the boy who attacked Jake started crying, his hand and arm back to normal but bruised and swollen.
Next up was Tobias, a horrendous bully whose sigil was that of an ant with a parasitic fungus on its head. His sigil allowed him to influence people, slowly but surely taking control. He used it quite often to manipulate people, with whispers of how he was in their head. Sadly our trainer had allowed us to choose our opponents and Tobias chose me...
“I’m not feeling well, I’ll pass, sorry Tobias” I said hoping it would help me.
Tobias murmured before replying in a half laugh “Ha, you’re just a coward you know I got you under my finger you boring nobody, you waste of space, you’re nothing to me”
I could feel his manipulation scratching in my brain, small whispers of having to fight back. I tried to ignore it, but Tobias kept murmuring and taunting until eventually I voluntarily let go.
“Fine, you’re right I’m nobody, I’m nothing, I guess I got no choice. I accept” With that the teacher rang the gong…
I felt sorry for Tobias, because for me my sigil kept me safe from what it did, for others not at all. I slowly walked up to him as people around us was talking amongst each other, Tobias was confused, everyone was confused. I kept walking.
“Tobias who is your opponent?” The teacher asked irritated as if Tobias just stood there for fun.
“I… I don’t know… I thought… I don’t know sir” Tobias answered quite flabbergasted. As I reach Tobias I let go of my sigil and everyone was in shock, Tobias even jumped back in confusion and fear.
“Who, what, how did you?” Tobias fumbled with the words, for him it made no sense as the memories didn’t fit.
“I am nobody, I am nothing just as you always said. My sigil might be a boring plain circle, unremarkable really. But it’s a symbol of the void, a symbol of nothing.” I said as I stretched my arm out towards him. “A circle you see can be filled with anything, it’s empty, it is nothing, just like you” I finished as Tobias disappeared and everyone started wondering what I was doing. You see, the ability my sigil grants is nothing, pure nothing, whatever I want can disappear from reality, its history wiped completely like it never existed to begin with, it was nothing. As I mentioned though my sigil protects my mind from it so while to everyone else Tobias had never existed I still remembered him same with how I could appear and disappear, I just removed my own existence for a moment as I had moved towards Tobias. My mind is protected because of the sigil… Tobias mind was not…
I let go of my sigils power and Tobias materialized again, in a vegetative state, standing, drooling and finally collapsing on himself. Apparently, nothing tends to break peoples mind as it’s a truly unfathomable phenomenon, I mean there’s a word for nothing which is something, but what is truly nothing?
&#x200B;
Thank you for reading. :) | Din isn’t normal. He knows it. Everybody knows it. He doesn’t talk. He never does anything without instruction. He doesn’t fight back. That makes him an easy target, of course.
“Hey! Nobrain! That’s what your empty circle means right?” Barley’s gang ripples with laughter. Din doesn’t reply. He rarely does.
“Hey!” The fire strikes Din’s face. A different spot than this morning’s lashings, which is fine. “Answer when people talk to you, ya autistic freak!” This time it’s ice that stabs at Din’s cheek.
“That’s mean.” Din’s frail voice stops Barley’s assault. “You shouldn’t use autism like an insult.”
“Yeah? What are ya gonna do about it?” A kick to the groin brings Din to his knees, a hand grabs his wispy hair. Barley lowers his face to Din’s. “Watcha gonna do, huh? Hmm?” Din is dragged back to his feet.
Barley headbutts him. That’s a mistake. All the universe, no the multiverse is laid before him. Each of the innumerable stars, a tiny point, an infinitely small circle that’s barely visible, and yet you can still see the endless fractals embedded in each one. And the infinite void extends forever, making each mind-breaking point of light seem like just one electron on a vast beach of lead. He sees every star and every bird, every planet and every fly, every galaxy and every atom. Every beautiful aspect of his repulsive existence is laid before him like a feast.
Barley is silent, his eyes blank. Just like the new sigil on his head. | 2020-02-26T08:28:41 | 2020-02-26T07:59:42 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] Superman announces on the news that he is going to kill each person on earth, one by one, until humanity is wiped out, in alphabetical order.
What would happen? What would happen from a local to a worldwide level? | "I'm not sure why you are helping me with this, Bruce, you know I'll have to kill you eventually too." Superman said, hovering above the supercomputer in the bat cave. A very aged batman sat in front of it, typing at a rapid speed.
"I understand why you're doing it. Maybe it will shock the world out of their reliance on heroes, or maybe it will make them realize they have bigger problems than arguing over gun control and healthcare." The old hero coughed, shaking his whole body with the force of it. "Besides, I missed out on my life by helping people. Alfred's gone, the rest of the kids are gone, each has their own lair or cave or whatever, and I never had enough time for a family, being batman and all. Call me a bitter old man, but I'm done caring for these people."
"I was always too busy saving the day to make Lois happy. We never started our family either, and now....now she's gone." The Man of Steel looked away from the other hero, not wanting to cry in front of his lifelong friend.
"Interesting choice, though, going in alphabetical order. Lots of people in the world. You could just destroy a city or two at a time, make things faster."
"I want them to know its personal. That I'm trying to kill one person. I want them to know fear."
"List is done processing now. Glad the old bat computer can have some use, it doesn't get to do much anymore but collect dust." Batman grabbed a small device from on top of it, and turned it on. The screen glowed with a single name and an arrow pointing east. "This thing will pull up the next person on your list, and show their general direction. If you come back at some point I can update your list, can't have some Aaron Aardvark getting born halfway through the process and ruin your day." He tossed the device to the floating kryptonian, who caught it easily.
"I can see why our enemies always had such trouble with you. You are smart and devious enough to be one of them."
"And you pretty much are one now." Bruce said, slowly standing with the help of a cane. "I'm sorry things didn't work out better, Clark." His thumb hit a small button on the grip of the cane, and a needle sprung out of the device in Superman's hand, piercing his skin and injecting a green liquid into his body. The former hero plummeted ten feet to the ground, landing in a writhing heap.
"What...what did you do?" He screamed in agony.
"You gave me kryptonite to make sure you never went out and did this very sort of thing. I'm your friend, Clark, but I can't stand by and let you do this. I was hoping there was some...sense I could talk you into, but hearing you now...you're too far gone." He slowly walked towards Superman, cane echoing loudly through the cave.
"Why...help.....them? They've....all.....broken....your....rules.....your....trust."
Batman unsheathed a green-edged blade cleverly hidden in the cane. "Because, Clark....Even I have to break my rules sometime. I'm the hero they need, not the hero they deserve." He plunged the sword into Superman's heart, and twisted it. He pulled it free of the lifeless body, and threw it aside. Bruce sunk down to the ground next to his former friend, and shut the man's eyes. Quietly he whispered.
"I am batman." | "I'm sorry, but Mr. Mxyzptlk wants to be the first in line at the DMV. If I don't do this, the entire planet is at risk" The Man of Steel shrugs apologetically to Aaron Abner, the first on his kill list.
"Wuh-What about Aaron Aardvark?" Aaron pleaded "Or, or, I bet there's some Swedish guy out there with three A's, those Swedes got some crazy names"
"It'll only delay the inevitable" Superman said solemnly as his eyes burned with red heat "This won't hurt"
"WAIT!!!!" from down the street came running a short stocky woman with orthopedic shoes and glasses on a chain. Superman turned his attention to her as she approached, gasping for air
"Superman...huff, huff...I work for the DMV and...huffff...we can just change the alphabet to start M X Y Z and so on...OOOHHFFFF"
Superman's eyes turned down and his face softened "Oh" the red left his eyes and went to his cheeks "I hadn't even considered that" | 2015-07-12T23:51:26 | 2015-07-12T21:12:47 | 295 | 80 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did. | “Todd!... Todd!...Todd!”
Todd’s eyes opened slowly. Todd let out a groan. As he fixed his glasses on his face. He almost forgot where he was.
“Wake up.” It was Ms. Stewart, his history teacher.
“And stop drooling on yourself nerd” Carson, the school bully who seemed to only be happy when he was beating on Todd, called out from across the room.
The class erupted in laughter. At this point, Todd felt almost numb to the embarrassment.
“Turn your books to page 161 and take out your notebooks.” Ms. Stewart continued.
“Get me out of here.” Todd thought to himself. Todd hated school, an unremarkable student, he would certainly rather be anywhere else besides Washington Hills Middle School.
Ms. Stewart rose from her chair and turned to face the whiteboard. She begins to write in marker, “The Aftermath of the Ameri-”
*Bzzzz* a phone vibrates.
“Turn it off.” Ms. Stewart said without turning around.
*Bzzz Bzzz*
*Bzzzzzzzzz*
“Are you guys kidding me?” Ms. Stewart turned around, visibly annoyed.
*Bzzzzzz* Ms. Stewart’s phone rings in her desk
*Bzzzz* *Bzzzzzz* *Bzzz Bzzz* *Bzzzzzzz*
Suddenly, All the phones in the room start going off, the pre-teens almost in unison look down at their phones. Eyes wide in disbelief. Tension filled the room.
Todd looked down at his phone. “NASA Expecting Critical Asteroid Impact” “President Declares State of Emergency, Martial Law in effect.”
“Is this true?” Molly Jackson, phone in hand, called out.
Ms. Stewart looked up, white as a ghost, she didn’t know what to say.
“School is dismissed.” an unfamiliar anxious voice chimed in over the loudspeaker.
The kids looked at each other blankly.
The kids got up from their chairs, and what first started out as a brisk shuffle out of the classroom, soon devolved into an all out stampede down the hallway towards the exit.
The sound of yelling, footsteps, panting filled the air.
10 minutes had passed, the building was nearly empty.. but Todd.. Todd was still in his seat. Eyes locked on his phone, “NASA reports Asteroid Aa-r12 has made an unexpected turn and is now heading directly towards Earth, NASA expects potential critical impact in North America within the hour.”
For a brain that was usually functioning internally at 100 mph, Todd’s inner voice was silent for maybe the first time ever.
Todd silently got up from his chair and began to walk for the exit, mind still empty.
Outside he is met by the brisk fall air. He felt sick, he wasn’t sure if this was even real life. The roads looked like ghost town, not another person in sight.
His brain still empty, he turned towards the direction of his house and began walking.
Death? Todd had never thought about dying. In reality how many 12 year olds have?
Todd has been a good kid, he didn’t bother anyone, maybe he played too many video games, but he thought he was alright. He certainly wasn’t his older sister, bad grades in high school, sneaking out to meet boys, coming home drunk, BUT she never got yelled at, no just him. His hands clench. He never even snitched on her, but that didn’t matter, nope! She wasn’t nice to him! Nope never, she always called him a dweeb, hid his Gameboy, made jokes about his new glasses. His fists grew tighter. No. Out of everyone, he didn’t deserve to die, he had been nice to people. He tried to do the right thing.
He walked into his house, his parents and sister were arm in arm on the couch..praying? PRAYING? What a joke he thought to himself, they hadn’t been to church in YEARS! Todd stared at them, his Mom’s head popped up. “Todd honey, come here”, she motioned for him to join. He looked at her for a second but he just turned to walk upstairs.
Storming up the stairs he thought to himself. Oh now they’re nice to me. Now they’re nice. When we’re about to die they decide to be nice to me? Well no, forget that. NO. FUCK THAT. Todd grinned, he felt slightly liberated who's going to punish me WHEN WE’RE ALL DEAD.
Todd walked into his room, the baseball bat his dad bought him this past birthday even though he asked for an Amazon Kindle so he wouldn’t have to keep going to the library, caught his eye. He knew his dad wasn’t proud of him because he wasn’t an athlete like him. He asks for a kindle, he gets reminded he’s a “nerd”. His sister comes home drunk and she gets a convertible.
He rips off his glasses and picks up the bat, he wasn’t going to die. That was, atleastt least not without making a point.
He walked downstairs, his parents and sister look at him. “Todd, come here” his mom repeats. Surprisingly calm, maybe those miserable people were happy to die.
“No.” Todd answered sternly, opened the door and headed outside.
Sitting there in the driveway was Michelle’s white Audi. His whole body filled with anger.
He approached it, he swung. *BANG* he took out a headlight.
He felt euphoric. He swung again. Denting the hood. His heart pounding, never before had he felt so powerful, so relieved, so alive.
“TODD WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” A voice behind him rang out.
Todd hopped on the hood, and began swinging, breaking the windshield, denting the hood. Swing. Swing. Swing. He let out a manic laugh. “HAHAHAHAHAHA” he was loving it. A feeling of sadness overcame him, why had he waited to die to start living? But he ignored it, too late now, he kept swinging.
“TODD! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHAT THE FUCK.” It was Michelle.
“Suck my ass Michelle.” Todd snapped back, leaving Michelle with a stunned, blank face.
His family's voices drowned each others out as they began to yell at him, it was gibberish to Todd, he was seeing red.
Still beating on the car, avoiding his parents attempts to rip him off, Carson’s house caught his eye. He jumped off the back of the car and beelined for Carson’s house.
He slammed on Carson’s door.
Carson opened the door. “What do you want you fag.” Carson said. *CRACK* Todd punched him right in the nose.
“What the fuck you little shit, I’ll kill you”
Carson tackled Todd. They began to roll on the ground punching and kicking.
Todd knew he should’ve done this years ago.
The boys were ripped apart, it was Todd’s dad, followed by his mother and sister both in tears.
“Todd what the fuck is your problem.” Todd’s dad was grabbing him hard on the back of his neck.
“NASA said we’re all dead fuck you.” Tears were running down Todd’s face as he tried to break free from his dad’s grasp.
Todd’s dad pauses. Carson chimes in, “No you little fucking loser, they said they made a mistake.”
Todd stopped, his heart dropped, he looked blankly at his family, “What?”.
| The end of the world is one of them things that most people have trouble dealing with. It is...what's the word...inevitable, I've always felt. At some point in time in someone's life, the planet Earth will no longer exist. That is an undeniable and inescapable fact. It could happen one hundred years from now when some science experiment causes some world wide catastrophe, it could happen billions of years from now due to the sun expanding, or the universe collapsing, or whatever space wide disaster is waiting. Or it could happen tomorrow with the arrival of rock big enough to make the one that killed the dinosaurs look like a damned pebble.
Point being, it's going to happen, but dammit, some of us become fascinated by the end, even if we try to claim otherwise. Look at our past. Any time we have anything close to an 'apocalyptic event', seers and sages who claim wisdom will tell the great tales of how they knew the end was coming, how if you had simply followed their wisdom, they'll tell you exactly why this date is the one fated by God to be the ending of mankind.
Of course, when the end is approaching and a vast majority of people have time to take this little tidbit in, the way they react is...unique. First off, you've got the religious types. Not the ones who actually claim prophecies and such, I mean the type who actually believe in what the holy books say, the true ones. Honestly, they're the most peaceful bunch it seems when the end times are upon us. They lived good lives. Took care of their neighbors and friends and family, treated each other with respect. What's their reward? Some crazy bastard with a gun and a car decides that he's going to recreate his favorite video game and see how high he can raise the kill count. "Might as well send them early" he said, before what was left of our police ended him.
Then there's the types like Mister and Missus Mason down the road. They heard the news reports like the rest of us and decided that they were going to live their lives, heart failure and diabetes be damned. Went out on a road trip, packed their bags, emptied their fridge into coolers, said they were going out into the mountains and enjoy the things they couldn't in life. Last picture I got from ol' Dave before the cell towers went out was him and the wife, with the largest smiles I'd ever seen on their faces, a whole feast out and ready for them in what looked like a log cabin. Managed to find another group up there. I hope they enjoyed themselves.
Then you've got the absolutely bonker degenerates who think that now's the time to act like the Purge is in session. The end is coming, might as well kill my family and myself. Asteroid's dropping in, better rob the liquor store until its dry and the liver is dying. Rather than allowing their lives to end via the will of god or nature, they instead choose to end everyone else's on their own terms. Bastards like that are the reason why we're in the mess that's about to tip over.
...What about me? Well, my list wasn't too bad, what I needed to do. Called in from work, which was a good thing considerin' the bastards ransacked the place and killed the management when they tried to lay down the law. Got on the phone. Went through a list of people. Made my peace. Made sure debts were paid with others and made sure that if I was heading to the end, I wouldn't have to worry about no enemies waiting for me on the other side. Got my food ready, enjoyed myself a little bit, made sure the kids and wife were safe.
I've accepted that the end was coming. And to be fair, I'd rather get squished by a giant rock than shot with a bullet. But then, I heard it on the radio. Another fuckin' rock managed to break the whole party up, and now we're saved.
Saved. Bullshit.
I'm lookin' outside right now. I've got people fighting across the street for supplies. I've already had to put down a few people trying to barge down my front door for supplies. Family's scared, they ain't got any TV or video games to keep them company, and the batteries are just starting to run out on everything else.
Here's the thing. I don't have to make peace with what I did when I thought the end was coming. I have to deal with what everyone else did. The people who died, who made this mess happen? Their the ones who got lucky, and us here on Earth are being punished for staying. We've gotta fix their mess, and if we can't? Then hell, world's at its end anyways. | 2017-11-29T09:49:15 | 2017-11-29T09:21:30 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | Breathe in... breathe out. Slowly, steadily, quietly, so as to not startle the prey-a mature aurochs, lost and separated from the rest of its herd. It would feed the village well for a few weeks. It was the least I could do for them, I reflected as I gathered holy energy in my palm-they had been the ones to save me, after all.
The aurochs snorted again, and its head sharply glanced up, right at me. But too late-with a muttered incantation, a bolt of pure energy beamed forth and struck it in the head, a psychic lance instantly frying its brain and killing it. A quick and painless death. Even in my former life I saw no need for pointless cruelty.
With a heave and a grunt, I picked up the enormous carcass as easily as an ordinary man would lift a bag of grain and made my way to the small village, already smiling as I envisioned their delight in my head.
\------------
It was dusk when I finally got home. The children had dragged me into their games, and it had taken longer than I thought to butcher the great beast. Oh, well, all the better. Meant my stew would be all the richer from cooking.
It was then that I noticed something-there was a horse near my home. Odd, few enough folk traveled out this far, let alone someone with the wherewithal to purchase a steed as fine as this one.
I gave the horse an absentminded rub on the nose as I passed, reentering my humble little cottage... and coming face to face with a very familiar half-orc.
I blinked a little as I stared at Kuraz. "...well. Wasn't expecting company today, least of all you."
She smiled wryly at that. "Good evening to you too."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "It is, yes. Apologies, you... surprised me."
I gestured to the small table as I got to work removing my coat. "I have stew cooking, it ought to be done by now. Take a seat if you would, you look famished."
"One way of putting it. Been riding all day to get here..." She plopped down with a groan of satisfaction, clearly worn out from some long journey. "Nice place you got."
"Thank you." I got to work serving, snagging a few bowls and spoons from my kitchen and ladling up the fragrant stew. "I cannot say I built it myself, but I earned it. Helped the nearby villagers in a time of need, they thanked me by giving me shelter."
"Didn't expect the usurped God-Empress of all people to play hero," she noted, digging in with uncouth abandon. "Then again you were always a decent person, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised."
"Indeed. My goals of godhood were flawed, but you at least understand I did it out of a concern for mortalkind." I ate as well, the two of us falling into silence as the fire quietly crackled and night began to settle.
"...do you remember when we last met?" Kuraz asked, breaking the silence at last. I raised an eyebrow.
"How could I forget? The day you and your friends cast me down and taught me the error of my ways. Threw me right from heaven, burned me to a crisp when I reentered the planet." I chuckled a little. "Didn't even let me enjoy my divinity for a little bit."
"Heh. I'd say you enjoyed it a lot during that fight."
We both laughed a little, but it soon died down, and a more awkward silence blanketed the room.
"...I don't suppose you came here to chat."
Kuraz shook her head and sighed. "...I didn't, no. We... need your help."
I blinked in surprise. "...well now, that's... unexpected. What is happening that you need my assistance...?"
"There's another god rising, this one born a divinity. Wants to wipe out reality like you wanted to, but instead of rebuilding it into a more peaceful existence he just wants... nothingness. Oblivion. Says something about sin permeating everything and that peace can only be achieved through nothingness."
"And why have the gods not stopped him?"
"He's eaten them."
"...beg your pardon?"
Kuraz shrugged. "What I said. He's consumed their essences, grown stronger than we anticipated. He... he killed almost everyone else. Thurk, Remores, Tristain... me and Leccirith are the only two left that can *maybe* stop him. And you. I know we sealed away a lot of your old powers, but I know that if we can recover them, you can maybe deal with him. You overpowered even Ao, after all... surely you can deal with a rogue nihilist god."
This was... quite a shock for me, to say the least. I thought about it for a few moments, then sighed. "Have you tried looking elsewhere?"
"We have. None of the old legends are strong enough. You're our best bet."
"..."
I thought for a few moments. Remembered the old days, my glory days. The days when the powers of gods flowed through my veins and I was nigh-unstoppable. Truth be told... I much preferred this simple existence.
But I had no real choice in the matter.
I sighed and held up a finger. "One condition."
"Name it."
"Once this is all said and done, assuming that this god hasn't won, I want you to find a way to take all my powers. Every last bit of them. I want... I want to be an ordinary woman."
The half orc raised an eyebrow. "...why?"
"I've found I quite enjoy this life. It's simple, and pleasant. But I cannot feel truly like I'm a part of the village, seeing as... well, you know."
Kuraz thought for a minute, long and hard, before nodding. "Deal."
I smiled. "...thank you. Now. Let's get some rest, we can begin work tomorrow."
We both got ourselves ready for bed, Kuraz taking my bed and myself sleeping on the floor. As I drifted off to sleep, I could feel something brush against my mind. Something... dark. Angry. And anguished, oddly enough. But it was gone as soon as it had passed, and I fell into slumber, resting well before I embarked on a new adventure. | “Why are you here? You’ve done enough already.” I turned my back to him and began to prepare the doe for skinning.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should go farther away from the capital,” he said, his tone full of ridicule.
“You killed my son, my lover, and my closest friends. You chased my people back into that barren waste. I will ask again. What more do you want, ‘hero’?”
“You are the villain. You deserve to die.”
“So the man who killed men trying to scavenge for their families, massacred starving villages, and destroyed what little hope we had left wants to finally finish me? The ‘Dark Lord’ of Naros finally dead?” I chuckled. “Do it if you want. But there is a boy in the village who needs medicine. Let me help him first.”
“And spread your dark arts?” He raised his axe. “Not a chance.” He swung. I made no move to dodge. I closed my eyes, waiting for death. The sickening squelch of a pierced flesh. There was a scream, though not mine. I didn’t even feel it. I allowed myself to look, to see him one last time. To see his arm pinned to the wall by an arrow and the axe in the doe.
“What?” I looked around. I was still alive. And there was a cloaked figure in the doorway, bow in hand and missing an arrow.
“Sir, I came to help. I didn’t trust this man and I thought you were in danger.” He lowered his hood. He was one of the villagers down in Freyton, a sick boy’s father. Like I was.
“No! I should have known that this was a trap!” The ‘Hero’ was fuming. I, on the other hand, knew what I had to do.
“Gregor, let us sit outside. I believe that it is time that you should know the truth.” I left the crazed man in the hut and led the father to the outside fire. And I told him the truth. Nothing but the truth.
—————————————————————————————————-——————————————————————
“So… it’s true.” He stared at the fire. “You… are the Dark Lord.”
“Yes. And that madman…”
“Was the hero of legend.”
“I have completed the moonshade for your son. You can take it and I-“
“I will take care of the hero. You won’t have to worry. Even if you did lie about the war, I won’t let that madman kill you. You are better than him. You should have won.”
“And if some go looking for him?”
“We will lead them away. We will try to persuade them.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You are the one who saved my son from the wolves. You are the one who helped my family when no one else would. You are the one I am in debt to.”
“I am no debtor to anyone. Even the man in there.” I placed a vial in his hand. “One drop every moon. By the time the vile is empty, your son will be well.”
Gregor put me in a tight embrace. Then he let go. “Marco should be dead by now. There was enough nightshade on that arrow to take down any beast.”
“He will only be asleep. Now you should go. Your son is waiting.” I waved. He left. I returned to my shelter and bound the madman. “You will learn a lesson. Maybe you will kill that tyrant of a king. I hope you don’t. It would be best not to continue this cycle of war and death.”
——I challenge you to continue this story.
Find more stories at r/GlacioWrites | 2021-11-03T16:18:51 | 2021-11-03T15:13:26 | 190 | 85 |
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you." | **Day 3**
I sat down at one end of the long, metal table in the dining hall, close to the wall. Even though it was lunch time, there was noone else around. The other inmates had quickly learnt the health value of staying hungry now and again. I opened my juice box and looked carefully at the girl across from me.
"How do you feel today?"
"Okay."
After waiting, silently, for about a minute, I continued quietly:
"Is the voice still there?"
She nodded.
"Only the female one. I think she kept the rest away so I can sleep."
"And did you?", I asked.
"Yes." The young girl just kept staring down at her plate, saying nothing more. Her dark brown hair was hiding her expression.
"That's good." I added simply. "That's good for you", I repeated, this time a bit more loudly and more confidently.
"And I dreamt." She said. This was new. The first time she decided to share something on her own accord. Or say anything without me asking, for that matter. But she didn't keep going, so I gathered up my courage and enquired further.
"Do you remember the dream, what was it about?"
"Yes." She paused. "It was dark, before sunrise. There was a forest. And a mountain behind it. And... and the trees were on fire, and the mountain too. It was everywhere, and I could see the crackling wood, and smell the thick smokes. And wind, strong wind, like a tornado amid the inferno. There was rumbling, as if the earth itself was moving, trying to escape, to run away."
Another pause.
"The screams were the worst. They were everywhere. I couldn't tell where they were coming from, no matter how hard I looked. And I did look everywhere. It was a funny thing."
"Why did you think it was funny?" I thought I had to ask, after brief consideration.
"Because everyone was already dead, of course." She finally started eating and we spoke no more.
**Day 8**
She was already waiting in front of my cell by the time I was ready to go outside. That was a first. I've never been much of a morning person, it was usually the guards who kept prodding me to leave. So I was surprised to see her there, staying couple of feet away from the door, looking at the floor. Considering they must have unlocked the blocks not five minutes ago, I wondered if she had ran all the way here. Or maybe they didn't even bother locking her in the first place? I wasn't going to ask. But even if I wanted to, she spoke first.
"Did you mean what you said to me? Yesterday?"
"Yes."
"If not mine, then whose fault is it?"
"I do not know. But not yours."
"I... I dont understand it. It's so loud. They won't stop, she can't keep them quiet all the time. But if they are only inside *my* head, inside me, then they are *part* of me, aren't they? It's me, it's only me, it's always been me..."
"Those men made their choices and they did so a long time ago. What happened to them had nothing to do with you." I was never the philosiphical type, but I felt I was supposed to say something. Nothing good could come from her being upset. "We are the choices we make, and it was not your choice to start or do anything. No matter what the voices say, they are not you. Not all of you, not even a tiny bit."
She nodded. I still couldn't read her reactions, but I didn't know what else I could say, so I remained silent.
"There are still five more stories left." She pulled her old book with fairy tales from her jacket.
"Ok, let's go read one." I gently took her hand and lead the way to the dining hall.
**Day 12, shortly before midnight**
"LISTEN TO ME", I shouted. "HEAR MY VOICE. DO YOU HEAR ME." Now I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
"They are so loud. They are so loud. They are so loud." She was almost crying, with hands on her ears, her eyes closed, rocking her head back and forth. "Make them stop. Please make them stop."
"THEY ARE NOT YOU. THEY ARE NOT YOU" I knew I should have said something distinguishable, something she could recognize me with, something that could reach her. I was frantically trying to remember which was her favourite story.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me."
There was a subtle rumbling, coming from beneath the prison. I didn't hear it.
A window nearby cracked, and a strong wind started whistling through. I didn't notice.
**Day 13, just after midnight**
"Shut up. Shut up. *SHUT UP.*"
Outside, in the forest before the mountain, a spark flickered.
And then there was fire. | Oh my god.
It's been three days. Three days. I'm no hardened killer, but I'm not ashamed to say I've thrown up every hour on the hour. Not cause of the usual prison slop, mind you. This is about what I've seen, what I've heard.
I got lucky. Started a fight in courtyard, got the hole for three days. Hate the hole. Hole means darkness, solitude, fear. That was two minutes before it started. She started. Now, now the hole is paradise, the hole is heaven.
I only saw her once. She brushed past the cell, fingers whispering against the bar, leaving a red trail. She wasn't supposed to be here. No one was, not even guards come by for a chat.
"What you doing down here, girly?" I yelled, putting my best brave face on, holding my shaking hands behind my back. "What's going on up top?"
She turned her face to me, and I swear, my heart stopped. Those eyes. You could have seen arsonist, murders, rapists with kinder eyes than the black holes pouring out her head.
I threw myself against the back wall, putting as much space as possible. She pushed her face up to the bars, and bared her teeth. I don't know if it was a smile or what, but I couldn't get far enough away from it.
Hands outstretched, she reached for me, like the devil reaching for his favorite sinner. Something under her reached out too, clawed and dark, skimming across the ground. It was coming for me, oh god! It was coming for me!
Tears poured out my face. I couldn't even beg for my worthless life. All I could do, a grown man with more blood on his hands than I'll ever admit, and I cried as I felt her cold little fingers on my face, clawing into my skin. Into my soul. The blood was pouring and all I could do was scream.
Don't know what happened. Woke in the infirm of the prison next county over. Doctors tell me, I'm the only one out. They checked the bodies. No little girl, not even a little dwarf. Only proof to my story is the hand print. Doc says it matches to a girly's but the claws. No little girl comes with claws.
| 2018-02-12T01:22:40 | 2018-02-11T22:17:27 | 162 | 95 |
[WP] You wake up after experiencing a vivid, heart-pounding dream. You tell your partner, only to discover they’ve had the exact same dream. Your phone vibrates with a CNN notification-“The world is panicking: millions report experiencing the same sensational dream.” The dream identical to yours. | # Abort/Retry/Fail?
Brian jerked awake so hard he fell out of the chair and into the dog food bowl. Kibble went everywhere across the kitchen floor. "Well son of a-!"
The clatter of a falling chair on tile almost covered urgent footsteps on the stairs. "Brian? Was that you?" A moment later Shelly pushed open the basement door and stopped, eyes wide and robe held shut with one trembling hand.
"Yeah, sorry." He made a quick knees-palms-push back onto his feet and beelined for the sink. The cold water was nice on a sprained wrist. "Hell of a dream, fell out of the chair and straight into Max's dog bowl. Haven't had that one in a while."
He could hear the rustle of her robe as Shelly sat at the table behind him. Her voice held an odd note of concern. "Which one haven't you had in a while?"
Brian twisted the taps off, grabbed a towel and chuckled. "It's stupid, doesn't matter. It was from Before, we were all standing together in that big room in those thin paper suits." He rummaged in the freezer for some ice to put in the towel. "But right as I climbed into the pod all the screens lit up red and yellow with this giant notice that said-"
"-Error. Abort." Shelly finished, word for word in spooky sync. Her voice sounded thin, frightened.
He dropped the towel from suddenly nerveless fingers, bombshelling ice onto the tiles in jagged fragments. Brian couldn't care less, he was already across the room and leaning over the table. "*You had the same dream?*"
She grabbed his hands, brown eyes wide and fearful. "*Yes*. Exactly the same. The suits, lining up, getting in and then... just error. Abort. *Error. Abort.*" Worry lines deepened into crevasses around her eyes and mouth. "What does it mean?"
"I- I'm not sure."
"You're lying." She shook his hands once, gently scolding. "I know you better than that, honey."
"Okay." Brian admitted, pulling both hands back and running them through dark hair. "I *can't* be sure. Better?" He grabbed the kitchen chair and righted it, crunching spilled dog food under both bare feet.
"But you can guess."
"Maybe. It might still be a coincidence. It's not like *everyone* had that dream, maybe we both saw something that planted the idea. Or I said something, you picked it up and now we're both-"
Their phones chimed once each. Tiny little pings of death. Brian slapped his pajama pocket while Shelly dove one hand into her robe. Their hands come up in unison, scared faces outlined in the glow of bright screens.
Click, tap. Scroll.
He realized they were staring at each other again, the length of the table feeling like miles of open space. Shelly gave a long, shuddering breath and finally forced out the words. "Everyone." She waved the phone to indicate everything outside the kitchen. "We all got it."
Brian dropped the phone and cratered the table with his forehead. "Oh shit."
Small hands patted his neck and shoulders. "Talk to me. *Talk to me*. What does it mean?"
"It's a failsafe." He muttered into the scarred laminate without looking up. "Something's wrong with the system."
"Something like *what*?" Shelly's voice sounded close to breaking. "It can't go wrong. Not after this long!"
"I can't know, but it has to be catastrophic. 'Error, Abort' are the last two options on the menu. Those just don't come up randomly." He looked up at the kitchen light, steady and yellow, then around at the battered appliances nearby. "But it doesn't make sense."
She followed his gaze, focusing on every small detail. Framed wall pictures of them smiling and happy, dust gathering in corners where lazy afternoon sweeping didn't pick up. Nothing seemed wrong. "What? What doesn't make sense?"
Brian was still scanning, concern now drawing lines across his face as well. "If it were that catastrophic we would have seen something before now. Weird errors, random events or crazy patterns. Like thirty days in February, or bees disappearing. Or... or I don't know!" He jumped up and paced across the room to look out the window. "Everyone named 'John' forgetting their name. Something like that."
Shelly watched him carefully, trembling hands now clutched together. "What would that mean?"
He peered through the dirty glass into the backyard, cataloging everything on a lawn he fought with a mower twice a week. Nothing seemed out of place. "It would mean it's all breaking down. System failure, memory exhaustion or hitting the limit on processing speed. But it's not right. Admins would be forced out first to handle those problems."
He whirled suddenly. "Babe, quick: Have you seen news on your social sites about celebrities disappearing? Anything like that?"
"No. Nothing. Well, that North Korean guy, I guess?"
Brian went unnaturally still, face condensed in horrible thought. "No. No, he's not an Administrator. Jesus that would have been bad." He started opening cabinets, eyes drifting over canned food and cellophane packages. "Did we always have this much food? Are we missing anything? Pet supplies? Coffee?"
Shelly waved both hands in a helpless motion, her robe flapping around. "How could I know? Maybe? No? But honey, stop for a second and listen to me!" She drilled his back with a scared look. "If the system is failing *what happens next?*"
He paused, then gently closed the cabinet and stared into the distance. "I think... I think there would be a forced logout."
"*Forced* logout? Is that bad?"
He nodded once, curt and sharp. "Four fifths of us wouldn't make it. Not even enough to fix whatever happened, if the wrong people flatlined. It would be the end of the human race."
Shelly made a strangled sound deep in her throat. "But that's not likely, right?" Brain hesitated. "*Right*? You're scaring me!"
"Like I said: We would have seen signs. Things gone wrong, missing. Something."
There was a long pause that drew out to the breaking point. Brian only became aware Shelly was crying when a sob crept into the still air.
"Brian," she gasped, not bothering to wipe at her tears. "Where's Max? *Where's our dog?*"
---
/r/Susceptible | He stumbles through the city, steam rising from the sewer-vents melding into the clouds giving the world a smokey aura of mystery. Through the fog, the neon sign of the 'Heart O The City' hotel appears, piercing the night with its vibrant colors. He stops, lost. As he stands a flock of sheep wanders past, its shepherd whistling and directing the herd. He reaches out to pet one of the sheep, then jerks his hand back, electrified.
-----
Moirot started suddenly in bed before rolling around languidly, eyes closed, and bumping into Ketra, who let out a tired sigh. The two remain for some long minutes before Moirot got out of bed and wandered to the coffee machine of their studio apartment.
"I had the weirdest dream last night." Ketra said from under the covers. "Something about sheep."
"Me too!" Moirot spooned grounds into the machine.
-----
"You can't turn it off now," Ananke glared at Prof. Saturnin, "We're starting to make real progress, I mean serious progress. No group has ever done runs with this kind of detail before! We can implement more power saving measures, repeat more non-essential patterns--"
"We can't afford it, Ananke," Prof. Saturnin sighed at Ananke, "You knew at the beginning that my grant was only for three years of time, it's been five. I just don't have any more grant money to cover it. Don't worry, we can patch together a thesis with what you've got now."
-----
Ketra finally got out of bed, long tie-dye shirt falling to her knees, phone in her hand. Moirot, in plaid flannels, held a cup of coffee out to her without looking. But Ketra never took it.
"This is weird," Ketra mumbled, thumbing through her phone, "What did you dream about last night?"
"Sheep, I told you."
"No, I mean, exactly, was it night or day? Country-side or city? Color or black-and-white?"
Moirot told her about his dream. Ketra held her phone out to him with shaking hands
-----
"This is insane!" Ananke huffed, "I don't care about money or a thesis! This project is groundbreaking at so many levels, the latest snapshots are just... You wouldn't believe the kind of detail we're getting! It has to continue!"
"Welcome to Academia, Ana." The professor smiled sadly as he walked through the lab toward the terminals and took a seat at one. Ananke stood, hand on hips off to the side.
-----
"Woah," Moirot said as he slurped his coffee, "That's so weird."
Moira chuckled, "I know ri-i-i-i-i-ght!" Her voice broke into a strangely polyphonic octave and she clamped her mouth shut, eyes wide with surprise.
Moirot doubled over in a full belly laugh, but what came out was a mechanical "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha." He froze, shocked, and craned his neck to look up Ketra's 8-bit, chromatic shirt.
Ketra looked around the room in a panic, then slapped her cubical coffee mug onto the cubical countertop, "What's happening?!" She shouted.
The world began to shift more and more quickly, the transparent floor-to-ceiling windows faded into a pure, opaque blue. The zebra-striped couch took on a complex polygonal shape and a pure grey color, then a simpler, shape, then simpler, until a grey rectangle sat where it once was
Moirot screamed.
-----
"I'm sorry Ana," Prof. Saturnin put his arm around his student's shoulder.
"It's going to take years to run another simulation that long and with that kind of resolution," Ananke griped.
The two stared down at the [terminal](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) in the lab.
SYSTEM SHUTDOWN NOW | 2020-05-01T17:13:23 | 2020-05-01T16:34:50 | 178 | 11 |
[WP] A Necromancer falls in love with the hero of the land, and does their best to win them over, but the macabre nature of their magic makes every attempt end in horrific failure. Tell me the story of the nec-romancer. | ######[](#dropcap)
Rina knocked on the door, feeling her heart bubble over with excitement. He would like this gift; she was sure of it. She had spent three days getting the spell just right. Her fingers were covered in sores and blisters from failed attempts, but she couldn't feel the pain. Hearing no answer, she knocked again.
Finally, the door opened.
"What do you want?"
She simply stared at the man who held the door open, a stupid grin on her face. There was a reason Alexander was so revered, and a good part of it had to do with his looks. He was your classic Adonis: blonde hair, bright smile, strong jawline. She had never thought she would have fallen in love with someone like him. He was so different from her normal type.
But she supposed it was true what they said, how love knew no rhyme or reason. After he had saved her from the bullies at her college five years ago, she had fallen irrevocably in love with him.
"Earth to Rina." He snapped his fingers in her face.
He was only ever rude to her, but she didn't mind. She picked up the giant box from the ground and shoved it at him. "I know you'll like this gift. I absolutely know it." She couldn't help but jump a little in excitement.
The smallest hint of a smile graced his lips before it disappeared. He slowly opened the bow that tied the gift box together, then opened the lid. And his eyes turned a frosty hue that she'd never seen before.
"You dug Monty up?" He ignored the slobbering pile of bones that was currently jumping up and down in the box, whining and desperately trying to lick his face with a tongue it didn't have. Its tail bones wagged furiously, whacking the side of the box and making clacking noises as it jumped.
Rina took a step back, suddenly scared. Her heart dropped. "I thought...you said you missed him, and I thought wanted to see him again."
"Not like this!" The words came out almost as a yell, and Rina flinched. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She could never get anything right. Last time, she tried to give him a wand that would help things grow, but when he had touched it to his favorite plant, it had killed it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. She dashed away, unable to bear the look of anger and disgust on his face any longer. She shouldn't have hoped that they could somehow be together. Of course it didn't make sense. A necromancer and a hero. She was a fool, and she wouldn't make this mistake again.
She didn't stop until she felt branches slap at her face. She had unknowingly ran into the forest at the edge of town. Then she panicked. It was growing dark, and the trees all looked the same. She turned every which way, feeling her throat close up. Ever since she was a child, she had hated forests. A forest had swallowed her cat up, and she had never found him again.
She whipped around at the sound of a snapping branch.
"Who's there?"
There was no answer. Just the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. Her gaze darted around, and she desperately pressed her back against a tree. *Someone save me, please.* She felt as if her heart were about to explode in fear. She crouched down, hiding her face in her arms, and began to sob.
She cried for her lost love. She cried for her dead cat. And most of all, she cried for the fact that she was about to die in this godforsaken forest and no one would even know where she went or how she died. She cried so loudly that she didn't hear the man slowly approach.
It was only when he placed a hand on her shoulder that she jumped up.
"I can curse you!" she yelled, blindly batting her hands at the man with her eyes tightly shut. "I could easily kill you, don't think I won't!"
"But you won't."
She paused. "Alexander?" She opened her eyes to see blue eyes full of mirth. She felt relief wash over her. Adrenaline had kept her going, but she could feel her legs soften beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground.
He didn't hesitate to pick her up, gently placing her arms around his neck and carrying her princess-style. She looked up at his side profile, feeling his heartbeat against her ear. He really was handsome and kind. Her heart hadn't steered her wrong.
"You don't have to send me gifts, you know," he suddenly said. He glanced down at the girl pressed against his chest. She had her head down, her large doe-like eyes bright with unshed tears.
To be honest, he hadn't liked her at first. He had thought all the gifts were pranks. But after seeing her hands all blistered day after day and the way she desperately tried to please him, he realized that at some point, the dislike had turned to tolerance, then to an emotion he didn't know how to define.
"What?" She looked at him. He wanted to laugh at her dazed expression.
He cleared his throat and kept his gaze focused on the road ahead. "You can come see me without presents. It gets lonely as a hero sometimes, so some company would be nice." His eyes darted toward her face for a second.
But out of the corner of his eye, he could see her break out into a huge smile. "I'll come see you every day! And I'll bring cookies and brownies and no more dead things and..."
Eventually, the forest became quiet again as they walked further and further. A robin flitted around, then settled on a tree branch and opened its throat to sing.
It was spring, after all, and spring was the perfect season for finding love.
*****
r/AlannaWu | Time and time again, my advances were ignored, denied, rejected.
It was as it was supposed to be. Her standing high upon her pedestal, far above the littered bones that would have dared sully her radiant beauty. My world was a place of shadows, while she stood above it all, standing in the light of the sun. I could only look up at her, stare at her appropriately golden locks, her glistening armour that boasted of her purity. She didn't even acknowledge me, why would she? The scurrying creature that lay surrounded by a sea of death and decay, my drab and dirty cloak with hair as dark as the night. Why would her eyes ever grace me?
We were of different worlds, and I knew that. But that wouldn't stop me. That would not hinder me.
I raised the dead everyday in an attempt to spur some feeling of life into my still and cold heart. To have it beat by giving others life, and perhaps that is why I bent the rules of life and death. Perhaps that is why I raised those that simply wished to rest. For if I was dead on the inside, perhaps I could at least grant others life.
Of course *she* didn't see it that way. She was a paragon of light, and was far beyond my reach.
I could never reach, never rise to the pedestal, I would always be vermin that belonged to the shadows of below, while she basked in the light as a holy being.
But that didn't mean I couldn't bring her to me.
I would make her mine, I would bring her to my world and show her the stark beauty that comes from the giving of life.
The sea of bones would rise, coalesce into some semblence of human form and scratch on the pillar on which she stood.
More and more would join, an endless wave of piling skeletons that reached for the top, until it would topple and she would fall to the world below, to where she belonged with me.
And that is how I planted the seed of sedition and suspicion among the high ranking officials. Charges were set against her, and that was how Joan of Arc, oh how wondrously she shimmered, would be burnt at the stake.
I stole her remains for myself, and made her mine. Giving her back the life that was so unjustly stolen from her.
I could barely contain my excitement, as I worked my magic and breathed life back into her still body.
The way she rose, the way her skin glistened... but, she was not my Joan. Her eyes no longer holding the same shine that made me worship them, now vacant and absent of the true Joan.
She was a hollow shell that once held the woman I loved.
And I realised then, that the reason I loved her was because she was everything I wanted to be, it was how she was that made me look to her with awe and wistful longing. And I took it all away. All that made her Joan of Arc.
Still, I cradled her, but all I held were the remains of the woman I loved, but I knew, it was for the very same reason that she could have never loved me, that I loved her.
***
/r/KikiWrites | 2018-03-27T04:08:40 | 2018-03-27T03:32:15 | 78 | 11 |
[WP] you are the lawyer in charge of getting every single GTA character out of jail with no repercussions. | Jason leaned back into the sofa, placing his x-box controller on his lap. This new "GTA: The Courts" expansion game was proving a lot less boring than he'd expected. He'd already bribed the jurors, assassinated the prosecution team and found blackmailing material on the judge. Now, with a simple press of the button, he selected the option to deliver his closing argument.
"Your honour," began Jason's avatar, a corrupt, pixellated barrister called Mr Wiseman. "The case before you is no simple insanity plea. You have all heard the evidence. The defendant committed more than sixty first degree murders in broad daylight, in a rampage that lasted less than an hour. He commandeered cars, helicopters and speedboats, causing irreversible damages thought to total hundreds of millions of dollars, all without any discernible goal or purpose.
"These are clearly not the actions of a sane man, on that we can all agree. But I would like to submit a further theory. Not only was my client not in control of his own actions, but somebody else was."
There was murmuring in the courtroom, and Jason, watching from his living room, leaned forward again. He hadn't expected this.
"Many philosophers have postulated the idea that we are all but characters in the imaginations of fantastical authors of whom we have no conception," Mr Wiseman continued, punctuating his point with a clunkily animated gesture. "What if the defendant was spurred to such destructive and evil deeds not by his own fevered madness, but by the cruel, angry and childish whims of some godlike controller, manipulating his every action?
"You will ask for evidence of these claims, and of course I can provide nothing definitive. But I would ask you all to consider once more the crimes we have been brought here to judge today. Do we truly believe than any man, no matter how deranged, could be capable of even imagining the range of specific and extraordinary horrors that my client has perpetrated? In his past life, the defendant was an untrained thug, a man who has never shown any desire or ability to inflict anything worse than a casual beating when necessity arose. And yet on April 11th, he left a trail of butchery worse than any before seen in this country's history. I submit that even were his mind to have snapped, this man could not have conceived of even a fraction of his crimes."
Jason was staring wide-eyed now, fingering his controller. What the fuck was going on?
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your honour. I believe that my client should not merely receive an insanity plea, he should be acquitted altogether, for he is not the author of the misdeeds we are here to judge. Instead, I call for the arrest and trial of this man!"
Suddenly Jason's avatar turned and pointed directly out of the screen towards him, staring Jason squarely in the eyes. The entire courtroom gasped and followed his gaze. Jason's jaw dropped open, and shock soon turned to a cloying fear. He grabbed the controller and started mashing buttons. But the only result was a box with an error message: "Cannot Skip Closing Argument".
"Ladies and gentlemen, meet Jason Erikson," Mr Wiseman went on, continuing to stare directly out of the screen. Even with the blocky graphics, he wore an unmistakeable look of determination. Jason's heart froze. He wanted to turn off the x-box, unplug it at the mains, smash the TV screen, anything to end this. But he found his body was rigid with fear.
"Jason lives in a dimension removed from but very similar to our own. He perceives our reality purely as a game. For him, our very lives are nothing but trinkets for his own amusement. It was Jason who was in control of my client's body on that fateful day, coercing and urging it to perform its wanton acts using technologies beyond our comprehension. Until recently, he was even able to use the same process on me, causing me to undertake my own illegal actions during the course of this very trial, in a pathetic attempt to hide his own shame.
"Jason believes that we are merely a game, that our very lives are not real to us, and can therefore be expended without guilt. But still I ask you - even were we all mindless automatons, do we not take the form of living, breathing humans? What kind of wretched creature would, for simple entertainment, delight in the violent destruction of entities so very like himself, entities that simulate his own society? What kind of depravity must a mind reach to play and enjoy such a game?
