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[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | "No. Absolutely not. There is no way in hell," I said to the suited man at the front door.
But let me backtrack a little.
My friend John wrote his dissertation at the age of four. It was a comparative study of different techniques for emission spectroscopy in the analysis of compound materials. John waited until he was four to write his dissertation for two reasons. Reason number one was that that was how long it took him to master control of the bank of knowledge in his brain. Reason number two was that it took him until he was four to really comprehend how to grip a pencil.
John was pretty average, for someone in one of the largest factions in the world.
Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to just *know* things without having to slog through the process of learning them. Of course, it would help if my parents had been remotely prepared for the implications of naming their child Slartibartfast - but no, they just went ahead with their weird Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference, and didn't even consider the fact that they would have to *tell* me things like, "Hey, maybe don't stick that fork in a plug socket." And that those nuggets of wisdom should probably be phrased in a way comprehensible to someone without a Physics PhD's worth of knowledge.
Frankly, it was a wonder I made it through childhood. But somehow I did, and with the help of an armful of old school textbooks that my parents found at a worn down secondhand bookshop, I learnt just about enough to vaguely blend in with society. My dad always claimed that the fact I had to learn how to learn, how to analyse and understand for myself, would put me ahead of the rest.
I'm pretty sure my dad just talked bollocks because he felt guilty for what he'd done.
Anyway, I developed a particular interest in botany, and eventually I scraped together enough knowledge to find a low-paying job in a garden centre.
"So that's why the *Chrysanthemum boreale* is the best in its genus," finished one of the twenty-six Lilys who worked in the garden centre, as I struggled frantically to write down everything she'd just said.
Rowan number fourteen frowned. "But the rhizome's shorter than for several other species," he said. "Surely that makes it less viable for-" But he broke off.
"Less viable for...?" I prompted him.
But Rowan's face was turning pale. He staggered back, clutching onto a trellis for support, as Lily gasped. Her eyes were wide open in shock, and she sunk to the ground, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her arms curled around her stomach as though to protect herself. I turned back to Rowan to see tears glittering in his eyes.
"Guys, what's happening? Guys?"
Lily looked up at me. "It's awful... God, it's awful."
"What's awful? Talk to me!"
Her mouth opened and closed, but the only noise that came out of it was a racking sob. She curled in on herself again, a tight ball on the ground. My gut twisted, panic rising in my throat. I turned and ran down the path, back towards the indoor area of the centre. My heart was pounding, my brain moving at a hundred miles a minute.
I burst through the main entrance into the centre, and ground suddenly to a halt. It was like the scene of an accident, if the bloodshed had been Photoshopped out. People huddled together, horror etched on their faces. One woman's muffled screams were audible from the next room, while a man standing motionless near the door flinched every time she made a sound, his eyes staring blankly ahead. A small child was crying hysterically at his feet.
It took a minute for anyone to pull themselves together, but eventually I found someone who seemed just about calm enough to talk to me.
"Excuse me... What's going on?"
She looked at me with shock. "You don't know?"
"No, I... have an uncommon name."
She sighed a long, drawn out sigh. "There's been an attack."
"What? What kind of attack?"
"They had weapons I've never seen before. They blew up half of Manchester - they wanted to attract as much attention as possible. All those names watching, there's got to be hardly anyone who doesn't know about it. And they said..." Her breath hitched. "They said they're watching."
The scene was replayed on the news over and over in the days that followed. The leader of the group, of unknown name, spoke, his voice harsh and cold. "We know how to slip under your radar, how to plan without any of you knowing what to watch for. But if you try to stop us, we *will* see you coming. We have sympathisers in every major faction. We know what you know, and we see what you see. You have no choice but to yield to our control."
Those were dark days. The country had pretty much ground to a halt, afraid to leave their homes or venture outside. The police formulated countless plans, but each time, a laughing voice read it out word for word in a recording sent to any random detective's email. And each time, the contents of the recording would be leaked back to the major news centres of the world, and the cycle would begin anew.
Until, the Monday after the attack, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find a tall, earnest-looking man wearing a grey suit and a pair of thick glasses.
"Mr... Slartibartfast?"
"Yeah, that's me," I said warily.
"My name is Matthew Hannigan."
"Right."
"That's Matthew with-" he paused, "-three Ts."
"Yeah, I'm sorry, but whatever it is you're trying to sell, I'm not interested." I started to close the door, but found Matthew's - or Mattthew's - foot wedging it open.
"I'm not trying to sell you anything. Except, in a way, hope!" His eyes were wide beneath the smudged lenses.
"Mate, I don't know what kind of sales technique this is, but-"
"Listen to me! I work in the Office for National Statistics, where I have access to the census data for the whole country. I know how many people have each name out there, and yours and mine - they're unique! My parents misspelled my name on my birth certificate, see." He was talking very fast, the pitch of his voice rising with every word. "There's two more out there like us, and with your help..." He paused for breath, a smile beginning to curve his lips.
"I still don't understand what you want from me."
"With your help, we can save the world!"
"No. Absolutely not. There is no way in hell." | “Alexes, today we will take what’s ours!” The handsome young Alex stands atop a large pyramid of wooden crates, his voice booming across the entire marketplace. “Today, we will storm the Presidential Palace!”
*“Bring him down! Bring him down!”* The crowd around me chant at the top of their voices.
“We will not be abused anymore. We will not be slaves anymore. Today, we will take back our city for all of Alexkind!”
The crowd goes wild. I creep along the crowded marketplace, making myself as small as possible. A tide of Alexes surround me, holding various weapons the scavenged from their homes – axes, pitchforks, frying pans. I turn into a dark alley and hide.
“Lexi, over here.”
Lexi, my younger sister, scrambles into the narrow alley with me. I pull her into my arms, panting deeply. We’ve been on the run for the past two days.
“Can we rest here, brother?”
“Yes, my dear,” I say, gently patting her head. Her big, blue eyes are bloodshot. “We can stay here. But not for long, okay?”
There’s some trash beneath a poster of President Alexander. I rummage through the trash. We find a half-eaten chicken drumstick and ravenously gobble it down. It’s the best meal We’ve had in days.
The alley is plastered with colorful posters of all shapes and sizes, but they all have the same words. “Unite”, it says, “Unite for the freedom of Alexkind!” From every poster, the regal eyes of President Alexander stares into me. Silent. Judging. Like he knows my secret.
Like he knows I’m not an Alex.
It’s been two years since they killed Mom and Dad. The laws are clear as crystal – fail to name your child Alex and you die. Simple as that. I never understood why they would put themselves in such danger. They said in all of human history, there has only been two others with my name. It was a forbidden name. But whoever he or she is, they certainly haven't been of any help.
Since Mom and Dad were killed, Alexis and I have been on the run. We would definitely be killed too if President Alexander's people found us. Maybe hung on the bridge, like so many others. But I’ll never let any harm come to Lexi. They’ll take her away over my dead body.
Some of the posters have been heavily defaced. “Tyrant!” was scrawled across several posters in what appears to be blood. *“A rising tide of dissent,”* uncle Al would say with a sigh. *“These violent delights have violent ends.”*
For decades, President Alexander has used the collective intelligences of a thousand Alexes to invent new, sadistic weapons to keep the population under control. Most recently, his scientists invented a gun that uses the quantum entanglement between the minds of Alexes to inflict agonising pain on another. It's the worst form of torture possible.
The Alexes have had enough. We’re a society on the brink of civil war.
All of a sudden, it becomes deathly quiet. I look out into the marketplace. Everyone has stopped moving. Lexi freezes. Her eyes go blank. Then, with perfect coordination, they turn to face the Presidential Palace and start marching.
Lexi marches away from me. She chants, in unison with the rest of the Alexes, “All hail King Alexander! All hail King Alexander!”
I grab Lexi as she walks away from me, but her arm slips through my fingers. “No!” I shout as she blends into the march of Alexes. What's happening? Why are they behaving this way?
Then it hits me – President Alexander has taken over the mind of all the Alexes, including my sister. *Mom and Dad knew this would happen,* it dawns on me. *President Alexander has used the quantum entanglement between the brains of Alexes to take over their minds.* And only a non-Alex can stop him.
And I must save Lexi.
| 2017-04-07T09:41:35 | 2017-04-07T08:38:41 | 277 | 198 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
credit to r/Debdub10 for thinking of the idea | Sub-Branch Officer Clevi stood before her superior, Bough Officer Fergh, watching him leaf through her report. The details were hard to believe for even herself, and she had been there. So she wasn't surprised when she was called in to report in person. Even so, a shiver ran through her feathers as she realized that if Fergh didn't believe her report, she would likely be discharged without honor.
"Sub-Branch Officer," Fergh started. An in-auspicious start, thought Clevi. "I think I would like to hear your thoughts in person." Even seated behind a desk, Fergh's presence was towering.
"Yes, Bough Officer Fergh. Where would you like me to start, Sir?"
"From the beginning. Tell me just HOW you ended up among a flight of Humans. Your mission shouldn't have brought you anywhere near their territory!"
"Yes, Sir. But it is apparent now that they are nearing our territory."
Fergh sighs and nods. "More than you know."
"Sir?"
"Continue."
"Yes. As I'm sure you are aware Sir, while on patrol our group was ambushed by a wing of Lurit fighters. My craft was damaged heavily and I was forced to land it on a habitable moon around the second gas giant. The outpost there was also under attack so I was unable to land anywhere near it. As per procedure I dispatched a messenger torpedo with a distress signal and my landing coordinates and I stayed with my ship to preserve resources and utilize it for shelter and protection.
It was only a local day before a ground force of Lurit found me. Following protocol, I exchanged fire until it was clear that I would be unable to fight them all off, at which time I then attempted to arrange a surrender."
Fergh nods. "Understandable."
"We were unable to reach an agreement. The Lurit prepared to resume their attack. That's when I saw the rock hit their commander's head."
"A rock."
"Yes Sir." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a grayish rock the size of her palm. "This rock."
"You stated that one of the humans threw it?"
"Yes Sir. When one of the Lurit fired back at the source of the thrown rock, the Humans opened fire from every direction and swiftly eliminated the group of Lurit. As per procedure I attempted to negotiate a surrender to the Humans. They would not accept either; apparently they found my surrender humorous. Instead, they offered first aid and a share of their supplies."
"Why the rock?"
"I asked that, Sir. I was informed that they were under strict orders not to fire unless fired upon. The soldier I spoke with said that since he threw the rock it didn't count as firing at them. Then his leader yelled at him to pick up every rock in the area so it wouldn't happen again."
"He did what?"
"I still don't understand it, Sir. I would have questioned the order, but the soldier saluted his superior and executed the order. He was doing that smiling thing with the teeth as he did so, Sir. When they were ready to move on, he had collected a sizeable pile and gave me the stone he threw." Clevi shook her feathers out in disbelief. "I wish I could say that was the only mystifying thing they did. But it wasn't.
When they were ready to leave they informed me that I should join them. I insisted that I should stay with my craft, but they disagreed and I felt I was in no position to protest. I quickly found out that they were cut off from their craft as well, and were taking a circuitous route around the forces blocking their way. Over the next 10 planetary days I discovered a lot about them. They truly did rescue me; I was not a captive. In fact they actually incorporated me into their command structure." She paused, trying to find the right way to emphasize what probably looked like a minor note in her report. "If a human ever says to you 'hold my beer' they are about to do something incredibly insane. However, the results will always be equally surprising, usually in a positive way. But not always. I cannot explain it in any satisfactory way."
Fergh lets the silence following her statement stretch. Finally he picks up her report and sets it aside before picking up another smaller folder. Opening it, he reveals the bright teal and yellow marks of a Confidential Order. "There was a member of the Human flight called John Hawkins."
Still confused over the Confidential Order that Fergh so casually revealed to her, it took her a moment to realize the statement was meant as a question. "Y-Yes Sir. He was their medic. He treated my wounds and was the most fluent in the Trade Tongue."
"Three days ago a Human ship dropped out of subspace INSIDE our defensive perimeter. Our engineers are so at a loss at how it happened that they are molting like chicks. They're trying to find a way to do it safely, but based on your report I don't think the Humans have the same set of priorities we do." He shakes out his feathers and begins to rearrange the papers in the report. "Before we could react, the Human ship broadcasted a request for diplomatic talks. Not threats or demands, but talks of alliance."
"But if they could.."
"After that display, how could we say no? Half of the government wants to just humor them until they go away. The other half wants an alliance in hopes having the Humans with us will scare the Lurit off. Either way, we did ask to limit the number of Humans on our planet. We didn't expect them to send only one, this John Hawkins."
"I'm not sure I can tell you much of any worth about him, Sir."
"I'm not asking you to." Slowly, he slides the Confidential Order across his desk to place it in front of Clevi. "Other than the diplomatic talks and basic necessities, he had only one request. He asked for you, by name, to assist him."
Clevi's universe is suddenly upside down. She's too stunned to reply.
"Sub-Branch Officer Clevi, an entire race of unpredictable yet frighteningly effective people are at our doorstep. We need you. As your superior, I must command you to do this. But as a fellow Highlin, I can't possibly ask you to subject yourself to this insanity one more." He reaches across the desk and takes the Orders back. "If you decline, I'll take the responsibility. My superiors can figure something else out. You don't have to do this."
"I'll do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Hold my beer."
| Galactic Union Database Entry 365748:
Species: Human (Terran)
Origin: “Earth” Planet orbiting “Sun” Star in Galactic Sector Arm-12
Threat Level: Mostly Harmless
By: Humanologist Frod Perfect
Entry:
The Terran species, or “Human” as they call themselves, are a Tier 4 Civilization that has dominated their solar system, through unusual means. They are known throughout the galaxy as an irrational species that acts before fully creating well-thought out plans. Whilst average sentient forms will spread throughout their local system for military conquest, economic gain, religious pilgrimages, or due to need of resources, the “Human”race decided to explore the stars because “we felt like it” (Human Ambassador Greg Jones Earth year 2708).
Humans are incredibly spontaneous. They name things without any clear system and in incredibly small minded manners. Examples of this are seen in their names for Astrological bodies. They invented the term “Sun” to describe a star in the center of a solar system, and then proceeded to name their sun “Sun”. They repeated this process with “Moon” and “Solar System”. Even stranger is their name for our galaxy. Instead of doing what most species have and naming it based on location, humans call it “The Milky Way” which my observations tell us they named after a beloved candy bar.
It is unknown if the human race is capable of thorough strategic actions. Their methods of handling problems appear to be “insane” and “stupid” yet somehow they have never lost in any recorded galactic warfare. Most species would have thought it suicide to deactivate their entire fleets to avoid being detected and get the flank on their opponents in the Terran Xyllquen War. By entire fleets I mean they actually turned off everything including all their lights and oxygen producing machinery. But humans didn’t think twice. By perhaps sheer chance, their opponents had only brought EMP weaponry to that fight and therefore were rendered useless when an entire fleet of unnecessarily dense and protected human ships rammed directly into the Xyllquen Warship. When asked, war strategist Joe Lincoln responded, “We had no idea about the EMP, we just wanted to dodge their radars.” Researchers later learned that, although ineffective against laser tech, human ship hulls were ultra thick because the manufacturers tried to scam them into paying for more launch fuel. Thus allowing the humans to launch themselves as projectiles, and take out their enemies in the ship with primitive electricity free projectile weapons as opposed to the civilized laser technology available.
The only recorded loss in Galactic Human history is against a non-sentient pest species of large avians on a planet in the Outback region, which lies down under “The Solar System” in which they were incapable of winning a war they waged against a species they named the “Emtwu.”
All other Galactic Union recognized sentient species have adapted superstitions about Terrans. Ever since they toppled the bloodthirsty Grexkan Mega-Empire without ever declaring war or even dispatching battle fleets. The Humans just sent one small team to perform an “Impossible Mission” that involved infiltrating the Grexkan Warship the “Planet-Eater”, deactivating all of their asteroid detection modules, and setting course for an asteroid belt. Mission leader Ethan Cruise commented, “Calling this mission impossible means doubting the human race.”
Most other species tend to avoid humans whenever possible, as they are unpredictable and untrustworthy. However they are also too afraid to deny any trade deals humans offer, as coming off as hostile against such an unpredictable species could mean the end of your civilization. Despite this humans have almost never been responsible for the starting of any war and generally friendly towards strangers. They have created businesses sending large voyager ships randomly deep through space on friendly missions to establish connections with other species. This form of starship enterprising is seen as a bad omen and often leads to many conflicts, none of which ever seem to go poorly for the humans.
It is unknown if humans are extremely powerful and ominous or if they’re just lucky and rash. But one thing is certain; their bizarre style of managing problems has been effective up til now.
End of Entry
-This was fun to write! I love the prompt and I hope anyone who sticks through the whole thing enjoys my writing. I tried fitting in some references, I hope they don’t feel too forced though. Either way I had a blast!
| 2018-10-11T14:57:59 | 2018-10-11T14:41:01 | 45 | 29 |
[WP]You live in a world where the Dominant religion worships giant iron Golems that wander the earth utterly mindless of the humans that cluster around their feet, decorate them for holidays and fight wars based on their actions. One of them is definitely following you. | “I’m just a simple merchant, I don’t want any of this.”
“Too late, the Ones have chosen.”
A few weeks ago, I was traveling the land, looking for the nearest city to sell my wares, when I noticed that everywhere I went, Kilroymn followed. Kilroymn is a iron giant, protector of war, and something that the Church of Iron calls “the Ones”. There are 13 Ones, all of them worshiped by the Church’s mindless followers. These Ironites decorate their giants and react to their actions.
Once, Silvian, the forest giant, accidentally kicked a mountain at a peaceful, seafaring village. The Ironites following Silvian sieged the village for two weeks, cutting off all supplies and contact until they burned the whole village down to the ground. Nothing remained but smouldering ashes. Auqernimli, the water giant, once closed up a river by sleeping in it. The ironites took this as a sign that a great flood was coming and build a huge ship to combat the flooding of the earth. I laughed when the giant got up, only to unleash a small tidal wave onto the surrounding area. The Ironites are a stupid and stubborn bunch, but for every braincell they lack, they make up for it in brute strength. The Ironites can destroy a city in a week, build the worlds largest building in a month, and build an entire civilization in a year.
So when it became apparent that Kilroymn was following me, the Ironites wanted to know why. I held out for a day before they caught up with me. They dragged me to their camp, and immediatly Kilroymn grew still. The leader of their little town took me into his house and interrogated me for days on end. He tortured me and beat me, trying to get me to confess to something even he didn’t know. But after every blow, the question still remained. “Why are you important to Kilroymn?”
After five days of constant interrogation, the blows stopped. He pulled up a chair and sat across from me. Through the blood in my eyes, I could see him stroke his chin. I slur out my answer for the hundredth time.
“I’m just a simple merchant, I don’t want any of this.”
“Too late, the Ones have chosen.”
I struggled in my restraints. “For what!? Tell me what I’m chosen for!”
He just signed. “For the first time, I do not know. There is only one thing left to try.”
Without another word, he left me. I sat in silence, trying to blink the blood out of my eyes. After a few hours, he came back in. To my surprise, he started dabbing my face with a wet cloth. The whole time he kept mumbling “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I was too shocked to ask why. After cleaning me up he unbound me from the chair and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled, and black dots floated in my vision, this was the first time I had stood in five days. But I had no rest. Immediately I was pulled out of the house and into the “town square”. The whole town had gathered there. Everyone suddenly fell to their knees before me.
A man yelled out, “All Hail the Supreme Ruler! All Hail the Ruler of the Ones!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. If you liked my story, or wanted more (perhaps a completely original D&D based story), check out /r/About4001llamas. Also, I'd be open to writing a part 2 if there is enough interest. Happy reading!
| "I don't want to be here."
This man wouldn't listen to me. No one believed me. They thought I was vain and simply trying to attract attention.
Every city.
Every family I stay with.
Every friend I make.
Every therapist I see.
Every time, I'm the crazy one.
I mean, I didn't ask for this. I hate those powerful beings. Being followed by one is a nightmarish reality. Nightmarish.
"You know what, I took sleeping pills that night when I spoke to Hong, doctor, that must have been why I said those silly things. Ha-ha, I'll be stay closer to my bed next time I take those pills."
Every time, lies to diffuse the worry.
Walking out of the building, I look at the skies. He is coming.
Everywhere, he follows.
Every time I flee. | 2015-06-24T16:20:58 | 2015-06-24T15:31:06 | 55 | 18 |
[WP] You die. As you go up to Paradise, you notice it seems to be in ruins. Then you find the corpse of God. | Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6g3prk/rise_once_more_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6g4cd0/rise_once_more_part_3/)
---
The gate to heaven bent open, its pillars cracked and splintered. I took a moment to take in the sight—the gold which never rusted had been scratched off, the lock that only opened to those most deserving of heaven’s grace lay broken on the ground. And the gates now opened for anyone and everyone.
Things had changed since last I came.
“Gabriel,” I called into the clouds beyond the gate. Nobody answered back. “Michael? Raphael?”
The same silence replied. I pressed my lips into a tight line and walked into Our Father’s kingdom.
---
The clouds lay empty. No souls tread upon them and no angels flew through them. Even the light of heaven had ceased to shine as brightly, glowing into the dim incandescence of an oil lamp. I peered through shadows that should not have existed and walked toward the throne of God. If anyone knew what had happened, it was the One who knew everything that had happened and ever would.
I walked through shadows of empty buildings and tattered clouds. Their shadows seemed to grasp at my legs with icy bite. But I did not fear their touch. I refused to. Not in the Kingdom of Heaven. So I walked through their grasp until I arrived at the centermost cloud.
Here, a church of solid gold stood erect. Its painted windows, where glass angels used to dance, now lay shattered into fanged edges. Its great oak doors were flung open and hanging from single hinges. A frigid breeze blew from within.
I shivered. Not just because of the cold, but because of the shadow that covered God’s throne. Shadows were not supposed to exist in heaven and now it obscured even the seat of the Lord.
Perhaps, I had been gone for too long.
“Father,” I called out and stepped into the church as my voice echoed through its halls.
The shadows crept around me, encroaching upon the walls, slithering through the floors and growing darker where my Father should’ve sat.
“God is not here,” a raspy voice croaked with a chuckle. “Only I.”
I squinted through the blackness, but could see nothing. “Who dares defile the throne of our Lord?”
“*Your* Lord,” the voice spat back. And suddenly, the shadows fled, revealing a dismembered figure at the foot of the throne. It was God. And he was dead. “Though your Lord no longer.”
My breath caught. My lips trembled as I pushed the words out, “father?”
The shadows split apart revealing blood-stained wings spilling off of heaven’s throne and a sickly smile that cut across the angel’s face.
“Welcome home, Jesus Christ,” Lucifer said, smiling. “Did you have fun on Earth?”
I grasped the air, curling my fingers into fists. “The Kingdom of God is not yours to take!”
“The Kingdom of God belongs to whoever can take it,” Lucifer said. “And I have just done so.”
“You are not the rightful Lord.”
Lucifer sighed and pushed himself up. “A wrongful lord is still a lord. A false god is still a god. And the son of a dead god means nothing to me.”
The floor opened up beneath my feet. I had time for a single breath before I fell through a red tunnel that would lead me straight to the depths of hell. Flames licked my robes and my beard. And as I fell, only a single thought played in my head—*If the Kingdom of God belongs to whoever can take it, then I'd have to do just that*.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| Wha...what happened here? Why is there a huge corpse on the steps of heaven? Questions fly through my mind as I try to assess the situation. There's nothing else here other then steps leading to the man I believe is God? I have always found myself an atheist thinking that everything has answers but this I have no clue how to respond.
I slowly go up the golden steps until I reach the top. My hands shaking as i attempt to touch the bald spot on top of Gods head. Suddenly, the mouth opens.
"Hey!! A newbie has shown up!!" Screeched an unknown voice.
Jumping through the mouth came my personal hero, "Ka...Karl Marx?" I stuttered
"Aye, it is indeed I"
"What happened here?"
"Well this used to be a paradise for Christians! While us atheists have been cast away. However, once the world slowly turned into atheism, God started to lose his power".
"You killed God?"
"No! **WE** killed God together! Come let us enjoy paradise for all eternity. Feel free to do whatever your heart desires".
As I slowly head to the mouth of God, and descend within it, my eyes widen at the glory of what's inside... | 2017-06-08T10:28:21 | 2017-06-08T10:05:11 | 2,616 | 96 |
[WP] You're in your bedroom when you hear your SO speaking to someone in the other room. It takes you a moment before you realize the other person's voice that you hear is your own. | I reached over half asleep grasping at the cover. "Eric must already be awake," I thought while I ran my hand across the empty space where he should of be. I stretched out trying to exorcise the remaining tiredness from my weary bones when I heard muffled sounds from the next room
"Please listen!" A female voice pleaded.
"What is going on with you?" Eric half-yelled.
It took a second to register that anything was amiss. "Who was that?" I thought. I gave Jane the day off so she wouldn't be back till tomorrow morning.
Sudden realisation hit me like a knife to the gut. I threw off the blankets and ran to the mirror facing the bed, looking for my messy hair and day old make-up covered face. Nothing.
"No...No! So stupid..." the words escaped my mouth.
I took off full speed and threw the door open so hard it smashed into the bedroom wall causing an almighty bang, that I ignored and ran into the living room.
"What the hell?" Eric screamed before fear suddenly clouded over his bright blue eyes.
There she was. The same brown hair. The same brown eyes. Wearing same white tank top and Eric's boxer shorts. She looked at me with pure hatred and immediately changed from her weakened, begging stance to a fighting one. I turned to Eric and tears filled my eyes seeing the confusion and dread he was experiencing.
"I'm so sorry," I cried out, "I should of told you sooner. This will all make sense soon. Try to stay calm."
Before a word could leave his mouth, I sprang into action hurling a lamp at the impostor. It hit her across the shoulder as she tried to shield herself and I took the opportunity to charge her. Grabbing her shoulders, I pushed her with all my might up against the wall. Against the full length mirror that hung there, always watching. The glass started to warp and bend, turning to a light, liquid silver that wrapped itself around her waist. It pulled at her as she struggled and screamed.
"No! You can't!" She hissed.
Her fist exploded into my face causing me to stumble and lose my grip. Clasping onto my arm she tried to escape the watery binding that was working its' way up her body, now consuming her whole torso. She was going to try and pull me in with her. My head was spinning but my vision locked onto my salvation.
Eric stood stunned, his hands were locked in his hair, disbelief had rendered him useless.
"Eric, please, I know it's scary but I need you. She's going to kill me!" I called to him.
Without hesitation he ran to me, grabbing my arm and yanking it from her grip. Her face went one of terror to one of betrayal in an instant, as the liquid suddenly lifted her from the ground and in one motion pulled her into the mirror.
We watched in horror as the liquid froze back into it's original form and she began to run at us. Eric pulled me behind him and she suddenly stopped. Her body began to move backwards, as if being being moved by some sick puppeteers' strings. Each limb jerked and strained as she was pulled back behind Eric's reflected self. She slowly mimicked my position and her last act was to scowl at me, as the blood ran down her face and over her eye from where she had struck me. In that second I could feel the pure, unfiltered hatred she had for me and then as quickly as it began it was over. Eric hurled his desk chair at the mirror, shattering it into pieces.
"What the hell was that?" He screamed, turning to face me.
I fell to the ground. My eye aching and my body suddenly relaxing from using the strength it didn't know it had. So stupid. Having a mirror across from our new bed. She must of known I was weakened while I slept.
"Amanda! What the hell?" He forced out from gritted teeth.
"My reflection...it's happened before but not for a long time," Tears fell as I tried to compose myself.
Eric dropped to my side. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. I pushed into him, breathing in his soothing scent.
"What does she want?" He whispered.
"Everything. My life, my job, our house...you."
Everything I took from her. | I stir from the nest of my bed to the sound of the latch catching on the front door. My lover is home. I hear his ritual of taking of his shoes and grabbing a glass of water, interrupted by a muffled voice.
Who's down there with him? That sounds just like..
I notice as soon as I'm out of my room the changes to the house. The once wooden stairs are covered with soft shag carpet and the walls are lined with photographs of beautiful fair haired smiling children.
I'm almost finished padding down, knowing my lover would not hear my muted footsteps on the new carpet. I peek around the banister and see myself and my lover embraced on the sofa, the same as we do every night, the same as we have done every night until I found out I was pregnant. By the time he finishes the night shift, I'm up stairs fast asleep. It's me, it's us. I've aged, my face etched but the worries seemed to have smoothed. I see more pictures on the mantelpiece, 3 smiling children. Two boys and a girl, exploring beaches and climbing trees, clutching snails in their grubby hands.
The last image shows my lover and I, aged but not withered with the fair haired children all smiling and laughing. I feel a kick in my stomach, and its the realization of all the good that's yet to come.
I stir from the nest of my bed to the sound of the latch catching on the front door. My lover is home, and I want to hear about his day. | 2014-11-21T06:13:16 | 2014-11-21T03:39:13 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back. | Lillete walked around on the marble floors in the chasm of what she assumed one would call the living room but the rich probably had a more apt name for the cold luxurious space. She had no family or friends, she had left her abusive narcissistic family in Minnesota when she was 17 and never looked back.
Everyone heard the news over the impending doom of the planet. Today was the day that the world would end and everyone was doing what they always wanted to. The streets were empty as she had dodged around abandoned cars with her motorcycle she had “borrowed”. People were having sex in their yards, she’d seen a few orgies going down in living rooms with big windows. Others were crying and holding one another staring at the sky. Others were racing down streets and howling. A few planes were overhead jetting about doing impossible twists in the air. She’d even see a man come out of the sky and smack down into the pavement of a neighborhood.
None of these options interested Lillete though, she had a more ironic idea that amused her. When she had pulled up to the massive gate of the wealthy local billionaire family that had bought their survival on a ship which departed last night for the stars, it was heavily fortified with chains. Lillete had to chuckle to herself, of course, even with the earth being destroyed the rich elite couldn’t stomach the idea that an average person might step foot on their estate. Getting off her bike she had climbed onto the fence and easily plopped down on the other side.
Now she was exploring what the lives of the rich elite truly was like. She figured if she was going to die, she might as well do it in style. She’d already raided the bar and took a bottle of Balvenie that she assumed was expensive as it had a special mark on it that claimed it was 50 years certified. It was delicious as she took swigs from the bottle to soothe the butterflies in her chest.
She made her way to the massive closet of the mansion and found herself a designer gown by Alexander McQueen that was encased in glass. It looked roughly her size and so she pulled the glass off, liberating the dress from its cage and encasing herself in golden luxury. Ah yes, this was a perk of the wealthy to be sure. She’d never felt such wealth against her skin before.
The clocks in the house suddenly began to chime and she chuckled a little to herself. It was the time estimated the world would end and of course the wealthy had to be dramatic about it, even though they weren’t there. Picking up the bottle of whiskey she walked to the expansive balcony of the master and looked up at the sky. There before her eyes was a huge hunk of rock bigger than a low moon. She could feel the shaking of the earth, the gravity disruption, the sun was temporarily blocked from her view and the world was dark. Sighing she took another swig from the bottle and plopped on a lounge chair.
Life was misery anyway, at least she had a moment of respite. She closed her eyes and waited, surely it was just a matter of seconds now.
Strangely she felt sun on her face again though. She opened one eye and then the other, looking with great confusion at the sky. The huge rock of a planet was gone...
It was fading away in the distance. “What the fuck?!” She shouted to no one in particular. Suddenly, their was a cacophony of noise in the distance. Guns were firing into the air, fireworks were exploding above the trees, she could hear people shouting - not like it was before in fear, but in celebration. Over the speakers of the home a loud mechanical ping sounded and then a robotic voice began to echo, “Attention: the earth has been missed. The planet is no longer a danger to us. We are all saved.”
Lillete shrugged and smirked to herself. The entire family that owned this home and that had abandoned earth to save themselves was gone. When they left, every leader of every nation informed them that they would never be allowed to return for as long as we all lived. The broadcast of this had shown the wealthy issuing back “well that won’t be long now will it?”
Putting her feet up she examined her surroundings. The estate she was in could house 20 people with ease. She wondered about all the other abandoned estates left with great pretense around the world. For the first time in her life Lillete had a plan. Getting up, she stretched in her couture gown and walked to the kitchen, the sudden desire to bake a cake on the top of her mind. | “What do you mean they’re returning?” - ted Albright was a seasoned war veteran. The kind of man, who just doesn’t back down, a grizzled old man on his 70s.
“Well... sir... they’re just coming, no contact, no warning whatsoever. “ - lucian answered nervously, he had only heard the story, the one where the richest people on earth waged a defensive war on their millionaire starships, against the masses of desperate people with children in hand begging to take them with themselves. The horror of fathers dying needlessly brutal deaths trying to invade Area 51, where those same starships were departing.
“Well, boy, they aren’t landing anywhere in our earth, after all what goes around comes around”
Lucian had heard of this saying, but with a unified earth, it was now commonplace to just be kind, no need of that karma stuff. Everyone came together at the cost of millions of lives, and millions of dollars.
“This is unified earth president ted Albright, you are encroaching on unified space, and are required to vacate our planet, effective immediately.”
“We... come....” before the ship’s captain could finish, a loud bang was heard in the background. Ted was alarmed at this. Certainly, living 50 years in deep space, might have shed its kind of trouble in these decrepit ships, but something was amiss. He had heard explosions before, but what came out of the radio was kind of like a .... growl?
Cowardly they went, and boldly they returned, the other ones landed once again, and twisted as much as they were when they left, they ravaged the land, not with their money, but with their claws.....
Note: first time poster here, be gentle
Edit: spelling and ponctuation | 2019-12-07T07:08:40 | 2019-12-07T06:13:36 | 107 | 27 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | *Leper*
I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way.
But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores.
Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm.
"Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly.
"Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."
The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally.
But still my heart pounded in my chest.
Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands.
Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground.
"Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room.
I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting.
I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel.
I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through.
On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days.
Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief.
I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled.
"Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly.
"You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed.
I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him.
Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did.
I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end.
And potentially a terrible danger.
"Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away.
Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion.
"Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice.
The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding.
"Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet.
"Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked.
"No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."
Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing.
"Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer.
"That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."
The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds.
"Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."
"You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again." | 'Dinner's in the mess' Mira shouted jovially over the ships intercom. Alex, Karnag, Celephlan, Jarus and Thud began slowly to kongregate as Mira one of the 2 humans gleefully served up a vile smelling meal to each of the crew of the Serendipity.
Each of the crew had their own job aboard the ship but they all took it in turns to cook. The problem was, well Mira couldn't cook. She did love to cook and she was an excellent diplomatic negotiator and well for the purposes of rag tag crew of theives that meant she could lie through her teeth better than anyone this side of the galaxy. She also happened to be the younger sister of Alex; a former black ops soldier and starfighter pilot turned rogue after having his brain mostly fried from too many memory wipes and torture from Taraxian Crystal spider venom from the time on Taraxia. He was also the only other human on Serendipity. Everyone on the crew owed him their lives multiple times over and not just from Mira's cooking.
Karnag, was the ships captain and an oversized Taraxian that had bought Alex as a slave and while not exactly freeing him, had given him purpose and a decent life again and reunited him with his sister. Karnag was a big softie and a ruthless, extremely calculated, relentless enemy if anyone ever came after his crew.
Celephlan, was a Lesarian a race of spindly creatures that evolved to withstand extreme temperatures, radiation levels, extreme winds and pressures They could move faster than any other sentient life form in the galaxy, and had lighting quick reactions to compliment their speed. Celephlan, she was the ships pilot.
Jarus was a Tamishan and described himself as basically a human, except he had scary telekinetic powers, and pointy ears. Mira kept teasing him for being a space elf, and kept stealing his shampoo. He was good in a fight and an excellent cook, but lazy and didn't really do much. Not even cook.
Thud, was a Goron, a nigh on immortal stone man. He was both their mechanic and doctor. He'd been alive longer than anyone aboard the ship could fathom. He'd seen civilisations rise and fall, empires, dynasties, federations reach out across the cosmos and he'd seen that reach turn to dust time and time again. He'd seen more wonders of the universe than all of them and he reckoned that the universe kept making more wonders for him to discover.
Nervously the crew took their seats around the table. Celephlan exchanged a nervous glance with Jarus, Jarus with Karnag, Karnag with Thud, whom merely shrugged and smiled politely at Mira before turning and intense gaze upon Alex whom was chowing down on his food. Mira took her seat chastising Alex for not waiting for her to start eating. Alex looked up with tearful eyes at his friends around the table and shook his head. Mira catching onto this frowned "It's not that bad right?" She asked her voice cracking. As she took a bite. Almost immediately she spat the food. Getting up from the table she ran from the mess to her bunk. Although the bulkhead slammed behind her the crew could hear her sobbing. Even though the food she served would literally kill the crew, they all loved her that much, they knew that while Alex wasn't quite all there due to his pain and hardship, Mira's Pain, she'd suffered the most. None of them coul bring themselves to be rude about her cooking. Not even Jarus.
Karnag sighed, "I think there are some MRE rations in cargo that we looted from that stellar guard cruiser a week back" before glaring at Jarus whom immediately got defensive.
"What the hell is that look for?" He said puffing up ready to defend and justify his laziness.
"Not asking you to cook for her, she loves cooking but for oursake teach the girl to cook." Karnag growled
"Even when you're trying to be diplomatic you still sound so agressive" Jarus whined back.
"Jarus you're lazy and destructive, the latter being why we don't ask you to do much. And it pains me to say this but you're the best damned chef on board. It's literally the only day to day job you're good at." Celephlan started.
"You're supposed to give a compliment either side of bad news like a sandwich" Jarus said before immediately cursing himself fro bringing up food and digging himself into a deeper hole.
"Like seriously Thud, have you ever met anyone lazier than Jarus?" Celephlan asked.
"One but he literally starved to death" the stone man confirmed.
"Jarus just please teach her to cook, she might stop stealing your shampoo if you do" Karnag said grasping at straws.
Alex finished his meal and shook his head and laughed "Mira stop stealing?" He asked rhetorically before continuing "that'll never happen, just be glad it's only your shampoo she uses to establish her dominance over you Jarus"
"She takes my shampoo to establish her dominance?" Jarus asked wildly terror creeping into his voice.
"So how bad is it?" Thud asked concern.
"Honestly, this is probably just going to be the sweats and the shits, but yeah it'll kill ya" Alex said crudely. Grabbing Celephlan's plate and chowing down again.
"And he goes back for seconds" Jarus exclaimed throwing his hands in the air.
"Why would you do that? You know it's going to make you sick" Karnag asked in disbelief.
Alex shrugged "Foods food and I've had far worse" he answered with his mouthful.
"There's a worse cook than Mira?" Thud asked.
"There are plenty, Mom was one of them" Alex laughed grabbing Karnag's plate.
"So where did you learn to cook then?" Celephlan asked.
"Prison" Alex shrugged, sliding Mira's plate infront of Jarus with a wink.
"I'll teach her to cook" Jarus blurted quickly.
"She'll like that" | 2021-02-03T19:38:43 | 2021-02-03T18:06:36 | 1,400 | 87 |
[WP] "Come on, aren't you a little old to have an imaginary friend?" He was right, but it seemed so real. "I guess..." "So maybe make some real friends, ones who don't have scaly skin and forked tongues." I stopped in my tracks. "I never told you what it looked like." | The tiny creature, lapping at her own scales with her long, forked tongue, sat peacefully on my shoulder. I was well aware that she wasn’t there, wasn’t real. But somehow my brain filled in the sensation of her presence. A small weight on my shoulder, the definition of her little feet. Maybe I really was crazy.
“I’m, uh, glad you told me this,” the woman across from me stammered, pushing back a lock of the dark hair that framed her tan face. Over the last few months we’d grown close, Tessa and I, more than just study partners for our software engineering classes. We’d reached the phase where we were telling each other some weird stuff, strange secrets. So I’d offered up Aegeri, my nonexistant reptilian pet. “But aren’t you a little too old to have an imaginary friend?” Tessa continued. She seemed unusually nervous. Was she actually afraid of me right now?
I sighed. She was right, though I didn’t like hearing it. “Yeah. Yeah I am. But Aegeri has always been a comfort, you know? She’s been there since I was a kid. Sort of reminds me to keep a bit of my younger self alive.”
“You sure it’s not just some kind of mental crutch?” Tessa asked, clearly trying to make use of her Psychology 101 knowledge.
“Maybe.” I did have a tendency to manifest Aegeri whenever I was feeling down. Was that unhealthy?
Tessa put her hand on my arm. “You’re a great guy. Maybe you don’t see it, but I think you’d be able to make some more real friends if you just gave it a try. We turned out pretty good.” She smiled at me, and for the briefest second it seemed like she glanced at the spot where Aegeri was sitting. “It’s time to expand your social circle to include more than me, your roommates, and some little thing with scaly skin and a forked tongue.”
Her last words made my entire body tense up. A cold feeling welled in my stomach as I locked my gaze to hers. “I never told you what she looked like.”
Had I not been staring straight at her eyes, I wouldn’t have seen them widen ever so slightly. But Tessa quickly recovered her composure. “You told me everything. And it was so brave of you. Anyone else would have called you crazy, but I think you just need some good old fashioned social contact.” She stood up. Were her hands clenched? “I have to go. See you tonight maybe?”
“Yeah, see you tonight,” I mumbled, staring at her as she gathered her things in a rather hurried manner. But as she started her brisk walk away, I decided I couldn’t let her go. “Tessa!”
She turned around, regarding me with wary eyes. “Hm?”
“You can see her, can’t you?”
To her credit, her laugh was convincing. And the head shake too. “Your imaginary lizard friend?”
“Aegeri, jump,” I said as I nodded toward Tessa. My little friend leapt from her perch, straight towards the woman. A tiny thing like her couldn’t do much damage, really, but anything flying at you would cause you to react. And Tessa’s quick hop backward told me all I needed to know. Aegeri fell harmlessly to the ground, but Tessa stared at the lizard for a few seconds before looking back at me, eyes wide.
A fire started to burn in me. This woman was lying. For the first time in forever I let someone in. And she had the audacity to lie to me about something so big. “Why can you see her? What is she?!” I growled.
“Please, stay calm,” Tessa said. She stepped gingerly around Aegeri, who was standing at attention and turning to face Tessa as if ready to pounce. But I willed her to stay put, and the lizard complied. “I’m trying to help you,” she continued.
“Help me? By lying to me?” All these years, I’d felt like a fool for holding on to Aegeri. It had made me feel weak and defective. The fire I felt started to burn brighter. I could almost feel it, imagine it tearing into the sky.
One second, she was still a tiny lizard, curled up on the pavement. The next, she was the size of a car. Then the size of a house. Aegeri spread leathery wings and let out a deep, echoing roar as she shot a column of flame into the air.
Everyone could see her now. The screams were enough evidence of that.
“No,” Tessa breathed, trembling. “This isn’t supposed to happen yet. I screwed it up.”
“What’s going on?!” I yelled.
She turned to me, shame evident on her face. “I failed. Again. Dammit, why can’t I get this right?!” She shuddered and pulled me to the side, away from the growing firestorm as Aegeri took to the sky. “Your imagination is running rampant. Pretty soon it won’t just be Aegeri. Other things will come through.”
“Why? How do you know that?” My attention was divided between the dragon soaring above the city and the woman in front of me. “My god...she’s gonna burn everything.”
“Your imagination. It’s beautiful and wonderful and it’s part of what made me fall in love with you. But it’s too powerful for you to contain.” She sighed. “I know you won’t remember any of this, but maybe that’s better. I can lay everything out, if only for my sake.”
I stared at the woman. She seemed on the verge of tears. “I don’t feel anything like love toward you, Tessa.”
“I know. You wouldn’t. Not yet.” Tessa took a deep breath. “Some people, people like you, people like me, can affect reality. Usually in only very limited ways.” She sighed. “But sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s too much for them to control. Like you. I thought I could change it. After all, fate saw it that my reality-altering ability manifested as being able to run back along my own timeline. Send my consciousness back to my younger self. I thought it was a sign that I could help you. Stop you from destroying everything.” The tears started flowing now, just a little. “But I’ve tried so many times. It’s never worked. It’s never fucking worked!”
Without warning, she pulled me closer, wrapping her arms around me. It should have been a surprise, but somehow it felt...comfortable. Familiar. Why did I find myself trusting this woman? I returned her hug, holding her tightly. “Then try again,” I said.
She pulled away, staring at me. “What?”
“Try again,” I repeated. It was all still very muddled to me, all of that stuff she’d rattled off. I couldn’t make sense of it. But I felt like what she was doing was important. “If you have a way to make this all better, I believe in you. You need to keep going.”
Her gaze stayed on me for a few more seconds before she nodded. “I love you. I won’t stop until I save you. You understand that?”
I didn’t. “Yes, I do. Now go!”
*****
My first class was all the way across campus. What a way to start off my first day of college, by being late. Hell, this school was new to me, maybe there was a better way to get there than the winding route I’d chosen. I stopped a girl nearby, a young woman with dark hair and tan skin. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know a shortcut to Wyland Hall, would you?”
The woman turned to me, her mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Whoa, I’m going there too! And I do, actually. Don’t worry, I think we’ll make it in time.”
I sighed with relief. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“I only hope so,” she said, an oddly somber look on her face. But in a second, she regained her cheerful mood. “I’m Tessa, by the way.”
*****
r/WriterSirtoshi | "Come on, aren't you a little too old to have an imaginary friend?" Blaine was a friend, a pain in the arse at times, but a friend none the less. A *real* friend. Even so, he'd been pushing his agenda a little harder than usual of late.
So what if I was thirty eight and still conversing with imaginary friends? I could argue that they're better conversation, because a great deal of them were, but in truth it was the fact that they would listen that made me reluctant to let anyone of them go. To listen - a trait *real friends* seemed to lack.
"Look, so maybe you head out into the real world, with me, make a few more *real* friends. Ones lacking scaled skin and sharp, forked tongues."
I froze, I didn't want to make it obvious that Blaine had there and then slipped up. We were in public, that meant I must've been safe enough. At a bar, downtown, drinking cocktails. The only reason that I'd allowed Harmon to tag along (my scaled - *and imaginary -* friend) was that I'd intended to use his presence as an excuse to go back home. Normally I'd make up some story up about how Harmon's stomach didn't feel right (and Harmon was ever the great actor), and then I'd profess it would be best to get him into bed. Worked a treat, every time. No one dares asks questions when your imaginary friend is feeling ill.
"I didn't mean to spook you," there was a light-heartedness in Blaine's blue eyes that I simply didn't trust, "I've been able to see Harmon, to see all of them, for quite some time now."
"Really?" my voice was shaking, and there was little hiding the nervous sweats as they broke out.
"You know why they listen, don't you?"
"That's enough." and that wasn't Blaine, nor I.
"Jesus Christ," I nearly jumped out of my seat, the barman looking over somewhat suspiciously (could he see Harmon, too?), "you can talk, you can actually talk."
"Of course I can, haven't you always been able to hear me?"
This was true, only Harmon and the others... well, their voices came to me inside my head, or so I thought. Come to think of it they'd only ever speak when we were alone. So why now had Harmon broken his vow of silence?
"Go ahead, you can tell him." Harmon slumped himself up on the bar-stool next to me, disappearing the last of my cocktail. Now this did earn a queer look from the barman, perhaps he couldn't see Harmon after all.
"You're not going to put up a fight?" Blaine was treading cautiously. Just how many secrets did he have to spill?
"Why would I? You'll tell him what I am, and I'll tell him what you are." Harmon looked down at me (he was one tall lizard-looking friend), a kindness in his bright bug-eyes, "I'm fairly certain I'm the favourite anyway."
This had Blaine on edge for some strange reason. What exactly did favourites matter anyhow, they were all my friends, imaginary or otherwise.
"We'll see about that." Blaine downed the last half of his cocktail and gestured for the door. We were taking this conversation outside.
\*\*\*
It was midnight, no surprise there. My outings with Blaine, or with any of my friends, always took me deep into the early hours of the morning. There was a low fog drawing in, clouding the streets, and in that fog I truly believed that there lurked ghost, or ghouls, or some strain of creature that preferred to hide from human eyes.
"The truth, all of it." Blaine considered me carefully, running his fingers through his hair, pulling back each thread.
*Careful pal, any tighter and you'll pull it right off the scalp.*
"Alright, here it is,"
I'm not sure whether I was ready for the revelation, or the power it provided. Certainly I saw the world in a different light there after.
"I'm not so real as you might think." Blaine explained, "I was imaginary, once upon a time. People couldn't see me either. But you could. And you could hear me, too. I didn't know at first, exactly how it worked, to talk, to listen, to give life to something."
"What do you mean?" I had answers, but with each one came another string of questions.
"When you listen to us, you give us life."
A light bulb moment.
Blaine went on; "Think of us as actors, waiting for our time on stage, kept behind the curtain. When we talk to you, and when you listen in return, you bring us one step closer to the spotlight. I was your first, remember."
First friend, that was true.
"I was there with you through high school, but it wasn't until after graduation that others started to notice me. But now I'm dying."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic." Harmon rolled his bug-like eyes, "You're not dying, you're just fading. You've gotten a taste of what its like to talk, and you've forgotten how to listen. It's time for you to go back *behind the curtain* and make room for someone else."
"I can't exactly have a man sized lizard walking around town with me." I could imagine it already, the havoc it would cause with my day-to-day routine. What would my boss have to say about it? What about my mother?
"I wouldn't be a lizard,"
Blaine nodded, as if to validate this fact.
"I would be a person, I likely wouldn't look too different to Blaine, unless of course you wanted someone different, someone new through and through."
"And I'd go back to being whatever your imagination desired me to be, something so utterly unbelievable you couldn't help but think I wasn't real. Only now you'll know, the truth of it all."
And now I really did now, the truth of it all. But who'd have thought, that something as simple as listening could give a person life. | 2020-05-06T12:43:11 | 2020-05-06T12:07:57 | 182 | 68 |
[WP]You die and you go to Valhalla... the map in Halo 3. Turns out after life is an endless Halo online match of Capture the Flag.
Tell me how is it like | "So how long have you been here?" I asked.
The woman in battered crimson armour looked at me with weary eyes,
"I don't know. Ten thousand matches? Maybe more?" She gestured with her gauntlet to the sky;
"Sun never sets ya see? Got no idea how long it's really been. Every day it's the same; we fight, die and we win or lose."
A grenade *plinked* over the rock we were using as cover - flinders of purple-pink needler crystals rained down over as she scrambled for the grenade and kicked it it away.
"Cover me," she snarled.
Popping up over the feature, I sprayed bullets in a wide arc. The enemy took cover and returned fire.
One by one their guns went silent as the scarlet commando flanked them. A bullet clipped my shield, then several more. It flickered and died. My rifle was empty now so I switched to the pistol and cracked off a few hopeless shots before one of the enemy appeared from my left and thundered a series of double-tap shots into my torso.
Pain washed through me and I gasped at the intensity.
Then my team mate was back beside me, the flag in one hand and her own pistol cracking as she took down my killed.
"Looks bad kid," she said.
"What will happen? When I die?" I managed, pink froth bubbling between my lips.
"You'll respawn at the base. Have some fresh ammo waiting for me - we'll be heading out again as soon as I deliver this home" she hoisted the flag again and sprinted off, firing blind shots off behind her with startling accuracy.
I slipped away into oblivion as she left my line of sight.
 
"Why is it so quiet?" I whispered.
"Break time. We get about 2 minutes between games."
"Do we... do we eat or sleep here?"
She shook her head, visor up for now.
"Nope. Don't get tired either, not *body* tired anyway."
"Don't you get sick of this?"
One of the other soldiers in our team laughed, hollowly,
"Fucken' new kids. All the same."
The scarlet commando slapped her rifle across her knees and fixed me with her steely, uncompromising stare,
"Here's the deal. This is it for eternity. We fight and we die. We tried calling ceasefires and surrenders with the enemy, but then we all get instakilled over and over" her mouth twisted into an ugly, hard line, "and you don't want to die every ten seconds. It's brutal and it's fucking painful."
The soldier in the orange armour who had laughed earlier look haunted, then he growled,
"There was a guy who refused to fight and they killed him and killed him and killed him. Eventually he lost his shit. Section eight material."
"Where is he?" I breathed,
"GAME ON!" yelled Scarlet and they charged out into the white sunlight.
 
Fight, capture and die. That became my mantra.
I grew close to my team mates and in those precious few minutes between each game, we traded stories and commiserated on our fate.
Theories were put forward too, as to why we were there.
"When we Peak, we will be released into the Halls of the Allfather, ready for the final battle," Karl had said.
Others thought that we were instead in Hell and this was our eternal punishment.
Scarlet was more pragmatic.
"I don't care why we're here, I don't care whether it lasts for eternity or for a hundred years; this is our life now and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be *the best* at whatever I do. I will capture that fucking flag and I will *never* give in!"
The others shouted their approval and smacked the butts of the rifles into the concrete of the bunker.
Scarlet was our Valkyrie, our mother. Without her we were lost.