I call on this court to immediately acquit the defendant and instead use every resource at its disposal to seek out and bring to justice the twisted monster that toys with us like rats in a maze. Jason Erikson, you have thought yourself immune to punishment for your wrongdoings, but I have this message for you: there is nowhere for you to hide. In your reality, or anywhere else, we will find you, and you will submit to justice." | "Today, my dear family, we give thanks. We give thanks and praise for all of our blessings." The stocky, clean-shaven man with a strawberry blonde ivy-league cut panned his eyes and glass of bordeaux from side to side, brushing off the mini-herd of children that engulfed him as they ran to the newly opened dessert table.
"We give thanks for methamphetamine addicts with countless questionable acquaintences who we must bail out of jail after being found wearing only brief underwear during a savage beating of two elderly German visitors, and for having been able to do so before the INTERPOL report comes in, because we kept that creepy hacker who has people assassinated to make out money off the stockmarket out of jail. We give thanks for the blessing of young men who built a millionaire's life for themselves by stealing luxury cars who continue to steal cars anyway, and seek our aid in cleaning their finances, helping all to prosper. We ought to praise and worship in thanks for our colleague here with his family who creates prosperity for all of us with his legally innovative endeavours." The top defense lawyer in the city paused for effect, making eye contact with as many as he coulde.
"But we ought not forget the little things. The men who mercilessly stomp sex workers to death without provocation, or the vengeful white knights who then castrate and murder these men. The people who commit armed robbery and murder of stores for mere hundreds of dollars, or for those who do the same to individuals for less than twenty. To all the parachuting machine-gun murderers, the men and woman who ride motorcycles and jetskis into crowds with shotguns, the blowers up of busses, the people who steal fighter jets and terrorize the entire state without even a grain of political motive, the acheivers who take tanks downton for the lulz. Let us raise our glass to all of them, and thank them for enabling us to have time together such as this with our beloved family and friends. Hail Satan!" The patriarch raised his wine glass with one hand, and the knife he had been holding at the throat of a lamb with the other.
The party's attendees responded, taking turns tracing inverted crosses onto the forehead of the next person in line to the response of "Lucifer be praised!" | 2015-11-12T07:45:28 | 2015-11-12T07:33:38 | 136 | 22 |
[WP] There is one Ironclad rule in the world: If you have powers, you are probably going to be a Hero or Villain. You have some extremely powerful abilities, but you said you never wanted to be a Hero. Now everybody is convinced you want to be a Villain, and won't stop trying to "save you from evil" | “Stop it, asshole!” I screamed, my right arm cradling my pained left, as I backed away from my attacker. “The hell is wrong with you? Why are you chasing me?”
The terrifyingly beautiful figure in front of me frowned softly. She levitated in the air, graceful and untouched by the world, and she slowly edged closer. A corona of brilliant red light surrounded her, the power at her fingertips like a beacon in the darkening street.
“You’ve made your choice, Benjamin. I will not suffer a Villian to roam free.”
“I’m not a villain, you psycho! What part of that don’t you understand?!”
Her frown deepened, and her slow advance stalled.
“You have powers. I know this. Yet, in the past, I asked of you - will you not join us? Thrice, you rejected my graces, and instead turned to evil.”
“For the love of…. I’m not evil! I literally want to stay out of it! I want you all to just leave me alone! Just because I’m not one of your Savior team doesn’t make me evil!”
“Lies,” she said evenly, almost emotionless. “You have powers and would do nothing with them? None could turn from the allure. Lies and misdirection, and nothing more.”
“I can’t use them! I just… I can’t! I literally cannot! For god’s sake, why is this even something I have to explain?”
“Cannot?” Finally, she showed some reaction beyond distrust - even if that reaction was something more akin to surprise. “Your powers - they cannot activate? Or are dangerous to yourself? We will train you, for certain. I myself needed many years before I could exert such a level of control over my Star-Powered Beam Ray ability.”
Within moments, her accusations had started to sound like that familiar old sales pitch.
“No, no! I just… I don’t want to kill anyone! I can’t use my powers because I don’t want anyone to get hurt! It’s horrible!”
“You would not kill?” she questioned, now truly befuddled. “A noble notion, one of which several of my colleagues share, though admittedly one I do not follow myself.”
Her gaze turned hard once more.
“That is no excuse to avoid the Saviors. Your excuses fall flat once more.”
“No, you don’t understand! I can’t use it without killing people!”
“So you can activate it, and each time you do, you can’t help but bring yourself to murder those around you? You hide from your own ability, as you… What? Fear your own bloodlust? That sounds like the making of a villain to me! I tire of your lies! Your games are over, you treacherous fool!”
The corona of light brightened, and she lifted into the air once more. She lazily extended her right hand, the light concentrating to the tip of her finger. I’d seen this before - online films that bystanders had captured on their phones as the heroes and the villains clashed. I had seen it as she pursued me down the block. A beam would lance out, burning a clean, precise hole through anything in its path.
I stopped backing up. I straightened my shoulders.
“Please, stop,” I said firmly.
“I will suffer not a villain to roam free,” she claimed, her voice even once more.
“I’m not a villain,” I countered.
“I will not suffer a coward, either.”
“I don’t want to kill,” I pleaded. “But I won’t let you kill me.”
She began to flourish her hand, a grand sweeping gesture that would culminate in my termination.
In less than a heartbeat, I extended my hand, closed my fist, and yanked it downwards. My gesture took less than a fraction of a second.
Lightfire crumpled. Her torso imploded, her limbs flailing horribly, her body mangled and destroyed. She was dead instantly, and the half-second it took her corpse to fall to the ground felt like an eternity.
There was no sound. No light, no explosion, no shockwave, not even a cry from the poor, stupid woman. She was, and then.. She was not. She had been, and then a corpse remained.
There would be no evidence of what had happened here, of how she had died. A dark street, no physical contact - thunder rumbled overhead, and even if a stray hair had fallen from my head, the rain would wash it away before the end of the night.
I turned, pulling up my hood, and quickly began walking away - not towards home, just in case any were watching.
I cursed myself - what a wretched, disgusting thing I was born as. I cursed the dead woman, damn her and her blinding fanaticism. Damn the heroes and their rhetoric and black-and-white views, damn the villians for cursing me with pursuers. Damn the city, damn the media, and damn the public and their fixation with the great game.
The rain started, and I trudged through the night in misery. | I love the idea that absolute psychopaths and megalomaniacs end up being heroes, while sane and well adjusted people who just want to live a normal life get assaulted then arrested by egocentric, power-mad, ideological fanatics high on inflicting violence and destruction as nothing more than state sanctioned vigilantism.
Adults dread waking up and finding out they have acquired powers, because they know that the next knock on their door means imprisonment or enlistment and no in between. All attempts to escape the near religious Hero organization enforcing "Justice" and "Righteousness" upon all power holders are ultimately futile, with members wielding powers that ignore time/space continuums, causal relations, and near omniscience and abusing, for the sake of the "doing the right thing".
Parents are equally afraid, as their children are taken from them, and automatically enrolled in their Hero academy, and those who fail to adapt, or who resist their indoctrination are all deemed potential villains, and locked away, never to be seen again by their parents, that is, until they "choose" to become heroes.
To me, waking up and hearing about the stories on the news of some random person waking up with powers are worth a chuckle. If the person doesn't resist, The Hero Organization welcomes a new member, who is "happy" to become a Hero, and well, if they do resist, it's primetime television for the most part, like old television shows of cops chasing after criminals, except with sometimes unnecessary and overly destructive means.
But all of that came to an end today. I never thought it would happen to me, I kind of regret being so smug when The Organization came into our office a couple weeks back to nab Ellen, and laughing at her horrified face as she was taken in power restricting handcuffs screaming and crying that she didn't have powers, and it was all a mistake. By now, The Organization should probably already know about me, what with their precogs, their clairvoyance, their time travelers, and power detection mooks patrolling the streets and air. Time to figure out whether or going to be on the news as the next fantastic chase scene. | 2022-10-04T23:02:06 | 2022-10-04T22:30:46 | 75 | 49 |
[WP]: "I'm not special at all just average," you said. The scientist scans you and replied: "You don't understand, there is no record of you in any other multiverse. All the choices you have made are the only choices available to you." | "The only choices available to me?" I asked the scientist, who just told me that I am one of a kind in the multiverse, and that all the choices I've made are completely unique.
"Well, this is unprecedented. Everyone has multiple branches of butterfly effects, living and dying, creating and destroying. But the patterns are there, and measurable. You... you are an anomaly, and every choice you make is the only choice available, for if you could have possibly made any other choice at any given time, there would be an alternate universe that would have shown it." The scientist says.
"So whatever I do is inconsequential? Has no grand meaning to the reshaping of the universes destiny, or even the bringing of happiness to others?' I posit, feeling like a train on a single track, unable to turn left or right.
"On the contrary... you, I believe, are an anchor. Every universe is bound to various constants: gravity, electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear forces, etc. I believe you are a constant for this universe. And with that, your death would result in the death of this reality. You are, for lack of a better explanation.... the reason everyone and everything exists." The scientist says, trailing off.
I stare at the floor, elbows on knees and fingers interlaced.
"Did the universe, this universe, exist before I was born?" I say, trying to poke holes in his theory. I am not a God, and even if I was, gods aren't bound to set plans. Free will has to mean SOMETHING.
"That... is tricky. Yes, but from your birth there has been no divergence in your universe, no new options in the multiverse. At times we thought everyone in this universe was an anomaly, but others continued to live and die and create new realities, until we found the record of your birth. Everyone exists everywhere from one moment to the next, but you have never existed anywhere else, except here, and thats startling. You've anchored this universe, and it's literally going nowhere else other than wherever you choose. We really don't know if that means it's a set course or if the universe literally revolves around you, but it is fascinating." The scientist continues.
"So... how can you test all this?" I ask.
"I come from an alternate universe that split 25 years back when a man wiped ice cream off his hands, and that momentary distraction delayed him from walking into the street and getting run over. The driver in all other instances became deeply distraught, never reaching his full potential, and died relatively meaningless. In my universe he invented transdimensional observation, which had already been invented in other universes, but his had the added benefit of being able to travel between universes, rather than merely observe, which is how I'm here."
My mind is blown. An insignificant event drastically altering a universe time.
"We have taken others into mine and other universes and observed changes resulting from there arrival, so we know its not anything unique about anyone else from this universe. You however seem to ground this universe."
My head was getting cloudy and tight, and a dull pain was developing behind my eyes, which I rubbed. It was all so much.
"If I left... to another universe.... would this universe cease to exist, or go back to a state of endless possibilities?" I asked.
"We believe so, however there is no way to be sure. Your universe is quite unique in that the 34 years you have been alive, all the decisions that have built up from the entirety of your population have resulted in a very unpredictable and one of a kind timeline." The scientist continued.
"When did you first observe the largest divergent point that is unrepeated?" I asked, fearing I knew the answer.
"Well, many of your childhood actions were of relatively little consequence in the grand scheme of things, but immediate changes started to compound and multiply the moment you fell into that gorilla enclosure and resulted in the death of Harambe." | “I could choose to punch you in the face right now, but I decided not to,” I replied.
“On the contrary,” said the scientist, “you see, what you think of as decisions are really the result of electro-chemical processes that take place in your brain, so while you may think about different things that your body is physically capable of doing, it’s a foregone conclusion what you will ultimately do.”
“I see. So free will is an illusion then?” I sighed.
“It appears so. At least for you anyway.”
“So I’m just a fleshly automaton? Do I have no soul?”
“That doesn’t follow that you have no soul. Even if you can’t will your body to make any choice besides the one prescribed by your physiology doesn’t mean there is no essence of you which feels the pains and joys of that body. Consider yourself a cosmic observer, reading the novel of your life. On the plus side, don’t feel bad about your failures- there was no other choice you could have made.”
And with that I went home with a new perspective on life. | 2021-01-08T21:47:59 | 2021-01-08T21:01:34 | 2,244 | 24 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | The Choice was made known to the world by those who had died but were revived. They all told the same story; when you died, you could choose either Heaven or Hell. Knowledge of The Choice changed the world, but not for the better. What did it matter what you did in life if you could just choose where you went in the end? So those who had loose moral compasses tended to tip towards the terrible.
My life was fairly normal but I would dabble in theft, lies, and drugs when the situation arose. When I killed that little girl though, my life was forever altered. It had been an accident, I was high off my mind on something, I don't even remember what, when I drove into her as she tried to cross the street. The screams of her mother, the blood on the pavement, the screech of my tires as I sped away... All of it was imprinted in my mind like a never ending movie on repeat.
I lived my life well after that. I volunteered, I gave to charity, I even opened a foster home for troubled children so that they wouldn't follow the same path I did. I became a pillar in the community, always a strong compass leading others towards good.
By all accounts, the majority of my life was lived well, but when I finally died, surrounded by my friends and loved ones, and I gazed upon the two doors presented to me, one of golden filigree, the other hard iron and rust, hesitation washed over me like a wave.
The little girl flashed before my mind, the sounds and smells of the scene caused tears to leak from my old and tired eyes. Yes, I had lived well after the accident, but I never forgave myself. Nothing I could do in my life would correct the grievous wrong I had committed that day.
Perhaps if I had been given this choice all those years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated, and would have leaped at the chance to escape my terrible fate, but now... now I can see and understand the weight of my choices that day.
Taking a shuddering breath, I grasped the cold, hard handle, and opened the door. Wiping the rust from my hand onto my pants, I stepped through and was greeted by a grey room occupied by a small figure.
I looked into her soft brown eyes and told her what had been haunting me my entire life.
"I'm sorry." I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry."
As she smiled gently at me, the weight of my guilt began to lift from my shoulders. When she slipped her small hand into mine, leading me back towards the door I had entered, I understood The Choice. Yes, we could choose between Heaven and Hell, but that did not mean we would escape judgment. It did not mean our choice would be respected if we were not deemed worthy by those we had wronged.
"I waited for you." She said, her voice was sweet but determined in a way only a child's could be. "I knew you'd take that door. I'm glad I waited."
"Me too." I replied huskily as brightness filtered from the opened door into the room. Squeezing my hand in encouragement, she led me through into the light.
| I smirked. Now wasn't this ironic. After finally falling to the demons from hell, I get to choose whether to finally take my eternal rest, or continue to *Rip and Tear*
Now why the hell would i go to heaven.
The Doom Slayer walked in through the gates of hell.
The second slayer's testament would begin to be penned that day. | 2018-08-13T09:16:06 | 2018-08-13T09:08:57 | 341 | 82 |
[WP] After a 1000 year slumber, the ancient dragons emerge once more... and find that they really like the modern world. | Flaerus rolled over in the warm sand, getting it into all the little crevices between his scales and perfectly scratching that itch right where his wing met his shoulder. He let out a contented bellow of relief, so relaxed that he accidentally torched a nearby palm tree that hung low over the bay. With all of his itches satisfied, he rose from his wallow and waded into the warm, gentle waters of the nearby bay. "Remind me again why we *ever* lived in dreary, rainy, old England?" he asked his companion. "Instead of our own Caribbean island?"
Margena roused from her nap at the question, and upon seeing her friend cavorting in the bay, decided to join him. She stretched out her wings to their fullest extent, so far that she nearly knocked over the fragile palm frond cabana down the beach. "I honestly can't remember." She ducked her head under the water and snorted, causing pillars of steam to bubble up through the waves.
"We could have flown here," he told her. Now he was swimming on his back, with his golden eyes gazing up at the bright sun hanging in the cloudless sky overhead. "If we'd known it was here, that is."
Margena agreed. "But we would have starved. You know that sheep and cattle aren't native here." Nowadays, they could have the finest foods flown in from anywhere in the world, just on a whim. Margena and Flaerus had arranged for a freighter out of Galveston to swing by every two weeks loaded to the brim with the finest Texas longhorn steer available. They could gorge themselves to their hearts content now. "And there would be no gold," Margena continued.
Flaerus hadn't really considered that aspect of it. Sure, the natives of the area had had some gold idols and whatnot. But they never had the massive hordes of it the way European kings did. Crowns, coins, jewels, scepters... just *thinking* about it made Flaerus grumble happily. "That's true. Thank god for this 'capitalism,' eh? It's nice not to have to steal our treasures anymore." Upon emerging from their subterranean nests, dragons had quickly learned the ways of the new world and found that *investing* was far more profitable than pilfering.
"Who would have thought," she agreed as she pulled herself from the waves and back onto the beach, "that someone would ever *pay* us to stockpile their treasures? I remember when kings used to send armies against us for doing the exact same thing! Sure, it's all paper now, but the effect is the same." Well, mostly: they'd just been awarded they highly coveted Fort Knox contract. There was just something about that feeling of gold under one's scales that these paper bills just couldn't match.
A waiting servant rushed over with a massive platter, so large he could barely care it, loaded with the finest cuts of beef. Contrary to legends, dragons didn't particularly *like* picking their teeth with bones. They preferred it to go down in one easy swallow. Margena rolled over on her back, allowing the servant to toss the steaks into the air so that she could roast them and catch them in her mouth with one smooth motion.
Flaerus emerged from the water too and joined her on the beach for a snack. "We should have thought of these 'bank' things ages ago!" he told her. | Ignis sighed expelling a stream of sapphire flame as the automated buffers polished her scales. Mmm, it was so much easier than having to find a cavern full of diamonds to scrape the crushed gemstones and precious metals off.
In this modern world, one could also simply order forty cattle brought to one's cavern and let loose instead of flying hundreds of miles for only twenty. Sometime later, the buffers stopped and the glass roof retracted. Ignis crouched, jumped and flapped into the air causing millions of sapphire flecks to sparkle on the pavement like so many drops of rain. She didn't want to miss her latest delivery.
Edit: Formatting | 2016-02-25T07:26:46 | 2016-02-25T05:29:14 | 263 | 20 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen a lot of tens. It's scary, really, how quickly people can go from six or even five to ten. Other people don't realize how much danger surrounds them every day. It takes so little...
No, the tens aren't the ones that stay with you. Not for long, anyway. No, the one that will always be in my mind was something else entirely.
A zero.
She was the first zero I ever saw, and the only one until I watched my children be born. They eventually grew into little ones and twos, of course, but for a short, wonderful time, they were tiny, giggling bundles of zero. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
*She* was the first. Sarah. I was drawn to her from the moment I saw her, dangling her legs from a swing on the playground. How old could we have been? 12? 13, maybe. I wasn't really sure what the numbers meant then, but the lowest I'd ever seen was a one, so I knew she was something special. I stared at her from across the playground and she smiled at me, her entire face beaming zero. I'm telling you... they say Helen of Troy had a face that launched a thousand ships. Well, Sarah could make them come back home. If there ever was a face that could end wars, it was hers.
We were friends at first. I was terrified of ruining it by saying too much, but the words I wanted to say ran laps through my head every time I saw her. Then, on a hot summer night that was made for drunken mistakes, I said them anyway. And guess what? She felt the same way.
When I think about my kids, I don't want them to be rich. I don't want them to be famous. I just want them to feel what I felt back there on that summer night, because I know that if they find someone to share that moment with, they'll be happy for the rest of their lives.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. After that night, me and Sarah were one. We went through the rest of high school. College. We got married and got nice jobs. Bought a house. Got kids. Everything was perfect... for a while.
Something was going on with Sarah. I first noticed it one Saturday morning when she was doing the laundry. She'd been doing long hours at work all week and wasn't feeling very well, so I offered to do the laundry. She looked up at me then and smiled faintly, but something was off. Instead of the clear, bright zero I was so used to seeing, she was flashing a faint one. The next moment, she was back to zero. I was stunned at first, but managed to convince myself it was nothing. She'd had a tough week, that was all.
The next time, we were having dinner with the kids. She wasn't behaving like her usual self, and she gave off a dull, weak three, like she was trying desperately to calm down. When I asked her if something was wrong, she mumbled something about an asshole at work. I wanted to dig deeper, but I had to take care of the kids. I asked her again later, but she clammed up completely. Everything about it was so unlike her.
I racked my brain for weeks trying to find out what was wrong. Was it something I'd done? Was she about to get fired? And the unthinkable: was she sick? But why wouldn't she tell me? I thought we had no secrets. I'd always told her everything! Well... apart from the numbers. She'd think I was mad.
Then, one day, I found out the truth.
It was early Friday morning. She never came home Thursday night. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling and running the same thoughts over and over through my mind. Imagining the worst. Was I going to get a call from the police? The hospital? I considered calling them to see if she was there.
I heard a car pull up at our driveway. I didn't have to look; it was her. I listened to her opening the door. Taking off her shoes, walking up the stairs - was something off about her steps? - putting her hand on the door handle. In the dead silence, I heard her take a deep breath on the other side. The door clicked and swung open, and there she was.
She'd been crying. She wore her work clothes, but they were a bit ruffled and wrinkly. She looked at me with an expression I'd never seen her wear before. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She drew another breath, short and shallow, and her lips slowly parted.
"We need to talk."
Her voice sounded muffled in my ears, like it was coming from far away. From someone else. She remained in the doorway, not saying a word. I didn't either. I just looked at her. *Sarah*. There she was, standing in our bedroom on the second floor of our house. In the rooms across the hall, our children were sleeping.
I watched her standing there, and she looked back at me, her face screaming a hot, burning ten. | Every since I can remember, there were numbers in my head.
Everyone had a number, a three for the boy who pushed me down the slide, a seven for those murderer's on TV, a four for my mother, etc... I had never met a ten, nor a nine, and eights were only in other countries.
Until I met *him*.
He was beautiful.
He was perfect and kind and lovely, he was everything I ever wanted in life. He was pure perfection. He mustn't have ever had a bad day because he was *divine*.
But he was a ten.
He was a ten in everything he did; he was a star athlete, head of the debate team, model student, and loving son. Everyone knew him, guys wanted to be him, girls wanted him, and I...
I was skeptical.
What was different about him? He seemed to be perfect, but that couldn't be true... I was very wary of this boy, this seeming deity of perfection, what would ever make him like this?
I was terrified of him from the moment he said hello.
"Hey, I'm Alex, and I couldn't help but notice that you always seem to walk away whenever I'm in the room? Did I upset you or something? If I did, I'm sorry, a lady as beautiful as you should never have to be uncomfortable."
I blinked in wide eyed fear, my eyes staring at his perfectly sculpted outstretched hand. What was *wrong* with him?
"Hey, now, I'm not gonna bite."
I focused on his perfect lips and the way his white teeth broadened into a lovely grin. He was a boy that many fell in love with, but I wasn't buying it. I was different; I was that one weird chick that over analyzes everything- I didn't have emotions and that's why everyone stayed away.
Cautiously, I outstretched my hand.
"Flora," I rasped, my voice low and uncertain. His smile grew wider and his hand enveloped mine.
The shock that jolted my arm was unexpected, and I yanked my arm back as soon as our skin had met.
His face developed into what seemed like a Cheshire grin. I saw the glint in his eyes, and I felt true terror for the first time in my life.
"Flora," he repeated, as if to test out the words on his own tongue, "I was hoping I'd find you soon."
He licked his lips and took a step forward. | 2014-11-29T14:12:40 | 2014-11-29T12:02:03 | 714 | 498 |
[WP] A villain is horrified when the hero undergoes a transformation that gets rid of their humanity. | "huh, well I guess that's it then."
Nihilator blinked. He hadn't been entirely sure how Exemplar would react to losing his lover, but dull surprise was... off. was he in denial? shock? that damn mask hid everything but his infuriatingly compassionate eyes, it made him surprisingly hard to read for such a naive fool.
"I told you I had made sure you would only have time to stop one bomb. Did you really think you would have been able to save her and the school?"
"No, but I had hoped."
still no emotion in his voice. No sorrow, or rage. it lacked the hysterical edge of shock and the strain of self-control. He sounded like he was discussing the weather rather than his beloved's death.
"Do you regret failing her by being too slow? or betraying her by choosing to save a bunch of sniveling brats who you'll never see again over her?"
"not really, no."
Nihilator was starting to grow concerned, this was wrong, all wrong. Exemplar had shed actual tears over random bystanders, he always reacted to death or pain. yet here he was standing over the corpse of his love, eyes calm and contemplative and talking like he was making small talk in an elevator.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!" Nihilator angry bellow shook the room, as his composure finally cracked.
"I am surprised you haven't figured it out. Your last few plans demonstrated a decent understanding of my power."
Slowly Nihilator began to smile, as suddenly it made sense.
"of course, you are as you will yourself to be no? and right now you don't want to feel pain. heh, to see the great Exemplar reduced to hiding behind his power rather than facing reality. Cheaper than burying the pain in drugs at least."
" you are partially correct, but assume a great deal more conscious control than actually exists."
"oh? no stirring speeches on the beauty of choice then?"
"That would be rather irrelevant. A strong desire to be in a difference mental state resulting in a shift towards said state is inherently unstable regardless of choice. I had hoped I could hold myself in an idealized mindset indefinitely, but this seems not to be the case."
"so what now hero? you sit there and gormlessly starve to death because caring hurts too much?"
"No. this was not unforeseen, and your desire to gloat has given me time to enact my preplanned contingency."
it happened in an instant, no fan fair, no crash of thunder, just a simple blink. The Exemplar closed his eyes for an instant, and something inhuman opened them. For a brief instant Nihilator felt as if he was staring into a great and alien abyss, and then he was choking as a pitiless hand clutched his neck.
"hruk" Nihilator desperately fought and clawed for air, the hero who's strength he once equaled now an irresistible force, with even his desperate might unable to pry its fingers from his neck.
"Emotions were needed to maintain a normal human mind, and act as a positive example. however, they distracted from the focus needed to reach peak performance and made sub-optimal self-alteration inevitable. They are no longer a net benefit to the goal of maximizing happiness."
Nihilator forsook trying to pry the fingers from his throat instead raining blows down upon the man strangling him, as he continued its dead monotone speech.
"This necessitates a shift in strategy. Acting as a positive example is no longer feasible. Thus a shift to negative reinforcement is needed. You will be an ideal starting point for this new strategy. You will now be allowed to breathe for the remainder of our confrontation."
Nihilator clattered to the floor as the hand holding him by neck finally released him. He had hardly taken a single grasping breath when the creature spoke again.
"You shall now be made an example of. "
The thing that had once been a hero began its new task, and Nihilator began to scream. When he finally stopped hours later, there was nothing human left in the room. | "Surprise, bitch," said Harry Potter, "I bet you thought you heard the last of me."
Voldermort started. Then sputtered. "Wha-why-Harry-*how*?"
"Well," said Harry calmly, twirling his Elder wand around his fingers, "It seems that I, too, have found a friend in death."
"What did you do?" He snarled.
"I learned a lesson or two from you," Harry grinned, "but I didn't stop at seven. Oh no, I made thousands. It is rather easy once you start, you see, you just keep on doing it and it works. See how I'm still alive after taking ten killing curses dead on?"
"No," Voldermort said, "No, you cannot possibly do that. You cannot divide your soul into so many pieces."
"Well," Harry shrugged, "a hero's gotta do what a hero's gotta do. I did it so I could defeat you, greater good and all."
"If Dumbledore could see you now-"
"Dumbledore is a fool, and dead besides," said Harry with a smile Voldermort was starting to find oddly disturbing, "no one will stop me now. Not you, not him. I will be the hero the world needs."
"No, Harry Potter," said Voldermort, shaking his head, "you're not a hero anymore. You're the villain now." | 2017-03-09T23:21:40 | 2017-03-09T21:56:48 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] You are faceblind, and also the only person in the city who could recognises superheroes going about their daily lives. How? They only seem to care about wearing a mask, and don’t disguise anything else about themselves. | #####**Lying.**
___
"I've been lying to you." My wife fiddles with her silverware and my heart sinks. I can see guilt wreak havoc across her beautiful features. She's hardly touched her food even though I'd spent all evening making sure it delicious.
"What is it?" I casually pretend to be nonchalant, but my hand trembles and I put it under the table to hide it. She'd told me earlier that we needed to talk, and we'd been awkwardly putting it off all night.
Elena brushes her hair back before poking at the spaghetti, a habit of hers to buy time. I sip my glass of water, my own reciprocal gesture. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again. This repeats for a number of seconds.
"I-" She takes a breath. "You have to believe me okay?" Elena colors and bites her lower lip.
I frown. This is clearly not proceeding in the direction I thought it would.
"Y-you know how I'm always suddenly leaving for yoga class, or that it doesn't have a fixed schedule for some reason, or that I'll come home late without warning..." She pauses. "I've- I've actually been fighting criminals! I'm- I'm Foxfire!" She plants her head in her hands and on the table afraid to see my reaction, but peeks despite herself. Her expression is a wrinkled sundried from guilt for having lied to me repeatedly yet also a ripe tomato from embarrassment for knowing that I've undoubtedly seen her parade and harrumph in her revealing costume.
I set my fork down and let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, just that. I already know."
She shoots up and gives me a look of extreme shock. "How- how did you find out?! The agency has been covering for me! They even hired a double to attend yoga classes! And don't you have prosopagnosia?!"
"Please dear, as you said I have a little trouble with faces, but how do you think I recognize people everyday without problems? Let's see..." to her growing fluster I began listing everything that gave her away:
&nbsp;"1. I see your figure in bed every night.
&nbsp; 2. You still brush your hair nervously when stalling or trying to avoid questions, even to reporters.
&nbsp; 3. You hide your face with your hands when embarrassed, even though you're wearing a mask.
&nbsp; 4. You twirl and beam when someone compliments you.
&nbsp; 5. When you stumble, you start skipping as if you meant to do that the whole time.
&nbsp; 6. When—"
"STOP STOP!!!" She was babbling nonsensically when I began my soliloquy, but I guess she couldn't stand my monologue of love anymore. She should consider adding camouflage to her list of superpowers because she was blending right in to the red wallpaper behind her. Though admittedly I could only see her ears because her hands blocked the rest of her face.
"Dear, you should work on hiding your habits a bit more."
"..."
I push my plate away from the edge of the table, stand up, and walk over to the curled up kitten that was my wife. I gently encourage her to unfurl by stroking her hair, "I was scared you were going to say something else," I admit.
Elena looks up with astonished eyes, "Did you think I was going to say I was cheating because I would never-"
"No no, I trust you. Not that. I thought you were going to say you didn't like my cooking."
She sheepishly touches her index fingers together and avoids my gaze, "About that..."
&nbsp;
___
A/N - but but... \**sad noises*\* :(
A/N2 - I keep adjusting the wording because I'm not sure if I've properly foreshadowed the end bit about his cooking without giving it away lol. Maybe I should subtly insert food descriptions?
/r/Unexpected_Works | I like sitting in the square and watching the world go by. Everyone you see has a story. So many million decisions led everyone I see here, here. People grow so reliant on one’s face, they completely ignore body language. That girl, holding a sheet, is ecstatic and relieved about a test or perhaps a report. How do I know this? Her gait is light, she jumps with each step. Her laughter is like she held her breath and prepared to face tears, and her fingers text frantically.
People are like that, going about their predictable little lives with weak bonds they call trust. They let emotion cloud their judgment, they do not issue proper justice, consequences for poor choices that only lead to pain and death, merely because they happen to know the perpetrator.
Him. He is one of those so called ‘heroes’. He holds his chin high and his ego higher. He looks over his shoulder often, his gaze glancing over me many times. He anticipates danger, but lets it get the better of him. He spends a total of 3 seconds talking to some degenerate. His voice is barely audible, but sympathetic. This is the kind of dirt that shows mercy by the bucketful to those who have never shown an ounce of it. They let hardened criminals away with a slap on the wrist, they help those who got into that situation on their own.
Weak scum. | 2022-08-31T14:17:40 | 2022-08-31T09:42:30 | 63 | 21 |
[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run. | Dear Diary,
Here I sit, a normal citizen. I'm 20 and previously unemployed. I'm a German national, and Hitler has been revitalizing German industry. Faster than ought to be rightly possible. We're making tanks and planes and guns in the thousands a day. In the space of a week, the Rhineland was remilitarized, Austria was integrated as part of the Anschluss, the Czechoslovaks as well as the Yugoslavians forcefully integrated into the Reich. I'm not sure what happens next, but it scares the shit out of me.
Dear Diary, a lot has happened since my last entry. Hitler has declared war on the entire world. Even our ideological friends in Italy. There are over 30 million men in the army, a further 3 million in the airforce. Our navy is almost nonexistent, but I've been hearing that we're making aircraft carriers and super battleships post haste. In 1936 we barely had 2 million men as a nation for the entire armed forces.
Dear Diary. I've now been at the front for 6 months. I'm attached to a battalion of Panzers. At least, that's what I think they are. They look... futuristic. They travel on open land almost as fast as a persons automobile. The enemy tanks are slow and cumbersome, but their enthusiasm is what scares me. The United state's has awoken, and is sending men to the front lines en masse for the battles of tomorrow. There are just too many enemies United in a single cause. There are Japenese fighting alongside Chileans, and And Americans fighting alongside Mexicans. This is an impossible situation Hitler has gotten us in to.
Dear Diary, it's been nearly 8 months since I've had a chance to put down the main gun of my Panzer. I stormed the streets of Paris, Madrid, and Rome within a month of the other. Even Little Switzerland was not spared the fury of the Reich. I spent some time in North Africa, Greece, and Turkey. Next it seems is invading the Soviet Union from the Caucasus. My comrades have split off and are dealing with Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and the Raj. Itruly don't understand what's happening here anymore. The air force has a new engine that they're calling a "jet". The navy has expanded by an unprecedented factor. There are now over 30 million men in the navy. In the entire war we've lost a combined total for all branches of the armed forces a measly 2267 men. It truly boggles the mind.
Dear Diary, the old world is ours. From The Horn Of Africa to Scotland, from Lisbon to Tokyo. Next is the New World. I'm a part of the invasion force going to Argentina. There is no stopping us. Our casualties now lie in the 40,000s. I'm told that some our troop transports were sunk. I'm landing in one hour, and might not have a chance to write for awhile.
Dear Diary, peace at last. The world has been undone. All belongs to the Reich. It took almost no effort to get to Washington, the capital of the Americans. It's around that time that Hitler got bored of conquering, and he said it's time to play some eu4, and suddenly on our radios we kept hearing "And the Winged Hussars arrived!" I'm not sure what that means. I'll be putting my pen down, maybe I can finally go home to my Family in Berlin. | One month after our nation seemed to have gone mad, retooling our entire economy and declaring war on our closest ally, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a sword and armor in a style completely different from our regular military uniforms, yet accompanied by a note declaring me to be drafted.
I arrived wearing the armor and bearing the sword, at the city's armory. There, an officer told me I was now a "Hero Unit". "Congratulations, son; you're going to be one of the toughest of all our people, and one of the most important. Do you know how to view your stats?"
"My... what?"
At that point, the interface windows crowded my vision for the first time... | 2019-03-10T12:18:53 | 2019-03-10T11:09:05 | 48 | 22 |
[WP] “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
A Quote from the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss | The sails stopped billowing and the ship sat still, on a sea as dark as wine. Christian touched a finger to his tongue, and held it out into the night. Nothing. Not even the slightest breeze.
"The calm before..." he heard one of his men murmur. The moon was bright and stars were scattered over the sky like flowers sprinkled on a grave.
> They hoisted up the flag; the skull waved furiously in the strong wind. Ahead, the tiny ship bobbed like a twig on the endless sea. They rapidly closed in on it. The captain gave the orders for the men to board. Christian couldn't pass up on the opportunity; they needed fresh water, food and of course, anything valuable would be a welcome addition.
"Captain," said Jonathan, "Should I get the men to row? We can only be a da-"
"Hush!" commanded Christian. "Listen! Do you hear that?"
"I don't hear-" Jonathan began, before his face dropped. "I hear it. It hangs in the air like a bird of prey. It's him, isn't it?"
Christian slowly shook his head. It couldn't be. They were almost a week away from him now. If he was still alive, he was too far away for them to hear his playing.
> There was a single man on board. He was calm, even in the face of a cutlass. Perhaps he wanted it ended. They took what few supplies he had, and the two wedding bands he had in his pocket. They would be worth something. They put the man in a launch boat - a tiny vessel with two oars. They gave him three days worth of water, perhaps more if he rationed well, and half a dozen biscuits. "Please," he asked Christian, "my fiddle. Let me play for my wife one last time. Agatha loved the sea. I come every year to play for her." The story meant nothing to Christian, but the fiddle was cheap and scratched and worth nothing. Christian let him have it. Then, they burned his ship and set him adrift in the tiny boat.
Darkness came as quickly as if someone had closed a curtain. Christian looked up, hoping for a glimpse of the moon behind a cloud. But there were no clouds, no moon, and no stars. The sky was empty. Dead
"Captain," said Jonathan, his voice uneasy and as creaky as the ship, "It's the fiddler. We should have killed him."
There was a chorus of agreement from the other men on deck. A single droplet of rain fell on Christian's hand. Under the ship's dim lantern light, he could see the rain was the same colour as the juice of a blood orange. Another drop fell on his neck and trickled down spine. He shivered.
> It had been a week since the pirate ship had abandoned him. Two days since they had taken his rings. "I'm sorry Agatha," he whispered into the night, "I've let you down." He was long out of water and food, and his lips were more cracked than whole. The wind whispered a reply, *play for me*, it said. "Agatha?" *Play for me*. He picked up the fiddle with his withered, ruined hands, and he played her song.
The storm came out of nowhere. A tempest of red rain rattled the boards of the ship whilst wind ripped at the sails and whistled through the bow. And behind the dreadful storm, still the rising and falling in the night like a wave of panic, the fiddle played. The music washed into Christian's bones and through his very soul. There were screams from his crew, and he steadied himself against the wind and fought his way to the aft. He saw what they were afraid of.
A huge hungry maelstrom swirled and bubbled behind the boat, pulling it ever inwards, towards its centre. A bedlam of water swirled and swished and ripped at the fabric of the sea. Men jumped overboard, as Christian ran to the wheel and furtively tried to fight the irresistible tug of the sea.
> The pirate ship was not seen again. But it is said that on the calmest nights out on sea, if you listen carefully and cock an ear to the wind, you might hear the furtive notes of the fiddle player, as he sails the sea, forever looking for his love. And if you do hear him, God help you.
| The man, about 30 years of age, stood in the midst of the group, a young girl at his side, attempting to hide from the arc of people jeering and laughing at her appearance.
"Please, everybody, this is not right," the man said calmly, "There is no need to treat a young girl like this!"
"You call that a girl with that horror of a face?" A voice called, followed by the laughter of the other 20 or so.
Ignoring the taunt, the man knelt down beside the girl, asking if she was okay. She shook her head, tears flowing down her eye.
The crowd now surrounded them, leaving no gap for an easy exit.
Words came from all directions, taunts that were all directed to the lonely pair in the middle.
The man kept talking, attempting in vain to defuse the situation.
Then somebody in the crowd threw a rock at the girl, just barely missing her head.
And the man became mad.
From the depths of his coat came a dagger, and with beast-like speed and ferocity, he launched himself at the crowd, mercilessly slaughtering the people who had done that small girl harm. Within a few seconds only one remained, the one who threw the stone. He tried to escape the massacre, but was easily jumped on by the man, who plunged the knife into the man's chest, and began repeatedly stabbing him, the fire in his eyes burning.
And then, it all stopped.
The man froze, the knife dropping from his hand onto the freshly stained floor.
He observed the aftermath, his eyes going from each body until they rested on the girl, frozen in what looked like fear and horror.
And the man wept. | 2017-04-14T00:57:36 | 2017-04-13T23:33:18 | 79 | 38 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | Connor woke to pitch blackness and the sound of a woman humming, echoing with a metallic sort of ring against the walls of his makeshift bed. He sat up - and immediately regretted it as his head banged against the low, hard metal roof directly above him. He laid back down, swearing loudly.
From outside his little chamber, a woman gave a shriek.
"Shit - sorry!" Connor knew better than to scare the poor morticians that happened to get saddled with him. "I'm in here!"
The door to the body drawer opened and he sighed in relief as it flooded with light. The table rolled out and he rubbed his head, seeing stars as he sat up. Blood flow was a bitch after he first woke up, every time.
A tiny brunette was staring at him with a scowl on her face, hands on her hips. The badge on her lab coat said 'Katherine Herrera' and her picture had the same look as her face.
"How many times is this now, Connor?" She asked, huffy and irate, her cheeks still flushed from her scare. "You're going to kill me one day, and I can't come back!"
"Sorry, Kat." Connor smiled sheepishly, rubbing his chest. A fresh line of autopsy scars lined his chest, neatly overlain against the already healed ones. "I hit my head again."
She only tutted and walked away, tying her hair into a ponytail and muttering darkly to herself. Connor suspected that she was quietly insulting him behind his back, but that would be nothing new. With a groan of effort, he hopped off the table, wrapping the sheet he'd been covered with around his waist.
"Your clothes are in a bag by the coffee," Kat said, motioning towards the autopsy room. "You're lucky. I snagged them from the others before they could burn everything."
"New guy?" Connor followed his nose to the smell of coffee and reached into the bag, rummaging for his underwear. Kat nodded.
"New guy."
"Ouch. Thanks. I owe you one." Connor finished pulling on his clothes and immediately went for the coffee and the sandwich on the table. "Or a dozen at this point."
"Just stop scaring me, asshole." There was no venom in her words. In actual fact, there was something close to fondness. Kat was quiet for several seconds, fiddling with something on her computer. A loophole, he guessed, to explain away why they were once again a body short. It was kind of hard to write 'the body got up and left' as an excuse.
Finally, after several moments, she spoke.
"Did you see her again?"
Connor went quiet as he laced his shoes. He swallowed. "Yes."
Kat's shoulders fell and a deep sadness crossed her face. She looked down at her hands as they typed, then cleared her throat.
"I hope it works next time." She said softly.
Connor pulled on his jacket and finished off his sandwich, heading to the door. "So do I." He said. "Goodnight, Kat."
"'Night, Connor." | Why the fuck am I still alive?
I made that promise. That's why.
But then I lost her.
I lost everyone.
Why am I still alive?
Maybe I don't have to be.
Hopefully not much longer.
I can just barely grasp the gun.
I can just barely pull the trigger.
And, just for a moment...
I can see her face. | 2018-01-05T15:15:02 | 2018-01-05T14:07:04 | 1,055 | 16 |
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes. | I awoke to the sound of my dog scratching at the door. Groaning and stretching, I got out of my bed and let my dog out into the harsh winter. I checked the calendar; Only a few hours until my solitude was broken. How long had it been? Almost 6 years?
Perhaps I should explain, in my world, people are born with their souls tied to a star. The color of the star determines their eye color. Red-Brown being the most common, yet mundane powers: Basic telekinesis, Surface mind reading, and Blue being the rarest, but most powerful: Shape-shifting, Super-fast regeneration, Flight and other such things. Only, there was one rule: Our powers would remain unusable until we hit the age of 18, one week from now.
I was born with Blue eyes to a very proud White Eyed mother and Yellow Eyed Father. Growing up, my life was wonderful. I had plenty of friends, went to some of the best schools, and was well loved and accepted, that is until I turned 12. On my 12th birthday, my eyes flashed, and then faded to black. Usually, when a blue's eyes fade to black, it means they're dead. But I was still alive. So I was banished to the far north until the age of 18, when my powers would become apparent, today.
The helicopter came as it usually would, but instead of bearing supplies, it carried some of the most important leaders of the world, and more importantly, it carried my family. I waited impatiently at the edge of the platform, giddy with excitement. Screw the powers, this was the first human contact I'd had since I was a pre-teen. I didn't even give my mom a good chance to get out of the cabin before I was attacking Her with a bear hug.
"My god, you've grown so much! I've missed you so much" my mother said with tears in her eyes. "I've missed so much! I pray that you can come home after today."
This is surreal. Wait, am I supposed to say something? "Uhh, hey Mom! I hope I can come home too" I muttered, still shocked "Hey, um, Where's Dad?
"I'm afraid he burnt out a few years ago, son. I'm sorry we have to break the news like this" I heard a voice behind my mother say. Moving so I could see the owner of the voice, I saw a well-dressed man, white-blue eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joshua Cephei, I'm the current president of the Greater Associated Countries. I've heard so much about you." He said. To be perfectly honest, he was creeping me out a bit.
“Um, well, would you like some coffee? I’ve got some brewing in the cabin” I managed to spit out. God, when did social situations become so hard? I’d practiced this moment for years. Damn
“That would be great. Shall we?” Cephei said. Seriously, what was so creepy about this guy?
We made our way to the cabin’s main area. I had a pretty sweet gig, to be honest. Hot water, running electricity, plenty of things to do. Still would have appreciated a few friends through the years, but what can you do?
“So, Mrs. Sol, when was the time of birth again?” Cephei asked my Mom.
“Oh, Cygnus was born at Noon, on the second. He always was punctual!” She laughed. Cephei gave her a thin smile as he checked his watch
“Well, we were a bit late. Its 11:55 right now. I had hoped to ask you some questions before the moment, but I think that it’d be more prudent to just wait until after the transformation, if that’s okay with you?” Cephei said
“S-sure” I stuttered, “That’s just fine.”
And then there was silence. As we sat and listened to the clock tick, I felt the tension of the room rise with every second that passed.
“Cygnus, do you have any cream?” My mom said in a desperate attempt to breach the silence
“Uh, yeah, In the fridge in the back. Help yourself to anything” I muttered.
11:57. Three minutes to show time. Oh god, what If I die? What if I don’t have any powers? What kind of life can I live with no powers? Not even the most basic mail rooms will acc-
11:58. God, can’t the clock tick faster? Why is this so painful? Can’t I just get it over with? I just want to rip the theoretical Band-Aid off, and get this over with. Why-
11:59. One minute till show time. I close my eyes and try to shut out the world. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Not gentle like my mothers, but heavy and rugged. My eyes shoot open and-
12:00. I feel numb. What’s happening? It’s as if I’m some sort of vacuum sucking the world in through my eyes. I can see through the walls of the cabin. I can see the 20 or so SWAT officers ready to storm in if I go big. I can see my mother searching through the fridge for cream. I can see the gun in her purse.
“How do you feel, big guy?” I hear Cephei ask. “Cygnus? How do you feel?” He asks again. I see through his words. I see his intent. He wants to turn me into a weapon. He envisions me destroying cities.
No.
As if by instinct, I stand and drag him to his feet by his head.
“Cygnus! Let me go! NOW” He shouts in surprise.
I will not become a weapon. I will not become a pawn. I will be free.
“No.” I bellow. “You would use me to kill others. Your judgement is come. You are unworthy.”
I don’t have control. I can’t stop myself. I stare into his eyes. I see the color surface, and then breach, slowly floating towards my eyes, and being absorbed. His eyes are left as a light grey.
“Wha-What did you do to me?” He grunted. Pitiful
“I’ve seen your soul, and deemed you unworthy. I’ve taken your power” I sighed.
So this was my future. Judge of mankind. I don’t want to be god, but there’s no other choice. I look up, and teleport into orbit. There’s work to be done.
________________________________________________________________
First time, Ended up WAY bigger than I anticipated, sorry about the abrupt ending. Constructive criticism welcome. EDIT: Formatting | Everyone in my world had different eye colours.Each representing a different element.I was one of them.However,i was one of the unusual ones.
Ever since i was born,i had completely black eyes.My parents were shocked.The doctors couldn't explain anything,not even The Institute of Magic could.No one ever had completely dark eyes.I'm not quite sure myself.My mother has yellow eyes,representing the power of light,the foundation of life.And my father.....I've never met my father,and my mother would look me in the eye and give me an honest answer.Personally,i never thought much of it.Until 2 days ago....
October 5th,the day of my birthday.I wake up as usual..and strangely,i felt like a new person.Nothing strange about that,the Elders would always tell me that was how they felt.Its 7:15am,15 minutes until the Ritual of The Ancients began.I needed to hurry.As i ran through the neighbourhood...i felt a strange sensation.Everything seems to be in my control...as if i could bend somethings life force until it broke...
Suddenly,i felt a chilling sensation.Everything had gone quiet,the birds did not tweet,i did not feel the wind,everything had stopped.Something or someone was here.I spun around.And there stood a hooded figure,in the streets.The figure started to walk up towards me.My instincts screamed at me to run,but my feet were stuck to the ground.
'It's ok Niko.I won't hurt you,but i don't have much time.'
'Who are you?'
'Come,let's walk.'
He led me to a part of trees,with leaves scattered all over the ground,and dead branches where the eyes could see.
*crunch crunch crunch*
'Today is the day you reach 18 and get your new powers.'
'Tell me something i don't know.'
'That's not the point.Have you ever wondered why your eyes were pure black,and why all those incidents happened,and why you always seemed to make life around you sad and miserable?'
*crunch crunch crunch*
'You've never met your father.He was quite a powerful man...but no one liked him.Society locked him away.And no one dared to speak of his powers.Not to the public,not to their children,no one.'
*crunch crunch.*
We had stopped at a tree with no leaves,larger than the rest.The hooded figure had pulled out a scrap of paper in his pocket and started making an origami.