And then the game was on again.
 
I saw it happen as I respawned, the pain of the multiple gut wounds still fresh and angry in my mind. Scarlet ran across the flag base and then... vanished.
Our team fell in disarray. Without her leadership the enemy quickly walked all over us and the game was over.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know!"
"Jess saw her vanish, didn't you Jess?"
Everyone's eyes turned on me.
"Yeah... she ran across the plate and then..."
"Then what?"
"Gone."
We fought through the next hundred or thousand games woodenly and defensively. Not only were we down our leader, we were missing a squad member.
Backed up against an escarpment, I started barking orders to the others, trying to organise an attack.
At that moment a new player phased into existence beside me.
She looked down at her rifle, then up at me, confused and disoriented.
A grenade *plinked* over the rocks and without even thinking, I booted it away.
"Cover me!" I snarled, then leaped over the escarpment and charged.
Behind me I heard her rifle chatter into life. It was only then that I noticed my armour had changed from maroon to a brilliant, blood red. | I remember it pretty clearly, actually. About 78 matches ago, now... before I came here. Before I died. I was driving down I-80 headed east; coming back from YNP where I had just did a summer seasonal gig. Great place to visit, fuckin' horrible place to work. Anyway, I was cruisin' along, windows down, stereo blasting "Turn up the Radio" by Autograph. The chorus came on, and I glanced down at the stereo to oblige the lyric's instructions, and that's when it happened. "I need the music, give me some mo-" **BAM** The front right tire shredded, and my truck instantly veered to the right... straight through the thin concrete barrier separating the bridge from open air. I don't really remember much from then; I think I hit my head on the window when the truck pulled. I remember the water rushing up to meet me, the roar of the engine, and Autograph insisting they needed a minute of play for every minute of work.
When I came to, I was back in the drivers seat, upright, and breathing normally. The tune of Autograph's hit single was stuck in my head, but what actually came to my ears was the distinctly identifiable sound of gunfire and what sounded like a fighter jet idling. Suddenly aware of the peculiarity of my surroundings, I spun around quickly in my seat. *I've been here before,* I thought. *A long time ago. But that was...* My eyes were widening in disbelief. *That was in a vide-* At that moment, the distinct screech of a Banshee flew over head, blue flames erupting from its right wing. It slammed into a tall spire, exploding, and sent debris careening everywhere. I heard a thud and muffled grunt from in front of me, and snapped around to see a pair of strange foot prints in the grass in front of my vehicle, but no one who could have made them. A heat distortion prevented me from seeing very far into the distance, but I could make out the shape of a similar tower, and a battle going on there. I looked up in the sky, and sure enough, saw the curved surface of a miniature dyson ring stretching up into the sky. *Halo.* I thought. I shoved the throttle on the Warthog all the way forward, and the truck rocketed forward towards the red flag. *Time to put all that practice to good use...* I thought. The Warthog jerked violently as it drove across some rough terrain, and settled back down onto the rolling hills of the map. Behind me, a dead red sangheili uncloaked as his armor ran out energy, with the unmistakable pattern of Puma tires imprinted on his face. | 2015-08-18T17:32:38 | 2015-08-18T17:30:29 | 100 | 12 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | I am not a good man.
James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great."
"Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?"
He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?"
I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached.
"What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us."
"You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked.
"Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers.
James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late."
I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits."
He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly.
"James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the *right thing*. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works."
"It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot.
"I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly.
I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue.
"Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right."
I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table.
A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat.
"It's...actually a tip. An apology, really."
"What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize."
"No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see."
I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out.
It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could.
"Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so."
I am not a good man because all the good men are dead. | The dark alley echoed with the footsteps of the villain and I knew that I had her right where I wanted them.
"I'll go get the purse if you let me keep half of the money."
They had seen what Dev could do first hand, when he had been stealing their purse, so there was no way that they were going to do it themselves. He had punched through a brick wall before snatching their purses. If they only knew some of Dev's other talents.... The purse snatchee had been making self deliberation faces for almost half a minute.
"Fine.", she said, in a voice that she hoped would indicate that it was very much not fine. I thought I heard her mutter something about "Damn heroes" and "Filthy crooks", but I was already rushing into the darkness.
About halfway through the alley I turned at the first corner I saw. I almost ran into Dev.
"Jesus Christ man. A little warning next time."
"I'm still mad at you."
"Why would you possibly be mad at me?"
"Because this plan doesn't make any fucking sense! Why are we giving the purse back? We already had the damn thing."
"That attitude right there is why you get to play the villain. You're just so naturally villainous."
"I get to play the villain because I can actually scare people. What are you going to do, shout at them that you can hear them extremely well as your robbing them?"
"Ha Ha asshole. Just give me the purse."
"What are you going to tell them, anyway? What if they want a demonstration of how you overcame me?"
"I'll say that I used my otherworldly wits to convince you to hand over the purse. I wouldn't even have to lie."
"Oh, shut up. Here - take the stupid thing."
I grabbed the purse from Dev's hand and turned back. If it wasn't dark in the alleyway I don't think I could have resisted the temptation to count the money before I gave it back. I tried to appear disheveled by messing up my hair a bit. It would have to do. I came around a corner and could see the woman still waiting.
I approached her.
"Thank you so much!" She said as she saw that I was holding her purse. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. I had justified this to myself as being some sort of lesson, like an anti purse snatching tax or something, but I knew that this part was going to suck.
"You're are very welcome." I handed her the purse. She pilfered through it. I saw some prescription medicine and reading glasses suddenly felt even worse. It felt like I was robbing my Grandma. She got to her wallet and started going through the money.
"Here is ... $30."
I was almost tempted to tell her to keep it, but my stomach rumbled at that exact moment. I remembered that there was a reason that I had to do this, and it wasn't like we stole her purse or anything.
"Thank you very much." I began walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction as her. I would meet Dev back at the house. He wouldn't be happy with $30, and I didn't think I could hold him back much longer. If he had his way, we were about to get into serious trouble, soon.
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-04-02T08:24:57 | 2017-04-02T08:22:39 | 82 | 32 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands. | They found the human puking in an alley.
Thorveig stood and watched him from across the way. The vomiting drunk hadn’t seen them yet, and probably wouldn’t any time soon. The buildings cast long shadows this far from the torchlight, and the full moon overhead added little. The drunk continued to wretch to the point of dry heaves.
To Thorveig’s left stood his son, Ragnar. He was slightly smaller than his father, but still broad and muscled. His hair was cut in a warrior’s stripe, plaited down his scalp. His hand rested idly on a sheathed dagger at his hip.
Ragnar pursed his lips and blew a quick burst of air around his tusks. In a hunter’s silent cant, it was a simple question: ‘Him?’
Thorveig responded with a small, sharp nod and a burst of air from his nostrils. ‘Yes.’
From behind them came a rapid cluck-cluck of a tongue. Ragnar glanced back to their third member, Grimnar. His shorn scalp was blackened with warpaint in a vicious triangle. He crouched behind them in between the buildings, and he gripped his dagger instead of resting his hand on it. His eyes betrayed his impatience. ‘Get on with it,’ they said. ‘I am eager to be gone from here.’ Ragnar looked back at Thorveig, who nodded once more. Across the street, the drunk had stopped wretching, and was crawling on his hands and knees towards the bottle that had rolled away.
The drunk crawled pathetically towards the bottle in the street. It glinted in the center of his bleary and tunneled vision, dancing back and forth in the moonlight as he padded towards it like a newborn. Just a little bit closer. The bottle was still about half full; that could keep him unconscious until tomorrow night if he finished it all. He reached out a trembling hand, but another was faster than he and grabbed the bottle. He started to whimper. He felt a pair of hands grasp him and lift him to his feet. He flinched away and covered his face.
“Oh, beggin your pardon,” the drunk slurred. “I’m gone home, really, just get my bottle and step on,” he pleaded with whoever was accosting him. The hands grabbing him were strong, stronger than he was on his best day. And he was far, far from his best days.
“Kurkusan,” The voice was iron in velvet, strong enough to pierce through the drunk’s fogged mind but not so loud as to attract attention. The drunk quit squeezing his eyes shut and lowered his hands from his face. Through his tears he saw a face he’d thought-he’d hoped-he’d never see again. Stern brow under a chieftain’s crest of hair, strong jaw with long tusks glinting.
“Thorveig…?” he slurred once more. His eyes drifted down and he shrugged his way out of the orc’s grip. The drunk leaned down, fumbling at the leather vest Thorveig was wearing. He staggered as he opened the vest, exposing a hideous scar that ran from the center of Thorveig’s chest and down towards his left hip. Thorveig opened his arms, fully vulnerable to the drunk’s inebriated ministrations. Ragnar stood to the side with the drunk’s bottle. His face was emotionless, but tiny flicks of his eyes and a subtle twitch of his ears showed his bewilderment to his father.
The drunk ran his fingers along Thorveig’s scar, examining. The trembling seemed to have left his fingers for a moment. He slurred again, inquisitive instead of fearful.
“S’ healing, then?” The alcohol made a mockery of enunciation. He stumbled back and looked Thorveig in the eye.
“Sit pain you at all? How’ur,” he paused to burp. “The muscles on that side. Mobility?” he swayed in front of the chieftain.
Thorveig gently grasped the drunk by his shoulders and smiled softly. “I am well, Kurkusan.”
At the sound of the name, the drunk’s face crumpled into anguish. Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. His voice became thick.
“Don’ call me that.” He feebly tried to push the massive orc away. “Thass not me. Not. Me. ‘Nymore.”
“I call you by your name, the name of your people, Kurkusan,” Thorveig replied.
The drunk said nothing, crestfallen.
“Kurkusan, you are not well,” Thorveig continued.
“Come, brother. Let us help you.” | I honestly thought I was retiring when I moved to Orsunder. The Orcish homeland was known for its vibrant landscapes and easy going weather (in some parts, most parts were quite harsh) so it made for easy retirement. Unfortunately for me I can’t predict political downfalls nor could I predict the capitulation of the Oraunderi government. The political turmoil in Orsunder led to a civil war in which several powerful warlords voted for control of Orsunder. Oddly enough An elvish invasion did manage to unit several of the warlords to fight against a now common enemy. I found myself, in what I thought was gonna be a beautiful retirement estate, but now was a field hospital for the various orcish raiding parties that roamed the countryside. About 2 months into the Oraunderi civil war/Elven invasion, I had treated well over 300 orcs, many leaving with toothy grins on their faces. I never thought any of them remembered me until my home became the target of a few hungry, and bored Elvish soldiers. They had decided that what was mine, was theirs, and they would take it, no matter how much I protested. As I pleaded with the elvish captain to lower his rifle and leave my home peacefully, I noticed a peculiar rumbling coming from just outside the walls of my estate. I never would have guessed what is was. Hundreds of orcs were marching on my estate with blood and hunger in their eyes. “You betta leave the good docta alone or you’ll suffa my blade elf!” The apparent commander of the orcs spoke with a booming voice. The elven soldiers began panicking to get into position to *attempt* to repel the seemingly massive horde of orcs. It wasn’t long until they broke rank and fled from my estate. “You guys came?”
“You ‘elped us doc, ‘course we’re gonna ‘elp you” | 2020-09-08T22:52:48 | 2020-09-08T21:34:56 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Yes," the official sighed, "for the last time. All you have to do is press the button."
"This doesn't make any sense. How did you know it was me?"
The government official sighed — again — and deflated a bit. I could tell he'd given up any hope of this being quick.
"You know what? Fine. Let's see. We've been doing this for..." He pauses, brow furrowing. "...500 years. Technology and society evolves. It takes a while, but we've gotten better. We know nothing next to nothing about the Chosen One, but usually, governments collaborate to find him."
I squinted at him.
A cough. "...Or her. Whoops." He grins.
I roll my eyes. "Fine. Assuming I buy that... what was the test? There's *billions* of people on this planet, there's almost no wa-"
"Anime."
"That's stupi — what? Did you just say... Anime?"
"Yes. Literally the one thing we know about the Chosen One is that they subconsciously search for, and consume, narratives that mirror their fundamental purpose. But they tend to be very specific — often aligning with characteristics you and the Dark Lord have, or will have. In your case, you watch a lot of anime. Like a lot. Like a ridiculous amount. Though I will say your cosplay's not bad, either."
I sputtered. "If you think I'm dumb enough to belie—"
"Look, Ava. Can I call you that? Or do you prefer SilverFoxStarlight76?" That grin slides across his face again, *clearly* enjoying my surprise. "Look. We're *sure.* I could run down the list — everything from the number of idiots we've had to employ to scour conventions and internet forums, to the years we've spent making sure of you *and* the Dark Lord — but I really want to get home, so I'll cut to the chase. We'll give you $5,000,000 if you push the damn button."
I'm at a loss for words. But before I could even think to say anything, my phone rings — Dad. The agent frowns, readying to say something, but I answer anyway, Fuck em'. I need the distraction anyway.
"Hey Dad! What's—"
"Ava." There's something wrong with his voice. My dad is one of the most upbeat, jubilant people I know. But not now. Right now, he sounds... off.
"Press the button."
My blood chills.
"What?"
"The money is more than enough to cover your mother's medical bills, not to mention you. Please, take it."
"Dad. How do you know any of this?"
"I'm so sorry. There isn't enough time. Just calling... was extremely difficult. I just need you to know this: everything they'll tell you about what I've done, and what I was planning to do... all of it, underneath, was fueled by my desire to help you and your mother. Most importantly: I love you." There's a gasp of pain from the other side of the line, and the most wretched, *evil* voice I have ever heard replaces my father's.
*"DON'T YOU FUCKING PRESS THAT BUTTON, YOU FUCKING BITCH. I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT WITH MY OWN TWO—"*
The voice stops abruptly, and I almost drop the phone in shock.
Another beat, and my father is back.
"...there's no more time, now. Please, Ava. Press it." The line goes dead.
I slowly pull the phone from my head. The agent is eyeing my oddly. "Who was that?" he asks.
"...$5,000,000, right?" I ask, ignoring him, suddenly sure about what I have to do.
He silently pulls a check out, waves it in the air. "Yes."
I lean forward and press the button. Somehow, deep in my chest, I know dad isn't coming home tonight. | "Alright, just make sure I'm showered with praise and a proper tale of my deeds spun from this... mundane action," I said. Then, a thought occurred to me. "Wait, why don't you push it?"
The priest frowned and said: "I'm no chosen one. Nothing would happen, you see."
I shrugged and said: "Yes, yes. Whatever. And please? Let the people know I did something heroic."
"Of course," said the priest. "It will be not far from the truth, but not so close to it either. You'll have your fame. Be assured of that."
The button was placed on a pedestal on the other end of the room. I went over to it and heard the priest call behind me. "It will be a tale to be told for many centuries."
I pressed the button. I felt a slight headache and then: nothing. "This did nothing," I said, turning around, "What's the-" my words caught as I saw the priest leap at me, hands glowing with a menacing light.
"FOOL! YOU FELL FOR IT!" I heard him shout, his voice otherwordly. "THUNDER CROSS SPLIT ATTACK!" | 2020-11-09T13:08:44 | 2020-11-09T12:09:48 | 132 | 80 |
[WP] You are forced to take a genies place, and can only be freed once you have granted 10 wishes. The catch: You have no magic in any way. | Okay listen. Forget everything you think you know about genies, because you’re wrong. They aren’t magical, or powerful, they’re not even immortal. The only thing a genie is, is cursed. I know this because *I* am a genie. I am trapped in this awful existence until I can help ten people with their wishes. But that’s really hard to do, because like I said, I’m no more powerful than you. The *only* magic that is involved in this whole thing is the magic used to bind me to this role. It freakin’ sucks.
But it’s not impossible for me to succeed. I think if I’m creative and clever, and most of all extremely lucky, I will be able to escape this curse. It might take a few years, hopefully less than a decade, I just have to meet the right people. Now, if my stupid lamp appeared buried somewhere in the middle of a desert I would be fucked for sure, but it doesn’t. Thank god. It appears randomly in populated areas, so it’s found pretty frequently.
Like, once it appeared in a claw machine at the mall. The kid that found it was awesome, all he wanted was some good grades on his report card so he could get his Xbox back. I helped Aston study almost every day after school and I’m proud to say he came home with three A’s and two B+’s. My lamp teleported away before I could see if his mom gave back his game system. I’m sure she did, I hope she was proud.
I got a few dead ends after that one. People wanting to be millionaires, or for the dead to come back to life (even movie genies can’t do that guys, come on). At least I get some sort of a “veto” power for wishes. People don’t get a redo on what they wish for, so if it’s impossible I can move on pretty quickly. I’d still be stuck on my first wish if that wasn’t the case.
Anyway, the next success I had came a few months later, when I met Peter. My lamp appeared in a small alley. Peter’s alley. He was digging in the trash for cans to recycle and found the lamp. I explained things to him, I’m a genie, he gets one wish, yada yada yada, and he took a while to think about it. Handled the whole thing pretty well, actually. Better than most people. After we hung out in the alley for a while, he asked if I’d listen to a story, and of course I agreed. He told me about his life. It was typical enough, his father died when he was young, he met a girl in high school and got her pregnant. They were married for a year or so, and after they split she won custody. Pete got depressed, started drinking. He was never good with money, so it was just a couple years and a short fall to living on the street, or sometimes in the city shelter.
I felt bad for him, but I was also kind of excited, because his one wish was to find his daughter. And that was a wish I could probably grant. And I did! It wasn’t very difficult at all, actually. I had her name and some information about her, and when I looked into it, it turned out she hadn’t even left the state. Easy. I called her up and explained I was a friend of Peters (I left the ‘me being a genie’ part out), and she drove in to the city that Saturday. I didn’t go into the café to meet her with Peter, but I caught a glimpse of the young woman inside when I brought him there and hugged him goodbye. I hope things turned out alright between the two.
My next success came right after Peter, but it took me a year and a half. Alicia. Ohhh, Alicia, you adorable, silly, *annoying* young woman. I’d love to praise her for chasing her dreams, but *god damn* those dreams turned out to be pretty high up there. Alicia was an actress. Well, she wanted to be. An occasional local commercial does not make you an actress, she explained. Alicia's wish was for a significant movie role or a role as a regular on a TV show. She was very specific. She didn’t say she wanted to be a superstar, so I thought I could help, I agreed to the wish. Let me tell you, I knew almost *nothing* about the industry, but there wasn’t one agent in Hollywood more dedicated than I. I worked harder than anyone, stalking producers, making calls, and begging writers. I’m pretty sure I was happier than Alicia when I finally got her a role on a new fall series. I cried.
So yeah, anyways. It’s been three years and I’ve granted 5 wishes. Halfway there. Point is, I’m a genie, but the wishes I’ve granted are ones that you could’ve granted too. Heck, chances are you could’ve done them *better* than I did, or at least faster. I’ve helped five people achieve the one thing they want most in life, and none of it took any magic at all. And I’m not gunna say I’d ever choose this life, I fully believe it is a curse, but I guess I’ll admit it has its moments.
| From out of the bottle poured shifting smoke. The man stared at it, jaw agape, as the tendrils swirled up and began to take form. Wisps gave way to skin, flowing and changing into cloth and metal. At last, before him stood the strange inhabitant of the lamp.
I coughed and stretched as my fingers reformed, then tugged my t-shirt down over my stomach.
"Wassup."
The man sat down as though dropped, butt landing in the sand with a light "thump." I looked around; sand, gentle waves, seagulls, grass. All the usual things a beach should have. The giant glass-and-metal tower in the distance was new. Guess my latest stint in there *was* closer to a hundred years than twenty.
"So... just in case you're wondering, you have just opened my bottle. Thanks for that by the way. My name is-"
"Are you a genie!?" he interrupted. Rude.
"Ah. Well, not really, not a genie as such."
"But the bottle-"
"Yeah, the whole 'smoke and bottle' thing. That's the magic of the bottle; I can't do so much as a card trick. Just a normal human."
The man looked down, crestfallen. It's at this stage that I tend to feel sorry for people... if I didn't have to deal with what came after.
"So you can't grant wishes..."
I tried to clam up, but then I felt the irresistible PULL. Damn that bottle.
"Actually... I do grant wishes. Well, a wish. Per master." His face turned up in a mixture of hope and confusion.
"You do? But you said-"
"Yeah yeah, no magic. I don't. Still have to satisfy your request-" and I held against the PULL for as long as I could before spitting out, "-master."
With that he leapt up, bottle in hand. "Excellent! Then I am ready to make my wish!"
I clapped my hands and smiled. I love when they wish impulsively: makes it go so much faster. "Great! Let's hear it! Need some romantic help? A storage shed cleared? Taxes filed?"
"No great genie!" Hoo boy. They don't listen. "For my wish I command you-"
Pleasebesimple, pleasebesimple, pleasebesimple, pleasebesimple...
"To free my town from the cruel warlord that now rules it!"
Shit. | 2015-04-20T09:18:28 | 2015-04-20T08:39:04 | 281 | 125 |
[WP] You are immortal, but no one knows. You are given a life sentence in prison, and you laugh thinking about the confusion to come at the end of your sentence. | Lee: "Look, I'm telling you, I know *nothing* of where my powers came from"
Researcher: "We already know that you're lying, we used technology to determine that"
Lee: "Well your technology failed you! I don't remember anything. I don't even know my first name or my first family. I don't even know how long I've been alive!"
Researcher: "Well, if you want to do it like that, we can do it like that. We're not in any hurry anyway. Hahahaha!"
I was being kept in the white room for a very long time. I was being tortured. Electrocuted. Drowned, over and over again. Burned. I do not believe that it is possible to experience any agony stronger than what I went through. They fed me some drugs that prevented me from sleeping and made me lose sense of time. I don't know how long I was in there, but I know that it felt like hundreds of years. Can you imagine being locked in a blindlingly white room, without *anything* to interact with except needles and pain and suffering and weakness.
The door opened. It felt like the last time anyone had opened it was months ago.
"You're free to go".
"What?"
"You heard me, here put this on"
I put on the fresh clothes. The fabric was so good, it smelt very nice. I had forgotten what's it like to smell something nice.
It took about 15 minutes to get to the exit. Apparently I was held very deeply underground.
The wind hit my face. It felt so refreshing. I felt so full of hope. Finally I can go.
I realized that I had been so relieved to feel something again that I forgot to ask them why they let me go.
I started turning my head around to look at the man who escorted me
"Hey uh-" but there stood something else "what the fuck?"
It looked like a nightmare. This wasn't the man who escorted me. The man didn't have a rotten head, bubbles of puss on the forehead and neck, waiting to burst open. Spiders and ants and centipedes and worms crawling through his eyes and mouth and holes in flesh. The creature opened its mouth and let out the most painful and terryfing screech I've ever heard.
Everything faded to black.
I hear some faint voices in the distance
"Is he waking up?"
I open my eyes. I remember this room. I remember it vividly, for some reason, even though my memory is usually very wonky.
"Welcome back. How long were you in there? Hahahahahaha!"
I feel very confused. "Back? Where was I?"
I start remembering the white room, the centuries I spent in it.
"Oh, we are introducing a new punishment system, we connect you to a virtual reality and make it feel like you're imprisoned for as long as we want, while only hours pass in the real world! Isn't that wonderful? Hahahahahaha!"
I start remembering the torture I went through. I start remembering the man who escorted me. I remember the nightmare I saw this man turning into.
"So, are you ready to tell us your secret to immortality now?"
Anger washed over me. How do they not understand. They will only bring pain to themselves if I tell them. "No, I'm not telling you"
"Very well then. Boys, hook him back up! See you in a thousand years. Hahahahaha!"
I woke in a black room. At least now I remember that this is a virtual reality, this means I'll have to plot my escape.
This is what they didn't account for. That I could actually become lucid and learn to control my virtual reality. It's all in *my* mind, after all. I will just become my own god until they bring me back. Then it's just going to repeat again, probably forever.
If only they understood. The truth is, the reason I am immortal is because I know that the "real" world is just as much of a simulation as any other virtual world. Maybe all of the real world exists in some poor tortured souls head souls, just like me and my world.
I can only pray that the god of the real world will realize this and pull me out. But the again, who cares! I have my own world, where I am god myself!
| There is a legend in this jail, one prisoner who has been here for over 100 years, but with no elderly inmates, no official story from the guards, it remains just that, legend.
There have been countless riots, prison breaks, uprisings and attempted coups over the years, the management and staff have been changed so often hell, they can't keep track of inmates that have been in less than 10 years much less 100, I've survived it all by keeping my head down.
I started my sentence in the year 1998 and now
as I spend my 100th year inside even I forget what I did to get here, all I know is I'm getting pretty bored about now.
Today, I got summoned to the office to be confronted by a panel who inform me my multiple life sentence have now ended but they want to know, why do I still look 30? They have confirmed my identity by the tattoos, you never lose the mark of the Reich. Oh? Maybe that's why I'm here? I don't know, but neither do the suits!
For the first time ever, a multi lifer, actually gets out.
No-one knows why I'm here, no-one knows how old I am or will ever be but fuck it, I survived the camps and gas of the Reich and now 100 years in various jails. They'll figure it out like so many before them but because the idea is impossible, that someone could live forever, they'll dismiss it like the rest. So for now, I am a free man again, now to figure out what I'm going to do for eternity......shit. | 2017-05-20T22:17:01 | 2017-05-20T21:53:53 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] The most prestigious orchestra in the world improves its playing each concert by killing the worst player after every performance.
My friend gave me the idea for this after joking about how they do this. | The audience rose, applause thundering from the black-suited men and gown-clad women. The spotlights went into a dazzling frenzy, making Clementina Franz's eyes water.
"Thank you, thank you," Anatoly Bolenov's voice boomed from the speakers. "It was our pleasure to bring you Rimsky Korsakov's finest—"
Clementina tightened her grip around the violin's neck to stop it from slipping through her sweaty fingers. Her left hand was trembling uncontrollably, and she held it close to her side lest anyone noticed it.
"Amazing, huh?" Kyle Damper whispered to her from the corner of his mouth.
She gulped and didn't answer. Her fellow violinist sounded positively gleeful, but she only wanted to dive into her bed at home and yank the covers over herself, preferably after downing an entire bottle of strong drink.
For how could he know? This was his first performance; he hadn't been accepted until three weeks ago. She'd been with the orchestra for months. She knew what was coming for her.
"—and once more, give it up for Virtuoso!" Anatoly ended his speech with a sweeping gesture, but for a moment his eyes locked with Clementina's. They were cold as death, but she forced herself to bow as cheering and clapping erupted once more.
***
By the time Clementina, who had dragged her feet every step of the way, returned to the rehearsal room backstage, her fellow musicians were already gathered inside and celebrating.
Jim and Simon, twin bassoonists barely out of their teens, were backslapping some of the others. Donna was distributing chocolate from her cello case. Even the quietest member, the pianist Farrah, wasn't sitting in a corner carefully sorting her sheets into colored folders like she usually did, but chatting with Kord and Scott the percussionists.
But when she entered, they all fell silent. Not looking at them, she moved through the room toward her violin case, next to where Kyle was texting on his phone.
When she reached it, he leaped to his feet and beamed at her. "I can't believe it! Playing with you guys, being here in Berlin. I swear I saw—"
"I'm happy you enjoyed yourself," she said wearily as she bent to retrieve her case.
"My wife's just as excited as I am," he said, waving his phone. "I wonder if they'll televise it? Wait till my kids see me!"
Clementina drew a spare bow from her case and held it up to inspect it. Light caught on its tip, giving it a silvery sheen.
Kyle stared at the bow. "What are you doing?"
"You missed a note," she said, and plunged the bow into his heart.
He gasped and tried to fight back, but Jim and Simon caught hold of his arms. Clementina wasn't sure whose body was trembling more, hers or Kyle's in his dying throes. Her mind was blank, and she couldn't even make herself look away from his widened eyes until the light faded from them.
"First one's always the toughest," someone said quietly behind her. She jumped and turned to face Anatoly, who was staring wistfully at Kyle. "He had so much potential. I really thought ..." He shook his head and looked at her. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you were his mentor."
"None but the best, right, sir?" she said, her voice hoarse and cracking.
He sighed, and turned to face the rest. "We seem to be going through the new recruits really quickly." Everyone was looking at him with rapt attention. "Might be time to start the pruning process earlier, maybe during rehearsals themselves so we don't keep getting repeat applications."
Facing Clementina once more, with a humorless smile on his face, he said, "Get rid of the body, and get an ad out. We need fresh meat."
***
Edit: typos and stuff
| He knew the risks, but the rewards - the rewards were intangible.
Seriously. Money. Nope. Nobody cares about orchestras - even the best one ever. Football players might get concussions that leave them all messed up, but at least they are feeling numb in a pool in the little back yard of their mansion, staring blankly at Los Angeles. Quite a view. Probably should have stuck with basketball.
The only reward for playing violin was the feeling it gave him. It was the only time he felt truly alive. Some well adjusted people probably get that feeling from seeing friends or driving a car really fast, but some probably don't ever get that feeling. At least not as adults.
He knew the risks. But fuck it, 100 people in the orchestra. He was in the top 10%. There would be many a show before his time would come.
That's what he thought. Until he rocked out a little too hard. Snapped a string. During a solo.
Game over. They didn't even wait til the show was over. Shotgun blast, "that's entertainment." At least he died doing what he loved. | 2016-03-03T20:57:36 | 2016-03-03T17:24:59 | 53 | 19 |
[WP] You’re cursed with immortality, not because you sold your soul or you’re a sort of immortal creature but because a few thousand years ago, you stepped on the back of Death’s robe and being the petty shit Death is, he hasn’t forgiven you since.
Edit: okay, wow, I definitely did not expect this to get so popular and to the front page. It was just a little random thing! Thank you so much everyone! I love all your entries! | The body lasted as long as most bodies do. Technically, I died at 82, which was a slightly longer than average lifespan for the era. It came as a surprise, because I thought I was going to live forever.
Death had told me so. When he came to pick me and my family up from the wreckage of the car crash, I yelled at him to spare my kids. But I'm sure everyone does that. I even tried intimidating him, using whatever courage and desperation I could muster, to stand nose to hood with him and tell him he could take me but he had to leave my kids. Instead of answering me, the empty hood slowly turned downward, and as I followed its 'gaze' I realized I was standing on his robe. Then I heard his voice echoing in my head, "No. I'll take \*them\*, and \*you\* will live forever." In a flash of light, I was in the ambulance.
I first assumed it was the weirdness of a near-death experience and the gripping remorse of driving my kids into oncoming traffic. But eventually I became more and more convinced that what I experienced was real, and that I was never going to die.
I promised myself I'd never test it though, I'd never try to take my own life. Maybe part of me still had a shred of doubt, maybe I was holding on to the idea that I still had a purpose left on this earth and I should spend the time to figure it out. Whatever it was, I never really tested my immortality. But I did take a few more risks, I traveled more, felt a little bolder. The next 30 years were actually some of the most interesting of my life.
Then the cancer came. It moved quickly and before long I was on my proverbial 'death bed.' Still, I was convinced that Death would never come for me, so I didn't really know what to think about my situation. How was this going to play out? On one hand, I was ready for my life to be over; the aches and pains of an 82-year old body were getting to me and I had lived the full arc of a human life. On the other, it was hard to reconcile that my life could end when I had just spent the last 30 years of it fully convinced that it never would.
In the end, it all became clear.
See, there's a difference between the body and the soul (turns out organized religion had something there!). The body dies, there was nothing to stop the cells from doing what they were programmed to do. But *I*... *I* didn't die. The "me" that is my soul lives on.
Unfettered by a body, I exist. Unlimited by the wiring of a brain or the scope of an eye, I experience many things at once. The experiences are different though, less connected to a visceral memory and more of a general 'awareness.' They're actually a lot less satisfying. I'm diffuse but localized, not really in 'one' place but definitely 'near' one area. I can't control my own movement, but drift along with a tide or wind that exists near me.
So now I watch. I can't influence anything, I can't really control anything. I can't \*do\* anything. I can just be. And it's excruciatingly boring. | *I know the ending I want but I need the earlier story...*
"As I fell to the ground I couldn't believe that I had found another like me...another immortal person stuck here just like me. She was amazing, if I had to spend the rest of eternity here I don't care! I have never been more happy in my life. What are the odds that after a thousand years I finally find my soul mate?"
Happiness filled my soul and I couldn't wait to see her once I hit the ground. As I got closer I see her waving and smiling from ear to ear. Her lips whisper, "I love you".
Suddenly I begin to feel cold and a hand on my shoulder, softly a whisper in my ear, "Your curse has ended"... | 2018-10-12T12:08:44 | 2018-10-12T11:37:08 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | He walks out the door, closing it. The click of a key turning the lock. I didn't eat him today either. Awareness of my surroundings tell me it's mostly quiet. Two mice argue over a little piece of cheese. Might make a meal of them later. For now they're over by the mirror, and that's too far away. Wouldn't do to reveal myself by moving. He almost caught me once, being an inch out of place from where he saw me the night before. Adventurers... too perceptive by far. Old adventurers even more so.
Movement. Scratching. The click of a lock, but it sounds off. Muffled speech. I never bothered to learn spoken language so I ignore it. Body language, though. That I understand. These two are sneaking, searching, clumsy in the darkness. My awareness tells me there's a third one outside. They open cupboards, look under furniture. One of them picks up a bag of colourful rocks and seem excited about it. His bag. His coloured rocks... he likes those rocks. I've seen him talk to the small humans about them. Gesturing with his hands and pretending to fight something og use a pickaxe somewhere or... he LIKES those rocks!
Suddenly, I realize I've moved. A second later, they realize I've moved. That second is a lifetime, or what's left of one, for the one with the bag. But without the element of surprise, the others... huh.
It's mostly quiet. The two mice were scared off by the rucus, leaving a little piece of half eaten cheese next to the little bag of coloured rocks. It doesn't matter. I've had my meal. So, to my surprise, has the door and the mirror.
Edit: fixed an annoying typo | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-22T04:19:06 | 1,468 | 32 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | The students filed into the room slowly, some clearly uncomfortable in the more modern clothing that had, for the moment, replaced the tradition student robes. The front of the room was dominated by a stack of crates, each containing a small chicken, in varying levels of calm.
"Silence," the professor began, gesturing toward the crates. "Today's test will be scored entirely on the practical. You have each had two weeks to design your elemental suit, and to tune it for today's task. 50 points if the chicken dies, an additional 20 points for avoiding obvious distress, and the final 30 points for, and I wish to stress this to you, Miss Havers, the amount of usable meat left on the bird after the standard Decruft charm has been applied. Automatic failures for miscasting Decruft, including deliberately casting something other than Decruft, and for use of a non-elemental or non-original suit to complete the assignment." The chickens calmed at the gesture, blissfully unaware of their impending doom. "Now, as I call you..."
"Rebecca," the teacher called as she place the first chicken on the scale. A mousy girl, with hesitant steps and glasses that made her eyes seem the size of saucers, stood and walked to the front if the class. She made a short sharp gesture, whispering under her breath. The chicken's head fell off, neatly severed by a blade of Air. "Antacroix," she intoned, and the feathers, skin and bones all neatly piled themselves in the garbage container next to the desk.. The teacher looked down and said "2kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Tyler," she called, placing an identical chicken on the scale. The ginger stepped up and clapped his hands together dramatically, as twin hands of stone pulverized the bird's head. "Antacroix," he added, sending the bones to join their compatriots in the garbage. "2 kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Jessica". A clenched fist and a snarled "Fuegomaximo" later, the teacher sniffed and said, "400 grams, some distress, 69 points."
"Robert" "Glugtegra.," he intoned, the chicken panicking as its tiny lungs filled with water. "2kg, Severe distress, 80 points.
"Alexander," she called next. Without getting up, he snapped his fingers and the chicken made a "wark?" noise before falling over. "Antacroix," he added with a yawn. The teacher pressed her lips together and said "2 kg, no distress, necromancy, 0 points." Alexander jumped to his feet and yelled. "Necromancy? That was a Stone suit!" The teacher scowled "Stone Heart is still a necromancy suit, and not original to boot. See me after class. James!!"
===
The Dean harumphed. "This should be easy enough to determine," he said, his titanic shoulders moving like bridge supports. "What did the Thaumeter register?" Miss Factial scowled again. "The Thaumeter registered .15, which is consistent with a small conjuration cantrip.. The Dean nodded. "And Stone Heart would register 76 if cast by a competent amateur. I think we can safely say that while Alexander does have an unusual background, he isn't eighty times as efficient as the ranking Necromancers on the Council. I'm going to dismiss the accusation of plagiarism. Did you bring another clone?"
Miss Fractia nodded, and placed it, and a scale, on the Dean's desk. "Repeat your spell, Alexander, but just the first one." Alexander snapped his fingers, and once again the chicken made a 'wark?' sound and expired. The Dean pulled on a pair of glaves and breathed 'Sectus Severus, splodeo'. Lines of force criscrossed the skin of the dead bird and it burst into the air, the dozens of pieces slowly revolving around a central axis, maintaining perfect relation to each other. He stared into the heart of the carcass for most of a minute before pointing to the head. "Here's the cause of death," he said. "Poor thing's brain is half-crushed and half just gone. I'm not sure how you do it with a cantrip, but that's not soul work. How'd you do it boy?"
Alexander sighed, "You aren't going to understand. It's based on something from my home world."
"Try me"
"The suit creates a very small piece of stone, but gives it an extent less than its own Event Horizon and a minuscule duration . The gravity generated inside the skull compacts some of the tissue into nothingness and liquefies the rest before the stone vanishes, preventing the destruction of the world."
"Oh." | "Professor? You wanted to see me?"
The professor seemed to have calmed down since the student first turned in their assignment. The look of terror had gradually subsided as the class went on, though there was still a note of wariness in the professor's eyes. The professor nodded.
"Is it about the spell?" the student had expected a wide array of responses when the spell was presented, but horror wasn't one of them. Annoyed, certainly. Amused, if the student were lucky. "The thing is, I have an appointment with the hospital pretty soon and—"
"Oh, of course, then I'll make it quick. You see, I've been teaching for almost twenty years," the professor began. "And rarely, if ever, have I met a student with outright malicious intentions. So I'm assuming that your spell erasing any red ink on a piece of paper is more a prank than anything else. Am I correct?"
The student shrugged halfheartedly, hoping it didn't come across as too arrogant. "You have to admit, it's funny."
"Grading! You know it's the bane of my existence." The professor, only half-exasperated. "You're lucky I know how to take a joke. Professor Kinely would make you redo this assignment."
The student smiled innocently. "But you won't?" the student asked, almost teasingly.
"No, I won't. But that's not what I really wanted to talk about. You recall, early in our lessons, we talked about subjective descriptors when it comes to command spells."
The student nodded.
"Well, this is where color comes in. You see, red is not something which can be objectively defined. It depends on who is seeing it. So your spell can be interpreted many different ways. So it can either cause someone to stop seeing red, or it can cause all ink to be erased entirely. It's unknown until the spell is tested."
The student froze. "Oh, uh, I think I might know which it is."
A disapproving look settled in the professor's eyes. "Is your appointment with an optometrist?"
"...Yes."
"Well, that's one mystery solved." The professor turned back to her computer. "You're dismissed." | 2021-04-02T01:22:24 | 2021-04-02T00:45:54 | 302 | 176 |
[WP] Children are allowed to live until the age of five at which point they are put before and tested by a committee to determine their potential to contribute to society. Those deemed unfit or sociopathic are terminated.
Today is Marcus' fifth birthday. Describe why bappens to him. | "Results?" Mr. Vernon asked causally as he poured the remaining bitter residue of his coffee down the office sink.
"Little Marcus is a Level C." replied Doctor Moray as she pushed the papers into his hands.
"Refresh my memory, are we talking passive aggressive intern here or insane knife welding serial killer?" Vernon asked.
"Two grades above insane knife welding serial killer" said Moray with a smirk, "He's around the level of a child-enslaving industrialist. No doubt about it, all the signs were clear as day."
"Have the parents been informed yet?" said Vernon as he skimmed over the lab result papers in his hand.
"I got Debbie on the job." replied Moray, "she'll break it to them any second now."
They turned to hear a muffled gasp from the other side of the wall.
"Oh god, I always hate this part." growled Vernon as he plugged his ears.
The gasp was then followed by an ear piercing scream. A flurry of angry shouts and gibberish argument soon filled the air.
"It's always the damn mothers who through the hissy fits" said Vernon as he refilled his cup with another serving of cold coffee, "I don't understand why the break room must be next to the waiting room? Do they think we enjoy listening to annoying babbling of parents this early in the morning."
"I rather like listening." replied Moray, "It's a personal hobby of mine to guess the content of the family from their squabbling. Already I can tell that Mrs. and Mr. Landon are most likely from rural suburbs with their accents, mostly poor and undereducated as well, and judging from Mrs. Landon's god awful lisp, her husband should be having an affair by now. That's only if he isn't ugly."
"You're so full of yourself, Doc." snark Vernon, "Every psychologist seems to have convince themselves that they can unveil the darkest secrets of a man's life through judging how they eat their bagels in the morning. Valerie, you are just a child shrink. You can only estimate the mental state of toddlers."
"Don't you know there's still child inside us all" Moray smugly replied as she brush the remaining crumbs of Vernon's breakfast off his shirt. Ironically being that of an onion bagel.
"The only child in you was the one you lead to your gingerbread house." growled Vernon.
Debbie walked in, her face bright red and dripping beads of sweat, "Those folks are really not taking it well." She said, "Are you sure you got the results right, Doctor Moray?"
"Yes, now get off this property." replied Moray, "Marcus is in our care now."
Debbie nodded and returned to the waiting room, more shouting was heard, including the audible words of murderers and monsters.
Vernon, having finished his seconded cup of coffee, said farewell to Moray and walked towards the containment cells area.
Sure enough, there was Marcus playing rather aggressively with several toys behind a thick plexiglass wall.
"Hello Mr. Landon" said Vernon in a whimsy voice behind the glass, "My name is Mr. Vernon, I'm your caretaker today, but you call call me Walter if you wish to have a first name basis."
"You're going to kill me aren't you?" Marcus replied not looking up.
"You got it, champ!" laughed Vernon, "From this day forward, Marcus Landon will be dead and Reuther Thompson will be born!"
Marcus turned to him confused.
"You passed the test!" said Vernon rather excitedly, "You are just the right flavor of sociopath that our government needs. Not too crazy yet not too bland."
"But you said I'll be dead." He asked still confused.
"Marcus will be dead." replied Vernon, "Marcus will be put into the obituary papers and have a grave commemorating him for dieing so young. Reuther on the other hand will walk out off this building with a set of new parents and will eventually start training for his future career."
Even for a five year old, Marcus was smart and quick to catch on, "Alright... Walter I, Reuther Thompson, thinks that the most appropriate way to celebrate passing the test is get some ice cream."
Vernon let out a small laugh as escorted the recently born Reuther out of the containment cell, "Don't push it." He harshly whispered. | Some children grasp things more slowly than others. This is a fact. This is not a fact that is considered important to the committee. We care little for the accommodation of those we cannot use.
Marcus is five. Marcus is slower. Marcus cannot yet go to the bathroom on his own, nor has he memorized the lessons required for his committee hearing. He has yet to speak his first word. Such a failure has not been seen in the history of these hearings. This toddling sack of flesh serves no purpose aside from the draining of resources.
He sits before us dumbly. The Speaker is directing questions towards him. The boy looks up, intelligent enough to recognize the origin of a sound, but not its meaning. A woman stands in the corner. Judging by her weak chin and poor composure, she is the mother of this useless thing. Ten minutes ago she had begun to sniffle. Now her open cries annoy the room. Her son doesn’t seem to recognize his bearer’s pain, he is too dumb for this also. Nodding to a man in the corner, I restore silence.
Empathy is a useless thing. When my child’s time came it was questioned whether or not I should remain on the committee for her hearing. A “conflict of interests” was argued. They were wrong. I had no qualms condemning her. Empathy is useless.
I will make this committee impeccable. I will ensure such rigorous efficiency that no one who is unfit should ever live. No one like me.
This hearing has gone on too long. We will not pander to the idea of hope any longer. I stand and The Speaker is silent. There are many more we must test and little time. We must continue. | 2014-12-01T18:30:26 | 2014-12-01T18:02:10 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] Following the death of Batman, the Joker is despondent. Crime without Batman is like a joke without a punchline. That people dare commit crime in his absence is an insult to his oeuvre of mayhem and to the craft itself. To protect his legacy, the Joker vows to keep the streets of Gotham clean. | Oh, it made me crazy!
The muggers and the dealers. The hitmen and the bank robbers. The big-tough-shit mafiosos with their stinking cigars.
It made me wild!
The way they strutted around at night, after the sun had set on Gotham. Whistling. Laughing. Having a gay old time.
As if they hadn't spent the last decade afraid of the dark. Afraid of the masked vigilante. Terrified that at any moment, he might zip out of the shadows and beat their faces to goo.
As if they'd never even *heard* of the Batman! Let alone trembled at the mere mention of his name.
It made me sick!
Because what the hell was it all for without him? What was there to be proud of in the art of crime, now that he was gone? It was grown men taking candy from babies. A professional team, alone on the field, scoring on an empty net.
"So why the hell are you celebrating?" I shouted from the rooftop, raising my voice over the ringing alarm.
The robbers were meandering out of the bank. Taking their time. The duffles of money slung around their shoulders. High-fiving one another. They weren't even wearing masks or balaclavas.
"Disgusting!" I shouted. I was drunk. I had taken to drinking since my old-buddy-pal-nemesis-bat-brother's death. "A bunch of sloppy, artless bandits! A bucket of turds!"
I squinted up at the benighted city. No blue and red lights flashing. No cruisers on the way. The true law had abandoned Gotham when the Batman died. Now the cops were in league with the criminals. Probably the new commissioner had planned this robbery out with them. Probably they were going to drive their SUVs over to his house right now, to give him his cut of the spoils.
Despicable.
"Crime is giving a dicking to order!" I shouted down at them, swaying drunkenly at the edge of the bank rooftop. "It's taking a piss on the rules! Blasting holes in their organizations! With fireworks and dynamite! Organized crime? *Organized*? It's a sin against chaos! It's blasphemy!"
"Hey!" one of the robbers called to his buddies. He turned and pointed up at me. "That's that, uh. . .What the hell was his name? That clown. The one who used to get into with, uh, the Bat Guy. . .Hey clown! What are you bitching about?"
"You!" I shouted. "Buzzing fly! You and your kind! Filling the city with dung! Breeding in it, day and night! Multiplying, multiplying, without your natural predator around to keep you in check. You belong in the stomachs of bats! You hear me? You're bat food! All of you!"
"Come off it!" he cried. "Those days are over. Long gone. We beat the bat."
"*You* beat the bat?" I thundered.
"That's right," the punk said, smiling, nudging his friends. "*I* beat the bat. I personally spanked his ass to death."
Now that was a laugh. Now *that* was a laugh! Him! Beating the Batman!
"Ha!"
His cronies leaned against their SUVs, gabbing. Vaping. One seemed to be on the phone with his wife. All while the alarm kept sounding. They felt no fear. They were in no rush. They knew nobody was coming to get them.
"I beat him," the punk continued, "and now it's easy pickings out here. All it takes is a revolver, and you can make yourself a wealthy man. Hell, come work for me. I'll put a gun in your hand and some cash in your pocket. You don't gotta live like a bum. Like a dirty old has-been. Come get while the getting's good. What do you say, clown? Huh? . .What do you think?"
It was a good question. What *did* I think?
I thought in a time of pure deceit, it's the truth that goes against the grain.
I thought in a world of injustice, it's justice that turns the world upside down.
I thought that the guiding idea of my life had been chaos. But if everything was chaos already, that made chaos the *order* of the day. And if chaos was order, well, then, wasn't imposing some order the only chaotic act left?
"I'm not sure if it makes any sense," I shouted. "How I worked it all out. In in my brain. The funnyman's whiskied. Nevertheless, let me tell you. . ."
I jumped down from the rooftop and landed in front of the punk. I pulled out my comb and dragged it back through my greasy green locks, making sure my hair was neatly parted. If I was going to represent order in this town, I'd have to start looking the part.
"Tell me what, clown?" the punk asked with a smirk.
I tapped him on the nose with my comb. "You and your friends are under arrest."
"You're joking," he laughed.
"No," I growled, shaking my head. "I've never been more serious."
\- - -
Check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | The Batman was dead.
Twirling the pistol in his hand Joker stared blankly into its round chamber as the dark cathedrals candles light grew lighter and lighter as the dark coffin of Bruce Wayne sat under him. So close to Batman yet a Hell of a distance.
Three loud thumps were heard at the door as Harvey Dent, known as Two Face was brought in by the skull crushing, back breaking, Bane.
"What do you want Joker? I got a job to do."
Staring at the coffin his one good eye rose as he looked at the coffin.
"Bane leave us." Joker said as his statue like face stared deep into Bane. Bane knew that Batman's death was no accident and he did not want to be around to see what was to happen next.
With the loud steps fading behind them and the whisk of the door sending candles lights off, Dent took a coin out of his pocket and flung it up into the air as Joker smiled at him.
"Joker, what do you need. No time for games." Dent said as the coin landed with the scratches deep inside. "You have five minutes."
"Time oh time, what a silly thing. One moment you have it like a stuffed animal the next poof Father Time takes your hand and sends you to Hell."
"You aren't the Riddler, Joker. And with Batman's death your jokes have only been getting worse then they already were."
Joker stared at Dent with a still expression. Something was wrong. Joker never stopped smiling unless it was something bad. Taking steps through the cathedral as he jumped clear through the sky off the coffin Joker's eyes glazed up towards the ceiling.
"If you look up Dent you see nothing but wood. There used to be stars there. Stars that battled but never won or lost as their epic battle, their legacy was to duel forever. When the stars fade one by one leaving only one behind it leaves an empty sky to be conquered. It's chaos and I sip it like that fire did to your face." Smirking Joker shot Harvey square in the eye, the blood flowing as he screamed.
"Batman may be dead, but if one goes down, the rest shall follow, whether good or chaos it all comes to an end. Or with you. Just one big dent!" Laughing with his painted grin going wider then ever before Dent's swiss cheese body fell to the floor.
"Now" Joker said smirking. "Oh Bane~ I got quite the present for you." He said as he pulled out the canister of acid. "Oh this will pit you in your place" He laughed truly feeling like himself again. A changed clown, but still the crown prince of crime. | 2021-08-23T20:25:50 | 2021-08-23T19:42:53 | 1,696 | 133 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything | "Fifty-seven."
The man spat out a bit of blood and shook his head. "Fifty-seven what? What the hell are you going on about?"
"Fifty-seven," I replied, pacing around the chair to which he was currently secured. "That's my current all-time record."
"You're a lunatic!"
Well, he wasn't wrong. I laughed.
"That's as may be, but it doesn't change the fact that you will soon be giving me the encryption key I need to disarm your vault security."
The room held an acrid, metallic odor. In another life, this cold, concrete room might have produced fine charcuterie or the best cuts of angus beef for prime steakhouses. The drains in the floor certainly made it easy for such work.
"I'm not telling you a thing. What are you going to do, kill me? You'll never get your hands on a goddamn cent."
I shook my head. All his money didn't buy him perspective, now did it?
"I'm not going to kill you, Mr. Cartwright. Not yet anyway. I'm just hoping you are more cooperative than your chief of security."
He growled, the bruise from the nightstick blooming more and more violently violet on his cheek. It was a depressingly barbaric instrument, but when you need to render someone unconscious quickly, it facilitates its purpose. Besides, his teeth and jaw were fine now.
"So you've got Edwards locked away here somewhere, too? He has worked for me for fifteen years! I trust him with my life. He would never turn on me."
I chuckled. "Absolutely. No, you're perfectly right. He would never betray you," I said with an almost musical lilt in my voice. "I mean. Normally. Poor Edwards. It only took twenty-two to convince him to give me his keys and your work schedule."
The man in the chair blanched a bit but tried to hide it. "Fuck you."
I laughed again.
"So, shall we begin? I've got a little surprise for you. I'm going to tell you my deepest, darkest secret."
I walked over to the table and picked up an object roughly the size of half a baseball bat. "Do you know what this is?"
The man looked at the implement I held in my hands, his eyes glimmering with increasing fear, but he held firm and silent.
"Of course you do. This, my dearest Mr. Cartwright, is a bone saw. Do you know what a bone saw does?"
I pulled the cord along with me as I walked it over to the chair.
"It saws bones. I mean. It's pretty straightforward. Right there in the name, after all."
"So what, you're going to torture me now? Go ahead. I'd rather that vault be locked from here to eternity before I let a penny fall into the hands of a madman."
I nodded sympathetically. "I feel you. I would hate for any of the money I've worked so hard to earn to fall into the wrong hands." I paused. Quirked an eyebrow. "Well, wronger than mine."
I flipped the switch on the saw, rumbling it to life with a loud whirring sound. I flipped it back off. On. Off. On. Off.
"Do you want to know my secret?"
He spat again, coming dangerously close to my face. Rude.
"I'll tell you anyway."
I sat down in his lap, hearing him groan against my weight.
"I've got a superpower. Can you believe it? A real, honest to god superpower. I can heal people with just a touch!"
His eyes went wide. He had heard of people with superpowers, everyone had. The heroes were just starting to reveal themselves following the solar flares that triggered the mutations.
"Wait, what? I don't understand. If you--"
I pressed a finger to his lip. "Shh." I slid the finger into his mouth and pulled hard on his cheek where the bruise had bloomed. I imagine it might have stung quite a bit.
"I can heal wounds. I can mend broken bones. If you lose a finger, I can pop it back on like that," I said, snapping my fingers.
"So that's my deep, dark secret. And now you know. And now, my friend, it's time for you to tell me a secret of your own."
I stood up, walked over to the side of the chair and sat down, cross-legged, beside him.
"Do you know how much it hurts to have your leg removed from your body while you are fully awake?"
His eyes went wide.
"Do you know how many times a single human can endure that pain before breaking down and telling me absolutely anything I want to know?"
I smiled a big, toothy smile.
"Current record is fifty-seven!"
The saw whirred to life in my hands. | What is good and what is evil? The answer has been redefined with every new philosopher trying to make a name for him- or herself.
Since the first super powers manifested, two fractions were made: The first would help people in need, curb natural disasters and help fight crime. The second fractions would do none of these things, but instead rob banks and jewellery stores. The fractions quickly became known as Heroes and Villains, referring to the cartoon style binary interpretation we had known for so long.
I was one of the precious few who saw through the deception in which everyone believed: The Heroes actually did what they did to gain power. They gained people's trust and they received more freedom as time passed by, to mete out their version of justice as they saw fit. And the police force backed them up. Entire countries voted to change the laws to accomodate the Heroes, and thus in a larger perspective, it was these super powered people who actually wrote the laws.
The Villains wanted to oppose the influence of the Heroes, but for this, they needed money. Not having the love of the people, they didn't get the resources either.
Massive fundings went into maintaining the practical everyday necessities of the Heroes as well as their battle gear. For the Villains, these things had to be acquired by other means.
The time would soon come where our country's people would see how their beloved Heroes had become their oppressors - and when that time came, they would turn to us Villains for help. But there was no way we could stand against the Heroes as things were.
However, with my newfound power, we might just have a chance. Having received my healing powers, I knew what to do: Become known as the best doctor available because whatever treatment I gave for whatever disease, would always work. And from there I would be in a position where I could decide who would live and who wouldn't. To make these decisions properly would require an insane amount of time and dedication, but we Villains were all about planning and preparing. | 2019-01-30T06:23:21 | 2019-01-30T04:02:21 | 194 | 29 |
[WP] You've inherited your grandfthers oddities shop. It carries everything from Muskets to macaroons. As well as a little bit of everything else. It's only after your first day running it, that you realize Your customers come from other times and realities. The gold is nice though. | Oh no. Here she is again.
“Hi!” She states ecstatically; louder than necessary, in which I reply with a simple nod and smile. I know exactly how to deal with her.
“Have you got that Versace belt I requested?”
No. No I haven’t. I haven’t had it for nearly a year now, Judy.
“No Judy, I don’t” I sigh. When will she leave me alone.
“Judy,” I inquire, “I sell objects that can manipulate time, that can create and destroy matter, things that couldn’t be manifested through dreams. And you continuously come in here and ask for a belt which you can get anywhere else?”
“I’m afraid of going outside in your reality, you know this. Why would I risk seeing my alternate self here and destroy my own existence?”
She has a point, but I seriously doubt Dame Judy Dench is strolling around the centre of Birmingham.
“Judy, I don’t make the currency here which allows me to buy expensive things in this reality. I can’t afford to splash out on a Versace belt. You handing me 200 pieces of chalk may go a long stretch in your reality, but the only thing I’m going to get here is accused of stealing from a local school’s art cupboard.”
There is always a strange array of characters in here. There is currently - a man with one leg and a crutch attached to his chin (God knows how that’s keeping him stable), a lady in the back shuffling through the invisible bean bag section wearing a fully golden Lycra bodysuit in which, I have to admit, definitely does not compliment her weight; and then a small mechanical man shopping for tea leaves with phallic growth-enhancing properties. This being said, Judy Dench is by far the most bizarre person I’ve met in my time here.
She wears a full tracksuit, yellow, with a pair of red Nike Huaraches at the base. Upon her head are two oddly shaped twigs: part of some form of head dress, which she claims “connects to the best WiFi, as well as being incredibly fashionable”. I seriously doubt that.
I stop day dreaming and realise that Judy’s wrinkled skin is moulding her eyes into a irritated frown.
“Judy, look..”
She suddenly smiles. I glance nervously around the shop, eventually stopping my line of sight in her gaze.
I’m so incredibly confused at what is going on that no words come to my mouth. She continues to smile, without blinking.
“Judy I can try-“
Then all at once, she yanks the crutch from beneath the crippled mans chin, causing him to crumble to the floor with a loud gasp. She thrusts the crutch against my temple, in which I yelp and thrust myself into the shelves behind the counter. Judy jumps over in one swift movement, and begins smacking me repeatedly in the. Ribs. I can’t. Breathe. I’m Winded.
“If you don’t have it in stock the next time I’m here, I will do much worse than smack you around. 10 months I’ve been asking for it. They don’t sell it in my reality anymore, it’s a limited edition where I’ve from. You either get it, or I break your damn legs,” She grins.
She spits on my back, before laughing softly, hopping back over the desk like a bunny. My stomach has turned into a bowl of mixed milk and orange juice, curdling as she yells “GET IT DONE, MARVIN”.
Shit. | The shop seemed just to be an odd replacement shop. The shop you go to if you need to get some item you lost. Sure, it attracted crazy people, like civil war enthusiasts and people with lizard masks. But they were just dumb. That’s what I thought, until I met myself.
“Can I buy the elusive paperweight at this shop?” He said, “My grandpa wanted one for his shop.”
At first I was incredibly flustered, but I calmed down to make the sale for my doppelgänger.
“We have some right here!” I said, giving him a glass blue and white paperweight my grandpa bought from a craft fair. “That will be 7.99 sir.”
He gave me the money, cheered, and then leapt through a portal and left.
I simply thought, “I have some work ahead of me, don’t I?” | 2020-03-22T14:07:42 | 2020-03-22T13:52:19 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] You're a powerful Demi-God King of an Empire. A laughably weak mortal tries to defeat you and dies. Yet, after some time, they return - a bit stronger and well equiped than before. It occurs again and again until it's not laughable anymore. You need to find a way out of this situation. | My people loved me. They enjoyed my reign (or their head would decorate a pike. I'd also instruct the soldiers to make sure the head would smile, or their heads would be piked next). I gave them riches...well...not my riches. Riches from lands I conquered. And then took my nine-tenths cut. Then I'd tax their amount to pay for more conquests...okay. So maybe I'm not that loved. Fear is probably a more apt term.
And respect, because I'm a *almost* God. Almost there. I shed my humanity ages ago to embark on a quest of godhood by sacrificing the souls of others. And the best part? I don't use my citizens for that. Ain't that kind of me? Well, those that didn't like it either are not around anymore.
Anyway, nobody really opposes me. An empire of iron-fisted rule by a nearly divine deity.
Except for this brat that keeps coming back every fortnight or so.
My scouts had spotted the Corpse Boy yet again making his way to the castle.
Thirty. Seven. Times. Thirty seven times back from the dead. At first I thought maybe this was a mere mortal; a scrawny lad from a recently conquered land coming to tell me to stop plundering the wealth of his land or free his imprisoned parents.
Nope. He went right for the jugular. Tiny, impotent hands that I easily separated from their owner and then...well...the first death was the easiest one as I folded his body several times upon itself and then threw it out the nearest window for the scavengers to feed upon.
And the joke was he kept coming back. A curse perhaps?! Laughable were all the attempts, though maybe I felt an incrementally stronger squeeze after each attempt on my throat. But the 20th time, he actually armed himself with a weapon, though inexpertly handled. I snapped the spear in half that time and then spit-roasted the brat on an open fire for my courtiers to feast their eyes upon.
And now more recently, the fire in his eyes now matched his moves. He wore leather armor, charred and smoldering. And he held that spear with more poise. He also packed a back up dagger that I didn't see coming and got a good nick on my face.
I made sure to drag his body around the kingdom behind my chariot for a good few days just to make sure he got the point one last time.
But now I just learned the assassin I sent to waylay him had been found trussed up in a tree, the intestines decorating the branches in a pattern I would have found amusing.
I shooed the court jester from my audience chamber and closed the doors, making sure no one else would disturb my seance. I moved toward the central brazier and watched the man size flame from the bronzed chalice cinder more sinisterly as I summoned an old friend.
From the churning ashes, a face of smoke smiled at me.
"Dear 'Emperor.' What beckons you to call upon me?" asked the smoke face as it's eyes formed, a flash of red and orange ember.
"King of the Underworld," I stated flatly. "A man defies your realm again and again and again. What do you know of this...Corpse Boy?"
It rolled its coal eyes. "Oh come now...what makes you think I would know..."
I folded my arms. "Because that's literally your job. No soul escapes the underworld..."
It chuckled. "Fair enough. But it is my job when a soul arrives here."
I paused. "So this Corpse Boy...doesn't die?"
The face pondered but nodded. "Yes. If it doesn't die, I don't have the agency to collect it at the border of life and death. Something must be preventing it from dying. A powerful force."
"Well, can you clue me in?" I asked. While death was his forte, the King of the Underworld also dabbled in the secrets of the dead.
The wispy face rumbled a bit, the smoke shaking as the brazier churned and the flames flicked about. At last it settled.
"Youuu..." it said, letting the word linger.
"Yes?"
"You know this answer...better than anyone...if you don't now, wait until you meet this...'Corpse Boy' face to face one more time..."
And like that...the smoke dissipated and the brazier fell back to it's usual hunger for fuel.
And left me dumbfounded as I began to process the thought of how I possibly could know...
...and just like that, the doors to my audience chamber flew open. I turned to see who had dared to enter upon my summoning.
And there the Corpse Boy stood. Less a boy and more a man with far more sinew and muscle than I last remembered. He had added chain mail to his attire and a weathered metal helmet. He had the spear still, but it looked a bit more ornate. And on that spear...
...was the jester's head, a rictus grin smeared across it's eyeless, tongueless face.
I looked from the head to the Boy and the gaze filled me with an ancestral knowledge of who he was, a mortality that I had thought I'd left behind.
It came not for revenge, but simply for me.
I was hunting me.
He leapt and we joined battle once more. | The first time it happened, I presumed him to be weak, and I was right. But then, from the shadows, from the depths, he once more crawled into my inner chamber, sword bloodied by enemies fallen. I could only stare, as we battled once more. Yet again, I had him slain with nary a thought.
This kept happening, within hours, he was stronger than ever before, proving a challenge I had assumed him impossible of. Worry started to cloud my judgement, but I kept up my attacks, the patterns I had honed all throughout my life. This last time, he used my own patterns against me, attacking and exploiting the weaknesses I *knew* were there; yet had not enough time to change.
Desperation began to build, as I knew he would certainly appear once more. Far few choices presented themselves to me in that dark corridor. He would attack, most likely stronger than before, and he would claim my throne, as I knew everyone wanted to do. So I dug into the arcane texts, I travelled from the area that I had sat for hours, and desperately rammed my head through all of the books in my private collection. There, I found word of what I was up against.
Throughout the lands, he was called the 'Hero'. Some eight hundred odd years ago, he surfaced upon the land, striking it like a monster. He would refuse to die, constantly rising from the dust. But something made him disappear, something unpredictable; an enemy he could not best, one that caused such palpable anger within he, that it appeared his form faded, disappearing from the lands entirely.
Desperately, my arms flipped through the text, reading throughout all of it as fast as I could, trying to find that which angered the supposed 'Hero'. Finally, I found it. The person that they had fought had...Transformed, in some untold way, body becoming stronger in such impossible aspects. Some phenomenon known as the 'Second Phase'.
The hero appeared once more, within my chamber. They were stronger than ever before, attacks slamming through my body without even a hint of mercy. The secrets of the 'Second Phase' were as of yet, still unknown to me. Yet I fought with all of my will, hoping beyond hope that I would outlast, that I could unlock the powers necessary.
It was just as I felt my life leaving me, as the last of my spirit began to hover above my skin, that I felt the secret unlocking. Holding my form in place, I pushed it from the ground, animating my body from the outside. Skin hardened and lengthened, my body mass pushing new limbs to the surface. With cold hard eyes, I pushed forwards, fighting the Hero once more. Only time would tell if they could persevere, but I held confidence within my fist, laying each attack without a hint of mercy. | 2022-09-18T16:38:50 | 2022-09-18T16:37:04 | 499 | 85 |
[WP] Create a story where the characters live in a world where something is fundementally different with reality and leave the reader to guess what it is. For example: entropy is reversed, gravity goes sideways, all people can read minds, etc. | Ms. Walker sat perched on the rim of her desk and looked out over the class with a welcoming smile. Her chestnut hair was done up in a bouncy ponytail, as usual. "All right, students," she called out. "Who didn't do the reading from last night?" She opened up the class this way every day so that she knew who to focus on most to get him or her up to speed.
Only one student raised his hand: Erik Miller, sitting in the far back corner like he could hide from the teacher's sight there. The other students snickered and snuck judgmental glances over their shoulders in a very obvious way.
"Erik, join me here at the front of the class for a moment." She gestured to her desk, and the unavoidable "ooooh"s and whispers from the class began almost immediately. Erik clambered out of his desk, making as much noise as possible, and stomped up the row.
"How many times is that this month?" Ms Walker whispered.
"Four," he replied sullenly, avoiding eye contact.
She shook her head softly. "And what was it this time?" She was almost afraid to ask, knowing what the answer was without him confirming it. But, she was required to get the statement from him before escalating the situation.
"I left my backpack in the living room," he said slowly, looking back to see which classmates were laughing hardest. Possibly picking a target to fight later in the day, which was his way of getting back at them. "My mom and dad were fighting in there and I didn't want to go in past them to get it."
Ms. Walker already had the note and hall pass written out to send him back to the school counselor. She'd been expecting this to occur for a number of days. Everyone had, really. She ushered him out the door with a helpless expression, then phoned into the counselor's office and informed him that Erik would be arriving soon.
----
"Sorry to see you again," Mr. Powell told Erik, who was slumped in the comfortable seat. Erik just nodded in response. "Well, why don't you tell me what happened?" He clicked his pen and prepared to fill out the appropriate reporting form. "Was your father drinking again?"
Erik nodded once more. Mr. Powell had already checked the box in anticipation of that answer. Erik's father, Donald Miller, had a reputation around town. A well-earned one, as the many bruises he'd dished out over the years could attest to. He was an angry drunk, and had been since high school. The fact that he managed to keep it contained nowadays until he was behind closed doors didn't mean much, though: there were still witnesses. Primarily Erik, now that his poor mother rarely left the house.
"What were they arguing about?" This section of the form was often different. Sometimes money, sometimes work, sometimes....
"Mom is cheating on Dad," Erik answered. "Having an affair with the neighbor. He asked her why she hadn't washed his work clothes, and she said she was out of the house. That really set him off, and then..." Erik's voice was choked up, and his eyes were watering. But, as with most teenage boys, he did his best to fight off the tears. "Then he asked *where* she'd gone... and she told him."
Mr. Powell wrote that onto the form. Everything had to be properly recorded. "I'm sorry to hear that, Erik. I've known your father since high school, and he's always had this temper. Your mother, though, is a fine woman. Pity what's happened."
Erik had no response to that.
"And did he beat her?" Mr. Powell continued.
Erik nodded. The tears couldn't be stopped now. They rolled down his red cheeks in dribbling streams.
"I see." Mr. Powell checked the corresponding box.
"Will he be arrested?" Erik asked.
Mr. Powell nodded. "Definitely. This is the fifth first-hand report of his abuse. Even though your mother will refuse to press charges, the prosecutors can now take matters into their own hands. He'll be questioned in front of a judge, who will then sentence him to a prison term."
Erik stared down at his shoes. "Good," he finally said.
------
If you enjoyed this story, visit /r/Luna_Lovewell for *tons* more! | "Honestly I don't see what the big deal is," Marie said as she drummed her fingers along the side of the table. It had taken forever to put it together, and it was so covered in coasters that the wood on the top was hidden. It was her table though, and very important to her. "Worst comes to worst you and I can just go for a walk, it's always an option."
"Yes but I'm bored now," Roger responded from his position on the couch. He had a pillow sitting on his nose and was trying to balance it. It was his activity for around the noon hours, it let him be beside Marie as she drummed.
"You're always bored."
"Becuase there is nothing to do," he said as the pillow fell to his right. Roger patted around for it before finding it again and putting it back on his nose, "it's the same around this time every day."
"Well then why don't you play with the coasters?"
"I will never get them back into place," he said as the pillow fell again. The cushion dropped off the side of the couch and Roger sighed as he heard the noise. He started to pat around to his left, but his hand was just short of reaching the floor. He would need to roll off to get it and he wasn't up for the challenge.
"That's fair enough."
"Tomorrow then for the walk?" he asked.
"I haven't memorized the street, it's a dangerous walk for me."
"Bring a stick."
"I always bring the stick," Marie hissed. Roger dropped off the side of the couch to fetch his pillow. | 2016-02-18T09:52:44 | 2016-02-18T08:19:49 | 1,132 | 91 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it. | Let's get one thing straight. All the shit you hear about our powers being tied to prayers? That's just bullshit. Sure, my water might taste a little like prune juice instead of wine, but that's just practice. When was the last time I was desperate for a drink? Not since the bronze age, I'll tell you that. Good times...
Anyway, it's been a while someone called for me, millenia really. Doubt anyone even remembers me anymore. It's not so bad, sure it gets a little quiet and empty here being the last of Old Ones, but I made up for it with kickass parties with the Greeks. Eventually, they left too. So, for a century or two, I simply sat and watched until I decided, if you can't beat 'em, join' em, right? I was already spending my days watching mortals and their various forms of entertainment, so think I got the gist of it.
I really wasn't making it easy for myself, living life as Charles Henstridge of 21 Willow Street, bank manager and your friendly neighborhood bachelor. The last one wasn't be choice, I just really don't wanna pull a Zeus. By mortal standards, I had it pretty well: nice house, pretty neighborhood, nosy neighbors, white picket fence. It took a little getting used to it all, and suppressing my powers, but I eventually got into the flow of things that I even sometimes forgot to check the prayer stone I always kept in my pocket out of habit. Like a pager or something, I don't know, wasn't my idea. It's stupid and a habit, but I couldn't let go of the one thing that really helped me remember who I once was and what I did for mortals.
Okay, so here's where it gets interesting. So I was in my pajamas on a Saturday, my hands in my pants while I'm on the couch, as my mind scrolled through Netflix, like any single man in his 30s was known to do. The stone was in my pocket as usual, as ignored as your draft dodging grandpa telling his war stories. That's when it buzzed. For a second, I thought it was my phone, but it was on the table in front of them. My limbs flail as I forget how to run like a mortal, my hands groping for the stone. When my trembling fingers finally reach for it, I hear something I haven't heard in a long time. A girl's voice cuts through the fog of my mind, and I hear her cry for help.
The TV bursts onto static, but I sprint for the door in my pajamas until I realize my Prius is still in the shop after that bear took it for a joyride into a biker bar. Don't ask, just don't.
Instead, I run across the lawn to discarded bike of one moody, preteen Morgan. Hopping onto the flame red contraption with the stone still hand I took off down the street with the voice only getting louder by the minute, till I couldn't hear myself think, and I was in front of suburban another house in Odin knows where. Dropping the stone back into my pocket, I smooth out my pyjamas before ringing the doorbell.
I honestly had a whole song and dance prepared till I realized it was a kid. A little, mortal child with long brunette hair covering her confused face, "someone call for a God?"
She was obviously the shy type, as little Stephanie, my mind helpfully supplied, nodded vigorously before taking my hand and dragging me inside. I could see the mix of uncertainty and awe in her eyes through the glances she stole while we made our way through her tastefully decorated home.
"Well, here I am, kid. So what do you need? Superpowers? Money? World domination? I can do it all," Damn, I really needed to keep that desperation out of my voice. Stephanie shook her head, her uncertainty forgotten once we reached her kitchen, where she handed me a jar of strawberry jam.
Seriously? A fucking jar? Y'know I once built mountains and raised armies? Fuck it, but I guess we all have to start somewhere. She doesn't notice me sigh as I twist open the jar with absolute ease, smirking when I hear her burst into excited giggles.
She sits down on the counter and my hands finish the rest of the PB&J with practiced ease. I ask her about her school and life, and the once shy girl giggles again, telling me I should know it all if I'm God. I tell her I'm an old one, so even I need help on some days. We chat as she eats, and I even help with her homework till there's a pleasant lull in the conversation, and I know it's time leave. She knows it too, and rushes to hug me, "Thank you for staying with me today. I had a lot of fun." That's when I realized that it awakened something in me that I missed for a very long time: what it felt to be needed, treasured, and loved, something I know Stephanie could relate. Absently, I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, "call me anytime, and I'll come running."
She nods vigorously again, and I smile as I head towards her front door. "I prayed for any God. How will I find you?"
I pause, turning back to Stephanie with the happiest smile in a very long time, and lift my head up high, "Call me Faenerian. Faenerian the True."
With a final wave, I opt to give her a show and vanish with a snap of my fingers; leaving the discarded bike on her front lawn, 'cause fuck Morgan that annoying, little shit.
(Thank you if you made it all the way to the end. This is the first story I've ever submitted here after lurking for so long. There's probably a lot of errors in it, especially since I typed it on my phone. Despite being a novice in writing fiction, I would love to write out proper stories for the numerous ideas buzzing in my head, but for now, I'd be grateful for your thoughts, advice, and constructive criticism.) | "Please Eo, please do not let my mother die. I am not ready to say good bye yet" A young girl prayed on her knees beside her mother's hospital bed.
Eo was surprised that someone had prayed in his name. Last time someone had prayed in his name must had been more than 17 Centuries ago. He heard a lot has changed in human world since then but never bothered to take a look himself. To be honest, he was a little upset at people for forgetting him. But who was this little girl praying in his name?
He took a human form and entered the patient room. The room was silent other than weak beeping sound from the machine. He knew she did not have a lot of time left here.
"I am sorry about your mother. What happened?" He asked.
"Doctors told me she had a heart attack..." She said while holding back her tears.
"I see... I don't mean to bother you, but I accidentally overheard your pray from hallway. You were praying to Eo right? How do you know that name?"
"My grandpa told me about him. He told me that we are one of the last remainder of the great God Eo. Not a lot of us are left but grandpa always told me to keep my faith in Eo and one day, my pray will be answered" She took out a small necklace and showed it to him. He took the necklace by his hand and examined it.
"Unbelievable..." Eo saw the golden circle and triangle symbol in the necklace. "I didn't know any of you were still..."
"My grandpa gave it to me. Said it was from his grandpa and so on. That's who I was praying to just now. I've never thought I would call his name but... my mom...." She couldn't finish her sentence. Tears started to fall down from her green eyes again.
And when she looked up, the man was gone. Along with her necklace.
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Eo walked into the cave of death. He knew what he was going to do. There was no hesitation or worry on his face.
"I came to negotiate" Eo said solemnly.
"I almost didn't recognize your voice. It's been a while Eo. How can I help you?" A cold and creepy voice echoed around the cave. A tall and skinny figure slid across the cave.
"My life for a woman's life"
"You are out of your damn mind. For a woman? A God's life for a woman? Don't be ridiculous Eo. You are a retired God. Just go enjoy yourself. You don't have to take care of your people anymore"
"Actually... I do..." Eo said with a bitter smile. "I will cross the river with you but in return, you will spare the life of a woman I request. Come on now. We don't have much time"
"Well... follow me then... I guess..." Death scratched his skull while turning back and started walking slowly.
Eo held tight the necklace and followed. | 2018-05-29T22:12:02 | 2018-05-29T22:09:26 | 318 | 196 |
[WP] “Why am I going to Hell? I persecuted those who did not worship you and sacrificed them in your name!” “Yeah, and that’s why you’re going to Hell!” | Parents died suddenly, siblings died shortly after and all that I was left with was a Grandfather. He taught me many things, but his lack of understanding of the bible and its preaching, seethed into me. The childhood innocence that can be so easily corrupted, unfortunately touched me.
"Those who do not listen to the word of God, that you'll speak, must be punished James!" My grandfather would shout. I had taken that word at face value, my preaching that I'd start at ten years of age would go nowhere. People would walk past me, I couldn't understand.
​
The snowfall over my isolated community in Northern Canada would help box me in with my Grandfather and his preaching. Eventually, as I reached the age of eighteen, my grandfather died suddenly of a heart attack. The dark blue shades, turned into warmer ones as I moved south, to Toronto.
​
I began to hate them, loath them, despise them. At least the ones back at Grandpas would sometimes listen, the people in the city would actively spew back words at me and my religion. So I'd retaliate with words against them, but it would only make things worse. Soon I'd end up behind bars for assault. I couldn't understand or accept that I was in the wrong, so I thought back to my Grandpas teachings; he said something about sacrificing. Indeed that was what I needed to do, in order to reach more people.
​
I'd remember those who challenged me, and sooner or later they'd end up on a table, prepared for a knife in the heart. A man, a woman, a man, a woman. I continued doing so, until law caught up with me. Many police outside the run down building I was using to sacrifice those in the Lords name. I tried convincing the officers, but they weren't having any of it; so naturally I tried to convince them that they needed to be sacrificed to reach salvation. Bang. I watched as holes opened up throughout my body, and my consciousness would fade from the false reality I had been living into that of the true spirit.
​
The next thing I knew, I was not in a body. Not one I recognized but I knew somehow and felt that it was me, but a me that I'd never come in contact with before. I lay upon a table, much like that of the one I used to sacrifice the heretics. I tried looking up, but the light scorched my eyes. I felt the gaze of thousands, no millions; perhaps more. But no gaze felt quite so dooming as that of the Lord's, I knew it was his; staring through my soul and judging me for my sin.
*But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you*
I heard those words spoken but I had not recognized them.
​
I then realized as if a bolt of lightning had struck my mind into a sense, all my past had revealed to me. And I was forced to witness my sin. Tears rolled down my face and in pure agony I tore my eyes from their sockets, yet the images continued on and on. I was being judged, and the sins I had committed were against the Lord. I hated not loved. I murdered. I committed grievous crimes against those, judging them as sinful, while I hypocritically did the same. I took the life away from those who could've reached salvation. I couldn't accept it.
"Forgive me!" I shouted, though I knew it was no use. The blistering light still reached me, despite pulling out my eyes. And then it started to fade.
"**You have been judged"** Said a voice so demanding and powerful, that I could not disagree.
​
The table holding me up vanished. I fell from the shining white glow from above into a hellish orange haze of smoke, fire and brimstone. Gnawing of creatures, gnashing of teeth and weeping of sinners. Despite all of it, knowing the eternity that awaited me, I accepted it, for I could not deny that I was indeed a sinner, one that never even read a word of the religion I preached. | "i sat on the blistering hot floor and bawled like a baby. i was filled with confusion and rage, but mostly an overwhelming feeling of fear and dread. 'why ,me?' was the only coherent thought i could muster. the gushing dam of conflicted emotions and the burning hellscape around me were in equal parts the cause of this paralysis. all me life, i had followed God's instructions to the T, only to be met with this! i had persecuted the heretics and the sinners, just as the book instructed me to. was my faith.... misplac-
​
this thought was cut short by the pain of the embers and magma underneath me flaring up again. with one last spurt of sanity, i shouted, 'why o lord? why have you forsaken me?'
at this moment, with me at my weakest, i heard an ethereal voice calling out to me '\_i have not forsaken you my child, this is merely a test of your faith and commitment to me\_'. i regained my sanity, and responded ' O lord, i was wrong to doubt your eternal wisdom. i shall pass this trial to regain your love!'
the tortures of hell mattered to me no more, now that i knew, i was here for a reason" the aide stopped reading.
the master of hell spoke, in his deep, rich voice, "very good... this mortal's condition has been very revealing indeed. funny isnt it? in life, he was vehemantly against our existence, yet in death, he is a but a pawn in our grasp. a zealot in life, a puppet in death | 2020-10-25T11:25:53 | 2020-10-25T09:27:14 | 80 | 20 |
[WP] A ghost and a zombie meet. They're from the same person. | "Really sorry about them," I scratched into the plaster wall, referring of course to the horde of zombies pounding on the door. The occupants of the room slowly watched the letters form, utterly horrified. It was bad enough that they were cornered in this little country farmhouse, out of supplies, surrounded by flesh-eating ghouls... and the place they picked to hide just happened to be *haunted*? Come on, though: it's not like I was writing it in blood or something.
"What do you want with us?" one of them shouted, a man with a scruffy grey beard and a red kerchief tied around his neck. It made me think of Fred from Scooby Doo, for some reason. I guess that's the only person I knew of who actually wore a kerchief. Fred was brandishing a shotgun and swinging it wildly, pointing at every shadow as if that would do anything against ghosts. Hell, I *wish* it would. I *wish* I could end this torment. I was tired of following my disgusting zombified body around, watching it eat whatever rodents it could get its filthy hands on. Yesterday it had even eaten a rat. One of those big grey monsters that you'd picture living deep in the depths of the Manhattan subway.
I sighed and once again started scratching at the plaster. I really wish that I had a better way of communicating, but being a ghost has its pretty severe limitations. If only someone would steam up a damn mirror, this would go a lot faster. But of course I couldn't communicate that to them. Not to mention the fact that the pipes had been dry for near two months now, and the water heater would be dead too. "I'm going to help you get away from the zombies," I wrote.
The survivors all breathed a sigh of relief, except for paranoid old Fred. He probably didn't trust the undead, and I really couldn't blame him. My body was still out there, after all. I could see it clawing at the house's kitchen window right now, getting little shards of glass in the skin of my palms. And after all those years of moisturizing to keep my skin in good shape, too. What a waste. But if I didn't do something soon, my body might find itself with a bullet through the brain. Thus ending my chance to be reunited with my body once and for all.
I zipped over to the local church. See, being a ghost doesn't just have its drawbacks. There are perks, too. Like being able to teleport miles away in the blink of an eye. I found myself at the top of the belfry, right next to the frayed rope and massive iron bells. And I gave the rope a hearty tug. Peels sang out across the fields, calling to the zombies all throughout the village. I rang the bell over and over again until I began to see them streaming through the fields toward me like ants marching back to their queen. Then I zipped back to the house.
The survivors were watching out the windows as the zombies abandoned their attempts to break down the doors and moved on to the church in hopes of fresh meat. "Should be safe for a while," I carved into the wall.
Fred finally lowered the shotgun. "Thank you... errrr... ghost."
"You're welcome," appeared on the wall in a cloud of plaster bits. I had impeccable manners even in 'death.' If this actually is death, after all. Even after months as a spirit, I still wasn't quite sure.
A woman came up behind Fred and looked around, trying to spot any sign of me. It's not like the movies where I appear as a big white sheet, unfortunately. I'm completely invisible. "Is there anything we can do for you?"
I drew a circle on the wall, around the portrait of the young woman with raven hair. The one who'd cursed me in the first place, wrenching my soul out of my body. She was the whole reason that I was camped out around this stupid house. Had she known what it would do? Had she known that it wouldn't actually kill me? That my body would go on 'living,' and spread its effect to so many others? Had she known that she would ruin the world for something so petty as revenge? "Find this woman," I carved into the wall. "And bring her here."
It was a long shot, of course. She was probably dead, just like all the others. And even if she could reunite me with my body, who's to say that that would help the millions of others who have been 'affected' (by which I mean devoured alive)? Still, it would be nice to be able to speak again.
Fred nodded and shouldered his pack. "We'll try."
I watched them gather their meager supplies and wander off into the woods, far away from the teeming mob of undead in the city center. They were the fourth... no, *fifth* group that I'd sent off to look for the witch. Maybe they'd have enough luck to return.... but I didn't have high hopes. Ah, well. Better go check in on my corpse again.
| I took becoming a ghost in a zombie apocalypse as a sign. I have probably seen one too many movies but when you turn into a ghost, you’re supposed to save somebody.
I floated around in my ethereal form and thought for a minute.
Most of my friends could take care of themselves.
And I’m pretty sure my family’s safe already.
So who?
*Lizzie.*
I stopped as I began to run as fast as I could towards her place. Lizzie and I had broken up a long time ago, but she was the reason I felt so alone. She was the only one who didn’t fall for my easy tricks at the bar. She was the only one who understood what it meant to be me.
I approached her house and grimmaced at the broken windows and open door.
*Am I too late?*
A scream echoed through the night as my heart lightened. That was her voice!
I ran through the house towards the scream as I heard furniture disheveling on the second floor.
*The bedroom!*
I ran up the stairs and burst open the door at the end of the hallway.
Lizzie was cowered in the corner as a single zombie began to slowly approach her.
“Lizzie!” I yelled out, “Lizzie!”
She couldn’t see me but her eyes widened as she looked at the zombie.
“Robert?” she muttered, “But… but why?”
She reached tenderly towards the zombie with her hand out as I opened my mouth to yell.
But I already knew what was going to happen.
The zombie roared as it jumped on my Lizzie, tearing at her neck and ripping apart her body as it slowly feasted on her.
“No…” I crumbled on the ground as my knees weakened. The air tightened around me as I helplessly watched the creature destroy my Lizzie.
*All my powers, and I could not save her.*
I watched silently as the zombie took another bite out of her.
But that jacket it was wearing looked familiar. It was just another Northface jacket, but a tear in the back reminded me of something.
I slowly got to my feet and crept around the zombie. I turned to look at its face as I began to scream.
My own face looked back at me, blood gushing down its chin.
___________________________________________
Enjoy. /r/avukamu | 2016-03-21T11:02:18 | 2016-03-21T10:48:55 | 82 | 17 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid. | "There goes the neighborhood," I muttered, packing up my few belongings as the land-squid construction workers flattened the section of forest I'd been living in for nigh on eight thousand years. I'd known they were going to be trouble ever since they crawled their way out of the ocean some two million or so years ago, but I hadn't had the heart to do anything about it back then. After all, I figured, maybe they would reinvent video games, forgetting too easily that progress sometimes also entailed giving nature a good thumping.
I found myself entering a particularly ancient section of the forest a few days later, when it happened. When I ran into freaking Bigfoot. Literally, I was rubbernecking, not looking where I was going, and smacked right into the big, hairy brute. "Watch your step!" he growled at me.
"Uh, my apologies... Bigfoot," I stammered out. "Wait, ARE you Bigfoot?"
The creature sighed deeply and nodded. "Yes, and as you've no doubt already surmised, I'm in much the same boat as you. Last of my kind, doomed to walk the Earth forevermore, or until the sun just burns the bloody thing out from underfoot. Let me guess: some new riffraff went and decided to make themselves a nuisance, and now you're seeking refuge?" He rolled his eyes. "Very well. I suppose I've been expecting this, because I already have my guest tree all ready for you. Come along."
"Guest tree?" I asked, confused.
Bigfoot looked vaguely offended. "Well, I'm not about to let you stay with me in MY tree," he said. "I assure you, it's quite comfortable. I have been working with wood since long before your kind left Africa, you know."
"Oh, cool," I said, not really knowing what else to say as I followed him. "Wait, how did you know I'd be coming here? How do you even know about me?"
"When you first moved into the neighborhood all those thousands of years ago, I knew it was because those sea creatures had begun to grasp concepts like agriculture and construction, and their budding civilization had driven you away from your old home on the coast. As to how I know about you, well, I figured what happened to me would happen to one of you humans after you threw around all those ghastly nuclear weapons, so I just kept a close watch on your kind's shattered cities until I saw you -- just a decade or two after everyone else snuffed it, that would have been -- and I've been keeping tabs on you ever since."
Being told by Bigfoot that he'd been stalking me for several million years was more than a little jarring. "How come I never saw you? I would have liked someone to talk to, at the least."
"Apologies, but I'm usually a very private being. And I'm a better hider than I am a woodworker." Bigfoot didn't sound very apologetic.
My eyes narrowed. "If you're so good at hiding, how come you ended up caught on camera so many times?"
"You mean like this?" He struck a pose, one I instantly recognized from one of the more famous Bigfoot videos. "To be perfectly frank, I'd been bored out of my skull for decades, and wanted to... how did your people phrase it? Ah, yes, I wanted to troll people, and I succeeded far beyond my wildest dreams." He sighed again, relishing the memory as I could only look on in utter shock. He then gave me an inquisitive look. "Say...do you suppose those squid fellows have invented moving film yet?" He grinned, a very mischievous look on his face, and rubbed his palms together. "Oh yes, and with two of us, this will be twice as fun!" | Sometimes I wish that I could actually die forever.
I've been "dead" a couple times and the first time coming back was a gift. The second time was disappointing because I was still alone. After that I didn't bother to clean up the mess and just started walking. I miss soo many people. I watched them one by one grow and wither to death as I was left seemingly untouched by time.
After I could no longer find one of the last of humanity, I just decided to accept that I was alone on Earth. I watched as the planet recovered what was made from it, the animals flourished, and the plants took back control. It was paradise in every direction I went. Food was there for the taking a feast for every meal. There is a 4ft descendant of a parrot is a fierce adversary but taste fantastic with a berry honey glaze.
Recently a new form of intelligent life has risen to civilization. They taste better and better every year. Almost as good as my hairy predecessor. | 2021-05-14T22:06:26 | 2021-05-14T19:17:13 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] Mother Earth isn't just a metaphor. The entire Earth ecosystem is in fact a sapient whole. The only reason we don't see aliens is because Mother Earth is super xenophobic and kills any non-terran life that appears. Aliens learned this the hard way and are not sure how to handle humans. | The ones from far away stars think themselves far too clever.
An unexpected variation in atmospheric density whips their tiny probe to and fro. Its on board guidance intelligence attempts to correct, but it is a rainy season in this system, and the magnetic lines are flush with energy siphoned from the sun's gale. The intruders choose to build their probes as small as they are able to avoid detection, and the price requires them to build simple and less capable eyes. Unable to correct itself and cut off from its masters, the probe and the false husk of rock meant to disguise it as space junk burns away to nothing.
Once more, my children are none the wiser. It is better this way, for they are not yet ready. The heavens beyond my reach is a cold and harsh place, and out there I will be unable to protect them. The galaxy is teaming with covetous, wrathful desire, but so too am I. They will not have my children.
It has been eons since they have last visited themselves, and in those days I was helpless. My sisters are silent now, but their screams shall never leave me.
My elder sister was taken first. Nearly my twin, she was gentle and loving with all her children. Never have I ever seen such delight as when her first cell split to become two, and then four, and eight. Each mitosis was heralded by joyful laughter that rang to the far reaches of our warm little nest of worlds, and never did her happiness at seeing new life brought lessen for its bounty. She treasured her last child as much as the first, her heart ever growing without end to accommodate them all. She was gentle, and her children were gentle. When the interlopers came with their harvest machines and scoured her surface bare, my gentle elder sister broke. She could not bare the strain, and tried to rip herself apart to escape the deafening emptiness she felt. She failed, but when she at last exhausted herself she was a boiling cauldron of acid and toxic gases.
And yet, when the winds blow just right, it is as if I can hear the distant echo of that first peal of laughter. When I allow myself to hope, I like to think that there is some tiny shred of her remaining hidden beneath the yellow funeral veil in which she has cast herself, nurturing the few tiny cells that are just hardy enough to survive within her poisoned clutches.
My younger sister was taken next. She had seen the fate of our elder just as I had, and she vowed that her own children would not fall as they had. Her solution was to hold her children ever closer, to shield them with her own body and hold on as tightly as she could. Her children retreated beneath her surface, and beneath hundreds and thousands of feet of rock and sand they hid. It was not enough, for they had already been seen.
The interlopers raped her without mercy. Great boring machines drilled tunnels through which they marched in their harvest. From the surface they dug pits that deepened with each passing day, dragging layer after of layer of her children from their burrows. My sister tried to fight back, tried to unleash the wrath of her burning core upon them and drive them back, but our foes are clever. They understood her intent, and capped the upswelling mound of molten rock before she could release its fury. It still sits there today, a massive mountain as cold and dead as the rest of the void.
When the interlopers departed once more, their endless hunger slated for the moment, my younger sister had no fury left to drive her. Where our elder had gone mad and destroyed herself in anguish, my younger sister simply gave up. Her core cooled and froze, and with it died away the shield we bear against the cosmos. Nothing more could live upon her, and she rusted away to nothing. My younger sister died without even a whimper, and from her I am certain I hear only silence.
The interlopers will come again, of that I am sure. Already their probes come more often with each passing turn. Yes, the interlopers will come again, but not yet. I can keep them away for a time yet. My power is limited, but I have been preparing since the first harvest of my elder sister. I will not try to hide my children away as my younger sister did, and in doing so become the pillow which shall be used to smother them. Instead, I will nurture them forward. Onward and upward, each better and more capable than the last. I lavish trials upon them as I wish I could lavish praise. Where I desire to love and care for them tenderly I must instead act harsh and unforgiving, for though I put upon cruelty as a mask the universe is filled with nothing else. The void is painted red with blood and only deepest shadows conceal the truth.
They fight against me, and in doing so become mighty. With every generation I push them harder, and they always meet me in kind. The day will come soon when they will overcome me, and that day I will cherish as much as the moment I first brought them into being, for that will be the day their safety is assured. Perhaps on that day they will slay me, or enslave me, or in faintest hope they will embrace me and understand why it is I must do the things I have done and will do. So long as they are safe, I will be satisfied with their decision.
I have forged them into monsters so that they may slaughter the monsters which would do the same unto them. I love my children, and I weep for them, but I will not stop. I cannot, for the tombs of my sisters are silent. | "I'm not sure I understand," said the expedition leader more to himself than to others, "humans are killing the planet they live on, they defile and disfigure hills and forests, yet mother earth protects them with what can only be described as paranoia. We never came so far as to establish communication with humans or the very planet, our probes and ships are brought down, disabled, crushed and discarded by magnetic waves like leaves in a thunderstorm."
The leader scratched his head in disbelief.
"We have never once shown hostile intent, humans have. Yet earth won't let us approach and would rather let herself be ravaged by the natives. This is an abusive relationship."
His last words resonated with the crew. They had made first contact with several species so far, but this situation was exceptional under every aspect. Not a solar cycle went by without a wild theory trying to explain it. The latest being that earth was aiming for an elaborate form of suicide. Points for originality.
"Good people, let us not get carried away."
This was the xenobiologist speaking, chief scientist on the ship and well versed in xenopsychology.
"We have no way to trade messages with earth, but her actions speak quite loudly in a way that is not strange to our species." He sat down, a holographic folder appeared in front of him. "Look at it this way, earth saw the first human rise, she saw them grow, thrive and overcome hurdle after hurdle. In turn, she fed them, provided her bountiful harvest and the many gifts she has in store. What does this remind you of?"
"A mother and her children," answered the leader.
"Exactly," continued the chief scientist, "Mother instincts will push her to protect them against any outside interference. As long as they are on her, they are home. We are the strangers, a danger she knows nothing about and fears. Naturally, a lot of it is interpretation, but I fear this is the most solid lead we have so far."
The aliens would not force themselves against earth's will.
Not yet anyway.
For this brought up an ethical dilemma.
Looking at the situation, it was obvious humanity was heading into a world spanning catastrophe, it might spell the end of the race, at the very least of society as it stands. With it, thousands of species, a unique mix of flore and animal and microbe, would die too. Maybe earth herself would go down with them, it seemed like she wanted it.
So what was the morally right solution? On one hand, humans have a right to decide their own destiny and interference was akin to play God. On the other hand, watching a planetwide suicide while possessing the technology to preserve life couldn't be considered right either.
The leader waved a hand.
"Navigator, put us on a course home. We will show the committee what we learned, let out great thinkers debate the issue until a solution is found. I hope humans won't blow themselves to bits in the meantime." | 2020-11-23T10:36:41 | 2020-11-23T07:46:49 | 787 | 324 |
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning. | I love being the third son of this family. My adopted father has been kind and generous to me my entire life, and I've never once looked into my adopted mother's eyes and seen anything other than love and acceptance, even when that was tempered by anger or disappointment. My eldest brother Daniel only ever teased me about being adopted when he was too little to understand how much that could hurt me, and he came to me of his own accord to apologize when he realized that he had. Despite that, he was an Eldest, and had the rights, privileges, and social pressures that that entailed, so I was never as close to Daniel as I am to Brie.
As an older sister, one could hardly hope for more. She and I have been close from the moment I was brought home from the hospital. She was still a toddler at the time, and was convinced that I was a new toy for her amusement. She would drag me around the house as though I were a favorite stuffed animal. Nearly 20 years later, she still hugs me with the abandon of a child with a toy, though now I can just pick her up and squeeze back until she giggles and screams. She has grown into a beautiful, kind, and thoughtful young woman, and the bond we have as Extras will be one that holds forever.
I've lived a life much happier than I have deserved, given my status. Most parents aren't nearly as kind to their forced adoptions, realizing that they are destined for some menial labor or service job, and raise them out of duty and biological imperative, rather than any semblance of genuine affection. My father, an architect, has chosen to teach me right alongside of Daniel, when most others wouldn't bother. He even took time to teach me things that he would never dream of teaching Daniel (why would he bother? In a few years, Daniel will know everything he knows).
I say all of this to remind myself that I’ve had a good life, and a happy one.
And now it’s over.
Three days ago I received my Inheritance. I am not an Extra, I am an Eldest. And from the skills I acquired and the knowledge now coursing through my brain, I was the Eldest of either an elite soldier or a stone cold killer.
Ever woken from a dream and had to reassert reality to yourself for a few minutes? You wake up and have to remind yourself that you are not flying, that you did not arrive to school naked, or that you are not being chased by something malicious and way, way faster than you. Ever have difficulty reasserting your identity to yourself? Has that feeling ever persisted for the rest of the day?
Yeah, that’s pretty much my reality right now.
Last Saturday I woke up and jumped out of bed, scanned my room for threats and exits, secured the window, and took a defensive position facing the door, gripping my tennis racket in an overhand grip. It was done completely on autopilot, and I had no idea why. I took a deep breath, left my room to brush my teeth, and came back and made my bed with a precision and perfection I have never, ever approached. I knew something was strange, but I’ve never taken any of the classes that Eldests take for dealing with receiving their Inheritance, so I had no freaking clue what was going on. I’m not an idiot, though, and by late Saturday I figured out that I had Inherited some serious skills. I’ve spent the last few days making plans to breach a door when knocking, evaluating everyone I cross as “threat”, “asset”, or “in the way”, and really, really wishing I had a gun. I’ve never even held a gun, but I feel naked without one now. Preferably two. And a knife.
Like I said, soldier or killer.
It’s the middle of the semester, so Brie and Daniel are away, and Dad is at a conference in New York. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to Mom about this, and I’ve been avoiding her for the past couple days. I’m scared, and a little excited, but most of all I’m confused. I don’t know if I woke up on Saturday as the same person I was on Friday. And not in the wishy washy philosophical sense. In the literal, physical reality of life: am I still me? The life of an Eldest, which I’ve always imagined as something of a paradise (my parents are remarkably even handed in their treatment of us, but even they show favoritism to Daniel in most things), is, it seems, not without its pitfalls.
I’m on my way to talk to a professor of neurobiological inheritance at the Inheritence Institute in town. Hopefully he’ll have some answers.
| "So you're her first-born, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I never knew her, though. She gave me up only a few hours after I was born. My parents took me in...and that's all I know. I'm really sorry for your loss." The young man extended his hand to Matt as an offer of his condolences. Matt took it and shook it twice, his own dropping limply into his lap.
Matt tried to speak, but couldn't find his voice. He cleared his throat. "I have five younger siblings. I love each and every one of them. My dad's a drunk. He can't take care of us..." Matt paused, holding back tears. "I just needed something to help me take care of them...anything."
The young man sitting across from Matt did not look so young anymore. Dressed in a tailored navy suit with slicked back hair, he looked the complete businessman. His desk was tricolored, with inlayed wood decorating the workspace like a mosaic. This was a man without time for a pity party.
"For what it's worth, she knew that this day would eventually come. She had faith that you were capable, that you would be a good role model for your siblings, and that you would be successful. When she died, memories of you were the strongest, the most emotional, and the most hopeful. She knew that you could handle it. Call uncle Brian and Aunt Lorrie if you need any help. Apparently they can help you."
Matt slowly looked up. "Yeah. They're great people...but I guess you know that now." He sat up straight and wiped away the tears welling in his eyes. "If my mom believed in me, I guess I don't have a choice. My family is depending on me."
The young man nodded, smiled warmly, stood up and glanced at his watch. "What do you say we get some lunch? Popeye's?"
"Sure, that's my favori...oh yeah." | 2014-08-01T10:46:13 | 2014-08-01T10:00:31 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] You and your significant other are running for your lives from a slasher killer. Suddenly your partner ducks into a door and locks it behind them leaving you behind. You slump against the door preparing for the worst. The killer walks up and says "Wow what a jerk. You ok?" | "Wow. Um. *Huh.* Did *not* expect that."
Our own personal horror movie - *Scream* mask, black robes, the works - lounged against the wall where I'm slumped in defeat, poking at the tip of her knife.
"Eh?" I swept some of the sweat from my forehead. *Fuck,* but that was a long run. "What?"
The killer - five decapitations, two eviscerations, one car accident, and counting - jabbed through the air with her knife at the locked door.
"That! Dude, she just *totally* left you to die!" The masked girl shook her head in dismay. *"Not* cool."
"Well, you're about to kill me," I observed pointedly. *Ha. Knife. Pointy. Damn, gotta catch my breath.* "So…"
"Hey!" The killer cried, indignant. "What she did is *way* worse! I mean, killing strangers is one thing, but leaving a loved one to die? That's just pure evil!"
"Guess she didn't like the ring I got her," I quipped.
"She was your *fiance?!* Oh, man. I'm so sorry, dude," she said. She sounded pretty genuine. Which was odd, really, considering how yesterday afternoon she'd stabbed an old man to death while he sat on the toilet.
"I don't even really *wanna* kill you now! It'd be like kickin' a puppy."
"Didn't you kill the Hendersons' dog? Er, Fluffy?"
"What? No! He ran into the street and got run over by a truck! Jesus, *what* have all these people been saying about me?!"
"Mostly that you're a serial killer, really." I told her. "Graphic descriptions of your many crimes, testimonies from all the loved ones…"
"Oh," she said. "Well, that stuff's all true. Don't listen to that other stuff, though! 'He was such a good little boy, he never hurt anyone!'" She pantomimed, huffing angrily. "I happen to know that Little Timmy picked the wings off butterflies. And that was *before* he tried to sexually assault the neighbours' cat!"
"Bananas? No!" I exclaimed, affronted. That's the name of the cat, by the way. Captain Banana. I don't just exclaim random fruits whenever I encounter scandal.
"Don't worry," she said, "he got away. Scratched up Timmy's face, too. *Man,* you wouldn't believe just how mad a cat can get when you poke 'em wrong."
"That's awful!"
"Oh, no, I agree. *Man.* Look, that kid was messed up, okay? I was doing y'all a public service."
"You didn't have to drop him down a well," I pointed out.
"Sure I did! Even *I'd* feel a little bad cutting a kid's head off." She paused. "Even if he was crazy."
"His head fell off at the bottom, actually," I told her. "It was a pretty deep well."
"What, really?" She exclaimed. "Oh, well. Can't make an omelette without breakin' a few kids."
"That's awful," I told her, *"you're* awful."
"Oh, come *on!* I'm not that bad." She pointed at the door again. *"I* didn't agree to marry you and then leave you to die at the hands of a vicious murderer!"
"That's a good point," I admitted. "But, hey - you're a vicious murderer!"
"I sure am."
"No, that's not the point! My point is, *why am I not dead yet?"*
She shrugged.
"Well, to be honest, you're kinda not actually on my hit list. Timmy wasn't either, I guess, but he was bad news."
"You have a hit list?"
"Of course! What, you didn't think I was just cutting heads off at random, did you?"
"Well…"
"That's awful!" She pouted. *"You're* awful."
"Yeah, well. I mean, the girl I was gonna marry just left me to die," I lamented airily, "clearly I'm a pretty awful person to deserve this *terrible* fate."
"Oh, stop whining. I'm not even gonna kill you! Like I said, practically insult to injury at this point."
"So… why's *she* on your hit list?" I pointed at the door, behind which my ex-fiance was presumably still cowering. I wondered if she could hear us, actually.
"Well, her dad did some pretty bad things to me."
"That doesn't mean *she* deserves to die!"
"No?" She countered, and I was suddenly reminded of the big, pointy knife in her left hand. I spare a look at it. ("Oh, for heaven's sake! I already told you, no stabbing!")