'No one knows my father.People said he just,disappeared,one day.Poof.That was it'
'I was the one who gave him his power.And the power got passed down to you.Come on,boy,do you really believe in those lies?'
What if my father had the power to...no...no that can't be,its just not possible.They only appear 1 time in a 1000 years...
'The power to leech life and end the life of others,boy.'
He finished the thing he was folding,and in his hand held a paper scythe.
'D-Death?'I was terrified by now.
'Took you long enough.I don't have much time now.But mark my words.Do not go to the ritual,if they find out....they'll do the same thing to your father.'
He snapped his fingers and a pen made of bone popped in his hand.He ripped a piece of paper from the air,wrote something,and passed it to me.
'Take this,follow where it goes.And when you find them....tell me i sent you.If the institute doesn't kill you,you live as an outcast.Stay away from here.'
I had no time to question anything,at that moment,he disappeared.And as if i was having a dream,i woke up just where i was before i saw Him.
I understood what i had to do.I ran home,grabbed everything i had,and ran as far away from Weston City as possible.
They might have taken my dad,but not me ,no.
If i were to survive,i will need to leave my previous life behind.... | 2015-11-15T09:36:11 | 2015-11-15T07:24:41 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] You have the ability to grant three wishes after someone says your name three times in the bathroom mirror. Except, every time you show up, they all run away screaming. You are the rejected genie. The mirror maiden. You are Bloody Mary. | She never asked to be birthed into legend this way, but legends have a tricky way of distorting over the test of time. Some of the genies thought she had it easy.
*If only my masters would just run away instead of asking for foolish selfish wishes.* They would all say.
Indeed. It may have been simple and easy, but it was also dreadfully boring. Moments after moments of appearing before young children who merely run in fright or return to their friends giggling in a harmless, meaningless prank can wear down on one's spirit.
So why is it that she choked on the first child who finally did not run away from her? She was met with a gaze so lifeless and devoid of emotion. The words she has prepared and recited in her head so many times would not come out. She could barely meet the child's gaze through the slits of her own black hair covering her face. Looking elsewhere, she only saw what could have been bruises on his cheeks and arms.
"Are you here to take me away?" The silence was broken, and with it, the spell that was on the genie as well.
Finally given a small moment to compose herself, she replied "No, child. I am not here to take you away."
The child sighed, almost as if in disappointment.
"B-but, I am a genie! I am the maiden in the mirror, and I am here to grant you three wishes of your desire," she continued. It was not as grand as she wanted it to be, but she was able to give the introduction she was longing to deliver.
"A genie?" The child repeated. Despite his confusion, there was a small gleam in his eyes. A warm feeling washed over the genie as she felt a sense of pride in being given a chance now.
"Yes! There may be some limits to what I can do, but these three wishes are for you to use," she replied enthusiastically.
The child took a few steps back and clutched the hems of his ragged shirt. The genie could only look inquisitively at this child who fidgets back and forth wondering what his first wish would be.
*A hug.*
It was barely a whisper, but a genie is always perceptive to the wants of their master. Still, this was such a mundane wish of a child that it has surprised her. She was expecting giant bowls of sweets or the latest toys that they would see on television.
Before she could say anything, the boy stretched his arms outward. He kept his head down and merely awaits the response of the genie. "My child, you do not need a wish for this," she whispered back to him. She approached the boy with open arms and received a tight hug from the child who then buried his face into her dress.
However short this moment was, it was disturbed by the banging of the door. What followed was the voice of several teenagers who were taunting and laughing at the child.
"Hey hey! Have you summoned Bloody Mary yet?"
"Come on dude, this crybaby probably hasn't started yet."
"We'll let you out soon but we better hear you scream her name out loud!"
"He probably fainted!"
The taunts and laughter slowly faded away as the teenagers bore themselves of a silent unwilling participant. The only sound that could be heard was the muffled sobs of the boy. The genie responded by wrapping her arms around the boy and waited for him to calm down.
Once everything settled down, the boy pulled himself away from the genie to wipe away the tears. The maiden of the mirror hovered down in front of the boy. Parting the hair covering her face, she reveals a genuine, warm smile of one that truly cares for their master. "You still have 3 wishes left. I can give you more than a hug, you know?" She teased.
The boy was enamored by the maiden and without skipping a beat, he replied. "Can you still take me away from here?"
The genie was left to ponder over the tricky request. The gaze the child had on her was no longer one that was lifeless and without emotion but of wonder and hope. However, this was one of those wishes that genies can so easily abuse and make things wrong. It was left vague enough for a genie to do whatever they see fit.
But she wasn't a genie of malice, she lifted the child in front of the mirror where she came from just recently. As she laid her hand on the mirror, the mirror gave way and parted like water. Ripples radiated outward from where her hand touched as it passes through the mirror. The child was speechless at the spectacle in front of him.
The boy, ready for the trip to an unknown world beyond the mirror, took hold of the other hand of the maiden. She returned the gesture by holding on tightly to the boy's hand. As they take their first steps into the mirror, she whispered at the boy. "My child, you do not need a wish for this."
In her heart, she wondered how she will have to explain this to the other genies. She has taken a child as her own, and this will have repercussions on the world of humans. People will question of a child gone missing and his last moments was of a ritual to summon a certain entity. However, one look at a child whose eyes are now bright of the wonder and magic before him removed all doubts from her mind. After all, legends have a tricky way of making sense over the test of time. | “No! NOOO!” - yelled the genie as he saw Megan terrified attempting to run out of the bathroom.
“Don’t run away Megan, I’m here for you”
“Bu, but, I said Bloody Mary, and you showed up, I’m drunk and this is scary”- said Megan fearfully as her mascara ran down her eyes and her breathing got more intense.
“I know, that’s always my queue to come in, but I just like to terrify people, in fact, you just got the best deal of your life, I’m an granting you three wishes, anything you want, anything you’ve ever dreamt for, I will make it happen. Just ask me”
“Can you make fucking Howard disappear for ever”
As Howard continued showing his moves in the dance floor and buying shots to all the people that had, meaningless connection to him. He vanished, into space, never to be seen again, leaving no trace behind, no atoms, no plasma, nothing behind but the memory of a person that shall forever remain a mystery disappearance.
“I, is he gone” asked Megan reluctantly.
“Yes, forever” - Said the genie confidently.
“Well, how can I know?” - asked Megan with a snooty effort and reluctance.
“Well, go outside, you’ll never see him again” - said the genie, still with confidence - “You have two more wishes”
“Well I wish all men who have ever cheated on their significant others suffer significant pain and then die horribly” - said Megan with a painful voice as she shrugged and looked at the floor.
“Well that counts for two wishes Megan” - said the genie still very monotonous and seeming uninterested about Megan’s wishes.
“Well that’s what I want” - said Megan confidently.
—————
It has been 24 hours since the great extinction. Reasons are still unknown, but 84% of the male population has vanished inexplicably.
Being a fertile man has become a huge commodity.
It has been less than 72 hours when Harold found himself walking along 5th Avenue. He walked along side his girlfriend and two cousins as they approached “TEX” the hottest club in Miami.
“That’ll be 150$ for women, but for you, it’ll be free, have this complementary shot of tequila” said the busty attendant to Harold.
“Ugh, I wish I was a guy” - Said Megan as she paid her 150$ entrance fee to the hottest club in Miami. That night there were only 4 guys in the club, surrounded by 25 victoria secret models and over 200 independent models.
“It’s a good day to be a faithful husband” - said Harold as he sipped his whiskey.
| 2019-03-15T01:35:23 | 2019-03-14T22:26:33 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] All doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat they lose an inch off their staff. When a staff is gone, so is their license.
X-post from /r/crazyideas and /u/BrassDidgeStrings | Adriona took the tiny, almost pathetic little bundle and held it in her arms as she stared down the glimmering, pristine street of concrete so white it almost looked like marble. Her ragtag shoes stood out against the sterile pavement, mirroring the polished buildings of the medical district of the city. Sick and injured filled the street, each of them hobbling or being carted toward one door or another. Shivering deeply, Adriona brushed her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes and started walking, hoping that her coin was enough.
"General Practitioner -- Dr. Warner. 30 years experience. Full staff!" one sign merrily shone from the building nearby. Adriona kept walking. It would be no use. She, a poor member of the working class, had no chance whatsoever of being accepted as a patient at *that* building. She passed another. "Ear, Nose, Throat, Allergy. Full staff." Adriona sighed. How many people die of the sniffles, really?
As she continued down the streets of the medical district, Adriona came to territory far more familiar to her ragged shoes. Harsh cobblestone lined the streets, with small pathways leading to what could almost be mistaken for houses if it weren't for the increasingly garish signs that decorated their fronts. The people in the area were also more ragged looking, and some looked more desperate. Adriona clutched the small bundle closer to her chest and continued on, glancing over the signs.
"Heart Surgery -- 48 inches. Any health state accepted. Payment up front." Adriona shook her head and continued. She knew that they may accept everyone, but only those who could pay exorbitant fees. High risk, high reward, of course. And their fee, conveniently, would be tailored to the amount of risk. Of course, that would be only fair. Good business, and if someone could pay the ludicrously high cost, the loss of an inch would be worth it.
Finally, Adriona came to the place that she was looking for. A neglected, run-down building off the beaten path, in the very corner of the medical district. No sign. You would think the place was abandoned if not for the lights coming from the windows. Adriona took a deep breath and walked up the creaking steps, knocking on the door, then opening it and going inside, clutching her bundled cargo to her chest. Inside, a simple waiting room. A wooden desk, overstuffed couches, and a long glass case. A sharp-eyed woman with black hair in a severe bun sat at the desk, looking Adriona over with suspicion. "May I help you?" she asked. A glance at a nameplate tagged the woman as Lucia.
Adriona answered in a shaking voice, "I heard rumor that Dr. Ceinel takes any case, no matter how desperate. I can pay." Lucia answered, "That isn't good enough." Lucia stood up, walking to the case as her heels made sharp sounds against the bare wood floor. "Come, look at this." Adriona obeyed, following her up to the case and looking inside. It was a medical staff -- Adriona knew the kind well. But all in sawed-off inches, every bit of it. Dates labeled each piece. Perhaps a month between losses, perhaps six weeks. The most recent date, the last inch, was dated over twelve years ago.
Lucia looked up from the case and at Adriona sternly, saying, "There is no putting it mildly. To accept Dr. Ceinel's help is to court death. Do you understand this?"
Adriona answered, "Yes, I understand. He hasn't lost those lives because he's a bad doctor. He lost those lives because he takes the desperate, the dying, the people that nobody else will touch because they don't want to lose more inches." Her voice quavered, "That doesn't make him a monster. It makes him a hero."
Lucia smiled just a little, "Come in, then. I am former Dr. Lucia Ceinel. But call me Lucia. What is it you wish me to help you with today? You don't seem ill enough to need my services..." She stopped and frowned.
Adriona simply peeled back the top layer of the bundle she carried. Inside lay a sickly looking baby girl.
Edit: There's a part 2 below, now. | The idea was always there. Records have always been kept you know. Hospitals and fellowships and what not always wants to know who's the best and who's the rest. So it's not like the idea is anything new. Before, or after the institution of the staff, doctors always avoided failure.
But I guess the visible mark of "failure" does drive the doctors to greater pressure. They need to succeed. Their future depends on it. So I guess the system does have a point. If a patient's future is on doctor's hands, shouldn't the future of the said doctor be as well?
So I guess that's why I'm sitting in a bed in a remote corner of this hospital, with no doctor attending my case. Two days ago I started experiencing sporadic but extreme dizziness. Starting this morning I am vomiting every 30 minute or so. I am broken and in need of help. But no one will help me. My case isn't simple. It's not 5 min check up followed by a quick surgery. No one seem to know why I am dying, and yes I'm sure I am dying. I can feel it. Well maybe not exactly "sure" but you know what I mean. This isn't some common cold. I'm feeling the minutes slip through my fingers. Every now and then a doctor glances at the chart by my hospital room door. I tried to call out to them, but for some reasons they all seem to get an urgent page right at the moment. I'm a operational oversight. They tell me that a doctor will see me soon, but five people who came in after me already saw a doctor. This corruption in hospitals have been documented before, but it's so much more bitter seeing it up close.
Doctors here carry long staves, some barely even cut. They carry it with pride and dignity. So lofty and proud of their accomplishment. They've never lost a patient in need they'll say. | 2015-11-12T22:41:40 | 2015-11-12T21:26:25 | 81 | 24 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | Hello /r/writingprompts reader. I don’t do many of these foreshadowing prompts, but hopefully I can surprise you with this one. I’m a bit concerned the foreshadowing is a bit subtle, but if you read closely to the end, you should catch it.
_____
Sarah had a weakness for chocolate. So even though she was trying to lose ten pounds, she knew she needed to order the chocolate chip banana bread along with her skim cappuccino as soon as she saw it. Hypocritical, yes, but Sarah liked to call herself a walking contradiction. She popped open her laptop and went to ESPN’s website. Time to check the scores.
Her business partner Ian walked into the cafe about 15 minutes after she had finished off the final crumb of the dessert. He stood in line, ordered a large black coffee, then walked over to Sarah’s table.
“Good morning my dear.” Ian smiled and shook her hand. “I’d take a seat, but I’m off to catch the train in about 20 minutes.”
“Not a problem. I’ll give you a call this evening.” Sarah smiled warmly back and kept her eyes on Ian’s.
The exchange was just long enough for Ian to slip a manila envelope into Sarah’s laptop bag. None of the customers would have found the exchange odd. With his back to the only security camera in the cafe, there would be no record of the fact he gave her anything.
As Ian walked out the door, Sarah went back to reading the news online. Ten minutes later, she packed up her gear and headed home.
It had been almost two months since Sarah had a job. One of the keys to being a good contract killer was to not be reckless and carefully select the jobs. Her and Ian trusted each other enough that he vetted the jobs that she did and vice-versa. But their agreement was that it was just the two of them operating. Never bring in a third partner.
Once home she eagerly dived into the envelope’s contents, only stopping briefly to grab a Hershey Kiss from her jar. She was going to earn this one with a long walk later.
The envelope contained all the usual information. Her target’s picture, home address, regular hangouts, email address, social media profiles. An ex-lover wanted the target killed. She scanned the profile looking for anything unusual she could use. Unfortunately, it was a lot of typical nerd stuff. In fact, potential internet addiction was highlighted in the report. Spent too much time online. The good news was that the target was online almost every day for hours. She could use that to her advantage.
Ian texted her, “Is everything alright?”
It was his typical code to find out if she was going to take the job. They used to have a more intricate and complicated code, but it became easier to simply use normal phrases that everyone would use daily instead of something complicated and ridiculous like, ‘Ducks fly at noon.’
“Yes, everything is all right. Merci beaucoup.” Thank you in French meant proceed on schedule. ‘Gracias would have meant that the job was a go but they needed to change the date of the hit.
The job was scheduled for tomorrow. Sarah spent the day learning more about her target’s daily habits. She scoped the building where the hit would take place. She had a skim mocha for lunch. Then she spent the afternoon following the target briefly to get “eyes on” and make sure she knew exactly what she was looking for.
Her best bet was to get the target while distracted. She fortunately knew via the various websites and social media accounts that the target usually visited online. She set up a quick script to inform her any time her target logged in or visited a number of websites. She was putting a lot of trust in the profile point of internet addiction. She hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt her.
The following day, she waited outside for the automated email to let her know her target was online. Sarah snuck into the building. She quietly picked the lock on the door. Once in the room, she found her target sitting enthralled at the computer, never seeing her.
Sarah paused for a moment. What sort of person gets so wrapped up in what they are doing online that they don’t notice someone enter? They don’t hear the out of place noises? That they never turn around and look behind them?
Sarah realized that her pause was way too long. She needed to act now. She swiftly pulled out the gun, silencer on, and pulled the trigger.
And, distracted by the story you’re reading on the computer, you only have the briefest warning before the gun fires behind your head. | Rain trickled down the windowpane, making rivulets in the already wet surface. Kieran watched them, a tinny pounding in his ears the last remnant of the concert he'd just got in from. The streetlights were lit and the house was dark as he had unlocked the front door. The hallway was just as messy as it had been as he left, and the smell of rotting food from the kitchen was overpowering. His mother would be in bed. She was always in bed.
He moved to the bathroom, brushing his teeth monotonously, looking in the mirror but not really seeing. He was too pale. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes from the late nights he'd had. The house would have to be cleaned tomorrow. Maybe his mother would get out of bed. He washed his hands once, twice. Both times he lathered the soap, scrubbed his fingernails, rubbing up to his elbows. A bottle of pills lay beside the faucet. Kieran tightened the lid and put them back into the cabinet. Opened bottles of cleaning fluid stood beside an crinkle of foil wrapper and dental floss.
In his bedroom, the neon light of the streetlamps outside flooded across the carpet. His room was neat, in contrast to the rest of the house. A crow landed on one on the opposite side of the road, flapped its wings and hunkered down under the heavy rain. A smudge on the glass distracted Kieran temporarily. He rubbed at it with one finger, only to find that it wouldn't come off.
He frowned, returning to the bathroom and opening the cabinet. There was a dark smudge there, too. *Why was nothing ever clean in this house?*
Kieran returned to his bedroom, cloth and cleaning fluid in hand. He unscrewed the child-proof lid, raised the bottle, and began to drink.
| 2015-06-03T07:02:17 | 2015-06-03T05:56:40 | 100 | 35 |
[WP] A law is enacted making trial by combat the only legal tool available to anyone for any dispute. An arms race for mercenary fighters heats up between Corporations, celebrities, and governments. You fight for Wendys. | I showed up for work and headed immediately to grab the mop. Some kid had peed in the playpen again.
I was making my way back to the front when my manager tapped me on the shoulder.
“Clint can grab the pee, I need to talk to you in the office first.” she said.
I groaned. I owed way too much money to get fired now. We sat down in the cramped office, both reeking of beef and oil.
“How would you like to make $50 an hour?”
“W-what?” I sputtered. “Is this a joke?”
She laughed and shook her head. “New opportunity from corporate. Are you interested?”
“Of course! I make $8 right now, Kate.”
“Okay great. I'll text you the address of the office, you can head there now.”
I held back a grin and raced out of the store. Fifty an hour. I could clear my student loans, pay off the truck...
I tried not to speed but it was impossible. My hands were shaking as I pulled up to the office building. I checked in at the desk and they sent me up to the seventh floor. The elevator doors opened and a short man in an impeccable blue suit was waiting for me.
“This way, son.”
We ended up in a wood-paneled conference room with leather executive chairs. The man sat down across from me and passed me a huge packet of paperwork.
“My name is Sam and I'm a lawyer for your company,” he explained. “You're familiar with the Fast Food Conflict currently underway, yes?”
“Uh..kinda, I guess?”
He rolled his eyes. “Congress said we have to settle matters of legal arbitration with hand-to-hand combat. We've been paying mercenaries to fight our battles and we've done very well lately. But then the blasted Democrats said that companies have to draw fighters internally, from the lowest ranks. Giving the poor an opportunity and all that.”
I nodded along as if I understood.
“You. Are. Our. Poor. And this,” he said pointing to the paper, “is your opportunity. Whaddya say, you fight for us, we stay out of trouble with Congress, and you make money. Sound good?”
I felt sweat creeping through my collar and shirt. I couldn't turn down $50 an hour.
“Uh...yes. Yes!”
“Great!” Sam pulled out a single page. “Sign here.”
I glanced at the stack of other papers. Sam followed my eyes.
“That's all legal jargon, don't worry about me. You trust me, don't you son?”
“Uh...yeah.” I signed.
A week later I was summoned. Wendy's© had declared itself the best fast food in the market, and Burger King© had challenged us in court.
I showed up at the basketball arena thirty minutes early like they said. Sam was in the locker room waiting with a frown.
“Good news bad news. Good news is that we got you a brand new sword. Here.” he tossed me a massive broadsword, gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.
“Awesome!”
“Yes. As for the bad news. The Democrats struck again – they just passed a law stating that fighters must wear clothing that matches their company brand.” He handed me a blue dress and a wig with braids. “Good luck out there.”
I entered the arena and was knocked back by a roar from the crowd. Every seat was full. I looked across the floor and saw my opponent.
He was wearing a full suit of plate armor with a glistening golden crown on his head.
Oh no...
/u/DanJosephWrites for fun short stories. Sometimes they're good! | "Hotdogs! Hotdogs here!"
Weary combatants staggered over for the third day in a row. The numbers were thinning and everyone left was clearly exhausted.
"Mustard?"
"Thanks. I'm so sorry you have to do this but we all thank you."
They looked terrible. Ruined.
"The water! It's free. Christ. For all of you, it's free today."
Eyes lit up and I knew it was the right thing to do even though corporate will be on my ass about the loss. We sponsored this shit and that's how we stayed out of it. But obviously it doesn't work that way.
We keep operating as we always do, so the salmonella was clearly kicking in and these clueless sods deserved a drink. I don't get paid enough for this shit. | 2017-06-09T07:27:14 | 2017-06-09T07:18:39 | 279 | 12 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | The expansion into the Sol system was supposed to be the latest iteration in a pattern I had repeated dozens of times across my career. for civilisations falling just below type I, we would initiate first contact, and demand vassalisation. seventy five percent of all civilisations we encountered stopped at this step, in face of our overwhelming technological superiority it was the logical choice. The remaining twenty five mounted a quick but often bloodless defence, followed by an honorable surrender and assecsion to the empire.
The humans of Earth returned our ambassador flayed and mutilated. The humans, who up until our arrival had been at each other's throats owing to petty tribalism and coveting each other's natural resources united virtually overnight against us.
Nearly every object they produced was hastily retooled into a weapon of war. When we expended their supply of military atmospheric craft, they turned to crashing civillian transports laden with chemical explosives into our installations. The closer we came to defeating them, the more brutal they became. They hurled chemicals of crude noxious gasses at our soldiers, scorching their repsiratory organs. Platoons of soldiers that surrendered en-masse turned out to be infected with a genetically engineered plague tailored for our biology.
Children approached our armored columns, seemingly out of curiosity, which we had seen before. Except these children had explosive vests hidden under their coats, remote triggered by a vengeful parent hiding in rubble nearby.
We had been begrudgingly compared to "Romans" by more cooperative humans, refering to an ancient power that while imperialist, maintained a strong sense of professionalism and discipline. Yet in the face of such a brutal enemy, the discipline our combat units, trained for dozens of human years and battlehardened from dozens more of interplanetary campaigns began to break down. Twitchy commanders, suffering from a mental illness we had never seen, yet humans easily diagnosed as "post traumatic stress syndrome" soon gunned down approaching humans on sight, and prisoners were seldom taken.
All this only had the effect of intensifying humanity's burning hatred for our empire. What should have taken less than half of their years instead took a decade, and four armies worth of reinforcements. Finally, we had reduced their regular militaries to haggard fanatics hiding in subterranean bunkers across the planet.
Yet just before we breached the final bunker containing their leadership, and remaining military infrastructure, the leadership activated a network of missiles containing fusion warheads, hidden in previously unencountered submersible vehicles scattered across their oceans. If we couldn't have earth, nobody could. These missiles were not powerful enough to even make orbit around their planet, much less strike our staging bases on their moon. This told us that the humans had built such a destructive weapons system not for use on us, *but on each other*.
The results of the campaign had a traumatic effect not only on our soldiers, but the entire empire. The value of earth was it's breathable atmosphere, a perfect target for colonisation. Yet in the push of a button, humans made a decade of war, the deaths of hundreds of millions of our soldiers, and quintillions of credits meaningless. We evacuated and quarantined Earth, and the entire system was seen as effectively haunted.
I never saw another human again after their species' self immolation. Yet I remain haunted by one thought: If even a dozen breeding pairs of humans were to survive and persist, then our civilisation is in mortal danger. Their children would grow up in caves with respirator masks permanantly affixed to their heads, hearing tales of burning hatred, consecrating themselves as avatars of vengence before they could read. Even if it took a thousand years, they would crawl groaning and screaming out of the ashes until they could stand, and they would not sit until vengence for our crimes against their ancestors had been extracted ten times over. | “Greetings, my fellow human comrade, you do not know me, but I know you.
We once thought ourselves as alone in this universe as a species, and when the others made themselves known to us, we had little choice but to acknowledge them as superiors.
And now these superiors have made a terrible choice - we never chose to oppose them, and yet, we now are forced to do so.
These aliens take our planets, enslave our kind and use our bodies for cruel experiments and torture.
I beseech you, to take up arms and join us in retaking our lands back; in the long history of mankind, we have always fought among ourselves, but now we have a common enemy - and we will now show them hell for making an enemy of us.
And I will lead us into a future where there is only peace, a universe that will learn to respect us as a species. I am the Emperor of Mankind, and I ask you once again, “Are you with me?” | 2022-08-05T21:12:29 | 2022-08-05T16:09:25 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl. | The few people who are in the know want to ask me how I didn't know my roommate was a Gemini. Sorry. Autocorrect. Given I. Dammit. Gemini. Ginie. Finite. Fuck. DJINN.
Just settle for that. Which is the right spelling, apparently.
Well what I want to ask them is this: "How do you know your roommate isn't one?"
There's no answer to this. Buzzfeed has yet to offer a definitive quiz on this. And the truth is, you only know a Djinn is a Djinn when they want you to know. Or they slip up. Which is rare. It might take 4 years for that to happen.
Sure, she offered to take care of procuring the toilet paper, paper towels...stuff we needed with regularity and consistency. I just figured she had a Costco membership. Never would it have occurred to me to think she was conjuring them out of thin air.
Once, I really needed rent and I just couldn't come up with it. I was tapped out and still $200 short. I really wished and prayed for a windfall of some kind. When the scratch off ticket turned out to be a winner, I actually tried to make her take it. She'd bought it after all. They were her winnings, really. But she wouldn't take it.
She never had trouble coming up with rent even though I never saw her go to work. But then again, lots of people make money selling jewelry on Etsy.
Long and short of it is, there was never anything that happened that couldn't be accounted for by good luck and an alternative lifestyle.
But then...
"But then." What a typical thing to say. But it's true. It was out of the blue.
Nobody suspects a car accident. It happened just as quick as any "but then" might.
My phone rang at 2:34 am. It must have rung twice to get through my do not disturb settings. I don't know why I answered it. Perhaps because a call at 2:34 am seems wrong. We just answer them. It's a reflex.
Mom.
It was mom.
A car accident on the way home from the airport. My god. It sounds trite, but really, you never think it will happen to you until it does.
Critically injured. Unknown future. Come immediately.
I threw on some pants and found my keys in a daze. I drove in a fog. I don't know why, but I followed all the traffic laws. I was never a better driver than I was that night. And red lights were never longer. When I arrived, I was rushed in to see her. She had just come out of emergency surgery. There was nothing to do but say hello to an unconscious woman, and retire to the waiting room to cry.
I wasn't there 10 minutes before Janelle came in. At the time, I didn't think to ask how she knew, you see. I just needed her shoulder.
She was there and she was strong. She was quiet and it was soothing. The waiting room was empty and I was just so glad to not be alone.
After some time, she went and got me some coffee. We sat side by side in the white silence.
"Don't you wish she would be okay?" She said. "Don't you wish she'll pull through?"
Her words seemed like taunting. Of course I wished it. Of course. I repeated it over and over in my head: Don't let her die. Don't take her. Please please please please. Please forever until my voice runs out. God, please.
But I said nothing.
"Don't you wish? Lauren. Do you wish for it?"
Why was she pushing?
She looked at me dead in the eyes. Steady. Unwavering. Totally cold stare.
I nodded.
"You have to say it."
I gulped and looked down. "Yes. I wish she would be okay. I wish she would recover and be my mom again. No. I wish this never happened. That's what I really wish for."
Janelle looked satisfied. "Fine," She said. "Just fine."
I woke up the next morning in my own bed. I couldn't remember the ride home from the hospital or taking off my pants or sliding between the sheets.
I woke up groggy and confused. When I made my way to the living room, Janelle was sitting on the edge of the couch.
"She's fine."
"What?"
"Your mom. The hospital called. She's fine."
"What?"
"They called you last night. Your mom was sideswiped, but the damage was only to her car. She had some bruises, but no real injuries."
Very confused. "But I went there. She had surgery. Possible brain damage. How can she be fine?!" I had never heard my voice so high. Climbing and climbing.
There was silence. A wavering. Then the truth. "You wished for it. You wished it never happened. That she'd be okay."
I'd need a day or 38 to work that out. "My wish? You said I had to wish."
"I said you had to say it out loud."
"You did. I did."
"I did."
I nodded.
I turned back to my room.
"You have one left."
"What?"
"Only one. No. Not now. Think hard."
I did.
A couple days later we sat on that same couch. We hadn't talked about anything that had happened. But I had reviewed the past few years I my head.
"Janelle."
"Yes?"
"I don't want to be alone. I wish I has a real partner. A life partner. I want a mate--a husband. The perfect husband."
Nothing.
There was a moment then, when I thought maybe I had been wrong. I didn't want to look up. I felt stupid. "Anyway. Doesn't everyone?" I tried to laugh. I stood up.
"They do."
Her voice has changed. Deeper. More masculine. I turned and looked into her eyes. The same eyes. And I shivered.
"I can be whatever you need," he said.
| After a long tiring day in college, I headed for my room in the apartment I had recently moved into with a close buddy of mine. I throw my backpack on the floor, lie down on my bed and quickly note the time - it was 6:45 pm.
As I was staring at the ceiling, I remembered the lamp my roommate Ashkan had showed me a couple of days ago. He'd been gifted that by his grandfather and it apparently had a "magical djinn" living inside it thousands of years ago.
It was a pretty antique piece and could definitely be worth thousands of dollars. Anyway, i got up and headed for Ashkan's room where the lamp stood inside on one of the highest shelves. The lights gave it a brilliant shine, as if it had been purchased just yesterday.
I proceeded to pick the lamp up and began examining the arab writings that were all over it. I began rubbing it gently with no result, but I kept up the task for a good 3 minutes and to my surprise , there he stood - an ACTUAL fucking Djinn! Crimson red in color with a long beard and a turban covering his matted hair, he spoke with a loud yet gentle voice,"I am the great Djinn and your wish is my command. I hereby grant you two wishes." I stood with my jaw half-open.
I immediately question him, "Two wishes? But I thought-". "No", he barged in, "This is the real world, not a Disney movie."
I stand there in astonishment and quickly think of my first wish. I stammer ,"I-I wish for an unending supply of money to my bank account." He raises an eyebrow, and philosophizes, "Greed will get you nowhere, my friend. Hmph, very well." And with a snap of his fingers, he did what I thought was possible only in animated movies.
I get a text a couple of seconds later from the DoomTingles lottery Co. saying "Congratulations Mr. Mukovic , you're the lucky winner of our lottery and you shall receive $100 every month for the rest of your life. Sincerely, DoomTingles Lottery Co. They even called minutes later to confirm the prize!
"Well, not much but it'll do" I said to myself. Completely amazed and excited now, I quickly think of my second and final wish.
"I wish to meet my perfect soulmate" I blurt out.
"Very well" he replies and with a snap of his fingers, I hear an extremely loud scream which couldn't possibly be anyone but Ashkan, my roommate.
I assumed he'd just come home from work. So I got out of his room before he saw me, but what I saw next baffled me.
A beautiful brunette stood there with a cute smile. She was from my accounts class and had come over to complete a project that I apparently forgot about.
I immediately greet her and take her to my room. The Djinn had vanished in the meantime. After an hour of chatting and solving problems, I began to feel like I knew her well. Then, "the" moment came when my eyes were locked with Erica's. For a brief moment, I felt that I had found "the one" and we begin making out passionately. This goes on for another twenty minutes when I hear the door bell.
I got up from my deep slumber, find myself on my bed and note the time- 7:28 pm. Ashkan was back from work and it was all a fucking dream. | 2014-08-19T14:38:36 | 2014-08-19T10:17:13 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive. | Most of the “immortals” on our planet only hold one world record. Naturally, this makes them nervous, and dooms them to spend their immortality tediously improving their skill to make their record harder to break. The more ambitious “immortals” will forego the usual record padding in an attempt to set a second world record, a term we like to call “backing up the hard drive.” Obviously, this presents a huge risk. Your competition certainly will not be taking time off from honing the skill that makes you immortal, and will not care in the slightest if you need to die so they can gain their own immortality.
I only hold one record, but unlike the other immortals, I have very little to fear.
Because I’m the oldest person alive.
Being the oldest person alive is a pretty sweet gig. There’s infinite job security, and no need to improve on the skill that’s keeping me alive. In fact, the only way to improve is to just keep my heart beating, which is pretty easy to do, being immortal and all.
Of course, the record also has its drawbacks. My body hasn’t deteriorated since I gained immortality, but since I didn’t become the oldest person alive until I was 116 years old, it’s pretty tough for me to move around. My body can instantly regenerate any injuries caused by the advanced Osteoporosis I suffer, but my bones come back just as brittle as they were before. It’s a bit of a pain.
But my deteriorated body is nothing compared to my biggest nuisance, Dolores Smith.
As you may have guessed, Dolores is the second oldest person alive. She currently has a $100,000,000 bounty on my head, which she plans to pay off over a 250 year period. The bounty is pointless, of course. As long as I am the oldest person alive, I will continue to live. But that doesn’t prevent the endless string of attempts on my life, by people who just can’t resist taking a shot at that money.
In addition to the amateurs, who resort to placing crude explosives outside my house, (try to imagine my insurance premiums), or standing on my front porch with shotguns, Dolores has also organized several hits from professional assassins. I’d like to say that coming face to face with these cold hearted killers is the most terrifying part of my immortality, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had a great time meeting Cesar Hernandez.
With my limited mobility, I mostly stay inside my house. I don’t meet with many other “immortals”, apart from infrequent online group chats, so it was a pleasant surprise to find Cesar lurking in my house one Saturday night. I won’t disturb you with the gory details of how he attempted to do me in, but I will tell you that his methods were extremely creative and well thought out. I can certainly see why he holds the world record for most contract kills.
Once my body’s atoms put themselves back in place, Cesar gave me a long look before nodding in resignation. “I apologize for the inconvenience I caused you.” He extended a muscular arm to me. “I’m Cesar.”
Even in failure, he was such a charming young man. I accepted his handshake without a second thought. “Nancy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And I have heard a lot about you.” Cesar paused for a second, as if he were debating leaving. “Again, I’m really sorry about this. I know from experience how shitty it is to have people constantly trying to kill you. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you.”
Now, it had been over 120 years since I had last gone to a bar, but I just couldn’t say no to Cesar. We had a lovely evening, with most of our conversation revolving around our shared hatred of Dolores. “I really hope she dies soon,” I said with a sigh.
Cesar grinned, and stared at his reflection in the bar's mirror. It was a long time before either of us spoke. “You know,” he finally said, “whoever figures out how to kill an immortal first is going to become a very powerful person.”
I nodded silently, and allowed myself a small smile into my martini glass. “Perhaps someone already has.”
Cesar furrowed his brow, and gave me a long, hard look. “You must know I need to ask how you did it.”
“I completely understand." With a feeble hand, I lifted the martini glass to my mouth. "But you must know that I’m never going to tell you.”
Another long silence passed. Cesar stared straight into my eyes, with a look that was a mix of anger and begrudging respect. “Yeah, I know." He picked his platinum credit card off the surface of the bar, and returned it to his wallet. “Well, regardless, it was nice to make your acquaintance. Let’s get you home.”
He was so charming that I almost wanted to tell him, but I just smiled and lowered myself from my chair. “I think that would be for the best. Thank you for a wonderful evening, Cesar.”
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Edit: Wow guys, thank you so much for all the feedback and well thought out theories. I haven't had a prompt response blow up like this before, so all of this great conversation has really made my day.
And yeah, I do have a subreddit with the other prompts I've written. It's r/mvdww.
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Edit 2: I know a lot of you were asking for a sequel, but I didn't have a continuation of Nancy's story that immediately came to mind. I'll get back to that tomorrow, but in the meantime I did the next best thing and wrote a spiritual sequel based on a prompt within the prompt from u/TheDovahkiin1
"What if there was an immortal who had the world record for most failed suicide attempts?"
Anyway, [here's the link](https://www.reddit.com/r/mvdww/comments/5ieujp/wp_what_if_there_was_an_immortal_who_had_the/). Hope you guys enjoy.
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Edit 3: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/mvdww/comments/5iltkc/the_oldest_woman_alive_part_2/) of Nancy's story is up now. | "Impossible..." the man's eyes stared at me wildly, his two hands still on the blade plunged deep within my heart.
"Surprised?" I asked coldly, before removing my hand from my pockets. A loud bang echoed against the walls, followed by a thud on the floor. The man groaned loudly in pain from the bullet I had put through his chest.
"Arghhh.... fuck, fuck, fuck...." he cursed under his breath, both his hands on his chest. Clearly he was not used to pain himself. I pointed my gun at his head. A few more loud bangs and the man laid there, motionless. A few bullets to the head usually does the trick of keeping any potential Immortals down.
I raised my hand to indicate that things were under control, and several armored officers rushed over. They immediately cuffed the man, obviously not taking chances with him. Dubbed the Heart Stealer, he was a wanted man across several cities for him murder spree.
As the man dragged the lifeless body away, the commanding officer walked over to me. "Do you think he's reached the record?"
I lit up a cigarette and took a few puff from it, my eyes fixed on the puddle of blood. "You'll know soon enough, Sergeant. Either way, he's won't be an issue any longer."
The sergeant's eyes shifted to the blade still lodged on my chest. "Are you not going to remove that?"
I calmly pulled the knife out, the sensation of the blade tearing through my skin a feeling that I've been too used to. "Sorry, sometimes I tend to forget that," I said as I passed the knife to the sergeant, who hastily deposited the knife into an evidence bag, before turning his attention back to me.
"Anyway, thanks again for agreeing to help with this case. I'll need to head back to HQ to process the criminal, and I'll let you know if there's anything else," he quickly mumbled, before walking away.
"Just don't forget my pay!" I jokingly called out, to which he raised his hands and showed an OK sign. I smiled as I watched him go. I don't really need the pay, as I have had all the years on earth to accumulate them. What I particularly enjoyed was the thrill in taking down these wannabe immortals.
As I walked towards the opposite direction, my phone started to buzz.
"Hey Adam, how did the hunt go?" A familiar voice asked on the other end.
I smiled. It was always good to hear Eve's voice, no matter how many times have I heard it. After all, she was my first friend in this world. "Like usual. It was easy to lure him out once he thought I was the record holder."
"Oh, so what record was he going for?"
"Some twisted record of stabbing the most hearts, according to the police," I replied.
"Ewww, twisted. Glad that has come to an end," Eve tried to humour me, before going into the real reason she called. "Anyway, the Guinness Council just called, so just wanted to let you know that. Some emergency matters, they say that require our presence."
"I thought we handed over matters to them long ago, but alright, we'll be there," I sighed, the thought of sitting through one of those assemblies filling me with dread. I looked around impatiently, before my eyes caught sight of my still bloodied shirt.
"By the way, I may need you to buy a new shirt for me. I'll see you later," I said, and hung up the phone. Just another night for the world's longest living person.
--------------
/r/dori_tales | 2016-12-14T05:20:39 | 2016-12-14T05:02:19 | 2,767 | 46 |
[WP] From the point of view of dogs, humans are like elves, benvolent beings with incredibly long lives enjoying pastimes too intricate and complex to understand. | Pale, tall, strangely hairless, with hard flashing eyes and sharp tongues... they are the elder race, privy to the arcane secrets and mysteries of the universe.
And they have accepted a chosen few of us into their pack.
When they arrived, most packs saw them as prey. They were soft, they lacked tooth and claw and the protection of fur. Tall, yes, but not fearsome like the bear or the aurochs, nor the great cats or mammoths. Some worried that they travelled in groups, like a pack, but others were convinced that they were merely small herds. But as we found their scents deeper and deeper in our range, something happened. The packs that saw them as prey... disappeared. We would find a lone cub, from time to time, terrorized, frantic and touched. A mere whiff of the elders' scent would drive these poor survivors into mewling, craven despair. And then something strange happened.
My first season as a grown wolf - still small, but no longer a pup - was a dry season, and food was scarce. I was sent to scout for prey, and found the pack of elders in a narrow valley, where a river of sweet water flowed toward the salty sea. I was hungry, and my pack was waiting for me to come back. I smelled that scent, the one that wakes fear in any wise beast, the smell of fire. It was frightening, a thing no wolf would wish to risk venturing near, The pack leaders had taught us to flee this scent, but hunger gnawed at me, and I feared the pups would die unless we found food. And the only time I had encountered it before was in the blackened remnants of an abandoned elders' camp, where scraps of food had been left behind. There were few of them - one for each paw and one for the mouth - and my pack numbered more than a full paw's claws for each of them. There was a worrying scent, though. Another pack? But no, too few, and not right. But hunger drove me to desperation. I loped back to my pack.
We spread out into the valley, surrounding their pack, careful to avoid the gap where wind flowed down the cliffs, creeping closer... and then a wolf began to howl. It was not one of our pack, and I froze, panic gripping me. The pack leader, though, was a hoary old wolf, and fear had never bloomed in his breast. He, and a paw of paws of hunters, all of the fiercest of the pack, burst out of their shadows, rushing toward the scents and sounds of the elders. And then there was shouting, and the sound of falling branches, and something like the sound of an aurochs goring a wolf that carelessly came too close to its horns, and falling rocks, and the whine of a wounded wolf, and another, and painful howling, and ... silence. The scent of blood - some from those where were not, in fact, prey, but mostly the blood of my pack. I cowered in the shadow of the rock I had been skulking around. The only sounds remaining of my pack were the terrified breaths of the few nursing mothers who had charge of the cubs, the mewling of the two paws of cubs, and me. And flickering lights, and the smell of fire, moved around the darkness, surrounding us. Death approached.
But the elders, while cruel and deadly in their nature, are not without mercy. Rather than death, they approached with... food? And a pair of strange wolves, as fey as the elders themselves, who sniffed at me. The elder placed the food in front of me, and backed away. I wanted to curl up and hide, but hunger got the better of me, and I ate. The sweetness of that meat - meat of some beast, I know not even what, but it was the best I had ever tasted. And then I saw the mothers, and the cubs, being fed as well. Except for the bitch with the white patch between her eyes. Because when she was offered food, she instead tried to lunge at the elder who offered it... and the elder reached out, and what looked like a branch, straight and narrow, appeared, between the elder and the bitch, and the bitch yelped, and went stiff, and died. Cruel, and deadly. But not without mercy.
I don't know why I didn't flee in the night. Perhaps it was because the cubs were too many for the remaining mothers to keep, and I felt obligated to stay to do what I could. Perhaps it was the prospect of being another fear-touched lone wolf. I stayed, though I expected that I would be killed the next day. Instead I was, again, fed. And the next day, and the next. When the elders decided to move their camp, they called to me, and to the mothers, and waved food at us, to entice us to follow. And follow we did, no different from the fey wolves who had called the warning at my pack's approach.
It has been many seasons, and I still serve the elders. I hunt with their pack, and they call the hunt, They seem not to have aged, but I am an old wolf, and can barely run. They should cull me, I am a liability to the pack. Instead, they call me, caress me, hold me close, feed me, even carry me when I cannot manage to keep up. I do not understand them. They are cruel, and kind, and wise beyond measure, and they are my pack. My pups, and my pups pups, play with their children, hunt with their hunters, guard their camp. I can know no greater loyalty than to serve these wise beings. And when my last breath sighs out, my descendants will carry on this debt of loyalty. Forever. I was a wolf, but my legacy will be... something else. | The fireplace crackled quietly as it always did, casting a warm and familiar glow around the room. I laid on the floor, like I always did, full and content, on the small rug laid out between the fire and the chairs. The lady of the house sat in her rocking chair, like she always did, watching that magical box on the wall. It always seemed to keep all of her attention until she got up to go to bed. Thats what I was waiting for. The moment where I would jump up onto the big soft mattress and fall asleep at her feet. The magical box got loud, the sound echoing off the walls and down the hallway. I looked quickly after it, but it disappeared down the hallway.
"What is it boy?" She asked me.
"I dont know," I thought. I hoped I heard something. The lady always was warm and cheery, but there is a sadness about her that I can almost smell. First, she leaves me for about nine hours, doing god knows what and when she reappears, she is too tired to play. I dont know what she is doing that takes up all her energy, but it sure doesnt make her happy. I cant complain though. I am always fed on time, and she is sure to take me outside so I can make sure the cats are all in line. Its hard work but someones gotta do it. I let out a huge yawn at that thought. I felt the lady looking me over quietly. I wondered if she would come over and try to pick me up. She was not a large human, not like the other one, and I always wondered how she got me up off the ground. Oh yes the other one. He used to lift me up into his big machine with the wheels and roll down the glass so I could feel the wind in my ears and my fur and my tongue. Oh I miss him.
"Whoa, your going to bruise my leg boy." I looked at her and saw that I was vigorously slapping my tail around. She laughed delighted at me. I laid my head down and looked at her. Something was different, but I cant figure it out. It was ever since she took me out to that big field with all the big rocks. She stood on the drive way and held my leash very tightly. I wanted to run after the big june bugs and grab a snack, but she wouldnt let me go. You know, I kind of faintly smelled the big human too, but he was far away, and through the crowd and I really couldnt focus on his smell for long. Thats when I looked at the lady and saw her eyes watering. Humans seem very complicated. I looked at the Lady of the house again, the firelight reflecting off her watering eyes. She smiled down at me.
"Alright boy, lets go to sleep." She got up and turned for the hallway, but I was already there, sitting on the floor by the bed waiting. She got into the bed, on the same side she always did and sat up smiling at me.
"Your turn." She said. I leapt up to her feet and laid across the bed my head on her ankles like I always did now. She pat my head quietly and I closed my watery eyes. | 2021-06-25T13:54:14 | 2021-06-25T12:31:30 | 2,077 | 158 |
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?" | Part 1
I had been recruited right out of school just as I wrapped up my doctorate in computer science. My dissertation in artificial intelligence had attracted the attention of a NASA team developing a series of rovers and autonomous workers for construction of a Mars station while the first human exploration mission was en route to our red neighbor. With a target of launching sometime in the 2030's. The recruitment process seemed to fly and before I knew it two weeks after I got my doctorate, I was packing myself in to my little Mustang convertible and driving across the nation to a new job.
The first few months of the job were fascinating and exhausting. I spent my time primarily catch up with the work already done and making a series of suggestions, and proposals for new features for the project. I spent a lot of time with the team at work, but no real interactions with them outside of work. And being in a strange new part of the country, with no friends or family I threw myself into the world. I worked long days, devouring as much information as I could, and generally putting my best foot forward.
Just before my six month review came up, my boss and team leader invited me out to have dinner and drinks with the team. By this time I had noticed a growing tension in the group. More than once I realized occasionally conversations would stop or change when I entered a room. The team leader had a series of conference meetings that seemed to leave her under more and more pressure. I hoped that this invitation meant I would finally be brought into the fold of the team. I didn't know if it was an issue with me, in the project, political pressure from superiors in NASA or Washington, or something else entirely. But I wanted to know, and wanted to help. God, if only I didn't know now what I didn't know about then.
So there I was, alongside the dozen other primary researchers of this team. I was the only junior researcher and one of two "experts" in artificial intelligence. The others came from a variety of fields and levels of experience. But I was the youngest and least experienced. The tension seemed to lessen as the team relaxed in the reserved private room at a local high end sushi/hibachi restaurant. I nursed the only alcoholic beverage I had that evening, and had a half full glass of water nearby. I watched, as time went on and more drinks downed, the team slowly unwind. Even Stein, the crotchety old Russian electrical engineer who never seemed to smile, laugh with Israel, the middle aged African American geologist as they told each other increasingly worsening bad jokes.
Suddenly, Ariel Hilman the project manager and boss slid into the seat next to me. She was a late middle aged woman, with a tad of grey in the temples of her flame red hair. She was not someone to mess with. I had seen her rip into Lamond, the projects lead artificial intelligence researcher making his six foot frame seem like a small child compared to her own fix foot petite self.
"Penny for your thoughts?" She said smiling. Her face was a tad red, probably from one to many of whatever was in the wine glass she held.
"Thanks for inviting me out with y'all. " I said. "Its nice to see what everyone is like outside the lab."
"Of course," she replied. "We crossed a major milestone last week. The bosses are a little happier. Your suggestions may ended up saving at least a month of development, after they are reviewed and implemented."
"Just doing what I was hired for." I smiled at her. As I looked at her I noticed a couple of the pendants on her necklace. A silvery trident, a golden anchor, a pair of dolphins. "I love your necklace. I spent a lot of my youth on beaches. My dad also worked on a NOAA research vessel as a medic and cook for years."
"What? " She looked at me confused then her hand went to her neck. "Oh, this thing. It was a going away present when I left NOAA."
"Oh? What did you do there?"
"I started as an assistant project manager right out of my time in the navy, and worked my way into a project liaison on a joint project with NASA and the Navy. That last project led me to be recruited for this one two years ago." She smiled then took a big swallow out of her glass, emptying it. She motioned to the waitress on the other side of the room then looked complentatively at the table we were at.
"Wow, talk about small world. You know, I always wondered about how closely NOAA and NASA worked. After all, NASA has something like four times the budget NOAA does. I wonder how much "help" NOAA gets exploring the oceans. " I smiled at the insinuation.
She looked distant as she glanced at me then back to her glass. Her forehead paled as she thought for a moment about the statement I made.
"How much help?" She repeated before a brief flash of fear crossed her face. "Why do you think we are in such a hurry to leave?"
Author's note : This grew a lot faster than I expected. I'm gonna post what I have in two parts. I look forward to any comments, critiques, words of encouragement/discouragement. I have some ideas about where to take this. Please excuse the errors, I did this one my phone. I'll probably switched to a computer to continue it. At this point I'm considering this a first chapter. This is my first time responding to one of these, though I read them all the time. | She turned pale, leaned in closer, and then whispered, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?"
Time slowed momentarily as I took in the gravity of her words, the noise in the bar fading suddenly into the background as I attempted to process this new information. Even the harsh clinking of glass on glass failed to break my concentration. It occurred to me that she might just be having a laugh at my expense… Ah yes, I can see it now… Her, back at the office, with various co-workers crowded around, all clamoring to hear the tale of my immediate reaction to what she had said... and no doubt eliciting uproarious laughter at my expense.
“Are… are you all right…?” Her question, laced with what seemed to be genuine concern, jolted me from my stupor, forcing me to make a decision. Should I deign to trust what she had said and probe further or leave it at that? Well, the allure of such highly protected information was simply too much.
“Ah, yes. I’m fine… I was just trying to process what you said. So…” Her eyes glinted in the dim lighting, seeming to understand where I was headed.
“Well, you see, it’s not something to talk about in this environment. I wouldn’t want to cause a panic, you know?” A panic?? What on earth could she be referring to? I simply had to know! “But I’ll show you tomorrow. Anyways, how have you been adjusting…?” Oh god, getting through the rest of this without betraying my absolute *need* to know what she was referring to was going to be a massive pain.
\~\~\~
“Good morning!” I nearly yelled, a mess of nervous excitement as I stepped into her office the next day. My energy was a boundless stream of water, rushing to fill the otherwise stark, tidy space.
“Ahh good morning! I assume you’re here to learn more about what I mentioned last night?” she said airily, motioning me to her side. I practically leapt closer, as she pointed to an article with several graphs and charts that was displayed on her computer screen. The title, in big, bold lettering, stated “Ocean Rising! What Will it Eat First?” I stared dumbly at the screen as my eyes quickly skimmed over the following text and glanced at the graphs. “I really just… can hardly believe it. I get so scared thinking about the data we’ve gleaned from our research. Before we know it, we’ll all be **food** for its depths. I'm not ready to be eaten!!” she wailed.
Oh. “Uhh… Well… maybe we get to choose what kind of fish eats us…?”
... | 2019-08-07T22:01:31 | 2019-08-07T18:19:58 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen a lot of tens. It's scary, really, how quickly people can go from six or even five to ten. Other people don't realize how much danger surrounds them every day. It takes so little...
No, the tens aren't the ones that stay with you. Not for long, anyway. No, the one that will always be in my mind was something else entirely.
A zero.
She was the first zero I ever saw, and the only one until I watched my children be born. They eventually grew into little ones and twos, of course, but for a short, wonderful time, they were tiny, giggling bundles of zero. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
*She* was the first. Sarah. I was drawn to her from the moment I saw her, dangling her legs from a swing on the playground. How old could we have been? 12? 13, maybe. I wasn't really sure what the numbers meant then, but the lowest I'd ever seen was a one, so I knew she was something special. I stared at her from across the playground and she smiled at me, her entire face beaming zero. I'm telling you... they say Helen of Troy had a face that launched a thousand ships. Well, Sarah could make them come back home. If there ever was a face that could end wars, it was hers.
We were friends at first. I was terrified of ruining it by saying too much, but the words I wanted to say ran laps through my head every time I saw her. Then, on a hot summer night that was made for drunken mistakes, I said them anyway. And guess what? She felt the same way.
When I think about my kids, I don't want them to be rich. I don't want them to be famous. I just want them to feel what I felt back there on that summer night, because I know that if they find someone to share that moment with, they'll be happy for the rest of their lives.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. After that night, me and Sarah were one. We went through the rest of high school. College. We got married and got nice jobs. Bought a house. Got kids. Everything was perfect... for a while.
Something was going on with Sarah. I first noticed it one Saturday morning when she was doing the laundry. She'd been doing long hours at work all week and wasn't feeling very well, so I offered to do the laundry. She looked up at me then and smiled faintly, but something was off. Instead of the clear, bright zero I was so used to seeing, she was flashing a faint one. The next moment, she was back to zero. I was stunned at first, but managed to convince myself it was nothing. She'd had a tough week, that was all.
The next time, we were having dinner with the kids. She wasn't behaving like her usual self, and she gave off a dull, weak three, like she was trying desperately to calm down. When I asked her if something was wrong, she mumbled something about an asshole at work. I wanted to dig deeper, but I had to take care of the kids. I asked her again later, but she clammed up completely. Everything about it was so unlike her.
I racked my brain for weeks trying to find out what was wrong. Was it something I'd done? Was she about to get fired? And the unthinkable: was she sick? But why wouldn't she tell me? I thought we had no secrets. I'd always told her everything! Well... apart from the numbers. She'd think I was mad.
Then, one day, I found out the truth.
It was early Friday morning. She never came home Thursday night. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling and running the same thoughts over and over through my mind. Imagining the worst. Was I going to get a call from the police? The hospital? I considered calling them to see if she was there.
I heard a car pull up at our driveway. I didn't have to look; it was her. I listened to her opening the door. Taking off her shoes, walking up the stairs - was something off about her steps? - putting her hand on the door handle. In the dead silence, I heard her take a deep breath on the other side. The door clicked and swung open, and there she was.
She'd been crying. She wore her work clothes, but they were a bit ruffled and wrinkly. She looked at me with an expression I'd never seen her wear before. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She drew another breath, short and shallow, and her lips slowly parted.
"We need to talk."
Her voice sounded muffled in my ears, like it was coming from far away. From someone else. She remained in the doorway, not saying a word. I didn't either. I just looked at her. *Sarah*. There she was, standing in our bedroom on the second floor of our house. In the rooms across the hall, our children were sleeping.
I watched her standing there, and she looked back at me, her face screaming a hot, burning ten. | “I had no idea what the numbers meant at first, but everyone had one. The highest I had seen, before I knew what they were, was my uncle, a Vietnam veteran, five. I learned what they really meant two years ago, walking home after my first day of middle school, a passing car swerving all over the road, had to be going at least 60 miles an hour, the driver was a seven. The car flew through a house, leaving nothing but a hole in the wall and smoking scrap metal. According to the news that night all the passengers and the owner of the house had been killed, those numbers measured danger, and from then on I steered clear of the high ones.
Flash forward until now, a couple months into my freshman year of high school. Most kids aren't all that dangerous, usually around a two; some of the meek scrawny nerds are a one, and some of the linebackers who look like they've been taking steroids for years are a three. A new kid shows up and flies under everyone's radar but mine, six.
This guy isn't some stereotypical gangbanger or hoodrat, just a normal looking kid who looks like he might have moved from a neighborhood much more posh than this one. I keep my distance as usual, but resolve to keep an eye on him. Nothing seems to go wrong, in fact he's pretty popular, but I still become more wary of him, of his number, of seven, of eight.
I'd never seen anyone's number change before, but this guy's just keeps going up at record pace. A day ago it happened, *ten.* I had been to a prison once to visit my idiot brother who got busted for selling weed, and nobody there was even that high. I don't know what this fucker is planning, but with a number like that it's got to be a national security issue or something.”
This journal entry was recovered from the home of US Department of Defense supernatural human subject #2718, who was recovered following a school shooting incident. We have determined that the numbers he sees are likely correlated not only to the danger a person poses, but also faces. Further experimentation and interviews are required to determine any potential applications of this ability. Subject is deemed safe to return to society, following debriefing and signature of non-disclosure agreement.
(I kinda suck at writing endings, but I gave it a shot. My first non FF/CW post here!)
| 2014-11-29T14:12:40 | 2014-11-29T12:35:37 | 714 | 199 |
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl. | "You don't have to enjoy it," she said. "No one ever really enjoys it."
"But you have to do it," she cocked the gun. "It's hard, I know. Sympathy is the only thing keeping us from following through. Some people say we're tough, that we don't ever feel anything for anyone else. But I'm not tough. You're not tough either. Tough people, see, they're able to bury their feelings, their inhibitions, deep down inside. They surround every shred of sympathy with this thick exterior."
She handed the gun to me. My quivering hands took it, and she pointed the gun towards them. I had never seen them like this, on their knees. They always towered over me, as if their authority was granted to them by their size.
"You came to the right place," she continued. "Because you're one of us."
I could smell the alcohol on both their breaths, I could see the raw fear in their eyes. Nine years of beatings and screaming and hell, and they never thought I would have the backbone.
"None of us ever bury our sympathy."
My mother whimpers, "Please." I think it's the nicest tone she's ever used with me.
"We just turn it off."
I look for one second at the both of them. They raised me, they would say. You're ungrateful, they always said. We're the only family you have. You can't do this.
The bruise on my eye stings as I wince, my head tilted to one side. My vision blurs, just enough so that I can't make it out that they're still people. Family is overrated, I think.
"You're with me now," she said. "Do it."
I shoot twice. The silence is louder than the gunshots.
-----------
We meet again at the park, the same way we've always done. I almost don't recognize her, her carefully done up hair and her sweet, deceptive smile.
"It's been years, Orion," she said. "I love the beard."
I take off my sunglasses and wipe my eyes. I can still feel that bruise, twenty years later.
"Athena," I say. "You wouldn't see me if it wasn't important."
"It is important," she said. "Call it your last assignment from me."
She waves her hand and beckons her over. The girl is young, shaking, quivering. She's scared, but I can sense a resolve on her.
The girl hands me a letter. I take it, the coins rustling inside. I already know what it says. It's the same letter I sent to Athena, twenty years ago.
I unfold the paper. A child's scrawl reads two words.
"Teach me."
I look at the girl again, her quivering lip, her wincing eye. Her bruise stares back at me as if it was a mirror. I don't need to ask to know where it came from.
"Alright," I say, lifting my jacket to reveal my gun holstered on the inside. "You'll have to take care of them first. It's how I'll know you're serious about it. Your first kill is always the hardest, especially if it's your family, but thing you need to remember is that you don't need to enjoy it."
I cock my gun and give it to her.
"No one ever really enjoys it." | This was something new. I had never gotten any letters from illiterate kids before.
"Hey dath,
Plese come bak to us. I and Mom is mising yu.
Love Sara
PS: I hop this enough mony for a plain ticket"
Cant really blame the post service, that this ended up here either. Maybe i should tell her, that her dad wont ever come back, but then again i had a lot of work and it wasnt her time yet.
I grabbed my scythe and went back to rural China. | 2017-02-16T11:23:34 | 2017-02-16T11:18:26 | 130 | 26 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | Harbinger slowly drifted towards the busy world on the edge of the galaxy. Previous scans showed a promising level of biomass and activity, perfect for an initial pool of pawns for the coming salvation. The rest of the fleet was not far behind and needed to move quickly due to the apparent size of this cycle. Harbinger broke through the atmosphere, ominously on a vector towards the largest city on the populated rock. Backed by a dark mechanical hum the giant Reaper touched down in the sprawling mass of what appeared to be a city. The first step was well under way.
"Assuming direct con-"
OI! WOTS DAT FING?
*Boss iz looks like one uv-*
SHUT UP! IZ SEEN A FISHY BEFORE. I aint neva seen a fishy wit a shiny eye like dat one der.... I WANT IT.
GET ALL DA BOYZ AND GET DAT GIT
Harbinger heard the faint sound of a single lifeform yelling from the top of makeshift tower then firing a crude weapon in the sky. Suddenly the screaming and firing spread like wildfire though the city. Every corner of every structure seemed to explode into a stream of oversized rounds directly at the Reaper. The Orks were met with a response from the ancient reaper, the reverberating sound of the main laser weapon rang out as entire swaths of the city were wiped away. The settling dust from these scars revealed more the excited and increasingly motivated orks looting the largest weapons from the dead and continuing to fire. Ork ships were now swarming the Reaper in seemingly random flight paths. The makeshift navy was attacking in various forms ranging from a stream of bullets, catapults launching orks at the giant Reaper, or violently ramming into the hull. Harbinger had never encounter a race so ingrained in violence.
*BOSS! Our shipz iz doin' nuthing. Our shootas aint even wurth it. Wot do we do Boss?*
Warboss Gutrippa thought for a split second. Every fiber of his being poured into concentrating on a solution. This was is biggest fight and the most important so far. Suddenly a rare moment of Ork clarity. He knew, without a doubt, what needs to be done.
WEZ AINT GOT OUR FISHIN' HATZ!
GET ALLZ DA BOYZ TO TURN ER' HELMETZ UN HATZ TO DA SIDE A BIT. SEE? NOW ITZ A FISHIN' HAT AND NOW WE CAN KRUMP DAT SHINY FISH!
Harbinger sensed a moment of silence as the entire planet seemed to stop moving. All scans showed the lifeforms seemingly adjusting their helmets, and other various activities. Shortly after a shattering explosion of gunfire began again. This time the rounds ripped through the hull of the ancient Reaper, alerts from every system rang through the processor as breaches populated at an alarming rate. What is this?! How? He had never encountered resistance like this before. Panic set in for the first time in eons. He had to leave, regroup and glass the planet with the Reaper fleet. Just as the Reaper was set to retreat from the surface, the largest Ork ship appeared. Warboss Gutrippa stood at the mast of the massive ship, a large makeshift harpoon in one hand and a fishing rod with the end of the line being a machine gun in the other. As the ship picked up speed, Gutrippa swung the fishing rod above his head in a lassoing motion, the machine gun at the end now firing non stop. The Fishing boat rammed through the Ancient purifier. The Reaper went silent, with its hull collapsing into the city.
As the dust settled and the swarms of Orks and Gretchin began looting the corpse, Warboss ~~Gutrippa~~ Fishgutaa looked to the sky. The rest of the Reaper fleet was descending.
LISTEN UP BOYZ!
WAAAGH!!!!
| Eternity. Immortality. Forever.
They had no clue what these words truly meant. To see these pathetic creatures spreading their message of dreamless peace across the galaxy is an insult to all of existence. They called themselves Reapers. Their ships moved faster than any imperial or chaos ship by magnitudes, their weapons devastating to masses. It was their sole purpose, their only reason for being, to destroy all that was held dear.
Held dear to those that cherished life anyway. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that they were. They existed to end all life *except theirs*. They did not know the true peace of annihilating the soul itself. All souls live to be culled. Even the Reapers.
And as the Reapers arrived they woke up something more ancient, Something even more powerful. And as mega monoliths rose up from the ground, gauss canons tearing through both city, man, and Reapers alike all with violent ease the Necrons and all their lords woke. They awoke to show the galaxy who the mantle of reaper belongs to. | 2017-08-27T08:45:06 | 2017-08-27T08:33:00 | 2,784 | 335 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Pops,
You were a real fucking piece of work you know that? I don't think I've hated anyone quite as much as I hated you. You called me lazy, good for nothing, useless. Made me spend my youth being the mule in your construction business instead of spending summers with my friends. You absolutely hated the fact that I loved everything you didn't. You thought computers were evil, Xbox was going to rot my brain, and if it didn't involve school or work it wasn't anything worthy of my time. I remember the day I came home on college break, the day you sat me down to let me know mom had left you. I fucking hated you for ruining my 3 week break on the very first day. In fact I thought you deserved it. Mom was being an absolute irrational cunt, but you deserved it. And it was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I remember you tripping over a chair on the way out the door at 3 am as you were reaching for your truck keys. I came into the kitchen and you said you were headed out for a ride, I decided to tag along. You bawled your fucking eyes out on that ride, it was the first time I'd ever seen you be human. The last two weeks of my break we spent a lot of time together, I was actually sad to leave. It was the first time in 18 years we'd had conversations that didn't end in Fuck off. I moved in with you after college was over, and decided not to go back. You let me work for you which was the best/worst time I've ever had. I watched you lose your truck, we sat on the couch watching TV for two weeks when there was no work. We had bill collectors call once and talk to both of us. We ate more peanut butter and ramen noodles then we'd ever care to admit. We became really really good friends.
In hind sight I'd like to apologize for the seething hatred I threw at you growing up. I know you meant well. I'm probably better for you not giving me everything I wanted and pushing me like you did. That's no justification for all the mean shit you said day in and day out but I can look past that. You had a different way of helping, you were a string puller, and I get that as I've become one myself. Remember when I crashed my car coming home from the store? The roads were pure ice, and you were pissed. Remember how mom said it was amazing that my insurance didn't go up? Yeah I heard that phone call. "Just slid off the road" did ya? And that time I applied to work at the general store in town? You talked to the owner on my behalf and said he didn't want me working there. I was pissed. Two months later he was charged with embezzlement and all the employees were implicated. I didn't miss that one either, or the other hundreds of times things mysteriously worked out for the better.
It was a good 4 years to live and work with you pops. I saw you genuinely happy, we both hit financial bottom and picked ourselves up again. You had a massive heart attack that that inspired me to go into the medical field, and you to kick those life long bad habits you'd been promising to kick. You met a new woman, fell in love and remarried. Which is for the better. Someone's gotta keep an eye on your crazy ass. But I knew you were bummed you had to quit construction. It's all you've ever done and you were fucking good at it. You certainly didn't have the money or the personality to retire and I doubt you ever will. Good thing that sales job opened up when it did huh pops? Good thing thing too, cause you're fucking great at it. I knew you would be. And it's the least I could do.
With your new found financial stability I've seen the dreams I never even knew you had come to fruition. You spent a whole week hunting this year. Those three hundred blueberry bushes you always wanted are planted and you even sold some. You got your tractor you always talked about buying but never did. And my fucking god. I don't know what you see in chickens but you have them and if it makes you happy, well fuck it, I guess I'm happy too. We had a rough start, but you've always had my back even if I didn't know it. And don't think for a fucking second I don't have yours.
Love,
Your Son. | Hello,
I will never forget you or what you have done. You took my trust and shattered it into millions of pieces, like taking a hammer to a piece of glass. I thought we were friends, but friends don't do what you've done. I thought that I could trust you, but I was wrong.
I read all of the guides about how to avoid people like you. You know the ones. They warn women to stay with their friends. The guides advise to never leave a drink unattended at a bar and to watch when drinks are poured. Don't become unaware of your surroundings. Constant vigilance is needed. Take RAD classes. Aim for the junk. That was worthless when it came to you.
The guides never told me how to avoid you. They never told me how to recognize when a friend was actually anything but friendly. The guides never said that you would respect my bodily autonomy until that one day when you wouldn't. They never said that such a poisonous intention would be wrapped beautifully like the universe's worst gag gift.
The worst part of all of this isn't the lost friends, the harassment by the police or even the fact that you got off, literally and figuratively. The worst part is that I will never forget you. I will never forget the taste of you or the way that you smelled. I'll never forget the taste of the fruit punch that you gave me or the way that I couldn't taste the drug you fed me. The worst part is that I will never forget that I can't remember. I will never forget you or what you have done to me... and I hate you for it.
I want you to know that you have not broken me. I am just another victim to you, but what you don't know is that I am a survivor. You will not keep me from achieving my potential even though you certainly tried during the time that you stalked me. I realize now that I am much more than the trauma that you caused and you are worth less than the dog shit I stepped in this morning.
-A Survivor | 2015-12-05T17:35:16 | 2015-12-05T16:08:23 | 182 | 11 |
[WP] Dragons are extinct in the wild, but the royal house still has a brood pair that has had a clutch every twenty-one years for several centuries. Each hatchling imprints on a member of the royal bloodline; and only on royals. When the latest clutch hatched, the littlest one chose you. A commoner. | When the crowd starts screaming, I know they've been spotted. The cacophany of voices gets louder and louder, and I shove myself through until I reach the barrier. There! I hold up my phone and take a picture through the fence. Standing on the steps of the palace is the royal family. It must be a nightmare for so many of them to be here, considering security and other factors. I turn around with an obvious grin on my face, much to the annoyance of Andrew.
"Honey" he says, "It isn't that big of a deal. Seeing royalty isn't as important as you sesm to think."
I snap to his side. "Well why are all these people here? There isn't any major event; no births or deaths or marriages. I doubt these people came to admire the roses."
He rolls his eyes in exasperation. "You're acting like such a tourist."
"But I am a tourist," I respond, placing special emphasis on the "am". "You'd act the same way if you were in Hollywood and saw your favorite actor."
He shrugs and brings me in for an embrace. He picks me up and spins me around until I start to get dizzy. I giggle uncontrollably, and we get some odd looks as the people nearby make space. He finally puts me down, and I teeter around a little. I'm seeing stars, but then I notice something peculiar-it appears like some of the grass near the fence is on fire.
I chuckle and hold onto Andrew. I laugh and say, "You shouldn't do that. I can't even see straight." However, as my eyes adjust, I realize that the grass is indeed on fire. My eyes open, and I point towards what I see. His eyes follow my finger, but he sees nothing. He looks to me with confusion in his eyes, but I say nothing. I grab his hand and push my way through the crowd, one hand constantly in contact with the warm metal bars. Maybe if I get far enough, he'll be able to see it.
Suddenly, my arm goes straight through the fencing. I tumble forwards, landing on my chest. Andrew falls with me, but he falls onto the fence instead. He starts screaming immediately. "Someone get a doctor!"
I turn around and look up at him. He pushed me down and tells me not to move while someone comes. I am obviously confused, but he is too when nobody even reacts to our presence. I ask him what's wrong, and he simply responds, "You have a shard of fencing sticking out of your chest."
I immediately sit up and pat myself down, feeling for any protruding objects. Andrews eyes go glassy white, and he fumbles his hand around until he grabs my leg. "You just vanished!" he exclaims. I take his hand and start to walk. It's only after I actuslly see where I am that I realize that I'm now standing in the guarded section, behind the fencing, with my flabbergasted boyfriend still clutching my hand.
I turn around and go towards a beacon of light that seems to be eminating from a section of the wall in front of me, and I instinctively put my hand on the wall. As soon as I touch the brick, I feel the solid forces cave to my touch. I glance at my boyfriend. "No matter what happens, do not let go of my hand. I don't know what's going on, but I have a feeling that it is essential for Andrew's safety that I hold onto him. I push forwards and feel the wall surround me like gelatin. After a long minute of constant pressure, we startle into a room on the other side.
The entire room was a complete juxtaposition. Parts of it were ancient. They weren't necessarily medieval, but the walls could easily have been over a century old. But bright and illuminating ceiling lights bathed the section in stark white, but most of the room remained enveloped in shadows, even when it probably shouldn't be. Right next to a door older than me was a computer terminal that looks like something you would see in the White House Situation Room. The most interesting part, however, was a beautiful and vibrant purple egg surrounded by state of the art incubators. I hear Andrew yelling my name, but all I can think about is this beautiful piece of art. It must be a piece of art, mustn't it?
I step forward again and again and again. Andrew has left my side, but that doesn't matter. This beautiful relic is calling my name and I must answer. Sitting on such a pretty pedestal, it shimmers. I bring my hand to rest on it, and I feel its warmth. I return to the present and look around. Andrew is fiddling with the controls, and I glare daggers at him. "Andrew! What are you doing?"
He looks down and flips a switch before looking back at me. "I was just looking for the lights. You know. The lights to a mysterious room in the BUCKINGHAM PALACE that we entered through a MAGICAL PORTAL!" He calms down and looks at me. "Why are you touching a damn holy relic? If we get caught in here, we'll never see the light of day." I absently stroke the relic's scaly surface and feel it moving. I look down just as Andrew finds a light switch and bathes the room in white. I notice a tiny beak stick through and poke next to my hand.
I jolt upwards when Andrew starts screaming. I look at him, then see that he's pointing to thr far end of the room. I turn around, and see over a dozen dragons, ranging in size from a bathtub to a double decker bus. I move to run away before they get to me, but I find that I am transfixed. I realize that I am touching a dragon's egg, and I have no way to escape. Suddenly, the incubator lights go out, and one of the larger dragons begins to slowly tromp its way towards me. Concurrently, I hear an alarm begin to sound. A few seconds pass by before the dragon pokes its head out.
The door slams open and I see the queen and half the royal family in the hall. At the exact same time, the giant lizard that could eat me in a second walks by me with nary a glance, and I hear a small 5 year old girl in my head. I look down at the hatchling and realize what's happening just as I make out her words.
"Do you want to be my friend?"
| ***Taken from Scribe Roluas' Records***
The year is 1543, in the name of our Goddess and Protector, Hylia, in the Year of the Three, and ever since two years ago, after the defeat of Calamity, the Kingdom of Hyrule has prospered.
For record keeping purposes, the date today, is Faroresday, the 12th, of the year 1543, Era of the Wild.
It is time.
Time for the newest clutch of Dragons to be brought into the world.
Dragons are mostly extinct in the wild, save for the exception of the Three. Some say a part of the Three Goddesses lives in each Dragon. But that theory is unproven.
Several Centuries ago, in the Era of Time, a pair of Dragons were bred, and their offspring eventually had a clutch, and so on, and so forth, until the current day.
These two Dragons were kept by the Royal Family, the male was named Volvagia, and was said to be a massive brute, scales black and scarred from battle, his wings muscular and broad, his underbelly golden, his curled horns atop his brow were golden, his eyes crimson.
His mate, Karalasha, was significantly smaller, her scales were dark blue, her eyes golden, her underbelly white, and her wings were scarred from battle.
These are the Dragons that still dwell within the castle walls, bearing a clutch of hatchlings every twenty one years.
And this year, is the twenty first year.
A crowd is gathering in the main hall, a deep rumbling is heard from Volvagia, who tilts his head back above the growing crowd and lets out a roar that can be heard for many miles from Hyrule Castle.
The crowd gasps and takes a step back, then begins to cheer as the Queen appears from her chambers.
I arrived here some time ago, luckily managing to sit closeby to the Dragon and his mate, for I was chosen to record this clutch's choosing.
Queen Zelda walks down the steps, and up to Volvagia, and his mate, Karalasha, the young woman treats the beasts with utter respect and dignity, as she should. How her parents would be proud of her.
She then turns to address the ever growing crowd, and says "It is my honor to present the latest clutch of Volvagia and Karalasha, who have been the protectors of my ancestors for many Eras before me. I only hope that their newest clutch will continue that heritage, for many more Eras to come."
The woman then steps back, to join the crowd, as a single egg begins to crack and then shake - a hatchling is arriving!
The hatchling is a split image of his father, save that his eyes are a mix of gold, crimson, and a sapphire blue. The drake looks up, - towards me, I might add - and then looks away, towards the approaching Queen.
But he does not choose her. Wait, no, he is shaking the remnants of his eggshell from his scales, and walking towards - *him?*
No, no, this isn't right, not custom! A Dragon choosing a commoner?
But yet, none of the guards are moving to attack, why?
The young man, who is now holding the young drake, might be the one that saved all of us from Calamity, but that gives him no right to be chosen!!!
Wait, it appears the guards have decided to take action, I must take my leave, before this event becomes drastic.
If at all possible, I shall record further events hopefully very soon.
&#x200B; | 2019-01-12T22:09:49 | 2019-01-12T20:38:45 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | At first, I thought the overwhelming red in my vision was a side effect of the initial lethargy of waking up. But when that didn't clear off in time, I starting getting suspicious.
Where on Earth was I? Why would there be so many raging fires and lava lakes and... brimstone? (Thank goodness for Geology classes.) Was I hallucinating?
My last memory was of getting shot in the chest, in a back alleyway located in one of the more dubious parts of the city. That place was an utter shit hole, but nothing compared to this: a barbecue pit stretching to infinity.
Being utterly shell shocked by my surroundings, I didn't even notice a dubious figure walk right up to me.
"Greetings, Mark! If you're wondering where you are, welcome to Hell! You're the first human being ever to take up permanent residence here."
"WHAT THE HELL??? WHERE?"
"Well, you just said it yourself! This," the figure waved all around him, "is Hell. And I'm the Devil."
No wonder this place didn't look like anywhere on Earth. Because it isn't Earth.
Well, having the Devil walk right up to you and tell you that you're in Hell when you're all dazed and stuck on what seems like an infinite barbecue isn't exactly the most comforting thing.
"Hell... so I'm dammed to this shit hole forever? And you're the Devil?" I managed to stammer after partially overcoming the initial shock. "You look just like a normal human being!"
Indeed, the Devil looked like your regular businessman rushing around the financial district. He was even wearing Prada.
"Mark. Mark! Snap out of it. As I said, you're the first person in Hell. Mind telling me what you did that got you damned to this eternal hellhole?" The Devil stepped closer to me, a snarky smile on his face.
"Do you really not know?"
"Nope! I was simply given instructions from higher-ups, informing me that someone would be arriving from Earth. See, I even laid out a sheet for you to lie on. Heh. So, tell me!" The Devil had an excited tone in his voice as he sat next to me on the sheet.
"Well, I was just involved in a rival gang fight, and things turned awry. Yeah, I've done a lot of bad things in my time, but - first in Hell is a bit of a stretch. I mean, they were just gang fights! Where's Jack the Ripper? Osama bin Laden? Hitl -MMMMPFH"
"Ah, you're a smart one. All right, I lied - there were countless who came before you. But you see, my job is to recycle your souls for the new batch of humans to come."
I only saw the Devil withdraw his hand from inside my chest, holding a silvery essence in his hand. Then I blacked out.
At the same time, somewhere on Earth, a baby was born.
<=====>
This is my first time posting on /r/WritingPrompts! I'm rather uncertain about my first attempt. Haha. -nervous laughter- | I look at that son of a bitch right in the eyes and say "don't you remember? Georgia" he tried to think. "I took that bet and I ended up regretting it because you're the best there's ever been." He smirks and says "ohhhhh yesssss Johnny how have you been?" | 2015-04-09T07:51:23 | 2015-04-09T07:21:59 | 779 | 102 |
[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious. | “The anti-teleportation zone has been established, Sir.” A slender young man with sharp features, dressed in full business attire, stood outside the central vault of Golden Apex Bank to deliver the report.
“Thank you, Mr. Freeman.” Mr. Sullivan, the CEO of Golden Apex Bank, rubbed his temples as he dismissed Freeman. His graying head has been throbbing non-stop ever since the first reports of teleportation heists rolled in. In hindsight, it made perfect sense that corporate banks became the primary target once the spell has been discovered. Blink, you’re in the vault of any bank on the globe. Blink, you’re out with all the cash and gold you can carry. It was a miracle that the financial system hasn’t fully collapsed yet. *And now this damned Reddit post, planning to rob MY bank!*
Mr. Freeman nodded and went back into the vault, ensuring that the double set of sliding titanium doors closed securely behind him. The CEO let out a sigh of relief and turned to face the FBI Supervisory Special Agent, standing a few meters away and barking orders on the phone. “Agent Dorlyn,” Mr. Sullivan began once the agent hung up, “the ATZ has been set up, as per your instructions.”
“Excellent. Our agents are using their magic to sustain it already. Now no one will be able to pop into the building while the protection dome holds,” Agent Dorlyn looked briefly at the CEO before gazing back at his phone. “Let me tell you, these ATZs have been a blessing since the wizards at the CIA have discovered how to block teleporting intruders from breaching an area. We’ve instructed every major bank and facility to establish their own ATZ, but your case, of course, required special attention. So,” he opened the headache-inducing Reddit post on his phone, “have you found out which of your employees wrote this?”
“Not yet. It definitely hasn’t been posted through our company network. Since the post went up yesterday afternoon, we suspect one of the workers that was absent then,” the CEO replied. The author of the post, a mysterious u/ CantNerfMe claiming to be one of the clerks at Golden Apex, was looking for four more people with teleportation expertise to perform the ‘most ambitious heist of the week.’ Up until this point, the crimes were mainly conducted by sole individuals, who could not feasibly empty out an entire bank. A single vault cell, perhaps, for those that had the magical capacity to perform several jumps in a short time span. But no more than that, nothing on the scale that this daring hustler was promising.
“Nothing on our end either. The Truth-Seers are combing through the rest of your employees as we speak, but to no avail yet.” Agent Dorlyn grunted, “What does this person needs four assistants for, anyways? Must be some kind of a ritual.”
“We scoured the comments and his post history, didn't get any hints besides the usual shitposts on /r/ WallStreetSpells about duplicating money and the like. Well, whatever it is,” Mr. Sullivan nervously shifted from one foot to another, “the ATZ will surely prevent it, right?”
“Indeed. There is no way they are getting in, and hopefully they don’t know it yet.” The agent was about to begin another sentence when an errant thought crossed his mind. He sharply turned his head to face the CEO and squinted. “Which of your employees has set up the zone?”
“Mr. Count Freeman, one of our senior vault clerks. We haven’t had many people at the firm master teleportation just yet,” Mr. Sullivan muttered. “Why?”
“Just asking. We’ll need to make sure he’s Truth-Seen as well, to be safe.” Agent Dorlyn put away his phone and turned towards the exit. “Alright, time to check the peri–”
In the middle of his sentence, the entire building shook for the briefest of moments, culminating with a loud *whoosh* sound. Over the incredulous screams, Dorlyn’s voice carried the loudest, “A spell just got cast. The vault!!!”
Mr. Sullivan dashed to the titanium doors guarding the vault, flanked by Dorlyn and the rest of FBI agents. He slammed his palm on the fingerprint detector, sliding the first set of doors out of his way. Rushing in to open the second set of doors, the CEO almost fell into empty air instead, if not for Dorlyn catching him at the last second.
The inner doors, along with the rest of the rectangular vault and Mr. Freeman inside it, have disappeared, leaving behind a vacant shaft that previously held all of Golden Apex’s physical assets. The entire vault was *gone*.
One of the agents behind Dorlyn whispered, “H-how? The ATZ remains intact, no one 'ported in…” Surveying the empty space, Supervisory Special Agent barely noticed a note glued to the precarious ledge on which they now stood. He kneeled to pick it up, frowned, and passed it to the CEO of Golden Apex, who audibly groaned after scanning what turned out to be Count Freeman's handwriting.
The note read, “Pro-tip: An ATZ only works one way and can’t block teleportation *out* of its field. Seems like the wizards at CIA got more work to do. :) – u/ CantNerfMe” | I love gullible people on Reddit! Recently, I saw this post:
&#x200B;
*Redditors, help! My son just cast ‘The Spell of Understanding!’ and I am shocked by what I’ve learnt!*
*I thought he was excited about construction and that he was going to be an architect. I heard him shout ‘Khalifa’ in his room so many times I lost the count. Today I learnt that it’s not the Burj Khalifa he’s excited about! He used to tell me that brandy is Love. I thought that it was him tricking me to think he drinks secretly. He doesn't, I know. Well, it has nothing to do with drinking, he spells it with ‘i’! I've also learnt that my son is not a fan of Rachel from Friends, is the other Aniston he likes. He told me that he looks up to Reid. Harry Reid, I thought. He was Senate Majority Leader and helped make Obamacare the law of the land. He can’t be bad, right? I mean, not if you're a Democrat. Well, that’s not the Reid he looks up to! Oh, my God! And lastly, he told me his famous male actor was James Dean. I did not know that’s not how he spelled his last name! And then, there is a black leather couch he bought for his bedroom. It’s- It’s not something I can write about.*
*The worst of all, my mother (she is 83), a devout Christian, is also under the influence of the spell. She is mad at Bobby now and is banging on his door right now and threatening to call the authorities!*
*Redditors, I need your help. Do you know how to undo ‘The Spell of Understanding’?*
*Please help!*
*P.S.*
/u/trololololo\_theAbsoluteHumanToiletTrash\_xoxo *sent me a private message saying I need to post the spell text for you to be able to help me. I found the spell text in Bobby's bedroom. The text is below.*
&#x200B;
Apparently, later in the day the FBI raided her house and her post was removed from Reddit, because of the spell text (which I won't copy-paste here).
&#x200B;
EDIT:
I was wrong. The house was raided by local police. Attempted marauder. Maybe it has something to do with her other post:
&#x200B;
*Oh, no, the spell works both ways. Bobby knows that Richard is not his father.* | 2019-07-11T14:12:51 | 2019-07-11T13:02:47 | 89 | 27 |
[Wp] Write a story with a secret message hidden inside
Edit: If any readers figure out the answer or if you, the writer, wish to let the reader know, please include the answer (or assumed answer) in the comments as a spoiler. | Nine years. But it felt like forever. John sighed as he walked out the metal gates leading to the road, unsure of what to expect. No one bothered to contact him during his time in prison. For all he knew, he was dead to people he knew.
The guards handed over his possession at the checkout booth, things they took away when he first walked in, along with his freedom. Four items in total. His wallet, containing exactly fifteen dollars and fourteen cents. His handphone. A pair of sunglasses. And his house keys. John chuckled when he saw that. He could not even remember where he lived anymore. Or whether the house still existed. All he could remember was that the house was on Elmer Street 20.
He collected all of the items, stuffed them in his pockets, and took one last look at the place that robbed him close to a decade of his life. He deserved it though. After all, he did break the law.
The road was empty, save for a few trucks driving by. Nothing surprising.
John raised his thumb up, hoping to hitch a ride. But no one in their right mind would stop next to a prison to pick up ex-convicts whom they did not know. Except for an old man, that is, with his loud and rusty pickup truck.
"For eight dollars, I'll let you ride. But I'm choosing the destination boy," the man drawled in his Southern accent.
"And where you're going?" John asked, eyeing the truck. It was missing one door, and its number plate was barely visible. John could only make out the words GD and the number 22. Given a choice, he would have avoided the truck, but choice was something he did not have.
"Old town, by the Five O'Bar," the geezer replied.
At least the place was in town, John thought to himself. He handed over his money, and climbed into the passenger seat. The old man whistled and slammed the door, and the old truck spluttered along the road.
John eyed the clock at the dashboard. Five in the evening. If luck would have it, he hoped to reach home by six. He may have forgotten the exact address, but he still remembered the directions to the place. And if needed, he could always take the bus to the neighbourhood. John closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Eighteen minutes later, John felt a tap on his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see the familiar town of Admiralty. The old man must have driven at insane speed to have reach his destination this quickly. John got down the truck, and reached into his pocket to pay the geezer.
The old man, however, shook his head vigorously, and pushed several notes into John's hand instead. "Ah don't bother my boy, I've been in your shoes once. It's not much here, but you can use it to call for a cab for yer ride home."
John looked at the crumpled notes in his hands. He counted nine dollars in total. Enough to get him home. John muttered a grateful thanks, and walked to find a taxi. It took him less than five minutes to flag down one.
Fourteen minutes later, he was standing outside of his house, the fourth house down the street, painted in bright sky blue. When he left, the paint was peeling, the house in disrepair. Despair cropped up to him. He had been a bad husband and more importantly, a bad father. But he wanted to make amends.
His hand reached out for the door, and knocked.
"Coming!" a voice screamed from inside the house, a voice he did not recognize. His heart sank. What if his family no longer lived in the house? What if they moved to avoid him? He bit his lip, feeling anxious.
But when the door opened, he instantly recognized the face, despite it looking more muscular, mature. Jamie was still a young boy when he was arrested. Now, he was a fine young man, 19 years old in age.
"Hi," John whispered, afraid that he would be rejected.
Jamie, however, did not say a word, but instead pulled John into a tight embrace. John felt the warm drops of tears on his shoulder. "Welcome back, dad."
--------------
*Try finding the hidden message~ If you liked it, consider subscribing to /r/dori_tales!* | Tom looked into his fathers study. It still smelt of stale cigar smoke. He stood on the threshold, waiting to be beckoned in. All that sat there though was an empty chair. Tom sighed, fondly remembering when his dad had sat him on his lap, while he worked the family finances.
The whole house was silent, save for the wind whipping the windows upstairs. Tom walked and sat in his fathers chair. He spread his hands on the desk, like his father had done, feeling the slight grooves in the worn wooden top. The door was right in front of him, he could see 8 year old Tom, peaking around the corner of the study door, waiting for his father to tuck him in. Tom wiped away the tears with his hand.
Tom opened the top drawer, finding a few pens, scraps of paper, and the tissues he was looking for. He closed the drawer, he wasn't ready to do this just yet.
The drawer didn't close all the way however. Tom pulled it out, and tried again to no avail. Who knows how old this thing was. Fruitlessly he continued to try, not wanting the study to be left how his father would've expected it. Eventually Tom gave up, he pulled the drawer all the way out to try and re-seat it on the rails. Looking into the void of the cupboard, there was nothing blocking the drawer. Then Tom noticed, on the back of the drawer itself, taped out of sight, was an envelope addressed, "To Tom." It was his fathers distinctive cursive handwriting. | 2017-06-23T09:14:33 | 2017-06-23T08:25:56 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You go to work one day and notice your cubicle is in a completely different location. You ask about it and everyone thinks you're joking; it's always been in that spot. The next day your office is a block down from where it used to be. Reality alters everyday. You're the only one who notices.
Hope you guys can make something good out of this.. | Last week, my route home from work took seventeen minutes. Now it takes four, and conveniently passes the grocery store. My office, which I once shared with seven other frustrated mid-lifers, now just contains my desk and the nice banzai tree our boss Susan bought for the office during her I’m-one-of-you phase. Nobody else notices these changes, even the big ones. I’m pretty sure I’ve read stories like this, and the main character usually freaks out or ends up being crazy. Well, whatever this wave turns out to be, I’m riding it to shore.
Sure, I mean, if I think about it too much, my mind goes all stretchy and I want to scream, but what’s the use? Maybe I’m losing my mind, maybe the seamstress stitching reality together hasn’t had a break in thirteen billion years and she’s starting to slip. Not worth thinking about, either way. So instead I focus on the positives. Most of what’s happened has been awesome. I’m closer to work, dogs haven’t pooped on my lawn in a month, I’m pretty sure the pickle industry has disappeared completely, and literally every single car has used their blinkers to effectively communicate their intent on the road.
There’s also this girl. I first noticed her on my way to work; I was stopped at a light, and she crossed the street, twirling an umbrella in the rain. Her pale skin shone even in the gray of the cloudy day. Our eyes touched, and it was like time sped up. Before I knew it, she was gone and the driver behind me was understandably honking my idleness. Later I saw her in the produce aisle, examining a shining apple the shade of her lips. I stared a little too long, and she looked up at me and smiled. My heart lost its sense of rhythm, and time sped again, and she was gone. Since then I’ve seen her every day, each time somewhere different.
One day she spoke. I was having dinner at the incredible ramen shop that recently opened next to my apartment. She sat suddenly at the table and, after I’d pretended not to be slurping the world’s longest noodle, she said, “Do you like it?”
“What, the ramen?” I said stupidly, because I am stupid. “Um, yeah!” Could I not think of anything else to say? Good lord.
“Everything,” she said. What? Before I could respond, she was gone. Not like, stood up and walked. She just disappeared. My head started to hurt. I threw some money on the table and stumbled back to my place.
I don’t remember sleeping, but I woke up on my couch, and she was there, lounging on my recliner, one leg crossed over the other, foot tapping in the air. “Do you like it?”
My mind races, I don’t know whether to respond or run and hide. “I—who are you?”
She smiles, a little too wide for her face. “Do you like it?” she asks again. “I made this.”
“Made what? Why are you in my home?”
“Our home. I made this for you.” Suddenly she’s sitting next to me, arm curled around my shoulders. “I like you.”
I leap to my feet, retreat toward the door. “Can you—” my head is pounding—“please leave? Leave, please.” I opened the door.
The door isn’t open. She’s standing next to me. She holds my gaze, her presence is too strong to turn away from. I look into her eyes, and her face briefly flickers, elongates, twists. Some part of me wants to scream, but it's far away. “Do you like it?” My mind goes blank. Distantly I think about whether a mind can be altered, like an office building or a drive to work.
Her face is normal. Beautiful. Perfectly beautiful. “I—I like it.” The words feel nice to say. “I like you.” | "Anita, where has my office gone?"
"Your office? What are you talking about?"
"My office? The place I spend 8 hours a day in?"
"Mr Johnson? Your not making any sense again. Would you like to explain to me what you think is going on?"
"Now now woman, how am I not making any sense. I am being perfectly reasonable and clear. My office has been moving around, and I would like you to help me locate it"
"Oh Mr Johnson. You have forgotten where you are again, haven't you?"
"Forgotten.. What do you mean?"
"Mr Johnson, you are in the Royal London Psychiatric Hospital and have been with us for some time. You are having another bad day"
"What? No that can't be! Please Anita, tell me you are joking."
"Mr Johnson, my name is not Anita, I'm Sister Jane. I have been looking after you for a while now. You were transferred here after your last episode. Why don't you come with me, and we can make things a little better for you, hmm?"
I stare at the woman in front of me bewildered. It somehow makes sense. The warped sense of reality. Everything changing every day. But yet somehow I know I am sane, and that this is not right. | 2015-12-04T07:42:01 | 2015-12-04T07:01:12 | 83 | 60 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see. | I groan as I sit up, it had been quite the rough landing after our encounter with the Witch of Droll. I run my hand through my hair and try to wrest away the knife of pain that has landed between my eyes to no avail. Time to take stock, both arms and legs and head still attached as well as Ryce, Brollan, and Jared also landed around me. The idiots were still out cold, how were they supposed to defend me if they were out cold. We seem to be in an open clearing of a forest, the trees are a bit odd though. Cruel thorns stand out from the trunks with clear separation between trees and the smaller brush growth. I stand and brush off my cloak before searching for my bow and the arrows that have fallen from my quiver, the bow is easy enough but it seems I will have to replace a few arrows. I wake my valiant knight defenders and leave them to fight their plate armor into allowing them to stand while I go to the nearest tree and cross my legs in front of it. I stroke the rough bark, careful of the thorns, and begin channelling to nature.
Channeling nature through a wise old tree is often a comfortable experience, you can feel the nature blanket you and gather an understanding of the passage of time that humanity cannot rival. Bright greens and aromas of the sticky sap and leaves permeate your senses and leave you feeling at peace.
This tree screamed of blood and pain. I could feel the petulant nature of a sapling fit within a great tree and a temper that I didn’t know I had began to rise to a boiling point at the thought of a mere touch from a lesser being. I felt the oozing stench of poison and acid fighting at their restraining bark to unleash themselves into me. I jerk away and look around me at the arrows that have resulted from the brief channel. Straight gray wood holds arrowheads that look like oozing wounds, the thorns have created a malicious weapon that I know from the channeling experience should kill with a touch. The community of the forest is fractured, these trees know no kin. The leafy fletchings are veined with dark reds and purples that reflect the tree's wishes for my fate. I think of the ominous statement that the Witch had made before our little tumble.
“I wouldn’t call that a normal arrow, Mak,” Ryce strolled over after collecting his helm and sword. His lean stature betrayed those who believed they could overpower his raw skill with swordplay. Although the tribal markings that ran down the sword arm of his otherwise plain armor would identify that skill to those who knew their stuff.
“This is no normal forest, something is wrong with nature here.” I reply, “I think it’s at war.”
“At war? With what?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Uh Mak, I don’t think the trees are the only abnormality here,” Brollan calls out from where Jared had spread out the map to attempt to take some sort of bearings. He is currently looking at the sky, when I follow his gaze there is a collection of moons in the sky visible through the tree canopy. At least three are visible to me.
Again I return to the Witches statement, she said she had become one who could channel the overarching law of elements. She claimed to be working with the abstract form of space itself.
“Don’t worry about bearing, I don’t think any knowledge we have of direction will apply here. Let's try to get away from these dickish trees,” I decide. I choose a direction and point, “That direction seems the brightest, let’s hope we aren’t far from making it out of here. Oh, and I wouldn’t get near those thorns”
Looking a bit skeptical at my decisiveness, or maybe just my classification of trees not quite being scientific the group follows along. I could care less about anything but getting out of this mire of malicious intent.
Although not entirely clear, the direction I chose did seem to open up into an area where there was more separation between the trees. Which I immediately hoped would result in a few animals appearing finally, obviously the tree climbers must be a hardy bunch but we are going to need food eventually so hopefully, some prey can come along soon.