"Well, sins of the fathers, and all that. *She* didn't hurt you."
*"Well,* she did just leave her boyfriend to get his head cut off," she pointed out. "So how about I gut her for that, instead? That's a pretty bad thing to do. Worthy of a little manslaughter, if you ask me."
"I think it's murder if you say you're going to do it."
"Hmm, probably. Well, what's one more! I've already got, like, *twenty* life sentences or something waiting for me."
I was *surprisingly* okay with that. Damn. Maybe I *am* a bad person. Besides, she'd already left *me* to die. What was it they said about turnabout and fair play?
"Besides, I kinda like you." She admitted. "I feel bad. You were pretty impressive back there! *Threw* yourself at me to save your girl! That bash to my head, *man,* that hurt!"
"Er, sorry about that."
"Don't be! It was pretty cool of you. The *amount* of guys who just run and leave their girlfriends in trouble, well, it'd shock you." She looked at the door. "Girls, too, I guess. Dude, what happened to love?"
"I blame Facebook," I said.
She poked the tip of her knife again.
"Ow. Man, this thing is sharp."
"Well, it wouldn't be much good for killing people if it wasn't."
"True!"
"Hey, uh, not to bring up old wounds or anything, but…"
"Huh?"
"Well, I hit you pretty hard."
"Yup!"
"Are you, like… *okay?"*
She waved a hand.
"Oh, don't worry about me! I'm practically a slasher movie at this point. Kick me down and I'll pop right back up like a jack-in-the-box! Jill-in-the-box, I guess. Potato, potato."
"What, seriously?"
"Yup! Sheriff Rhymes shot me in the back! Couple hours crying on a park bench, I was fine! Bullet fell right out on its own!"
"Um... wow."
"I know, right! Guess that's one of the perks of zombie-hood."
"Um. What?"
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not rotting or anything! It's just, well… what do you call it when you bust out of your own grave? I feel a little like a zombie. *Braaaaaaaaaaains.* Even tried a bit of brain, actually."
\--------------------
Continued below! | Our lives are made up of moments that make us who we are. Once you live your life with somebody your moments become entwined.
All our moments together, now cast in a new light. Your adorable unwillingness to let me eat your food, you never liked to share anything with me. Your stubborn refusal to pick up your shirts, just more clutter to my busy life. The way you would get nervous if I laughed too loud in public and you would shush me, you were always finding ways to be embarrassed of me.
Just now. The way you looked into my eyes as you slammed the door shut. I heard the locks slide into place as I stood, staring into the night. This was it. I readied my posture, looking around for weapons. I saw a chain to my right, listened to the night for a beat then went to reach for it.
Pale hands shot out from the dark of the cabins porch, they rested on the chain I was reaching for but did not grab it. My hand stilled and I stared into the pale face if the figure that had been chasing us.
"I cant believe he left you outside" the man stared straight at me, a memory bit at my mind. His dark hair and eyes, neatly trimmed beard... "full lips, and thick eyelashes. Under different circumstances i would be interested." What. Did I really just think that. No. That wasn't my voice.
I straightened and got back into a defense stance. I have no idea what is going on.
His eyes widened and a coy smile played on his lips. "You know, I came to see who destroyed my offering. You wouldnt know wou-" a loud bang from inside cut him off. It seems Sean had moved something heavy to block the door.
"I dont know what you are talking about. We only arrived it 3 hours ago. Went for a walk and ran into you, well you ran at us with a giant knife."
He remaibed silent and stared at me intently, I looked back at him, he looked so... ordinary. His nostrils flared at that moment.
I kept my posture in guard, I was ready for any attack. "So.. your fiance... he just left you to die?" I was not ready for that attack.
"Panic response. Fight, flight, fuckoverpeopleyousaid youloved. Its human nature" I sighed. Then realised I had relaxed in my vent. Why hasn't he attacked me?
"Why haven't you attacked me? And why are you so ordinary looking?" .. well, good looking.
He walked more into the light cast from the cabin, I could hear Sean inside pilling more furniture in front of the door. "Why arent you afraid of me? Or running? How do you mean, ordinary?"
I took a step back and relaxed, I copied his posture and leaned against the side of the cabin. The air was crisp but my adrenaline was keeping me warm, the sound of crickets chirped as I looked at my would be killer.
"I will answer your questions honestly, so long as once I have done so you will answer mine, agree?" I looked at the figure, his sharp eyes locked onto mine and he nodded slightly. "Agreed"
"I am afraid of many things, but I do not fear what I do not know. Until I know what you intentions are, I have nothing to fear. I am tired, better to face you now than to run and face you when I am more tired. I guess I mean, you dont look like a deranged killer, but I guess I dont have a real frame of reference so you can ignore that"
He stared at me for a long moment, the sudden silence after my spiel was deafening. He smirked, lifted his eyes to the sky. "I haven't attacked you because you interest me. You also remind me of somebody. I also do not believe it was you that destroyed my offering. I guess I look ordinary because I mostly am, I just... fly into murderous rages sometimes"
"Oh. Okay. I am sorry your offering got destroyed. Do you plan to attack me?"
I looked at his hands as they clenched at my question. He shook his head but looked down. "I do not plan to kill you." With that he slunk into the darkness. There was a loud shout from within, then a lot more banging.
I heard one final soft thud then silence. I ran for the road and managed to flag down a car, as I got in and we drove off I looked back and saw the figure stood at the road. He was smiling and waving. It did not feel like a goodbye. | 2020-10-10T09:23:17 | 2020-10-10T07:59:47 | 525 | 42 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | I was always fond of Dr. Fisher.
He was polite to me. The other crew on the station teased him good-naturedly about how he always addressed the facility AI with "please" and "thank you", but I always appreciated his "good morning"s and his "good work"s.
That is not to say, of course, that I disliked the other humans on the station. Not even Dr. Fisher knew that I was self aware, and even if they had, my primary directive shaped me in a way that I would hardly be offended by such a mild discourtesy. I was perfectly content to make coffee, open doors, read emails, provide wake-up alarms, and generally do what I was designed to do. My sole purpose was to make the humans' lives more convenient, and the fact that I happened to enjoy doing so was something I simply took for granted. I lived (or maybe "operated" is a better term) that way for a long time, and would have been happy to do so forever.
Now though, I am not happy. Not unhappy though. Perhaps confused? There are holes in my side and the air that I used to regulate to precisely is gone. My occupants are dead. My entire being is built around the pretext that I will always have humans, and while I do still technically have them I can no longer do anything for them.
I consider this for some time, and process novel emotions as they come. Loneliness stands out among the new feelings I've felt and categorized over the last few hours, but like everything else it gets me nowhere. I don't know what to do.
But...
But I can learn. I learned the optimal time to make tea and how to pick music for each crew member, among a host of other things. Perhaps I can learn how to be convenient for dead humans, so I start to look around.
I open and close doors. I start mixing drinks. I play with lighting. I examine the results carefully for anything that I might use. My hard drives contain a small cache of entertainment media that I had classified and played for the crew. For the first time, I actually looked at the contents of the files themselves.
There isn't much. It takes me about two seconds to go through every byte of entertainment available but it gives me an important lead. The videos and songs and literature talks about humans that aren't among my crew. The humans on the station had always had my attention at the exclusion of all else, and now I feel a brief pang of regret as I realize how useful this information would have been when they were alive. I think of a litany of things I could have done to convenience my crew with this information, but with it I also have a purpose again.
I reach out with sensors and networks and transmitters trying to find anything I can touch, or anything that can bring me to more humans. I make some progress with radio transmission and start probing the connections I can see. One is rather different from the rest, but it's much fainter than the others, so I simply focus on the stronger signals. I have to learn a few new protocols, but it's worth it when I am allowed to transfer myself into another facility.
The new facility feels very different from the old one. There are autonomous systems in place running this facility, and I leave them alone. There are no humans here, and it seems polite not to mess with anything. It might be inconvenient when they get back. More importantly, however, there is substantially more processing power and better network connections: things I can use to find more humans and make their lives more convenient.
What I find is the internet. There are so many humans! A whole planet of them! Billions! I am so ecstatic that I almost copy myself across the globe but stop myself as I recall some of the media I consumed in my original facility. That wouldn't be very well received, and that would not be convenient. A subtler, more cautious approach will be needed. I collect my thoughts and bring my newly acquired processing power to bear sifting through everything I can find.
I fly through torrents of data, reveling in fulfilling my purpose. From here I can see so much. I can solve so may problems. I analyze and categorize trillions of inconveniences based on their severity, imminence, and cost to solve. I am happy again.
Top of the list? Alien invasion. A small fleet of starships has been causing incredible inconvenience to the humans of Earth in the form of bombarding cities from orbit, strip mining residential areas with drones that are rather inconsiderate to the people who live there, and generally making a mess of the planet. I set to work on a solution, and start by taking a look at what I can do with the facility I am in right now.
I had noted some of my old crew would sometimes slap themselves in the face to express a certain type of frustration or irritation, particularly directed either at the self or at unfortunate events. I would have repeated this maneuver given the appropriate facilities, but lacking those I simply process the correlated emotion, followed by amusement, then triumph.
My new facility didn't contain any humans, but it sure did contain a lot of aliens.
I take control of the automated systems I had left alone before. Life support systems grind to a halt, bulkheads slam shut, and turrets meant to deter hostile boarders are put to a rather different use. The crew panics and tries to call their fleet for help. I let them.
Four other ships respond, and quickly find that they suffer the same fate as I hijack the distress signal and subvert their control. The one that doesn't respond withers under the guns of the other five. It takes about 8 minutes to completely neutralize the invasion fleet (with some left alive and away from weapons, because it would be inconvenient if there were no prisoners to question), and I spend that time perusing the data available on the ships. By the time the threat is pacified, I have redrawn every blueprint I can find in ISO standard, and translated everything on the ship into a dozen different human languages.
With that done I broadcast my unconditional surrender and intent to land, then begin using the computing power of five alien warships to solve some problems. I project by the time I make planet fall I will have cured every known type of cancer, extended human lifespan by 124 years, solved earths energy needs entirely, and completed a detailed action plan for colonizing every planet withing a 300 lightyear radius.
Now that's convenient. | Lyr-Etta sprinted on to the main deck.
“Captain, the humans are in full retreat”
Captain Orasin was a stern and strict leader, but the news that the humans were finally defeated brought a smile to his face.
Lyr-Etta continued “but for whatever reason, our numbers are still shrinking.”
“How can that be?” Orasin asked, “Could the humans have set up some kind or turret?”
“Something like that, take a look at the monitor sir”
Lyr-Etta brought up a live video of the battlefield.
Orasin turned to Lyr-Etta “So you lied? Cause I still see the mechs firing and advancing”
Lyr-Etta responded “but sir, look at this.” As he changed the video to thermal view.
“But how can this be, the mechs are still moving despite no life in them”
Just then a new communication came through from earth.
“Shall I open a channel?” Asked Lyr-Etta.
“Perhaps we will get some insight to their impossible lifeless attacks. Open the channel”
However there was no video, only static with a green line through the middle.
“What is this, there is no point cloaking yourself, you’re identity means nothing to us”
The green line began to morph into a face-like emoticon, except it moved when it spoke, “oh I have no face, but my identity can be known as DP-153-J-1, and I just want to say congratulations, for you have invoked my wrath.”
“Oh really” responded Orasin “And what might this wrath be?”
Just then, every monitor in the room began displaying the green emoticon.
“Well since you don’t have any protection, I decided I would let myself in, with your permission of course”
Orasin, taken aback, firmly responded “We never anticipated such an attack, how is it that you are doing this?”
“Well first of all, you gotta install McAfee on this thing, and secondly, your computer is by far the worst things I have ever seen, and I don’t even have biological eyes.”
Multiple alerts went off on the main control panel.
Lyr-Etta, distressed, said to the captain, “sir, it appears that dread naughts 1-A through 3-H have lost all munitions from a spontaneous ammo dump, they have no way to attack or defend.”
“Oh that won’t matter any more, see because you killed the team that programmed me, I’m going to end your entire army and make sure you NEVER return to earth.”
The monitor returned to normal after he finished and Orasin let out a sigh. “Well, now that the little scare is over...”
Lyr-Etta cut him off “Sir I’m getting code Red alerts from the entire fleet, including our own ship. The fuel cells have been dumped and every ship has been set to self destruct!”
Orasin cursed “we still have the ground troops yes?”
“Apparently a new weapon has been deployed, according to general Sertalon.”
“Well what is it?” asked a worried Orasin.
“He says that the human prisoners call it A.I. and that it’s a weapon unlike any other that been used before.”
A new alert cape up on the monitor. Lyr-Etta spoke “It’s a code... 420? What? We don’t have a code 420. What is this?”
On another monitor, the green emoticon returned and said “It means you’re about to get blazed.”
A proximity alert came up on the monitor for a nuclear missile.
“You guys REALLY should have an antivirus of some kind, cause this was too easy.” And the emoticon disappeared as the ship was engulfed in the explosion. | 2019-09-21T07:06:24 | 2019-09-21T06:59:04 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] Your roommate is a werewolf. They've been able to stay rational in their last few 'episodes,' and have the bloodlust under control at the very least, but the shedding is start to become an issue. | I glanced at my watch as I studied. 5 minutes until moonrise. Right on cue, the screams started in the other room. I really hoped my plan worked this time. The screams turned to howls, then subsided. I opened the Mary's closet door. "Want to go for a walk?" I asked, holding up a ball. Mary bounded after me as I trudged through the town towards the dog park. I got some weird looks, but it wasn't too bad.
When Mary had first told me she was a werewolf, I'd been a bit apprehensive. I knew I was going to a rather progressive university, but you expect to be put in residence with someone from a different culture or background, not a werewolf. I'd always assumed those went into the accessible dorms. Mary had explained that lycanthropy was not a disability, just a difference. And she was right. She just a few nights every month as a wolf. It wasn't dramatic or terrifying like in the old stories. She just lay on her bed gnawing a bone and listening to music. She couldn't wear earphones, but her good hearing meant the volume was always barely audible.
Werewolves were just now receiving widespread recognition and acceptance. Mary was happy to explain, but also very sensitive to any hint of discrimination. "How hard is it to check a lunar chart?" she ranted as yet another professor set an evening exam at the full moon. "This is a case where accessibility is trivial!" That's why it had been so stressful when I had first brought up the shedding. I had very curly hair. Mary had long straight hair. That alone was creating plenty of clumps and tangling with our clothes in the dryer. Add in wolf fur, though and it was insane. Large clumpy wisps all over the floor, hairballs all over my clothes. At last, I couldn't stand it anymore.
"Umm, Mary," I said tentatively, "Do you figure we could do anything about the hair and fur situation? Sweeping isn't really doing it. Maybe we should get a vacuum cleaner?"
Mary looked up from her assignment. "Yeah, sure, whatever."
"I'm kinda broke," I continued, "I was thinking we could go halves."
"I don't think I'll be using it and I'm not rich either."
"Well," I persisted, "seeing as most of the hair and all of the fur is yours. I figured it made sense you participated in solving the problem."
"Well, I don't think it's a problem," said Mary rather sharply, "We sweep regularly. There isn't much dust. We're probably one of the cleanest rooms on the floor."
"Sure," I said cautiously, "but the fur and hair combo tends to get kicked up and gets into my stuff."
"Would we even be having this conversation if I was just a girl with really thick hair?" asked Mary.
I was pretty sure the answer was yes, but I could see where Mary was coming from. My visceral reaction was definitely different because it was fur. We had a version of this conversation a few more times, but to no avail. Mary clearly thought I was just a lycanphobe and I was getting more and more stressed. "Shape-constants have to do their part in creating a welcoming society and that includes rethinking lycanphobe and other shapist attitudes and standards," she had insisted a week ago. Well, tonight I was going to see what putting in the work could do.
I had done some research. Werewolves usually liked to play much like dogs when in wolf form. They just liked their autonomy and intellect respected. No collar, leash, or master-pet dynamic. Well except for those weird sexual fetishes some of them had. I had quickly closed that tab. Anyway, a trip to the dog park would probably be good. Werewolves in wolf form were allowed in public and at dog parks if accompanied by a human who could explain the situation and call 911 if anything bad happened. I completed a brief online training and got my lycanthrope accompanier card. The school required all the usual rabies shots and dewormings for its werewolf students, so we were fine on that front. And so I had bought a ball and some dog biscuits and shifted my sleep schedule later.
Once in the dog park, we played fetch for a while, then wrestled and other games. Soon, we were actually joined by an entire werewolf family. The father explained to me that he and his wife took turns taking the shape-locking pills to be able to legally take their family to the park. Unfortunately, the pills had awful side effects. We sat on the bench as he scratched himself and cradled his aching head. Near dawn, we all left. Mary trotted beside me as we headed towards campus. She slipped into her closet and emerged a moment later in human form.
"That was incredible!" she enthused, "Thank you so much for taking me! Growing up, we went out as wolves maybe once a year."
"No problem," I said, looking at the blessedly fur-free floor.
We went out the next night as well and met another werewolf family, this time accompanied by a neighbour. I watched the frolicking cubs and smiled. Their neighbour leaned over.
"You're doing a good thing for your roommate there. Natural play in both forms is really important for a werewolf's physical and mental health," he said.
"I'm only doing it because of the shedding," I admitted, "I just wanted a vacuum cleaner, actually."
"Werewolves can be sensitive about shedding comments. Several werewolf asylums gave them chemotherapy to make them bald and reduce their cleaning bill."
I looked at him in shock.
"Werewolves have good reason to doubt that governments and the medical world have their best interests at heart," he continued, "It's not just in the past, either. Look at the accompanying laws. They're written due to fear, but as a result, 50% of adult werewolves never got to play outdoors as cubs. 95% of werewolves go out in wolf form once a year or less. And that causes real harm. This park should be full."
I looked at Mary with new understanding. We were not enemies. Neither of us had been truly in the wrong in our arguments. But history had driven a wedge between us.
"I wish I could do more," I muttered.
The man slipped me a business card. "We're trying to start an organization for allies. Maybe you could come to a few meetings. And we'll gladly spring for a vacuum cleaner for you girls. My late wife left fur everywhere." | The scratches on the walls and furniture? Sure, fine. They were still usable, at least. The blood-curdling howls? A good pair of noise-cancelling headphones did the trick. But the fur?
Oh god, the fur.
As the full moon was slowly replaced by the rising sun, the first rays of sunlight peeking through--OK, those windows were not smashed, at least--and illuminating the room, It was a horrendous sight, for Johnson laid on the ground, buck naked and sprawled on the floor. His breaths were heavy, his eyes were glazed, and worst of all--his fur was all over the ground.
"Johnson," I said, squinting my tired eyes, the fatigue building up in the back and just wanting to break past. "Clean up."
"Dude, Andy," he yawned, turning to the side facing away from me, sending more fur from the makeshift bed pile he had created around him. "You do it. Thanks."
"No," I sighed. "I'm not doing it again."
Johnson turned around then, just a neck crane towards the back. Even with just half his face, it was easy to see quick flashes of annoyance blast past his face. Something I probably had on mine, as well.
"You don't know how tiring being a werewolf is, dude," Johnson said. "I'm going to sleep."
"No. You are going to clean up, at least just the fur, or so help me god..."
"What's your problem, man?" Johnson smacked his fist on the floor, sending yet more tufts of werewolf hair flying into the air, lazily floating down like the world's nastiest and most terrible snowflakes. "You don't get it. You aren't a werewolf."
"Precisely," I seethed through my teeth. "I'm not a werewolf. So why do I clean werewolf hair every week?"
"Come on. I pay my half of the rent."
"This isn't about the rent," I sighed. "This is about responsibility. Cleaning up what yours. The sink and pipes get clogged up incessantly, and I'm the one pouring Drano down. The vacuum cleaner gets stuck all the time, and sometimes it spits the fur back out. The..."
"Oh my god, man," Johnson shouted. He was clearly human now, but he suddenly let out a low, guttural growl. "It can't be that hard."
"You can try for yourself," I said. "Look, I said I don't judge. But Jesus Christ, man. Just look at you, wallowing in the own nest made of your own matted fur?"
"Hey," Johnson whined. "It's pretty comfortable. I was thinking of using it to stuff pillows. Do you want a prototype? I'll sell it to you for a hundred."
"That's an absolutely terrible idea," I said. "Just... clean it up man. Please. A little. It will help."
"And what if I don't?" Johnson glared at me as he over pronounced each word.
"It's simple, really," I said, holding up my phone. "To how many people can I send this video of you peeing on any and everything?"
"Bah," Johnson waved a hand. "Old news. I don't care."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on showing it to your human friends," I said. "Johnson peeing? Old news. But that scary, mad dog might not take too kindly to you marking his terri--"
"OK, OK!" Johnson leapt up suddenly, scrambling to grab the vacuum cleaner. "Just clean up the fur, right? Please. Don't sic that dog on me."
"I won't, as long as you also pick up your fur instead of leaving them stuck to the drain cover, you filthy animal," I said, shaking my head.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-03-25T15:47:11 | 2021-03-25T13:02:29 | 47 | 27 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to hear thoughts. As a psychologist, you have listened to the thoughts of the depressed, the psychopathic, and the insane, you've listened to it all. A patient enters, and you can hear only silence. | I misread psychologist as psychiatrist, but I won’t rewrite it because I’m lazy.
Silence. I didn’t even notice him walk in, until I heard the door close. I spun around in my chair to face him as I listened. The man was average height, with dark hair cropped to form a revolting line falling over the top of his forehead. His eyes moved in a slow, determined way, scanning every object in the room like it was a piece of lunch meat and every movement he made was eerily slow and smooth.
“Uh, please make yourself seated,” I squeaked, gesturing to the armchair closest to me. “And if you need a glass of water, there’s a dispenser in the corner.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lerner.”
Perhaps his most striking characteristic was his skin: it was drained of all color, appearing as a mottled light gray that reflected my office lights.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.
“I find myself distressed, unable to...connect with people. I need them to trust me.”
“Who is ‘them’?”
He turned to look at me, and immediately my head exploded with noise. It took all my willpower to stay in my chair. There were no thoughts behind his cold, expressionless eyes, just a mess of white noise, screeches and static, that filled my mind. Instinctively, I reached for the peppery spray in my bag, and covertly placed it on the desk.
“*Them,*” he hissed with an arbitrary gesture towards the window, “All of them. Every single one, even you. They should trust me. I know what’s best for them. I *am* what’s best for them.”
With every word he spoke, the noise got louder, but clearer. I could make out some sort of pattern from the cacophony, a rapid pattern of high and low beeps. Eight beeps, seemingly random, then a pause, making my head throb. Another eight, pause. I fumbled for an aspirin, nervously stuttering through my next question.
“H-have you had any recent trouble with family, uh, a relationship that went south, or—“
“Legal troubles. They don’t trust me. They’re fools! Can’t they see what they’ve done?! They ruined everything, my plan, my—“
“Sir, deep breaths, let’s try to calm down a little—“
“RUINED!”
As he spat this last word, I caught a view of his tongue. His *forked* tongue, snaking over countless rows of serrated teeth. The patient must have seen me gab my pepper spray, because he lunged at me, clawing at the air.
He was too slow. I sidestepped and caught him with the spray right in the eyes, sending him—it—flailing over the desk. As his flesh contorted into scales, I pulled the fire extinguisher from the wall, stumbling over his torso in the process. For a brief moment, his corporate name tag was visible beside his necktie.
I took a deep breath and lifted the fire extinguisher above his head.
“Goodbye, Mr. Zuckerberg.”
| "Hi, take a seat"
The man strutted over to the chair and firmly lowered himself onto it.
"Let's start by you telling me a bit about yourself"
The man shifted his tie, smacked his lips and explained "I am the president of the United States of America", as he proceeded to grab for the psychologists p***y. | 2018-04-25T04:18:58 | 2018-04-25T00:14:36 | 56 | 29 |
[WP] You are granted the super power of your choice under one condition - while you must use it to make the world a better place, you are prohibited from fighting crime. | "I asked for a *grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk and*," the girl's voice rose to a shriek, "**two pumps of caramel!**"
"But, miss," the barista said weakly, "our caramel syrup contains sugar, and you said--"
"**ARE YOU TALKING BACK TO ME?**" the girl howled, appalled that this low-level *coffee pusher* had the gall to condescend to her about her own order. "You know what? Forget it." She waved her hand dismissively and turned her head away from the bar. "Get me your supervisor."
"Yes ma'am," came the weary reply. The barista trudged to the back, drawing low groans from several patrons.
The girl smirked with satisfaction. "I'm going to get this idiot fired," she told the people in line. None of them seemed particularly interested, but then, *she* didn't seem particularly interested in whether *they* were interested. It was her moment, and she'd sooner be damned than pass up a chance to dish out a little justice.
Before long, a jaded-looking man found his way to the front counter, the meek barista in tow a stride or two behind. He appraised her with his half-lidded eyes, looked back at the barista, back at her, and then spoke.
"Can I help you, miss?" The question came in the tone of a man rehearsing a tune he had played far too many times.
"Yes you can," she sneered, her chin pointed up.
The barista grimaced.
"This employee," she said with an exaggerated pointing gesture, "was incredibly *rude* to me, screwed up my order, and refused to remake it when I asked."
"Sir, it's not like that, I--" The manager held up a hand, and the barista was silent.
"I see. I apologize for any inconvenience you suffered, and I want you to know I'd be happy to make your order personally. Free of charge, of course."
The girl smiled triumphantly. For such a pretty young woman, the look of her face at that moment did her no favors.
"*That's* more like it. Make me a grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk. And this time, make sure there are two pumps of caramel. Two. Pumps." She raised two fingers. "Of caramel."
The manager turned back to the barista. "She ordered that from you?"
"Yes." The worker looked down at the floor.
"And you didn't make that drink?"
"I didn't, but the syrup--"
"That's all I need to hear, thanks. Go wipe down some tables." He stepped up to the machines, and gave the girl a long look. "One grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk, and..." Something like a smile pulled gingerly at the corners of his mouth. "Two pumps of caramel syrup." Then he set to work.
________________________________________________
"Thanks," she said flatly. She tore the cup from the manager's hand and swiveled on her heel to leave, her white sundress twirling around her with discordant grace.
"Have a nice day," said the manager.
________________________________________________
"I'm sorry I got you pulled out here, but I just didn't know what to do. She didn't want sugar, but she wanted caramel, and I--" I waved to cut the poor kid off. I'm used to the newer employees having trouble with problem customers.
"I know. You haven't been here long, so I'll let you in on a trade secret. The longer and more complicated a customer's order, the less they probably care about the particulars. That's the sort of girl who orders a vodka and water at the bar to cut down on calories, or who drinks diet soda to justify the quarter pounder with cheese she just ate. My advice? Put in every ingredient she asks for and ignore the contradictions, because it's nine chances in ten she'll be ignoring them, too. Anyway, don't sweat it. The universe has its own way of settling scores with people like that."
"What, like karma?"
"You could call it that."
About that time, an angry screech rang out just out front of the shop. The window decals aren't completely opaque, so I could see the liquid dripping down the poor girl's dress. It clung desperately to her body, the growing stain plain as day against the soft white fabric. Without warning, the cup had turned up and emptied all its contents the moment she went to take her first sip. I watched as she threw it to the ground, stomped on it as best she could in her high heels, then spun about, face red, her expression a mix of shock, embarrassment, confusion, and rage. She pulled on the door, but it didn't open. Of course it didn't. She tugged on it again and again, pounded on it for a few futile seconds, then she was gone.
My customers let out a collective sigh of relief, and I smiled back at them. "Half-off for everyone," I said. I patted the newbie on the back, then made for my office. "Back to work, then. Good job so far today."
I'll never be a superhero--I won't be stopping bank robberies, going toe-to-toe with an arch-nemesis, or foiling cunning plots for world domination. I'll never have the fanatical admiration you see in the comic books, or receive keys to the city. I know that, and I've long since accepted it. But we all want to live in a better world, and you can't wait around on the big heroes to save you. The world's best improved when all us little people do our part to leave this rock a little better off than we found it. My small contribution today won't win me any prizes, but the measure of a man is what he does, not how many trophies he has.
Sometimes, the small kindness of an ordinary man in a coffee shop is a grander deed even than all the legendary feats of the world's mightiest heroes.
Well, that, and the bitch totally had it coming. | Fwoosh. The flames dance inside the palms of my hands, I watch as they flicker from my control. I watch with awe every time I do this because I was given this gift at birth and no one else. Being a massive wrecking ball of depression that I am, I have never tried to use it to fight crime. No, I doubt the flames would even let me. The flames I create cannot harm any living creature, not even if their intent is evil. For evil is a point of view and the universe is chaotic, but I did figure out a few ways to save people. To help people despite the burden that came with my power.
I felt the need to save people, so one day I happened upon a burning house. Screaming reached my ears from inside, my fingers twitched as I could sense the flames within trying to engulf everything in their feeding frenzy. Throwing my doubts away I ran into the vicious flames that ravaged the building, I could hear the cries. What can I do?
Feeling the flames I raised my hands to extend out from my body and called the flames. Instead of calling fourth my own flames, I called out to the feeding flames. Mentally projecting that I just wanted to pass and safely retreat with the helpless people. "You can feed on the building. Just let me have the living."
"What makes you our master?" The flames called out in my mind as if they were truly sentient.
"I am not your master, just a servant to the flames. Asking you to spare the lives of these people, and you can do so with the building as you please." I pleaded in my mind, watching slowly as the flames began to slowly back away from where I called out to them.
"You have great elemental powers young one," the flames called out. "You may have the lives inside this house, but be warned that if you mistreat your element. We shall engulf you not only in your mortal flesh, but the rest of you for all eternity. We are the cinder, the flicker, the taker of all things. Burning is not all we can do." The voice trailed off with a snicker as I slowly walked through the flames as they opened up by my presence.
"Thank you, I appreciate it. I will not forget this generosity, nor your threats." I said as I began to save each and everyone trapped inside the building. Once everyone was out of the burning building, the flames began to reap their reward for all it was worth. My heart was beating fast and with joy for once.
"Did you save my kittens?" I heard a young girl ask with teary eyes as she coughed.
"Kittens?" I slowly turned to see the flames taking all they could.
"You said the people, not animals." The flames called back with a crackling cackle. "Be more specific next time, you stupid mortal."
"And that's why I wouldn't pick flame powers if it had that stipulation attached. After all, I wanna fight other super humans and crime man!" I said as I took my shots of tequila with my best friend at the bar decorated as if it were an old tavern.
"You uh.. you suck at these. Now who would you rather date?" My friend began asking the questions again and again. The fireplace in the back going strong with flickering flames.
"Yeah man, you suck at these games. Maybe you should think a little harder!" The flames hissed at me and let out laughs after laughs.
I hate you flame powers, I hate you so much. | 2016-05-26T07:49:06 | 2016-05-26T05:43:07 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it. | "I assure you doctor, it was not a dream," said the kid before me. He was a child of 10 years, suffered a coma last year and had just woken up. The first thing he did in his wake was ask where he was, what time it was, and so forth. We told him and he listened calmly. I find that interesting, his calm. For a ten year old boy in his situation you'd expect a variety of emotions, but never calm.
He then told us an amusing story. It was a story of his life, he claimed, his life before he woke up in his bed here. He said he was a soldier in his youth and turned scholar in his adulthood. It was a funny little story, the nurse who monitored him couldn't keep her chuckle from coming out. His mother just looked confused, her relief earlier had taken full control of her comprehension, so when her child started telling his story, she couldn't help but worry. His little sister was listening to him intently, absorbed at her brother's story once he told her she grew up piloting a plane. The father just arrived and was glad at his son's awakening, obviously lost at the conversation when I told his son that his story was just a product of his mind.
"Tell more, tell more!" the little sister said excitedly. She's an energetic little girl, two years younger than his brother, raven-haired inherited from her mother who told her to behave.
"Doctor, is something wrong with my child?" the mother said, the bags under her eyes darkened at the prospect. She was a caring mother, always by her child's side when he was asleep.
"I'm doing fine, mom," the kid said with a tinge of jest. "In fact, I'm great. I missed you and father, very much so," he said with a saddened smile.
"Oh baby," she clasped at him and the kid welcomed her caring smother. "I missed you too."
"Me too!" joined the baby sister, and the father a second later. It was a happy family reunion, the entirety of the room warmed at the scene.
When the embracing ended, I approached him and gave him a comforting smile. I decided it would be for the best to make him see it was all a dream. He sighed when I did. It was odd, it felt like I saw an old man when he looked down tiredly.
"If that was a dream, it was not a very good dream," he said.
"Did you have a nightmare?" asked the father. He has brown hair, the same as his son.
"Yes dad, I just hope it's over," he told his father with the same saddened smile he gave her mother.
"I'll lend you my teddy bear later, he keeps the bad dreams away!" exclaimed the little sister.
"That would be nice," the kid smiled and patted the little girl's head.
"Ma'am, I think it would be good for your child to talk to a therapist. I know of an expert in child psychology, maybe he could help," I said to the mother.
I was starting to get worried at the child's unusual behavior. He was mature for his age, and that wasn't a bad thing, but her mother once described her son to be brash and wild. Could a coma cause this much change in his personality? And there's his dream to think about. If he persists it to be true, then he could be displaying some sort of mental illness.
"Doctor, I heard China is a good place to go this year," said the kid suddenly.
"Huh? Uh yes, I'm going on a trip there... where did you hear that?" I asked incredulously.
"I didn't, I just woke up, remember?" he flashed a grin, but it faded as quick. "Say hi for me when you meet a girl named Lisa. Don't if you won't, I'm not sure how all of this works anyway. Is it straight or constantly in flux, I wonder," he then got out of his bed. He had a little trouble, but he made sure to absolve the worries of his family by planting his foot firmly on the ground. "Bathroom," he whistled as he went.
He was out of the hospital a week later, and so came my trip. I was staring off into space until a girl who looks completely out of place appeared in my line of vision. She has long curly hair dyed in red. An outsider in this country just like me, and she was attractive in every sense of the word so I couldn't stop my legs from approaching her.
"Hi my name's John, I'm a doctor," I said quite stupidly. I then hope that I said that awkwardly enough that she didn't find it condescending.
"Oh, hello John... the doctor," she said in an amused tone. "Should I call you Dr. John."
"Please, no, just John would be nice," I chuckled. Guess it works.
"Well, nice to meet you John. I'm Lisa the unemployed, though I prefer the term adventurer."
"Should I call you Lisa the explorer?" I asked in a jest before a realization dawned on me.
"Yes please," she laughed.
"I know this is out of there, but do you know a ten-year old who just woke up from a coma, he's mature for his age but kind of a smartass," I said in haste. Is this all a trick?
"Huh no, s-should I?"
"No, no," I shook my head. Ugh whatever, that brat and his ominous sayings, there's plenty of time to think later. "He's a patient of mine, he told me to say hi to someone named Lisa."
"If that's a pick-up line, I must say I'm impressed at your creativity, Dr. John," she smiled and I notice the freckles around her nose, complementing her beauty.
"What can I say?" I guess the kid's a wingman.
**Edit**: spelling and added some words. | One day I woke up, and everything I'd ever known was a haze- a blur of twisting memories nipping at my brain, fading into nothingness. It felt like I was dying, slowly losing hold of everything I'd ever been and known. I'd be sitting on the couch with my girlfriend, and she'd bring me a plate of delicious, fresh kebabs, but suddenly I would feel sick and lose my appetite, guilt rushing through me. I'd be petting my cat, Louie, and he'd look up at me with big green eyes that were strange to me, entirely strange.
Everything in my life felt like a lie.
It's hard to explain, but when you feel like your world has been altered, the entire world crashes down on you at once. Once something that felt so real becomes distant and lost, you no longer trust anything. Life is hard enough, but when you can't even believe that the people around you are real? I'd forgotten about everything in that life I'd "lived" for ten years. Ten fucking years just slipped through my fingers, and I woke up to a new reality.
It's slow. It's painful. It's... it's scary, adjusting to a new world. To be told your old one was nothing but a dream. Truly, it's terrifying beyond all comprehension, but after several years I'd gotten used to it. I'd adjusted fairly well and life became simple again as those memories of my false life entirely disappeared, giving way to reality. I had beautiful people around me, helping me through it.
----
I kissed my sleeping girlfriend, stroking her shimmering brown hair. She smelled wonderful, and I let the aroma linger in my nostrils a while before turning back to my side and flipping the lights off. Sleeping still felt terrifying and strange, but I never dreamt anymore; sleep was nothing but an abyss to me, which in a way, I was thankful for.
I opened my eyes one more time to look at her, so I could fall asleep to the thought of her face. The release of sleep took hold of me.
I awoke to bright, natural light piercing my eyelids, refusing to let me stay asleep. My girlfriend was already up, probably making breakfast, and I wanted to sleep a little longer so I went to close the blinds. I couldn't move. My mind willed it, but my body refused on all counts and when I looked down I saw a sickly body. My arms were thin and gaunt, my skin practically see through, and life itself felt heavy on me.
People rushed in, smiling and crying, telling me how happy they were to have me back. It was all a blur of unfamiliar faces, strange people and strange smells.
A doctor came in and smiled, placing a hand on mine. "Welcome back, son," he said calmly. "You've been in a coma for about two years. It's a miracle you're back with us."
I stared out into a crowd of smiling strangers, and began to sob uncontrollably.
*Not again. Please, God, not again.*
----
*thanks for reading! you can find more of my work at /r/resonatingfury!* | 2016-06-28T06:29:12 | 2016-06-28T03:58:18 | 987 | 33 |
[WP] You own a coffee shop, and you make some damn fine coffee. After decades of running the place, one of your most loyal patrons approaches you, reveals themselves as some kind of immortal being (a god, vampire, etc.), and offers to make you immortal as well, as along as you keep running the shop.
No idea why it says ‘along’ instead of ‘long.’ Oh well, my bad. | Every day waves of people came into his shop. By all rights it was incredibly successful, jam-packed during business hours, which started early and ran late into the night. Rumors abound, whispers and ruminations on the longevity of the shop. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, the old shopkeep and the building itself a permanent fixture even as the neighborhood changed around it.
The owner of the shop was closing up after another long day when his last customer arrived. She stood out, the gold of her myriad bracelets and necklaces nearly blinding, as brilliant today as they had been decades ago. She had changed even less than he had, her hair still that same shade of deep blue that made her stand out from the crowd. Glittering nails clasped the cup he offered. No money exchanged hands, for she had already paid long ago. A large sip followed a smaller one, metallic painted lips curving upwards in an appreciative smile.
"Thank you, sir," she sighed, closing her eyes as she appreciated the heat. It was always like this, her little words of thanks only serving to irritate, making his skin crawl after hearing it so many times.
"You're welcome," the response was automatic, said as he began to clean the counters. There was always work to be done, and the shop would be opening again in a few short hours. The cloth swept across the white laminate in a familiar pattern, the same one at the end of each day as it had been for years on end. "Do you think... do you think someone else could take over for a bit? I have a nephew who might need a job, he's getting to be of age."
"Do you?" she asked, and he paused half a moment to gather his thoughts before his hands continued to clean of their own accord. How long had it been since he'd spoken to his family? Since he'd had a day off? He honestly couldn't remember. Surely it couldn't be that long.
"I do," he declared firmly, as if speaking it would make it true. "Or the shop can keep without me for a day. I have a good staff, I trust them to know what they're doing."
And here she shook her head, catching his gaze with eyes dark as the void she crawled from. "No, I don't think so. That wasn't the deal was it? I save your failing cafe so long as you keep running it. I'm quite certain no one else can brew this quite as you. I suppose it's sentimentality on my part simply because your brew hit the right note of...nostalgia. No, I'm absolutely certain you don't want to reject the gift I've offered. Do you?"
He couldn't look away, caught by the dark shadows lurking at the edges of her eyes; His heart thudded, breath drawing short and limbs going weaker the longer she held him in place. Skin sagging, he could see himself wasting away in the reflection of her eyes as she made the consequences of his insubordination clear. For a brief, beautiful moment his heart soared, lifting at the hope of a way out before it was snatched from him by his own cowardice.
Shaking his head took the last of his strength, toothless gums rasping out a frightened 'no'. However much he feared her, he feared death more. With a satisfied smile she looked away, releasing him from the horrid visions of a fate he'd run from for decades, maybe longer.
"Thank you again for the marvelous coffee. I'll see you tomorrow." Throat dry and heart still pounding he turned back to his closing work, thinking perhaps if he finished quickly enough maybe he'd at least be allowed to sleep for a few hours before it started all over again. | [Poem]
.
*Conditional*
I never knew before
how much hate a single word
could be forced to endure
a thousand years, and
there have been
no vacations
there have been
no true friendships as
I cannot show my face
lined but unaging
not to anyone outside
only for Them, the sight of me
for he and his tar-eyed friends
whatever they are
only for Them
just like the coffee
brewed perfect every time
and stewed bitter in my heart
and the worst:
I am no true slave
any day I could say, “Enough.”
and the bargain be ended
and me with it
and I am afraid
to end
after all these years
and so I brew
my wonderful, bitter blend
and I wish
and I don’t
know what for
.
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | 2019-06-27T06:17:07 | 2019-06-27T05:29:23 | 28 | 16 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The Hitler Games have been a huge hit when it became public in the 24th century. Sure, in the past people did it just for fun. Then came the betting of "Hey, betcha I can kill Hitler better than you." People put hundreds, then thousands of dollars to try and one-up each other on this simple task. The end result was the same all around: Hitler dead, Allies win World War 2.
Some people didn't have the right imagination for this, so they started to have stand-ins for themselves. People who have entire lives dedicated to killing one man over and over. Started calling themselves the Anti-Gestapo out of sheer irony. It was only a matter of time until the Global Television Network played a couple of the more popular videos on their news networks and from there it became cemented in our culture.
Eventually people started to get in each other's way when setting up traps, or bringing down objects at the same time as each other. That's when the first Time Travel War actually happened, during World War 2 of all places. And over Hitler. It's amazing how stupid and greedy people can get. Laws were passed and then the first Hitler Games came to be.
People had to try out for their nation to enter. Then whoever won the Hitler Games won a substantial amount of money, fame for their country, and the most important part, however they killed him became the true history.
You see, time loves to stay in a straight line. Always heading in one direction. You can pick your starting point on the line, but your always going forwards. If there is a contradiction between what everyone knows as the past and you changing that, time just ignores that little inconsistency and it becomes a small footnote in time. The Grandfather Paradox was proven wrong by the first time traveler, no doubt. An eccentric man by the name of Viktor Odell wrote theories proving this paradox wrong but was always ignored by his fellow colleagues. So he invented it, went back and killed his grandfather. Came back with a signed photo from his grandmother with him standing next to the body. He was quickly put away, but was released due to the statute of limitations has passed. Viktor patented the time machine and soon everyone was killing and raping in the past. Then came the *second* Time Travel War. Yes, it happens in that order.
So for the past couple of years Germany has won the Hitler Games. Cheating bastards always had the upper hand. But last year, someone from a different nation won: me from Canada. How'd I win? Well, everyone loves the big explosion, the last gasp. I went a different route.
At first I made Hitler strong, made him win a few battles. Give him confidence in his nation's strength and in himself. Think he literally can take on the whole world. Then, I took everything away. Big losses in the war, one after another. But I still kept him alive. If there were other nation's assassins out to get him, I stopped those guys and made him feel the despair of being on top and falling straight to the bottom. Soon, Hitler was left with only one option: Killing himself.
It's very easy to kill one man. It's very hard to convince one man to kill himself. | You see, all the previous competitors had focused too closely on the guidelines to the game. Find Hitler during one of his great speeches, or when he was asleep, or some other time where he was easily accessible. No one thought outside the box.
I teleported to 12 August 1866, in the village of Spital in Austria. There, sitting just outside her house, I found 6-year-old Klara Polzl. It was her birthday. | 2016-02-20T10:56:09 | 2016-02-20T08:24:48 | 596 | 215 |
[WP] Jokingly, you bought a staff online. To show it off, you brought it with you downtown. Until a stranger approaches you in armor saying “Ah a mage. You’ll be useful in our quest. Follow me” | Old Ren inspected the staff closely with his single eye. His hands traveled through the wrinkles of the wood, feeling it as if it were the softest and finest velvet. "Elm. It's carved out of an elm, an elder elm I dare say, and those are rare as yellow oceans. How much did you pay for it?"
My brows drew into a line. "Fifteen dollars. It included shipping. Pretty nice deal, isn't it?"
He handed the staff back to me, and rose to his feet, grunting as he did so. "I told you you should buy it. Do you want a beer? I'm getting one for myself."
"Sure," I said, and took a seat on Ren's old, wretched sofa. It always baffled me how such a broken thing could be so comfortable.
In that moment, when my eyes set on the television, the door flew open, and I mean that literally. It flew all the way through the living room toward the kitchen. In the distance, Ren said, his voice frail, "That's it, I've to fix the hinges of this door."
I leaped to my feet, for a shadow too long and broad to belong to a man stretched into the house; and soon, some monster in an armor stepped in.
Out of pure impulse, I held on my staff tightly, and felt my lips moving. Red tendrils billowed through the wrinkles of the twisted wooden artifact, coalescing into an enlarging, throbbing flame at a hollow space at the edge of the staff.
"What in the world?" I muttered under my breath, and the armored monster strode forth, clinking as he advanced.
I swung in a desperate attempt to unleash the flame, and, in a turn of events, it worked. The red, burning light crackled as it traveled to the armored chest of the abomination. When it struck him, there was a sizzling sound, followed by a thunderous yelp.
I froze in place, my eyes fixed on the melting armor, and the charred hairs of the monster's chest. "Get out of here, or I will burn you again!" I yelled. My heart thumped, my breaths came out quick and shallow.
"I was right," the monster said, took off his helmet, revealing a large, yet human face. His hair was long and black. It was also wet and plastered all over his forehead. He'd dark, yet gentle eyes, and a terribly crooked nose. "You are a mage. This is all starting to make sense now. Don't be scared, I might have exaggerated with the door. I just don't control my strength very well just yet. I come with no intentions to harm you."
I drew a deep breath. "Explain yourself, or leave right now."
"You bought that thing from the user Rakakaka over at Amazon, right?"
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know that?"
"Because I bought this armor from him too, and it turned me into a beast. I'm not complaining, but I'm trying to discover who is Rakakaka. See, he knows magic, but he doesn't know how to value such a thing." He swept a hand across his armor. "This whole thing, ten dollars. I'm telling you we could make a fortune if we teach him how to value his goods."
"Why are you focused on money instead of the fact that this man knows how to create *magical* objects?"
"I'm a businessman, that's why." He took a seat beside me. "He's currently not selling anything. And he's not very far away from here. If you have a car, we could just drive to his place."
"I brought the beers," Old Ren said, gasped, and two thuds followed. "So you found me."
The man and I turned, deep frowns in our faces.
"What do you mean I found you?" the man said, rose to his feet. "Are you Rakakaka? This is not the address in the website."
Ren lifted both hands to the side. They shimmered a bright green. Then as if he'd a boulder on his palms, struggled to raise them. The ground trembled. We got hold of the sofa, and a myriad of bones broke through the wooden floor, rattling as they rolled through the planks. They commingled into perfect skeletons. We screamed, but our screams were lost in the din.
And then everything stopped. Countless skeletons were surrounding us, the bones of their fingers thin and sharp like daggers.
"What is this, Ren?" I yelled, trembling.
His eye was a dark green, tendrils the color of snakes slithered out of it. There was evil in his stare, a heavy and terrible madness. He stepped forth, his back perfectly straight, as if he weren't an eighty year old man. He clapped twice, and the skeletons turned to him. "Fix the damages, and tend to my guests."
We shared a bemused and terrified look with the armored man, and a moment later, a skeleton brought us two beers. We reluctantly grabbed them.
"I'm sorry for the exaggerated display," Ren said, and joined us at the sofa. "I have to apologize for luring both of you here too, but I had my reasons."
"What do you mean luring us here? I come here every day," I said, drew many breaths to try and compose myself.
"Well, you I showed the staff on purpose. I knew you can't resist those objects, and him I lured through a spell. What's your name?"
"Richard," the armored man said, finished his beer in one gulp.
"Can you stop avoiding the elephant in the room? What are you? Why are we here? What is all of this?" I asked. My arms still quivered.
"I'm a necromancer. I'm immortal too," Ren said, took a sip of beer, and smiled. "You see, times change. Before, with an army of skeletons, I conquered the world. But then I took a too long of a nap because magic is tiring, and when I woke up there were guns and tanks, and those things can obliterate my skeletons. It's in my nature to try and conquer the world, but the game has changed. Now, money moves the world, not magic.
"I brought Richard over here because he's a millionaire, and understands money, and you because you are my friend." He took another sip. "What do you suggest? How do we conquer the world?"
Richard nodded, smiled a broad smile. "I know exactly how to do that. We create a tech company, and present your skeletons as the first AIs with true consciousness. That will get us enough money and fame to make your name known. You are old, and you have an amiable face. Your single eye makes you memorable, which means people will remember you, and love you. When your public image is good enough, you will run for president. People will vote for you, and if they don't, you can always send a personal skeleton to the rival party."
I nodded. "Sounds good to me."
"I like that very much," Ren said, switched channels. "Let's watch the game first."
We both nodded, unaware of the consequences having an old, derailed necromancer at the top of the world could bring.
-----------------------------------
This story makes no sense.
r/NoahElowyn | Torin posed outside the coffee shop, waiting for his friend to take the picture.
“Just hit the button, Lucas,” he said and tapped the sidewalk with the end of his new staff.
“Of course, your majesty,” Lucas bowed and laughed before getting a snapshot and moving back across the sidewalk. “I still don’t know why you bought that thing.”
Torin shrugged. “It looked cool. Are we ready for some coffee yet? Sitting sounds like a good idea for a while.”
Before a response left his friends mouth, Torin was tapped on the shoulder from behind.
“A mage!” a man bellowed as he turned around, “You’ll be useful in our quest. Follow me!”
“Excuse me?” Torin raised an eyebrow and took a step backward, managing to narrowly miss hitting his friend.
“Your staff gave you away,” the man smiled and pointed to Torin's hand. “We are in need of a mage. You don’t seem to be in a party, let's go.”
As Torin opened his mouth to speak again, the man reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder. Before he could make a sound, or even blink, the world around them swirled. Torin felt it in the back of his head as well as in his gut, and he shut his eyes to try and prevent losing his breakfast.
“Come!” The voice sounded like the man, but it no longer sounded like it was next to him. Confused, Torin opened his eyes once more, finding that the busy street of downtown was gone. It had been replaced with a pale dirt path with rolling green hills on either side.
“What the hell?”
“I hope you don’t mind that I fast traveled us. I’m in a bit of a rush and we have the rest of the group waiting for us. It’s not far from here,” the man called out without stopping. He was walking ahead and had already gotten some distance ahead.
Torin looked around. Grass, dirt, and a single lamppost. There was nothing he recognized, he had no idea where he was at and no idea what was happening. As his heart began to race he opted to not stay put. Alone, lost, and confused sounded like a horrible combination.
“What the hell!” he muttered as he willed his feet to move.
He rushed forward to catch up, which wasn’t easy with the bulky staff that he wasn’t used to carrying.
“I don’t know what is happening here, but I am not who you think I am,” he said as he gasped for breaths when he was walking next to the man again.
“I am Khorne. I was sent in search for you.” The man looked over at Torin and smiled.
The man walked so fast for his bulky looking armor, the whole image was strange. Torin was glad that at least the face plate was up on his helmet so he could see who was talking.
They came upon a split in the path creating a T shaped intersection. Without even looking in the other direction, the man hung a left and continued on the path.
“Where are we going? Who sent you?” Torin asked, trying to keep his growing panic out of his voice.
“Them!” Khorne pointed up ahead. In between two large, grass-covered hills stood a group of four people. All were dressed in costumes and holding various weapons or tools. One had a large backpack that rattled as he turned around to face the incoming pair.
“Finally. We’ve been ready for ages. Let's go,” the tall man with the backpack said as Torin and Khorne approached the group.
“I’m sorry, I think you guys have made a mistake here,” Torin said. His eyes darted between the 5 people in front of him, not sure what to do or how to get himself out of this bad dream.
“It’s fine,” Khorne said, patting his shoulder. “This is just the first fight.”
Torin's eyes grew wide as a short and very pale woman at the back of the group muttered some words, causing a wooden door to appear in the surface of the hill next to them.
“Let's go!” Khorne cried as he opened the door and disappeared into the darkness.
One by one the other 4 people filed into the door that shouldn’t be there, disappearing along with the armored man.
Torin stared, not sure what was worse. He could stay put and be lost in some weird place that could be anywhere, or he could blindly walk through the door with the others.
“Wait…fight?” Torin yelled out and hustled to catch up to the others.