“Let’s find some water and settle down so we can try to make sense of all of this,” Brollan suggests.
“I agree, I don’t see how this is all going to clear up anytime soon,” I say. I’m reluctant to camp in such a place but we also have no clue when darkness is going to come, the light hasn't changed much since our arrival.
As we begin searching can’t shake the feeling of having eyes on us ever since we exited the thick treeline. The vast forest around me feels empty with the absence of the often lifesaving web of nature that cocoons me in our world. I know my friends are going to rely on my ability to communicate with our environment to get us out of this mess. They do their best to rely on that trust but I can’t deny the apprehension that permeates our party’s actions.
Suddenly a crash sounds out behind me as Ryce collapses to the ground. Suddenly ready for combat Jared and Brollan take position on either side of me while I quickly reach out to our surroundings through the jagged connections. I find a presence that must have been watching us and try to soothe its mind before I’m quickly swatted away. I open my eyes and have an arrow nocked on my bowstring within seconds as I call out, “At my twelve!” I look before me and spot a beautiful beast. It’s lithe movements betray cordlike muscles residing under its leathery mottled, green skin. A spine of spikes, shaped menacing like the arrowheads resulting from the cruel trees lead to a head shaped much like a cat but missing a mouth. It had soft, forward-facing eyes gazing into my soul. As I met these eyes I could feel its intelligence, the soft eyes deceptive of the game it tried to play with me. Before I loosed my arrow it felt as if I had something torn away.
What was this thing in my hands? How was I to fight such a predator without a weapon? Why was I holding this stick with string?
I could feel more being torn away as I tried to find a way to fight it.
Slowly I was whittled down.
Who am I?
The predator walked amongst its victims giving particular attention to the one on the brown cloak. It couldn’t believe that something so inferior would attempt communication with it. The predator then walked off and left the bodies to the trees.
It had already had its meal. | Much like Johnny Depp in the 2000s, the sky was overcast. Morose and grey, with just a hint of precipitation, behind which lurked a vague threat that could result in anything from a sudden deluge, to a violent storm of thunder, screaming winds, and flying debris. Like breaking up with your psycho ex all over again. Christ.
Jamie and I were the only ones who came to the funeral. Obviously the only ones to wait until they raised the headstone. It stood almost a meter tall above the grass: a slab of dark basalt, polished to a mirror sheen.
Despite the size, all it read was:
"J.
In loving memory."
I had no idea who had paid for it. It didn't look cheap.
Jamie was the first one to break the enduring silence.
"Friends for 35 years. Hard to imagine this is how it would end."
I could only nod in agreement. Hard to imagine, indeed.
"In a way, I'm more angry with myself. They were so caught up in it, they were blind to it. But me? Us? We were on the outside. We should have realised."
I lit a cigarette before answering. I didn't really smoke anymore. A slow and insidious killer. Didn't feel like it mattered much, now. Nor was the irony lost on me.
"Realised how? They were happy. There was nothing to suspect. Christ, they lived like this for years, Jamie! Decades! How could we possibly have seen it?"
Jamie crushed some dry leaves with an angry stomp, frustration oozing out of every pore.
"I don't know! Some way. Somehow! This just isn't right!"
I took a drag on the cigarette, feeling the delicious poison fill my lungs. It never gets you when you're looking. Always when you think you're safe.
Jamie huffed and stomped a bit more, before suddenly going still. Eyes once more locked on the black stone; anger spent, replaced by grief over a lost friend.
"Did you hear how they passed?"
Jamie's voice was muted, bereft of joy. Gone was the fire of our youth, replaced with nothing but weariness.
I took another drag on the cigarette, exhaling slowly.
"Yeah."
Hands in pockets, Jamie glared at the headstone. As if daring it to speak. The mirror polish stoically returned the glare.
"An expert in the field. 29 years of marriage. Two kids, seven grandkids. And then it all ends... like this?"
Another drag, another cloud of smoke, joining its brethren up above. The sky was still undecided on its commitment to the thunder doctrine.
Even to my own ears, my reply lacked conviction.
"To die in your sleep, loved, and happy, with a legacy that will endure? There are worse ways to go."
Jamie turned the glare on me, voice fuelled by a spark I could no longer muster.
"Bullshit! When I go, I want to see it coming. I want to look it straight in the eye, and spit in its face!"
"Yeah, well..."
I stubbed out the remaining ash on the back of my watch, pocketing the butt. As I threw a last glance at the stone, I momentarily locked gaze with my reflection. My eyes looked just as tired as I felt.
"I doubt we'll clock out the same way. Knowing us, when it happens, it'll be worse by far. And knowing us, we'll probably deserve it."
Jamie snorted, but without mirth or conviction.
"Wanna get out of here?"
The most welcome question I'd gotten all day.
"Yeah. Lets."
Like a politician turning their cape to the wind, the sky finally let loose an ominous rumble, followed by the first few drops of rain. And just like the politician's commitment, it was too little, and far too late.
God help us all. | 2021-01-25T09:09:21 | 2021-01-25T08:39:48 | 64 | 25 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | Maria was only eleven when she first crossed paths with him.
It was a shooting. A drunk, fueled by rage and too much bad alcohol, had burst into a theater. What should have been a humorous showing of the year's latest animated comedy had quickly turned into a nightmare.
Maria sat with her arms around her knees, crying softly as she looked at the body of her older sister draped across the row of chairs in front of her. Paramedics and emergency services rushed about the room, tending to victims, but they had not yet made their way to Maria.
"You should be dead."
Maria looked up, searching for whoever had spoken. A tall man in dark jeans and a loose black jacket was leaning on the seat next to her. His face was pale and slightly wrinkled, despite his seemingly young appearance. There was a wicked looking scythe strapped to his back, it's curved blade glowing softly. He looked over to Maria. "That bullet should have gone straight through you. It should've pierced your lung, and you should have died just before the paramedics arrived. The fates won't be happy about this."
Maria was still too shocked to speak. She looked into the man's eyes. They were dark and empty, without even the slightest hint of color. They were sad eyes, as if something was weighing on him. Even at her young age, Maria could tell he was a troubled man.
He pulled the hood of his jacket over his shockingly white hair, sighing. "I suppose your sister jumped out in front of you, yes?" He looked at Maria for confirmation. She nodded, still wide-eyed and crying. The man shook his head. "She had such a bright future, too. Do me a favor, and don't waste this chance your sister has given you. Life is precious. I know that better than anyone." He directed his gaze to the emergency workers making their way over to the young girl.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing more I can do here." The man pulled the scythe from his back and dragged it through Maria's sister's body. It left no mark, but a green mist arose from her into the wake of the weapon. He turned to Maria one last time. "Don't waste this chance."
And with that, he was gone.
XXX
Maria stood over the body before her, her hands dripping with blood that wasn't hers.
The kill had been particularly messy, with blood getting everywhere. Bits of drying gore even hung from her long, auburn hair.
"Well?" She called out. "Where are you? I know you're here!"
"There's no need to shout."
Maria whirled around to face the familiar, black clad figure, spraying blood into the air as she did. She smiled devishly, her white teeth a shocking contrast to the display of crimson across her entire body.
The man clicked his tongue. "Your kills get more gruesome each time. One day there won't be enough body left for me to bother showing up." The man pulled the scythe from his back, stepping towards Maria. "Step aside, please," he asked.
Maria shook her head wildly. "If I do that, you'll just leave."
The man sighed. "You know I don't really need you to move. I'm just being polite." He twirled the scythe in his hands, disappearing from view. Maria turned back to her kill to find him already there, dragging his scythe through the victim's body. He paused to study the familiar viridian smoke. "This man had a daughter your age, you know. Imagine how she might feel when she finds out someone killed her father for the sake of a silly crush."
Maria laughed violently. "A silly crush? That's all you think this is? I've killed countless times just to see you again and again, and you call it a crush? I call it love!"
"I call it a waste!" The man barked, snapping for a moment. "Life is precious. I know that better than anyone."
Maria rolled her eyes."You drop that same line every time we talk. I don't care, I just want to see you-"
"And I dread seeing you!" The man shouted, finally losing his cool. "Every time we meet it means another live has been snuffed out too soon. I've considered leaving the souls of your victims to wander, if only to try and coerce you into stopping this madness."
"I won't stop," Maria said hungrily. "All I want is to see you."
"If you truly wanted to see me, why not take your own life? Why so cruelly snatch it from others?" The man asked. Maria didn't answer. "That's what I suspected. I won't entertain you any longer. Don't kill again. I won't show up."
"But you will. You always do!" Maria shouted.
But it was too late. He was already gone.
XXX
He was right. He didn't show up. No matter how many times Maria killed, the man in black never appeared again, and it drove her mad. It drove her mad to the point where she had finally turned her knife on herself.
The man stood before her lifeless body, his fingers clutched around his scythe. He was still debating whether or not he should leave her soul to wander.
"Maria..." He whispered, returning the scythe to his back, "I cannot forgive you for what you've done." He reached down, letting his fingers touch her still-clenched hand. "So I do not expect you to forgive me for leaving you to wander. I am truly sorry I revealed myself to you that day at the theater. It was a foolish decision."
The man sighed, and reached into his pocket, revealing a small photograph. It was of Maria and her sister.
"You left this behind on that day. Perhaps of I'd returned it earlier I could have saved you yet."
He watched her body with sad eyes as he faded away. "I told you, Maria. All life is precious. Even yours."
r/Uselesslibrary for more of my writing, if you'd like. | After a while he quit showing up.
She knew he loved her back. She also knew that they could never truly be together, no matter how many people she sent to the reaping.
It had started with those already on their way, she had just given them an extra shove in the right direction. Nursing homes became the setting for their frequent trysts, among the oxygen cylinders and frantic nurses.
Eventually the easy targets weren't enough. He couldn't do it, he said. Protocol and all that. She knew, though, if it was a truly special death, he'd have to come. And she'd make him.
That's when she decided to get creative. It almost became an art form to take a lives. She was like the Bob Ross of murder, sending one soul after the other to be greeted by Death, because everyone needed a friend or twenty.
Finally, he told her that she was disrupting the balance. That he was being forbidden from returning and that all they had together had been a lustful lie. That he would never see her again.
But she knew better.
The first infection wasn't so successful. It had spread well, but the cure was found too quickly. It took years before she had perfected the ultimate virulent bio-weapon. It was transmitted through the air and the water. Every cough and sneeze spread it so efficiently it was nearly impossible not to be exposed. The key, she thought, was the dormancy period. She knew it would spread globally within a month. It wouldn't be until then that the first inkling of a pandemic would be noticed by the global health organizations.
It took a year before 90% of the world's population was dead. They called it the New Black Plague. She called it love.
And she waited for him to appear. She went to every mass grave, hoping she might find him there. But alas, she walked an empty earth seeking a lover that was nothing but a ghost to her, now.
It seemed like she had seen almost every decaying corpse on earth before she finally saw him, standing upon a pile of bodies, his black robes flowing in the wind and the sun glinting from his scythe.
"You came," she whispered, struggling to find her balance upon the summit of the mound of flesh.
"You killed the world, my love. Just for me," he smiled as she came next to him, reaching a skeletal hand up to brush her cheek.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for us to be together," she said, wrapping her arms around his cloth clad rib cage and squeezing tight enough to hear his bones click in protest.
"I knew the day would come. There is but one thing left for me to do."
She leaned back and looked up into his eye sockets, tears staining her cheeks. "What is that, my love?"
"I must reap the final soul."
He shoved her backwards and reared his scythe, bringing it down in a smooth motion. Her flesh tore beneath its razor edge and she was cleaved in twain, falling into a heap among the pile.
As her astral form rose from the earth, her longing eyes looked down upon Death, her screams unheard as she was hoisted upward by an unseen force.
"Farewell, my love," Death muttered as he shattered into a million pieces, drifting into the wind like so many tar-black ashes.
And then the world was silent.
| 2017-06-07T19:52:22 | 2017-06-07T19:30:33 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank. | Twins, they say, are the luckiest. Normally when you go to the Bureau on your 18th birthday, you go alone. You open the black envelope by yourself, and until you get home you deal with its life-changing contents by yourself.
Not me and Jon. We turn 18 on the same day, of course, so we'll make the walk from our comfortable home in the suburbs to the imposing building together. Our mother kisses us both on the head as we eat the same birthday breakfast we always have - eggs, bacon and pancakes - and our father pats us both on the back before we head out of the door. I think he might actually be crying, but he turns away too fast for me to tell.
Jon just laughs and tells me not to look so worried. It's a beautiful day.
The Bureau itself is a mausoleum, if you ask me. Too much white marble and echoing black walls. I can appreciate the commitment to the aesthetic, but it's really not helping my already fraying nerves. "*Committed To Efficiency*", the silver words embossed on the wall behind the main desk read. Clearly they didn't tell the architect that, but I still focus on them as we walk up. It makes me a little less nauseous. Jon immediately starts charming the clerk, smiling and leaning forward as he gives her our names and registration numbers. I just stare at my own reflection in the glass and hold Jon's hand a little bit tighter. When the clerk pushes our letters through the slot towards us, I don't notice at first, too wrapped up in the fear in my reflection's eyes. Jon takes mine and presses it into my hands.
*Cook, Alice* it says, printed in neat silver blocks on thick black card. My fingers leave oily smudges on the pristine surface as I tear it open to reveal the folded white sheet that will dictate my future.
It's .... blank. No date. No death? Just pure white paper, quivering as my hands shake. Maybe it's Jon's letter I should be looking at. Maybe twins have the same day? That's stupid, I know it is, but it's all I can think of.
"Jon, show me yours," I order, peering over his shoulder. It looks perfect - a summer day sixty years from now. I guess we'll share it, like we share everything. It's almost a comforting thought, and my steps begin to perk up as we walk out of the building and back into the sunlight. Jon gets tired of looking at his, and starts trying to read mine from between my fingers.
"Come on, Al, just let me see. I showed you mine!" he says, grabbing for my letter. I skip out of his reach, clutching it closer to my chest. Even though I can tell he's hurt, I'm not ready to share it. Not yet. I don't know what it means and I'm still a little scared and I want to let Jon enjoy this day for just a little bit longer.
"I'll show you when we're home," I promise. He laughs at me.
"You're gonna live longer than me, aren't you? That's what it is! Oooh, you sneaky -"
I see the car before Jon does. It's a blue one with a battered fender and dents in the bonnet. Jon would know what type, but Jon hasn't noticed - his head is turned towards me, still teasing, his shoulders bobbing as he steps out into the road.
The street is too quiet and time is too slow as it tears towards us. For some reason, all I can focus on is the letter still tucked between his fingers. Sunlight gleams off the silver ink, and though I can't read it from here, I already know it's a good date, way into the future. A good date for a good brother, a good son, a good man.
Everything is crystal clear - sharp, transparent and painful - as I step into the road behind him and *push*. He stumbles forward, time resumes, and I barely have time to blink before my letter is torn out of my suddenly-useless hands, and my whole world becomes pavement and iron and sky.
I think Jon might be screaming.
I think I might be bleeding.
I think I know why my letter was blank now.
Why waste the ink? | My rough callused hands shook slightly as I took out an old letter. One from the day I was eighteen. It seems an eternity ago, and technically it was. I grew up an engineer, dabbling in physics and working with a team to improve space travel. We stumbled upon new methods, methods that would allow travel at light speed while keeping the rules of nature intact. I volunteered to be the first on board. Instruments behaved oddly and wouldn't record accurately. I knew it was safe enough, but even a relatively short journey at light speed meant many years my loved ones would be without me. I would not age, but my wife and children would. They should have been my age now, and my wife old and feeble. Now, I can only presume they've died along with several generations after.
The thing is, we discovered how to get up to the speed of light, but only in theory. Testing was difficult but we had enough data to confirm it worked. We thought of it like anything else. Reverse the direction of energy to slow down but that went wrong. On this self sustaining ship, alone, the reality was much more complicated than we expected. I could not stop, forever doomed to travel through the universe, stuck in time at the speed of light. Only slight adjustments could be made to my path, not enough to turn around and get home before the death of our local sun, but just enough to avoid any collisions. I slid the blank letter describing my death back into it's envelope. | 2017-01-17T14:52:16 | 2017-01-17T13:31:18 | 563 | 23 |
[WP] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak. Your dog was recently given the serum, but it appears the treatment has not worked. Your cousin, whom you haven't seen since your youth, comes to town to visit. As the door opens, your dog suddenly whispers in your ear: "run." | I was disappointed, there really is no way around it. When I gave my dog the injection I was so looking forward to him speaking. I could imagine me telling him to fetch things for me and he would actually understand what I was saying. Just like the commercials said, but the stupid dog never said a word to me. The veterinarian said it could take up to a week for the dog to adjust to the changes and manage to speak. Its been a month and not one word has been uttered. Bad dog.
I had given up on it ever working, and cursed myself for wasting what was a substantial amount of money on something so stupid. Things were looking up though as I got word a couple of days ago that my cousin was coming to visit.
We used to be great friends growing up, but life took different roads for us and we ended up living in different cities. We tried to keep in touch but as usually happens we slowly lost contact. Naturally I was excited to see him again, and just a little bit curious as to what made him drop by.
I heard a car pull up, but before I could go look to see if it was my cousin, I heard someone say "RUN." Confused I looked around, finally locking eyes with Albert Johnson.
I call him that, because I thought it funny to give a dog a surname. I would go around the neighborhood yelling for him, and chuckling to myself as I did.
Albert Johnson is a big bastard of an St. Bernard, even among that particular breed of dog he is big. If your not familiar with them they can be a bit intimidating just purely based on size. But when you’re an experienced and firm dog owner like me, they are pretty docile. Also they slobber a lot. I always used to joke that when he drinks water he just replaces the water in the bowl with his drool.
He looked at me with very serious eyes, and I realized the serum had finally worked. "Albert...?" I stammered.
"Your cousin is here to kill you, no time for talking. Run!"
I was confused, but Albert pressed me towards a window at the back and without thinking I followed orders. I climbed out and ran to a shed behind my house. This was crazy, my dog talking and his first words are a warning that my cousin was trying to kill me?
This made no sense. As I stood there I felt more and more dumb, clearly something was wrong and I had gotten all worked up about nothing.
As I started to walk back to the house, the screaming started.
The screaming was nothing like what you hear in the movies. Nothing at all. I froze completely, paralyzed with fear of what was going on. Whatever made that noise was in pain beyond anything imaginable. I have never heard anything like it. Suddenly it was cut short, followed by a slow horrible gurgle, and then complete terrifying silence.
I don’t know how long I stood there, not being able to move. It seemed like hours. I could not move a muscle until seeing Albert in the window broke the spell. He was smiling menacingly at me, showing blood soaked teeth.
Horrified I turned and ran, hoping against hope that I could outrun my dog. | Run, run, run
You've got to run
Bow, bow, son
You've got to run.
Your cousin is here
yeah, the weird one
Just keep running
He's got a gun.
Bow, bow, son
I'm warning you
Get to running
before he kills you.
It's as natural to him
as drinking mountain dew.
Bow, son, run,
He's got a gun.
| 2016-09-01T01:04:25 | 2016-08-31T22:41:54 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] All races are judged by their affinity to cast magic. The humans, being the only living creature who can't use magic, was banished. After many years, they achieved high technological progress, invented "Guns" that is far stronger than any magic. Fearing revenge, a spy elf warns the other races. | "He says he's here on a diplomatic mission," said the attendant, softly. "He has no verification documents, but claims it is of absolute vital importance that he reaches King Taraj."
"I will meet him," Khadash announced, grabbing the jewel-encrusted blade on the table and snapping it into place at his side. "Go inform him that he has an audience with War Minister Khadash. If he truly is a diplomat, it should be good enough for him."
"Yes, sir," the attendant responded, bowing his head down and back up, and departing through the oak door. Khadash narrowed his eyes in his newfound solitude, before holding the Oracle Stone up to his mouth and spitting out a burst of flame from within. The fire touched the stone's surface, suffusing it with pulsating crimson energy.
"Defense Unit, I request your appearance at Inner Chamber Sigma within twenty minutes," Khadash ordered in a grow, his voice travelling through the stone and to his intended audience via Flame Magic. "Understand? Magic Inhibitors would be wise, if nothing else."
He drew the fire out of the stone, which fell to the cobbled floor with the sheen of blistering heat. Contemplating why an lone elf would travel all the way from the Marsian Highlands for a mere diplomatic jaunt, Khadash stomped his way through the matrix of hallways that composed the Dragon Keep. One fist was clenched over the blade-- it made him feel secure, more in power. Some unearthly premonition seemed to drift its way through the corridors, stinging the noses of the drake inhabitants.
"War Minister, the diplomat is over there," a drake warned Khadash, pointing a set of unpolished claws towards the cloaked and trembling figure sitting in one corner of the hearth-warmed hall. "He wouldn't give a name, but he said the situation is too dire for that. I asked him what he meant, but he wanted to bestow that information on more deserving ears."
"No matter. I will speak to him," Khadash insisted, moving towards the elf and unfurling his own sash, which fell over the back of his legs like a shroud. "You are in the presence of Draconian War Minister Khadash. Speak, and I shall listen. What is your name, elf?"
Removing their hood to reveal a feminine face with almond shaped eyes pitted with dark circles, the elf drew in a sharp breath. "I'm Lyron, of Brookhill. Please, can we go somewhere private? I'm in desperate need of someone to talk to. Someone who can speak to King Taraj, anyone."
Khadash noticed that the elf was on the verge of tears, tired lines imbued into his face.
"Of course," replied Khadash. "Follow me, please. You've been searched for weapons already-- did you have anything?"
"Just some unrefined mithril," the elf murmured. "Just-- in case. In case. And a satchel, we must bring it with us."
"In case of what?" asked Khadash, dubiously, but the elf remained silent.
Inner Chamber Sigma was a large, opulent room, with spires of fireproof oak and steel towering over meeting tables like patiently observing bastions. The Defense Unit that Khadash had summoned surrounded the room, blades in their hand and firebombs in their slowly swinging satchels. Attached to the bottom of the lengthy meeting table was an oscillating device, sending out the occasional bolt of energy, which served as an inhibitor for any sort of magic, save for the Fire Magic that the drakes centered their lives around.
"You are free to speak as you will," Khadash invited, holding out his hand in a gesture of welcome. "What is this urgent matter is worthy of the King's presence?"
Clearing his throat, Lyron began his story, attempting to pace himself as best he could. "It is a matter of the Humani," he started, drawing a dubious glance from the Draconian. Humani were the only one of the Five Mother Races thoroughly ungifted with magic. So much so that they were forced into the country of Gaius, a land where they continued to develop primitive weapons unfocused with the magical spirits of the world.
"Humani? Ridiculous," muttered Khadash quietly. Raising his voice so that the elf could hear, "What could a Humani do that warranted such a long and tiresome journey? Straight into Dragon Keep?"
"You don't understand," breathed Lyron in alarm. "They've *changed*. They possess unholy contraptions capable of stealing the very soul out of a body. They are unaffected by Magic Inhibitors, and they are willing to annihilate from afar! They marched on the Elvish lands in great force, wearing armors fitted with inhibitors and these foul weapons in their hands, ripping holes through kinder and women, rich and poor. Many tried to defend, but were forced into strongholds with no hope of escape."
Khadash widened his eyes in reaction to the outlandish tale. "What do they call these weapons?"
"They call them Reapers," Lyron whispered, tremulously. "Guns, they say. They marched and conquered as revenge for their banishment all those years ago. I escaped through the forests of Moore, as they were exerting their rules over the Elvish. We cannot face them alone. I came here to alert the other Races using your Oracle Stones. We must band together, no doubt."
Lyron looked around, and narrowed his eyes. 'In my satchel is a broken remnant of one of these Reapers. Proof of the unearthly actions taken by the Humani, who have somehow overcome their magical inaptitude."
"Retrieve the satchel!" Khadash barked. "Now, if what he speaks is true, there is little time to waste."
A guard left the room in haste, only to return moments later with a velvet satchel, drowned in hues of blue and red. Khadash grabbed the neatly adorned pouch, and emptied the contents onto the table. A metallic contraption, neatly sharp and fashioned into a skull, attached to an empty barrel with numerous slots. He held one hand up, and touched the barrel to his nose.
"Silver," he murmured. "The metal that stands against magic. The Humani have harnessed silver into a devil's weapon."
Khadash nodded, a lump in his throat. His nostrils flared with both keen interest and a sense of looming disaster. The same premonition that had tickled his nostrils earlier twirled and danced its way through the high spires and the stone walls.
"Then let us go alert King Taraj," growled Khadash. "If we are to use the Oracle Stones, we must use them quickly. If they truly march for conquest, we have little choice but to unite."
Though his mind was rife with frantic thought, Khadash above all else wondered how a pitiful banished Race could have achieved such a frightening prospect.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | Hank signaled Clay to move ahead, to cross the clearing and run towards the next giant tree. This forest always seemed to have a next giant tree. Clay always complained about all the bugs that made the trees their homes and that would come out at night to harass honest working stiffs. Hank always retorted that without these giant trees, they wouldn't have jobs, so it all netted out in the end.
Now these giant trees built a night-time obstacle course for Hank and Clay. An obstacle course for them, but to the intruder it seemed like nothing. And it didn't seem fair. Clay had run track in high school, and Hank had kept up with his calisthenics, regardless of the assignment. How can they be barely keeping up? How were they actually losing ground?
The Artemis Company had been scouting these jungles for the past six months, and suddenly had found a large area of virgin timber. Satellite scans had identified the area. This time, satellite coordinates weren't enough and the land inspectors had taken their sweet time in visually spotting the actual grove. There was something about the area which shorted out electronics. It wasn't radioactive, which meant it wasn't dangerous enough to stop Artemis from going forward with the plan. It was dangerous enough to get hazard pay, which drew mooks like Hank and Clay like flies.
Dangerous enough to get the extra money, but - hey - it was just wood.
Hank and Clay liked to get the night patrols. The two always braved nights full of bugs to avoid a merciless sun that beat down on them through the tree canopy. This night, they had heard a crashing in the vicinity of the HQ tent, and en route, they spotted the native. Clay said it didn't look like a native. To Hank, anyone that didn't look like Artemis staff was a native. He was pretty sure that he'd seen someone shirtless running into the darkness with a bow in one hand. He'd assumed that there was an arrow that went along with the bow, and yelled "Stop or we'll shoot." The native didn't stop, so he shot. He missed. Clay reported into security HQ.
And then they ran.
They ran with the confidence of the hunter. The native was just a primitive with a bow. They were professional security guards with years of experience. They had guns. Guard duty was supposed to be simple.
Hank re-evaluated that position when Clay went down to the monkey attack. The thing had jumped out of nowhere, and jammed something into Clay's eye. Hank shot at it and chased it away, too late for Clay. It looked like it was a stick. Hank tried to call into HQ, and got nothing but static. He readjusted his equipment, considered chasing the native, and decided that he'd earned his pay today. He'd bring back a whole squad of guards, and make sense of this in the morning.
His instincts told him that their prey was probably not alone. And that was no ordinary monkey. He and his hackles rose in unison, and he made to run back to camp. "Scout the territory. Come back with a crew," he muttered to himself.
He looked up towards the path that they had come from. It had disappeared, replaced by a wall of wood. A tree now stood squarely in the middle of the bath they had run through. He rubbed his eyes, and the tree remained there. He looked forward to the direction the native had fled, and that too had been closed by another tree.
He felt a pain on his right, and looked down to see an arrow jutting from his side. He tumbled to the ground, and what little vision he had disappeared. He heard voices. Dirty, native voices.
\--
\*Kendil, we have done what you have asked, and secured samples of these gimmicks that you call guns. Perhaps now you can demonstrate to us why we should worry? The forests have always defended us, and they shall for millennia more.\*
The young elven scout stripped a handgun from Clay's corpse, unlatched the safety and took aim at Hank.
'Click.'
'Bang.' | 2020-04-16T12:39:07 | 2020-04-16T11:54:17 | 155 | 24 |
[WP] [Harry Potter] You are a non-famous muggle biologist that keeps discovering magical creatures, and right before you announce your discoveries, get your memory erased by the ministry of magic. Then your daughter gets her letter from Hogwarts, and you learn you're famous in the magical world. | Professor Theodore Waxburn had worked in Oxford's biology program for fifteen years but wasn't quite able to show he had been *doing* much of anything. He remembered working. He had years and years of scribbled notes in his file folders that could prove it. But his major papers seemed to come in spurts; he could only hunt down four publications in his fifteen years of research. *Four!*
Inexplicable. Inconceivable. Surely he had written more than four papers, surely something had simply slipped his mind, slipped through the cracks.
At the moment, Theodore Waxburn was tearing his home office apart, trying to find evidence to bring to his departmental meeting to show he was an active and useful member of the team. He muttered dark curses under his breath and began thumbing through his filing cabinets, only to find half the pages blank or blacked out.
"Jesus Christ in a bloody handbasket," Theodore muttered to himself.
"Daddy?"
Theodore whipped around to see his red-cheeked daughter Sophie and hoped she had not heard that. "Yes, darling?"
"Is everything quite alright?"
"Don't worry, it's a work... problem." He tried to palm the frustration out of his eyes, went over to his daughter, and hunkered down in front of her. He wondered what time it was, if he'd forgotten to start cooking dinner again. "What is it, my little pumpkin?"
"I got a letter." Sophie held it out to him, shyly.
Theodore plucked the envelope out of her fingers. It was a fine thick vellum and bore the words
>*Ms. S. Waxburn*
>
>*The second floor*
and then their address in precise green handwriting. It reminded Theodore of his father's old fountain pen. He tore into the envelope, found no knives or funny powder, and so offered it to Sophie.
"Did you and one of your little friends decide to be pen pals?" he asked, distractedly, turning back to his ruined note collection. He tried to remember when he did that, or in god's name *why* he would ever do that.
"No."
For a moment, the room was quiet as Sophie read and Theodore rummaged.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, darling?"
"This one is for you."
Theodore took the piece of paper Sophie offered him without quite looking at it. She flounced out of the room and was gone several minutes before Theodore paused his searching to look at the paper.
In the same exacting hand, the letter read,
>*Dear Mr. Theodore Waxburn,*
>*You do not remember it, but you have dedicated most of your career to the discovery and observation of magical creatures. Now that Sophie has been accepted into Hogwarts I feel the freedom to disclose to you the truth of your life.*
>*Your memories, notes, and pertinent publications have been destroyed for the safekeeping of our wizarding society, from its oldest to its youngest members. We have found in the past that we cannot trust the non-magical world to maintain the integrity and agency of our magical beings, human or otherwise. In their greed to understand, muggles tend to destroy, change, and consume. (Please do not take this observation personally.)*
>*I apologize for the professional inconvenience imposed upon you by the demands of our society. You must understand that for the safety of all our citizens we must maintain absolute secrecy and conceal the magic world from humans in its totality.*
>*If it is of any consolation, your findings have been recorded in the* Waxburn's Guide to Magical Creatures: A Muggle Reader. *Your work has allowed more wizards to realize that the only thing separating wizards from muggles is not intellect or ability, but merely the knowledge of the small magic hiding all around us. Please find a copy enclosed (though do keep it secret--I'm committing a not-so-minor crime sharing it with you).*
Theodore read it over and over again, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. Occam's Razor. This was a joke. This was a project from Sophie's school. This was a gift in one of her books or something.
Theodore Waxburn poked his head into the kitchen where his daughter was putting on a kettle for some tea. "Sophie, darling," he said, "what's this?"
"It's your letter. I got one too." Sophie offered him her letter, grinning delightedly. "I get to be a real witch!"
"There's no such thing as a real witch," Theodore chided her, skimming her letter, paling. The same handwriting. Same paper. *We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.*
"The owl has a package for you, outside."
"The *owl?*"
"Yes, the one who brought the letters," Sophie said, like it should be rather self-explanatory. "It's *your* package. It can't give it to anyone but you."
Theodore yanked open the door to the back garden to find a huge barn owl sitting on his bird feeder with a paper-covered parcel resting beneath its talons. He crept over to it, slowly, trying not to think about those talons on his head or arms or face.
"Hi, birdy," he said, lamely. "You're rather very big, aren't you."
The owl fixed him with a bright-eyed, eviscerating look, as if mocking him for not knowing how to speak to it, and then spread its enormous wings and took to the sky.
The packaging on the book had the same clear, crisp green handwriting, smudged only a little by the bird's feet. Theodore unwrapped it with shaking hands and stared at the ebony cover for several long, loving seconds.
Despite the impossibility of it all, there it was: *Waxburn's Guide to Magical Creatures: A Muggle Reader.* A book, a real one, with his name on it. Theodore grinned like a child at Christmas. Perhaps these fifteen years had not been such a waste after all.
After all, he *had* always wanted to publish a book.
***
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! /r/shoringupfragments
~~ETA: I'm thinking about writing a prequel series about Theodore's forgotten research. If you like stories about an eccentric British man scouring extreme climates for creatures that may or may not be real, I'm going to write that thing! It will be in my subreddit soon(ish)!~~
7/19/17 edit: If you would like to hear more of Theodore's story, [I just posted the first chapter!](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6o9if3/waxburns_guide_to_magical_creatures_ch_1/)
P.s. Thank you for your time and kind words everyone. I'm honestly floored. | What would you do, if you happen to find out that all the misery in your life, that you thought were the product of your own incompetence, is just a sick prank of a sick group of people? People, who for some twisted reason, thought it is completely justifiable to destroy a man's life, or maybe countless others, just to keep a secret?
"Mr Lance, you must understand, we did it for good reason," the man opposite me said with a smile. A representative from the Ministry, he called himself. It was a nervous smile, one that you give when you find yourself in an awkward situation. A smile that I was too all familiar in giving.
I nodded, pretending to understand. I tried to smile too, but it felt even faker than the Mr Dundle's. "It's okay, you all did what you all had to do."
"If it's anything Mr Lance, we would do our best to give Helen the best education she deserves at Hogwarts," he continued.
I chuckled. Twenty years of my life gone, with one divorce, and that was the best assurance they could come up with? The inside of me seethed with rage, but I had to control myself. Today was Helen's day not mine. I turned to look at her, happily chatting with our guide and her new pet owl, Big Eyes. She deserved to be happy today. That was the least I could give her.
"Thank you, Mr Dundle. I trust that you will. If you would excuse me, Helen and I still have a day of celebrating to do." I stood up and extended my hand. Dundle took and shook it, rather limply, flashing that nervous smile of his again. Perhaps glad that this meeting was finally over.
"You're welcome, Mr Lance. Once again, the Ministry extends its apology to you and the best wishes to your daughter."
I motioned Helen over, who pushed her cart excitedly to me. "Daddy, daddy, Miss Jane just taught me a trick!"
She waved her new bought wand in front of me and muttered "Accio daddy's wallet!" I felt a tug in my pocket and the leather pouch that I was carrying flew into Helen's palm. Helen yelped in joy at the trick, jumping between her and Miss Jane. She was my only joy for the past eleven years.
As we exited the mundane looking shop, I turned again to study the place before me. Several shops had my face on them, printed across posters and newspaper cuttings. My portrait was moving in all of them, some of them smiling, but most of them scared. The Muggle Magizoologist, they called me. I prefer to be called a biologist. I have dedicated my life to finding new species of creatures, but as far as I remembered, my field trips have been nothing but fruitless.
I had always thought there was something wrong with me. Amnesic or plain bad luck. Strange things always happened during my field trips. Blank memories. Missing notebooks. Cameras that mysteriously go missing. I thought I was bad at my job, but it turns out that I was just too good at it.
"Daddy, what did the man talk to you about just now?" Helen tugged at my sleeve, as we exited the place called Diagon Alley and back into the London I knew. Sterile, imposing and unforgiving.
"They were just interested in Daddy's work, that's all," I lied. "But before that, lets go get ice-cream, okay?"
Helen face glowed at the mention of ice-cream and forgot about her question. But I could not. The painful realization that your life's work was sabotaged unknowingly, with your memories altered every time? It was too stinging to know. Those magical folks wanted me to forget everything on the account of Helen.
But after so much forgetting, I was determined to reclaim that recognition that I deserve. That night, as I sat in front of the computer, I punched in the words "livestreaming" into Google.
----------------------------
*Like this story? Consider subscribing to /r/dori_tales for more!* | 2017-07-16T08:02:51 | 2017-07-16T08:00:19 | 3,320 | 200 |
[WP] The date is April 1st 2020. Your town is deftly quiet for a Wednesday, but that’s because this time last year there came an April Fools prank that got so far out of hand that the town had to outlaw April Fools Day. That prank was yours and this is your confession. | “Admit it. It was you, we already know you did it.”
“That’s strange, I thought I was brought here for questioning, am I under arrest?”
The detective sat in his chair with a smug smirk that made his mustache a bushy check mark. “You think you’re so smart. I’ve dealt with so many punks like you it’s not even funny. Where were you on the night of March 31st, 2019.”
“Do people normally remember where they were a whole year ago? We’re awfully far removed from that date, officer. Is this about the April fools day prank? I was already cleared a year ago,” Teddy said. He leaned down to the table and pushed his glasses up his nose with cuffed hands.
“I didn’t do my diligence back then. I should have pressured those goons you hired harder. Soon as we had something on them, they sang like mocking birds.”
Teddy smiled and helpfully added, “the expression is like a canary officer.”
The plump man rose to his feet, knocking his chair over and slapping both palms on the metal table, his face as red as a tomato. “I don’t give a flying bats ass.”
Teddy tilted his head and smiled. He loved communicating with these simpletons. It was hysterical how disconnected they were with the rest of the world, that’s the only reason he could pull this off in the first place. “Rat’s ass, officer.”
“Correct my speech one more time boy. You think you’re so smart, don’t ya?” the man placed a box full of papers on the table. A strip of masking tape was stuck on the front with his name on it. “We haven’t been sitting around with our fingers stuck… our thumbs stuck up our asses. There are three more just like this one in evidence.”
“That’s amazing, may I read it?”
The officer pulled the box back, shaking his head hard enough to mess up his toupees alignment, “I’ll read it to you in court. Hell, if you’re cooperative, I won’t turn you over to the feds. We can wrap all of this up right now.”
“So what will you be charging me with? Am I under arrest?”
The officer finally smiled, “Yup, thanks to eye witness accounts and a warrant to check on your spending habits last march, we’ve got enough to put three hundred acts of destruction of government property on you.”
“Ah, I see,” Teddy sighed and slumped in his chair, it was an act, but the detective was buying it.
“So what do you say, you want to keep this in our town or bring it up to the feds?”
“Well officer this has been incredibly exciting, but I’d like to speak with my lawyer now.”
The detectives red face shifted from tomato to grape, and he grabbed the box heading towards the door. It slammed shut behind him and Teddy laughed as he heard the screaming and cursing from behind the thick glass. They left him in there for three hours, leaving the AC off. Trying to get him to crack, but Teddy knew that if he could hold his tongue for just a bit longer he’d be walking out of here at the end of the night.
&#x200B;
The burly jock walked through the door with a suit that couldn’t handle his muscles. “Shit Ted, did you really do it?”
“Have a seat Patrick, I’ve been waiting hours to see you.”
The athletic lawyer shrugged, nearly ripping his hand-me-down jacket, “Alright, we can go at your pace.”
“Did they offer a coke?”
“Yeah but I turned them down like you asked, whats all this about?”
“Isn’t this town so amusing? It’s like we still live in the sixties, the police don’t even use computers.”
“Hell that’s what it’s like in the boonies, if you hate it so much why didn’t you come to school with me? You don’t have to live here.”
Teddy shook his head, “Not everyone can get a full-ride scholarship for throwing balls. Besides, I needed to make them pay first, they all bullied me, the adults all looked away, this was revenge.”
Despite being an all-American pitcher, Patrick was the only one in town that gave a damn about Teddy back then. Even if it was just because Teddy had the only computer with internet access in town that Patrick could watch baseball videos on. “Alright Ted, lets talk.”
“So do you know what happened?”
“Of course, the thing made national headlines. Honestly, from the pictures I’m impressed. I might have even bought it.”
“It’s crazy what people believe given enough evidence, and once you convince one or two loud mouth idiots, even the smartest in the town go along with it.”
“So explain it to me, how’d you do it?”
“First I had to prepare, I studied the town for months and found every government sign, speed limits, stop signs, directions. I payed a bunch of dummies to steal them, it was easy, then I replaced them all.”
“The Kilometer speed limits, the signs in Russian,” Patrick nodded.
“Yup, and I didn’t stop there. I broke into every gas station and switched out all the maps with ones from Russia. I even put one in the rest area, god the reactions when people saw the ‘you are here’. It was glorious.”
Patrick folded his arms and leaned back, whistling impressed. “But signs and all that couldn’t have been enough, people had to assume it was a prank right? How did you convince them they’d all been teleported?”
“Do you know how they make fire works?”
Patrick nodded, “Different metals burn different colors.”
Teddy smiled, proud of his actions. “I made a green ring of fire that burned for over an hour around the town, thank god it didn’t rain, that would’ve ruined everything. The final step was to make a very loud noise that woke them all up in the middle of the night. Once they were all gathered I simply had to whisper the idea, others would start shouting it. The delusional Neanderthals bought it hook line and sinker.”
“But why Ted? What was the point of all of this?”
“It was the only way I could make them understand what it was like. All my life I felt like I didn’t belong. Like I was an intruder in a foreign land. I wanted them to understand what it was like to fear the outside world.”
\~\~\~
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this prompt, subscribe to [/r/QuarkLaserdisc](https://www.reddit.com/r/QuarkLaserdisc) for more of my quirky Quark goodness!
Critiques and criticisms are always appreciated! | A thin layer of fog covers the horizon. The sound of cars zoomed by. An immense forest opened up on one side of the road. The fog twisted within, the light being absorbed into the darkness itself. Above it lay the sky. Today it was so blue, unnaturally blue.
You see, that's because it was. The sky couldn't be that shade of blue. It never was before.
No one noticed. Looking back, I wish they had. I wish they would have said something before it was too late. But alas, I cannot change what already happened.
The sun was gone. Not gone behind a cloud, gone gone. Where it should be sitting above the horizon stood a blank spot of pure blue.
I didn't mean for it to get out of hand. I really didn't. But alas, I cannot change what has happened in the past.
The son of the governor was not at home. Not just in school for the day, gone gone. Where he should be sitting in a desk, there was a missing student.
I stayed in a cave, a cave containing the son of the governor. A cave that the son of the governor would not leave until 6:00 P.M.
A phone sat on my lap. It wasn't my private phone, that would be too easy to track. It was a new phone I quickly purchased on my way here.
I scrolled the local news of the sun missing. But the prank wasn't for the people, it was for the governor himself.
Time ticked by. Panic increased. Word was getting out that the governor's son was missing.
All the comments were beautiful:
*Sun or son? What the hell is happening people?*
*How can he care about his son when the sun is missing!*
*Already bought extra food to survive for a few months. Hopefully that's enough.*
*I didn't know about the other sun missing? I thought we only had 1?*
They went on and on. At last 6:00 came. I didn't want the day to end.
I walked back to the town hall, ready to present my fabulous trick. I walk through the doors.
"Father, I'm home!" I say aloud to my dad, the governor of our town.
Kevin, one of the assistants I knew very well, rushed out to meet me. Tears were streaking down his face. "Your father." He choked on his next words and sank to his knees. "He thought you were gone."
Quickly, I follow him into the room of the scene. My heart stops. No.
"He thought you were killed. There was a note left saying it."
A note? What note? I didn't leave a note. Something was seriously wrong.
My father, the governor of the town, the best person I ever known has killed himself.
Because of me.
Because of what I did.
Because I wanted to have a little bit of fun.
I collapsed inward, terrified about what I've done. This was impossible. No. The tears haven't stopped flowing.
Thoughts flash through my head.
Sadness by what happened.
Guilt because I did it.
Fear because I would be tried for murder.
Guilt because I felt fear.
Excitement pumping through my veins.
Guilt.
*Guilt.*
**Guilt.**
My head heaved forward. It was too much to bear. My head bounced off against the cement floor.
Until...
"April Fools," my father yelled.
I looked up and my eyes widened. Everything was okay. Everything was fine.
Blinking lights flashed in my eyes. A concerned face looked down upon me. I was lying in a bed.
"What happened?" I ask, my throat dry.
"You passed out from shock. I'm sorry for your loss," the nurse told me kindly.
And everything flooded back.
r/FortyTwoDogs | 2019-04-02T19:43:14 | 2019-04-02T19:30:25 | 394 | 123 |
[WP]Everyone on earth gets the same message on their phone telling them to go to a specific address. People everywhere are talking about and wondering if they should go. However after talking to some people about it, you realize that the address you were given is different than everyone else's. | At first, it was called, 'The Miracle of the Modern Age'. Some talk show host must have decided that was too long, so it was changed to, 'The Modern Miracle'. That was too long as well, (and probably too on-the-nose) so it was changed to 'The Sign'. Or 'The Message.' That was probably more appropriate. Grandmaster Flash would have been proud.
On December 25th, 2019, everyone, around the entire world, received a text. Those that didn't have a cell, received a call. Those that didn't have a phone, received a letter. Those that couldn't read, received a phone that had a message on it. And so on, all the way down. Everybody got the message somehow.
The message was simple: **Come to Me on April 12, 2020.** **Piazza San Pietro, 00120 Città del Vaticano, Vatican City.** It was translated into whatever language the receiver spoke, even the dead languages. Four simple words, folowed by a date, followed by an address. Except it wasn't simple at all. Because that date was Easter Sunday. And that address was St. Peter's Basilica.
The world went insane. Flights to Italy were immediately overbooked for nineteen years. People started walking to Rome. World leaders spoke in hushed tones. Some said The End was coming; some said it was the most elaborate hoax ever. Attempts to track down the sender were fruitless, leading to nothing but air. People committed mass suicide. A crusade was nearly started. It seemed everyone in the world had finally gone mad.
Except for me.
My text said: **Come to Me on April 12, 2020. 367 Mulberry Lane, Niobrara County, Wyoming.** What?
I tried showing it to other people, but they just laughed. "Why you faking the message, Chuyo? Everyone knows we gotta go to the Vatican!"
Thing is, they were right to laugh. Fakes were sprouting up everywhere, with the most popular telling everyone to go to Area 51. A large group of people had already pledged to go there instead of Rome. But I was just nervous. Why was I the only one to get a different address? Was I not worthy or something? Why? Maybe I wasn't the best person, or the most religious, but c'mon! Even serial killers rotting in prison had gotten a call!
I kinda grew depressed. I tried booking a flight to Rome, but the travel agent just laughed. "If you wanna get to Rome from Mexico, them your name better be Carlos Slim, 'cuz you ain't gettin' there otherwise. Guess you gonna have to watch the Coming from your basement, Chuyo."
At that moment, I resolved to go that place in Wyoming. It wasn't what I wanted, but by God, I had to do *something.* I set out the very next day. Immigration was easy. Restrictions had become lax after America started hemorrhaging people to Europe. The President had already left. I got in on a tourist Visa, and headed up to Wyoming, hitchhiking most of the way. I got robbed twice, shot at once, had to sleep in a ditch more times than I'd care to count, and spent one miserable night in a Colorado jail. But I got there in the end.
Only to find out 367 Mulberry Lane didn't exist. I had been tricked after all. I just gazed at the empty space between 365 and 369, and broke down crying. I won't lie, I thought of ending it right then. But I got over it and thought of going back to Mexico. But what did I have there? Mother was dead, and she hadn't even known who my father was. I resolved to stick it out until Easter, then hike back.
The fateful day finally came, and I celebrated by getting drunk. I could barely even stand. I just stared at the empty space that was 367 Mulberry Lane, while all the world leaders piled into the Vatican. The sun slowly went down. I took another swig, and laughed, realizing this would be the first Easter I'd spend outside of a church. I threw the bottle at the empty space. It clattered against something. A door. That hadn't been there before. It was filled with light, and the inscription on it simply read: **INRI**. My hand shaking, I opened the door. The world was bathed in light.
# BE READY, MY SON.
I stepped out of the light, blinking rapidly as I stepped into the dark. Wyoming was gone. In its place were million upon millions of people of all races, colors, ages, staring up at me. I stared down at them. All was silent. And a voice boomed from the heavens, from the ground, from everywhere.
# HE IS RISEN!
Everyone went down on one knee, and shouted, **"HE IS RISEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"**
I stared down at them. My beard itched. My skin crawled. I felt nauseous. But I knew why I was here. What I had to do. Where I had to go.
Seemed I'd managed to get to Rome, after all.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Not my usual work, at all. But I thought I'd give it a shot. Please tell me what you think.* | A notification.