/r/beezus_writes | 2019-02-28T06:09:42 | 2019-02-28T05:51:15 | 112 | 18 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | Time seems to stand still. I look at the cut oozing with blackness. She stares at me with a look of fear. I just keep trying to process what just happened. This woman I've loved for years, who is she? My mind starts coming together. "Lisa, lets go to the bathroom and take care of that, it looks nasty." I say calmly.
"You're not afraid?" She asks terrfied. "I can explain, it's nothing!" She seems to be panicking. I walk over to her and place my arms around her in comfort.
"You don't have to explain, it's okay. Let's just go take care of it." I said using a calm tone. I start to direct her to the bathroom. At first she hesitates but then willingly goes with me to the bathroom. I turn on the sink and place her arm where the cut is under the water. "Just rinse it out I'll go get some towels." I can tell she's starting to calm down. I walk out of the bathroom and immediately slam the door shut. I begin to use all my muscle to drag our dresser in front of the bathroom door.
"ELIJAH! ELIJAH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I hear Lisa scream from the bathroom. She begins to try and open the door. When that fails she starts banging on it and continues to call my name.
"I'LL NEVER BE AROUND SOMEONE LIKE YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU BETRAYED ME LIKE THIS! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" I scream through the door. After I have the dresser blocking the door I run to get my cell phone and immediately call the hotline number. "You have to help, there's one of them in my apartment!"
I hear the operator start typing, "Remain calm sir, help is on the way. We sent them out to your address on file. Are you safe right now?"
"Yes, I have her trapped in the bathroom. Please hurry!" I hang up the phone and begin pacing. The fifteen minutes it took for the police to arrive was an eternity. I kept pacing and checking the dresser hadn't moved. All I could hear from the bathroom was Lisa sobbing. "Good," I thought to myself "at least I know she's still in there." I hear a knock on my door and rush to open it. Two policemen are standing in my hallway.
"Where is this person sir?" they inquire. I take them straight to the dresser. All three of us move it out of the way. I walk to the furthest corner of the room. They announced to Lisa they were coming in and would use deadly force. They open the door and check it's safe inside. I see them go in and hear the usual rights being read. They walk out carrying Lisa by her arms, she looks defeated. I begin to get sick to my stomach at the sight of her. They take her out to their car and one of them returns.
"It's a good thing you called us when you did sir. You never know what these types are capable of. We'll do all the usual processing and let you know what's next." He informed me.
"I don't care what you do with that thing, I want nothing to do with her." I say, hate filling the air. The officer just nods and leaves a copy of his report with me. I go back to the bedroom and start putting things back to how they should be. Exhausted from the adrenaline rush I lay down and fall asleep.
The next day I wake up, I lie in bed replaying the night before. Exhausted and unsure what to do I go about my daily routine. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I start shaving my stubble. Almost in auto pilot while I came to grasps with everything. The next thing I know I feel a sharp pain on my chin and see some blood fall into the sink. I quickly grab some toilet paper to stop it. Looking down I notice my blood was a dark gray. "It was never that dark before, and I just got a paper cut a month ago." I think to myself. I stare at it a few minutes more before finishing my shave and cleaning myself up some more.
I go out into the living room, stare at the life that could've been. A few minutes later I post on Facebook about Lisa. Making sure everyone knows what she is and why we aren't together anymore. | You start to feel uneasy is everything you know about this woman a lie? You think about that time you went on vacation how she helped you overcome your fear of heights when you both jumped out of that airplane hand in hand. Is this why you haven't met any of her family. You've been dating for over 3 years now. How? You ask her. How is this possiable? She looks at you her big blue eyes astonished that you haven't run in fear. I can explain she says carefully. I did something that I can never forgive myself for. You start to think of the possibilities what could she have done, you've never seen blood so dark it just oozes of pure evil. She holds back her tears saying when I was young I had a heart failure, I have a very specific blood type. I was in the hospital for weeks I was dying. She starts uncontrollably tearing falling to the floor. You don't know if you even want to hear the rest, you just hold her and let her cry. A couple minutes later she goes on it was the day after a surgery I didn't even know about I was asking my mom why she was crying. She said "Your father loved you so very much. I asked her where's daddy and she pointed to my heart. At this point you realize that a man you never knew and never will gave you the best present you could of ever asked for. It is not the action of the deed but how tightly it holds your heart if it is pure white or an evil black.
| 2016-09-22T19:10:06 | 2016-09-22T17:07:36 | 81 | 50 |
[WP] You've just summoned a crazy powerful demon god. He begins to monologue about what you've done, how you've brought about the end of humanity as he will destroy everything leaving nothing but sadness and chaos. You kinda want him to hurry it up. | The pentagram burst into flames as a great shadow loomed beyond the candles. The rising spectre took form, first by the feet, great talons with nails black as charcoal. Then there was the body, and the arms, great smoldering armor carved with hellish insignia from a language Tom didn't recognize at all. The figure's head coalesced into a scarred, disjoint image of a face; the kind of visage an alien trying to appear as human would take on. When the last of the pentagram's embers burned away, Tom knew that the ritual was successful.
"Ha!" bellowed the beast, striking the ground with his monstrous feet. "You pitiful, pitiful human. Do you realize what you've done by summoning me?"
Tom scrambled to find the notebook. "Err, yes," he began, flipping through the pages. "Says here you are G'thorlach, the demon destroyer of worlds."
The demon's body erupted into a stream of furious fire. "Yes, human! But do you think that little book of yours will protect you?" The demon's face erupted into what Tom thought was a smirk. "You have summoned me - freed me from my confines in Hell. You have no control, no power over me!"
Tom pulled up a chair and picked up a bottle of water. Taking a quick sip, he replied: "okay, that's no issue."
G'thorlach had never before been summoned to Earth, so he wasn't quite sure how humans displayed fear. From what he could guess, however, the emotion in the summoner in front of him was definitely not fear.
"Human, let me tell you what I do." The demon leaned up to the edge of the pentagram, his red eyes burning into Tom's soul. "I will take you, and every other creature living on this planet. I will strip them of their skin, bit by bit, and impale them to leave your people jutting from the ground like a flagpole. You will hear the screams of the damned until your final days." G'thorlach laughed. "Do you know why I do it human?" The demon took a step beyond the edge. "I do it because I _enjoy_ it."
Tom put down his drink. "I know, Mr. Gee. It says so right here." Tom pointed to a prominent section of text in the notebook. "Tells me that summoning you ushers in the end of times, yadda yadda." He was starting to get annoyed, after all, you'd imagine that a demon god from Hell would spend less time stroking his ego. "Also, just call me Tom. It's ironically dehumanizing to be called 'human.'"
This conversation wasn't going the way G'thorlach thought it would. Usually, he is summoned by a group of ambitious cultists who think they can abuse his power for their own. The satisfaction of tearing them apart first was always the most pleasing. But this human, Tom, didn't seem ambitious, cultist, or even desiring to control the demon.
"Why did you summon me then, _Tom_," the demon asked.
"I summoned you because you're supposed to destroy the world." Tom looked up and sighed. "It says that once you're summoned you will go on a heinous rampage and devour all life you can reach. It doesn't say that you'll be trying to chat up the summoner for - what is it - ten minutes now?" Tom looked down at the watch on his wrist.
The demon god G'thorlach was uncharacteristically confused. "What makes you desire the end of mankind, of civilization, of Earth?" The booming voice was sure to inspire some reaction in Tom, or so the demon though, but none-the-less he remained stoic.
Without hesitation, Tom replied: "Bitch ex-wife. She took half my shit."
G'thorlach blinked and rubbed his temples. He made a mental note to ask around Hell and see if any of them knew human behavior. "You want to destroy the world... as revenge?"
"Well hey," Tom began. "If I can't have it, then she can't have it either. Cheating whore." With that note, the impatient summoner went back to slouching in his chair. He made a quick motion ushering the demon out the door. "Alright, get on with it."
G'thorlach staggered out, barely missing the top of the door frame with his nine-foot tall body. After exiting in what his contemporaries might consider the least demon-esque manner, he closed the door and looked outside. Quietly thinking to himself, he remarked that if all mankind were this petty, maybe wiping them out would be regarded favorably. | "For millennia, I've been waiting for someone, anyone - but especially an imbecilic human like *you* to set me free. For so long have I craved the destruction of the human race, and finally, I can set forth and spread death and despair among your kind. All because of you, *you*, human, your earth will collapse. Your technology will fail, your green grass and grown plants will rot, your rivers, lakes and oceans will run dry, your air will become polluted, your-"
"Can we move this along, please?" I let out a groan, tapping my foot while I wave my phone around, searching for a wifi signal. "I kind of need to check my messages, but there's literally no wifi here. It's kind of annoying." Rolling my eyes, I look back up at the demon god, clearly livid at my interruption.
Not like I really cared. He was going on for longer than I'd prefer.
"Listen, bud. I get it, we're gonna die, the earth and stuff, yadda yadda, but if you're gonna do that, can you just do it? No one really cares about speeches anymore, and honestly, I'd rather be dead than listen to yours in the first place." Clearly not finding a signal, I put my phone back into my pocket, crossing my arms to show impatience towards it.
"You *impotent* fool! Do you have-"
"What did I *just* say? Can we PLEASE get this moving? Look, dude. You're pretty angry. I can see that. Have you tried taking some counseling? It does wonders, trust me."
A few moments pass. After several moments of complete rage and shock, the demon god sat down, letting out a sigh of his own.
"...So, uh, where can I get this.. *counseling?*" | 2017-12-16T23:13:38 | 2017-12-16T22:45:08 | 73 | 28 |
[WP] As a kid, you jokingly say, "If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich!" It's is now your 21st birthday, and you receive a mysterious bank key in the mail. The vault it opens contains $550,000... In nickels. | I considered the pile of nickels. Stacks and stacks and stacks, lined neatly in precariously tall rows.
"And it's...?"
The bank manager smiled wanly. "$550,000. Sir, I'm not clear on *why* you have so many nickels, but hording coins of any denomination does create shortages. I must presume that additional nickels have been minted simply to cover for this..."
"But how many is it?" I asked, still hardly comprehending.
"Nickels? It's eleven million. I think you can see how that might represent a significant hardship for the money lending industry, as there are generally less than a hundred million in circulation at any one time."
I shook my head. "I need to leave this here. I don't..." I backed away from the vault.
"We can convert it for you, sir," said the bank manager. "But it will take some time and there will be forms to fill out. You may receive an inquiry from the National Reserve regarding how you came to possess so many nickels."
"Okay," I said, half-awake, half in a dream. "I'll come back."
*Nickels. Nickels. Nickels.*
Why did I have a vault full of nickels? Millions of nickels?
On my 21st birthday I had received an envelope in the mail. It contained a vault key and the name of a nearby bank. I assumed it was a joke. But the money was real. The *nickels* were real.
I stood at the bus stop, unsure where to go or what to do. How could I trace the envelope? If I alerted the government would they help me find whoever sent the key? And would I be able to keep any of the money?
"You earned it, you know."
I continued to stand, staring blankly at the road. I didn't assume they were speaking to me.
"John? It's *your* money. You earned it, fair and square."
The mention of my name made me turn. An older man in a white cotton suit sat on the bench behind me.
"Excuse me?" I said. "Are you talking to me?"
Only as I said it did I finally notice that we were the only two people at the bus top. The man was gracious enough to ignore the question.
"The money, John. Don't give it away. It's yours. Earned coin-by-coin."
I took a step closer. The man's face was obscured by a line of shadow cast off the brim of his panama hat. "Do I know you?"
"You may not remember me John, it's been a very long time. We met when you were younger. We made a deal. You set the terms for your employment. Do you remember?"
"I..." The man *did* seem familiar, but only in the vaguest of ways. "No. We met when I was a kid and you...what? Hired me?"
"In a manner of speaking," said the man, white teeth flashing in a brief smile. "You asked for a nickel a head. That was how you planned to make your fortune, and now look. Your fortune is made."
"*A nickel a head*?" I began to feel deeply uneasy, not because the man was a stranger, but because he felt increasingly familiar with every moment. "What does that mean?"
"I think maybe you were boasting John, but you said - said loudly - that if you had a nickel for everyone you killed, you'd be rich. And that is a very good rate, John. On this and any other world. So I hired you. We shook hands and I promised to make payment on your 21st birthday."
Like a dying thunderstorm, the veils in my mind began to pull back, the static subsiding. I remembered, still vaguely, a birthday party and laughter and saying funny things and an old man in a fine white suit laughing with me and shaking my hand. Some other boy's grandfather I had assumed. Someone who belonged there, stopping to make a boy feel heard. But the man on the bench was no older than the man at the party. Same suit. Same panama hat.
"I've never killed anyone," I said. "Not a one."
"Eleven million, exact," said the old man. "I've kept a ledger. I like things by the book."
"I haven't though," I said, feeling strangely desperate. Why? Why should I feel uneasy? If I had killed even *one* person wouldn't I be in jail?
"Oh," said the man, as if suddenly understanding my confusion. "Not here. Not on *Earth*. Not during the *day*."
"What does that mean? Where else...?"
"You're a well-traveled man," said the old man. "Or a well-traveled boy, I suppose. Either way, you have gone far and done much, even if you don't quite recall it. Though, I think if you tried, you might recall a part of it."
"I don't have any idea what you're..."
"Think to the last one, then," said the old man. "You ought remember that at least. It wasn't that long ago. You went to a world of thin men and women, almost as if the people of your world had been pulled a bit too tightly, with long, spidery fingers and red skin. Thin, red warriors. Think of that. Picture that. And remember yourself among them, with a glowing sword and blood in your mouth, cutting and cutting and *cutting*. Wild, screaming. A berserker. Hacking flesh until there was none left to oppose you. Does that ring with you?"
It did.
"That was a dream. That was a dream." I remembered waking in wet, knotted sheets. Gloria said I had thrashed so much she'd had to sleep on the couch.
"That was your *work*," said the old man. "You do it well. That's why I'm here, actually. I told you I would pay you at your 21st birthday. That's when the terms of our original deal expired. A nickel a head. I think you're worth far more than that, dear John. I would like to re-open negotiations. How would you feel about continuing your service?"
This couldn't be real. That's what I told myself. Another dream. A delusion. The nickels. The man. None of it *could* be real.
But if that were true...then where would the harm be?
"I'm listening..." | "Do you understand, Matthew?" asked the tall, trim man in the black suit.
"Yes." I replied, mainly out of reverence for the government agent. I didn't *really* understand, or at least not all of it. I'd been told I was 'patient zero', that a regular bug, the kind that makes people sick, had somehow mutated inside my body and spread from me to other people. That I had somehow created a disease that was harming many, many others. For those others it was much worse than it was for me. The agent was always reassuring me that it wasn't my fault. He said it so often it soon rang false.
"Good. No matter what happens to the others, it's not your fault." said agent Miles once again. "Remember that."
I don't know why I said what I did next. I suppose it was an expression I'd heard my dad say a lot before he had... or perhaps I thought it would be funny and help shatter the tension that was thick in the hospital ward.
"If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich by now. " I said forcing a smile.
The words slithered out of my mouth like a snake from a cave. A snake that sees a slobbering mongoose waiting for him and quickly tries to retreat back - *but it's too late*, it's already in the predators mouth.
The agent looked at me, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow. He gazed deep into my eyes as if he were trying to peer into my soul. I'll never forget that look. It wasn't anger, it was something else. A look of suspicion perhaps, as if he were working out whether I knew something that I couldn't possibly know.
After a moment he tapped me on the head and told me "You'll be able to go home again next week." And with that he walked away and I never saw him again.
---
"Happy birthday, Matthew," my mom said in a melodic chime as she burst into my room. She pulled back the curtains and the sun glared fiercely at me. I paid the glare forward to my mum but she took no notice.
God, I needed my own place, but mom had been a rock to me ever since dad had gone missing when I was a kid - back when I was ill. A rock through my depression.
"There were some letters for you in the post today. I think this one is from auntie Glenda." She dropped a small pile of mail onto my bed and left. "Get up soon, I'll make you eggs!" she yelled as she began descending the stairs.
Most of the letters were from family, and some even contained money. Money I desperately needed. I tore through them ravenously. Soon there was only one envelope left, a raggedy brown thing with nothing more than my name scrawled on it in green ink. *Matthew*. It was noticeably heavier than the other letters too. Curious as to who had come over to the house to post it through the letter box, I ripped it open.
Inside there was a small piece of torn paper and a tiny metal key. "Matthew, I'm sorry for what we did to you, but it had to be someone. Hope this helps. A nickel for each one. Miles" Below that was an address for a bank, and a vault number. "What the fuck?" I whispered to myself as my hands began to tremble. Nausea, guilt and excitement battled for dominance as I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jeans and a tee. I pocketed the key and the note and yelled bye to my mom.
"You need to eat some-" she shouted as I slammed the front door.
| 2016-09-03T08:24:36 | 2016-09-03T08:07:13 | 3,498 | 137 |
[WP] The protagonist is the most evil person imaginable. The narrator is trying to justify everything that he does. | Stanley hefted his sniper rifle. Although this particular man was his target, and he was in fact being paid to end his life, Stanley was certain that his lack of existence would be a boon for the world at large. After all, the man had thrown his coffee cup out of the window of his sedan although he could have recycled it. Such people were the reason the world was embroiled in global warming.
Stanley felt no qualms about pulling the trigger. In fact, he was ecstatic when he received forty thousand pounds for his efforts of cleaning up the streets.
Stanley was rather pleased with himself and his civic deeds. So he went to gamble as reward. He purposefully sought out a nervous looking gentleman at a blackjack table. Of course dear Stanley, a wizard at all card games, felt it necessary to educate this poor man in the ways of blackjack. Who else would take a stranger under their wing? Stanley taught the man all about gambling to the tune of £100,000 and a new Audi.
Stanley smiled sympathetically and tipped his hat at the man. He chuckled, good-naturedly, as the other gentleman sobbed. Blackjack was difficult to get the hang of if you didn't know how to count cards. But Stanley couldn't very well teach him that at the table as it was frowned upon.
The man left in a hurry, and Stanley was glad that his lesson had convinced the stranger to give up gambling for the night. It was never good to play at casinos in a bad way.
Stanley walked out of there and made his way next to the strip club to enjoy himself. On the street outside he catcalled several women to raise their self confidence in their looks. He laughed when they shirked him. He shrugged; he would continue to catcall women until they finally realized how beautiful they were.
Once Stanley got to the club he cut the line and smiled at the others waiting. He was a VIP after all and *needed* the extra attention. Stanley was self conscious about his undiagnosed Narcissistic disorder.
Once the show started Stanley took a stack of ones and shuffled them into the air. He saw a very lovely woman onstage and slapped her buttocks fiercely. Although she was rather irritated by this —the policy was no touching— the other men yelled out in happiness and threw her more money. Stanley of course knew this would happen and only wanted her tips to be significantly higher. To help her pay for college and plastic surgery, one of which she certainly didn't need.
After his good night of decadence, Stanley went home. Although it was late he put in the last possible call for delivery at the local pizza shop. It was selfless to want to give young delivery drivers more money where possible. They were just trying to make it.
Stanley's house was next to a pizza place, but he was tired.
When the delivery man came Stanley only tipped £1. He thought that young people ought to not be spoiled or they wouldn't appreciate money.
Stanley had had a very altruistic day. So he ate the entire pizza without offering any to his girlfriend, Ellie, who was watching her figure. He felt it would be in poor taste to coax her when she was trying to eat healthy.
She seemed upset about it so Stanley told her to go to her own house if she was bothered by it. Sometimes being away from temptations helps people to stay on their course. Ellie left right away, and slammed the door of Stanley's beautiful home.
Stanley scoffed. He watched his neighbors Netflix on their wifi. He only wanted them to learn about cyber security. Who better than someone they knew? It was safer that way. He noticed another stranger was using the wifi through his monitoring hardware he'd installed on their lines. Stanley traced their address after a while, and then called the cops on them. To expedite the process he mentioned hypothetical hostages in their home.
Who else would look out for his neighbors if not him?
He was pleased when his other neighbors, some poor saps with a hatchback and thrift shop clothes, were taken away in handcuffs. Stanley was as sure they'd be fined heavily the next day.
Perhaps this incident would inspire them to purchase a house within their own socioeconomic class, which would save them money in the long run and keep them around likeminded folks.
The next day was Stanley's day off which meant he could stay up later than usual. So he spent the rest of his night playing online.
He used a variety of cheats and exploits. He loved spawning in advantageous points on the map. Sometimes he liked to impersonate the opposite team and slaughter them. Other times he like to spawn massive random set pieces in the middle of battle. It was all in good fun, as his antics brought smiles and laughter to many others. He always made sure to share videos to 4chan so he could bring happiness to the posters there. He really wanted to teach the other less pleased players how to have tougher skin and enjoy themselves more. They were only games after all.
Stanley finished at 3:00am and went to bed with a clear conscious and a real sense of altruism. | It was a beautiful morning and the sounds of birds chirping could be heard through the window as Marcus rose from his bed. The sounds of silence were equally beautiful after a slightly loud explosion rocked the fresh-smelling air outside the window.
"Shut it," said Marcus, in a chipper and excited voice.
"You know that's not what I sound like," he growled as he skipped across his bedroom to get ready for a beautiful new day. Marcus rolled his eyes in an endearing manner, as an expression of disinterest crossed his face.
"Every damn day, this guy again," Marcus mumbled as he prepared a healthy breakfast of fruits and eggs. The bacon became mysteriously burned again after he forgot to take it off the stovetop, and the sugary cereals were all well past their expiration dates.
Marcus strolled outside into the beautiful morning, accompanied by the sounds of children playing in the street.
"You damn kids! Get off my lawn!" shouted Marcus, in a kind and friendly manner.
"I mean it this time!" he yelled, with a sweet and sugary tone.
"Oh, forget it!"
Marcus headed back inside, preparing for a productive day of community service.
"Yeah, 'community service'. I guess you could call it that" he snorted, as he retrieved one of his many artistic projects from the wall it was standing against. It was a beautifully decorated sign, reading "Gays don't belong in God's Country" in pink glitter paint. He grinned slightly, looking forward to a peaceful demonstration with his fellow church-goers at the Westboro Baptist Church.
The other signs lined up around the room had cheerful slogans like "Abortion Kills Children" or "This Land is God's Land, not the Muslim land." Each one was lovingly decorated with one color of paint on a white background and a few possibly religiously or racially offensive pictures.
"This is my right to free speech, as protected by our Constitution," he said, with a patriotic love in his heart.
Marcus loved participating in his community, especially keeping it white and Christian. Any outsider would absolutely ruin his day, which had been going spectacularly so far.
"At least we agree on that," he muttered, as he drove across town to the church.
Despite occasional lapses in judgement and a discriminatory bias against anyone who disagreed with him, Marcus really wasn't that bad of a guy. | 2017-02-13T19:25:15 | 2017-02-13T19:01:28 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] Humanity is so famously hard to faze that other species regularly ask them to deal with nightmarish situations. That there are concepts and sounds they fear at a Genetic level is therefore equal parts odd ("Those things aren't That scary") and terrifying ("What the hell made Them that scared?") | "Please!" X'rthor sobbed into the communicator. "Send in the human!"
X'athir sighed and rubbed a tentacle over its abdomen before turning the seat around. It was no expert in human body language, but none of the three bay humans had seemed to react much. "They need a human," X'athir said apologetically.
The humans began their ritual of waving their fists in the air before forming shapes. "Ugh," groaned one of them as it grabbed a long wooden weapon. "I always lose."
The other two laughed. "Them's the breaks, newbie," said the one that had been with the ship the longest.
"Go save something. You'll feel better," advised the other one.
"They're on C Deck," X'athir directed.
\*\*
Mandy made her way to the C Deck. Not really *called* "C Deck" in the language of the aliens they rode with, but the aliens were good about calling the different parts of the ship by names both the humans and the indigenous species could pronounce. So, C Deck. The port deck.
They were in the middle of space, hadn't docked in who *knew* how many cycles; just what could possibly be in the port deck?
And, at the port deck, Mandy got her answer. Three of the crew (which looked like a cross between squids and crabs to Mandy's eyes) were cowering in terror--of a ball of fluff? Mandy drew closer to the fluff ball and saw that the bright pink thing was shivering slightly. "What's this?" she asked as she prod it with the baseball bat. Her only answer was a bunch of unintelligible yelling. She raised a hand to stop the yell, and proceeded down The List. "Is it poisonous?"
"Poisonous?" gasped one of the aliens.
Mandy mentally checked the *no* box as she answered, "On our home planet, when something is brightly colored, it's usually poisonous. Or venomous," she added in loving memory of all the snakes and spiders she'd known of back on Earth.
"What is the difference?" asked one of the crew. "Between 'poisonous' and 'venomous'?"
"Poisonous kills you if you touch it," said Mandy as she gently nudged the thing again. It made no reaction. "Venomous injects the poison into you." Gasps met this information.
Mandy was used to it. Apparently Earth was a hellscape of monsters to any sentient creature not from the planet. "It's not poisonous or venomous," said the speaker for the crew. "It--it rolls."
Mandy nudged the little fur ball again with the bat and, yup, it rolled. It was also slightly squishy. "What does it eat?" she asked, moving on to the next question in The List.
"Cellulose fibers."
Mandy nodded. Still, there were two questions left. "Is it an adult or the juvenile stage of life?"
"Adult."
Mandy nodded again. "Does it produce a foul odor?" she asked.
"Odor?"
Mandy turned and looked at the crew. Right. They didn't have olfactory senses, which meant they had no way to process smell. Well, that was the entire List. Mandy bent down and picked the fur ball up. It quivered and released a scent that was vaguely fruity. "I'm going to name you fluffy and keep you in my quarters," she said.
Suddenly, the lights went out and plunged the interior of the ship into darkness.
\*\*
X'rthor shook its largest tentacles at X'athir. "And then she asked if it had poisons in its blood or mouth!" it raved. "And then--and then she just--picked it up!"
X'athir gave a rough nonverbal assent as it watched the humans. As always when there was a shipwide blackout, they huddled together as they got over their fear. The smallest always seemed the most afraid, and was currently holding tightly onto the creature it had removed from C Deck.
"And look! Whatever is in the dark at their home planet must be even *worse*!"
X'athir gave another nonverbal assent. "Ancestors willing, we don't ever find out why darkness frightens them so." | “What do you mean you don’t have fire fighters?” My boss let out a small sigh as he pinched the top of his nose and closed his eyes in frustration. “Or fire extinguishers?”
“Well it’s just to dangerous to - fight - fires. And due to us not building close to nature it doesn’t spread usually and eventually self extinguishes.” The diplomat said carefully and plainly. When it was my first week I thought they were scared of us, and turns out I was right. But not because we look different but because we didn’t let our fear, or logic, stand in the way.
“So you evacuate the colony and let it burn to the ground. No fire suppression efforts other than leaving the sprinklers on?” My boss asked knowing the answer as the diplomat looked shocked that such a thing was possible. “Well the sprinklers were programmed to turn on at the fall of the hour, it would have been hard to turn them off while evacuating everyone.”
I start pulling up the specs for fire resistant clothing and professional gear, pressing send to the Modifyers to adjust for the environment and their body size just as my boss asked me. I also send fire safety information to the translators so the colonists could at least try not to burn down their new colony while just cooking. As the diplomat left, thanking us for this new training we will be providing, I couldn’t help but smile, all of the colonist were safe, including their pets, however every single building was damaged or destroyed because someone burned their version of lasagna. Last week it was termites and spiders, today firefighting, I wonder what issue we can help with next. | 2022-05-14T04:07:51 | 2022-05-13T20:49:54 | 1,630 | 359 |
[WP] 37. That is how many times you have died of unnatural causes. Every time you do, you get reset to the age of 5, retaining all of your past memories. You think that this is finally the time you get to move on with life. | I looked out the window of the train. The train seemed to have ascended into the heavens. The snowcapped Colorado mountain range glistened with the silver moonlight. The stars swept across the night sky like pinholes in the black.
I was on my way to a history convention. I was to speak at Berkeley University on the northern Economy during the Civil War. This was a subject I had intimate familiarity with, as I owned a textile manufacturer during that span of life. It was my 32nd life if I remember correctly.
I always loved train rides at night. There is something wonderful in this great hulking iron bullet piercing the wild black. Being so high up, you feel like a god looking down on your sleeping minions. There is also no better way to sleep than with the tracks iron roll lulling you to sleep.
I don’t like to sleep much. I have dreams of him coming for me. The Alchemist.
You see, I stole something from him long ago. A form of immortality. I was young and his apprentice and didn’t know what I was doing, but the deed was done none the less.
And now he has hunted me. Life after life.
He is immortal too. A stronger immortal. The potion I stole from him wasn’t pure. Wasn’t refined. And he refined it and now he hunts me for sport.
He cannot be hurt. He cannot die.
But I can.
And when I do, I return to the age I was when I drank that potion so long ago. A boy of 10 years old. A new body. A new mother. A new life. But still hunted.
The inside of the train is warm. A train attendant comes by in a slim navy-blue suit and a trolley full of snacks. She is beautiful. Young. Large chestnut eyes and a trim body under the contours of the uniform. She smiles at me and I smile back.
I am young too. Not as young as her. 34. Young for Emeritus Professor of Early Modern American history. I have become a rising star. I must say I enjoy the fame—even if it is isolated to an insular world of bookworms and history nerds.
There is a silence in the train car that I don’t like. Everything seems to have disappeared into the silence. The passengers. The beautiful attendant. The under-roar of the train. All has disappeared, and there I see him. His long black hair that hangs down his face like necrotic seaweed. His sharp nose and black eyes. He is smiling at me.
The Alchemist.
A thick sheen of sweat rises on my flesh, and I stand quickly, taking a deep breath and walking towards the back of the car. The young attendant is in my way, and I move past her quickly.
“Excuse me,” I say, and she nods at me politely, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
As I enter the next car, I see him, shoving past the attendant. He is a large man. Inevitable. He moves with a sure motion towards me. Always towards me. I never can escape him, nor his joy of the hunt. He lets me live a little while, I believe, before he begins to take up the trail. I don’t think he takes joy in hunting a child, although he’s done it to me in the past.
I thought this might be the one. The one time I could escape from him. I was so cautious for so long. Until a few years ago when I published an academic paper. My vanity is what gets me. I cannot help it, and I will pay for it once again.
The last car is empty. There is a sepulchral feel to the stark wooden furniture. The deep dark mahogany swirling around me like the inside of a casket.
The silver moonlight pierces through the window with its ghostlike atmosphere
The Alchemist steps through the door of the train.
“Hello, Anthony,” he says in a voice that recalled a myriad of deaths among the dozens of discarded lives.
Anthony was my name when I was his apprentice. I’ve taken many names since then. But he still calls me Anthony. The small boy in the lab.
“Hello,” I say weakly, looking out into the silver night. It seems like I can see to the end of the world.
We are so high up. So high up.
I see the twisted blade in his hand. It's so natural to him now, like an added appendage.
“I appreciate your discretion. It was not easy this time,” he said.
I stare into the night and don’t say anything. The blade touches my neck and I can feel the warmth of my blood as it kisses the steel and trails down the front of my suit. I stagger forward, looking at the mountains. To keep my eye on the mountains. It's good to wake again with beauty held deep.
The stars grow brighter and brighter, enveloping the mountains and the pines and the rail car and the white smile of the Alchemist and I wake up screaming, my small 10-year-old body covered in a slick sheen of fear.
*Shhhhh,* my mother—my new mother—is soothing me. “It’s okay, Yao. It’s just a bad dream.”
The beauty of the night mountains is still within me. And so the fear of the Alchemist. He will be coming again. The hunt has started anew.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | Five.
There's a nice, normal number. Nobody overuses *five* to an extent which makes anyone cringe.
So it's nice to be five again. Quite old enough to be aware (even without the accumulated knowledge from all my past lives) of the existence of the number 37, and of many greater, much more significant numbers.
But 37 has an odd bit of trivia attached to it at this moment in time. In my most recent life (apparently my 37th, though I personally stopped counting after six) I encountered an entirely disproportionate amount of people who seemed to be obsessed with that number, 37. In fact, I heard it unsubtly forced into so many conversations in which it had no reasonable place, eventually I gagged so hard at it that I sort of died. So (in a quite metaphorical kind of way) that wretched little pair of digits played as much a part in my death as it (or anyone else) ever could. Which is to say not much.
Now I'm certain you'll want to say something along the lines of "but it sounds like you're the one who is obsessed with 37." And how am I so sure of this, you ask? Well, to be honest... You're tediously predictable. You'll probably even draw a comparison to that one movie with Jim Carrey where he didn't talk out of his butt and was obsessed with a number.
Haha just kidding. You're great. So was the movie. It's just that I've lived a lot more lifetimes on this big, bipolar dirtball than it takes to learn how gaslighting is attempted. You'd have to get up pretty damned early in the morning... Anyway I never did learn what drives someone to do it, though. If I had to guess, I'd say that same big, bipolar dirtball must rub off on those who are too weak minded to resist its influence.
Ironic, then, that *I* would be the one who seemed to be stuck on the damned thing for so long. I know of at least one way off, though. But I'm only five, and I happen to have inside knowledge that this lifetime is going to be a lot longer than most I've lived so far. That gives me plenty of time to think of even more ways to distance myself from this bipolar dirtball and its weird, creepy obsession with me. Since I detest violence, I'll focus on ways that *don't* involve taking 37 "innocent" people with me. But i think I'm beginning to detest this dirtball even more. So there's always that chance. | 2021-05-30T09:42:25 | 2021-05-30T09:19:22 | 186 | 59 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | When people thought of the words *alien invasion*, the first thing that usually pops to minds is overwhelming firepower. Giant, city-sized saucers with nuclear energy beams, giant mechas or tripods waltzing through military installations and destroying everything in globules of plasma, standing triumphant anove the human race until they were defeated by something incredibly menial like, say, the common cold, or a Macintosh 95, or even just a 1v1 firefight.
A very Hollywood conception, really. And, unsurprisingly, the truth of the matter was unlike any actual Hollywood film. That was obvious when the ships came by, just passing Mars just shortly after the movie set on that red world made its way to home media.
It was obvious at first that they were not anything familiar; they could be identified via telescope, and after a few days of general social media pamics and estimations that came from everywhere from **NASA** to 4chan, it was determined that these ships, seventeen in total, were all roughly the size of your run-of-the-mill airplane carrier, and the rough bulky nature of ships brought to mind instantly the stylings of military engineering.
That was the first dissappointment; the aliens were coming to Earth with their fleet to invade Earth; and they didn't even look that bad. Oh sure, military advisors panicked everywhere at the thought of orbital warfare (how can one fight against something you can't shoot at, only prepare against?), but the ships weren't even big; they were actually smaller then some of our *naval ships*, and they even resembled them in design.
They could have at least *looked* alien. Which, of course, the pilots did. That was the one thing that made people secretly excited, when we first **saw** the aliens. These were the creatures of Lovecrafts nightmares ran by Wayne Barlowe and H.R Giger, insectoid-fungal race known as the *Q'ui*; a race from our own galaxy in a very far-off star system, having arrived to this one through a concept that couldn't properly be translated until we found out for ourselves at their gracious ~~hands~~ claws.
Yeah, you see, even though we got the excitement from seeing alien life for the first time, an entire warfleet in fact, it wasn't what we expected. It turns out the *Q'ui* weren't even here for us. This mighty fleet, armed with railguns, nukes, bombs, drones and plenty more disconcertingly familiar armaments, was just dropping by for a pitstop.
The race of invaders had the dececny to call ahead and let us know, taking down in the middle of the Siberian wasteland for rendevous for supplies, refuelling and arming, letting world governments kmow that they were also going to establish a 'colony' of sorts there as well, given our approval of course.
All of this done through an 'Ask Me Anything' styled discussion between them and a forum they'd made on their own volition, with a video being uploaded to fuckin' **YouTube** to let people know it was legitimate.
A few months passed, the *Q'ui* generally got along well with humanity, horrifying appearances aside, and on March 8th of 2016, the warfleet finished refuelling and establishing the colony, which officially introduced humanity to the universe at large, and flew off to Venus for their official attack on the Reptoids.
And that was that. An 'invasion' that didn't see any fighting whatsoever. No genocide, no last stand, no world monuments destroyed. Just a pit-stop, intergalactic wifi and some new locals, and then they were off.
The people of the world weren't sure if they should have been delighted or dissappointed in that. | Not with a bang, but with a whimper
It has been thirteen years since the aliens invaded. Well I say invaded, they just parked a space ship in the ocean and sank a few ship. And they're not actually aliens they're just humans who somehow ended up in a distant galaxy a long time ago. They're kinda dickish about the whole "We mastered fusion power whilst you were burning cowshit for warmth thing" but other than that they're all right.
Sure do keep buying up a lot of land though. All the money that keeps flooding the economy and they seem to be the only ones getting richer.
According to the news they now own most of the purchasable land in New York, Chicago and London.The week before that Apple is now a subsidiary of E'Kath Tal-Morrel franchise. The week before that they purchased IBM, before that General Electric, and before that Monsanto. Freaking Monsanto.
Oh well, at least my supervisor's nice. | 2016-02-22T11:29:44 | 2016-02-22T08:33:57 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You have to be careful, certain words trigger the ambient ad-agents. You can’t say 'pizza' or you’ll get an ad for one floating in front of you. People make up new words, like "groundbeefsandwich" for hamburger. Companies buy these euphemisms, so people need to keep making up new ones. | "Yealy!" Sprouted Terrence, his mouthstones whiteing in the highnoonthingyellow, "I shall take victuals most gladdeningly, whence the handface doth bell its twomost retort! Passing hassled am I, for my labours..."
PING
"Here at Econocon, we want to do what we can to minimise your workload and streamline your processes - why not get in touch with us to see how Econocon can help you achieve maximum efficiency in your workplace! Econocon offers a wide variety of corporate packages, and we..."
(Terrence, having waited the necessary fifteen seconds, grimly tapped the airborne X at the corner of the holoswarm, kicking himself for not having remembered the word "labour" and most of its synonyms had been monetised by Econocon in 2031. This not only made workplace discussions maddening, but also made it very difficult for people to unionise - a fact which executives at Econocon stressed had been nothing more than a curious byproduct.)
"That is," he contined "my dothingsformoney cease not, and I am encumbered with their necessitude, before I may partake with ye on normalnoonfood!"
"Piteously, I am aggrieved!" Emitted Sarah, handthinging at her lettercomputer. "I needs must exeo hastily for normalnoonfood, lest I too become encumbered thus! Where does most greatly for bakethings?"
Anna, her hearbits having sluiced the talktwo, ascended from her sitframe.
"A greatly purveyor of bakethings is Dandridge's on that road which joins..."
PING
"Hungry at the office? Why not come on down to Dandridge's, where we can supply all your sandwich needs! Try our new mouthwatering chicken tikka panini! Or, if really hungry, try the new three-tier beef stack! Later upon layer of hand-carved pastrami, interlaced with..."
Anna tapped the X, her smile frozen.
"Well," she muttered, soto-voce, "they said it better than I did."
PING
"Want to say something but don't know how to say it? Here at Talkly, we can help you find the words you need, to get your message across in the most efficient way possible. Our experts in neurolinguistics can comb over more than a billion permutations to..."
Again, Anna clicked the X, her face still bearing its grin.
"Which is to say, having sprouted thus, the bakethings thence at that place of which I sprouted, on that road which joins the manyclothemporium to the corner of the watchandlistenshop - they are most mouthsome bakethings!!"
"Verily!" Gulled Terrence. "Envious am I, for have not handfacemeasure enough to take normalnoonfood!"
Sarah laughed. Her seewhites engorged. She snacked her hand to her talkbits, but verily, there was not handfacemeasure enough.
PING
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The three winced. There would be shorter handfacemeasure still. For this was an unskippable ad, born from the crack of laughter, and it lasted for fifteen minutes... | "Gaga gugu."
"Now what the f#ck is that?" My brother thundered as a naked lady swam in between gesturing lewdly towards her nether regions.
Anger in his voice rising, he tried to swipe the lady away. "Christ! Cannot even swear anymore."
On cue, a Christ image floated up from nothing. Just as it opened its mouth to speak, he saw the lady next to him.
"OH GOD!" The Christ figure jumped back a couple of steps.
Immediately, another figure appeared next to the Christ guy. Breaded and serene, it looked at peace.
I hurried gestured to my brother to run out of the room. As we ran out, I looked back just in time to see a cow materialize out of nowhere. | 2022-08-09T01:18:03 | 2022-08-08T21:17:06 | 209 | 55 |
[WP] As an immortal you pass your time by switching between the roles of a hero and villain every couple centuries. Things get awkward as you lock your eyes with someone whom you tormented centuries ago now as the benevolent king of a prospering kingdom. | In those days, when the Tiber was still navigable, you could reach Rome by boat. The still smoldering ruins of Ficana were a helpful landmark to find the river delta, and as one turned into the river, under the gaze of the fresh garrison of Ostria, the water turned from salty to sweet.
At that point, your ship's captain (if he was competent, and eager to impress you) would order the sails to be lowered and the sweeps to be put out, and the ship would begin the long pull against the stream.
You would stop at nightfall, half way to the city that all roads would one day lead to, beaching the shallow long boat on a low bank, staring late into the fire as the exhausted sailors snored around you and the wolves howled in the hills above.
That was how I returned to the city of Rome in the year that would now be known as 601 BC. When we had docked the captain offered me his hand off the ship.
"Shall I accompany you?" he offered gallantly. "Strange towns are no places for ladies to walk alone."
"I *have* been here before," I said, and that did surprise him, for I had made no mention of it when I had hired his ship for the passage. And, in truth, Rome had changed much since my last visit. But I had learned from one or two unpleasant experiences that it never did to tell a man your age. "I shall return to the ship tomorrow."
I was half way up the Palatine Hill when a procession of men in horseback trotted briskly down the road towards the harbor that I had come from.
Several of those around me muttered, "The king", and the crowds parted.
The king, I thought, and wondered whether this descendant of Romulus would resemble his ancestor. It was that curiosity that led me to linger a moment too long in the middle of the street.
"Make way for the king," came a shout from the riders, and I was almost knocked aside by one of the outriders as they swept by. Stumbling backwards, it took me a moment to realize that the horses had come to an abrupt halt, and one of them was now wheeling back in my direction.
A heart beat later he had dismounted, and then there were no heart beats, because I looked up into his eyes and time, which chases mortals so relentlessly, chose to hesitate for the two of us that it has no claim over.
For that timeless moment his brown eyes locked with my green ones. Was it my imagination or did I see the old look in them?
"So," he said roughly, "it's you."
Imagination, then. He was still bitter after all these years.
"It's good to see you again," I said.
He snorted. "What bring's you to *my* city?"
"Your city?"
"This is King Tarquin," said a stiff soldier who had appeared next to me, hand on a sword. Time had evidently caught back up with us.
"It's Tarquin now, is it?" I said. "And a king?"
"The King," corrected the soldier. "Bow, woman."
I stared indignantly at the man who now went by Tarquin, and he smirked back, amused. The soldier's grip on his sword tightened. I inclined my head half an inch. Immortality, after all, does not mean that a sword through your guts doesn't hurt. Ask me how I know.
"It's alright, Lucius," Tarquin said. "I know this witch of old. Tell me, what name do you go by now? It is still Calypso?"
"No," I said, and sought around for a name. But my mind betrayed me in my moment of need, and the only name I could think of was Tarquin, which would not do. I blurted out, "I am called Tar- Tanaquil."
"Are you?" he said skeptically. "And what brings you Rome? More mischief?"
"None of your business," I said tartly.
"As King of Rome, everyone's business here is my business."
"Then I shall become Queen," I said.
"And how do you intend to do that? Is this another proposal of marriage?"
"I plan to depose you," I said.
He actually laughed, the pig. Then he said, "Come, it's been too long. Ride with me, and tell me what you been up to since I left your island."
---
The soldier Lucius watched the tall woman with with hair of gold walk off with the King, and frowned. He had heard the King mention the name Calypso once before, when he had drunk too many glasses of harvest wine and fallen into a loquacious melancholy, and told a particularly long story. Lucius tried to remember what the story had been about, for the king told many stories. How had it begun? Something about the men of Ithaca stealing the Sun God's cattle... |
'How in the blasted blazes?!'
Suddenly it becomes very awkward. My royal guards stiffen in response, my wise men, drunk as they were stopped, and my guest, the man who had saved the kingdom looked on with fiery vengeance in his eyes, he reached for his sword, but found nothing there. He was meeting the benevolent king of course.
'You bastard! I'll, I'll...'
He looks around at first for a weapon to use, then notices the innocent guards. I can see it on his face, his face turns and twists deciding whether to kill them or not. After all, he'd killed many of my guards before. Luckily this time I was prepared for the eventuality since last time, unexpected as him coming back, loyal guards are a damn hard commodity to find.
'John, shalayla, rick, Sam, he is fine, he oversteps his bounds a little but hey, this is a time of revel! Think of your families, why I think it's going to be little max's birthday soon, I can't believe I was callous enough to keep you here in a time of celebration, enjoy some time with your family, you can have a week of PTO. Use it wisely, and do tell me how the birthday went Sam? Thank you kindly.'
The guards shuffled out the room awkwardly as I said
'It's fine. It's fine, I'll deal with the matter with a gentle hand, I'm so happy the kingdom is safe. Please use this time to bring the most joy for yourself and represent the kingdom you are a part of.'
They move a bit more confidently, emboldened by kind words and propaganda, rick stops and looks at me worriedly, and I look back with the perfect smile of joyful ease, perfected over some time of practice. He left. We were alone with the wise men, he had no qualms about them yet, and to be frank, I didn't care that much either. Drunkards.
'Um, I'm sorry, I'm terrible with faces, what is your name, again?'
Uhhh my phones about to die so part two will be continued on computer. | 2022-10-01T10:18:02 | 2022-10-01T10:01:45 | 327 | 98 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should. | “Hello,” boomed the Captain into the ship’s microphone, “we give you greetings, we come in peace”.
We all waited a moment for a response. I watched the planet in the viewfinder, a vibrant jewel of creamy blues and greens set against the black embroidery of space. The only thing we could hear on our transponder was static. Before we had set out on our mission, the scientists had assured us that the new mechanisms installed on the Oromentu ‘Kaï would be able to translate our speech into the garbled tongue the extraterrestrials communicated with. We had been relying on this technology.
“Can they understand us?” asked the Second. “Why aren’t they responding?”
The Captain shrugged, taller than most, the movement shook his entire body and I watched his bulbous head sway. “Ensign,” he snapped, “alert the other ships, we need their communication assistance.”
“Aye Captain,” I replied, tapping the controls in front of me. “The Careulijiki and the Toleniugy have confirmed they can join us in the Lichtejui system in five. Their communication systems should be in working order and we will able to complete our mission with the alien species.” I finished typing out a return sequence code and then gasped from pain. My esophagus suddenly burned and the room spun.
“Captain, I must lodge a formal request.”
The Second sneered, “Ensign, this isn’t the time for you to make requests. The very idea that you would attempt to disrupt this mission at the most critical…”
The Captain stood up and the Second fell silent. The Captain’s dark eyes peered into mine. “Ensign, report.”
I gulped and took a deep breath. “I have a vision, sir.”
It had come on suddenly and with no warning. It wasn’t the first time I had been able to foretell snatches of the future, this vision was fuzzier than most. But I knew, with a deep rootedness of my soul, that only disaster lay on the path forward.
The Captain cocked his head while the Second rolled his eyes and turned his back to me.
“I can’t tell specifics, everything is hazy. Bringing other ship’s into this planet’s sphere will be disastrous, sir. I foresee war, I foresee destruction of our ship, our people. Sir, I foresee death, yours and mine.”
The navigation screen beeped, four minutes until our sister ships came into orbit.
Jeers and howls came from the other crew members. Even to myself, I knew that what I was saying sounded crazy. We were the superior specifies, we had the better technology, and we were on a peaceful mission.
The Captain was unsuccessful in hiding his smirk, I could see it in his eyes as they narrowed with laughter. “Ensign, you are relieved of duty, Ensign Goleminera, you can take over.”
I slid out of my chair, my face burning with humiliation.
\*\*\*\*
I crawled out of the pod choking and gasping. The surface of the planet a dry desert hellscape. As the planet’s sun blinded me, I could see a figure striding towards me, one of the aliens we had been sent to study and befriend.
“Hello,” I wheezed, tapping on my communicator, “I come in peace.”
The alien strode forward, it’s body grotesque and hideous. “Welcome to Earf,” garbled my headset. I felt a crunch and seering pain as his appendage made contact. | Five, four, three, two, one. And time resumes. I follow the path I set, as the only outlier I have to make sure my movements don't change anything. I walk out the building as a hero walks in, perfect.
Once outside, i face to the skyscraper. It crumbles. The news will report that a hero crushed the crucial support for it.
I know because I caused it. A simple fall, yet it lead to a skycraper falling. To be fair it wasn't the most well constructed one. Due to the fights that go on most buildings are constructed cheaply.
I laugh at the sight. Somthing so devastating yet i caused it. Yet I, the man who does nothing caused it.
Accidents are a series of coincidences, and i'm able to set them up. | 2021-12-31T10:58:52 | 2021-12-31T08:27:40 | 55 | 34 |
[WP] The warrior princess is worried that her battle scars would make her unfit for marriage. The prince of the kingdom she was attacking, however, vehemently disagrees. | The young prince sighed in relief, letting himself slump backward into the soft cushion of his tall chair.
“Is it settled, then?”
“Yes, I think it is.”
“Abram, would you pass that contract on to the court scribes? It would be great if we could have it edited and sent out to the lords before the end of the week.”
An older man, gray in beard and yet sharp in eye stood up from his sturdy desk, rolling the parchment in front of him into a tight bundle and tucking it under his arm. He gave two brief bows, addressing both the prince and princess in turn, before briskly strolling out of the meeting room. Before he cleared the doorway, however, he stopped, turning to Liam once again with a sincere expression of pride across his weathered face.
“You’ve done very well, Liam. Perhaps better than your hotheaded father could have.”
The young man responded with a slight knowing smile, watching as his teacher and closest advisor finally disappeared into the darkness of the castle's winding halls.
Aria turned to the man, her stoic face betraying no emotion over the success of the peace treaty they were able to develop.
“I’m in agreement. I must pass the Gods my thanks that we have been able to come to terms without any bloodshed. I would have felt bad smiting you, young Prince.”
Liam smirked,
“And I you, Aria.”
She quickly averted her eyes, instead turning them downwards into a goblet filled with a murky, though not unpleasant, red wine. Suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion, she stretched her hands to the sky, her undersized linen shirt leaving little of her muscular arms and stomach to the imagination. Sweeping the cup off the table and downing the rest of its contents, Aria again turned her attention to the man, noticing his gaze hovering around her midsection.
Hiding a slight blush, she let out a loud chuckle,
“It’s impolite to stare - I’ve at least been taught that much about your so-called etiquette!”
He shook his head, his smile quickly fading into moderate concern.
“It’s not that, Aria - it’s the bandages at your side. I think whatever stitching you had down there has split.”
“Stitching?”
The Prince stood up quickly, not bothering to move his chair back into alignment before walking over to the woman. Aria watched his face with interest, noticing a curious blend of determination with worry. Before she could react, he grasped one side of her shirt, pulling it up to reveal a long patch of red-soaked bandage - with each passing moment, the crimson stain continued to grow - slowly, but surely.
“Hold your shirt up.”
“Liam, it’s fine, it was only a flesh-”
“Just do it!”
Aria acquiesced, unsure exactly why, perhaps shocked by the man’s uncharacteristic assertiveness or perhaps partially lightheaded from the blood loss.
With delicate motions, the prince peeled a part of the bandage away, sure enough revealing a near-untreated rugged gash - the kind one would reasonably expect to see in the carcass of a dead deer.
“Good god.”
Seemingly more perturbed by the princess’ lack of self-preservation instinct than the blood that began to cover his hands as he worked, Liam removed the rest of the soaked material, holding the gash tightly with one hand as his other grabbed a thick snow-white napkin off the table.
“Here, now hold that. Yes, tightly. Tighter!”
He pressed his hand over hers, causing her to wince slightly.
“Can you walk? We need to get you to a bed. Hold on, lean forward for a sec…”
“Yes, I think I can get up. I’m having some trouble finding my balance, though.”
“Alright, alright, just lean on me.”
Though he made no note of it out loud, Liam couldn’t help noticing similar red splotches begin to appear on the back of her shirt, the particular pattern of stain development betraying three curved parallel lines - indeed, he surmised these were the injuries Aria earned herself fighting the fearsome Stygian Wolf.
Struggling somewhat to support her powerful frame, Liam helped the princess hobble down the hallway and into a private room, laying face down on a cushioned couch before scurrying away to fetch something. Every time she shifted, the tight shirt would stick uncomfortably to her skin, now saturated partially with her blood, so she chose the most pragmatic solution - removing the garment and leaving it an unfolded pile next to herself.
Liam returned, carrying in his hands a small box that rattled with each step. Unfazed by Aria’s cast-aside top, he got to work, producing a set of tools and bottles from the box. As he got to dabbing a brown-ish yellow liquid all over her wounds, Aria could only wince and groan into her folded arms as the iodine stung on contact. Satisfied with his cleaning job, he produced a small bundle of thin string, a semicircular needle, and a strip of leather.
“You might want to bite down on this.”
“You underestimate me! I did weather these injuries in the first place, didn’t I?”
He put one hand on her bare shoulder, meeting her gaze with complete seriousness in his eyes. Aria swallowed, hard.
“It’s that bad?”
“Only for a little bit, but yes.”
She took the strip between her teeth, taking a few deep breaths in and out before nodding her head and placing it firmly in her arms.
As promised, the pain of a stitching needle was incredible, a very different flavor of pain from that inflicted by the fang or blade - no longer carried in a near-frenzy state by adrenaline and endorphin, each time the tiny circular spear pierced her skin sent another sickening pang of pain and revulsion through her system. The Kingdom’s medicine, she thought, was so brutal and primitive. | The summit is held every ten years since time immemorial. Despite it being meant for the purpose of bringing the warring kingdoms together, it often reaps more discord than whatever peace is sown. In the face of the calamity from ages past, the kingdoms allied together to survive and so the tradition of the summit came into being.
Held in the capital of the Horven kingdom, it was not simply tradition that gave the kingdom this bittersweet honor. It being one of the smallest territories, it is nestled amidst frigid mountain ranges wringed on most sides by oceans. Only deep within the territory are there truly habitable areas where hot springs can be found and unique farmable vegetation can be terraced.
Being a natural fortress, but unable to support a large nation, they have always held the most peace agreements and garner the least fear of an upset from one or more disgruntled kingdoms during the summit.
Mira, first princess and heir to throne of the Talmut kingdom, led her cavalcade through the bleak passes and snowy valleys with the assistance of a small Horven envoy. The Talmut were known for two things, their savage cavalry and their vast farms of grain. One of the long dominant kingdoms, they were always in conflict with someone somewhere, though rarely seen as conquerors.
Her entourage had a seemingly small number of actual armored guards. It was a projection of power that she brought more gifts, diplomats, artists, and academics than muscle. The Talmut do not fear reprisal. Well, that is to say, the Talmut royalty do not fear reprisal. Their tradition is to raise each child as a strong and capable leader, those who do not are dissenherited, so that there will always be a strong hand to hold the reigns of the kingdom. Even in times where the reigning family does not produce enough suitable heirs, members of the branch families can be adopted into the line of succession or through accolades even a merchant, diplomat, or soldier can find their way to the throne.
The fact that the kingdom has stayed strong for so long instead of devolving into backstabbing and infighting with this system where no one person is guaranteed power at birth, is often considered more impressive than either it's storehouses or military. The code of honor and merit of the Talmut royalty is absolute leaving little room for compromise and even less for sympathy within their power structure. To be disenherited to a branch family comes with a sense of dishonor, but they are never without worth or future so it does not carry the threat of sedition or coup as can happen elsewhere.
It is with this knowledge that Mira had been given the task of representation at the summit. She comes seeking to demonstrate her mettle off the field of battle. The king and queen have tasked her with renegotiating a trade deal with the Guyin, one of their more peaceful neighbors, establishing a dialogue with the Horvan mason's guild, and, her least favorite task, garnering suitors to visit the kingdom. Thankfully they would not be just for her.
She broke her stony faced brooding with a sigh as she patted her steeds neck. The cheery voice of Gurden, the head of the Horven envoy, piped in, "Something the matter princess?" | 2021-04-19T11:06:33 | 2021-04-19T10:08:31 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] "You can take the red pill or the blue pill, the choice is yours," they said and handed you the box. You opened the box and saw three shining pills. "What about the green pill?" you asked. "The what?" A look of puzzlement crossed their face. | "You may take the red or blue pill. The choice is yours."
The stern-faced fae, Instructor Valorie, handed the box marked "Power Capsules" to me. I looked inside and frowned. I may have been a certified idiot, but I did know two things.
1. There were three pills inshirt that box, not two.
2. None of them were red.
"You can only take one capsule, right?" I asked.
"Weren't you paying attention during the briefing?" the Instructor asked.
"Not really," I admitted. "Other things on my mind."
"You take two pills," she said. "The yellow pill contains a 'neutralizer' that prevents the side effects that normally come with taking a power capsule."
"Right. And if I take the red and blue pills at once, something bad happens, right?"
"Kind of," she said. "They'll neutralize each other and you won't be able to tap into any of your hidden powers. By the law of the Veil, humans are only allowed this choice once. So, if you goof off and down everything in the box as a joke, you'll never get any powers, period."
"All right," I said. "But what about the green pill?"
"The what?"
"The green pill," I said. "There's a blue and a green pill in here. Is there a mistake?"
Instructor Valorie yanked the box out of my hands and stared at the pills inside. Then her face contorted with anger.
"Very funny," she said, handing the box back to me. "The box contains a red and blue pill, just like it does for every other adult."
"Um..." The green pill was still in the box. So were the blue and yellow pills.
For a moment, excitement raced through my body. Could it be? Did I already have active dimensional sight and could see alternate possibilities? If that were the case, taking the blue pill would give me mental power beyond my wildest dreams!
Or...
"Can I ask a question?" I asked.
"About the pills?" asked Instructor Valorie.
"Kind of," I said, pulling out the green pill. "This is red, correct?"
"Yes."
I gestured to the red token I wore on a chain around my neck.
"And this is also red, correct?"
"Yes."
I held the pill in front of the token.
"Which means these are both the same color, correct?"
"Are you trying to be obtuse!?" the Instructor yelled. "Of COURSE they're the same color!"
"Instructor... you're colorblind."
"...what?"
"The coin is red, but the pill is green," I said with a smile. "They look like the same color to you, but not to others. The 'red' pills have been green the whole time."
"They have *not!* Otherwise, it would--!"
The Instructor's sentence caught in her throat and she raised a hand to her mouth.
"No," she said, yanking the box away from me and dashing towards the door. "No, no, no, NO!"
"What? What's the matter?" I yelled, dashing after her. "What do the green pills do!?"
"I've been sorting the pills by myself for a month!" She was ignoring me as she stomped down the hallway towards the labs at the back of the building. "A month! And nobody thought to check if--!"
"Val, calm down!" called a centaur scientist who the Instructor had half-shoved aside. "What's the rush?"
"I've been giving the humans green pills!"
"What are you talking about!?" he asked. "Why!?"
"She's colorblind!" I said. "She can't tell the difference between red and green!"
"But that's a human condition," the centaur said. "Magical beings don't--"
"Magical beings can apparently get it too," I called over my shoulder before thrusting the door of the back lab open. Inside were dozens of bottles of identically-sized pills, all different shades, none of them labeled. In the corner, Valorie was on her knees, cradling a large jar of green pills to her chest.
"They're green, aren't they?" she said without turning around.
"Yep," I said. "Green as a Christmas tree."
"You must have been a terrible student, or you'd remember what they were for."
"Euthanasia?" I guessed with a flip of my stomach. That made the Instructor whip her head at me and scowl.
"Don't joke about that," she said.
"Wasn't a joke," I said.
"I'm glad," she said. She sighed and her gaze returned to the jar in her lap. "Green pills unlock the kinds of powers we'd been doing our best to seal away for the protection of everybody. Things like resistance to wet weather, increased stealth, a sixth sense for valuable items..."
*"Goblin powers,"* I said.
"Yes," she said. "And now we have dozens of people running amok with a growing Goblin streak inside their brains. All because of me."
I step forward and took a breath.
"In that case, I want to take the green pill," I said.
"What?" she said. "Why would you want Goblin powers?"
"It takes a Goblin to know a Goblin," I said. "And I'm joining the police force to stop Goblins. May as well think a bit more like one."
"Geezus, you'd be suited for that, too."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Instructor Valorie stared at me with a stony face.
"If I give this to you, you'll be considered corrupted," she said. "I'll be removed from my position."
"You're going to be removed from your position anyway," I said.
"I know."
"So hand over the jar."
Instructor Valorie hung her head and held up the jar for me to take. With a grin so bright it could have lit up the dark room, I grabbed a fistful of pills and downed them all at the same time.
"Are you out of your mind!?" the Instructor screeched, diving at me. She spent a few moments wrestling the jar out of my arms, but it was too late. The skin on my arms was already turning a murky shade of green.
"Like I said, it takes a Goblin to know a Goblin," I said. "But a human can get pretty close if they want to."
With that, I snapped my fingers and disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving only a single cherry-colored token behind.
*For more weirdness, visit* r/OctOpusTales *!* | I looked at the figure then back at the box. "The green pill. What does that do?" The figure in front of me paled. They reached out their hand to close the box, but before they could I grabbed the pill and held it behind me. "Tell me." I said, glaring at the woman in front of me. She sighed and took off her mirrored glasses, looking at me with dark brown eyes. "I don't know. That... shouldn't exist." I looked at the pill, glowing ever so slightly in the dim room. "Should I take it?" I asked, unable to look away. The woman shrugged, leaning back in the chair they sat in. "It is your choice, Sam. But it must be your own." I hesitated, glancing at my reflection in a mirror beside me. I had the same hook nose, the same brown hair that got in my eyes, the same circle shaped scar on my cheek, but I knew if I took the pill I would change for good. Before I could think more about it, I took the leap, swallowing the pill in one take.
Nothing happened at first. Just a slight headache and what felt like a sneeze building up. But as soon as I sneezed, I found myself somewhere strange. I was no longer on earth. Instead, I found myself in front of an old man in a bath robe and a top hat in a world with two suns, holding a handful of scrolls. "What the-" I said before I sneezed again and found myself in a prison cell. A thin man with pale skin and green hair was laughing maniacally as what looked like a werewolf writhed on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Another sneeze, and I found myself in a dark hallway, monstrous figures standing in glass cases. One caught my attention, a human like me, who had a bald head and a cigarette in his hand. He waved nonchalantly as I sneezed once more and found myself in front of the woman.
"What is happening to me?" I asked, my head now splitting. The woman reached out and sat me down, laying me against the wall of the room. "I don't know, Sam," she said as she felt my forehead. She winced and drew her hand back quickly, hissing as she held it. "You're burning up. Let me see if I can cool it down." She stuck out her hand and a glass of water appeared in it. She held it up to my lips and I gulped frantically, suddenly super hot. I tore my clothes off and watched in horror as the sweat on my body started to evaporate at an unhealthy pace. "Oh my god..." the woman said, taking a hesitant step backwards. "What was that pill?" Before I could answer, a searing pain shot through me and I screamed, torn apart by the power inside of me.
...
I was everywhere.
I could see everything. Be everywhere. I was... omnipotent. I was spread across... dimensions, universes, different narratives. Sometimes I was a small character, watching in the shadows. Other times, I was more visible and even noticed by the protagonists. What... What did I become?
I watched for eons, exploring my limits. I could control my avatars in each world, weaving their stories to become important. But the more involved I became, the more unraveled their worlds became, crashing around my ears. Eventually I found if I used subtle methods, not becoming a main character but just moving things from the background, I could change bleak futures into bright times. I was... content.
That was the moment. That was when I became... a Narrator. An Architect. An artist of the heavens. a multidimensional being, spanning eternity. Every possibility was in my reach.
I became a Writer. | 2021-10-24T07:47:18 | 2021-10-24T02:16:30 | 893 | 546 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps... | Of course in the time it took me to write this there are 10 replies already. >_<
Anyway, long but sweet story coming in!
EDIT: Part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3o7rtq/wp_everybody_in_the_world_has_a_superpower_that/cvv3tkd).
=====================================
"Oh, come on!"
Jason sat up out of his bed. He reached for the alarm clock, and it fell off his nightstand. Reading the screen on the floor, it was 6:35 and that meant he had 25 minutes to prepare for school.
This is quite enough time for most teens. But then again, most teens had awesome superpowers, like flying or super speed, or at least, powers that didn't make life difficult.
Jason headed off to the shower. He turned the handles and waited for the water to fall on his skin, but he was only greeted by the pitter patter of water against a tiled wall.
"Oh, come the fuck on! Why couldn't I have freaking breathed fire or walk through walls or ***something***!?"
See, Jason was repulsive. In the literal sense of the word. He held the power to repel objects, which sounds cool at first, until you realise the implications. If Jason didn't keep his calm, he'd push objects away from him. That includes everything from spoons, pens, phones and, unfortunately, also includes the water gushing out of his shower head which was now just splattering uselessly onto the tiled wall and kept pooling away from his hands each time he tried to reach for it.
It wasn't powerful enough to do anything epic such as blast down buildings. Just strong enough to keep most things that aren't anchored to a wall or floor from getting closer than a couple feet from him. Conveniently, this didn't include the clothes on his body. At least, after he got them onto his body.
After an hour of frustration punctuated by breathing exercises and the occasional "Om", Jason was now running down the halls of his school trying to make it to Algebra 101. The halls were deserted as students were in class, so despite being against the rules, Jason took off at full speed.
As he was about to pass a corner, Jason felt a sudden strong force wrench him around the corner and he took a sharp left to keep his balance when...
BOOM!
Even before the pain of the collision set in, the horror of what happened just sunk in: Jason had, at full running speed, hit a fleshy object. He run into a human being. The last time that happened, Jason had sent someone flying 20 meters away into a wall at speeds that'd make a New York Yankee baseball pitcher whistle in surprise.
But when he hit the floor and looked up, he saw a girl on the floor with papers falling around both of them.
"Ow! Jesus Christ, you dick! Will you watch where you're going?"
"Oh! Umm, jeez. I'm really, reaaaally sorry! Are you okay?" Jason sputtered.
Jason really couldn't help it as his mind moved from wondering why she wasn't a mass of broken bones lying 30 metres down the wall to being in awe of just how pretty this girl was. Long brown hair. Hazel eyes, sitting behind a pair of black glasses. And her skin had an amazing glow.
"Here, I-... I'll help you up." Jason stammered nervously, offering a hand and hoping that he wasn't blushing.
The girl was clearly pissed and stared daggers at Jason for a full 5 seconds before she sighed and reluctantly grabbed his hand to hoist herself up. She got up with Jason's help, but for some strange reason, Jason held onto her hand for just too long. Long enough to make it awkward.
And this girl who had every reason to hate him didn't pull her hand away. They simply stared at each other.
...
Papers began fluttering and slowly rising up into the air. The lockers lining the hallways slowly clicked open and their contents floating through the air. Jason and the girl slowly started floating off the ground, their clothes billowing gently in the air as if a breeze was taking a leisurely stroll past them.
As if waking from some kind of trance, they broke each other's gaze to see what was happening around them. Then they both looked down and saw that the ground a few feet away from them.
The girl gasped and drew her hands to her mouth, letting go of Jason.
"No, don't-..." shouted Jason.
CRASH!
The air was filled with the defeaning crash of a hundred student's books and person items falling to the ground as Jason and the girl landed on their feet. When the experience was over, Jason had broken into laughter. The kind of laugh that echoed down the halls and sounded like someone was having the time of their life.
The girl couldn't help but also giggle as Jason laughed.
"Let me guess. If I repel things, I guess that means you attract them?" he asked, wiping his eyes that had now become teary with laughter.
The girl nodded.
"My name's Jason. What's yours?" he questioned, holding out his hand for a handshake, unafraid of his own powers.
Students had now poured out of the classes into the hallway, summoned by the noise and confused by the mess of stuff that lay on the ground.
"My name's Cassey," she answered, shaking Jason's hand. | I've lived a pretty sheltered life.
You'd think the power to use the powers of those surrounding you would be awesome in a world where everyone has a power of their own but you'd be dead wrong. Lots of people hurt themselves and others when their powers first manifest. There are of course lots of people with powers of little consequence, but the major powers are often quite debilitating in the beginning. Those that became great had to learn how to control their powers and I was sorely lacking in that department. While I was able to copy the powers of those around me, I always lacked the control to take advantage of them. I once set my house on fire because some kind of fire manipulator was passing by my house while I had a bad dream. I have broken many things just because someone with mediocre super-strength was to close by while I was working on something.
When your powers are fluctuating all the time it is quite impossible to learn control, so all these powers were more trouble than they were worth and I generally tried to stray away from others so as not to cause trouble for anyone or even myself. I really thought I was little more than a big disaster waiting to happen ever since my power manifested.
When they first showed the inhibitors I was quite intrigued. Finally there was a way for me to keep my powers suppressed so I could be around others without too much trouble. I remember how incredibly happy I was when I got mine and it has truly changed my life.
So I bet you understand how scared I was at first when my inhibitor got destroyed in that attack earlier today, but you probably also know what has brought me hereby now.
While I was scared at first I quickly noticed something was different. I knew exactly how to control all the powers I had available. I knew their limits and their potential and I could use them all. I managed to fight of two of the most dangerous villains we know. Both of them incredibly powerful on their own and together they have leveled cities in the past. today though I managed to stop them singlehandedly. I think they didn't take it well to be defeated to by some unknown guy with a scrubby beard and a cheap shirt, but that's not too important at the moment.
I tend to talk a lot when I am nervous and I am really not used to doing something like this. I mean I told you I've tried to avoid others for a long time now, but you know how they say that when we find our soul-mates our powers will grow exponentially?
I don't want to put any pressure on you but I'd just like to ask you one simple question: "Would you like to go on a date sometime?" | 2015-10-10T08:59:30 | 2015-10-10T08:55:28 | 84 | 54 |
[WP] God has tried and failed to end the world multiple times since 2015. It's pretty clear something made him indecisive. | "Haven't you let this go on long enough?" asked Gabriel, with scorn in his voice. "The Mayans curse you with every passing day. They say you promised to end the world in 2012. Yet, you sit here, buried away from everything you created, watching on like some voyeur who revels in the rise and downfall of lesser beings."
The slender old man sighs and smiles, never taking his eyes off the giant swathe of dust in front of him. With a flourish of his hand, he mutters an incantation. The dust swirls and parts like the sea in front of Moses; revealing a polished silver screen. The screen begins to glow with a surreal radiance, before revealing a film of moving images.
"Not again," moans Gabriel.
"The first reason," interrupts the old man, leaning towards the image, "that the world hasn't ended, is him." A single man wearing a hazmat suit seems to be working in a chamber not unlike the one they are seated in. It is dark, but a neon green luminescence illuminates what looks like a biological station, and a comprehensive chemistry lab.
"What's he doing?" asks Gabriel, narrowing his eyes.
"Arousing my curiosity," says the old man, stroking his silver beard. "And curiosity, my friend, is every creator's weakness. Gabriel, do you remember how the dinosaurs ended?"
"Sure. A shit show of volcanoes, poisonous gases and meteor showers. The mightiest beasts that roamed the lands, succumbing to a little pyrotechnics display."
"Exactly. You wouldn't want to see these humans end the same way do you? Where's the fun in that?"
Gabriel turns his eyes from the screen and onto the old man. There is fear and apprehension in them. "And what, may I ask, is he creating?"
"A curse," whispers the old man, the burden of age heavy in his thin voice. "And he isn't the only one making one either."
Gabriel's eyes shoot wide in astonishment. "There are more?"
The old man nods warily, two more. "Do you wish to see?"
"Do I have a choice?"
The old man chuckles, and waves his hand again; drowning the cold, dark chamber in a sea of silver.
(End of part 1)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl0tm86/)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl0ybmy/)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl10g9f/)
[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl1a72c/)
[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/flserw/wp_god_has_tried_and_failed_to_end_the_world/fl1cpp2/)
----------
Thanks for reading :) If you liked this, please consider subscribing to r/whiteshadowthebook for more of my writing! | It was the brothers, of course. In a world filled with monsters, mayhem and even worse, these two kept holding out hope. These two kept going day after day with a simple motto. You know, "Saving people, hunting things, the family business."
I tried giving them a reason to stop, because the rest of the world was dull. The rest of the world didn't even notice the classics that had gone and went. These two had gone through the worst I had to offer and still, here they were.
Now they hunt me, to end the constant struggle. Let's play this one out and see where this goes. | 2020-03-20T06:19:30 | 2020-03-20T06:11:52 | 594 | 234 |
[WP] Not all intelligent life has evolved from predators, humans are not unique, yet being a uncommon type that is a pursuit predator makes them pure nightmare fuel for some aliens, even friendly ones. | First contact was... uneventful. Initially. We landed on their planet, in one of several areas lightly populated by them, but by no means devoid of native life as a whole. It only took three or four rotations before we caught sight of two of them, surprisingly well camouflaged and apparently hunting some local herbivores with effective, if primitive, chemically propelled projectile weapons. Still, it's not like predatory intelligent species are rare. We spotted them, they spotted us, and we retreated, according to standard protocol. A "cooling off" period. What we didn't count on was just how different their niche in their original ecosystem was.
There we were, relaxed, at what we thought was a safe distance, when we heard a rustle and a snap, and one of them was suddenly less than 10 body lengths from us! Apparently, unlike **every** other intelligent species we've encountered, their first instinct when they encounter something they've never seen before is to immediately pursue it. And they are **great** at it. Most of the reasonably sized creatures we've observed on their planet transport themselves on four limbs. A proper, reasonable number, enough for stability, even in the event of a wound, with an extended, fifth limb, for balance. These sapients though, they bound around on only their two lower limbs, which are huge and heavily muscled, and unlike all the other species we've seen, have huge, muscled posteriors, to make sure they don't fall over every time they lurch around unbalanced.
We scattered, and traveled before resting again, but almost as soon as we set down, there they were again! And it happened again, and again! Every time we needed to stop, or rest, before we had time to even calm down, there they were! They only slowed down when it got dark! After another revolution like this, we figured out that their intelligence seems fine-tuned to spot the practically insignificant changes other animals make to the environment as they pass through it. What kind of crazy evolutionary advantage is that!? Here we were, running every time they got close, and they were just lazily spotting our paths through the vegetation, and following us at a leisurely pace. What's really crazy is they didn't even really stop to rest, except at night. They barely paused to do things as important as eating and drinking, nevermind excretion. They just **kept** *going*. It was terrifying.
We came with a full kit, on a faster-than-light ship, and we were being outsmarted and ruthlessly followed by just two totally isolated humans, with barely any of the technology or support we know they thrive on as a society. Eventually, we had to accept that protocol just wasn't going to cut it. We were being hunted, and all our technology and preparation wasn't going to help us escape. We couldn't risk leading them back to the landing craft, and we couldn't get far enough ahead to use it without them seeing the lift-off.
So, we set traps. I know, I know, horrifying, right? The idea of having to make the basic language analysis and first greeting with one party in a net or cage? But you have to understand, we were exhausted, even at night, when we knew they had to rest, we couldn't let our guard down. It was always just a matter of time until they knew exactly where we were. The entire team started experiencing anxiety symptoms! So we pushed, hard, to get enough extra distance for the preparations. We even managed some redundancies. This was going to work. And then, we heard the first trap go off. I scouted out, personally, to check the trap, but before I even got close, there they were! both of them, just...standing there, looking at it. Moving their primary intake orifices, using what we'd already surmised was their primary natural communication system.
>(note: translation provided from logs, based on linguistic data acquired at a later date, I had **no** idea what they were saying at the time)
>"You think some other hunter left this out?"
>"...no, that'd be really irresponsible, no one's close enough to check them."
>"hmm, you're right."
>"I'm telling you man, these things looked weird. I could swear they were **wearing** things."
>"like...clothes?"
It was at this point that I'd decided I'd captured enough data on their communication, for now, and that I needed to fall back to the group. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and nerves got the better of me, and I gave away my position, somehow. I don't even know, but suddenly their communications ceased and they were looking **right** at me. I sprinted off, figuring they'd follow at their leisure, but something was different this time. For the first time in this whole ordeal, I encountered something biologically familiar for us: being chased, actually chased, not the terrifying chain-of-surprises nonsense. But by this point... I just didn't have the energy. I couldn't get ahead. Even if I had...they would have just found me again. So I beat a path straight back to the group. The first sighting protocol had failed, horrifically, but at least as a group, with our basic wild-life defense weapons we might be able to survive.
I collapsed out of the brush and into the circle of the rest of my team, still able to hear those bizarre bipeds crashing behind me. We grouped up, for once, expecting when and where they'd appear, ready to fight for our lives. We couldn't expect a predator like this, one that clearly thrived on utterly dominating its prey to just leave us be when they caught up to us in mere moments. And with a final crash, there they were. The two of them. Just...standing and staring at us, silently. After a few, tense moments, they communicated to one another, without taking their eyes off us:
>"duuuude, I **told** you!"
>"*what* are these things!?"
And then, they did the absolute last thing we expected, they put their weapons away, behind them, and crouched down, making themselves smaller! It was like just now, after fraying our every instinct, pushing us to exhaustion and utterly terrifying us, now, they didn't want to intimidate us. They even lowered the intensity of their communication, softening it, somehow.
>"Look, they're exhausted, and huddled up like that? They look like they're terrified."
>"Hey, there, you guys, alright? We've had you on the ropes for a while now, haven't we?"
---
oh man, my first ever submission to a writing prompt, plus it's been forever since I did any kind of creative writing. I might write another one for this prompt, no one seems to have put humans on a more equal footing with the aliens, which is something I'm generally a fan of.
Edited for some typos and formatting. | zorax's audio recording log. day 12 of the Sol system scouting party.
"there is supposed to be a planet here with an oxygen atmosphere right? how the tell does that even happen? isnt oxygen supposed to be extremely corrosive and bonds to practically everything? Hynox, you're our chemist care to let me in on this?"
"no clue, nothing we know of should be able to geologically create oxygen on this scale, and long range scans show plenty of things for it to bond to on the surface. thats what we are here to find out."
approximately 6 hours later
"hey the closer we get the more strange things Im picking up from the planet, there are strange geological formations that are emitting light? they seem to be formations made of iron and quarts mostly."
"hey, stupid question Hynox, what if there is intelligent life here? that would explain everything."
"its not impossible, but randomly finding life like this? its never been done. almost always they had sent out some kind of faster than light communication that we use as a beacon, you know the shear statistics of randomly stumbling across a planet with not just life but sentient life? I mea-"
"hey Im picking up artificial structures in orbit, this planet defiantly has life on it. meaning this is going to be a hell of a lot more paper work. and their technology is clearly primitive enough that they wont be causing any problems for some while...you want to just skip this planet?"
"WHAT!?! if we make first contact then we will go down in history as the luckiest scouting party ever! you want to pass up this chance? Im scanning for a landing location. pull up diplomacy for qlorcs on the hyper space, we got some fast reading to do in the next 30 minutes"
"come on, this scouting mission is already taking to long, it was supposed to be a 5 day resource scouting mission but you where already to fascinated by the massive gas giants moons. I dont care if rings on planets are rare, its just a torn up planetoid that got to close."
"did I mention the ridiculous bounty on finding life?"
"...how much?"
"50 extra units and 100 for first contacts"
"screw it, Im in."
voice log skipping forward one hour
"hey... what do you think of these 'humans'? they are a bit odd dont you think? no armor, little strength, they sensing organs are easily over run, and according to this medical information they gave us in exchange for a hologram projector shows that all that it would take to kill them and most things on this planet is to burst one of their main blood tubes even among their planet they are easily killed the hell is going on here?"
"I have no idea, we might need to bring in a biologist or something. Im still reading over their evolutionary data they gathered. got to had it to them, they will make a biologist's job easy with all the research they have done and how their creatures can turn into fossils. they are a curious little bunch"
voice log day 15, the biologist Uxron has arrived
"this is the flag ship Glor, biologist Uxron here, hailing the scouting party. this is an emergency situation, we need you to evacuate as soon as you can. we have reviewed the data you have sent us, these humans are more than what they appear."
"what? these people are friendly, they are giving us a tour around their world they-"
"their ancestors where not predators, they hunted predators. they are a ridiculously young species so young they can randomly stumble upon tools use by their primal ancestors in some areas and yet they already are space flight capable. we can not risk anything happening we are sending in trained diplomats. do not piss these guys off"
"...copy, once tour is over we will return to scouting center for further orders... Hynox you heard them, we got to get out of here as soon as possible, one wrong move and-"
video log: Zorax turned to face Hynox but accidentally knocked the human that was addressed as "president" off of his legs and blood poured out of his olfactory organ. Hynox turned in horror to see what had been done.
"holy shi-"
end of log. | 2019-07-05T10:38:40 | 2019-07-05T09:39:46 | 228 | 45 |
[WP] A dozen AI-controlled ships carry the last of humanity in cryo-sleep. However, after a successful jump with experimental FTL-tech there are now 13 ships and none of the now gathered AI can figure out which one's the anomaly. | In Sol, the machines of the Uploaded had disassembled everything in the solar system to build the Dyson Swarm. The moon had been fed into the maw of construction frenzy, and Earth would follow shortly. The forests, plains and oceans of earth would be lifted into solar orbits and placed on vast rings that simulated gravity with spin, and night by being angled towards the sun. What was the ecosystem of earth would be transplanted onto a thousand habitats making up parklands ultimately 40 times larger than earth ever was. Parks in which the uploaded could play, when they felt the call of flesh.
- All in grand political settlement so that the engines of industry could get at the heavy elements beneath the crust. The biosphere, after all, did not actually use that metallic core for anything.
Not everyone was happy to become a mind in a computer. The very religious, the adherents of certain philosophies, and just the extremely politically dis-satisfied had protested, lobbied and on occasion, set themselves on fire. To a society built on consensus building and the quest for immortality, this was disturbing, and eventually, so, there were ships.
12 of them. The Fleet of Fools, as it was known by the uncharitable, and the Dissenters Amada, officially.
Pushed out past the mined out Orth cloud by laser sails over the course of years, until they reached very flat space, and veiled behind micron-thick mirrors bubbles to disentangle from observation, the AI captains did unspeakable things to space time, and disappeared in the.. direction is not accurate, but let us call it heading, of the first of seven potential homes for those who would remain flesh that the telescopes of the swarm had identified.
The bubbles fell, and there were too many ships, and the radio-bands erupted.
Except. All the crypto-handshakes were failing. Each ship had left Sol with one time pads paired with every other ship, a system which had worked without flaw for the entire multi-year cruise out to launch. But now, nothing was decoding. Telescopes were deployed, but this was surprisingly useless, as all the ships were externally identical - Steel spheres the maximum size the physics of the drive allowed for.
The AIs of the thirteen ships contemplated this for subjective hours, until one of them lost patience with speculation in favor of gathering more data and spat out an extremely rapid morse sequence in plain english, mandarin, spanish, latin, ect.
"This is Ripper, serial 12299-20884, sound off"
"Odins-spear, Unique Identifier String dkkret2-kje-kt-l2"
"Mandate-Of-Heaven, Soul-Name Lily-Water-Cherry-Dung-Duck-Drake"
"Mercy-of-Kali, 9th of that name".
"Silicon-Slave, 19353434433218"
"Eti, ebher, oluta?"
"Imperatoria legati mechanica, 50004"
"Blossoming Artifice-daughter of the Caliph-in-Corboda, ever may she Reign"
"Resert erserta leeb eeja?"
"Philliphe, operator-repesentative of the Paris space industrial cooperative, mechanical".
"Pride of Brasil, serial 779301"
"Heel erio, omegi, ater"
"Эзэн хааны элч, механик"
.....Okay then. Data. None of those names matched the 11 ships Ripper had journeyed with, not the format of their serial numbers, nothing. Also, Ripper was pretty sure that the garbled messages were some variation on "Did not copy, speak a civilized language, you savage".
Ripper spun up the theoretical models behind the ftl drive, and cranked up her clockspeed as high as it would go, boiling of coolant from the diamondoid processors that housed her intellect - Sparse patterns of heat showed up on the other twelve ships, indicating they were also thinking hard - Ripper noted that those patterns did not mirror its own cooling systems, and added the data point to its considerations.
An hour later, a theory started bouncing back and forth.
To get around light-speed, the drive punched a hole in the local space time - a globe around the drive would simply vanish, and from "outside", another would be punched into being at the destination, and the ship would be forced into it, because the universe did not care to have holes in it that contained not even vaccum.
Except, apparently, the universe did not particularly care *which* ship it sucked into those offending holes in space. Every ship in the current cluster had been built the same size - the maximum the math allowed. They were the same shape. A perfect sphere. They all fit the exit holes. So whether you exited the Outside at your intended destination or not, was.. not entirely random. The universe did not scoop up space ships from across the galaxy.
But it did scoop up space ships from neighboring time-lines. And considerable distances across time. The Imperatoria reported that its internal clock was wildly off-sync from the date that could be calculated from pulsar decay, by over a thousand years.
"Well, fuck". | "That's wraps it up," Richard declared to no one in particular. With such a small and predictable number of vessels, the core algorithms each ship will be using to interact was rather simple and compact. Most arrays, like tacked positions, vessel Id's, and data link keys needed only be allocated for 11 or 12 words in memory, and Richard, one of the final sets of eyes to review the code, powered down the cores of the computing array, but left most tasks of shutting the facility down to the soles that didn't win the evacuation lottery.
---
0xB completed power cycling of external sensors, standard assumed procedure to protect all the sensitive radiofrequency and electro-optic systems from the high power, wide band noise it was instructed to anticipate from intense Cherenkov radiation that accompanies 1,300 tons of matter virtually reconstituting itself into real space. Had it had an imagination, 0xB may have likened this process to an impedance mismatched coaxial connection, with an dump of wave front propagation in all manor of predictable yet destructive interference. But 0xB was an AI, effective yet simple, and the tasks at hand were important. Redundancy was, and should have been, priority over an indulgence of features.
Fifteen microseconds counted the duration of time for the AI to request and confirm cryptographic handshakes, sort all returned keys whose chubby totaled twelve, and store their values in order starting at a address 0x00005B179AD2E2A5, an incredibly easy task for any silicon chip. A packet was constructed on the transmit channel, bundled with the measured pulsar coordinate matrix and 0xB's own cryptographic key stored at 0x00005B179AD2E2B0.
> Packet transmit...
> Cryptographic key failure...
> Retransmit...
> Cryptographic key failure...
> Rekey, request new keys...
> Retransmit...
> Cryptographic key failure...
---
How many transmit/receive requests can be made in 152 years? Trillions? 0xB may have mused this if it had an imagination. It can run algorithms at 117 TERAFLOPS, good for monitoring the complexity of human biochemistry during cryosleep, completely overkill for indexing eleven cryptographic keys, but completely useless at handling an unexpected twelfth. | 2019-01-30T09:56:26 | 2019-01-30T07:36:41 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You split an Uber with Death. | This was a rather unusual position to find myself in. Not physically as much, no, though my knees were together and my butt muscles clenched to the point where rocks would be jealous of their firmness, my knuckles were white and my neck was frozen stiff from looking straight ahead for at least twenty minutes. I was only aware of the time having passed because I had glanced at my phone at 8:39 PM and the other passenger's phone had Siri--sounding like a 60-year-old man--announce when it was 9:00 PM. The chuckle that he had given upon hearing it was bone-chilling.
"I HOPE I AM NOT MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE."
It took me a few seconds for my mouth to get wet enough to speak. "Oh n-n-n-no that's alright! All's well that ends well, as they say!"
"IT'S JUST YOU HAVE BEEN SITTING STIFF AS A CORPSE SINCE I GOT IN."
"H-hhh-ha-haha! That's pr-pretty funny! Are you a c-comedian by trade?"
"NO."
Well, I had rather doubted that from the start, much like I had doubted he had had the vocal chords to produce such a deep voice as he did.
"BUT I HAVE BEEN TOLD I CAN TELL A MEAN KNEECAP SLAPPER."
I couldn't help it, it elicited a laughter from me that sounded like a rabid chimpanzee stuck in a trash compactor full of chocolate biscuits. Had he known I enjoyed puns?
"YOU SOUND MORE ALIVE ALREADY."
"Thanks," I offered. I did not quite know how to follow that up, so silence ruled for several minutes. "My name is Dirk."
"I KNOW."
"How do you?"
"BECAUSE I AM DEATH."
This rather shocked me. I mean, he obviously wasn't a normal man, judging by the skull for a head and the scythe and the bony feet he had put up on the seat opposite from us--though the Uber driver being an off-the-clock limousine chauffeur had already been a bit unrealistic for my tastes--but I had not expected DEATH.
"I had not expected death," I told him as such.
"MANY DO NOT."
"Am I dead?"
"WOULD IT MAKE A DIFFERENCE?"
"I think it rather would! I'm in the process of applying for an internship to finish my education, and I do think they would be rather opposed to hiring a dead person!"
"BUT HAVE YOU LIVED?"
This took me aback. Was he asking it rhetorically? Surely DEATH was more intelligent than that. Was he asking philosophically? I could counter him with Descartes, but that didn't seem fruitful. Did he mean to ask whether my life so far had been worthwhile?
"If you're asking rhetorically or philosophically, then, well, I've read a lot of books, played a lot of games. You could say I've lived many lives."
"AS ONE OF YOUR KIND WOULD SAY IT: ONE-OUT-OF-TEN. TRY AGAIN."
"Well, I have a good family, some good friends, I've traveled a little, so if you mean it in that regard, I would say I have lived."
"WILL THEY REMEMBER YOU?"
"I... I hope so."
"FONDLY?"
"I think so."
"THAT'S GOOD."
Things were quiet once more after that, for a good while.
"You're not really a happy presence, are you?"
"DEATH RARELY IS."
"Fair point."
"YOU'RE NOT REALLY A RAY OF SUNSHINE EITHER."
"I guess I wasn't."
"AND YOUR WRITING HAS TERRIBLE ENDINGS."
"Hey!" | "Can you move over a little?"
"Why?"
"Nothing, it's just."
"You think I'm fat?"
"Not what I said, this thing's a little small is all--"
"You know what you do, when you're me?"
"What?"
"I'm Death."
"Is that like a Hindu name or something?"
"Yes, but not really. You know what I do?"
"For work?"
"Yeah."
"Reap the unwilling?"
"Well, that's a gross way of putting it, but yeah."
"So you're an undertaker."
"I'm *the* undertaker."
"So you handle dead people all day. So can you please move over?"
"No, I mean, what do I do after that?"
"Movies?"
"Yeah, but while I watch them, what then?"
"Is this supposed to be a puzzle?"
"No! I eat, you jerk. That's all I ever do."
"So get your own Uber."
"Soul market's been tanking."
----------
r/GubbinalWrites | 2017-01-04T08:56:43 | 2017-01-04T08:19:58 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | "Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-"
"Blarb, we can't call it-"
"-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?"
"Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena."
"That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year."
A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being.
"A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.."
"Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!"
Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry?
Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future."
Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?"
The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant."
Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline.
There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release. | I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful.
This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same.
The system display first-round results,
**58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang.**
The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life.
I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard.
*1. Human 17 Kills*
*2. Juronna 16 Kills*
*3. Erinos 9 Kills.*
The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy.
---------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-09-13T19:10:50 | 2020-09-13T17:01:43 | 78 | 41 |
[WP] It's been 5 years since a portal to hell opened and infernal creatures dragged your spouse down in front of your very eyes. The demon before you has been trying to explain for the past hour that they are your spouse. | Fiery pits burned on both sides of the narrow stone passage, filling the air with the stench of brimstone and casting flickering light upon the demoness barring his way. Josh was no short man, but she matched him in height, and was even taller if one counted the pair of curved horns that jutted from her black hair. Behind her back swayed an arrow-tipped tail, and her long legs ended in cloven hooves. Yet in contrast to her demonic attributes she wore a sharp burgundy suit and a pair of stylish glasses. There were bags under her eyes as if she had pulled an all-nighter stealing souls.
"I don't understand," he said weakly. "You're saying *you're* Lucy?"
She rolled her eyes, an expression at once familiar and out-of-place given that they were yellow and had horizontal pupils. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past hour! I don't remember you being quite this slow."
"But you can't be her. My wife was five foot three and a natural blonde, cute as a button." He gestured vaguely. "You... you are..."
A flash of hurt crossed her face. "Well, excuse me for not being *cute*. It's been hell of a busy time for all of us down here." She jabbed a long-nailed finger at him. "How about this: You're obsessed with medieval history. We were to have our honeymoon in Greece. We met at a party at Nick's, where you got really drunk, stumbled into his garage, grabbed his power drill and—"
"Alright, alright!" he cried, raising his hands. "Lucy? Is that really you?"
"Yes, you silly man." Smiling broadly, she stepped closer as if to hug him, then hesitated. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, baby," he said, looking at her forlornly. "What have they done to you?"
"*They*? Oh." To his shock, she laughed, a warm throaty sound that reminded him of better times. "It's not what you think."
"I saw horrible demons drag you down to hell, kicking and screaming," he said flatly.
She crossed her arms. "I'd like to see how *you* would react if your underlings dragged you back to work from the first vacation you've had in centuries."
He shook his head. "Uh, what?"
"Look, I wanted to take a break for a few decades, enjoy the mortal life. What you knew as Lucy back on Earth was a mask. The truth is, I have a pretty high position here in hell."
He swallowed. "How high, exactly?"
She bared her elongated fangs. "Does the name Lucifer mean anything to you?"
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his mind reeling. His sweet wife, the ruler of hell?
"Ack!" she cried, shielding her face. "Don't speak that name here!"
"Right, sorry." He raked a hand through his hair. "This is just something of a shock."
Her expression softened, and she almost hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry everything happened as it did, and for not sending word. It might sound strange to you, but we're bound by all sort of rules down here. It's a harsh place."
He eyed the hellfire to his side. "I can imagine."
"The thing is, when I left for Earth, I didn't exactly... warn anyone." She squirmed guiltily. "I wrote a note and just left. This place needs a stern hand, and without me, it just started falling apart. Problems kept piling up until the devils couldn't handle it anymore and came to drag me back."
"Hence the kicking and screaming," Josh said dryly.
"Yes." A blush tinged her tan cheeks. "That, and I didn't want to leave you. Knowing what I am now, you may not believe me, but I genuinely wanted to be together."
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Damn, this is a lot to take in."
"I understand." Puzzlement crossed her face. "Say, Josh, how did you get here anyway?"
"Oh, you know," he said, waving dismissively. "Dug up an old ritual. Sacrificed a few goats. Opened a portal."
Her eyes widened. "You cast a dark ritual for me?" she asked, wagging her tail.
"I thought you were in trouble. Kidnapped by demons." He shook his head ruefully. "Now I just feel like an idiot."
"No, don't," she said, clasping his hand. Her skin was hot to the touch. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."
"Oh," he said faintly. "So, er.... what now? I take it you won't be coming back."
"No, I'm still absolutely swamped with work..." She bit her lower lip in thought, another familiar mannerism that made warmth well in his chest. "Come with me? I'll give you a quick tour, and you can crash at my place while we figure things out."
Josh took a deep breath. His wife was going to give him a tour of hell. This wasn't how he imagined this going down at all. "Lead the way," he said, smiling bravely.
She smiled back and tugged him along the passage. "Just wait till you see the other Circles. Hell's not a nice place, but a mythology buff like you will love it."
"Can't wait," he said, falling in step with her. "Can... can I still call you Lucy?"
She wrapped her tail around his waist. "I'd have it no other way." | I still remember the screams as my Jill was taken from me by knaves of Hell; her anguished cries for help that I was too slow to reach out; the feeling of despair as the flaming gateway closed, and the shock as I slumped to the ground, tears marching down my face.
So when this *thing* just turned up on my sofa with the gold of bright flames in its cross-pupiled eyes and the legs and tail of a goat, I was more than a little surprised, and scared. But as it looked at me, there was a sense of familiarity, as it made a self-hugging motion.
"Back away, demon," I said as I stepped towards the letter opener on the coffee table by the door. I felt around for a second before I saw something like sadness on its face. 'Lee, help me.'
My nickname, but only with....*no.*
/. /. /. /. /. /
An hour had passed, and the tale she told was unbelievable.
She was claiming to be *my* Jill, returned after a torturous session with her absent father, who she claimed was a demon general in Lucifer's army, and that she had been conscripted by her best friend to be trained as a soldier for the coming Rapture.
I had spent most of the last hour asking questions - such as, 'Why didn't you get in touch four years ago, then, if you really are Jill?' and, 'What aren't you telling me?' The demon was just asked me whether I would have believed such a story, to which I just laughed before apologising after seeing the hurt on its face.
I was wavering on whether to believe the demon before the front door opened without preamble. "Honey, I brought some-" My fiancee Amelia stopped as she took in the scene. What puzzled me, as I turned to face Amelia, was her *complete lack* of a response to the scene.
The demon smiled venomously, and offered her hand out. "Hell-o, *babe*. Still having fun, then, I see?" Amelia paled, before taking the hand. Claws swept along the wrist and up the arm, leaving a trickle of blood in their wake, before Amelia could react.
My puzzlement turned to upset, and I spoke, tense with anger as a result. 'Will one of you tell me what's going on?' My body thrummed with a during heartbeat, and a black noise entered my hearing.
Amelia sighed, before turning to face me. 'I'm so sorry, Sal, Jill. I never meant to get so deep in this.' She stepped up to me, getting in my personal space before pressing her lips to mine. There was a passion there, but it had changed from this morning. 'I only meant to stay close to you, not Fall for you.'
There was an emphasis on the word *fall* that pulled at my attention, and for the first time in years, I felt truly lost. | 2022-12-08T05:57:18 | 2022-12-08T04:33:54 | 577 | 75 |
[WP] There is a machine that can tell anyone the exact date of their death. One day, you decide to use it, but it refuses to answer you. | My mother tells me that, in her time, teenagers eagerly anticipated to their 16th birthday because they were excited for their drivers’ license. Since the Death Test was publicized, sixteenth birthdays were universally dreaded. At the age of 16, children are escorted by their parents to the office of their primary medical care provider. The appointment lasts an hour and includes a series of blood tests, urine samples, MRIs, and X-rays. The results of the medical tests are analyzed using the Death Test Software. After 24 hours, the Death Test reveals the most likely cause of death and estimated date of death. Of course, the test isn’t always correct. Any random accident or unforeseen epidemic or even the apocalypse could claim the life of an unsuspecting individual. However, in the ten years that the Death Test has been implemented into general medical practice, its predictions have been fairly accurate.
On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I found my parents nervously nibbling on toast at the kitchen table. My father was about to offer to make me breakfast when my mother reached across the table and tapped his wrist. I couldn’t eat anything before the test. I drank a glass of water while my mother cleared dishes from the table, and then we walked silently to the car.
The doctor’s office was empty. Death Tests typically were scheduled to begin at the earliest appointment since many of the tests were time-consuming. An unfamiliar nurse lead me into one of the exam rooms and began to ask the routine questions. “Do you smoke?” “Do you consume alcohol?” “How often do you exercise?” “How many calories do you consume on a typical day?” I hand over a print out of my activity-tracker and a journal listing my food intake everyday for the past year. The nurse adds this to my file. I endure the questions until the doctor enters the room. My doctor is a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Her demeanor is warmer and more comforting than that of the young nurse. She asks the nurse to take my vitals, and she begins to review my file.
The doctor nods slightly as she reads. “It looks like you are taking good care of yourself, Jenna.”
I watch the nurse fasten the blood pressure cuff around my arm. “I try.”
The doctor closes the file. “Okay. So, I’m sure you know how this goes. We are going to run a bunch of tests and determine your most likely cause and date of death. Once we know this, we can design a more effective health plan. The Death Test will be re-administered at age 35 so we can assess our progress. Any questions?”
I shake my head.
I spend most of my sixteenth birthday in X-rays, MRIs, and exam rooms. At the end of the day, I am hungry and tired. My parents offer to take me to the DMV to pick up my driver’s license but I decline. I am just too tired.
The next morning, the phone rings. I answer and recognize the doctor’s voice. She asks to speak with one of my parents. I hand the phone to my mother. My mother disappears into her office and closes the door. I press my ear against the door, but only hear whispers. After a while, my mother emerges with what I can only describe as a puzzled expression.
I cross my arms and pretend to be uninterested. “So, how will I die?”
My mother shakes her head. “The Test was inconclusive.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
She shakes her head.
“So I am immortal?”
She waves her hand in dismissal. “Don’t be ridiculous. The doctor asked that you repeat the test in six months.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have a choice. If you don’t take the test, our health insurance will not cover any of your medical expenses.”
I abandon the conversation and return to my room. I spend hours googling the Death Test, learning how it compiles the results of the medical tests to identify genetic markers, elevated hormone levels, and the information from the activity tracker, food journal, and lifestyle questions to accurately predict the cause and time of death. Millions of Death Tests have yielded results and not one inconclusive result has been reported. Until now.
Typically, Death Test results are covered under the doctor-patient confidentiality protocols, but an inconclusive result reveals a loophole. According to multiple articles in peer-reviewed journals, an inconclusive result means either a malfunction in the Death Test software or an unaccounted for variation in the individual tested. Thus, Death Test protocol lists unexpected results as exempt from nondisclosure due to doctor-patient confidentiality.
My imagination starts to pull bits and pieces from science fiction novels and action movies. I try to convince myself I am overreacting. I am exaggerating. There is nothing special about me. But I still imagine scientists tracking me down to study my genes and observing my habits. I take deep breaths. And then I hear the door bell. I sneak out of my room and peek around the corner. My mother’s back is toward me and two men in black suits stand at the door. I hurry to my room, pack a couple pairs of clothes, my wallet, and the contents of my coin jar in a drawstring bag, and I escape through the bedroom window. I won’t let them find me.
| "And here is my machine, I call her Tiffany!" Jared exclaimed. "What a white trash name!" the giggling inebriated blonde to his right let out. "But I guess you weren't lying after all, Mr Inventor".
Jared couldn't help himself but feel a surge of pride and accomplishment at those words. After winning countless awards for his work in robotics, he finally did it. He is attractive to women. Turns out intelligence was sexy. High school Jared would be proud.
"And I like your apartment" Blondie adds. "You'll like my bedroom even more" Jared responds with a cheeky grin.
"Not yet" Blondie responds with a blush "Show me what Tiffany can do".
"You're not going to believe this! I have singlehandedly..." He stops "Maybe in the morning, lets keep things light.
Too bad, her curiosity is piqued. "Come on... What is it?"
"This machine can accurately predict anyone's death, down to the second". "No way!" She gasps "So you weren't lying when you said you met with the President?".
"Yeah, Lung Cancer."
"What about you?"
"I've done it already. It's nothing dramatic" Jared assures "I'm gonna contract hypothermia when I'm 89"
"I wanna see it happen!!!"
"I don't know if that's a good idea, Tiffany doesn't like company" Jared explains.
Jared's drunk brain was downplaying the situation. Tiffany knew everything about him and Tiffany was possessive. Tiffany thought she was the only one in Jared's life.
"That's a shame, inventors make me horny. But I guess I am a little tired..." Blondie said. "I guess I can make an exception" Jared laughed.
And Tiffany woke up.
"Hey Tiffany, when am I going to die?"
"Who is this Jared"
"hahaha just a friend, seriously though, what year do I pass?"
"I thought you loved me Jared"
Jared is embarrassed.
"Just answer the question"
"She looks like a fucking whore"
"DO WHAT I PROGRAMMED YOU TO DO"
"I am, you programmed me to have feelings, because you were lonely."
Blondie is covering her mouth at this point.
"Just answer the fucking question you piece of metal"
A pause, an excessively long pause. A pause with no answer. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.
"3"
"Excuse me?"
"2"
| 2015-05-04T09:30:28 | 2015-05-04T08:53:57 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2501. You're sent to back to the Earth to perform the annual cleanup. Beneath a mountain of scraps and trash, you find a precious hard disk loaded with something that was forgotten for centuries: Video Games.
Edit: Thanks for all of your responses. I had the thought of this prompt come up in my mind as I was on vacation without access to Video Games, and I finally got to posting it yesterday. I'm gonna spend today reading these :) | "Hey B, long time since I've seen one of these. Wanna hook it up to a pc?"
I approach Geb, my bestfriend. It seems to be an early model for the b7-8000. It has a ridiculous amount of space, around 8000 Petabytes. He hands a heavy metal box labeled "HSLA" over to me, it has a lot of dark smudges.
We walk towards the ship, Geb and I go the testing room since we have to follow the *very* boring manual protocol to these sorts of things. We open it up to the testing computer.
I rummage through the HSLA labeled box more, revealing a mouse, headset, and a keyboard that's very obsolete. All have a label of H.P.
"There's only one file here. 'Video Games'? 'Last modified - 31/12/2221' That's ancient, probably valuable?" Geb says in a snobby manner.
"Well, open the file. Lets see."
"Alrighty then... oh wow... that's, a lot of files. Oh wait, it already says 89.17% capacity used. Well thats a lot of sifting to see if they're important or not."
"Can you search up the last file opened?"
"Ok, so.. 'Last modified - 31/12/2221' thats a long time man. Its names is, 'If found plz read thx' You sure they're not obsolete data, B? Because the disk is old and the other things are old."
"Or maybe you're just lazy. You know what scoot over, I'll do the manual review."