Chinese, japanese, portuguese, american, italian.. everyone. Latitude: 37° 14' 3.60" N
Longitude: -115° 48' 23.99" W, September 20th . That's all that it sent. Nobody knew who sent it, because the sender had no name. Some tried to track the localization of the sender, but nothing worked. People were scared and confused. Some predicted the apocalypse, some tried to be positive and took it as a massive prank. Some planned out a flight to visit the place. But, when I got that notification.. It just wasn't the same. I searched it up- nothing. Nobody else had gotten this address. Latitude: 21.4000 Longitude: -89.5167. I'm going to be honest, I had no idea what to do. My brain had a breakdown. I was scared. I showed it to my friend, he had no idea what to do either.
September 19th. I live in London, the big city with the famous clock, yeah all that. I never made a big deal about it, really. Born and raised, never thought of travelling. But today, I'm buying tickets to Mexico.
I'm doing it. What else could I do? And then again, there was something in me. That something was telling me to do it, like that thrilling sensation when you do a bungee jump or when you're surfing on a high wave. I mean, you only live once and I had nothing to lose.
September 20th. The world's heart skips a beat. Everyone is holding their expectations tight. Some hid. Some went. But where I am? There was nothing. Empty streets, like never before. I was about to reach the coordinates. Then I, just for a second, thought again.
Should I do this, like, for real?..
But before I could even formulate an answer, the sky was red, the ground was shaking. A loud noise from the distance, and an enormous disc-shaped object came from the sky, far away. Then, a beam of light struck down where I suppose all the others went. Yup, this is it, the apocalypse. I screwed up, didn't I?
Then, the spaceship thing went on my direction, so quick I could barely catch a glimpse of it moving, almost like teleported on top of me! Then, a weird symbol appeared on my chest, almost like a flag. It was glowing purple, just like the spaceship. Then came down these weird creatures, with jagged teeth forward almost like a mammoth's tusks. I had never seen anything like it. Then, the same symbol appeared on their "chest".
"How long, brother. We have come to rescue you." | 2019-09-09T12:30:38 | 2019-09-09T10:42:35 | 1,909 | 39 |
[WP] You are a thief in a magical world and have snuck into the castle. You make your way to the Prince’s chambers and try on his clothing and crown. Suddenly, several men bust into the room and mistakenly take you hostage. You wake up in the back of a wagon beside your long time crush, the Princess | In hindsight, I really should've accounted for evil overlord invasions when planning to break into the royal castle and steal the prince's clothing.
I was in the middle of putting one of the prince's garments when the dark army began invading. Now, one would think that stealing the prince's clothing in general would be an exercise in futility and an affront to practicality, but I knew better.
You see, I loved the princess. I loved the princess very, very much. I loved her so much that I wanted to be with her. I wanted to be close to her, and who was closer to her than the prince himself? I mean, aside from her servants, but what self respecting thief would disguise themselves as a *servant?*
The point was, I wanted to be with the princess, and to do that I knew I had to *become* the prince. I had to put on the prince's clothes, put up a fancy pose, and think, "Wow, I am the prince," and have it be true, because I would have the prince's clothing and therefore be the prince.
I lamented over how I would never be able to implement this genius plan. The dark army was currently storming the castle and was burning it down in the process. Pick today of all times, I thought angrily as I stumbled over various articles of clothing, scrambling to find a hiding spot.
"Open up! For the Overlord! Open up or we will use force instead!" Four rather metal looking men immediately crashed through the door afterwards, disregarding their previous warning entirely. I, of course, had expertly hidden myself in a pile of clothing, and was completely undetectable to the unskilled eye.
"Hey! There's the prince! He's passed out on that pile of clothes!"
Curses! That spot was perfect! They clearly had a scryer in their midst! I immediately shot to my feet and tried to get away, but my plans for escape were foiled by a particularly diabolical pile of clothes situated right in front of the closet. I struggled violently as the armored men seized my wrists, dragging me towards the door.
"Barbarians! Unhand me! I am the prince and you will treat me as such!" I had really gotten into the act. The armored men did not respond, as they were busy kidnapping me, the esteemed prince himself. I decided to try again.
"Are you ignoring me? You can't simply ignore the prince! As a royal order I demand you let me go right this moment! Do you hear me?! You'll be whipped and flogged for this if you continue a second more!" Clearly intimidated by me, one of the men suddenly stopped in his tracks. He rummaged through a satchel, looking for something, then pulled out a vial and a cloth.
Pouring the contents of the vial into the cloth, he walked towards me. "What is this?!" I yelled, "A magical potion?! I'll have you know no potions can stop me from being the prince, because that's what I am! The prince! You'd better put that down, or- *mph, mphhhh!*" A chemical smell flooded my nostrils, making me feel rather woozy.
Convincing these armored men was too much work after all, I decided, and so I promptly fell unconscious.
---
I woke up in the back of a rather cramped wagon. Two men were bickering in the driver's seat, my head still felt rather woozy from being drugged, and both my hands and feet were tied with shoddy looking rope. Overall an ordinary night, if not for the fact that the princess herself happened to be sitting in front of me, tied up and looking rather disgruntled at being kidnapped from her own home.
As she looked me straight in the eye, glaring furiously, I merely tilted my head up and smiled.
"Hello!" I said rather friendly-like.
"Who are you?! Why are you dressed up in Richard's clothing?!" she said rather unfriendly-like.
"It's me! The prince!" I admitted, still beaming as a particularly rough jostle rocked the wagon we were being carted in.
The princess blinked, then set her face into a deep frown. "Listen here boy, I don't know who you are or what asylum you've escaped from, but I've just been snatched from my own home and am being sent to *who knows where!* I am in no mood for these damn games!"
I frowned as I realized this was the girl I had pined for all my life. She wasn't really all I had expected: brunette hair, brown eyes, and nothing else that was really notable compared to me. It was like I had never truly seen her before now.
Which was true. I had never seen the princess in my life before now. I didn't even know her name. Truthfully the only reason I had fallen deeply in love with her was because I didn't know who else to love and she was the richest unmarried girl in the kingdom.
I sighed as I struggled over this internal crisis, then promptly forgot about it.
"So... you come here often?" I said absentmindedly to the princess in front of me.
For some reason she puffed her chest up in outrage. "What-" was all she could say before a terrible shudder rocked us forward as the wagon came to a stop.
The wagon-driver got out of his seat and walked up to me, a menacing grin on his face. "Alright, time to get off, you're due for a meeting with the Overlord himself!"
I smacked my head against his head and learned how painful smacking your head against anything at all was rather painful. The wagon-driver crashed to the ground, clutching his head.
I slipped out of my bonds (which were quite terrible, as I said before), and jumped out of the wagon. I began to flee, but stopped as I realized I was forgetting something.
Running over to the princess, I put my hands under her, much to her protest, and lifted her up.
Tried. Tried to lift her up, she was actually quite heavy. I settled for pulling her instead and grabbed her right arm. I hurriedly rushed away from the wagon, dragging the princess all the way, who was being awfully difficult about the entire thing, yelling and cursing at me and everyone I was related to.
Before the wagon-driver could come to his senses and before the other man could notice, I had skillfully maneuvered both myself and the princess through the dirt into a bush.
My expert hiding skills worked, seeing as the frantic voices of the wagon-driver and his acquaintance soon faded in the other direction. Relaxing, I slumped against a particularly flat rock, letting out a relieved sigh. The princess, still tied up, stared at me wide eyed, no doubt dazzled by my dashing act. I should've arranged the marriage already, she obviously adored me.
I gave her my best smile. "What's your name again?"
"Fuck you." | The wagon shook and rattled violently. Lancer sat on a stiff wood frame, stuffed between two muscular soldiers. He imagined they were well paid mercenaries, defectors. Likely paid a king’s ransom to kidnap the prince and princess.
The princess sat across the way, stuffed between two soldiers of her own. Their chain mail jangled as the wagon bumped.
Lancer glanced up at the Princess. An orchid of a woman, bright and colorless, but for a rosy blush about the cheeks. She had a bluish sheet of bruising on her forehead, where she was punched during the scuffle.
Lancer grabbed her attention with a whistle. “I’m sorry, Posara.”
Posara did not look. She held her head down, eyes averted to the creaky black floor. Her neck stuggled to keep her head stable against the pounding of the wagon.
Lancer tried again. “Posara, you can trust me. I’ll never fail you. Do you trust me?”
Posara said nothing, scratching at her leg, then caressing her forehead.
Lancer placed his hand upon his leg, tensing his muscles tight. He slowly leaned down, grabbing a hilt within his boot. Then he burst into action.
Lancer slammed his knife into the neck of the soldier to his right. Then he quickly repeated the strike on the other soldier.
The soldiers beside Posara leaped up, but the princess tripped them mid-lunge. Lancer pulled up their helmets and dispatched them with his dagger, now black with fresh blood.
“Come. Jump with me,” said Lancer.
Posana reluctantly inched toward the aperture of the wagon. She relented, so Lancer pushed her and jumped out right behind.
They rolled around behind the barreling wagon, spinning like dancing performers. They came to a rest, caked in dirt. Posana laid like a heavy rock. Lancer rose and helped the princess to her feet.
The princess patted off her puffy blue dress. “Wonderful. Now what, my *Prince*?”
Lancer ignored her comment. “We have to get off this road. They will be after us.”
The couple diverged from the road, walking into the Dead Forest. The trees loomed over them like deathly claws. A bog stretched over the land. They would need to get into the water to cross the forest. The road was not an option.
They stepped into the murky bog, and found it to only be knee high. Posana cursed at the dirt. Lancer laughed, “first time you’ve had dirt on your feet?”
Posana growled, saying nothing. The dark water seeped up her dress, causing it to cling to her legs. Lancer noticed she was wearing no britches.
When they crossed the bog, they came upon a large clearing. The trees seemed to haunt the air. A cool breeze chilled the bones.
Then out of nowhere a great demon beast appeared. It had the head of a devil and the body of a jet black ram. It spoke not at all, only growled like a beast.
The great beast charged at the couple, kicking up pebbles and dirt, leaving a trail of dust behind.
Lancer charged at the demon, and when he reached it, he slid beneath it and unsheathed his crimson dagger. He then sliced the testicles off the beast. The beast cried out, wailing like an infant.
A great pool of blood gathered below the beast, and Lancer kept his distance.
“Come, Posana,” he said.
Posana took his hand, and they departed the Dead Forest with their lives.
“Thank you, Lancer.”
“No. Say it.”
“Thank you... *my prince.*”
“You say it as though you dislike the sound of it.”
“Give it time. I may like the sound of it, eventually.”
Lancer grinned, and edged closer. “Eventually?”
He inched closer, until their lips were separated by a hair.
“I...”
“I believe you have nothing beneath this dress...”
“Take me back to the castle. Perhaps you will find out.”
She did not have to utter another word. Lancer placed the dagger back in his boot, and led her home, hand in hand. | 2019-03-03T19:10:17 | 2019-03-03T16:59:30 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] "100% of people who drink water will die" sounds like a dumb statistic, but you are 900 years old and very thirsty. | If history outlives me, I'm sure that I'll be remembered as pragmatic, forward thinking, hell, maybe even lucky. The truth of the matter though, I'm just lazy. Sometimes I think I'm just too lazy to die, a perpetual life fueled by an insatiable apathy.
Eat your vegetables, make sure you exercise, drink water, take your vitamins, don't smoke. These were the mantra's of my time. Perhaps *my time* isn't the right phrase, as I'm still alive, and being one of only a few people alive, the majority of time could be considered mine. The time I'm speaking of is the time of man, the time of society, the time of mantras. It seems foreign to me now after so many years of walking this earth with no schedule, no societal debt to spend my life paying off, just living. So here I am. Today is my 900th birthday, I haven't heard any mantras of any kind in centuries; there are no more cigarettes to smoke, no more vegetables to eat, no point in exercise or vitamins. But there's water.
You could call me contrarian I suppose, but that's really the result, not the cause of why I'm here. Going back as far as my memory allows, which is at about age 5 or so, I was told nearing incessantly, to drink water, that I needed to stay *hydrated*. I never understood it, water had no taste and I had no taste for it, yet everyone was sure tat I wanted it and needed it. At such a young age every cognition boils down to cause and effect, almost instinctively so, but even then something seemed off; everyone had these rules to live by, though no one had set them, these nuances followed by all and understood by none. And yet, no matter how strictly one followed these rules, they all met the same end, they all died. I wasn't buying it (because I was 5 and didn't have money yet).
After centuries of giving meaning where there is none, attributing fate or pragmatism to what is really just luck, I think back to those years with a vindictive righteousness that is only quelled by the all consuming loneliness that one can only experience when they're truly right. I was right alright, the rules that everyone had been slave too were unsurprisingly what did them in in the end. And every day was a testament to just how right I was; every night a testament to how wrong I wish I was.
I'm not entirely alone though, there's other people out there, other people like me. Other people who are so set on being unique, on being right, people so stubborn, that they would swear off breathing if they found out other people did it. We all walk the earth aimlessly and alone, avoiding each other for the fear that upon confrontation one of us would be forced to drink water, to concede death, just to prove they're different. I don't say this as hyperbole. I say this as fact. I say this as the last air bubble surfaced the glass of water in front of me, almost reflecting the spiteful glare from the stranger I had just met. I'd love to embellish and say that that glass of water tasted of pride as I swallowed it, but the truth of the matter is, it didn't taste like anything, it was still just water. So after 900 years of trying to be different, of riding the high of being ultimately right, I ended up no different than every other person before me, and just as wrong. I don't think anything had ever felt so right. | As John laid there, on the cold cement floor trying to forget the pain, he noticed something. A water bottle... laying around on the floor. John mustered his last remaining energy to crawl to the water bottle. As he got there he reached for the bottle, his vision was now blurry, his arms shaking uncontrollably, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it's going to burst through his chest. He took the bottle with his right hand and pulled closer to him, he moved his left hand to the top of the bottle, gripped the cap, and twist as hard as he could. But no matter how hard he twisted, the cap still remained on top of the bottle. John has used all the his energy, his arms were motionless, his heart came to a near sudden stop, his vision blinded. He was hopeless but managed to project out his last words,
"shit, its a crown cork". | 2017-04-18T09:00:10 | 2017-04-18T06:41:35 | 274 | 61 |
[WP] You're thinking of asking out that girl in your Religious Studies class. Also, you're pretty sure she's a God. | All things considered, I probably should have figured it out sooner.
It was all in the little details-- the way she agreed to go out with me before I even asked her, how lit candles and burning incense just seemed to magically appear wherever we'd go on dates, or even the way she'd convulsed with laughter when I called the sex we'd just had 'heavenly.' We'd met in religious studies class for crying out loud-- shouldn't I have recognized the signs?! In any case, I was certain now.
The only thing I couldn't figure out was why she hadn't told me.
I mean, she can obviously read my mind-- I know because she adorably starts responding to my internal dialogue when she gets tired --but that means she almost definitely knows I know.
At first I wondered if she was worried about me getting weirded out or something-- like maybe she thought I wouldn't believe her, or that I wouldn't want to be with someone who isn't human. That made less and less sense the more I thought about it though. She was not one for insecurities.
Then, I started wondering if she was ashamed of me. Surely she wasn't the only one of her kind-- would her friends make fun of her? Would her parents approve? Did she even have parents? But that didn't make sense either-- she was nothing if not unabashedly herself.
It had been a few weeks since my initial revelation (hah!) in fact, but I still couldn't figure it out. That is, until we went to Starbucks.
I know, not exactly the most dramatic setting to divine (sorry, I'll stop) the true nature of the love of your life, but there we are. The place was absolutely packed that day. My drink was ready first, so I decided to secure us a table while she waited for her usual hot chocolate. Thankfully luck was on our side (was there really an alternative?) and I quickly found us a nice spot by the window.
A solitary lit candle sat atop it, as always.
So as always, I turned to watch her through the crowd while I waited. She was just receiving her drink, but paused a moment when the barista said something to her. I couldn't hear them over the nigh on deafening morning rush around me, but when he tried to hand her a piece of paper it was obvious what was happening-- he was trying to ask her out!
'Good luck with that,' I thought to myself with a grin, turning back to my coffee. I could've sworn I heard her reply with a giggle in my head.
And that's when everything clicked.
Now being very much a guy myself I didn't exactly have much experience with the day to day lives of girls, but I did know for sure that they were pursued by men they weren't interested in constantly. Day and night, at any hour they were in public, it was never-ending-- so imagine what it must've been like for her. If she revealed herself to just anyone, word would spread. Suddenly she'd have guys on her doorstep literally (and appropriately-- last one, I promise) bowing down to worship her.
Then another thought hit me. Say one of those guys did work out-- how would she know that they really loved her for who she was, and not just what she was? She could read their thoughts, sure, but the truth of the matter is they probably wouldn't really know either. So of course she'd keep it a secret-- then she'd know definitively how they felt about her as a person. Heck, I know I'd want that information in her shoes-- especially since I imagine the stakes of marriage are a lot higher when there is no death to do you part.
Honestly, I had to consider that particular thought myself for a moment. Granted, I'm not sure how much that consideration was worth, considering my tiny human brain probably isn't equipped to properly handle the concept of being together for-actual-ever, but I reached a conclusion anyway.
I would love that.
Because I love her-- she's thoughtful, caring, loyal to a fault, impossibly brilliant, slightly impatient, easily both bored and distracted, exhaustingly adventurous, and of course, drop-dead gorgeous, and I was madly in love with all of that. With all of her.
Then I laughed at the irony. I'm such a hopeless romantic, I always thought of her as a goddess anyway-- so what's really changed?
"And that's all I needed to hear," she said softly.
Suddenly, the room was silent. I could see people making noise around me that should've been assaulting my ears, but I didn't question it. Instead, I looked up and met those wonderful grey eyes.
Her entire face seemed to shine with adoration, and it was all directed at me. This really was heaven.
She laughed, and I realized she'd heard me and blushed.
"So it's really true," I spoke, matching her gentle tone. "You're an actual goddess."
"Yes," she said, and she somehow sounded like both love and thunder. "Is that ok?"
I couldn't stop a smile from infecting my entire face. "Didn't you hear?" I teased. "I thought you were a goddess already!"
She laughed, and playfully whacked the back of my head before plopping down in her seat. "You're such a dork," she said, and suddenly the world resumed around us.
I laughed back in reply, and took a sip of my coffee. "I do have a question though," I began tentatively.
She smiled wickedly, brushing a shimmering black hair out of her face. "No, you can't use the 'heavenly' line every time we have sex."
"Wait, really? But-- oh whatever, I'll just think of more," I said through another grin. "Actually, I was just wondering-- what are you actually the goddess of?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You humans, and your fascination with patron deities. You realize that concept is, like, thousands of years old right? If I recall correctly, you idiots also thought the world was flat back then too, right?"
Now that she mentioned it, the whole thing did seem kinda dumb.
"Ok, fair point," I agreed. "But then I have a lot more questions-- like what are you, exactly? What kind of biology is involved? Can we have kids? And what about your powers, what's the real scope of your abilities? Can you create life? What about mass or energy? Also, while we're on the topic, can we throw some quantum physics lessons in there? I really want to know what the deal with entanglement is, and..." I trailed off, realizing I was probably being a bit overwhelming.
Thankfully, her face held a softer expression than could possibly be human. She reached across the table and gently took my hand.
"Don't worry, my love," she nearly whispered. "You have all of eternity to learn." | To be fair, I'm always a little intimidated to talk to any kind of stranger, let alone a girl with long brown hair and deep green eyes and a propensity for wearing low-cut shirts. This feeling is familiar -- my heart is in my throat, the adrenaline is surging, I can barely breathe let alone think let alone keep my throat clear so my voice comes out smooth and even, as if talking to her is just the easiest thing in the world. This is normal.
And yet. I'm sure this time is different. This time she is making me feel the way that I feel, I mean actively sensing that I am looking at her and as a result making my throat close up, my pulse quicken, my palms sweat and my entire theoretical life with her flash before my eyes, punctuated by sex with her, often, forever. She is a God.
How else to explain the fact that she has never raised her hand once, or even been called on to speak, despite sitting right there in the front, close to the door. How else to reconcile the fact that not even the football player, who comes into this class to take the exams and nothing else, tries to hit on her after class as I see all other football players in all my other classes do to all the other beautiful girls? How else can it be that this person is so incredibly gorgeous, and is not already married and living in a castle somewhere, whisked away by a handsome actor with a trust fund? She is unreal. She is too good to be true. She is unapproachable, especially by the likes of me, and she knows it, and she wants me to know that she knows it. She knows I have figured her out and she is trying to put me off, like she does with everyone else.
But: It's the last day of class. We will hand in a paper next week to complete our coursework. We will no longer sit here and discuss the differences between Sikhism and Buddhism, or parse through Masuzawa's texts. We will go home and pretend this never happened, most likely -- happy to have passed and to move on. But for me, this class won't end until I talk to her, and find out if she's real. I will not be dissuaded.
The time has come. The clock has struck noon and the professor has dismissed us. We rise, more or less in unison, gathering our things and nodding silently at each other or ignoring the world. I see her already moving towards the door, and through it, and out into the hallway.
I race out to find her, and see her hair disappearing down the stairwell. My feet feel heavy as I clomp after her. My body has not yet caught up with my brain and refuses to believe we are trying to move this quickly in this direction. I want to call out, but not only does my mouth fail to work, I don't even know her name.
I round into the grey stairwell and see her a flight below, almost out of sight. It is truly now or never.
Hey, I say, down the stairs at her receding shadow. I say it quietly, but it echoes along the concrete and I see the shadow cease moving.
I walk down the stairs and approach her, as she turns to me.
Hey, I say again. I realize I haven't planned for this, that I was sure she would disappear in a puff of smoke if I actually reached her. I fumble for the next words.
What'd you think of the class? I manage to blurt out.
She simply smiles and raises an eyebrow. Then she speaks, and the force of her voice pushes me against the wall of my own mind. I am standing stock still and yet blown away to hear the words come out of her mouth.
"It was interesting. Never thought I'd take a class like that and actually like it. Wanna grab coffee and talk about the final?" she says, easy as a hand through fur, as a light beer into the glass.
Sure, I say, and put out my hand. I tell her my name, and we walk out of the stairwell and into the sun.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Tanri." | 2016-02-23T18:52:21 | 2016-02-23T16:57:02 | 52 | 31 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | "You may have thought us pathetic and frail for our friendship and pacifism," related the calm voice that came over the monitor.
The Glorthon admiral, Tee'et Lorcor, stared with horror as two more dreadnought class battle cruisers under his commanders were obliterated by a single missile strike each. The fleet was on the defensive, all fire was directed at stopping the hundreds of rockets from the human fleet and planet surface below. It seemed like they had just reached enemy's home star system, and the advance had come to a screeching halt.
"But our friendship was extended because we know the true horrors of war," the calm voice continued almost sadly.
The Glorthons had never experienced such resistance even from the mighty Cluthons of Criok 4. The early human resistance consisted of small frigates and transports using lasers meant only to clear rogue asteroids. Tee'et Lorcor's fleet had cut through the human forces like a predator's claw through soft flesh. Why would they hold back their most powerful weapons until they had broken through all the way to Mars?
"You see we once fought among ourselves for things we now view as petty," the voice sighed as two more ships were incinerated, "Greed, bigotry, and national pride drove us to war with each other in the most brutal and savage ways."
"It was a race to see who could kill each other faster and more efficiently, until one fateful day, twenty millennia ago, we invented a weapon that could vaporize cities," the voice explained.
Surely he lies, thought Tee'et Lorcor. The only weapons capable of that are lasers and they stagnated at city sized destruction five thousand years ago. Yet, another ship exploded in radiant energy to prove his foe's point.
"Eventually, the weapons were powerful enough to level small continents, that's when the Fateful Hour occurred. 70% of humanity was gone in what seemed like an instant, the rest left to pick through the scraps as they died slow painful deaths," the voice broke.
Tee'et Lorcor's fleet was dwindling. He would have to get creative if he were to win this battle and put an end to the humans. He scrambled fighters to get in close to the orbital stations that seemed to be the primary source of the missile salvo
"Faced with extinction, we promised to never again use such weapons and found a new purpose. We would rebuild as we took to the stars. It's funny what the specter of extinction will do," the voice mused.
Lorcror was getting worried now. They had destroyed a couple of the stations, but the human squadrons were holding off his fighters just enough. For every station destroyed another four Glorthon battle cruisers exploded with bright light.
"We met other peoples and vowed to help them build, create, and be happy. We learned from our mistakes and hoped to teach others," the voice seemed to be coming to a conclusion.
Fate was beginning to dawn on Tee'et Lorcor. They could not win this fight. The shear amount of laser fire required to slowly drain the opposing fleets shields could not hope to keep up with the destructive power the missiles. He had to sound the retreat for the mere dozen ships remaining under his control.
"And now we face extinction again," the voice stated gravely, "And we came to a terrible but inescapable decision. We must build the weapons again. We must fight with the efficiency we did back on Earth."
Suddenly, Tee'et heard warning alarms. The warp drives failed to power up! Engineering reports all ships seemed to have been crippled. The humans must had been silently slicing into their warp core control systems since the battle started. Had they planned this from the start?
"Did you really think Mars was always our home?" | Drifting endlessly and peacefully through this void, I gazed upon the great blue sphere. Its skies swirling with white ink. The low rumbling of our ship had my brethren in a deep sleep.
A great white plain, frozen and still, is where we made our temporary home. A small elderly woman made her way out of that dark and sullen forest, inviting us to follow her.
The six of us were crammed into the tight dwelling in which she lived. The warmth of the stove shielded us from that blistering cold winter wind. This meal was just enough to keep us all from starving, that caring old woman...
News of our presence was spreading. A large military force was to be expected at any moment, but this frozen plain was empty. As I wait on the outskirts of our encampment, waiting, a sun had risen out of the ground.
These humans were peaceful due to their fear not of us, but because of their own power. | 2020-02-07T14:35:31 | 2020-02-07T12:50:43 | 97 | 41 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit. | No way.
Anger, sadness, and confusion rolled into a giant emotion in my heart.
"Hey... What's going on here?" I squeaked. My voice betrayed me.
He looked me up and down. Confused. His mouth slung open; just like all those years ago, sitting in front of the TV watching in disbelief as the enemy football players run and score a goal.
He looked at me and I dared to look back.
"Catherine?"
"Yeah. It's me." I whispered. He left... Didn't he?
Mum said he was off to buy milk and never came back. That was 50 years ago. He was in his mid thirties when he had my brother and I so that would put him about 80 years old. However... The man standing in front of me does not look like he aged in the last 50 years.
He still had his piercing blue eyes. A hint of crows' feet touched his eyes and a few smile lines but that's how he was all those years ago. That's what he looks like in the pictures mum showed us in his funeral as we remembered who he was. After... After the police were unable to find him anywhere.
"What is going on here?" He echoed my question.
"Dad, do you remember? June 27, 1966. I will never forget that day. You... left us. Mum said that you were going to get milk but you never came home, in fact, you were no where to be found. We had the police on you and everything. Filed a missing case report," I rambled.
It's as though my father disappeared into thin air. But this was him. As soon as he walked in, the room smelled of sandalwood and after shave, just like before. There was a faint stubble on his chin but that was about it.
"No, that can't be right," my father shook his head "I was at Uncle Jim..." Uncle Jim was the small store down the road. "I was there just 20 minutes ago. What...?"
I could see his confusion. He's registering my face. I have wrinkles and a little taller than my 6-year-old self.
"Where's your mum?"
"She... Never stopped looking for you."
"Where is she? And Luke?"
My breath hitched. My brother was angry when he was gone. All of a sudden the responsibilities fell on him. Being the only male, he had to work on top of going to school. My mum did what she could but I don't think she ever got over the fact my father disappeared the day after their anniversary. Everything seemed fine.
"Mum... Mum is in the loony bin, d-" I flinched. I can't say 'dad' without my mouth going slack. There's no way he's real. I cleared my throat. "All she would talk about is how she must find you coz you must've been scared. Luke... Well, Luke is gone. His anger got the best of him and he got into a fight and..." I hiccuped, remembering the sirens, the blood pumping in my veins as the police broke the news.
"Catherine..." his voice broke my thoughts. "I... It was milk. I left 20 minutes ago, went to the store, and brought the 2% because she was baking a cake... Wasn't that what she was baking?"
It was. My mum didn't realize she needed more milk. So, she sent my dad. She never forgave herself. Always said that it should've been her.
"You left 50 years ago. How is it that you haven't aged? Where... Were you?"
He looked up, his eyes bewildered. He pulled out his old time piece. "I left 20 minutes ago," he said in a strained voice.
I blinked my tears. How was my dad here... Now? After all these years? Where was he? How didn't he age? There were too many questions.
Suddenly, I became very aware at how hot the room was and how fast my heart was beating. I was starting to see stars too. The last I heard before the darkness took me was my father's scream and the milk jug hitting the floor, spilling milk and glass everywhere.
EDIT: thank you for the love! This was my first WP and I'm glad so many of you enjoyed it! | I stared at my father in disbelief as he stood in the kitchen’s entryway. He looked so much younger than I do but there’s no mistaking it - this is my father. He smiled at me as if he’s been doing this for the last 50 years.
“How’s it going, son? I finally got that milk.” he said, the same warm voice I took comfort in in my youth. “Where do you keep your glasses now?”
“The left cupboard. I’ve kept everything in the same place for the last 50 years.” I found myself answering as I firmly held my cane to keep steady.
He grabbed two glasses, set them on the counter and poured the milk into them. He handed me a glass but I had to sit down by the breakfast table before taking it from him. I studied his facial features while he sat himself down next to me. His hair was dark and full, mine was white and wispy. His skin was firm and unwrinkled, mine was like a piece of crumpled paper. “Why are you here after all this time?” I finally asked.
“I’m here to take you Home with me, son. That’s where I’ve been all this time.” He smiled at me and gestured for me to take a sip out of the glass of milk.
I obliged and put the glass up to my lips. The first taste made it clear that it wasn’t milk. It was sweet and heartwarming like a cup of tea on a rainy day. All these years of loneliness and resentment melted away as my father wrapped his hands around mine.
*Yes, I am ready to go home with you...* | 2017-11-19T17:13:23 | 2017-11-19T17:03:27 | 60 | 19 |
[WP] When you sleep, instead of dreaming, you see a list of tips and tricks that will help you the next day. One night, you only see one tip, “Always aim for the head”. | ######[](#dropcap)
Heather's eyes popped open. She pressed a finger to her forehead, saying a silent spell to ease her migraine. Her dreams were always accompanied by an aura, and yesterday night's left her feeling like a freezing hand had crawled up her back while she was sleeping. She bit her lip. It definitely wasn't a good sign.
&nbsp;
The corridors were eerily empty. Halls that should have been filled with students were devoid of a single living soul. Heather clutched her book bag closer to her chest. What was happening?
"Hello?" Her voice echoed through the halls. Her soft-soled boots were nearly silent on the tile floor, but she couldn't help the feeling that she was being watched. "Abigail? Cory?" She called out her best friends' names, but there was no reply. It was a bad idea coming to school today. She should've stayed in the dorms. Maybe she had missed a memo about a break or something.
"Over here!" A voice hissed. She whipped around to see Cory's blonde hair poking out from around a door. "Quickly!"
Heather dashed towards the classroom. Cory dragged her to the back and pulled her down so they were kneeling behind a line of desks. "What's going on?" she whispered.
"There's a Vexspawn in the building. Everyone's in hiding. Of course you would be late." He tapped her on the forehead a little harder than was necessary.
Her eyes widened. "Vexspawn?" Her voice rose.
He brought a finger to her lips desperately, his gaze whipping about. Then he nodded.
"Wait, but how did a Vexspawn get in here? I thought they usually frequented woods." They had learned about the creatures in their biology classes, but she'd never thought they'd actually encounter one. Vexspawns were terrifying creatures, not because they had a grotesque body in and of themselves, but because they could take on different forms. Shapeshifters. And no one really knew how to deal with them because their sightings were quite rare. She pulled a dagger out of her boot.
"What are you doing?" Cory asked, looking at her strangely. He eyed the dagger warily.
She shook her head. She didn't know either. She'd done it subconsciously. Her father had taught her how to use dagger when she was younger, and although she hadn't had much need for them after learning magic, she always kept one in each boot. Just in case.
A scream sounded, echoing through the hallway. Heather leapt to her feet, but Cory dragged at her arm.
"We can't just do nothing," she said. "We have to go help out!"
"The teachers will take care of it. We just need to stay safe," Cory hissed.
"Heather!"
Heather froze. Was that...that was Cory's voice. She blinked. But Cory was right next to her.
"Heather!" the voice called out again. She looked down at Cory, who was sitting there wide-eyed, staring at her. 'Vexspawn,' he mouthed. She let him drag her down, more reactively than of her own will. She couldn't hear anything over her heart pounding in her throat.
Then a shadow appeared in the doorway. And even with the window blinds closed, with the small amount of light streaming through, she could see him clearly enough through the desk legs she was hiding under. She swallowed.
It was Cory. And he was staring not at her, but at the Cory standing next to her.
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9yv0o7/wp_when_you_sleep_instead_of_dreaming_you_see_a/ea4x09x/) is below!
r/AlannaWu | I was surprised to say the least when I only had one tip even more so when I read it 'always aim for the head' I'm a teacher so I wanted to believe that if I taught one kid something it would help down the line, I didn't really believe it there'd be a shooting I was sure of it.
And so I packed a handgun I wouldn't be checked with how long I'd worked there, it was pretty normal until the last class I taught, a kid was sick they walked around banging into stuff before fainting I called the parents and they went to the nurse just a door down which was lucky with how strong I am.
And the day continued for about ten minutes, and now I'm not sure what to do I have a class of students to protect but I've never killed anyone and there are two people banging on the door, I wish this was a joke but the tips don't lie, they either want us dead or this is the apocalypse, I hope it's the first.
Because then I'll feel a bit better about doing this. | 2018-11-20T13:55:53 | 2018-11-20T12:16:20 | 482 | 55 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | "Raul," crooned Raul in a very suspicious French accent, as he took the lady's hand and graced his eager lips on it. "Let me guess," he continued, releasing his grip and pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit, please. Let me guess, you're a Mari- no, no, you're a Cassandra? I'm right, am I not?"
*Suave.* Yes, that was what he would be today.
The woman's botoxed forehead tried its best to frown, her lips fighting (and losing) a similarly uneven battle. "How on Earth did you know that?"
Raul slicked his dark hair back with ringed fingers. "Your beauty, it was that of a Maria, or a Cassandra, and there was a certain radiance that could be of no Maria. I see, no wrinkle has dared to blight your perfect face -- that tells me all I need to know." He lowered his voice to a rippling whisper. "*All I need to know.*"
Cassandra giggled through perfectly still lips as she slid into a seat. "My," she said, "You are a charmer. And that accent... Australian?"
"Australian?"
"Yes. I'm certain of it. I've got an aunt who lives there, and strike me down if you don't sound *just the same!* Don't worry -- she's a smoker."
Raul cursed himself silently. He hadn't done enough research for the role. No, it was fine -- he'd improvise.
"Yes, mate. Good catch."
He sat in his seat and raised a hand, clicking his fingers to gain the attention of a waiter. "If I had a bloody boomerang, I'd get us the wine myself," he said with a wink.
Another half chuckle as the waiter approached. Raul knew her very favourite drink, her very favourite food... Yes, this time he'd get the pudding he'd been after for so long. But he had to be confident. She liked confident.
"Lambrusco, for the lovely Sheila. And the house re- a uh..."--he swallowed hard--"Fosters for me."
The waiter lifted his head and eyed Raul snobbishily. "*House Fosters*, sir?"
"Yeah," Raul replied, tugging at his shirt. "You know, out of the house tap."
"Very good, sir. And to eat?"
"Pie and chips for the lady, and... do you do anything off the barbie?"
"Sir?"
"Struth. Just a burger then, mate."
The lady eyed Raul with suspicion. "I wouldn't normally let someone order for me, but... How did you know I loved pies?"
"Know? Oh, that you're a classy pie lass? Well, it's obvious ain't it."
"Is it?"
"It is to me. A lady who would wear a fashionable tracksuit like that, to a place like this, well, she'd be after the fanciest meal on the whole bloody menu."
If she could have smiled she would have done, Raul hoped. God, she was beautiful. Beneath all that make up. Maybe. Raul began to sweat. This was the best any of their dates had gone *to date*. He couldn't mess it up now. It was time to lay his heart on the table.
"Look, Cassandra, I'm gonna' level with you. I think you're mighty fine, and I reckon you think I'm fine. I mean, I figure I'm the sort of guy you'd normally go for."
Cassandara shrugged. "Eh."
"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh'"?
"You're a little too pretty-boy, for my tastes, to be honest."
"You can't be serious. You can't be bloody serious! I've seen all the men you've rejected. What the hell is left?"
Cassandra went tense. "You've *seen* the men I've been out with?"
"Well I er, oh struth," Raul said sadly, knowing he couldn't stop it now. The man's stylish exterior began to wilt, his skin flaking to reveal the green monstrosity beneath. Screams echoed about the restaurant and cutlery migrated high in all directions.
"Wh-what kind of monster are you?" asked Cassandra, her lips trying desperately to quiver.
"Me?" Raul asked, a rage in the pit of his stomach rising. "Me?! What the hell kind of monster are *you*? -- That's the real question! I've tried *everything* to please you. I've been Brad bloody Pitt and Oscar bloomin Wilde. Nothing makes you happy. Nothing!" He realised at this point that he didn't *need* to keep the accent up, but there was something rather bloody pleasing about it.
"Th-hey were *you*?"
Raul's skin began to change again, his black hair falling out in thick clumps, while greasy blonde hair sprouted hurriedly in its place. It took only seconds for Cassandra to be face to face with... Cassandra.
"This," said the new Cassandra, as it got up from its seat, "Is the only person I think you could ever love. You are the worst specimen of any creature I've ever met. And I've been to the Betelgeuse system *and* Scotland. Good day to you!"
Raul/Cassandra had almost stomped its way to the door, when it heard the plaintive scream from behind and stopped in its tracks.
"Waiiit!"
The other Cassandra came running up to it.
"What do you want now? Come to mock me one last time?"
"Mock? No! I'd never mock someone like you. Mmm mm mmmm, you are *gorgeous*. I think... I think I was a bit hasty. How about one more try?" she asked with a salacious wink.
Raul/Cassandra smiled. *Finally*.
"Can you change *any* part of your body?" she inquired as they walked back towards their table.
| "Hey, are you okay?"
Maria wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, looking anywhere but the man standing next to her. She'd gone to the pier to be alone not have random strangers approach her.
"I-I'm fine," Maria looked out toward the ocean, watching as the whitecaps broke and wove over each other, and how the seagulls and birds flew through the stormy grey sky.
The man leaned against the railing of the pier next to her. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look like your dog just died."
Maria sniffed again, her lips curling downward as she gripped the leash in her pocket.
"I-I did."
There was a pause and the man sighed. "Shit, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean-"
"No, no, it's okay," Maria said. "This was... this was Max's favorite place to go for our walks. He, um, he was a weird dog, but I loved him. I've had him for so long."
A handkerchief appeared on the railing and Maria wiped her tear stained cheeks. "Thank you."
"Sounds like a hell of a dog." The man mused.
"He was," Maria nodded. "He always protected me, heck, he even slept in my bed. He did *not* like my boyfriends." She smiled.
"Sounds like a good boy. Dog's can sense that, you know? If a person is good enough for their person."
Maria laughed at that. "Well, he also ate my Italian heels and destroyed two couches, so he had his ups and downs."
The man snorted. "Sounds like an ass."
"He was a good boy," Maria mused. She cleared her throat and offered the man back his handkerchief. "Thank you."
"No problem," the man turned finally and smiled as he took it from her.
Maria paused, her eyes roving over the tanned face and black hair, and the mans eyes. "You have his eyes."
The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"He was a husky mix, he had mismatched eyes."
The man slowly blinked again before he shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "I've had a lot of people comment on my eyes, but never that I looked like a dog."
Maria gasped. "O-Oh, no, I didn't-"
The man laughed. "Hey, it's okay." He offered her his hand. "What's your name?"
"Maria," she blushed as she shook his hand. "What's yours?"
"Maximillion, but Max for short." he winked, then spoke in a lower whisper. "My parents were weird. They named the dog Ted."
Maria laughed at that. She flushed when she realized Max had watched her, a warm smile on his face.
"Hey, I've heard there's supposed to be a coffee shop near here... do you want to go? I'd love to hear more about your Max."
Maria nodded. She gave the ocean one last glance before she pulled out the leash from her pocket. Max covered it with his hand, taking her hand with his.
"Come on, let's get out of the rain."
Maria nodded. | 2022-08-24T03:20:20 | 2018-02-14T09:37:57 | 1,353 | 231 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real, unknown to all, but the gods. Most beings live out multiple lives cyclically as humans or other life-forms and are always random. But these two souls are always human, always find each other, and are always romantically exclusive upon discovery. The gods take interest. | “Beauty is what stops people in their tracks. No matter what they are doing, if they having the best day or worst day of their life, if they are in love, if they are in pain, they will stop to look at beauty.”
“But beauty fades, mother,” Cupid said, his eyes still burning with that youthful fire, the idealism that would never fade. “Love is like water. It can come and go, but it always there. Inside of you. You must work at beauty, obsess over it, wonder whether or not you have enough of it. Love can fill your spirit like nothing else.”
“But no person can deny beauty. People can deny love for duty, for purpose, for art. But they cannot say no to beauty.”
Cupid said nothing. Venus could get particularly nasty when pushed into a corner, and had an underrated penchant for revenge.
“We’ll see, shall we, son? Let’s have a wager about your two favorite souls in this world…”
\-
Cupid watched the man walk past the café for the umpteenth time, and the fire dimmed a little bit more inside of him. He watched the woman, the other half of the man’s soul, as she watched from the café window, bored and tired from another long day of work.
This incarnation of them would have gone like any of the other ones, save for his mother’s intrusion. It was perfect. He had started coming in to work on his sketches, and she would give him tips and hints, each of them brightening the other’s day.
But then Venus had put the model in the man’s life, and he had fallen quickly, spending all his time and money on this new beauty. The barista was pretty, but the model was a knockout, a face destined to be photographed. The man was infatuated, devoted, but not in love.
How could the man not see what was in front of him? They were made for each other, as they had always been. They were both artists, seeing beauty in the world around them, in a telephone pole, in a bicycle, in a palm tree, wondering how they could get everyone else to see what they wanted. They were both kind to a fault, their feelings hurt when others told them they were too nice, too naïve. They were both lonely, wondering if there was anyone else out there like them…
Cupid wondered if he should get involved. It was too painful to watch this, the man forced to take pictures, wear a smile just because he couldn’t look away from the model’s face. But still:
*“Love can be pushed into a corner, but the truest form, it will always find a way.”*
That is what he always believed. Sometimes, he had to shoot an arrow to save a marriage or spur a shy kid into action, but mostly, he loved to watch. Love was one of the unseen forces in the universe, along with gravity and inertia. You had to trust it.
But his trust was fading.
\-
“Maybe you’ve won, mother,” Cupid said.
“Of course I did,” Venus said, a smug smile on her face as she ruffled her son’s hair.
“I really thought they would always be together. That café is where they are supposed to fall in love.”
“There’s no supposed to, son. There’s just beauty, and the quest to obtain it.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Don’t feel bad. There’s a reason you are my son. You see, love is just how you appreciate beauty.”
*It’s more than that,* Cupid thought even as he nodded in agreement.
\-
Cupid was in the city again. A woman had fallen off the wagon and cheated with her boss, and now she was on her way home. Cupid was there to shoot an Arrow of Honesty into her heart, and hopefully make the confession go smoothly.
Then he saw the man, sitting on a bench, with the woman approaching. He lowered his bow, and tuned in to their conversation.
“Hi,” she said. “Do you remember me?”
The man looked up, and smiled, as if finally remembering his identity after a bout of amnesia. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to come back in, but I didn’t get the chance.”
“You never come in anymore. You used to come in with that girl. What was her name?”
“We broke up,” he said. “She wasn’t right for me.”
“That’s too bad,” the girl said. “What are you sketching?”
“A bluebird. I was actually just walking, and then I saw it, and it stopped me in my tracks, you know?”
“Really? Bluebirds are my favorite. Want some help? My dad used to take me bird watching when I was a kid.”
“That’s be great…”
Cupid smiled, wishing he could stick around and watch. But he turned around, and had no doubts as he did so. After all, love always finds a way. You just had to trust it.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | "Hey, John, come and take a look at this for a second."
"Hmmm, what is it?"
"See these two ID's? 571024 and 1130426?"
"Yep, they're certainly numbers, alright."
"See how they're romantically attached? Well, I saw them together last sim too."
"Yeah, that's probably just a coincidence, Christina. Too much staring at the numbers getting to your head."
"I thought that too, but I took a look through the records. Every single sim we've run, these two ID's have been together each time."
"Look, you probably just screwed up your query. Let me try. System, select all sims where relations between actor ID 571024 and actor ID 1130426 includes romance."
"*5097 results returned.*"
"Huh, weird. System, select all sims."
"*5097 results returned.*"
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Definitely a bug, though it doesn't look system critical."
"I don't know... listen, John, this is kind of out there, but... do you believe in destiny?"
"You're kidding, right? I can't believe I'm hearing this from someone who calls themselves a scientist."
"Hey, scientists are allowed to believe in destiny too! Like, worldline convergence and attractor fields and all that. Sometimes, the universe just wants something to happen."
"Yeah, no, you've been watching too many holos. Probably something in the RNG. Anyway, I'm heading out, so either figure out what it is or close the issue report. And do it before tomorrow, I've got to push a release."
"Alright, see you."
As he left, Christina started looking through the code.
"Nothing in actor parameterization.... nothing in sim dynamics... hmmm, wait, what's this? System, select results of function id fg2042ev231 where seed input minus result equals 1048596."
"*Returned 571024, 1130426*"
Yep, that was it. Just a bug in the code after all. There really was no such thing as destiny.
She started typing in the fix, then stopped.
"Destiny... huh..."
She began to type again.
>// do NOT change function fg2042ev231! important for system stability
Sometimes, destiny needs a little bit of help. | 2019-07-21T23:08:41 | 2019-07-21T22:43:44 | 197 | 48 |
[WP]You have the gift of seeing angels. Two things to note: one, they look more monstrous than “angelic,” and two; they gush all over us because they think we are the cutest beings ever. | Fifty-five Fahrenheit, sunny, low breeze.
She hovered just over my shoulder, her bony, sinew-draped wings casting no shadow in the broad daylight. I took my last deep breath of fresh air before being having a soldering iron glued to my hands all day.
The doorbell rung as I stepped into the shop.
"Heyo, Marc. I got the components we need for that big-" I stopped. He wasn't at the counter.
I looked like a fool talking to myself. Except, really, I wasn't. There was someone else listening. Turning to look at her, I saw what I see every day when I look into reflections, mirrors. A face devoid of features, with a thousand teeth ready to grind into anything she finds too precious to keep her hands off of. Her long, slithering, triple-forked tongue, winding itself in circles. She followed me for reasons I didn't really understand. I think she just had a crush on me or something.
The place was quiet. Much more quiet than our quaint little electronics repair shop usually ever is. I turned around to shut the door. She flowed, no, simply moved right through it. I walked down two of the main isles. Blood on the floor, dripping in a pathway to the back room where we keep the most sensitive equipment. Marc was definitely injured, and despite my objections, didn't have any additional security besides an alarm system. I told him we needed a guard, but he insists that we're small-time and we don't attract attention.
For once in my life, I hated being right.
I had to be careful about my steps. Steady. I could hear her drifting. No one else could, thankfully. In the back storeroom, I finally heard shouting.
The stern voice muffled by that heavy, sliding door into the storage area, I could only faintly make out what was being said. "Please try to be more expedient, Mr. Cruz. You wouldn't want your guest to be hurt if he finds us." The voice sounded militant. Someone trained. Someone professional.
*Who are they? I love that man's voice, so boisterous. So bold, so confident. He seems like a meal.* Her long, pointed fingers wound between each other as she rubbed her palms together.
I reached down to my waist to unlatch my holster, but it was empty. I sighed. I hadn't been allowed to carry since I tried convincing a single other soul that this thing was real. I know she is though; because I was about to prove it. Again.
There was no way this was opening quietly.
"Let's pay our guests a visit, Etra."
*After you, lovely.* Her voice rattled through her rotted trachea.
Two men were in the room, along with Marcus, my boss. "Haden, please. Leave, I do not want you getting hurt! I will deal with these men." He was shot, barely bleeding. Grazed on his lower leg. Some semblance of relief at last.
He pointed his weapon at me. Suppressed pistol. Black suit, ironed, obviously some kind of intelligence services. Obviously not expecting any form of resistance but prepared nonetheless. The other still had his weapon locked onto Marcus' head. Wondering who they were would have to wait. "Can I help you gentlemen with something?" I asked snidely.