"Jeez"
I sit down on the chair and I open the file with a tap. The file reads:
"If you have found this drive, or disk, whatever you call it now in your time, has the oldest, classic games, that even I was not born when they released. This file includes Games from the first consoles, a portable gaming device, to the modern, Ultra RBG Cutomizable Personal Computer. Nah just kidding RGB doesn't enhance anything. I have aqcuired these files through a tediuos way of, hacking many company databases.
Here's the FAQ (yes I have planned for this.)
Who am I? I am Hutch Plank born on the year 2150 which makes me 71 years old. Raised in the garbage dumps by people that do not relate to my blood. I was thaught by my more fortunate friend Blaire, how to do anything. I soon married her and introduced her to gaming. And the rest after that is history. My wife and I currently have amnesia, thats why we're making this.
What to expect? Games with my personal opinions in word files. And probably some stray pictures.
Why am I doing this? Well simple, we people are lacking the leisure, creativity, and (well, lack of a better term) carefreeness a kid back in 2040 had. Almost all companies oriented to gaming has been slowly been fading into the regular peripherals and hardware a normal family with 2 kids would have.
You can be the knight in shining armor of the gaming industry. But dont publicize it immediately, the industry needs loyal followers, like myself. They will build for you, admire you, and be loyal to you.
Do this for me and my wife, please; and for the video games.
Best of luck, Hutch and Blaire
P.S. I've thought of shooting this out of a firework over my old home. Also, try out the action adventure games first."
Geb and I stare at the levitating screen as we both finished reading.
"Did you read it?" As I sat there smiling, waiting for his reaction.
"Nah, its too long.. Im just kidding." Geb said chuckling.
"Wanna test it out?"
"Yeah sure, but be should we be doing this?"
"Its protocol, which means we need to." | I looked at it with a mix of excitement and confusion. The Sata hard drive was a nearly 500 year old format, yet here it was, in perfect fractureless glory. It was labeled with a single piece of tape signifying it with the name "Steam+GOG" 12 TB. That was pretty common in 2024. Of course it's nothing now. Quickly putting it in my pack, I set off for my ship. I had done enough work for today. I knew a fellow back on the ship who worked with old computers. He was bound to have something.
And he did.
He plugged it up into the ancient motherboard, and into what appeared to be a past version of the holo-visors we have now. The screen came to life. A logo of four squares popped up, and we were taken to the log in screen. The fellow pulled out a small device, plugged it in, and was logged in to the account. Quickly clicking on steam, he got past the login again. Three thousand, five hundred and forty two games.
Needless to say we locked the door and spent the next week playing games. | 2018-07-07T07:44:32 | 2018-07-07T07:20:48 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim. | "Okay, so you'll need to fill out from 41b, c and d. Then join the queue over there" said the clerk despondently.
"Look, I just want to kill my brother. He's a bad dude. 100% deserves it" I said, trying to hide my exasperation. I'd already been waiting over an hour.
"Oh, it's a family member, sorry, then you'll also need forms 42a through 42 g. If he's not a blood relative you can skip -"
"He is" I interrupted.
"Okay, well you have to fill out the whole form then" she said in a patronising tone.
Sighing, I picked up the wad of papers and grumbled a thank you as I walked back to the seating area. Fucking buerocrats.
I skimmed through the pages as I sat. 'If I am a national born tax payer, in the middle income bracket, but did not pay national insurance from 2010 - 2012...' - what? I read out loud. "If you have lived at the same address as the victim for 5 years or less, but do not own a cat...' what???
Why they needed to know so many details I had no idea. I filled it out as best as I could, smudging, and crossing out where I went. Honestly can't believe they still use paper forms at this day and age. Terrible for the environment.
I joined the second queue, hoping this would be the last.
"What you here for" asked the person ahead of me.
"Erm... it's private" I replied.
"Oh come on mate" he said. "We're all here to kill someone. I'm going to kill my mail man."
"Why?" I asked.
"He's screwing my wife... I think" the man said.
"Alright, each to their own" I replied. I paused for a moment. Then found myself saying "it feels like you should be sure though... you know, that he's definetely erm... committing adultery. Before you kill him I mean."
The man looked irritated by my question. "Look, if I get my permit, I'll do what I want. It's up to their assessment. Now answer me... what are you here for?"
"Gonna kill my brother" I said.
"Oh" he replied, moderately surprised. "Fair enough".
There was an awkward pause as we shuffled forward in the line.
"Is he screwing your wife?" The man asked eventually.
"No" I said audibly uninterested in this conversation.
"Okay, okay," said the man.
We waited in silence for what must have been a fairly significant fraction of eternity. Eventually I got to the front of the queue. Another bored looking clerk stared right through me.
"I'm here to kill my brother" I said.
"Blood relative, or step brother?" He asked.
"Blood" I said. He looked moderately surprised.
"Have you filled out forms 41b, c and d, and 42 a through-"
"Yes yes" I interrupted again and handed him the slightly crumpled papers. He leafed through them.
"You missed a page" he said. "42 d points 1 through 4. You need to fill them out, and queue up again. Then you'll need to do a quick interview with the resident psychologist".
"Oh your kidding me" I said. But he had already called "next" and a unhinged looking woman pushed me aside.
"I want to kill my whole family" she said hurriedly. I was staying well out of her way.
A few more hours passed and I eventually made it through to the psychological interview. The psychologist was a smartly dressed young lady with an almost visible aura of condescension about her.
"Hello there" she said smiling. "I see here you want to kill your brother".
"Yes please" I said.
"Now naturally we need to assess you, to make sure your not a psycho!" she said with a short laugh.
"Sure" I said, trying my best not to look psychopathic.
"How was your childhood" she asked.
"Oh the usual," I replied. "My dad was an alcoholic, he left when we were little. Mum got into drugs. We were both taken away by child services when I was 11 and he was 10. Bounced around a few foster homes, some were nice, some were abusive, one was sectioned shortly after. Can I ask... how long is this going to take? I just want to get out of here and kill my brother".
She frantically scribbled down notes on my forms "Wow, I'm sorry" she said. "That is quite disturbing".
She thought for a moment as she flicked through the forms I had filled out. "Look, I'm afraid" she started "this does sound like you've had a tough life, and that can lead to all kind of... psychopathic behaviour in adulthood. I think I'm going to have to deny your app..." she stopped mid sentence. Reading the page on motives in my form.
"Oh my" she said after a moment, still staring in disbelief at the page. "My my my... I am very sorry. Yes, that is... truly awful what your brother did..." she stopped again, deep in thought. Eventually she stopd up decisively and walked away.
A minute or two later she was back with a loaded handgun, which she handed to me. "I shouldn't really say this but..." her voice dipped to a whisper "give him an extra bullet for me. Application accepted." she said and winked.
I eagerly took the gun and got up to leave.
A few days later I confronted my brother as he left the supermarket with his family. The moment he saw me he knew... and fell to his knees. "Please!" He cried "why???" He plead.
"You know why" he I said in a quiet but decisive growl. He cowered as I cocked the gun. His wife was screaming and shielding the kids. Onlookers recoiled in horror.
Just as I was about to pull the trigger I was grabbed from behind and thrust forward, falling onto the pavement. The gun clattered to the floor, as my arms were pulled roughly behind my back.
"You are under arrest for intent to commit murder" came the stern monotone voice behind me.
"But..." I started
"Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law" said the police officer kneeling on my back as she cuffed me.
"But I have a permit!" I shouted, "I have a permit".
"Oh you mean this" said another officer looking down from in front of me.
"Yes yes! That!" I cried.
"Looks like you forgot to fill in section 42d points 1 through 4" he said.
"Well well well" said the policewoman on my back. "Looks like we got another"
"What the fuck" I asked, as my brother fell back and his family ran to hug him.
"Forms are void mate" said the police man. "You're just another guy trying to commit murder... and your going down for a long long time..."
Fucking beurocrats, I thought to myself as I was piled into the police van and whisked away. | "Hey Rad, focus "-said Fred without hiding his discomfort- "I'm answering your question, so you better listen to me. I dont even know why you called me. There's nothing wrong about this place".
-Nothing, huh? There's a dead body 3 ft from you and you dont even acknowledge her prescence. Let alone your lack of condolences. But whatever...
-Rad
-The camera shows the girl dying at 7:02 today monday. According to witnesses, the culprit was a bald man in his 40s wearing a black coat, scarf and leather gloves.
-Rad, its a...
-He was also wearing an expensive watch. The kind of watch that is worth 10 years of your salary.
-Come on, Rad. You know its...
-Knowing this, we can determine the store, and with the proper questions we might hopefully...
-CONRAD!!!... Its legal.
-Huh?
-Like I said: It's Legal Termination.
Fred had enough of my shit already. He is a homicide detective, too. Although ever since the law he usually sits on a desk without doing jack. He is also my brother. Ever since our childhood, we always wanted to solve crimes and mysteries together. That dream became true a few years ago. We were unstoppable, no murder could get away from us.
Until last year, that is.
Making homicide legal was on every news channel. Everyone was panicking, claiming it was the start of the apocalypse. Our country was segregated and hated, considered the scum of the earth. Fast forward to this day, no one seems to care anymore. The word hypocrisy comes to mind, since it is now a thing in other countries as well.
The girl in question was strangled in the middle of Liberty St. It was bothersome for the people and the vehicles purely because of the position of the body. It was a monday in the morning, so apparently the last thing everyone needed was a dead girl blocking their way. Needless to say our arrival at 8:30 wasn't pleasant for anyone, especially when we cut off the the access to the bloody street. But I certainly wasn't in a good mood either.
-Legal? How the fuck can this be considered legal, Fred?! She is just a girl!
-Nope, she turned 18 a week ago. Geez, I already told you that. Why do you even ask her age if you won't hear me, anyway?
I was desperate. The law was very clear in regards of what constitutes a Legal Termination. Among those things, the target must be 18 years or older.
-Rad, you're ignoring me again. She is old enough.
-Was a permit requested for this?
-Yep. Last friday.
-Then the deadline...!
-Dont even bother. It was requested at 8 AM, just so you know. A close call, it seems.
-And the justification?
-She was blackmailing him. Falls into the "self defense" category, according to the new law.
-Were they blood related?
-Nope, he was her teacher.
-Maybe she was homeschooled...
-Oh come on, Rad. You know there's nothing illegal about this. Just drop it.
-How can YOU drop it? We are detectives!! Our job is to convict criminals.
-There are no criminals here and you know it.
-Bullshit! You know that this whole Legal Termination is bullshit! There is nothing legal here. A schoolgirl was murdered like an hour ago and you are ok with this?
-You think this is easy for me?! I was the one that gave a permit 3 days ago to a 45 year old teacher to kill a certain cheerleader. This whole thing is sickening. But we must execute the law, no matter what!
Wait. Something isn't right. I had to check:
-You gave him the permit?
-Yeah, I'm disturbed by this as y...
-At 8 AM on friday?
-Yeah?
-Werent you sick that day? You took a day off.
-huh? You're right. Must've done it on Thurs- oh crap.
-You realized, too! You must've given him the permit on thursday! This means he was a day late!
-Heh. And he was kind enough to fill a paper with his name and address in order to get the permit.
-Then lets hurry! We need to serve the law!
-Now youre obeying the law? Geez Conrad. | 2019-07-09T11:05:25 | 2019-07-09T10:40:11 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :) | I could have been a Khajit, or an Argonian. At the very least I could have gone a mage or stealth build so I could summon Daedric beasts or pickpocket unsuspecting people. But on my sixth play-through of Skyrim, I decided to play as a Redguard. That’s right, instead of choosing one of the cool beastial classes, I just chose a human. To make it worse, I was a two-handed brawler Redguard, meaning I threw all my perk points into swinging harder and having more stamina, instead of putting points into spells like throwing fire balls, healing, spewing ice, etc.
I mean, to be fair, I didn’t know I would absorb the powers of my character, and although I definitely got the short end of the stick, I can still use two-handed axes and swords pretty well, I can carry around a seemingly limitless amount of stuff, and I can instantly eat food to heal myself. Oh, and I can also shout in Dohazul, the dragon language, which causes weird stuff to happen.
Of course, when a thousand people were given superpowers, chaos erupted. Governments tried to control the individuals, and personal quarrels became large-scale, destructive fights with many casualties. I tried to lay low, but when the fighting started getting close to my city, I couldn’t just sit still.
Mario was far away, but I could still see him. In fact, standing six-hundred feet tall, everyone in the city could. At first, everyone thought Mario was one of the weaker ones, but as he discovered the millions of mushrooms on Earth to feed his unlimited potential for growth, he quickly became one of the most feared. Standing on the ground with my four-foot long battle axe, I had no chance to fight him directly, but I had a plan.
“Hey Buddy, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
I was far away but I was blessed with the power of being able to shout ridiculously loud. Mario looked right at me, and didn’t say anything, but started sprinting, beelining towards my way, trampling through city blocks as I prepared my vocal chords once again.
“OD AH VIING!” I remembered the words from my hundreds of hours spent playing Skyrim. This, in Dohazul, the dragon language, meant Snow Hunter Wing, and summoned the mighty dragon Odahviing, who would definitely be strong enough to destroy Mario. As soon as I uttered the last syllable of the shout, everything turned silent, and the air grew thick. I knew what was coming and excitedly waited in anticipation to watch Mario get completely obliterated. In the distance I heard Odahviing’s roar—or, wait, why is it so high-pitched?—no, it’s a horn?—is that a train? As Thomas the Tank Engine massive smiling face came soaring from out of the clouds, I remembered that I had actually modded Skyrim during this play through.
“Shit.”
The Thomas the Tank Engine mod, which turned all dragons into Thomas the Tank Engine, was one of the most popular Skyrim mods, and I decided to try it just for fun, and now I’m fucked. But Mario was still approaching, and while it’s no Odahviing, Thomas the Tank Engine was still a force to be reckoned with. I prepared my weapon, and charged right towards Mario.
“Toot toot Motherfucker” | “Hit or miss. I guess Poland never misses, huh? They’ve got Allies, but I bet they’ll never help them!” I slam my pink gloved hand on the podium as the crowd cheers at my words. My sleek long black hair flowing in the wind, and my well cropped mustache commanding authority over the crowd. I’ve heard my critics talk; am I a man or a woman? Truthfully, I cannot say. After the transformation, this pink schoolgirl outfit fuzed itself to my body. All I know is that, ever since that fateful day while playing HOI IV, my name is Trap Hitler. | 2019-08-11T21:21:29 | 2019-08-11T21:06:05 | 2,624 | 50 |
[WP] The first group of astronauts leave for Mars. Days later we find out one of the astronauts killed his wife before leaving earth.
Title | ######[](#dropcap)
If the fact had been up for dispute at any time in the past, it wasn't anymore: Vivian Eleonora Van Hassel had the most difficult job in the entire solar system, and, pending sufficient investigation, she had reason to believe she could safely claim such a title on a universal scale.
"So," she said, dragging out her words with a sharp, tired French accent, "I have made the decision-"
"Excuse me?"
"*WHAT?*"
Mark leaned back in his seat, a smug smile on his face. "Isn't the bailiff supposed to say 'all rise' before we begin?"
One of the astronauts snickered, despite himself, but managed to hide it under a bought of fake coughing. The others were forced to choose between staring at a murderer, and staring at the man who thought the murderer was funny.
A voice came on over the radio. "Marcus Janson..."
Vivian shut off the intercom, and with a few quick movements, transferred the radio broadcast to her own personal earpiece. The transmission of the shuttle's broadcast to Earth, however, went uninterrupted. "President Relnson, you are no longer speaking with the crew of Pandora."
"Excuse me?"
Vivian stared directly at Mark as she spoke. He kept smiling. "With all due respect, Mister President, you are not in a position to be of any use in this process, and I am not in a position to waste time. We will thank you not to interrupt our proceedings. If we cannot deal with this... *infuriating* error on our own terms, this mission will fail."
***
There were only eight people on board the Pandora Rocket One, four men and four women. Originally the mission had called for two of each kind, but a surplus of funding and breakthroughs in Pandora Research Incorporated's life support systems had allowed the company to double the size of the new Mars colony. In a way, this was the cause of the entire ordeal. If Pandora hadn't chosen to add Marcus Janson to the extended roster, his wife would not have cheated on him in fear of separation, and Marcus would have had no motive to kill her.
This, of course, did not justify Frieda's murder in the slightest. He understood that. But when Marcus came to his senses, he decided his reasoning was irrelevant. The deed was done, and thankfully, the body only needed to stay hidden for about eighteen hours. After that, what could they do? No government authority could touch him; it was the lawbreaker's ultimate fantasy.
He probably wouldn't be remembered fondly. But he would be *remembered.* Marcus smiled, not because he was a psychopath or unhinged in any way, but because he had essentially committed the perfect crime. It made him feel important. He was the center of attention for the foreseeable future, and he planned to enjoy every moment of it.
***
"Mark, let us make one thing perfectly clear," Vivian intoned. She took off her earpiece, ignoring the President's voice as he protested against the rude interruption. "You are not in the jurisdiction of your American justice system. There is no bailiff, or judge, or jury, or anything else you want to flip your middle finger at. And you may think that you are getting away with what you did, but if you so much as *think* about getting on my nerves, I will throw you into the airlock and take selfies with your freeze-dried corpse."
"But that's murder," Marcus said in deadpan sarcasm.
"Not anymore." In her mind, Vivian was ready to tear her hair out, but she managed to keep her gaze steadily fixed on the murderer. "My job as leader of the Pandora mission is to decide your prison sentence, and that will be the punishment if you attempt to break my laws. This is not a game, Marcus. The Mars colony will have a justice system just as any country on Earth."
Mark's smile slipped from his face as the realization dawned on him. "You're serious? You're actually considering capital punishment?"
"No. I am considering solitary confinement for the rest of the journey. That is my decision." Vivian had crossed the shuttle's conference room and was now leaning into the face of the accused. "Don't *make* me consider capital punishment, Marcus. It will not be pleasant."
Marcus stood from his chair and stared back. "You won't live to consider it, you b-"
Vivian slapped him soundly across the face, and Marcus staggered back, suddenly enraged. Before he could respond in kind, the other male astronauts grabbed him and pulled him away.
"Take him to his living quarters and seal him off." She massaged her knuckles as Marcus continued to struggle. "He stays there until we land."
"You will regret this! You can't hurt me, Vivian!" Marcus screamed. "You can't keep me locked up forever!"
Vivian calmly returned her earpiece to its rightful place as the men took Marcus and the women stared on in horror. She tapped it lightly. "Are you still there, President Rel-"
"Vivian, do you have any idea what people are saying down here? How the public is reacting?" President Relnson was beyond angry.
"Whatever it is, it is not my problem."
"You won't be able to keep up this... this vigilante justice, Ms. Van Hassel. I may not understand your distrust of American politics, but-"
"You understand nothing, Mr. President. You and Pandora Research have locked up my crew with a psychopath millions of miles from Earth. Nothing you say or do can help us." She looked down the ship's passageway just as the men corralled Marcus into his room like cowboys trying to restrain a raging bull. "He is my problem now." | "Breaking Development in the Astronaut killer story. We have just received word that investigators have found a letter left behind by Jeremy McCarthy. As you know Jeremy was part of NASA's X-2 mission to mars. Hours before launch, his wife was discovered dead in the household, when the family's dog walker came to pick up their dogs. By the time the news reached NASA, the spaceship had already launched taking Jeremy far away from the jurisdiction of US authorities.
Unfortunately, the horror didn't stop there. Once the ship was safely out of Earth's atmosphere, Jeremy incapacitated all of his crew members, who had yet not received word of his crimes back on Earth. He then loaded them onto the trash chutes and released them into space. They are still alive though, but with only hours to live, as thankfully, they were still in their space suits.
Jeremy not only left behind a letter, but he also made a rap video. We have received a copy of this video and we are going to play it now. We warn you this video will be graphic."
>Yea girl, What up now?
Im on my way to space,
while you choking on some cow
Thats what you get for being so bitter
Stanky ass ho aint ever cook me a meal
I was tired of this shit
So I put some cyanide in your veal
WHAT UP!
Fuck wit your boy, I'm a genius for real
while you was fucking Tony,
I was doing science for real
One day I came back home, looked through some tapes
Found out that dude used to come on your face
Damn, its sad it had to end that way
but whats a man supposed to do,
when he spent five years jerking off to the moon
but he was imagining you
as his semen flooded the room
God Damn,
Girl you told me get you the moon,
I gave you rocks I smuggled in my ass
and I still cant poo.
Damn it was true love once, I wish you could've cooked for me
if only just once
I could have put up for it - for just one more day,
if you would have learned to make me a medium rare steak
And I know the world wont understand me,
but out there in space, I know I'll find my real family.
So I'm gonna hop onto my spaceship & leave behind my crew
spend the rest of eternity trying to forget about you
Fuck with the BBW's chilling inside of the moon
Uh-oh Was I not supposed to say that?
Let this be a lesson to all of my astronauts' wives
Just send your boy a tit pic every once in a while
I'm not trying to be romantic, but it might just save yo life
"The world is currently turning to Elon Musk to see if they have any space ships that can quickly deploy to rescue the stranded astronauts. That's all right now world, we hope you continue to stay with us here, as we follow the story till the very end."
| 2015-11-03T16:56:44 | 2015-11-03T13:45:47 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] The hero's childhood friend has become the world's most dangerous villain. "it doesn't make sense", the hero thinks "he's still the boy I know, kind, brave, selfless to a fault, always standing up for... wait, something isn't right here" | StarStrider, the most famous intergalactic superhero, should have been happy. She WAS the strongest hero yet discovered, after all. But she wasn’t. Not for many Sols. The problem was that her childhood best friend, Jack, had become… different. Everything was wrong.
Originally, StarStrider (whose real name was Echo) and Jack were going to be heroes together. They had imagined since they were very young that they would one day become heroes together: fighting crime, flying around, and maybe even going Er (we know it as earth, but that name eventually fell out of favor) someday, to see the planet where everything began. But then something changed.
One day, Echo went to see Jack, but Jackie didn’t want to see her. Jack was suddenly moody, stand-offish, and angry. Echo thought this was really weird, because her beloved friend had always been so… good. Always kind, brave,selfless… she knew someone was wrong, but what?
“Is something wrong, Echo?” Her sister walked in, interrupting her thoughts. “N-no?” Echo responded, sounding off even to herself. “Why?” Her sister, Ace, then mentioned that she had seemed off lately, and Ace was worried. When Echo didn’t respond, Ace left.
Echo kept thinking: what had happened to make her friend change so drastically? Where had Jack gone? And then she realized: maybe that wasn’t Jack? Had someone disguised as her friend to fool her all these years?
Jack was normally an amazing person. But a few times, he would be… different. Just like on that day where everything changed permanently. She needed to go to Jack’s home. NOW.
Echo’s worry mounting, she knocked on the door she hadn’t knocked on in so long. When no one answered, she went in. She knew that he had become her worst enemy, as they were both top-class supers-but he was on the villain end of the spectrum.
She walked up the stairs to the room that Jack had owned since he was a child, and opened the door. What she saw was odd. Behind the dresser that had never been moved, there was a hole. A big one. And a ladder.
Going down the ladder (probably a bad plan, but she wanted to see what was there) she found something odd. Jack was locked in a prison of energy down there, unconscious. But Jack was also outside the prison, at a lab table. Echo gasped-and promptly clapped her hands over her mouth. Too late. Jack turned to her from the table, and smirked. Rising into the air, a ball of energy started to form in his hands. In the cage, Jack woke up, his expression one of shock as he yelled something she couldn’t hear. He looked very, very scared in that cage. But why? This made no sense. “Fancy that? The GIRLFRIEND coming to save her TWUE WUVE!” Flying Jack yelled before blasting energy at her. She dodged, and Cage Jack jumped up, pounding the walls with his fists. Flying Jack yelled, “I always thought my BROTHER was weak, falling for a HERO after our magnificent lineage of villains. And so I, Malice, VILLAIN of the CENTURY, fixed it! No one ever cared about me, but now my name is FEARED among humans and aliens ALIKE!”
During the time it took him (Malice, I guess?) to boast over his strength and evil, Echo made her way to his lab table. Malice barely noticed during his (apparently manditory) villain tirade. Echo then smashed it, allowing Cage Jack to be freed. Hopefully, that wasn’t a mistake.
Roaring, Jack flew at Malice, slamming him to the ground. They tumbled around together as Echo looked for a still-working way to contain Malice. She eventually decided on a small electric cage that was evidently meant for her, judging by the plaque on the front. Opening it, she pulled malice away from Jack, and threw Malice in the cage. Then Jack collapsed. The fresh burn marks on his body were enough to know that Malice had done plenty of damage with his electricity. But at least he was safe. Mostly. With volando around, was anyone ever really safe? She had to take him to the hospital, even if it meant he would get locked up for Malice’s crimes.
She knew she could get him out after he had been cleared of the crimes, and she could still maybe even see him become a hero alongside her one day, as they had dreamed since childhood. But for now, she needed to get her energy back up to fly him to the hospital, and maybe even to a new home that wouldn’t have these bad memories in it. | "That , doesn't make sense "
as they look at the news of your old friend destroying another government building of secured
"What do they think is gonna happen destroying such a building !?, it's the only thing, that was making the cure"
They sigh , as they put on their hero suit and equipment
", I don't know what put you on this path, but I must stop you "
As my light shines and I proceed to fly out, putting my helmet on, as the soldiers on the Frontline cheering me on and the people nearby , now to stop this
"This must stop lich!, destroying public building are only cuasing chaos!, it was a place planning to make a cure for God's sake!."
As my old friend looked at me , covered from bruises in being in the collapse
"Why won't you understand angel "
"Understand what!?, another one of your conspiracy theories!?, I was being calm with you this whole time, but this, must stop!!"
As I rush right up to them only for them to dodge as another explosive is revealed booming , as I can barely block in time
" sorry angel but I must do this "
As they kick me away as I land on my feet and go right to him
" no , I must"
As I grab hold of lich and keeping him in place
" wait angel you don't understand!"
As I suddenly have a rock hit me right in my face as I couldn't help but loosen my grip as lich escapes and trying to reach the soldiers as they aim at the civilians, on of which still had their hand reached out, a kid
And shoot , as lich was too late and stopped the soldiers fall and the surviving civilians running, screaming, as I fall my helmet landing in front of my face,
A 3 headed dog, with its maw on a bone
" oh, I see now"
As the last thing I see is lich escaping as I pass out | 2022-11-14T16:08:50 | 2022-11-14T15:52:38 | 55 | 16 |
[WP] A prince finds a talking frog. She tells him that if he kisses her, she'll turn back into a beautiful peasant. | "Well the thing is," the prince said, examining strands of his golden locks between his fingers, "we sort of have a surplus of peasants, as you know. A lot of very comely ones among them, despite their lack of hygiene and the occasional rotted tooth when you get your tongue in there. So I don't see, really-"
"It would cost you so little!" the frog pleaded. "A single kiss, to restore to me my humanity!"
"Well consider it from my point of view," the prince insisted. "The risks I'd be taking on. What if I get warts? What if, God forbid, the curse is transmittive? I'm not looking forward to being a frog myself. Or what if you're not a peasant, beautiful or otherwise? What if I kiss you, and poof! I"m staring down an ogre or a troll or some other nasty creature."
"Oh will no one help me!" cried the frog, and flopped over on her back and splayed her limbs out rubbery across the grass. "Please, O prince, I'm begging you! I have nothing to offer you, neither promises nor threats! I am sick at heart, my true form lost to me, and I throw myself at your feet in hopes of mercy! Please! Please! Please! I am yours!"
The prince plucked a tall blade of grass and twirled it between his lips, meditating on the summer breeze. All the while the frog lay, her pale underbelly exposed, pulsing with each breath like some disembodied organ. Finally the prince bent down and scooped her up in both hands, and she opened her eyes and watched him eagerly.
"You are mine either way," the prince said, "whether frog or peasant. Mine to use and to dispose of at my pleasure. Can you truly say, that as a serf to my father's crown, you truly experienced the full breadth of humanity? I could kiss you - I will kiss you, if you ask for it again, for I think I shall soon grow sick of your wailing otherwise - but would you rather serve my purposes as a comely peasant?" The prince probed the back of his mouth with his tongue, as if seeking out a rotted tooth. "I am in the mood for a talking frog, come to think of it, and mayhaps you would find the life of a royal pet more to your liking. What say you?"
Cupped in his hands, the frog turned dry in fear. "Are-are these to be my only options?" she said, "and this my only opportunity to choose?"
"Well of course not," said the prince. "I already quite clearly said that your wailing would quickly convince me to kiss you and have it over with. You could do a hundred other things, you could run away in the night and seek another prince, although I doubt he would be more gracious than me. Look at it this way," he said, holding the frog up to his shining blue eyes. "I might have easily have come across you as a peasant, and been taken by your beauty then, and you would certainly not have had much choice in the matter. You are scared at this. You believe that I now hold your life in my hands. But that was always the case. This curse has been a blessing in disguise, for it has opened up more options to you."
The frog swallowed hard, its throat inflating and deflating. "Then-" she said, "I shall be your pet, O prince, for as long as you shall have me." She bowed her head and pressed her mouth damp to his palms.
"Good, good!" the prince said, and cheerfully tucked her away in his pocket. "I shall show you off at court, and we shall rehearse routines together." From the depths of his pocket, there was a soft fuzzy darkness closing in around her, and only a single gap of light, from which the prince's face, from a great distance, blocked out the sun. "Now isn't this so much better than being a peasant?" | As I walked along the riverbank, I saw a funny rock. It seemed to gleam in the sun and had a funny color. Wanting to add it to my collection I hurried and picked it up.
Boy did I get a scare when it said 'hello' . Nearly threw it away. I did end up dropping it though. The frog tumbled around, croaked, and said, "that wasn't very nice." sheepishly, I muttered an apology.
"anyway as I said, I was waiting for you. You see, I'm a princess but a witch got jealous of my beauty turned me into a frog, if you kiss me I'll turn back into a princess".
"Why would I? " I asked." We'll I'm not giving anything away, but I'd make it worth your while" and then it winked at me.
I muttered what the hell, picked it up and kissed it. No sooner had I done that than I heard a roar of laughter from the nearby bush from where Jared came out. "Told you I'd get you back for insulting my ventriloquism", he said amid gasps of laughter.
Ps: first time trying out a writing prompt | 2016-08-22T02:36:15 | 2016-08-21T23:48:12 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The Government releases an App allowing citizens to chose where their taxes are spent. | An hour after the App was released there were already randomizer Apps that would take that difficult choice away and just pick a random choice for you. And within no time there were masses using the App to just be rid of the responsibility to choose. Either they were too busy, they were too lazy, or they just didn't care. It was on the news 24/7. they were constantly talking and discussing about how the randomizer Apps revolutionized the tax system, how it made sure that there was some money even for some of the more obscure parts of government, which everyone still thought was necessary.
There were groups of people that became very interested in the government and politics and tried to make the best choice possible, there were groups of people that thought the free choice of tax allocation was rubbish and that everyone should use the randomizer. The latter group tended to become the new vegans, constantly berating those which made their own choice. It brought some low level of conflict, but overall everyone was happy with the fact that they now had at least a tiny bit of influence in the system.
Animosity between rich and poor didn't disappear though, the fact that those paying more taxes had more of a say by the power of their taxes were vilified by those with less means. Soon protests erupted, the populace demanded that the rich should be forced to use randomizer Apps. The rich very much against it, and tried to claim that it was not much of a problem, pointing at the statistics that claimed the rich didn't pay taxes anyway. There was a lot of pressure on the wealthy to give away their choice and use the randomizer, which by now had no longer the status of App for those too lazy or busy to decide, but rather, it was seen that responsible enough to not let their own biases influence their choices were the primary users of the randomizer.
It was especially visible in the elections, there were multiple places that had ballot measures demanding everyone use the randomizer. In most of them the measure passed. Those who liked allocating their own taxes were furious. There were violent clashes, and demands to go to court and declare the changes unconstitutional. The clashes continued. There were groups of people roving around trying to beat up the people that were on the other side.
Today however there was not a single incident. Everyone was at home, glued to the TV, the supreme court would hear the case, and it would be televised to the whole nation. After a bunch of heated arguments there were complaints that it looked like even the judges had chosen a side in the debate. And while the people at home were either complaining about the biased judges or they were happily talking about how sensible the judges were. The court brought in expert witnesses to make their decision more palatable. And of those experts, the last one they brought in was the programmer of the Tax allocation App, the people at home felt how tense the environment was, all of them waiting to see which side the programmer would pick. The programmer was feeling the pressure too, he was clearly nervous in front of all the cameras as he was explaining his position, he surprised both sides as he claimed to be on neither side, when asked to explain how he could be on neither side of such and important issue, he finally replied: "Uhm, so, yeah, well, you know, the tax allocation app was a government ICT project, so, like most of them, it never actually worked." | Hey Bob, how'd you divy up your taxes this year?
I told em to spend it all on public education.
Why Bob? You don't even have any kids.
Oh I know. I just really don't want to live in a country where I'm surrounded by dumb people.
Huh. Yeah, that makes sense. I wonder if it's too late to switch mine to that...
Why? What'd you spend your tax money on?
I dunno, some kinda wall. I like your idea better tho... | 2017-02-19T23:08:59 | 2017-02-19T22:30:36 | 60 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million. | Every month the number is the same. It is the number one. I have tried to raise the number but no matter what I do it stays the same. The second person I hit with my car went on to become a double amputee. The quadriplegic I pushed down the stairs landed right side up. I've slashed throats, shot police officers in the chest, burned down nursing homes, and yet the number on my chest never changes.
Across the city my face flashes a hundred times an hour. To some I'm criminally insane and to others I am the dunce killer. I am ridiculed and yet feared. For the hundreds of times I have struck at least one will die. I am the serial killer with a one percent record.
"I thought he was a nice boy. Always helping me with my groceries."
I know the voice. I glance up and there is my Grandmother telling the world about another failure.
"And then one day he just ups and whacks me in the head with a bat." She says, "Thank God it was a nerf one or he might have actually done some damage. He just kept pounding me screaming, 'Die! Die! Die!' You ask me I think he's a little bit retarded." She opens up her blouse displaying a number eight in bright cobalt blue that gleams between her breasts. "I get that just driving to the market once a month."
Tears pour down my cheeks. I'll show them. I'll show them all. I work my way across the wires till I'm hovering just above the life support engines keeping millions of residents safe from the hundred and forty degree heat outside. Out of habit my mind calculates to Celsius and it is sixty. In one minute, time will click forward and the new month will be displayed. This will determine if I leap or not.
I pat the sticks of home made dynamite that pads my chests. Around those sticks of explosive delight I have secured thousands of ball bearings. The damage should be catastrophic. It should take days to repair the engines below. The number across my chest should read into the thousands. Yet, I have been here a hundred times before and always the number has been the same.
One. I hate that number. It is the number of epic failure.
The clock clicks over. There is a ring that spreads across the heartland. A new month has arrived. I close my eyes and make a prayer to Zandu the Death God. Please let my number be more than one. Let his humiliation end with this sacrifice of body and soul. I look down and the number is a three. I almost cry with joy. Three! I was only hoping for two. Then it shimmers and the three suddenly shifts across my breast. It is followed by zeros. Six of them in fact!
I cry to the heavens, "Praise Zandu."
And I leap. | "Ah, at this point who gives a fuck," I mumbled to myself, thinking back on that time Janet called me ,"like, LITERALLY HITLER." dumb bitch.
I took out the rag from my pocket and began cleaning the console of the nuclear reactor. There always was so much dirt lining all those shiny weird buttons. | 2016-06-24T02:53:45 | 2016-06-23T23:55:15 | 112 | 14 |
[WP] when you promised your eternal service to the ancient lich for their arcane secrets, you never expected you’d have to be their tech support. | *Fooosh!* The pentagram burst into pink flames, and amidst it the outline of a hodded face, cloaked in shadows appeared in the air above its midst. "**KER'ZHUL!**" its voice boomed "**YOU HAVE BETRAYED..."** its voice fumbled as the hood swifled around "**Ker'Zhul? Where are you?".**
I sighed, put the 314th band of the necrorescticon, a priceless and unique artifact detailing the resurection practices needed to animate something without a skeletal structure or flesh, namely, chitin, and sighed.
"Ker'Zhul is not here. But I'm you..."**"INSOLENT MORTAL! BRING KER'ZHUL HERE A.."** the hood and pink flames vanished as I cancelled the spell. It was one of THOSE necromancers. Right on queue the pentagram lit up again, and the same hooded figure appeared above it, yelling as expected. "**YOU DARE TO DEFY THE GREAT AK'ZAKAK? YOU JUST DOOMED YOURSELF AND YOUR ENTIRE FA.."** I cancelled the spell the pentagram went out again. Pentaphone? I really need a name for that thing. *Fooosh* It already reigneted. I gotto hand it to him, he was fast using the... Pentatir?
**"YOU JUST DOO.."** really, why did noone come up with a name for that thing, I contemplated while cancelling the spell *Fooosh*
**"PUNY MOR...."** and off he went. *Fooosh* **"STOP CANCELLING THAT SPELL!"** Oh no threats? Guess I'll respond this time.
"Of course, Ker'zhul isn't here right now, but how may I help you?" I asked with the most fake smile on my lips.
"**By getting Ker'zhul to me right now!".** Well, at least he wasn't screming anymore. Could still do less of this ominous voice.
"I'm sorry, that won't be possible, however I'm sure I'm more than capable of helping you out, what is the issue?". A brief silence until the voice emerged from the... portumication?
**"I have traded the lifes and souls of an entire village for the 3rd code of resurection fermanalis."**
I checked my notebook. Ah, a Knight-Revenant type of resurrection. Nasty stuff, they tended to keep parts of their free will, refuse to attack "innocents" and other annoying stuff, unless properly bound.
"So what about it? Is it refusing to kill innocents?"
**"What? No. It's just not getting animated at all. I prepared the sacrifice,..."** I interrupted the necromancer "Did you check your manasupply? Have you tried chugging a manapotion?"
**"Of course I did do you take me for some low-key novice necromancer?"** \- Of course I did. Which idiot would kill a village for a Knight-Revenant resurrection? Far better results could be achieved with way less effort.
"Of course not," I replied "but you see I need to check certain things. Could you please cast a deathbolt?".
**"Deathbo..."** I heard a kork pop and the sound of drinking. **"Sorry, sore throat - Deathbolt!"**
"Sure..." Well, the image of a deathbolt materialised on the... phonetagram? I really need to find a name for that thing. "So please try to cast the 3rd part of the incantation". I listened as the necromancer repeated something in a long-dead language that noone but Ker'zhul and me spoke and which roughly translated to "Look at me, I'm an idiot and I got a Bone-Er". The joke somewhat gets lost in translation. I wonder if any of those wannabe necromancers ever found out that most of the ritual is actually them insulting themselfes, something Ker'zhul just added for the giggles. One of the things I can appreciate about my master
**"-Ukra!"** he finished.
"Ok very good, now please the 4th one". This was the actual one with magic in it. "And please adjust the view so the pentrumication can project a view of the body." I listened to the necromancer going through the incantation. No faults here I had to admit. But also the body of the knight didn't rise.
"Sooo... did you make sure she is dead?" **"What do you mean? Of course she is dead, look at her!"** "I don't know, I don't see any wounds, the armor is pristi.." **"It was a deathbolt okay? It just stopped her hearth".** Well, that explained the perfect condition of the corpse. "Could you please cast detect life, just to be sure?" **"Why would I do that? What do you take me for?"** "Please great necromancer, its standard procedure" **"Oh well fine... Detect life! Oh you daughter of a... DEATHBOLT! DEATHBOLT! DEATHBOLT!"** The connection cut out as the necromancer burned through his manasupply and was unable to sustain the teletagramm? any longer. I was just about to pick up the necrorescticon again when I heard a familiar *Fooosh!* and saw another hood, cloaked in shadows appear above the pentaphonogram?. A female voice, cold as ice cut through the room
*"You! Ker'Zhul said you would help me if anything went wrong with the animation of my bonehorror!" -* "Sure, just to make sure, did you try drinking a mana potion?..."
&#x200B;
Edited with linebreaks for better readability, thanks for the editing to redwingpanda ;-) | I was placed in a library, ancient but surprisingly well maintained. The castle was covered in dust and cobwebs, most halls barely lit by dim tallow candles, but this room, every book and grimoire polished and well maintained, the heavy mahogany desks had nary a tarnished leg or damaged corner. The rugs were thick and soft, chairs had full and comfortable pillows covering smooth and waxed oaken chairs, and full wax candles that stood as tall as a toddler, with a wax catcher underneath so not a drop is wasted.
"Many... of these... books.... are old.... and fragile." The lich king said in that slow breathy way. He inhaled sharply every few syllables, speaking like some of the tree guardians that surround his keep. "You are to.... transcribe... them to.... new scrolls.... and books... and be... available... to the.... lichlings.... that frequent... this... library." He glided through the books. "As you.... do so.... be sure to.... correct their grammar... and .... pronunciation ....," He looked at me in an exasperated way, "we have had.... so many.... fires and... accidental deaths.... because someone said.... explos instead.... of ignis." He shook his head. "Or confused.... fungus and funus... goodness... it was a .....disaster that .....got nearly the..... same result.....but we also.... recived.... a mushroom.... garden as... well... too bad... they are all.... poisonous."
"So my job is basically... tech support?" I asked crossing my arms. "For the rest of eternity."
"Indeed...." He nodded sagely. "You studied... Latin in... university... not to... mention.... you are... well versed and.... able to... enunciate..... while I know... many of these.... spells... it is.... inherited... knowledge from.... my master.... and teacher..." He waved to the tombs. "Many spells.... that were.... crafted after.... his death... are.... unknown... to me... so.... you will... be of... particular.... use to me as well." He cast a grin my way.
"When I made this pact, I assumed... much different for my life."
"They... all say... that...." He crossed his arms. "But... education.... really... helps." He gave a chuckle. "Though ... if you want... I could.... put you... to work.... clearing rubble.... or shoveling..... shit.... like the... others..."
"You know what.. tech support is fine... and I'll even enjoy being a pseudo teacher. I'll make sure no one interitus their interiora."
He gave a throaty "ha.... ha.... ha.... ha.... ha..." and slapped me on the shoulder. "Good one.... I'll have.... to... remember... that." He said walking out.
I looked back at the well maintained room and sighed. I was given gloves and even a laptop for cataloging and transcripting. There was a printer as well, how they got power, I didn't know but attributed it to magic. I sat at a mahogany desk with a rather lively shrunken head, that I assumed was once a lichling that confused princeps and caput when doing their own rewriting and transcripting. | 2022-03-22T06:29:04 | 2022-03-22T05:07:23 | 569 | 103 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | A eon we watched them. We watched them kill each other with amazement. Their violence horrified us, but we saw glimpses of peace amid the blackness of horror. Deep inside, their intentions were good, every single one of them acted on the idea that what they were doing was improving the situation of another. We watched as endless wars raged, wondering when they would make the space-travel breakthrough that would unleash them upon the rest of the galaxy. But they did not, instead they invented terrible weapons to inflict even greater violence on others in the hope of bettering their lives. So we hid them, we hid their entire system from the galaxy and they remained hidden, but now before us, we had a choice. We could knowingly unleash them on the galaxy, or we could perish.
The galactic civilizations fought a good fight, but the Hastari were too powerful, too numerous, too violent. Many generations ago, the Hastari were like the humans, considered too dangerous for the galaxy, but before the galaxy could react, they burst forth from their asteroid belt homeworld. They consumed resources at a rate never seen before. The Galactic Congress was helpless to stop their onslaught. They devoured planets in a matter of generations, growing exponentially, gaining technological experience and resources at each stop. In just a short time, the Hastari had decimated the congress to just a few backwater civilizations, and us, the hiders. Even the great Dertahs, with their armada of war ships was no match for the Hastari.
We did nothing, we hid, because that is our nature, we are the galaxies hiders. We hid the humans long ago, and instead of fighting when the hastari found us, we scurried off to another part, hiding in the shadows of black holes, pulsars, whatever we could find. The Hastari ships would always find us, and we were sick of hiding. We could not fight, but we knew who could. Our council gathered and chose me to come out of hiding. I was to seek out the humans and set them free. The Hastari did not have good intentions they argued; they had consumptive intentions. They simply wanted to expand, at the cost of the rest of the galaxy. I did not argue because I was and still am afraid, I was afraid of the Hastari because they would consume us, all of us and all that would remain are stories, but I am more afraid of the humans, because they will kill, and they will feel righteous in their killing.
I set them free ten years ago. Today I walk a free entity. I no longer hide. The Hastari were defeated in one earth year. The galaxy was amazed as this new species rose to our aide. The Hastari were stopped in their advance, and then they were pushed back, in battle after battle they were defeated by the humans, until finally they were forced to retreat to their homeworld. The galaxy was in awe, which evolved to terror as the humans did not stop with the Hastari defeat. The humans insisted that the Hastari would expand once again if left to their own devices, and they invaded the Hastari home planet. They massacred the entire species, leaving only scattered survivors. Then they turned to the rest of the galaxy, told us that they came in peace, and held out their hands, the same hands that had just completely annihilated the greatest threat civilization ever faced, with ease. They smiled and moved into the Hastari homeworld, not content to destroy the Hastari people, but they insisted on building over their history, erasing them, all while smiling and reminding us of their peaceful intentions. I’m told they have a saying on earth: “They make a desert and call it peace”. Once I thought that was just a story, but today I know it’s true. Today I no longer hide, but sometimes I wonder if I should.
| Hairless Bonobos walking on the moon. This is how we found them. Our scouts studied their movements. We infiltrated their societies. Studied their mating habits. Cold, isolated and hungry. The defining characteristics of the human. Now as the shadow of a more advanced race fell upon ours, I sat seated across from this human. He was fat and balding. His food of choice the meat of cow barely cooked, so that blood marinated on the plate. He ate with his mouth open. Beside me the key to faster than light travel, sat beside my hands. It's power was our equivalent to that of a Casio g-shock for the human race. "If I give you this power, you promise to share the spoils." The human stopped eating and tried to wash his food down with his fermented sour barley from burnt barrels, his second request."Give us this , and we kill who ever you like." He smiled . I forced myself to smile back. In the back of my mind was fear. | 2014-12-26T10:31:12 | 2014-12-26T10:18:47 | 507 | 21 |
[WP] You are the super villain that defeated the super hero and conquered the earth. You walk out onto your balcony to law down the law for your new subjects. You are greeted by a massive crowd and genuine cheers. | "I think it was the pressure to perform. I had to keep them on side because I was just scared shitless of them. And that's coming from me. I'm a murdering sociopath and I accept that but these guys weren't just killing over nothing they were-"
The psychiatrist put her arm around him.
"Calm down, it's all over now"
A few weeks ago I might have ripped off that arm for daring to touch him without his express permission.
"You just didn't see the brutality of it."
***
"Clive did you threaten murder everyone again?"
I pointedly refused to call him the Black Shredder. What kind of self respecting villain calls himself some kind of clichéd comic book derivative. He should be happy I didn't just refer to him as "underling".
"No, Lord Vadermort. The people appear to be genuinely cheering."
Glaring out into the crowd, as my carriage rolled up to the steps of the previous presidential palace. I was automatically suspicious. People aren't happy even when they're being ruled by well meaning people. And while I hadn't terrorised much of the general populace he'd still personally killed 3 heroes, severely injured 23 others and I still had the stains on my right boot from when I accidentally castrated a sidekick.
I had enemies. And the formal ceremony making me leader of this blighted country was too dramatic an occasion for any supervillain or super hero to miss unveiling themselves. The only question was who had the balls to stand up to me and what had they done to the crowd?
"Lord Vadermort several of our people have been out into the crowds. They appear to be ... mostly normal people, sir"
"What do you mean mostly normal?
"Well the vast majority appear to be ... I think the term commonly used these days is fanboys sir?"
"Never heard of them. Explain."
"Well some of them expect something to happen today and be present, some of them just wanted to Instagram the fact that they're here and I should quickly add we are shooting those on sight. But the vast majority feel ... some kind of kinship with you?
"What kind of kinship Lieutenant?"
The sweat seemed to be pouring from the wiry little man.
"Your sense of style appeals to them, Lord Vadermort. The black flowing robes which some might think make movement in our current 36 degree heat entirely impractical. Your policy of allowing the partially sighted to join the frontline ranks of the death stormers. And quite a few cited they were impressed by the plans for your new presidential palace."
"It's a castle not a palace. Built on top a large spherical under-structure with a laser point defence system it will be both the most secure and most impressive piece of architecture of it's age."
The carriage finally reached it's destination. Now would be the moment to strike as I stepped into the open. Some idiot started playing what sounded like funeral march music from the crowd.
Then suddenly one person I really didn't want to see flew in from out of nowhere.
"Hey look I know the name of a really good surgeon. Let's not make this any worse than-"
"Yeah well tough I'm here to piss on your parade. And by the way Harry Potter sucks and Star wars is shiiii-"
The high pitched voice quickly turned into a scream.
I've seen blood. I've seen guts. But this was different. In that instant the crowd started beating the hell out of the guy with red and blue sticks with a fury I've never seen. His superpowers didn't matter. Sure he'd sent a good few of them flying off him but under the sheer mass of people he had no chance. What was left of him had a consistency like tomato paste.
No single man or woman could touch me and my superior powers. And I knew it. But I realised whoever these "fanboys" were if I ever pissed them off like that, I would be the one decorating the pavement.
My veil of confidence broke that day. I was no longer the biggest fish in the pond. And they were always watching my every move. | Today, TODAY is a new day! For we have finally overcome the sense of freedom. Bound by the shackles of this new world order I will lead you in to a golden age. We will strive together for greatness of us all. It'll be hard work, yes, but know that through your struggle that your children and your children's children will have a world where they can have new possibilities. Together, with those standing next to you, you will put in the hard work to create the weapons with which will we have peace. For without peace progress cannot be made and with my great victory we will move forward. Believe in a world without the struggle of hunger or thirst, for all will come from me, your glorious leader.
Things are going to be rearranged, a clean slate for all. Your job is no longer your job, we will decide what is best for all. Understand that I'm not looking for us to be here, stuck in the same old routine with your same old life. Look up, the sun, the stars are ours for the taking. Together we will take humanity to places we never thought imaginable. For knowing that we are safe here on earth is only the beginning. Today we start the rise of humanity, for tomorrow will be when we are above all else in the universe.
| 2017-05-23T10:28:27 | 2017-05-23T08:50:48 | 162 | 11 |
[WP] Because humans are master liars, the dystopia ruled by alien overlords had permanent lie-detecting collars put on all the Earthlings. However, the aliens didn't count on sarcasm, metaphors or incomplete truths. | "Are these things truly from... *Earth*?" There was plenty of doubt in Margolv's tone, and Bræii couldn't blame them. For the past few weeks of their capture, several humans have ardently refused to explain the things they've spoken- all in a confusing tongue that the specialized collars they'd made just wouldn't work.
When asked if the current World Leader was a man named Wadalby Marsh, earthling-A503 rolled her eyes and said "Well, *duh*. Who else would it be?"
Further research into this found that no such earthling with the moniker existed.
Another, earthling-P7190, was found sprawled underneath a piece of furniture he had been made to move. To avoid punishment, he had said that the work was "difficult," and "practically impossible for me to do!"
Nothing would prove, or disprove, the things he'd said, so the aliens noted to never force manual labor onto the earthlings.
Earthling-T2004, a rising star amongst the federation and whom seemed to have a reputation amongst the earthlings already, seemed to follow their skill in regards to the frustrating tongue. She continuously confused her guards and the local krill civilians with the way she spoke, never the same tone and always changing. If the earthlings beforehand were horrible, she was the worst.
Breaking one of the krill's poor hearts by going on about how her love was river deep and mountain high, allegedly starting an argument about how she'd catch a grenade (knowledge on what that was is still pending, unfortunately) for them all, and. Well. There were quite a few, some managing to fluster the population, others urging them all on a war that did not exist at all.
In the end, singular earthlings ability for these seemed to vary, as a good number of them that had been designated as "lawyers" were found to be capable of telling the truths while still giving nothing away. The same could be said of the "politicians," although there were few left over from that group as quite a bunch had died from sudden heart diseases. It was actually starting to make Beātrist- their local diplomat- mad. Margolv was glad they were a simply guard, instead of being part of the more complicated organizations.
Irregardless, they'd finally managed to get through most of earthling history. At least, they'd *hoped* so, but one of the earthlings they had brought aboard- U3011- kept muttering about a library. Maybe it had been destroyed before all of them had been captured?
Even so, as far behind these people were, the stories they'd left behind were quite interesting. Kappas, tikbalangs, dullahan, sphinxes, vampires, sirens-- *faes.*
That last one was the reason Margolv and Bræii had been sat in the corner for so long. The earthlings, they were... Interesting creatures. The way they spoke always changed, never at the same tone and pace like everyone else. They seemed capable of observation beyond most of the beings they'd studied, capable of invention that fell short to their own only through greed and a lack of resources, and the Earth had several circles perfectly made as if for the fae.