"Maybe you **can**." He grunted at me as he shoved the barrel of his weapon at my chest.
"Bad idea." I smiled at him.
The light in the room flickered for a brief moment. In that instant, blood was streaming from his carotid down his body. His partner looked on in horror. "What did you-"
A phrase interrupted only by his petrified scream. Marcus was panicking, breathing heavy, looking around in fear.
"Oh? Do you see her too? Finally. Someone else can."
"What the hell are you talking about?" He replied cowering, scurrying pathetically to the corner.
"A good friend of mine. Etra, would you like to keep him?"
*I'd like both of them, but not to keep.*
"Who's Etra? How d-"
A satisfying crunch came from the depths of his chest.
"Damn." I looked down. Would've been nice feeling not so alone anymore. Marcus was still bewildered, but not completely lost. "Go clean up, sir. I can take care of this."
"I always wondered why you had that weird "talking to yourself" thing." Marcus chuckled at me nervously. He looked down at the two eviscerated corpses on the floor. Etra was feasting on one, stringing up muscle by the pound, shoveling it into her mouth. "Now I get why."
"I- What?" I was so shocked that I lost my train of thought. "I'm gonna go change. We'll... tell the police if they show up. I guess." He patted me on the shoulder, still jittery and shaky, but laughing.
"He can see you?" I whispered to her.
"He's precious when he's scared. But nowhere near as lovely as you. You're definitely the cutest one." She continued to feast away at the bodies. I heard a bone crunch between her teeth, and a gulp afterwards. "Would you like any?" | I always pretended not to notice them, even as the disgusting creatures floated around me, their translucent skin pulsing with the beat of each of their organs, looking at them was like watching some detailed science demonstration, getting to see each part of their body do its job, the sight always leaving me a little nauseous, especially when they would lean towards my face, wanting to catch a better look at the humans they loved to gush at.
"Look at this one, so so cute, I could just eat him up." The angel exclaimed, its voice always made my ears hurt, like listening to a metallic bird screech, the illuminated yellow orbs that it called eyes staring deep into my soul, my heart thumping against my chest as I was forced to continue walking towards it, having to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary, I wasn't quite sure what would happen if they found out that I could see them, perhaps nothing would happen, but I didn't want to risk that possibility.
"Oh you are right, that one really is a cutie, look at his smooth skin, I could just... lick it." The angel muttered, slipping its long wet tongue from between its lips, making a licking motion towards me before stepping back. "They really are adorable though aren't they, gods greatest creations, I just hope God doesn't decide to kill these ones, I don't want them to end up like the last, that would be disappointing."
"Perhaps the next ones would be cuter though?" The other angel suggested the second seemed to ponder that before shrugging, perhaps deciding that perhaps it didn't matter if they died or not then, something else would just take their place, finally the pair began to stretch out their long boney wings, giving a full view of the skeletal looking wings that sat on their back, they were disgusting, looking like they were decaying from the creatures back, it was a miracle they could even fly with such things, soon the two began to hover off the floor before finally ascending into the air, flying off leaving me to take a few breaths of relief.
It was always hard to focus when they would appear, leaving me almost paralyzed with fear, luckily there was no one around me this time, but usually, it would lead to awkward moments, having to explain to my friends that I was merely daydreaming when I suddenly froze.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} | 2020-02-19T20:26:39 | 2020-02-19T18:01:15 | 52 | 27 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck." | “This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM or 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable.”
I was stunned, a spoonful of ramen halfway to my mouth, when I bolted over to a window to peek into my neighbor’s house from my own. A perfect view right into their tv room, and... nothing. No same message or shut off. It was still an hour or so until night, and I had some plywood sitting around because of the hurricanes, but...
“If you just heard that alert and are still listening, sit down and shut the fuck up. You’re going to have to listen very carefully and take every word I say with the gravity they entail. I won’t be telling you my name, but I will tell you my significance.”
Whipping around, I can see a man on the screen. Old. Ancient, really, but somehow still youthful and speaking with the energy of a man much younger. His eyes, though. Hard. Spoke of years of experience and seeing things he wishes he could unsee.
“I am a part of the O5 council. I work for what is simply known as The Foundation. We work to protect the world from creatures. Anomalies. We contain them and study them. Usually this all goes right. I would not be revealing our existence if it had right now. What we are experiencing is a humanity level threat right now, and only some of you are being told this. Not everyone can be saved, and we feel that taking some casualties in this instance will be beneficial. This gives us time to recontain the threats. What has happened is one of our sites has been breached. Massively so. All failsafes failed when we needed them most, and so many of these threats we have been studying have been released into the world. This was also a result of multiple anomalies showing up at once, posing enough of a threat to necessitate this announcement in conjunction with what developed into multiple site breaches.”
I had no idea what this man was talking about, but I stayed put, hearing him out with a pit in my stomach. Why couldn’t everyone be saved? We were using them as... fodder? Why me?
“Those is you who have been selected are by and large because of what you can do to help us rebuild. And because you’ve been profiled by us so we know you would be able to act accordingly with this information. You are not forbidden from telling those you can, but every second you spend with them is another you could use to prepare. Do not attempt to contact your law enforcement or any news networks. Social media will not allow you to inform the world. We have made sure of this. It is likely many of those who you know will be dead in the next few days. Daylight offers some solace, but the night is simply too dangerous. One of the aforementioned anomalies has altered the moon, and some others traveling in the dark effectively lethal without significant illumination or firepower. Military forces are being aided by us, but many will lose cohesion. Count yourselves among the lucky ones. The world as you know it is about to change. Good luck.”
I feel numb. This doesn’t make any sense. Yet for some reason I act. I get my hammer and plywood, turn out my lights, and shore up my home. It’s almost as if I have no control over my body. My home is just as it needs to be. I lock my doors for the last time and retreat to my basement, curling up in a corner. The screaming starts after the light fades.
That was three months ago. I spent a month in hiding, had a lot of food stocked up in case something went weird like this. Not prepper level though. I was down to beans out of a can when they came. In the middle of the day, my door was battered down by a handful of men. They wore military style gear clad in white and black with a strange logo, all of them radiating incredibly bright light as they breached my home. They rescued me. Now here I am. One of the lucky few. We’ve been placed into a facility on a massive island. I’m told it’s all man made. Stunning, really.
I stood on the shore when they bathed the world in nuclear fire. I couldn’t comprehend it, really. They said it would leave no harmful after effects. That they weren’t real nukes. I felt like I could hear the screams of those left behind from here. Of my neighbors who were ripped apart in the night. Their children. I wish they had been chosen.
So we’ve begun to rebuild. True to their word, no radiation was to be found. I’m told that regardless of how things go here, we have been left behind to rebuild as another reality is saved by those with the knowledge of what happened here. I have no grasp of what this foundation really does, and just what lengths they can go to preserve our future, but I don’t want to know.
All that’s left is the present. A broken timeline, a broken world, and a broken people trying to put everything back together. It’s funny really, that they saved me. They knew what a society was made of, what it would take to bring it back from the brink.
I’m a fucking writer. | Looking at the decaying poster plastered across the alleyway, the man paused for a moment, lost in memories.
Nobody knew where it started, and nobody had time to care. Within weeks of the first sighting, the vamps had swept across Europe, and the United States Quarantine Zone barely lasted a week. It was hard to figure out what they looked like, let alone how to fight them, and it took the army years before it discovered their tactics and weaknesses. For every person that was killed or drained by a vamp, within a matter of days they would succumb to the infection. Superhuman speed, endurance, and near-flight. But even though they looked like someone you knew, all of their emotions were replaced with thirst.
Mankind used to have two big advantages: working together and using tools. Both of those became liabilities, and in a matter of months society as they knew it had completely collapsed. Artificial light did nothing except alert them to the presence of humans, and modern weaponry did nothing against creatures so fast, so vicious, and so durable. All that worked was sunlight, decapitation, and stakes. Suddenly, mankind's reliance on technology had become a liability, and they knew it.
Most just despaired and watched as their family turned, then just gave in. Some took up arms for a brief while and then ended themselves before they could get turned. The strongest, those that survived, had two traits: adaptability and ruthlessness. The cold impersonality of long-ranged rifles and guns was replaced with the intimate, uncomfortable feeling of a stake and a knife. The darkness, something that humanity had considered conquered ages ago, had reclaimed its place as the top of humanity's enemies.
Flashing out of his reminiscence, the man tightened the strap holding the crossbow over his back. The setting sun illuminated the cold, desolate ruins around him, the fading banner one of the last traces that this had ever been an inhabited city. He checked his bandolier of stakes and the knives at his side, then felt the comforting weight of his backup stake in the bottom of his boot. Throwing his heavy hunting cloak over his back, he briefly paused: Why bother going out night after night to face untold horrors when he could just end it all in an instant?
Then he remembered the look on his daughter's face the moment before she turned and the rage that had sustained him since that night. He may be the last of humanity that he was aware of, but he would make sure that he went out with a roar, not a whimper. Fastening his cloak over his back, the man went outside to reclaim the night. | 2018-04-18T11:27:41 | 2018-04-18T09:53:12 | 91 | 66 |
[WP] At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.
Best friend* sorry. | My name is Frederick Johnson. I am officially regarded as the seventh-strongest man in the world.
And I really, really hate my stupid power.
...
"Hey, Fred! How ya been, slick?"
I spun, throwing out my hands, and called out to my childhood friend. "Geoff! I'll get you for that one!"
He hooked an arm around my neck, dragging me along as I tried to resist.
"Whoa, that's a crazy feeling. You move like this all the time?"
I dug a hand into the gap between his arm and my neck, repelling the offending limb. He laughed as he stumbled away, then recovered and turned back towards me.
"Yeah," I said, the smile fading as I processed his words, "all the time."
Geoff waved his hands, backpedaling on his previous statement. "Aw, come on, don't be such a downer. Come on, I'm headed to a bar. The whole group's in town for the reunion, it'll be great!"
I smiled, nodded, and followed my exuberant friend.
...
"...so I say, ' I guess you wasted too much time on your monologue!', and smack her to the floor." A round of laughter came from the table. "She's falling in slow-motion, so I handcuff her while she's falling. When she gets back to normal speed, she's just screaming her head off about me rueing the day and all. It was hilarious!" I wiped a tear from my eye. It was good to share stories like this. The Ten were so full of themselves.
"So, Fred... any stories to tell?"
I thought on it. Really, I didn't see much action. My power made it rather hard to fight crime. Ahh...
"Did I ever tell you guys why I'm ranked Seven?" A series of shaking heads and murmurs of negation. "Well, it all started when I got my powers..."
...
I woke up on my 18th birthday, turned over, and slid straight out of bed onto the floor. I wasn't hurt - in fact, I wasn't technically on the floor at all.
I was an inch above it.
My first impression was flight; my second was a forcefield; my third was ice powers.
I really wish it had been one of those.
It quickly became apparent that I was having a lot of trouble standing. I couldn't grab anything, either. I began to panic, and started shouting.
My dad came in the room, but despite his super-strength, he wasn't able to do much. My mom came up, and managed to use her forcefields to give me some purchase.
I ended up on my bed, with both of them leaving the room thanks to my underwear suffering much the same fate as the floor, slipping off the moment I'd gotten upright.
...
The table was rapt, expressions of empathy on every face.
"Shit. I never really though just how bad not being able to touch things could be..."
"Fuck, and I called you slick earlier. Now I feel like a dick."
I smiled wanly. "No worries, it's far from the worst I've heard. Anyway, I won't bother you with the details. Eventually, I figured out how to wrap a toga without being able to come within an inch of it, taught myself how to move based on some half-forgotten skating lessons, and made it down the hall. Took a few days to reailze that I hadn't eaten or drank or anything like that. Took a few weeks to try every doctor and scientist we could to see if they could do anything about it. Eventually, I just kind of accepted it. That would have been the end of it, except..."
...
Goliath was attacking the city.
This wasn't that unexpected; Goliath was always attacking something, and our city was a probable target.
The problem was, I was less than a block away, on a grocery run, when he started his attack.
Now, Goliath is a really mean guy. His power essentially makes him the size of a skyscraper, with proportional strength, mass, and durability. Maye one in a hundred people could even scratch him with their powers.
I gave up when his foot came crashing towards me. I won't deny that I almost welcomed it. My life had sucked for months, and I was in a pretty dark place.
The massive foot slammed downward, and I just looked up at it, mentally egging it on.
It came within an inch of my skin- and then it slammed into the pavement around me, over me. A moment later, the foot recoiled, a massive, echoing howl of pain coming from Goliath above.
"AAUGHH, MY FOOT! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" The massive man peered downward, where he saw me, standing in dismay on a spire of asphalt that remained in his massive footprint.
The only thought going through my head was how difficult it would be to get out of the crater, and that I wasn't dead.
"YOU BASTARD! TREMBLE BEFORE GOLIATH, OR BE DESTROYED!" He aimed a kick, and I stood there, not bothering to dodge.
He split his foot in half with the force of the kick.
Now, my brain was finally snapping out of its stupor. For the first time in months, I realized that I wasn't worthless, that as much as I hated my power, it wasn't quite as bad as I thought.
It wasn't that I couldn't touch anything: my power made it so nothing could touch me.
Goliath screamed in pain, his massive, bus-sized foot now a bloody mess, and collapsed to the street. I winced at the damage, then noticed the other people who'd been fighting him staring.
It struck me how this must look: a man in a toga, completely unmarred by the action, floating an inch off the ground, with a face that refused to grow a beard and long brown hair.
"I'm not Jesus," I said lamely, before turning back to Goliath.
...
"...and those were my famous first words as The Untouchable, the completely invulnerable superhero."
"Pfft- that's freaking gold, Slick. I guess you won that fight?"
"Yeah. Turns out being nearly frictionless and completely unstoppable makes you a pretty good bullet. Plus, I can lift literally anything if I get under it, so he was kind of screwed."
"Sounds like it. So they made you number seven for that?"
"Yup. I mostly agreed to join The Ten to support my parents, but they insist that I'm vital to the team, so...yeah."
Silence reigned around the table for a few moments. Finally, Lars spoke up.
"So, tell me straight: have you ever seen Glorious naked?"
The table burst into laughter, and I smirked.
"I've missed you guys."
Written on my phone, sorry for any mistakes. If you like my writing, look me up on Spacebattles or Fanfiction.net, I write Worm fanfiction there. | Well, this is amusing. James and Emma cornered you in the International Heroing Association office, congratulating you and demanding answers about how you went from the bottom rankings to the top 10. It’s safe to say that 2 years ago, you wouldn’t have imagined anything lie this happening.
When your power first manifested, saying that you were disappointed was an understatement. It was even worse when, within a month, two of your friends got the strongest powers to come out of your small town.
James got had the power to temporarily absorb other people’s powers, for about 20 minutes, and that time being halved for every other power he absorbed. Within 8 months he was an s-ranked hero, number 21 out of 100. Emma got time control, and over the last few years her work in disaster relief and fighting villains put her up in the top 100 as well.
As for you? An official order not to use your powers unless given permission. That is, until you had a burst of inspiration. Your power is to teleport money to you. Specifically, you can teleport the most valuable official currency in a radius you define to anywhere within 6 feet of you not occupied by anything denser than air, which has not been teleported already unless you choose to “reset” your power. You can do one piece of currency at a time, and can’t control what comes: it’s always what’s most valuable. But what defines how valuable something is? Through testing you determined that your power does not rely on your knowledge (it can distinguish real from fake money even if you don’t know which is which) and that certain coins which are still legal tender, but not in circulation, work with your power. One phonecall to James to put you in contact with someone in the UN; a year of meetings and planning with various officials from around the world later, and you were ready for your official debut. After that debacle, your ranking was set at number 9; the fastest anyone has ever gotten to the top 10, though your ranking was a result of utility rather than combat power.
“Seriously, spill. How did you do it?” James asked.
“I got the Secretary of the Treasury in the States to set up a system where he can declare objects to be legal tender rapidly, fast enough to be useful in combat. We also have some objects that were declared to be something like a trillion dollars, 999,999,999 dollars, etcetera. I can teleport something that valuable to me from anywhere in the world.”
James eyes widened in understanding.
“So that’s how you did it. Global teleportation of any object with a few minutes delay…”
A lot of things went into power ranking, but the most important thing is how your power fits into the bigger picture. Having a power that is unbeatable in on-on-one duals is great, but not so much for disaster relief and fighting off Incursions, which are the main duties of heroes these days. Some of the highest ranked heroes are useless in combat. You ranking stems form the fact that you are one of the only global teleporters, and by far the most versatile. After your debut of teleporting a level six daemon into a containment cell, a special act of Congress was passed that allowed people to be declared currency under certain circumstances. Last week you blew through the Interpol most wanted list, and you’ve started testing to see how specific the definition of an object to be considered currency is. The possibility of teleporting asteroids to be mined (since your teleportation sets velocity relative to you) has been brought up, tomorrow you have a meeting with SpaceY to work out the details. Life is good.
***
Pokemon SpaceY clearly has the better legendary…anyway, I’m not really sure what the logistics of declaring someone to be money would be in real life. I went with Congress being the driving force behind it since the dollar is such a widely used currency in trade, and I assume the UN security council would want to sign off on any decisions being made there, because of how dangerous this ability could be. Just imagining how terrifying it would be in the hands of a government not interested in cooperation makes me think assassination would be in the books no matter how valuable he is. The mental image of a bunch of countries saying “well this person is a trillion dollars” “no this other person is a trillion and one dollars” is hilarious. [Somewhat inspired by this.]( https://www.reddit.com/r/rational/comments/3a2ooz/rt_the_randi_prize_short/)
| 2017-12-17T19:23:36 | 2017-12-17T19:17:32 | 398 | 120 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | Both Captain Zula and systems engineer Wuolloki stood in silence, contemplating the magnitude of what they had just said and heard.
"Bring me the human," the Captain ordered. Wuolloki saluted curtly, turned, and left the room.
Captain Zula was rubbing her head now. She moved over to her secret stash of alcohol, wondering if this was an appropriate time to abuse her position. In a smooth, practised motion, her right hand was suddenly nursing two fingers of whiskey.
*Abuse it is*, she thought, as she lifted the glass to her lips.
The smooth liquor went down her throat, as quick as it had appeared in the glass. She exhaled hard, enjoying the burn through her nostrils as well. Three rapt knocks on her door prompted her to hastily stash her drinking vessel away, quickly seating herself upright.
"Here he is," Wuolloki said.
Zula examined the human closely, looking for the telltale signs of those who had seen too much. Usually, they were either straight up crazy, blabbering nonsense and gibberish, or barely holding themselves together from extolling the virtues of the known universe.
It didn't matter what they were saying. Usually, they were full of it. Not the human, however. He was quietly gazing ahead, head unbowed, the steel in his eyes obvious even from a mile away.
"Human," Zula said. "You weren't even supposed to be here."
"I wasn't," the human said.
Both Zula and Wuolloki waited for the inevitable tirade to come, but nothing. The human had fallen quiet.
"How?" the captain demanded.
"How what?" the human replied.
"How could a species such as yours see the true brilliance of the stars and come away unaffected?" Zula cried.
The human's eyes moved toward the ceiling as he mulled over the question.
"I wouldn't say unaffected," the human said. "I've not been driven mad yet. We don't know whether it's an if or when."
"There has never been an 'if'," spat Wuolloki. "Of all the races! How dare you speak so nonchalantly!"
The engineer slapped the human across the back. The human did not even yelp. Rather, he laughed.
"Halt!" Zula demanded. "Wuolloki, leave us."
"And have you alone with this--"
"Leave!" the captain affirmed, and the engineer backed off. He turned once again, this time forgoing the salute, and indignantly tried to slam a pressurized door.
Zula once again took stock of the human before her.
"What is your name?"
"Oh, a captain deigns herself to ask for me name?" the human laughed gaily. "But I would gladly comply. I see that you are quite unlike the others, Captain Zula. I am known as Benjamin."
"You stand before me, none the worse for wear, Benjamin," Zula continued. "I've not heard of such a case for hundreds of years. I've had to bury crew members, friends, family... How do you stand here unscathed?"
"As I said, Captain, I didn't leave unscathed," Benjamin smiled. "I think we humans have a special gift when faced with the infinite unknown."
"And what is that?" Zula asked. "Magic? Power?"
"No," Benjamin's wry grin faded a little as his eyes suddenly looked far away. "It is hope. Hope that no matter what we go through and endure, there will be light. Whether it floods the sky or if it's just one pinprick at the edge of the universe, it remains. Forever and always."
---
r/dexdrafts | My name is Supply Sergeant Marcus Grant of the Terran Armada’s third support unit. I have been in a secure isolation cell in a wing of an Intragalactic Transport Centre hospital for the last 3 weeks, or maybe it’s more. The days have begun to run together.
The doctors here have told me that I have gone mad. Or that, by all accounts, I should have. I believe that I am in full control of my physical and mental faculties. My repeated requests to speak to a Terran Governmental representative have thus far been denied. I do not believe that any human knows where I am.
I arrived here after being accidentally locked in a cargo hold on a warp drop into the Epsilon Sagiitarii track. It’s been 3 weeks and I still don’t know how to tell them that I panicked and took an ambien not long after take off and fell asleep watching Law and Order Spacial Victims Unit before we even passed the Kuiper belt. | 2020-07-13T23:19:17 | 2020-07-13T22:38:35 | 186 | 74 |
[WP] The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism. | When the boy was born with one eye purple and a shock of white hair already crowning his little head, they suspected.
When he toddled into the forest one day and came back atop a wolf, riding upon the beast as if it were a common puppy, they worried.
But it was the dragon that made Mr. and Mrs. Plotpoint truly concerned.
They had taken in the boy, Teraphim, years ago, when the child's mother had died in childbirth. And even that had reeked of Fate's hand; a sudden storm blowing down from the mountains, just as the labour began. The village healer's horse slipping and dying as the man struggled to reach them; a flash flood sweeping away their supplies, so that nothing could be done to stop the bleeding.
"And now a dragon!" Tom raged. "It is too much- too much! Coincedence upon coincidence, tragedy after tragedy, miracle after miracle; the boy is cursed Cara! Cursed!"
"He is our son!" Cara slammed the door behind her as she entered the barn. Tom was pacing the hay strewn floor with his hands on his head, ignoring the unnerved horses. He would have Teraphim calm them later, right now this needed to be said.
"We must take him to the capital." he stated.
"They'll kill him!"
"They'll save him!" he surged forward to grip his wife by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. "We must seek to interrupt the course of Fate before it can begin. We stop the Journey, kill the Mentor before he can appear; I will not have my son be another puppet for the hands of time!"
"And neither will I!" Cara shoved him away. "But do you not see that what you ask is wrong? Do you really trust the Queen's word?" She saw the doubt in his eyes, and capitalised. "Her wargs would tear him to pieces-"
"Woman what you have us do!" Tom wrung his hands. They could not do nothing; without action Fate would act for them. The events would keep piling up, the story building momentum. And eventually, if they did not get out of the way, they would be... removed. Tom had never known of a Chosen One who ever spoke of their parents, once their Journey was underway. Time probably couldn't bear a Mentor having any kind of competition.
"It is idiocy to try and stop the Hands of Time." Cara began. "They move the World; nothing can halt the tick. But perhaps if our son is to be a hero... we should change stories."
Tom paused in his pacing. Looked back at her over his shoulder. For a moment, she saw hope.
"Go on."
"To overthrow the Queen would be a perilous endeavour, full of pain, suffering and death. It would take a champion of the people, a hero brave, true, and local; exactly what Time would demand from the adopted, conspicuously named son of a farmer and his wife."
"But if we left now, packed up our things and headed south for the plains..."
"The Nomads," Tom caught on immediately. "They have wandered those grasslands for generations."
"Exactly. Maybe if a hero came along, a stranger who could unite their scattered people and gather their lost relics..."
"Then perhaps he could lead them to their lost city." Tom smiled, and it was if the sun had arisen on the world once more. "The one said to contain the unimaginable wealth of a golden age long since past."
Somewhere the dragon- a wee thing, barely the size of a house cat- was practising its roars, but for once Tom was too happy to be annoyed by the grating sound. He almost pranced forward, tugging Cara into a makeshift jig of joy.
"And that's why I married you!" he exclaimed. "This could work! This could really work!"
They would leave the next day, their packages born on the backs of two oxen, three horses, and a particularly annoying baby dragon.
The old farm on the hill would lie empty for a year or two, before a wandering couple, heading south to rejoin their people, would stumble across it. They would stop for the night, and finding the place empty and full of provisions, decide to stay. They would have a beautiful little girl, who they would name Harmony, and they would ream of her growing up to be the prophesied Great Uniter, who would reforge the broken clans and reclaim the lost city. They were just pausing for a few years to raise her, they told themselves. Once she'd grown strong, then they would leave.
And when an old man appeared on their door stop, raving of dragons and ancient magics, they are entirely unprepared.
| "Look at his hair for crying out loud!" John shouted to Marie - his wife -, pointing towards his new-born son. "He was born 3 weeks ago and he's got red spiky hair!"
"I mean, maybe it's just a mutation or something..." she responded, glancing towards the baby.
"Marie..." John sighed "He jumped out of the crib, and fashioned a sword and shield using a wooden spoon and the garbage bin cover... At 3 weeks old, too. I'm not against our son wanting to help others or something but I'm not going to have the next Superman, or something. I can't deal with that sort of stress." John looked over to his son, who at this point had stood his pillow up and started punching it. John looked towards his own feet, shaking his head.
"Look" Marie began to speak, stepping in front of the crib and hiding it from John's view. "Maybe it isn't such a bad thing. We're under military rule, and they tend to execute people who they suspect are thinking the wrong things... maybe it isn't so bad to have someone who could stand up to them?"
John stared at Marie for a while, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her to towards their son. While hugging her from behind, head on her shoulder he began to speak. "I want that too... But not our son. Not us. We're just not cut out for that sorta thing." The baby turned to them both, smiling, spiky red hair ,overly-developed muscles and all. "I guess we'll just have to find a way to deal with it" Marie said, heaving to lift the muscle-bound baby out of his crib and away from his punching-bag pillow.
_____________________________________________________________
So I think this is the first thing I've ever posted in the sub, so sorry if it sucks. If you have any ideas on how I could improve, shoot. | 2016-11-26T06:21:20 | 2016-11-26T05:58:02 | 78 | 29 |
[WP] 1 in every 1000 can remember their past life. Due to this there are strict laws regarding inheritance and reclaiming one's property. Your job is to weed out the scammers from the real deal. | When the third richest person in the country dies without an heir or any close family, you can be sure there will be scammers. Now that it's been 18 years and no one has been able to prove any direct relation, its time to look into the reincarnation claims. Anyone who would've been reincarnated would be of legal age now and thus able to claim the vast fortune Mr. Willis left behind.
I hurry out of the building into the night, the files under my arm. This has to be fixed soon. Almost 120 claims after the initial weeding out of the most absurd ones. This would be a busy few days for me.
I sit in my office, looking at the rain. My investigation has got me down to three people. I will be busy tonight. I get into my car and drive towards the first target.
The interview goes pretty smooth. But I'm not convinced. David Smith gives a lot of details. But most of the details could be taken from the information available on the internet about the deceased. He was able to give me a few details, but on double checking with the staff at the estate, I concluded that this man was a phony.
On to the second interview.
There is something very familiar about the teenager standing before me. I worked with Mr. Willis for almost a decade and I can see the similarities. I ask him a variety of questions, most of which he is able to answer readily. I record everything in my handy notebook. I ask him to give me some information about the deceased that no one else would know. Things I could verify with the staff. He gives me a bunch of little eccentricities that he had. As any man who was a billionaire many times over would.
I don't say it out loud, but I am convinced. Derrick Jones is almost certainly the reincarnation of Mr. Kevin Willis.
I visit the third person on the list. Samantha R. Lowri.
She is well prepared. She gives me a lot more details than David Smith did. But not nearly enough as Derrick. Based on my previous conversation, I look through my notebook and ask her some pointed questions. At last, it's time for the interview to end.
"You're pretty good you know."
"Excuse me?"
"Samantha, you can drop the act. It's obvious you've studied the man well. The posture, the style. It's very good."
"It's not an act. I am the..."
"If I had come to you first, I would've believed you. But the luck of the draw. I went to see someone else first. Someone who had much more details." I look at my notebook. "For example, did you know that Mr. Willis was fond of apples. So much so, that he had one immediately after waking up and one before bed without fail. I know that because I visited him a few times before he woke up. He would make me wait, grab an apple and then sit down with me. It's not something everyone knows, but it'd be very easy to verify with the maids at the estate."
She sighs and looks at the floor. "Well, it was worth a shot."
"It was. You're very good. You do know that pretending to be someone else is a crime, right. You can be sentenced to a maximum of 6 years in prison."
"It's a risk I was willing to take. 6 years vs 500 billion dollars. Besides what are the chances that you met the actual man just before me."
"Very very low." I agreed.
*********
I sit with the board of directors ready to present the new director of the Willis industries. Of course, the board would maintain control. You can't really expect a 18 year old to be able to make any decisions, legally speaking. No, for the next few years, the board would take take care of things. Mr Willis, reincarnated, would still get reports, since he still maintains his shrewd business acumen.
Samantha Lowri walks into the room, putting slightly more weight on her right leg as Mr Willis used to. A childhood injury, his old teachers had informed us. She has studied my notebook well. She passed all the checks and everyone that talked to her was pretty convinced.
Her risk has paid off. So has mine. 12 years for fraud vs 250 billion dollars? It was a no brainer.
**********
*Minor tense edits.* | Mr. Franz Bertolli:
The Card and Feather law practice has received your letter regarding your property reclamation appeal. Ms. Julia Card has run a background check on you, and the person you claim to have been in your past, Richard Attenborough. Due to the fact that Mr. Attenborough was one of our previous clients in an asset protection contract, and one of the richest men in all of California, and that he died *incredibly* shortly before your birth (10 months before, meaning that this reincarnation occurred within a month), we must take extra precautions.
However, your appeal to women (or your ability to pay them well) is very similar to Mr. Attenborough's style. You claim to have come into the possession of close to $1,000,000 through a cousin of Mr. Attenborough's unfortunate demise. In addition, you also claim that this cousin, Elmer Attenborough, knows that you are Mr. Attenborough incarnate.
We will soon be contacting Dr. Lillith Mangrove, a memoretologist, whose speciality is dealing with reincarnation. She will run diagnostics to debate whether or not a 1-month reincarnation period is possible. 1-month reincarnation periods are incredibly rare. She will decide whether or not it is possible to have occurred.
We have also found previous recordings of fraudulent behavior regarding wealth declaration (bother hyperinflation and hypoinflation of wealth) and regarding legal permissions. In addition, you have been convicted of many Class C Misdemeanors and Felonies ("White Collar" Crimes).
We will get back in touch shortly:
Cynthia Feather | 2021-02-11T07:46:51 | 2021-02-11T06:35:07 | 115 | 19 |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | Personally, I would have been happier with a compromise. I wasn't skilled enough for the higher difficulties, but "Novice" just felt like an insult. Work had been miserable the past few months, and I had broken down, calling my mother crying. She had congratulated me for how long I had been operating on Expert, telling me she was proud of me. It stung, more than anything.
That's when I found out about difficulty settings. I'd heard people joke about it before, but I'd assumed that's all they were, jokes. The existence of the system at all seemed insidious to me. Why have an arbitrary difficulty system in place when there was no ostensible reward for playing on a higher difficulty? I had to do some investigation.
The office of the Bureau of Life Difficulty Administration was pretty small, considering its importance and reach. I walked in, seeing only a small desk on the wall opposite me where a concierge sat expectantly.
"Difficulty Change or General Inquiry?" He asked, motioning as he did so to a door on either side of him.
"Uh... General Inquiry, I suppose."
"Just one moment, please." The man pulled a phone off its handset, pressing it into his shoulder as he dialed a series of numbers into the keypad. There was a loud buzz that reminded me of my old apartment, and the door clicked open.
"Someone will be with you shortly." the man said pleasantly. I walked through the door marked General Inquiry, quite unsure of what I would find on the other side.
It appeared to be another waiting room, which struck me as oddly hilarious, and I had to stifle a laugh. I sat down in one of the available chairs and waited patiently to be seen. After a few minutes of idly bouncing my knee, a woman walked through the door on the other side of the waiting room. I had assumed she would walk me back through the door, but, to my surprise, she sat down next to me, checking a folder as she did so.
"It's always a surprise to get a visit from a Novice," she began.
"I've actually just had mine switched from Expert," I replied, and she checked her folder, brows folded in confusion.
"Ah, so you have. This font really should be much bigger. How can I assist today?"
I cleared my throat. I hadn't been sure I'd make it this far, and I wasn't really prepared for the directness of her question.
"Well, um... why a difficulty system? Doesn't it seem, I don't know, unfair?"
She smiled. "Well, there's an expression you may have heard." She didn't need to finish. I knew life wasn't fair.
"I know, but it seems like piling an unfair system on top of an already unfair life. Unlucky people with a high difficulty have two strikes against them already, and they didn't even do anything."
The woman pondered this for a moment before replying. "Has it ever occurred to you that what we call 'luck' is, in fact, a product of what we do here at BOLDA?" I didn't need to respond, she knew that hadn't occurred to me. "At the end of the day, the choices and opportunities presented to us are influenced to a degree by luck, yes, but it takes a someone to act on that luck to make the most of it."
What she was saying made sense, but it smelled like an excuse to me. "So what you're saying is even though I'm lucky now, it won't make my life easy?"
"Easier, maybe. But no one's life is truly easy the way you mean it. Everyone has choices to make, and the difficulty of that choice is sometimes relative. We're here to ensure that life never gets unmanageable." She beamed at me.
Maybe she was right. Maybe luck wasn't the only contributing factor to happiness, although I sure felt a lot happier since I'd had my difficulty turned down.
"How does someone turn their difficulty down?" I asked.
"Ah, the big flaw in our system. Unfortunately, it's down to an individual's parents to make the decision for them until they're of legal age. The existence of this bureau is somewhat... obscured to the public eye. Many never know we exist."
I thanked the woman for her time. I had the answers I came for. I knew this would make a great story, and publishing it might get me the Pulitzer. But a question nagged at my mind.
Had I made this opportunity? Or was it just luck? | *You know, I think they keep moving the goalposts on me. I used to be the dumbest kid in class and no one even noticed. Then I started caring, I put a ton of effort into middle school, almost got to skip a grade. I graduated salutatorian from high school, my dad asked me what I did wrong.*
*I loathed college, I hated everyone I met with very little exception. I don't really know how to move forward besides either medical school, dental school, or pharmaceutical school. I could just start using that CNA certification I got two years ago, but they get paid shit for so much work. I've had this bottle of pills on my desk for a few months now; I think I know how this story ends.*
A knock at the door, my mom comes in without permission.
"Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could talk."
"Yeah, I'm not doing anything." I close my laptop screen and swivel my chair toward her. She walks over to the bed and sits down. I adjust my chair a little bit more.
"Honey, I'm a little worried that you feel like we're pressuring you. We just want you to make a choice you'll be happy with. We want you to get moving on becoming your own person."
The bottle is hidden behind a fat book on the shelf. For a second I don't think about that option.
"Mom, I just don't know that I'll ever make you happy. I feel like whenever I try all I do is raise expectations for my next attempt."
"You never had to do anything but say hello in the morning to make me happy."
*Maybe I'll take a second look at my other options, why throw away a perfectly good set of opportunities? The pills can wait.* | 2018-01-09T07:41:58 | 2018-01-09T06:52:59 | 1,757 | 118 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin. | "Was that transmitted... in English?" Captain Skerritt asked loudly to the all but empty cabin of the Sol.
The Sol was named for the original star around which humanity began it's existence. Though the original planet had long since been abandoned for a more lush environment, it still held deep meaning for humans. The Sun was still widely observed through the telescopes of hobbyists throughout the galaxy.
Though it was technically a sleep cycle on the ship, Skerritt and the radio operator were both awakened by a message. They were operating on a skeleton crew, most of whom were currently asleep.
"I mean.. we're reading it aren't we?" scoffed Kotto, the radio op.
He was called the radio operator, but in truth, the communications system wasn't a radio at all. Light moved too slow for ships to communicate across vast distances. But, the old world word was still used to describe it. Perhaps for comfort, and perhaps because the acronym for the actual device was too cumbersome to remember.
Due to the nature of the mechanics, it was thought that the messages were uninterruptible. A happy accident in the engineering. Kotto was quietly nervous about the situation, as it was also thought, that the system would have no interference, and therefore they wouldn't be able to receive any rogue messages.
"I mean was it transmitted in English, or was it translated after the fact," Skerritt barked back. "Smartass..." he added under his breath.
"It was translated. I never thought we'd even be able to translate alien language... I figured it would be so far removed..." Kotto trailed off. "Another incoming message, Sir. From the Arcturus."
The Sol was a midsize ship meant for long distance travel and observation. Over the centuries of galactic travel, mankind had encountered thousands of alien species, carefully cataloging each one from afar. None had been far enough along in their evolution to even notice they were being observed.
The first ships to be launched were heavily armored, and armed. Due to the cataloging of species, none of which were very advanced, the newer ships were designed with experimentation, long distance travel, and comfort in mind. The Sol, for instance, didn't have any weaponry on board at all.
Unlike the Sol, the Arcturus was an older, gargantuan ship. Outfitted with all the latest destructive devices needed to exterminate all living life on the surface of a potentially hostile planet.
"Captain Skerritt, this is Captain Cartwright. We just got a message of unknown origin-"
"About the 'wardens'? In all caps?" Asked Skerritt.
"Ye.. Yes. Did you get it too?"
"We did." Skerritt confirmed.
"We're getting confirmation from all ships in the quadrant," Kotto announced.
"Reports are coming in for now us as well," Cartwright said. "We're going to investigate the signal, I suggest you do the same.
Skerritt frowned.
"Kotto, radio the Station, ask them if they are getting reports too."
Kotto nodded and sent the message. Seconds later the response came back, in simple text.
\*All human vessels received the message.\*
The message continued...
\*Sorry for quick response, high influx of communication due to this phenomena\*
"So they don't know what the hell this is either," Skerritt scoffed.
"Was it... meant for us?" Asked Kotto.
"What do you mean?" Skerritt asked with an eyebrow raised.
"I mean, what if this message was just... intercepted by our system, and it was meant for someone else?"
"Before we jump to conclusions, let's try to get an origin on that message. That will answer a lot of questions."
"Right."
Kotto ran the processes through the computer.
"Scanning.... scanning... Well it's definitely not of human origin. It definitely wasn't transmitted in English, either. Acquiring a lock on the originating signal.... aaand... Got it!" Kotto said excitedly. "Wait... that's strange... The origin... It's far. From Andromeda."
"The Andromeda has been out of commission since-"
"Not the ship, sir, the Galaxy."
Kotto pulled up a diagram of the encroaching galaxy and transferred it to the main display. Along the rim of the diagram, a red marker showed the message's origin. Kotto zoomed the image out, and the edge of the Milky Way came into view. The outermost stars already being affected by the immense gravity of Andromeda, and one arm bulging in it's direction.
"It's not impossible... I suppose... That it just happens that we developed the same 'radio' technology as some other species," Kotto remarked. "I mean... we suspected that radio proper would be a universal constant, as far as communication goes."
"Perhaps..." Skerritt said pensively. "But I still don't understand the message..."
Just as he said this another message from the unknown source came through.
\*There was never a chance of them developing intergalactic travel before.\*
Skerritt stood up at his chair and frowned at the screen.
"Who is sending this, what are they talking about?" Skerritt said, his voice filled with nervous urgency.
Kotto scrambled to identify the source.
"More messages sir, it seems like two sources. One replying to another."
\*They don't need intergalactic travel now. The distances are rapidly closing. We cannot let them infect this system too.\*
"That sounds hostile." Skerritt said. "They are talking about us, aren't they? Humans I mean. They don't want us jumping to Andromeda. Kotto, get the Station back on. We have to figure out who, or what "Wardens" are and why they care about humans."
Kotto gave a quick salute, but was ahead of the captain. He had already opened a line directly to the Station, but he stopped.
"Sir... I... hang on..." Kotto said, almost to himself.
"Wardens," Kotto said, slowly and clearly into a microphone. "This is Yaphet Kotto, aboard the Sol. A research vessel -"
Kotto would never finish his sentence. The Wardens would never hear his attempt to plea for diplomacy.
Skerritt, like thousands of other Captains, aboard thousands of other spacecraft, had all asked the identity of messengers. They got their answer. Across the galaxy objects appeared in the close vicinity of all human spacecraft, space stations, and colonies.
Without warning or remorse, the objects fired high powered gamma ray bursts with surgical precision, annihilating all human life with in seconds of appearing.
Despite having confirmed to themselves they were the most advanced species in the known universe, humans were still billions of years behind the next closest species. A species who's dominant emotion was fear and dominant action was violence.
"Kotto, are you okay? Sorry about that jump." Skerritt said.
"What the hell-" Kotto started. "Where are we?"
"Intergalactic space," Skerritt said, leaning back on his chair. "Something appeared next to our ship, so I bugged out..."
"The radio is slient..." Kotto said.
"I suggest turning that thing off for now. Can you disable it?"
"What. Happened? Captain, I-"
"We're it, Yaphet. We're all that's left. You can drop the 'Captain' shit. We're going to wait for the dust to settle, and quietly make a new home.... Somewhere."
"But what happ-"
"I think you know. What happened. Wake the crew, they deserve to know too. How long can we stay out here?"
"About 3 weeks with current food reserves, maybe up to 6 months if we power the engines down and divert power to life support and production..."
"Save us enough power for one jump and a landing. We have so research to do."
&#x200B;
P.S. SciFi on the fly is harder than I though hah!
Edit: Editing | **May 8th, 2530**
Marissa scowled as she heard another wet plop behind her. Looking would make her day worse, but she inevitably lowered her laser drill and looked anyway. Lying behind her on atop a pile of excavated rocks was a tiny mass of flesh the size of a fist. The creature had bright green skin, webbed feet, a bony fin across its backside and a thick beak. It looked like a crossbreed of a frog and a bird. After its twenty-meter fall, it was also very, very dead.
“Sixth this week.” A driller by her side remarked, chuckling nervously. “I’m starting to sweat now. What was my bet again?”
“Eight.” Marissa replied coldly. “And there’s still three more days until Sunday.”
The other driller tugged at his thick moustache. “Ugh. That’s 500 credits down the tube. What did you bet again?”
“I didn’t.”
The mustached driller grumbled something inaudible and turned back to his work. After letting her gaze linger for a few more seconds, Marissa did the same. Atocals, known as ‘beak frogs’ to people in Marissa’s pay-grade, were an odd mix of familiar and alien—just like most species discovered during humanity’s Great Space Age. Once humanity started travelling to distant planets, they came to a realization that was equal parts relieving and disappointing: we are the most advanced race in our galaxy. Certainly, there were other planets that housed life—even some with recognizable, complex life, but no alien species could out-think a housecat, let alone a human. Earth was, in an evolutionary sense, older and wiser than its peers.
As she drilled, Marissa’s thoughts drifted back to the beak frog. She smirked, thinking of the outrage that would have erupted if she’d witnessed one of those frogs die in 2480. The planet where she worked was one of the first to be discovered, and just like any old toy, it had been largely forgotten by the public. After all, what was so special about these creatures? Not much, besides their bird-like drive to return to their ancestor’s mating grounds. A drive so powerful that it sent them hurtling off cliffs and into mineral mines like the one that Marissa worked at.
When it came time for humanity to decide between a vein of disgustingly valuable space rocks and an estimated 15% of the Atocal population, humans made the practical choice. The same type of choice that got them into space during the 2400s instead of the 3000s.
“Do we understand our duty?” Marissa muttered bitterly, causing the mustached man to look up sharply.
“No. Not one word about that.” He warned. “Management’s been cracking down on anyone talking about the Message. Borze and every other company that’s getting rich on extra-terrestrial resources want that news to die out as quickly as possible.”
“I doubt that’ll happen. We’ve been looking for intelligent life—*proper* intelligent life—for over a century, and now we finally find a clue that says we’re not the only ones out there.”
*Wardens, do you not understand your duty?*
A message—THE Message—that was sent to every starship, every military base and every device that even vaguely resembled a phone. After a week of collective panicking, humanity’s scientists bannered under the working theory that it was sent from beyond the Milky Way.
The mustached driller looked around cautiously. “Yea. All sorts of green movements have been sprouting up online.”
“Like the old ones that failed before WW3?”
“Yep. People’re talking about saving the Xenonian bush rats and stuff like that. That’s fine for politicians on other planets but talking about that stuff here will put us on a list you don’t want to be on. Not if you want to ever find work as a driller.”
Marissa scoffed. “A driller that’s going to be obsolete after this planet gets cleared for droid workers.”
The mustached driller suddenly stopped working. His hands shook slightly as he turned to face Marissa.
“That kind of bill wouldn’t pass, right? You saw how those mindless things carved up Earth.”
“They’re cheaper and faster. It’s only a matter of time.”
The mustached worked spat and put his drill down. “I’m…gonna’ take my break now.”
Marissa watched him stumble away before putting her own drill down. She pulled out her omni-device and started taking pictures of the dead atocal. Once she was done, a holographic website appeared in front of her. She uploaded the pictures to her anonymous blog and smirked as she checked the thousands of outraged comments on her previous post.
While it was true that there hadn’t been much news about the government digging up 15% of the atocal’s breeding grounds, that didn’t mean no one cared. It was just that, until now, few people had bothered to look.
“…It’s only a matter of time.” | 2019-05-08T15:10:49 | 2019-05-08T14:37:30 | 278 | 44 |
[WP] God created humans specifically for war. Every 30 years he checks back to see how humanity is fighting. Somehow humanity went from bloodshed to flaming over the internet. | God sighed with contentment. Today, like most days, was a good day to be the almighty creator. He reclined back in his celestial armchair and, with a nonchalant wave of his hand, a golden bowl filled with plump grapes appeared and hovered within arm’s length. He popped one into his mouth and, as he savoured its sweet flavour, a thought occurred to him.
“Jesus!”, he cried, his booming voice echoing right through to the pearly white gates.
Jesus walked into the room, stooped over and carrying a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. There were bags under his eyes.
“Yes Father?”
God examined Jesus for a few moments. “Son, you look a mess. Here, sit down. Sit and dine with your Father. When was the last time we had a good Father-Son chat, eh?”
Jesus sighed. “Round about the black plague. Look Father, I have a lot to do. Is there any specific reason you have summoned me?”
“A lot to do? The labour here is for the Angels, you know that”
Jesus gritted his teeth. “The Angels are a little overworked right now. We’re averaging around 4,2 billions of prayers a day. Not surprising, you know, with all the starvation, disease, extinction of species, overpopulation, war-”
“WAR!” exclaimed God
“You didn’t hear anything I just said did you?”
“War, yes. Thank you for reminding me. We need to check on how humanity is *fighting*”, God said, rubbing his hands excitedly.
Jesus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Look Father, I don’t have time for this right now. I will send one of the Angels to help you.” And with that, he stalked out of the room, muttering to himself.
A few moments later, Michael flew through the door, balancing a stack of scrolls.
“You have summoned, Lord?”
“Yes Michael. I have a matter of utmost importance with which you must assist me." God rose from his chair and began pacing the room, knocking Michael on his way and causing all the scrolls to cascade to the ground. “I need to check on the humans. Where is the largest battle currently taking place?”
“The war in Afghanistan is still ongoing my Lord. It has the largest number of cumulative fatalities at present.”
“Excellent, excellent.”
Michael hesitated. “Lord… how would you define the term ‘battle’?”
“Fighting, Michael. Conflict.”, replied God, “I thought that much would be apparent.”
“Well in that case, the largest ongoing conflict… is on the internet”
“The… internet?”, replied God with a puzzled expression.
“Yes. The world wide web. A global computer network providing a variety of information and communication facilities, consisting of interconnected networks using standardized communication protocols.”
God blinked.
Michael sighed internally. “A computer Lord. Millions of humans fight… through their computers. They are able to communicate with one another through this device they have created. There are… places in the computers. Where lots of people can go. And people fight there.”
“Yes, I know of these ‘computers’. Tell me, what are the humans fighting about?”
“At the moment… Millions are arguing over the most recently inaugurated President of the United States.”
“The orange human?”
“Yes, that one”
“And, what else?”
“Top favourites include: Debating whether you exist. Feminism. Whether all Muslims are terrorists. Abortion. Whether climate change is real-”
As Michael rattled on, God was surprised but pleased hear that humans were finding seemingly countless things to battle over. However, one aspect of this news confused him.
“- there are humans referred to as “trolls”, who deliberately seek to start arguments-”
“Michael stop. I have a question.”
“Yes, Lord?”
“The humans… How did they learn to get so small… To fight inside the computers?”
Michael stared, utterly dumbfounded. *Surely he was not serious?*
“Lord… the humans… they don’t… fight in one another’s presence. They fight with others far away. With words. Through the computers.”
The Lord’s eyes grew dark, and blood rushed to his face.
“So, there is no bloodshed?”
Michael backed away nervously, noting God beginning to tremble with fury. “No… Lord. No bloodshed.”
*No bloodshed. Battles through a machine with words. These humans had grown too advanced… He needed to take them back to a more primitive time. A time when humans lived for war*
He smiled, reminiscing over the good old days. He had decided. It was time to start again.
“Michael, you say humans argue over the validity of climate change?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Well, I will be putting an end to that argument. Alert my Son, the Holy Spirit and all the Angels. Oh and Lucifer too if you wouldn’t mind. It is about to start raining.”
“Raining where?”, Michael asked, furrowing his brow.
“Raining everywhere. For a long, long time” | GENETIC ORDINANCE DEPARTMENT MEMO
I'm sending this information in a broad memo since I think its important that we are all the same page.
As many of you know, the "Human" project has made an alarming evolution in a very short period of time. This rapid change has impacted the Human expression of violence, which is putting at risk the entire project. This is coming after a period of incredibly successful trials that, while causing significant damage to some of the Human planet's southern regions, had shown great promise.
That progress seems to have reversed over the past three decades. Violence has become markedly reduced and, dare I say, almost surgical with the development of what the call "drones". This is despite the independent development of nuclear weapons, an achievement which many of us I know were very proud of. Yet the reluctance to actually use those weapons has led to a shift which, quite frankly, is unacceptable given what the purpose of the human project is.
Needless to say I as the head of this program am very disappointed when I discovered what I believe to be the cause of this reduction in violence.
It seems that the Humans have adapted to using the rapid communication network as both a weapon AND a battlefield, rather than simply being a tool through which they can fight more efficiently.
They are trading salvos of insults instead of nuclear weapons. Launching raids of defacing websites instead of the graves of their enemies. The only thing injured in these "wars" are the feelings of the users, which have become tender and easy to bruise.
It is unnaceptable. Plain and simple. I am not sure who is responsible for reducing such massive potential in warfare, but rest assured they will be disciplined.
In the meantime, I have taken the liberty of inserting some agitating agents that I believe will put our project back on course, yet I'm sad to say that even these are having less effect than I had hoped. It is imperative that this network be removed or at the very least neutered so that warfare can resume on schedule.
Please see the attached dossier to see my changes to the Human program. I expect to have everyone's full cooperation in implementing the new changes.
Thanks,
XXXXX XXXXX XXXXX
Project Manager
| 2017-01-23T08:42:27 | 2017-01-23T08:38:20 | 517 | 44 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | I guess you could call it my chamber of solitude. Thousands of archives and artifacts are devoted to simple pleasures, quiet and violent romances, and grand adventures to resurrect dying worlds. You haven't lived until you've saved ten solar systems by having sex with a squid-like empress who commands the star crusher. Funnily enough I keep records of that adventure next to photos of a summer I spent collecting rare flowers with these translucent crystalline toddlers on the moon of a gas giant. With all these memories solidified on a never ending, expanding canvas, each individual dot somehow becomes equally valuable.
There are three realizations I've had that have kept me from losing my sanity.
The first is you can always cheat. I accumulated enough knowledge and power during the first few thousand years (which were absolutely the hardest) to ensure I always engage the universe on my terms. If I don't like something, I can escape, sleep a hundred years, blast the world devourer in the face, and move on. Freedom means that no matter how awful I feel, there is a way to alleviate it.
Secondly, even an immortal brain can't handle everything with perfect efficiency. And that works to my advantage. I didn't really start to appreciate this until after a million years experimenting with body modifying technology. Some memories inevitably fade and are not as vivid as before. I can still remember bits and fragments, but they aren't as real. I do however keep the wisdom, as well as key details in my infinite archive. After a while a new life really does feel like a new life.
Swapping genders helps immeasurably. And there are oh so many genders that an imaginative nature has invented. I don't even know if I've tried them all yet.
Third, and most importantly of all, I'm not unique. And I'm not that important. It's actually a disability I have, but one I've learned to cope with.
We are all immortals in a way, reincarnating from one life to the next, our souls constantly growing and seeking adventure. The difference is I have to transition from place to place manually. I'm disconnected from the ethereal realm of souls and energy. So I have to hoist myself up from my immortal wheelchair and drag myself into bed to begin the next dream. You mortals really don't know how lucky you have it.
There is one last secret I forgot to mention. I've made friends in some very, very high places. The fools who cursed me billions of years ago really had no idea how far I'd go, how much I'd surpass them. Yes, I've discovered the ultimate secret. I know how to die.
But there is a reason why we sometimes choose defective bodies. Sometimes we are born in poverty, with a missing leg, with an abusive mother, with dyscalcula. We do it to learn compassion, for the challenge, as a sacrifice for those young souls who aren't ready to face the harsh realities of an entropic universe. There are many reasons why we choose imperfection. And I must confess I take a sick, perverse comfort in bearing the curse of immortality so some other young ambitious fool doesn't have to endure it.
I did receive one warning. Make sure to die before the death of the universe. It's not that I'll be trapped forever. But rather if I have to be rescued by those of the higher dimension, my death will probably not be pleasant and my immortal soul will feel some guilt for inconveniencing those above with little old me. And a favor that requires the tearing apart of the fabric of reality can't exactly be repaid with a drink at a bar.
I guess I could always offer to have sex with them. From what I gathered they still have a sense of humor, and a laugh is still worth quite a bit to them. | I spent much of the first couple billion years wondering what would possibly turn me to hate my curse. I stopped wondering when I became lost in my happy task. I committed to new levels of creativity. I made a world of what I call "meat things" after I became bored with simple mineral and chemical creatures. Eventually a form of meat things emerged with nearly sentient minds. Now I worry I am seeing the start of my 'cursed' existence. After so much struggle my meat things project may be only producing suffering! It is a time the meat things call "2020" for some reason. The closer I look into the semi-sentient meat things lives the worse I feel about making the whole project but I must move on now. Carrying the guilt of abandoning them to such a fate gives me pain. I will not be making meat things like them again. I like the behavior of the lightning liquids I've made more anyway. | 2020-10-25T10:37:57 | 2020-10-25T10:32:06 | 208 | 50 |
[WP] Everyone is born with dice that they need to roll before attempting anything major. The super powered are those born with more than a 20 sided dice allowing them to do feats beyond human. An ordinary human usually has a six sided dice. Despite being born with a coin you still want to be a hero. |
"It's okay, everyone has a streak of bad luck every once in a while."
I looked up from where I'd sat on the grass at the man that stood before me. My eyes stung. It was the sweat getting into them. Just the sweat. I wiped it off with the back of my arm.
We could both feel the oppressive weight of what went unsaid. The dice. Everyone was born with one. Some with bigger numbers than others. These dice were dubbed by most as the "Great Equalizers". They could literally turn one's life around. Of course, they were just multipliers so they could never fully replace real effort, but still...
No one really talked about the dice. The topic was too personal. It would have been easier to talk about how much you earned. It was known, however, that most people tended to have an average die number of 8. Maybe 6 if you weren't very fortunate. The really unlucky ones would be born with a 4-sided die. I could feel the edges of my die digging into my thigh through my pocket. Mocking me. A curse. I wanted to laugh.
I wanted to cry.
"Luck isn't everything chump," Coach continued, giving me an encouraging smile, "Take a few weeks off and just practice the forms I showed you, I'm sure you'll get better. You have the potential."
A lie.
He excused himself and left. And after a little while, I picked myself up and headed for the locker-room. Everyone was still out in the field so it was empty. Private. I took out the die in my pocket. A 2-sided die. A bitter laugh left my throat as I looked at the number 2 printed on it. It hadn't been two weeks since I had transferred to this school and I had immediately been put on the track team. Not even a substitute, but on the starting team. Some would have called this action rash. Putting a relative unproven nobody on the team. Except I wasn't a nobody. I was the son of the Blinding Bolt - Olympic Gold medalist more times than you could imagine and, more recently, a high-ranking member of GERT, the Global Emergency Response Team. People often rumored that he could probably run across the continent in less than an hour. But I had seen his die. In that amount of time, he could probably have run around the world. Maybe further.
And everywhere I went, they all expected me to be the same.
Where many would have given up though, I persevered. I had once heard that if certain conditions were met, your die could grow. But no one knew what those conditions were. Or whether even the stories were true. But I still held hope.
Dispelling my fanciful thoughts, I looked back at my die. I had rolled a 2 for my number of steps last night but I wondered, perhaps I should have rolled for something else. Most people avoided rolling again when they got their highest value since any multipliers remained permanent until you rolled again. And there was a limit to the number of rolls you could make in a month. I had never hit that limit so I guessed it was lower the higher the number on your die. Then again, it wasn't really difficult to get the highest number on a 2-sided die so I usually never rolled too much. I tried to think of other ways I could use the multiplier. Number of steps in a second was usually the most direct way of increasing your speed but it wasn't the only way. Maybe I could increase my stride length. At high multipliers, it might make it difficult to navigate the track but at a 2 that would not really be a problem. Or maybe I could reduce the amount of friction that hit my body.
Aargh. It was frustrating. It wasn't like there was any formula that was applied in knowing what to multiply. Dad had tried to pass me his knowledge but with a 2-sided die, there really wasn't much of an effect. He had eventually just decided to help me train physically first. He never gave up on me. I wanted to be happy but all I always felt was guilt. That I had robbed him of a chance to have a son he could actually connect with. If only I could just suddenly be fast.
My eyes suddenly shot wide open. It was always known that your rolls targeted an action. But what about the outcome? I gingerly placed my die in the dip between the tip of my thumb and the crook of my index finger. I didn't ask how many more steps I could take in a second. Or how much longer my strides would be. Instead-
"Will I win the race?"
With trembling hands, I flipped the die and watched it rise with bated breath. I caught it in my open palm and looked down at it.
One.
Okay, it was no time to despair. I really should not have expected it to land a Two on the first roll. So I flipped it again. One. And Again. One. And Again. A nervous sweat begun to trickle down my back. Of all the times to get a streak of ones, why did it have to be now. What if I reached my limit for the month? It was with these questions running across my mind that it suddenly fell on a two. My breath caught. I expected to feel... different. But I could feel nothing. The disappointment was palpable. Suddenly remembering what I had asked the die, I realized that if anything was different, I would find out in the field.
It might have just been in my head but as I walked out of the locker-room, I thought I felt myself be just a little lighter. | 5 year old Dustin was watching his morning cartoons and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms when his parents walked into the room. He could tell they were being super serious by the looks on their face, and they only offered slight smiles when he beamed at them with his crooked smile. The tooth fairy had taken a whole bunch of teeth from him this year so he could start being a big boy.
His Dad reached into his pocket as he sat down and gently placed a green six-sided die on the wooden table. For a long moment the sounds of cartoon violence and shenanigans danced playfully through the room until his Momma clicked off the TV and then sat down. Dad cleared his throat, “Son, today we are going to do something very important…something that will set the tone for the rest of your life.”
Dustin wiggled uncomfortably in his seat, whenever he was supposed to do something it always went good, or really bad. His eyes went to the coin sitting in front of his bowl, covered in milk and bits of marshmallow. He didn’t get to do things just ok, “Are we going to learn how to ride a bike today? I can just see if I can,” he reached for the sticky coin excitedly.
Dad quickly placed a hand over his own, smooshing his fingers flat and exhaled loudly. The green die clattered on the table and settled on a 5. Dad was always quick with the dice rolls, so quick Dustin didn’t even see it happen. “No son, today we flip the most important flip of your life.”
Momma gently lifted their hands and then ruffled Dustin’s dark hair, “This will stop the uncertainty, help you plan for things so you know what to expect. Let’s make sure we do an extra good flip ok?” Her voice was always cheery, but this time she sounded shaky.
Dustin scrunched his nose up and made a funny face, “What am I flipping for?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other with determination and sadness all at the same time, Dad finally spoke, “When you flip, I want you to say, “I will always flip Heads, and Heads wins this flip.””
The little boy thought about it for a while, then picked up his coin and flipped it high in the air. “I will always flip Heads, and Heads wins this flip!”
The coin bounced off the ceiling and Dustin bounced out of his chair excitedly with his hands raised in the air and howling. The silver dollar ricocheted to the floor and bounced under the couch where both parents scrambled to look. Dad pulled up the couch and they all took a deep breath expectantly.
Dustin's eyes went wide when his Momma fell to the floor, her eyes fluttering. | 2020-08-13T04:25:47 | 2020-08-13T04:14:48 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] Your Uber passenger was a little odd, but you still gave them the usual farewell: “If you enjoyed the ride, make sure you say thanks with five stars!” A few days later, you receive a nicely worded thank you letter in the mail along with a deed to the entire constellation of Cassiopeia. | I received a letter, from someone called John Smith.
It was a big, yellow envelope, the paper reassuringly thick to the touch: the sort you see in offices.
Now, two things. One, no one sends letters. And two, John Smith was such an obviously fake name.
I brought the letter, with all the bills and promotional mail that I had got, and threw the rest on the kitchen table, which was already full in the aftermath of me trying to cook, and fail.
The letter read something like this.
"Dear Mr. Andrew,
I would like to express my gratitude for you to have delivered me to my place of residence safely. You answered the call of duty, and went above and beyond.
As a token of my gratitude, please find enclosed a deed to the constellation you call Cassiopeia.
Should you have any questions, you can reach me at the hotel you dropped me.
Yours sincerely
John Smith."
I remembered that one ride very clearly. I got assigned as John's Uber driver, and he had called an Uber basically on the outskirts of the city. When I picked him up, he looked oddly relieved. I thought nothing of it: it was night, and John was the last ride before I called it a day.
He had booked the ride till the far end of the town, in front of an inconspicuous hotel, nothing flashy. It should have been normal, I guess. I thought nothing of it, and had asked him for a 5 star review. I didn't get the review, which was nothing new as well, so I thought nothing of that either.
And sure enough, a very legal looking document dropped out of the envelope. And sure enough, it was a deed. To Cassiopeia, the constellation. I wish I could have been joking here. So apparently, according to Mr. Smith, I now owned 1.45% of the night sky, specifically, the 5 stars that made the "W" of Cassiopeia.
Then it hit me. I had, in my ignorance, asked the guy to say his thanks with five stars. And he took that a tad bit literally. Sigh. But it was a funny joke, you know, I could show that to my mates later. The only thing that bothered me was how he knew my address. Well, I wasn't really a hot shot to be honest - I was living in a studio apartment, and had next to nothing that could be stolen. So, I paid no mind to that either.
I put everything away, ordered Chinese, and got some sleep.
The next day, I happened to drive by that hotel, and that dude was standing outside, probably enjoying the morning sun. It tends to get cold around here, so that was the only reason I could imagine. I stopped by him, rolled my window down and called him out. He walked close to me, and said, in a serene voice.
"Good morning, Andrew, I hope the paperwork is in order".
I chuckled, and replied.
"Yes, John, the paperwork is in order. You did not have to give me an entire constellation, you know".
A worried look appeared on his face. I had to admit, the guy was dedicated to the gag. I just decided to play along. I decided to get out of the car, and I did. He said.
"And I had representatives from the constellation coming over to pledge fealty to their new lord. I'll cancel that right away, then".
I could barely contain my giggling. Biting on the inside of my cheek, I asked him to do that. He excused himself, and went inside the hotel. For whatever reason, I had the letter and the paperwork with me, and I took them out of the glove box, and waited.
John came out after five minutes, looking visibly down. He walked down to me, and said, "I had thought you'd take that bothersome constellation off my hands. Guess I'll have Simon do this".
Absent-mindedly, I handed John the deed. "Thanks man, but you can stop now. The gag has run its life and now I feel bad for you", I said, as I turned to get in the car.
John put his hand on my shoulder, and said. "What makes you think that it's a gag?"
"Well, how come you can give me a literal constellation?"
"That's because I'm John. One of the Twelve Disciples."
"Yeah, of course you are. Christmas is near I suppose", I said and got in the car. He looked at me, and said.
"If you get a ride, tonight, from a guy called Simon, don't tell him to give you thanks with five stars, okay? I'll pray to the Lord that you find happiness". John said, with such earnestness in his voice that I almost believed him.
I drove away, and I saw John go inside the hotel.
The day was hectic, and it was five minutes to eleven in the night when I decided to head home. To my frustration, I got assigned a ride just as I was about to log off.
It was from a person called Simon. Nah, no way. Right?
I reached Simon, and he got in. He stayed quiet, till we reached another hotel. Thankfully, it was different from the one I dropped John at. Subconsciously, I repeated the same lines as I had told John, asking for "five stars".
I thought I saw Simon smile before he left.
The next day, in all the promotional junk, I saw a big, yellow envelope. | Jessica didn't think of her part time job as something worth glorifying. But once in a while, she indulged her fantasies. She dreamt that maybe she would be a cabbie in London, who actually knows the streets, and can occasionally out perform a navigation app. Or maybe she'd be some taxi driver caught in the Hollywood style cross-fire of some gangs, entangled in plots within plots with secrets stuffed in her car's trunk.
But Jessica wasn't even a part time taxi driver. She drove for Uber. Or Lyft when she was feeling radical. And even in her most radical Lyft driving moods, she wouldn't go so far as to speak to her customer. At least, not much. Just a quick greeting, and then, eventually, a chipper "if you enjoyed your ride, make sure you say thanks with five stars." She averaged 4.6 because of some 1 star rating she was sure was a misclick and a handful of 4s she didn't blame herself for.
In her grind to get more 5s, Jessica decided to waste another Friday night in pursuit of drunkards. What public transportation couldn't handle, she was ready to support. Besides, when drunk people gave ratings, they gave 5s.
Beeblebrox was a strange name, but it was the nearest pickup to her at 2 am, now on Saturday. Jessica pondered the name, glanced at the tazer a concerned friend gave her, and sped on to meet this Beeblebrox. He had no profile picture, so Jessica expected to take a minute to find the man (well, she guessed that no woman would tolerate being called Beeblebrox).
Pulling up to the bar, Jessica was surprised that the window opposite her was impatiently knocked on immediately. She rolled it down and heard an exasperated "you Jess?" She nodded. "Aight." The passenger side door behind her was flung open and the man who spoke tossed a lankier man in and slammed the door.
Jessica didn't miss a beat, realizing that the thrower was likely a bouncer who threw out this Beeblebrox. "Good morning," she said, happy to see that Beeblebrox was straightening up.
He groaned.
"Well, I'll head right off, then," she said, speeding away as the Lyft app switched to Google maps to direct her.
The man seemed dazed, still.
In fact, he seemed hardly any better when he stumbled out of the car fifteen minutes later.
"If you enjoyed your ride, be sure you say thanks with five stars!" Jessica called as Beeblebrox shakily stood outside the car.
"Thanks," he slurred, slamming the door.
_More to come soon_ | 2021-12-07T20:28:48 | 2021-12-07T19:40:58 | 192 | 54 |
[WP] When Earth discovers FTL travel, the world never unifies into one government. When new species make contact, they are surprised to learn that the twenty strongest empires in the galaxy have their capitals on the same planet. | Four-ten seven spores. No. Four-ten eight. Four-ten eight.
I must stop counting them. They will not multiply. They will not increase.
Four-ten eight spores. The last four-ten eight in the galaxy. Maybe the last that will ever be. If I don't find them stable land...a saline pool...the proper nutrients...
This ship is not space-worthy. It should no longer fly. But still it splits the black. Still it carries me and these last spores off to...nowhere perhaps? Where is safe? Where might I...
Wait.
An alarm whines. Two switches flicker - blue to white to blue. This is one of the Ring God ships. Stolen. I haven't the slightest idea what any of these sounds and sights mean. Bita would have known. Bita planned it all. And of course Bita died in the escape. Of course.
We die so easy. I had never recognized just what a silly, frail species we were until the Ring Gods arrived. I have moments - hateful, passing moments - when I think they're right for what they've done. How could any thinking thing be as *weak* as us?
The ship shudders. Instinctively, I reach out to shield the spore pods. But there is nothing for the longest time. Just silence, and stillness. After ages, a voice squawks through an intercom I cannot locate. It's gibberish. Nothing I've ever heard before. It speaks and waits. I speak back.
"I don't understand," I say.
It speaks. I speak back. And again, and again. Finally there's a whir and a ping and a voice comes through - it sounds highly filtered, as if coming from some great distance, but the language is my own.
"Do you understand me now?"
"Yes! Yes, I do!"
"Open the door, please."
Open the door? I remember the button Bita pushed as we dove abroad. A red button, near the entrance. I push it and things happen. Air hisses. Gears grinds. A door opens.
There are things standing there that I do not recognize.
"Perpetual translator," says one of the things. "Comes in handy way out in strange waters. Who are you?"
I tell them. I tell them where I've come from. I tell them about the Ring Gods. I tell them about the spores. I ask them to take me to their planet. The spores cannot be sowed in space. Time is running out. The rest of us are dead. All dead. All dead and time is running out.
They change as they listen. Take different postures. Pull back from me and my stolen ship. They stop looking at me. They only look at one another.
"The Korean Federalist Alliance does not intervene in the conflicts of unaffiliated planets," says one of them. "That is...our policy. We will gladly fuel your ship and offer whatever maintenance you may require, but after that we must ask you to continue on."
"They'll die," I say. "I'll die. You have a planet? Why can't I go there? There are only four-ten eight spores and myself. That is all. You will not notice us."
"It cannot be done," says another. "You must leave before this cycle closes."
"There are stasis waves in your ship," says another. "Those will buy you more time. I'll show you."
They show me. They will not say any more about their planet and why I cannot go there. Others with weapons linger nearby, watching, waiting. The weapons are familiar. Similar to those used by the Ring Gods.
I go. I don't know where I'm going. And time becomes a void. A blankness.
I awake and the ship has stopped. The wall thrums. The door opens without my command. More strangers. Something different. Something new. Where have I gone?
"hgk ygkh hjkyu hh oyhkuh test language code test language code do you understand do you under..."
"Yes," I say, frightened, hovering over the spores.
"What are you?"
I tell them. I tell them what I am. I tell them where I come from. I don't tell them anything else.
"And those?" They point at the spores.
"Members of my species," I say.
One comes forward, snatching a pod out of the tray. My flesh turns foamy white in rage and anxiety. One of them strikes me in the ninth joint and I collapse to the ground.
"This is an alien?" says the one holding the spore pod. Another grabs the pod and tosses it to the floor, before raising an appendage and grinding the pod into dust and glass.
"Nothing."
They turn back to me. "Your ship crossed into Rus Territory. And this ship...where did you get it?"
"I stole it from the ones who killed my people," I say, hopeless, full of despair. They choke and sputter and shake their heads.
"Ah," they say. "Ah."
"I'm looking for a home..."
"No," they say. "No."
They tell me to leave Rus territory. They do not tell me where that is, or what that means. They only deign to fix the door they've broken and drop my ship back into the black of space.
Four-ten seven. And me. I turn on the stasis waves. I sleep.
When I awake, they are standing over me. They talk. They ask me to speak. Language is learned.
I do not know these ones either.
"Why are you in this ship?" says one.
"I stole it from the ones who have exterminated my people," I say. Hopeless. Hopeless.
"Exterminated?"
They look at one another. Shake heads. Speak softly.
"Do you know where you are?" says one.
I do not.
"American space," says one. "Do you know America?"
I do not.
"This is our flag - our emblem," says one, pointing at a patch on his shoulder. It's a familiar emblem. I see it nearly every time I open my eyes.
"Our ship," says one.
"You aren't...you aren't the Ring Gods."
"I bet we don't look much alike anymore, do we?" says one. "Given the call number on this ship, we're talking about an expedition force from...what? Eight hundred years ago? A thousand?"
"At least," says one.
"A lot changes," says one.
"How long have you been out here - all alone?"
The Ring Gods. Here. In the ship. Ancestors. But still...
"Will you kill me?" I ask.
They shake their heads. "No. No. We would never..."
"That was different, there. Wherever you came from..."
"Manifest Destiny..."
"Expansion of the strong."
"Old history."
"I need stable land," I say. "A pool of saline. Certain common bacteria..."
"What for?" says one.
"To live," I say. "To sow what remains of my people."
The heads are still shaking. As if they never stopped.
"That's not for us to decide..."
"We have processes for these things..."
"It's possible, of course, but only if you do things the right way..."
"It will take time, certainly..."
"I do not have time," I say. "We are nearly extinct."
"Hmm."
And, "Hmmm."
Then, "We will gladly give you fuel."
"And food, perhaps, if we have what you need in adequate supply."
And when they have given me what they have to give, I close the door. The ship drops into space. The spores are dull. Gray. Dust brown.
I cannot bring myself to activate the stasis waves just yet. Perhaps later. | The next twenty seconds were some of the longest Agrutu ever experienced.
"Fire back at them, damn it! I'm bringing intel to you!" he yelled into the crackling communicator, as he dodged the latest barrage of pulsar shots from the Chinese starships hot on his tail. Agrutu felt his skipper shudder under his tentacles. She was technically a leisure craft, certainly not designed for high-speed intergalactic chases. "Give me some cover!"
The American starships, wrathful leviathans that they were, merely continued bobbing peacefully on the other side of the border. Agrutu could tell that their weapon systems were primed, but it seemed that the selfish bastards were not going to lift a finger to help him.
He was on his own.
"We see you, Agrutu," came the calm, disembodied reply, "we'll be waiting for you if you make it over. All the best."
"Hey, wait, wait -"
A single energy blast caught his skipper on the wing, tearing it off effortlessly. Agrutu closed his eyes, held on tight to his controls. This was the moment of reckoning.
He felt his skipper shudder as he crossed the border, and the automated message was beamed directly to his mind.
"You are now in territory controlled by the American Empire. Please ensure all passage tokens are ready for inspection. You are hereby reminded that smuggling of any Class A restricted items is a capital offence. All passengers... "
He had made it. He was safe now.
---
"Untentacle me! I am on your side, you ugly monkeys! I'm here to see High Commander Leighton, he can vouch for me!"
The energy restraints bit into him, and as much as he struggled, Agrutu found no relief. He could tell that the soldiers were too low down the food chain to understand the import of his mission, and his only hope was that they had enough presence of mind to summon their ranking officer.
Once he had all that cleared up, once the transaction was completed and the Americans paid him for the intelligence he had smuggled out under the Chinese Dynasty's nose, he would be made for life, just as he had been promised.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had leapt out of a solar flare only to land in a collapsing nebula.
"You are Agrutu?" said the man with pepper hair, whose entry into the room brought a certain electricity to it. He wasn't as tall as the others, or as strong, but Agrutu could clearly see that this one oozed power.
"Yes, yes! And you're Commander Leighton! I recognise you from the holograms! Listen, I'm on your side! Just check the cache on my skipper! Fifty oolabytes of hard Chinese intel, straight from their main servers!"
"How did you get your tentacles on those?"
"You guys recruited me, don't you remember? Your agents contacted me, and I agreed to help! So please, let me go, give me my credits, and I'll be on my way!"
It had seemed almost too good a deal back then, but the Americans had kept to their word most of the way. Agrutu was just another alien, one of dozens who had been employed to assist with maintaining the vast administration of the Chinese Dynasty. Then came one of the humans, slightly different in colour and shape than the humans he had been used to, and it was there that the deal was struck.
And the more Agrutu learned, the more he was stumped. It turned out that the human race, at the apex of the galaxy, was itself made up of twenty different rival factions, all hailing from their home planet Earth. Never before had the galaxy seen such diversity in represention, such lack of homogenaeity.
It was in that cauldron of competition between the different human factions that spies like Agrutu found their calling.
"You should be treating me better," spat Agrutu, turning purple with anger. "I risked my life for this, and all you can -"
The room fell silent again, as a second man, equal in stature, entered. This man, Agrutu was intimately familiar with.
"Commander Xi? What..." Agrutu's mouth hung agape.
"Ah, so you were the one who was undermining our systems. Took us some time to root you out, and at much cost too."
"But why... I thought you... all hated each other..."
"We don't like each other much, that's true, and from our long history there were times you could even say that we hate each other," said Commander Leighton, after tipping his head slightly in the other Commander's direction. "But once we escaped our home planet, saw what spoils lay in the great beyond, it turned out that our hatred was misplaced."
Commander Xi smiled, baring his teeth.
"As he said, we learned that the only thing we hated more than each other, was other species."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2017-05-21T20:18:54 | 2017-05-21T18:00:10 | 2,630 | 978 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | Mad Hank, the oldest magician in Jill’s town. His origins are unknown to any of the folks, older than anyone remembers. At best some families might have heard stories passed down from their great-great grandparents about the man, but none could be proven. Some stories getting rather outrageously superficial, like the one that stated the man was the work of a chaotic god granting a rock life. What idiot would believe such a tall tale? The only detail about the man that had been proven was his skill. Despite his mind being mostly gone, his magical abilities were better than any of the mages Jill knew. That’s why she came to him in her time of need.
“Mr. Hank Sir, I heard you often help mages in need. My family are rather poor. They scrambled together their savings to send me to a school, only to find out they don’t provide a familar. I know you have no reason to help me, but it would mean so much to my family and I if you could share one of your familiars with-“
“PET ROCK.” Hank cackled, turning around to show her a rather standard rock, the only difference being, this one had a pair of comical wobbly eyes on it. He offered her a wide grin, one that managed to show through his grey and white beard.
“P-pardon sir, I don’t think I understand what you mean? Are you suggesting this rock be my familiar? The name would imply that you are-“
“Smart girl picked up on it quick. Little too chatty though, you tried being quiet?” Hank asked, lifting her black pointed hat, sitting the pet rock underneath it. “Treat Rocky good, he’s going to grow up to be a boxer someday. HAH.” The old man cackled, raising his hands to the heavens.
“I think this may have been a bad idea. I’ll just leave the rock behind; you like rocky more than I do, anyway.” She went to set the rock aside, only for a powerful blast of fire to swirl past her hand, stopping her movements.
“I’m mad, not stupid. Take Rocky and show those rich punks how people like us live.” The old mage again raised a hand triumphantly before making a pained groan. “I’m far too old for these levels of excitement. Bye now, don’t come back until you have saved the world or whatever you younglings do these days.” When she next blinked, she was outside, the door to his hut missing.
Jill lifted her hat, staring at the wobbled eyed rock. I guess that makes us a team now. I’m Jill, Will you be my familiar? The person to protect me throughout my life?” The rock offered no response. Jill’s heart sank. The man had mocked her, giving her a rock as a joke. She nearly threw the rock through his window, only for her hand to glow blue, sealing the contract between the two.
She didn’t have the heart to tell her parents about the rock, not wanting to worry them. Instead making up some story about how he had given her a lowly houseplant. Her first day of school she found tough, everyone walking around with their magical creatures, and here she was, carrying a rock.
“You two must have a rocky relationship.” A voice called out, a roar of snickering following that as a male walked over, dragon following behind. The dragon may have been small but had an impressive set of blue scales, ones that belonged in a book of myths. “Nice to see you got what you deserve. What happens when the rock breaks? Will you bring a pet twig?” More laughter followed, causing her to shove the rock into her robes.
“Its powerful. I just don’t know how to use it that’s all.” Jill tried to make up a lie, but no one believed her, laughter continuing. She went to turn away, only to feel a movement in her robes. When she turned around, she saw the dragon whimpering, a red sore spot on its snout from where the rock had hit, causing the creature to scamper back.
“Y-You threw that at my familiar! I’ll kill you.” The male went to charge only for a wall of blue magic to stop him, appearing before the man.
“Now, now Fredrick. You are a mage, correct? If that’s true, you should be able to tell that she did no such thing. The familiar acted on its own. You provoked her and it attacked, the same way your creature might if you were in such a situation. While there’s no penalty for familars fighting, there is one for students fighting. I suggest you think about that.”
When the wall dropped, Fredrick shot Jill a glare, mumbling that this wouldn’t be over. An empty threat given how well the rock handled the situation earlier. The hallway’s patrons turned to look away, unsure what they had just witnessed, still they didn’t want to get scolded by the teacher for watching.
“I am Henry Faddler, your chemistry teacher. Now I must offer you the same caution I offered Fredrick. I know they provoked it, but if your familiar acts out of line too many times, we will remove them. Our school has standards, now go to your homeroom, classes start in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Jill didn’t argue with the teacher, his words were fair enough in her eyes. Focusing on the day ahead, she rushed to find her homeroom, giving her pet rock a smile, it wobbling its eyes in response as they started their first day.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Every student at St. Clair's Academy for the Magically Gifted is required to have some creature to serve as personal protection in the school. Most have traditional animals, but the only one I can afford is the "pet rock" the old wizard in the pawn shop offered me for 5 bits yesterday.
I can't help but to feel bad for the old man. His hair, graying and limp, hung long around his neck. His beard had crumbs of whatever he last ate still suspended in the strands, and his hands shake as he drops the small, brown rock into my hands. He passes me a thin cord of leather he calls a "leash" and I affix the rock in the center and tie the leash around my neck. He winks at me and I thank him for his kindness, and leave the run-down store before he can say anything else.
School starts. While tuition is free, the uniform is not and my parents have used up our savings for the expensive cloth. This is the only magic school in our nation, and though my parents are unable to use magic, I am attuned and they want what's best for me.
At the train station, I glance around at the other students. A few of them have small, lizard-like dragon familiars, a couple with eagles, owls, cats. Some have toads and turtles, and one has a dog. They dance and play around with their familiars. I look down at my rock. It doesn't move.
I can't help but feel self-conscious. I'm the only one at the station without a cage on my trolley. I cart around my one small suitcase, and I feel silly even having the trolley. I can easily carry my bag without the wheels, but I feel like I'd stick out more without it.
I sigh, hugging my parents goodbye.
On the train, I find an empty compartment and push my luggage under the seat. I kick my legs as I glance out at my parent's retreating forms on the platform. I don't know how long I stare out the window for, but as the train starts to move, I'm jolted out of my thoughts when a girl about my age runs into the compartment. She huffs and puffs as she catches her breath in the seat across from me.
I stare at her, and after peaking out of the compartment, she stares back with a large, warm grin. "Sorry to barge in to your room here, but I had to get away from some 4th year and your compartment looked empty."
She smiles sheepishly at me, and I can feel my lips splitting as I smile back. "I like your necklace," she says, and the brown rock around my neck hums & warms as if it is sitting in the sun.
"Thanks," I duck my head, basking in the warm feeling spreading from the stone. "My name's Amy." | 2021-01-06T07:16:08 | 2021-01-06T06:59:52 | 267 | 161 |
[WP] After death you find out you've just finished serving your time in hell. Before reincarnation you get to pick which species you want to be. Human isn't available, because it's a hell-exclusive. | "So this is what I can choose? These are the species that exist?" I look at the insanely thick book before me. I'm not even sure I could lift it off it's pedestal if I tried. "Wellll, sort of, it's all the species that have ever existed, we'll place you in a time period appropriate to your decision and you'll get to live a life there as whatever you choose." I look at the book and look back at him. "It will take me a decade to look through every page in here and I want to choose the right one." He sighs "Well the good news is time doesn't move here so if you want to do that you can, though if I might make a personal recommendation, I'm not allowed to give anything specific but take a look at page 3 of the table of contents." I raise my eyebrow at the creature before me, deep blue skin tattooed all over with arcane symbols of red razor claws, a forked tongue and a pair of rams horns really didn't go with the slick car salesman voice coming from him.
&#x200B;
Still I didn't really want to spend a decade or more reading every name of every species to ever exist after all how many had gone extinct. I looked at it and scanned it the first thing to catch my eye was human written in bright red ink and crossed out with a black line, as soon as I raised my head he shook his. "Humans are hell only, we don't want to see you back here for a while if ever. Down a bit further though." I looked at it, and was shocked there was a bullet point marking a different category one labeled "Non-believed" seemed like nonsense and then I saw it.
&#x200B;
Baba Yaga, Baselisk, this made no sense I scanned through, these were creatures of myth, they weren't real they were things humans made up to scare humans. All the way down to werewolf and vampire. I looked up at him my eyes wide "These things are real?" He nods "most are, some were. turns out the humans who are on earth are good at destroying things, it's a big part of why upper management nixed reincarnating more of them into existence." I shook my head and opened the book to the vampire page, they were a mish mash of the myths we told some real some fake. That's when my mind started running rampant, I had been a gamer in life, and not just a gamer a rules lawyer to boot, you couldn't beat the system if you didn't know it.
&#x200B;
"So if people can reincarnate into all this can they be angels or demons as well." The smile on his face looked more like a threat then anything. "Well they Can, though I'm only allowed to answer direct questions about them and you won't find them listed in the book." I sighed, "Then I'll stick to the basics, is it enjoyable to be in heaven, and does reincarnating as an angel send me there." "No and yes." Wow quite helpful I thought. "Is it enjoyable being a demon and do I end up in hell if I reincarnate as one." "yes and yes." "How long will I live as an angel and how long will I live as a demon." "Until the end of time, and until you choose not to be one anymore." I looked at him and considered, that sounded easy enough and I was getting tired of this, the room we were in seemed to be rising in temperature too. "Fine I want to be a demon." With a snap of his fingers I was standing staring at my old body in the spot he had been, and looking down at my arms I saw I had his skin, before I could say another word. "I want to be an angel." and my body vanished.
&#x200B;
It's been 300 years since that day, no one has asked about being a demon in all that time, and I haven't done anything but process their reincarnations since then. Around the 50 year mark I had asked management about those rules and how he could have told me it was enjoyable being a demon. He shrugged "You have to answer if they ask, you can only talk about it if they ask, nobody said you had to tell the truth when they do." Guess I wasn't as good a rules lawyer as I thought, well maybe in another 100 years I can get somebody to ask. | ”So... I can’t be a human again?” I ask, staring at the demon standing at the pedestal.
”No,” It growls with its scratchy voice, “Human isss a Hell exclussssive.”
”I got that,” I say, frowning, “I can be anything then?”
The demon rolls its beady red eyes, “Yessssss, arrrrre you a foolll? Youuu can be anythinggg.”
I remember how obsessed I was with cats before death (though, my memory is getting hazier and hazier) and I say, “How do I chose?”
A coal-black piece of paper with bright red lettering appears along with a fiery quill, the demon points to a spot on the paper marked with a blood red ‘x’, “Ssssign herrre,” It says, “Then yooooou’ll be takennn to theeee chooooice areaaa,” It smirks, “I donnnn’t usuallly say thisss, but I wouldn’t recommmenddd life asssss a monkeyyy.”
”Why would I chose that?” I say, curious.
”Mosssst choooose ittt becaussse they wanttt to havvve a familllliar lifffffe,” It shakes its head, “Belieeve me, itsssss nothinggg like a humannn life.”
”Okay, thanks,” I reply, signing the paper.
Once I sign it, I find myself floating in what seems to be space, there is what seems to be a tablet in front of me with all sorts of living things on it with pages of information on each. I click the search bar and look up ‘cat’, reading a quick blurb about how life will be, I take a deep breath, and I click ‘choose’. | 2021-03-06T17:34:25 | 2021-03-06T15:30:56 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs | When I was younger, I could never understand the villainy of greed. The villains I read about were motivated by many reasons and philosophies. Rage, lust, pride, these were the reasons that compelled me to love the villains of the story. Standing alone among the common motivations of evil was greed. He did all this for money? She tore the world apart for treasure? I laughed at these villains in the stories I read. Surely the villain who found her strength in her anger or pride was the best villain.
Then I grew older. I know better now.
Money is power made manifest. To have power over someone else was always a testy business throughout history. Usually, the threat of violence would keep people in line. But money is better than a mere threat, it’s a promise of hope for a better tomorrow. Everything and everyone has a price. Even the most stalwart hero needs to eat lest their hunger devours their mind and morals whole.
The last one who tried to destroy me was a principled man. Pious as he was persistent, he pursued me from kingdom to kingdom, reminding me incessantly of his promise to kill me. It was cute, like a child reminding their parents of her excitement for the upcoming festival. But all good things must come to an end.
The hero’s quest had exhausted his wealth as an adventurer. Even on his last legs, his faith was strong. He truly believed that I was a monster and dangerous to the innocent he had sworn to protect so long ago. His convictions at least were admirable, but he was desperate, fueled only by faith and his remaining rations. Only one of those I could take, and only one was required.
My plan were set into motion, propelled by the Dark Arts I had purchased as a youth. I bought the cities food supplies and entrusted their safekeeping with my Friends Below. Now, the great city of Haman would share in the hero’s suffering and desperation. Their stomachs would sing in harmony on those dirty streets beneath my hotel window. Riots started. People cried out, unable to feed their children and elderly. Rumors of cannibalism started on the second day and were violently realized on the fourth day of artificial famine. I bought the desperation of these innocent souls, and I would certainly be happy to sell their relief.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and necessity, like everything, has a price.
It cost over 300 innocent souls to fall to the hero before he found me. Bleeding, ragged, about to break, I let him spend his final breaths to tell me how I would never succeed in the end. How I was doomed to fail, if not by his blade, then by another after him. I spent the brief time to ponder who would come after him as the mob ripped him limb for limb. Their suffering was immediately ended that very day. Now that they were no longer hungry, their minds could beyond their stomach to greater aspirations. Of course, I did not feed them enough to sustain all of them. It cost time and money, but eventually, I bought the death of the cities’ royalty for a few carts of food. I rebuilt Hamam into a meritocracy, where the capable and clever eat in decadence and the hungry scheme to take it all away from them. In the end, I had bought a city for a few days of food. My soul is forfeit upon my death. But I know now that the my teacher of the Dark Arts was foolish and short-sighted. For now I know the ultimate truth that binds us all together:
“Everyone and everything has a price.”
Even eternal life can be paid for. It is of great cost, more than any one man can pay. More cities will need purchasing before I am ready to pay in full for my sovereignty from Death.
I used to think greed was foolish. I know better now. | As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident.
I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book.
At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer.
*unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.*
Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway?
I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing. | 2021-06-27T21:16:41 | 2021-06-27T20:28:30 | 102 | 25 |
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
EDIT: August 8th, 2014 @ 2:35PM:
Wow, /r/WritingPrompts.
The quality of the work in this thread is absolutely amazing! | The General sat in his command vehicle. He surveyed the displays of his armies. He smiled as a father smiles at his children. He zoomed in on Battallion A. The troops were arrayed in battle uniforms. Their faces calm and focused inside their battle helmets. He switched to Battallion B. The infantry arrayed in front of the hover tanks showed even less expression than those of Battallion A. These were the experienced soldiers. Those who made up the 2nd wave.
He knew he was ready. No matter what these natives on that planet near the yellow star had figured out how to make, he knew his men could stand up to it.
The General's men had the benefit of a society whose only purpose it had been was to defeat those who had previously defeated them. The last time they opened the portal they had expected a peaceful people. Those with whom they could talk and exchange ideas with. Instead, they got beat over the head with wooden sticks. Not this time.
"We're just waiting for the scouts to return," informed his assistant, "they're late, but not worryingly so."
The door burst open and a single man burst in. The General looked up and down the strange shaped individual. His 5 strange appendages coming off a central part of the body. How did these humans move like this? He wasn't sure, but clearly the scouts had learned to handle these disguises well enough. "What have you to report? What is the preffered landing spot for the teleportation portal?"
"Sir! Do not invade! Destroy that portal and never go there!"
"WHAT? We've prepared for this for generations. We've surely got better weaponry than they do. We can't possibly lose this time!"
"No Sir. You don't understand. I'm the only scout of the 2 dozen assigned that was able to make the return trip. The rest were captured. I've no idea how they saw through the disguise, but they immediately locked us up as aliens. I have no idea how they saw through the disguises so quickly."
"Captured? Locked up? What do you mean? Like when we find animals with genetic problems rendering them vicious?"
"Yes Sir. Precisely like that. Except, they do it to each other. All the time. While we were locked up like this, one of the other humans, that's what they call themselves, apparently also had such a genetic problem. He took to fghting with us. In the processes, we had to render him incabable of fighting. Then we were transferred to another facility. That one was worse. During such a fight one of us was badly cut with a very primitive cutting weapon."
The General's face turned ashen. He saw where this was going. The disguise was broken.
"He was immediately taken from us. Within hours, they came for the rest of us. I, alone, managed to avoid capture from this facility. But our hidden communicators still worked. Sir the screams I heard in my ear for the next few days are ones I will never forget. The reports I received I almost can't even repeat to you. Expiriments were performed, is all I can say. Just listen to the recordings."
"So, they know about us?"
"Yes. But that's not the worst of it. The way they treat their own people in those facilitiies is nightmarish. Sir, if this is how they treat their own for no good reason we stand no chance of ever defeating them. Worse yet, they have no desire to treat them better. They actually seem to like treating their own this way. Imagine what they'll do to us." | The commander stood impressively on the pillars of Hexus beside the naturally formed wormhole of Xarxel. His scarred trunk pointed a Heva bone trident as his troops listening to their final invasion instructions.
"Four temlons since our defeat! We have no idea how the hairless have prepared since then. Their clubs may be larger. Their spears longer. Their skins thicker. It makes no difference! We have planned! We have strengthened! We will trample! We will gore! The meateaters will bleed for their crimes against our forefathers!"
More than eighty thousand troops trumpeted and stomped at the ground. Klorgon grinned menacingly as he surveyed their frenzy.
"We are ready. Chaaarge!" | 2014-08-07T08:11:21 | 2014-08-07T07:07:37 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | "Honey?"
Susan's voice shook a little bit. She was in the doorway of Hannah's room, chewing her nails. Brown hair spilled down her back in waves. Hers had been brown for years, like mine. But the little girl, curled up in bed under the blankets, had blonde curls that spread over the pillow. She was only six. Susan folded an arm across her belly as she looked up at me.
"Does her hair look darker to you?" Her voice was a whisper to keep from waking our daughter. I slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking my head. I was mostly humoring her as I squinted into the room.
"No," I said finally, kissing her temple. "No. She's okay."
She frowned as she leaned into me, but she didn't say more. I sighed, squeezing her small frame, and I let go. I knew why she was worried. A woman at her work had a daughter about Hannah's age, a girl named Christina. Christina's hair had turned brown two weeks ago, and almost immediately after, Christina's father was arrested for raping her. It was sick. Of course, the man's hair had been almost black, so we really shouldn't have been surprised. Still, the idea that something like that could happen to Hannah, that something so awful could cause the change so early, made the both of us uncomfortable.
Our older daughter, Sam, she was entering high school this year. We were expecting her change to come any day now, really. How could it not? Mine had, and so had Susan's. Cursing, boys (or girls), drinking. We all knew it happened. The hair was just an unfortunate indicator that made it really hard to hide. Some students used to bleach their hair to keep their parents in the dark for as long as possible. Sam couldn't do that, though, and I'm not sure if I was grateful or sad about it. Her hair was a strawberry blonde color that you just couldn't get from a box.
"Mom?"
Sam's soft voice made us both jump. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be at a sleepover. I whirled. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach faster than it ever had in my life.
She stood in front of us with her head down. Buried in a sweatshirt three sizes too big on her bony body and jeans stained with grass and mud and *please God don't let that be blood*. But it wasn't just that. Her hair, tied back in a rumpled ponytail, was brown.
It wasn't a light brown, either. Sometimes, if whatever triggers the change isn't too bad, you end up with a cocoa color. Susan's is like that. No, Sam's was a deep, dark brown, rich and full and terrifying.
"Oh, Sammy." Susan's voice cracked, broke. She moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug, but Sam didn't hug back. She just leaned in a little, keeping her arms tight around herself. I swallowed past a throat as dry as sandpaper, barely managing to croak out the words,
"Sam, what happened?"
She looked up at me over Susan's shoulder. I realized she was wearing make-up--it was a new thing for her, ever since junior high had ended. Eyeliner ran in streaks down her face; the lip gloss on her mouth was smudged across her chin and jaw.
"Amy has an older brother," she said, and that was all. | And now! A word from our sponsors.
I'm Catherine Harris from "the wind that blows". Everyone knows me as the truest blonde in Hollywood but truth is even I get a hint of brown. That is until I found Genuine by Kriz Montz. It's difficult enough finding a good man but nothing ruins a great first date like a dark streak in the morning. Doesn't matter if you a business woman, stay at home mom, or just a student Genuine is for you.
Kim always laughed at those commercials but after noticing her thin blonde hair growing dark she began to worry if others noticed too. | 2014-05-10T17:48:04 | 2014-05-10T17:36:43 | 59 | 23 |
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