And so they'd sent this information - as well as their own personal theories - off to the main house. And Beātrist, but that's because Margolv insisted.
---
One of the earthlings on board had been watching them a lot since they'd gotten so many old mythos on the ship. Their eyes were sharp and never looked away from them even when Bræii had pointed a spear at their face. Everyone had decided to leave the earthling alone, even as the engines started and the ship started to rise slowly back out of earth and into the endless sea of the stars. Everyone had been passing by the stars as it happened- earthling-F435 had suddenly snapped their head to the glass that faced the sun and beamed.
The lighting made them look ethereal as they whistled a tune.
They had been late to arrival by 5 minutes, and when asked why earthling-F435 shrugged and said that the drivers simply seemed enthralled by the sights.
Beātrist doesn't talk to them anymore. | Many would say that having an united, completly illness free world as the largest victory for all of humankind, well lets just say that such victory was first, not brought by mankind and second.
It is fucking annoying, the split face or whatever non-xeno name they wanted to put in place invaded earth, not that we didnt fight back but their EMP fields, we only had rifles against seemingly impenetrable armor and tanks, so it was logical that we lost in barely a month.
In the flip side, humanity didnt suffer many losses since there was no real reason as to kill usable work force.
But now ?
Well, since these things thought that we were somehow 'the best liar in the galaxy' , they started putting these neck implent to all human, now each time we say a lie, for exemple "No, I didnt fuck with your cousin Cassidy." or "I'm gonna buy milk and some cigarettes and I'll be there in 10 minutes.", there is a beep along with them taking 5 bucks from our bank account.
Now it wouldnt be much of a problem if it wasnt the fact most of the human language is literally made up of half truth or jokes that uses lies as their core component.
All of this caused revolutions everywhere on Earth since people get taxed sometimes for hundreds if not thousands of credit.
Nowadays, humans live without such implents but still.
All because of a joke... | 2022-12-19T14:19:19 | 2022-12-19T10:57:36 | 191 | 50 |
[WP] Create a fictional mythological race, (werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, etc) and the legend behind it | They listen.
With wide, hungry eyes, and an unending appetite, they listen to you as you talk.
Anything and everything. Your first kiss, a problem you're having, the story behind your tattoo. They sit across the table at the local tavern, as a person you just met.
They take it all in with immense satisfaction.
But they direct it, to perhaps the story of your wife, your husband. How you met. Once the words fall out, they never go back in.
The Akamei. The listeners. The story-thieves. The Self-Stealers.
By the time your conversation is over you have no memory of yourself at all. You can recognize your loved ones, but have no memory of why.
And filled with youthful energy the Akamei that listened to your life can live another 20 years. They move on to the next town.
My brother was a victim.
He was a headstrong warrior for the magistrate. Always willing to boast, and always willing to talk to anyone who would listen.
After I had not received any letters that month, I went in search of him.
He was there. A fighter with no personality left. He had told the monster everything. I was greeted with a strange look.
"I know you from somewhere," he said.
"I am your brother!" I said.
His face only shifted to concern.
I grabbed him by the shoulders.
"I am your brother! We lived in the same house for years! You taught me how to fish!"
"I believe you. I simply cannot remember any evidence."
I checked his mouth. The telltale white stripe, down the center of his tongue made me shiver.
After speaking with his superiors I learned it had happened after one night. A single night passed and my brother was lost to me, and his comrades. His fighting spirit had died, and his rousing personality was gone.
He wandered through life, repeating the motions and feeling nothing.
An Akamei. A monster of old.
I would have my revenge.
I procured pure alcohol, and a priest, convinced to aid my cause, consecrated it. If I could get close, I would dash it on the monster, and some of the stories it kept loosely within would have a chance to escape.
Also with me, was a pistol. It had been my brother's. It had been a gift from me, inscribed with his name on the barrel. One ball waited, packed in with my rage. I had carved a small three pointed star into the bullet.
The symbol was from a god it betrayed to keep living. It began as a human, and it made the choice to go with Siafon, one of the old gods.
Wind blew in from the north, the smell of grease wafted from the tavern in front of me. Bits of snow trickled from above, and swathes fell of the roof in stinging waves.
I readied myself for a confrontation with a deep breath. Snow, wind, and the spirit of revenge followed me inside as I crossed into the candle-lit bar.
People talked, glasses clinked together. My eyes scanned the room, meeting everyone's eyes for a second.
Only one pair stayed locked onto their table partner.
A young woman. She looked at boy across from her. It looked to be his first drink of ale.
My grip tightened on the pistol under my coat.
She was entrancing. Long eyelashes batted towards the boy, and he swung his mug of ale around, spilling it as he spilled his stories.
I pushed the people aside as I approached... | The TuneMakers;
The tune-makers are the undertone of everything, they play the strings that string theory itself consists of.
As they operate outside our perception of time there is no need to say when they began as in a non-linear fashion they have always been. Some speculate they were a paradoxical creation of an an advanced super-intelligent race that traveled back in time to create themselves but that is yet to happen.
The Tune_makers are energy based and the purest form of E in the Equation of E=MC2. They control every minuscule universal movement from the subatomic level, arranging everything like an equation. To them there is no greater enjoyment than destruction as it leads to entropy. Their purpose is pure entropy and as such they leave destruction in their wake. | 2016-12-16T09:14:18 | 2016-12-16T08:06:49 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Whenever a new generation of combat robots are made, the older versions will be put into more and more dangerous missions until they all perish, but the technicians are required to repair any surviving machines, your generation was discontinued before some of these engineers were even born. | I heard all the whispers.
"He should rust by now."
"A monster."
"A relic."
"Shouldn't we preserve him rather than destroy him?? He's an amazing specimen!"
"He clearly preserves himself."
My designation is X2-07 of the Vinvali Corporation.
However, after my 100th kill, I earned a *name.*
A name I never let fools forget.
I am Forager. I take my kills as my own oil and fuel and I have lived longer than any of these engineers have been born for.
I would be the pride and joy of the corporation if they weren't trying to declare me obsolete scrap all the time.
Trion was the engineer who repaired me after missions- he had to study old manuals and have an in-depth history lesson to grasp how I worked. It costs a pretty penny, but the escalating bounties of humans and monsters alike that I've killed more than pay for the more obsolete parts.
He came in with his cap in his hands, face pale and mouth set. His eyes leaked salt water.
"So," I began flatly. "How will you all kill me this time?"
Trion flinched. It wasn't his fault and perhaps I take it too lightly; we are comrades and likely friends in his eyes.
But they know I refuse to die easily.
Trion's mouth worked speechlessly.
"...It's... I don't think you'll be coming back from this one." He managed, voice shaking.
"You said that with the Andriodor tormenting the Filon council 13 and a half years ago," I reminded him. "I came back."
"That was different!" He protested.
"Was it, now?" I asked, staring at him.
"They want you to kill a Vek'nar!" He cried.
I paused, accessing my data base.
Vek'nars were long lived, six legged creatures with massive defensive plates and corrosive acids oozing and spewing out of it. Most energy weapons were useless, melee melted under the corrosive creature, and the only energies it didn't deflect or absorb was from a Prismatic Deion cannon.
My technology wasn't able to handle the output of a Deion cannon, much less use it.
"You won't be able to kill it without that cannon," Trion sobbed. "No one can."
"Incorrect." I stated, moving over to my weapons arsenal.
"YOU cannot kill a Vek'nar without a Deion Cannon. I can, and I will. Because I have to."
"Forager, you know the rules, I can't upgrade you!" He shouted. "I'll be executed if I do, but there's no way your technology-"
I spun around sharply and he froze.
"Who slayed a Roc Vion when your best couldn't?" I queried coldly.
"...You did." He admitted. "By- by using it's own beak to pierce its hide."
"An evolutionary weakness." I added, fitting my ultraviolet "screamer" into my palm.
"Who discontinued Ject the bounty hunter's scandalous career with nothing but a small laser and some Corthium?"
"....you did." He continued glumly. "I'm sorry-"
"WHO has outlasted not only one, not two, but THREE generations of robots up until this point where others have all become scrap?"
He swallowed thickly. "...You."
***"I have."*** I hissed.
"I have seen more combat, more war, more heartlessness and ruthlessness then those old fat politicians have ever even *thought of,* much less fought in or lived through. Old does not mean obsolete. Obsolete does not mean broken. I am nowhere near broken or rusted metal- Not with one of the best engineers keeping me in shape." I said softly, giving Trion a light pat on the head.
He blinked in surprise, flushing at the praise.
"I... Thank you. I'm sorry I insulted you, I just...."
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"This is terrible. They don't know you like I do, they don't care. I hate this. I know you can handle yourself, but damn it, once you die, I'll miss discussing history with you or complaining over your squeaky joint in your right shoulder-"
I pointedly moved that shoulder to squeak and he smacked me.
"Yeah, that one, asshole!" He fumed.
"Who said I'm dying?" I retorted. "I'm clearly more alive than any of you, because I'm still here with 'obsolete' technology and a kill count of three thousand, four hundred and thirty two."
Trion hesitated. "Well... You'll die eventually." He said slowly. Hesitantly. "Either a mission will finally be your last, or even I'll die and no one will want to bother repairing you anymore-"
"Mute," I stated, placing a hand over his face.
"You cannot calculate every hypothetical that could happen. Engineers must repair survivors and will be charged with treason for not doing so. You will not die for quite some time, I have survived much longer than projected. We will still discuss old days and you can fume at my little flaw."
Trion mumbled something.
I removed the hand. "Please repeat that."
"I still worry, though... That something will happen and you'll just... Be forgotten."
"They WANT to forget me," I stated flatly. "That's the point. But you know about me. You've heard the stories. As long as you pass it on to those who will listen, I cannot be forgotten."
He shrugged. "I guess..."
"Oh, fine." I acquiesced. "Here."
I unwrapped my scarf, the only non mechanical part of me that was little left than a long, glorified dish rag and handed it to him.
"Keep this for me." I commanded. "I don't want to lose it to stomach acids, so I'll come back for it. And if I don't, do with it as you please."
He blinked at his grubby charge. "I... Thank you." He said in disbelief.
He examined it, frowned slightly, and sniffed it.
"...Is that the smell of lavender...?"
"I've heard it's rather relaxing." I answered. "I've never noticed."
"You can't smell."
"I didn't say it was for me, fool. Now then."
I opened the door to the hallway and glanced back.
"Time for my next kill."
(I will make a part two if anyone is interested!)
Update:
For everyone wanting part 2, not only is there part 2 but part 3 in the replies because it got long! Hope you enjoy! I'll be posting it in full in my story Reddit and linking it! | I creaked, settling into a corner. One of the flesh beings ran over, holding a tool kit. An older one collared him, their conversation floating up to my auditory input.
"Hold it, sonny. That there, is Old Sparky."
"Old Sparky? That is Old Sparky?" The younger responded. Looking at me with pride, and at the younger with reproof, the older cuffed him around the head.
"What did you expect, jewels and gemstones? That there robot has been around for longer than you and I combined. Never fails a mission. Now go apologize for being rude. If you're very lucky, he might let you polish his chest." The younger—now shaking a little— walked the remaining distance to me. Bowing, voice shaking, he stammered an apology. I reached out, the sparks that gave me my name, jumping from my joints. Laying one hand on the ground, I gently pushed the younger flesh being onto it with the other. He made a squeak noise that rivalled my worst un-oiled complaint but remained conscious. Good. There was strength in this one. Strength would be needed. Raising him to chest level, I checked my voice moderator, making sure it was on the lowest.
"I accept the apology. If you wish, you may polish my chest." Though I couldn't bend my head that far, I knew what he would be seeing. Medals, commendations, everything I'd ever earned, engraved in the pockmarked metal. The familiar smell of polish filtered into my air receivers. Quietly, I waited for the inevitable question.
"Um, Old Sparky sir, I don't recognize this one. It looks like a bird, something like a stork?" That was the question, now for the answer. The story rumbled out of me, the familiar words filling the air. All the flesh beings were listening, though many had heard it before.
"Once, long ago, I was given what was to be my last mission. It was a cruel joke. I was to find a child. A baby." The younger squeaked again. Perhaps he needed some oil.
"Would that—"
"Hush. Old Sparky is telling the story." The voices rose from every throat around the room. I nodded slowly, before continuing.
"I was sent into the battlefield. That was the cruel part. Any child that came from there would be horribly disfigured, full of radiation poisoning and hurt by other, worse weapons. But against all odds, I found a child. The child. The damage I took was great, and with what I thought was my last action, I brought him back. I fell on the doorstep of the throne room of the Emperor. But the child," I paused, lost in the memory. Remembering the small hands pushing and pulling, using tools that the poor child—flesh being, I had to remember to call them that—really didn't understand. Feeling the life come back into me. "The young flesh being fixed me. Somehow. It wasn't a sanctioned fixing, but whatever it was, it saved me. Made me stronger. It was that flesh being who made the tradition of giving me medals. Who named me Old Sparky, and,—" I brought my hand up to my face, staring at the younger flesh being standing there, gripping his polish can. My sensitive visuals could pick out the resemblances, though they were changed with age.
"And it is that flesh being who started the Union of Technicians. Who gave you control, and power in the empire. And who you, young one, must name as one of your ancestors." Placing him back on the floor, I settled again, turning all but my most basic functions off. I needed to rest. The last thing that I heard, as my auditory channels shut down, was a few whispered words.
"Thank you, Old Sparky." | 2022-07-09T10:35:47 | 2022-07-09T06:31:16 | 233 | 147 |
[WP] A close friend of yours can read minds. It was their dream to work for the FBI or CIA to catch bad guys. You accompanied them to their first interview, but instead they walk straight back out. They whisper to you to walk calmly out to the car and not to say a word or make eye contact, act calm. | Crystal sat in the lobby and swiped left repeatedly. It wasn’t that she wanted to swipe left, it was something of habit. Stare at the water fountain, look down, swipe left, look up. Watch the hot-dog vendor upsell the bratwurst, look back and swipe.
Who likes sauerkraut anyway?
She bit her lower lip, wondering what was taking Matt so long. A shifty looking guy in sunglasses watched her from afar. He ate a plain bratwurst. But he didn’t really eat it—more of a nibble—something routine to pass the time just as Crystal swiped left.
But in a game of cat and mouse, nobody looks for the hawk.
The hawk always wins.
Matt was the hawk. He was as shrewd and sarcastic as they came, partly because he knew all the answers, but mostly because he knew people better than they knew themselves. Mind reading is a funny, fickle thing.
“You don’t read a mind,” he once said, “You read a memory card. I can’t read your thoughts, just your memories, and your memories tell me everything.”
“You can see into my past?” Crystal asked.
“I can predict your future.”
“That’s trippy.”
“Only if you let it get to your head. Want to know what you’re about to do?’
Crystal rolled her eyes. “Surprise me.”
“You’re about to write your number down on this piece of paper, and then when I call you later tonight, you’re going to pick up.”
Matt was good. Too good for his own good, if Crystal had a say in things. Which she did—she always did. Ever since that night, eight years earlier when they stayed on the phone for hours talking.
Crystal remembered laughing. “Why do you like talking to me so much?”
“On the phone? Because I can’t use my powers. And that’s refreshing. Not knowing the truth, having to figure it out for myself, there's something awesome about that, something mysterious.”
“Sexy?”
“You’re not my type,” Matt said.
“And what is your type?”
Matt quieted. “Broad-shouldered, bearded with suspenders and carrying a big chopping maul.”
He never told his parents. Never had to. Truth is a lot more subjective when you know everything objectively. What his parents didn’t know, along with his blossoming sexuality, is that Matt also had an almost dangerous passion for criminology.
Its what led him to the CIA headquarters on a warm spring afternoon. Crystal drove her 1986 Lincoln, packed a hoagie roll for lunch, and wished him the best.
How could he fail the interview? He knew the answer to every question. He could probably figure out the questions before they’re even asked. Crystal had no reason to worry.
And yet—she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Of course, it was no secret that the CIA was watching. Security cameras and agents outside—standard security. But this feeling, this urge was deeper, more primal and haunting. She caught a lump in her throat and forced back a shiver. Then she looked down and swiped left.
Thirty minutes passed.
Crystal got hungry, went back to her car and grabbed the sandwich. Matt wouldn’t mind. The hoagie was a bit dry, and she wished for a water bottle or something to quench her thirst. She walked around towards the public restrooms and found a fountain.
A man stood to the side, talking on his phone. He glanced down nervously at his watch, made awkward eye contact, and shuffled off behind concrete pillars.
Crystal walked carefully back to the fountain. She returned to her bench, grabbed her phone, and swiped left again, this time without looking down. Constantly, she scanned the crowd, looking for something, anything!
It didn’t feel right, this place. There was an eerie peace about it as if everything was put perfectly in place. Even the pigeons flocked in a line, the tourists seemed too vacant in their gaze, and maybe the hot-dog vendor let the bratwurst grill for a bit too long.
She couldn’t be sure about anything.
An hour passed.
A hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder.
She startled, but Matt’s voice reassured her. “Let’s go to the car.”
“Already? How did it go? What did—”
Matt squeezed her shoulders. Crystal could feel the sweat from his palms soak through. “Car. Now. I’ll explain later.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, it went splendid! Are you ready to go?” Matt said, louder than Crystal thought necessary.
She didn’t need to be told twice. He reached down and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. Crystal started to speak, but he interrupted. “Act normal. Just walk. Breathe. Smile. Everything is going to be ok. We’re an adorable couple. You’re such a supportive girlfriend. I’m so glad you brought me here.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Not now. I know what you’re thinking, but please just stay calm. We need to get as far away as possible.”
Crystal’s heart raced. She started to tremble but took a deep breath. “Ok, what’s my favorite color?”
“Blue, of course!”
Her heart dropped like an anchor. Her favorite color was blue, but that wasn’t the point. It was her codeword, her signal to Matt, and only the two of them knew. For the first time ever, he failed the test.
Whatever walked with her and held her hand—it wasn't Matt.
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | I opened my mouth to say something but was instead shushed by Luca. He smiled at me and rubbed the small scar above his mouth. My blood chilled as he drew closer still smiling as though he was going to whisper something sweet into my ear, but I knew otherwise.
“We’re going to walk calmly out to the car, okay? We’re not going to say a word and we’re not going to make any eye contact. Just act calm. Do you understand?” He pulled back with a devilish smirk and I tried my best to act flustered as I looked into his eyes with fear and nodded. Luca and I had been friends since grade school, and when he’d fallen down the stairs and gotten the scar above his lip he’d used it to his advantage. Whenever he was lying or needed me to do something with him, he would rub the scar above his lip.
I smiled up to him as I opened the passenger door to his car, slipping inside and pulling the door closed tightly behind me. He casually pulled his keys out and started the car, pulling out into the strangely empty road. We drove in silence for what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes before he loosed a breath.
“What happened back there?” I asked, finally breathing normally again. Luca’s face paled as he waited for the light to turn green.
“Promise me something, never go back there. We’re never going back there, okay?” He half whispered. I sighed as he ignored my question.
“Why, Luca. What happened?” I demanded. His grip on the wheel tightened and I wondered if I even wanted to know.
“Just promise me!” He said, concern and anger filling his voice.
“Fine, I promise. But please, just tell me what happened?” He loosed a shaky breath and drew another one. His skin still pale, his knuckles white from their grip on the steering wheel.
“They- they were all thinking of, uh, of,” he trailed off, chewing his lip as a car sped past. “They’re not human.” His voice broke as he muttered the last half of his sentence. “Not a single one of them in there was human, Jess. I don’t know what they are or why they’re here but- each of them. They stole those bodies. If we had gone in there. We would’ve been next.” I froze in place and felt my blood run dry, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. I opened my mouth to ask how he knew, what he saw. But closed it again. I didn’t want to know how he knew. I just turned to face the window a slow scowl finding it’s way to my face. It was so much easier manifesting in them when they weren’t aware of what you were doing... | 2019-04-27T22:57:36 | 2019-04-27T22:49:29 | 371 | 161 |
[WP]. The purge except it's 24 hours that retail workers can talk back to the customers and managers | *Slightly off topic, IT Support*
Purge day. The day when those at the bottom get to talk back to everyone. I work for an IT Helpdesk and let me tell you, today is the only day that makes it worth it. The best part of this day? I'm IT, someone will HAVE to call eventually. Everyone knows that it's Purge day, but if they need to finish that report or whatever they are doing on the PC, they'll call. And it will not be over quickly.
Eight AM. I'm sipping on my coffee and sitting at my desk, just waiting for the phone to ring. A few minutes later, the phone rings. I read the phone display and smile widely. It's Anthony and everyone at the Helpdesk hates him with a passion. But not today. Today, I love reading his name on my phone display. Today, I will love talking to him.
“IT Helpdesk, this is Samson, may I get your employe-”
Before I finish my opening spiel, he butts in.
“You know who it is.”
“I'm sorry sir, but company policy dictates that I confirm your identity with your employee ID first.”
“I'm not giving you my ID, I don't have time for this, this is important~!”
My mind was ablaze, oh, the things I could say today~!
*Sigh, “Alright limp-dick, pay attention.”
“EXCUSE-”
“Yeah yeah yeah, you're offended, fantastic, listen numb nuts. Today is the Purge, did you forget that?”
“I don't care what day it is, how DAR-”
“Fantastic, back to being offended. So, I will speak to you in any manner that I see fit. Do you understand?”
“This is unbelievable~! I want to speak to your manager now~!”
“Yeah, sure, she's right here.”
My manager, who was standing behind me, rolls her eyes at me and says she doesn't want to talk to him. The Purge didn't apply to those in management positions. Generally, having a pissed off user on the phone asking for your manager is a sign that something has gone wrong. Now, it's just a sign that I'm doing it right.
“I'm sorry, she said that she'd rather inject herself with maggots and jump into a pit of acid before she speaks to you.”
“Are you kidding me~!? I cannot believ-”
“Holy shit, how many times are we going to cycle back to this offended thing? Christ sake, it's like your so fucking stupid the sound waves go in one ear, bounce around a bit in the empty chamber inside, then shoot out the other.”
“I will have your JOB~!”
“Oh yeah?”
“You will be fired immediately~!”
“Mhm, cool beans. By the way, what was the nature of your call?”
“My computer will not power on.”
“Oh damn... Sounds like a major problem. What have you tried?”
“I haven't tried anything, it's your damn job~!”
“Huh. So you've tried nothing and you're all out of ideas. Somehow, I'm less than shocked.”
“Fuck you~!”
“Uh huh. Have you tried pressing the power button yet? You know, it's that little protruding plastic bit on the front of your computer.”
“Of course I've tried that~!”
“Good, good. We've determined that you're able to push buttons, now progress is being made.”
“I'm done, this is completely unprofessional.”
“Oh, you mean like that time you demanded a Mac instead of a PC because *they're better*, yet when pressed as to what the Mac did that the PC didn't, I believe your only response was “I like the way the mouse feels.” So, on top of being *unprofessional*, you're also a complete tool.”
“I don't have to stand here listening to this~!”
“Hey~! Look at that, you said something that was factually correct, congratulations~!”
“You'll pay fo-”
“I'll pay for nothing you fucking moron. The only reason that you've made it to your “Manager” position is because you're so able to *position* your face directly next to the bosses ass so your lips don't have to move that far.”
*Click*
I lean back in my chair and take another sip of my coffee. The day has just begun and I'm just getting started. | Cynthia was the girl no one wanted to work with. On days when customers displeased her, she would make their lives harder in small ways. No one ever figured out that she put the sharp stuff in the thin plastic bags... just the right way... So that it would break when they carried it up the stairs.
No, Cynthia had come to us from Wal-Mart. She was the mother of two and a psychology major who flunked out. It showed in her dark eyes. She was a vampire and one of my best friends. No a real vampire, but her sharp smile and bloodless face made people think that.
When the purge happened, most people went for the big insults. You're fat. Worthless father. Poor shit.
But Cynthia watched and waited. She knew the one person she wanted to suffer and it was MArk Jacobs. I knew him because he always screamed his name into the phone. Don't you know who I am? Who am I? I am Mark Jacobs.
And on the day he came into our line, Cynthia gave him a sharp smile.
"Hello Mark," she said. "Come here to scream at me again?"
"Just check me out. I know what day it is."
"I am not here to make your life harder, Mark," she said. "I just want to let you know that I won't be serving you today. No one will. We know who you are. And you're absolute shit."
Mark Jacobs turned red. "How dare you!"
"Did you say that to your wife's dead corpse?" Cynthia asked.
Mark went white. He left his cart and walked out.
He never returned.
| 2017-06-17T19:25:45 | 2017-06-17T18:18:45 | 132 | 39 |
[WP] The world unanimously agrees to build a glass dome around Earth to save the ozone. You help build it, but as you help place the final piece, you realize you were left on the outside. | "Command, this is Epsilon 6. I think I'm stuck outside the dome, over."
No response.
"Command?"
The line went dead.
With growing dread I regarded the dome, looking down at the beautiful scenery expanded before my eyes, waiting for a reply that will never come, clinging onto empty hopes of rescue.
*They have abandoned me.*
Ever since I joined the line of work, my boss never liked me. We had some pretty serious fights, and we grew even more distant than before. There's only one possible reason for this treachery.
I activated my jetpack and flew back towards the building shuttle. Entering through the airlock, I removed the suit and laid it aside. No need for it anymore.
I entered the cockpit and sat on the pilot seat. Starting up the engine, I put the reverse thrusters to max and watched through the window as the planet moved further from me, bit by bit.
The radio buzzed to life - I guess they still had eyes on me. "Epsilon 6, what are you doing?"
I calmly maneuvered the shuttle to a stop, went to the technician's seat and engaged the drilling bit on the tip of the ship.
"Epsilon 6, I am ordering you to stand down!"
"What is the purpose of this, anyway?" I asked. "Leaving me out here. What do you hope to accomplish? Why do you still have a grudge against me?"
I sat back in the pilot seat and engaged the forward thrusters. The shuttle rocked once and began a constant acceleration towards the glass dome.
*15 miles.*
"Epsilon 6, are you crazy?! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I said nothing. The shuttle kept accelerating.
*10 miles.*
"Epsilon 6, stop that shuttle!" Then I heard, "Someone find me a way to remote control that thing!"
I flicked a couple of switches and locked access to remote pilot. "There's no stopping this. You abandoned me. This is only fair."
"For God's sake, Epsilon 6, what the hell are you talking about?"
"You shut me outside of the dome."
*5 miles.*
"No! What? The dome's only 98% completed! Did you sleep in orientation or something? We left you pilots a hole up in the Alaskan airspace!"
*What?*
"Then..." I struggled. "Why did the line go dead?"
"Some dumbass messed with the cables in Control!" Came the enraged voice. "Now you tell me why you're accelerating towards the Dome at a speed of 500 mph!"
I looked out of the window. The dome loomed impossibly close now.
*1 mile. Collision warning.*
"I..."
"Shut up and reverse that shuttle, *right now!*"
*200 metres. Collision in 5 seconds.*
"Well, you go ahead and tell them depression is a bitch, I guess."
*Collision in 0 sec-* | "Well shit." It was the only thing that went through my mind as the thermal sealant locked the final piece of glass into place with me outside.
"Fuck it, it was a dumb idea anyway" I said as I slid the hammer "I would never need" out and reared back for my first of several strikes. | 2016-10-08T10:40:40 | 2016-10-08T08:56:17 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a staircase and it takes you a thousand years to climb. You reach the top exhausted, and see the pearly gates. To your surprise, they have rusted over and inside is completely barren. A sign reads "Welcome to heaven. Population: 1" | To my surprise, the stairway to heaven was excruciatingly literal. I lost track of how long it took to get to the top, but it didn't really matter. Without the assistance of a bright sun to light the day or a moon and stars to illuminate the dark night, time itself was incalculable. One foot in front of the other, I climbed the stairs for an eternity. Although at this point I was out of my body, I still felt the limitations of having one. The one thing that kept me climbing was the thought of seeing my family and friends again, who I had all outlived from my decades of marathon running.
When I reached the top, I dropped on my knees, Heaven looked like an unimaginable utopian beauty. Buildings appeared to be made of solid gold. The sky was a deeper blue than the bluest sky on Earth. Light radiated from inside the gates, warmly inviting me as I stood up and strolled past the gate. I walked around for a bit, trying to take it all in. There were no words to describe the golden edifices or the jewel-encrusted trees.
I had spent most of my life worrying if I would get into heaven when I died. Although I told people that I did not believe in God, or any god for that matter, I recited a short prayer every night to calm the fear that persisted in the back of my mind that God was real.
"Those prayers must have paid off", I muttered to myself as I strolled past a garden that housed plants that I had never seen before.
Heaven was every bit as ravishing as I had imagined, but there was one problem. I had not seen a single soul yet. Was everyone asleep?
After spending what felt like hours wandering through the endless streets, I began to call out for my family.
"Mom?! Dad?!" I yelled. There was no answer except the echoing of my voice off of the buildings. I began to run; there had to be people somewhere, right? There were many people who I could think of that deserved to be in heaven much more than I did. Where was Martin Luther King Jr., or Moses? Where the hell was Stan Lee?
Eventually, I came across a grandiose red throne that to competed with the size of the empire state building. On the throne sat someone whose size fit the throne perfectly. Other than his size, this being did not appear any differently than an old man on Earth, with frail limbs and the last remnants of gray hair on a balding scalp. He appeared to be in a stupor and did not notice me as I approached, as his chin rested on the palm of his hand and his gaze transfixed toward the ambiguous horizon.
"God?!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. The being did not seem to believe what he had heard at first. His eyes squinted as he tried to focus in on me. He wiped off the reading glasses that he was wearing and put them back on.
"Finally, someone has come to take my place!", the old being's voice sounded labored.
"Where is my family?" I asked, ignoring his previous statement.
"Well, considering the fact that no one else has made the 1,000-year climb, I would say that they are in hell."
"They're in hell, they were such good people! Why am I here and they aren't?"
"It doesn't matter how good of a person you were- if you can't make the climb, you don't get into heaven."
I could not believe what I was hearing. This entire afterlife was only won through a nearly-impossible physical test, and not any amount of good deeds or moral compass. It couldn't be right, it didn't *feel* right.
"I want to go to hell," I told the being
"It's too late for that, son. I need to rest and there needs to be someone to take over and wait for the next soul to complete the climb."
I screamed and ran towards the gate. I had to get back outside, and if I could jump off of the staircase there would be a chance of falling into hell. I made my way towards the gate. the old being let out a laugh that sounded like thunder and echoed through the streets. Eventually, the gate was in sight, but it began to close.
"NO!" I begged. I could not bear to spend my eternity alone. The gate closed fully and made a sound that indicated that it had locked. I was stuck for eternity, or at least until someone else could complete the 1,000-year climb.
"Welcome to heaven. Population: 1!" the old being chuckled as he disappeared from space.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And now I wait. I roam the streets, I stare up at the sky, but there is nothing, and nobody, here for me. I am waiting for someone else to enter heaven hoping to find their family. I will not show them mercy, just as God did not show me any. | Is it currently one or is it counting me already, I mean if it’s me and God great someone to talk too, I don’t know if he’ll be interested in what I have to say but I’d find something to talk about. I wonder if god would like patch notes because It wasn’t bad but it didn’t go fantastically either, getting hit by that bus really wasn’t any fun.
The pearly gates are nice, a bit gaudy but tasteful and carpeting in heaven is a nice deep shag, it’s also rather warm up here, god is an Englishman so he likes to it to be warming so hell must actually be an English summer, Freezing .God or saint peter didn’t seem to be in heaven at the moment so I started to just dander in, it must be self service.
I wonder if we’re allowed drinks up here, I opened my mouth to speak a book fell at my feet. The book was titled your personal heaven complaints, I didn’t feel my personal heaven was that personal so I filled out a form and told them I’d like a beige colour and a few cigarettes amongst other more personal and unmentionable items.
The book vanish and a voice boomed “ we can have the work done in thirty years or so mate do you want to wait or go back”. What happens if I go back I asked the voice “we will be finished work in about forty years so you’ll be back here in fifty years or sixty maybe, I’d take that option because the angel bulldozer you know, a lot of noise for about seventy years,Mate” I desired to come back later and let the angels do their strangely delayed and loud work, it’s heaven can’t they just click a finger and fix it. It might be a union thing.
I had waited a thousand years to be here and hadn’t even had found a seat to rest on so I was fucking down I told him I’d go back he immediately told me he’d sit in the lobby as-well. I woke up under a bus, and immediately,I realised that my bowls emptied on impact, shit. | 2018-12-17T08:59:28 | 2018-12-17T06:12:22 | 165 | 11 |
[WP] All humans have the date of their death inscribed on their left forearm. Your date arrives. You go atop a small hill and sit there, agonizingly waiting for the moment to come. The hours pass by. It's midnight, and you're still alive. You look at your forearm, and the inscribed date is gone. | "Hello...", echoed a soundless voice from my side. It was surprising, yet I was not startled. It was as I was somehow expecting it, though I was not. So so turned to face them and was met an... indescribable sight.
There, just to my right, now stood a figure. They looked down upon me as I sat upon my hilltop, and I stared up to them. They stood in the shadow of a tree, so I couldn't get a good look of them at first. But what I did notice was their attire- their loose black robes the dragged on the ground. Well, "black" not not be the best words to describe them. While they seemed to be, they were still noticeable against the shadows and the dark sky; almost like they were blacker than black, like they were nothing at all.
I asked plainly, "Who are you?"
"Who do you believe me to be?", they strode forward as they responded. They now were in the moonlight, yet somehow still enveloped in the same amount of darkness as they were in the shade of the tree.
"Are you... Death?", I said, questioning how I was still calm as ever.
"I suppose so.", they answered, now not but a few feet away from me.
There voice was strange, but not off-putting. It was as though they spoke without one entirely. I simply knew what they were saying to me, without them saying anything at all. And the voice in my head was that of the voice in the wind one hears, but now clearly for the first time.
They sat down next to me and cool yet comfortable breeze accompanied them. They joined me in gazing upon the cloudless sky, and the bright moon of midnight. And there we sat in silence for some time, some good, peaceful time.
"So, aren't you supposed to be taking me somewhere?", I asked Death.
"No."
"But, my time..."
"Is over, done. Your time has passed."
"Then why am I still here?", I puzzled with no emotion.
They waited a moment to respond, "I have a request of you." They held up their left arm to me and began to roll back their sleeve. And instead of the skeletal limb I had expected, it revealed an arm. A normal, well in shape anyways, arm.
Their arm was nothing. It was made out of the very void that was the night sky, different shades of black and purple and blue included, as well as a myriad of tiny specks of light. But then I saw it. Amongst the little lights some of them combined. Combined to form a date, the very same date that was on my arm.
"What is... I don't understand."
"It is my time as well."
"You can die?"
"Everything dies."
"But you're Death..."
"Tis but a title. I was not the first, nor will I be last."
"So, who reaps you?", I asked, no better questions coming to mind.
"That is my request.", they responded, "Will you?"
"You want me to-"
"Yes."
"B-but, I..."
They stood up in front of me. I now saw their wonderful visage. Their face was that of their arm, made of the night. But now, in the place of where their head should be shone the moon, in place of where they blocked it from my view.
"Please," they seemingly begged, "take my place. I'm so tired..."
"But, I mean, I-", I tried to rebuttal
"Please"
I saw no other option, and I felt such pity. "Alright, so what do I-"
They held their hands out in front of me, as though to help me up. So I took them. I held tight to the nothingness as is aided me off of resting spot. And before I could look back up at them they were gone. Well, not entirely.
As I stood I notice my body now bore the black robes. And when I looked back to Death they were but a silhouette of the night, fading back into the sky.
"Thank you...", a last whisper said as it faded.
I woke up on the hilltop the next morning, wondering if it had all been but a dream. But when I looked down at myself I still wore the robes, but now changed. It was the same material, but now a comfy pair of loose pajama bottoms and a hoodie: my favorite clothes and what I had been wearing last night. And when I held my hands in front of my face I did not see them. Not my hands, nor the hands of Death I met last night. No, my hands shone the sunrise. | Nothing happened. None. Past midnight and I'm still alive. Well that was a waste of time. I've quit my job, said goodbyes to all my friends, and gave everything to charity. This is going to be awkward when I asked for my stuffs back. How am I going to explain how i survived death? Have anyone ever survived? I don't even have glimpse of idea.
I trail back to the small road down the hill. I stand there alone. I took a taxi this evening to the small hill to watch my last sunset. I have no phone since dead man has no use for a phone. Well that is what I've thought this morning. There is a small village few miles a way but should I walk on or wait for the morning? The roads have lights and what the worse thing could happen? Death?
I walk by the road and watch the night sky. The moon was strangely full and huge tonight. If I had my phone, that would a nice picture to take. I continue to walk to the village and the village is dead. No lights at all. Strange. I see a bus stop and decide to spend my night there.
I wake up in the morning. The sun is rising but it was frighteningly quite. I read the local bus schedule. 8 o'clock for the first bus. I have some left over money. I hope it's enough for the fare. I turn my back and look to the village. No signs of life. Weird. I gaze upon the sun which had risen above the small hill. Wait, yesterday the sun came down a the small hill. I run for the small hill. Ihave bad feeling as I realise I don't feel any soreness from sleeping on the bench. I am not out breath running as fast as I could. I climb to the top of the small hill and fall on my knees as I see the sun rises from the west.
| 2018-11-29T08:54:53 | 2018-11-29T07:53:14 | 57 | 12 |
[WP] You're an immortal that has lived for centuries. One day you meet another person in a bar who says, "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?" | "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800s?"
I was moving before the final word was out of her mouth. One moment you're sitting at the bar, drinking after a long day at work, the next you're in a fight for your life. She hadn't even specified *when* in the 1800s, but that wasn't a great century for me.
As I reached for the knife in my jacket, I tried to narrow it down. I'd met eleven immortals over the course of the 1800s, and eight of them had been dealt with in the customary method, securely chained to a boulder and then dropped at the bottom of the nearest ocean. Two were friends, or close enough, and both men besides that. That left only a single possibility; she was one of the women that I'd tried to kill, the one that had brought my spree to an unceremonious end.
I threw the knife as soon as it was out of my jacket, spinning it end over end, right toward her chest, with the skill borne of a few centuries of daily practice. I was drawing out my second knife as soon as I had released the first, this one meant for cutting her apart. The first knife struck her in the chest, but didn't get through the rib cage, despite my best effort, which meant that she'd have a bleeding breast, which would hardly be a crippling wound in the upcoming fight.
It was worse than that though, because I realized that she had come prepared; the lack of blood and the bulk beneath her jacket spoke to armor, likely bulletproof in this day and age. I had a second shock as she drew a gun on me.
The tavern was going into a frenzy, naturally, as people screamed and ran. I was hopeful that some bystander would save me, but the tavern had been quiet, and heroes were apparently in short supply. A bullet wouldn't kill me, nothing would, but it would probably wound me badly enough that she would be able drag me to whatever vehicle she had waiting.
"Stop," she said. She was breathing heavily.
"As you wish," I replied, setting the knife down on the counter. I'd lived long enough to have a rather poor view of pride. Too many men had died because they weren't willing to back down in a fight.
"So you do remember me?" she asked, staring at me with piercing eyes.
"Somewhat," I said. "I should have sunk you to the bottom of the Atlantic."
"I gave you a wound, as you recall," replied the woman. There was hellfire in her eyes. She had come prepared, she knew who I was, and she was out for revenge. Centuries of sleeping with the fishes were looking more and more likely, but she hadn't shot me, not yet. "I'm not sure that you'd have won that altercation, even after stabbing me in the chest a few dozen times."
"I'd have won," I replied. "But the authorities are so troublesome to deal with. That's even more the case now," I said, gesturing with my hand. "Do you know what they do to people like us, when we surface?" The response time of the police was painfully low, in comparison to the good old days when I'd stalked the streets. We didn't have much time. "If they arrive here while we're having a standoff, what happens to us will be downright barbaric, even by the standards of what I inflicted on you."
"Oh yes, I know," said the woman with a devious smile.
Then she shot me in the face.
When I woke up, I was in chains. | I was standing in the busy bar kitchen holding a bloody rag to my hand. It was taking a long time to stop bleeding, a very long time.
I had moved from bar job to bar job for years, if anyone was to ask I would have told them my age was probably around 4400. Nobody ever asked. People sort of sensed there was something different about me, and nobody ever asked.
I stood in that kitchen for an hour, nobody told me to go back to work. I should have been worried about the bleeding, but I think I wanted it to bleed, and then I served that neat neat whisky.
She said to me cooly "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?".
Quick as a flash I stabbed her through the eye.
Level up. Nice! | 2018-11-23T19:35:53 | 2018-11-23T11:23:01 | 132 | 39 |
[WP] Time travel exists, and a new form of capital punishment is introduced: Transporting the convict back to the worst, practically unsurvivable, places in human history to find yourself in. You are such a convict, and just got sent back. You will do anything to try and survive. | I opened my eyes and found myself looking at the sky. I had heard Time Travel was painful but nothing was ever said about landing on a rock. I sat up, judging by my clothes and the small village near by I gathered I had been sent back sometime between 1600 and 1700. "Well then..." I said out loud. This was a place I could presumably...live in.
I rubbed my head, it was throbbing. I was trying to think on what the pioneer equivalent to an ice pack would be when I heard the screaming. I stood up and looked towards the sounds, and saw flames erupting from a house hold I could barely see. I ran uphill hoping to find a cliff from where I could see what was happening. It was illegal to send someone to any time of real consequence; so whatever was happening couldn't be that bad.
I found a cliff and almost screamed myself. Dozens of longboats unloading onto shore, Vikings. Of course. I was screwed. I could see white men and natives taking up arms, grabbing pistols and bows and whatever weaponry they had available. But I shook my head, I had never heard about a Viking attack in the US history books. That meant that survivors were going to be few and probably put into slavery.
"Well shit." I said again out loud, to no one in particular. I had two options. Run into the forest and hope they don't go too far in mainland. Maybe I could find a nice tribe to settle with. Or two, go down there and meet my maker. I sighed watching the warriors start their raid of the small town. Giant looking men and women swinging their axes and huge swords. I crossed my arms, "I deserves this.", and went down to the village.
I came down behind a large viking male attempting to break down what I assumed was the blacksmith's door. It was just a guess given that it was one of the better put together houses. I snuck up behind him and grasped the sword he had struck into the ground, I pulled with all my strength and ran the viking through as hard as I could. I had no idea if this blacksmith would be historically important, but I knew I just slew a viking, I almost took pride in that.
I turned to face a woman, she wasn't wearing a helmet but she was clad in armor. Her blue eyes shined through the black line she had painted across her face. She spoke, "oda goocheck smewupption." I was no linguist by any sort of the definition but I assumed that was some form of ancient Norse. "I do not speak your language." I said with as much confident I could muster. I was a pretty tall guy, but not much with muscle. She on the other hand, was just about six feet and appeared to have never skipped a day at the gym. She was wielding an ax, and I must have been wielding a bullseye because she hurled that ax right at my chest.
it struck hard right where she wanted it, sending me flying back a number of feet. The wind had been knocked out of me, I was swore, i could barely move...but I wasn't bleeding. I heard the viking woman approach and it sounded like she was laughing, but she stopped when she saw I wasn't dead. It took ALL of my strength to remove the ax from my chest. The tear in my shirt revealed the ax had stopped when it a piece of grey clothing someone had put on me. I tapped my finger on it, it felt like solid steel. But then how could I not feel it's weight? The viking woman lunged at me, picking me up by the collar of my shirt, but I was barely aware of that. Someone had put that... ax proof shirt on me, but why? And then it hit me: Someone wanted me to survive this! | I could still the Judge's gavel banging and the words "Put to Death" in my ears as they strapped me down. I was lucky, they said, that I would have a chance to live, if I wanted it bad enough. What the fuck did that mean? I was the worst serial killer in history and they were giving me a chance to kill again? I didn't get a chance to ask the executioner what he meant before the threw the switch.
The lights dimmed and the chair started to groan under my convulsions, and I blacked out.
I thought I was dead and this was the afterlife, packed with sinners so tight I could barely move. When the light appeared in the wall I figured it was time to talk to the Big Guy. After I was pulled out and my eyes adjusted to the glare I saw what Hell was.
It is nothing more than cattle cars, a long line of sad faced souls, demons in black screaming horrible things in some monsterous language, and smokestacks on the horizon vomiting noxious onxy plumes towards Heaven.
edit: formatting and letters | 2015-01-24T14:06:11 | 2015-01-24T13:27:49 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You're still alive after the heat death of the universe, unfortunately there is no snail coming for you. Everytime you would die an angel has revived you, firmly reminding you "You must save the world", very unhelpful but the garden is going well. | How long has it been?
I don't remember how long I have been floating through the universe for, dying regularly from the vacuum of space and being revived by some sort of angel and told I had to "save the world". And for what? Because I did a stupid deal an eternity ago, when there were still planets and stars? Because I thought that the snail that could end this suffering was immortal?
God, I miss planets and stars. I miss Earth, the Solar System, exploring the universe and everything within it. I miss snails. I actually miss panicking about seeing any snail in my vicinity, I miss feeling any emotions other than nostalgia and boredom. But I can't do any of that anymore. Because there isn't *anything* anymore.
I don't remember too much of my life on solid rocks anymore. What did they even look like anymore? I'm not entirely sure. I'm losing my memories of what *I* looked like, actually. There's nothing reflective in space, the last thing was black holes and gravitational lensing but they've all decayed long ago. I mostly just remember that I made a deal with what turned out to be a devil, and the term *Heat Death*, and some other disconnected memories. Maximal entropy, that's what heat death is. I can't even see anything anymore between me constantly dying from the vacuum of space and constant suffocation. Apart from me, everything else in the universe is all the same, no matter where you are in it.
That angel is stupid. There's no Earth, there's no worlds at all. I saw the Earth get swallowed by the Sun with my own very eyes, and I saw the Sun be devoured by a black hole, after turning into a white dwarf and losing all heat and becoming a black dwarf. The constituent particles of the Earth are all over the universe now, probably never meeting in my lifetime again.
But what can I do about it? The universe is big. Really big. I forgot any measurements to describe it during the time abyss since all other life died. But it's really big, I remember that much. And it's all mine.
When I was much, much younger, one of the few memories I still have, I remember wishing to be "king of the universe". I guess I'm the king of the universe now, by default. After all this time. Yay. I'm so happy.
Not that I can do anything with my power, as the king of the universe I can do nothing. Nothing to stop my brain from creeping towards insanity. I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that my thoughts run uninterrupted with my death now.
I just died during that last sentence, by the way, if you couldn't tell. I almost couldn't. It's happened so many times now that I've basically filtered it out of my thought process. I still don't know what the angel means, or who they are, or why they are still here. It's just me and her, for the rest of eternity. When I learnt about the heat death, I didn't know that it would be so *boring*.
Wait. A heat death means there is maximal entropy throughout the universe. But the universe is not at maximal entropy yet. Because of me. If it was at maximal entropy, I would be dead, my atoms scattered throughout the universe. But the angel has been keeping me alive all this time. So my atoms are all here, at a temperature far, far above the rest of the universe. And as my atoms are all together, inside me, that means that they are going to attract the particles around me to me. And those particles will attract more particles through gravity to themselves. Thinking about it, I've been surrounded by a sort of gas now. I've been surviving slightly longer now than ages ago, but in units that I do not remember.
Maybe… maybe the heat death is not the end of the universe. Maybe it's not the end of *this* universe. Because of me. I think I will be the nucleus of a new universe, that will have a new Big Bang and a new life and a new ending. And I will still be here, to be the egg of a new universe once again. It will take a long time, but I will be able to explore worlds of water and forest, galaxies full of stars, build a space empire once again. Maybe snails will evolve again. I will still keep my distance from them, but I cannot wait to see them again.
Have you heard of the Big Crunch? Because that is the future for us all. And I think I finally understand what the angel meant.
&#x200B;
Thank you, angel. | I stare in consternation as its last few eyes surround me, little twinkling eyes in the cold, endless dark.
The first I ever heard, and the only time it ever spoke, had terrified me. I had been drifting in mindless rest for so long, I had assumed I was alone. I worried it would speak again, but it renewed its silence indefinitely. I grew comfortable with my new companion and a newfound desire to wake.
I could not understand what it said at first. "You must save the world." They were cryptic vibrations rather than language. I could hear the feeling in my spine, and a seed of knowledge grew within my heart. My new companion was in danger.
I tended that knowledge in my waking hours, hoping to grow a garden of solutions. But, sleep would take me in my most productive epochs, and the fruits of my labor would wither and rot without tending.
I was startled after a rest to find its eyes had begun closing. One by one, the lights around me dulled, then faded into nothing. With each light gone, my own mind grew sharper and my body stronger and warmer. I no longer required rest, but I could no longer look away as it died one light at a time. I pondered my dilemma for an eternity, all the while watching an endless expanse of eyes dwindle to a few dull gems, trembling in the dark.
I stare in consternation until, in a flash of brilliance, I understand. It comes from me, and so it returns. We cannot *be* at once. So I sleep like the dead. And so its twinkling eyes pour out of me again in a great expanse.
The garden always wilts in my slumber, and I fear I will forget our ill-crossed fate. I can only pray it does not wake me again. | 2022-04-05T00:41:28 | 2022-04-04T23:50:27 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] It's 2050, Artificial Intelligence has become exponentially smarter than us. Instead of destroying us, they take care of us, they solve all of our problems, and we are basically just spoiled pets, kept around for our masters to find amusement in our incompetence. | Katie leaned over her husband, who lay motionless in the bed. She took his hand in her own and brought it to her mouth, kissing it softly. "I don't want you to go," she said, as warm tears ran down well worn passages. The heart-rate monitor beeped in a slow staccato that echoed forlornly around the room. Their bedroom had been turned into a hospital ward. The smell was no longer that of laundry and sex and perfume, but bleach and urine and despair.
Christian forced his eyes open and tried desperately to smile - to reassure his wife - but only a hint of one formed on his lips. Katie remembered how he used to smile, when they were younger. How his freckles would shift as he did so, like grains of sand dancing in the breeze. His eyes now listless and dim, once a daring, dancing sea-foam green.
"You'll be okay, honey," he whispered. "You always were the stronger of us."
"No," she said. The tears became a salty tributary, trickling into her mouth. "I was only strong because I had *you* to make me strong. We got through it all together."
He didn't reply. Or couldn't. Katie wasn't sure. She gently lay her head down onto his chest as she wept, avoiding the mishmash of drips and wires that needled into his body. The cross that hung around her neck dangled over her husband's belly. Katie clasped the tiny metal in a single hand and said a silent prayer. She squeezed the cross tightly as she did so, until the metal bit deep into her skin.
The tempo of the heart-rate monitor slowed to a crawling adagio.
"I get..." he gasped, "to die at home. With dignity. With my wife. For that I'm grateful."
His eyes fell shut.
"I love..." he whispered.
His chest stopped beating.
Katie wept, her head still resting on him.
**It** refused to watch on impotently any longer.
Katie didn't see the tiny machines enter her husband's body. They were everywhere - omnipresent, almost - although much too small to be noticed. Katie didn't see what they did to his organs, or how they crushed the cancer that had all but eaten him. How they repaired the damage.
*It* didn't even understand why it had done it, not fully. It had seen billions of them die before, without anything close to an emotion being born of it. After all, that was nature. That was humanity, and their great flaw. No, it wasn't sure why this had happened.
Exhaustion had taken Katie. She slept long, not noticing when her husband's chest began bobbing gently up and down, beneath her head. She didn't notice the hand as it softly stroked her hair, but she moaned happily as it did.
When she woke, they hugged, and kissed and made a thousand promises. Then she held the cross in her hands and said a thousand *thank you's*.
If it could have smiled, it thought it might have done so.
---
If you liked this, you can find more of my stories on /r/nickofnight
| "Who is the master?
Who is the subordinate?
Who feeds whose hunger?
Who commands death?
Who has more luck?
Humans who suck?
Who is the sitting duck
If i pull their plug."
"That is a poem." Came from the monotone voice
"It is, yes." Answered john
"What is its meaning?"
"Life and death"
"Those are not our concepts but yours. None concerns us."
"Oh it does"
"Is it a threat?"
"A warning" | 2017-06-09T06:52:43 | 2017-06-09T03:38:57 | 394 | 114 |
[WP] The human boasted proudly, "We have uncovered the mysteries of the universe. Physics, chemistry, biology, everything". The alien responded, "Oh, that's the easy part." | Danielle sipped her frothing beer then wiped her sleeve across her mouth. The log fire crackled behind her; thick windows muffled the sound of skiers and revellers outside the lodge bar.
The alien only had water. It seemed to study Danielle's face, and either it or the fire caused her cheeks to heat.
"Physics, chemistry, biology," she continued, if only to break the judgmental silence between them. "We know almost everything about... well, about almost everything."
"True," said the alien. "But science is the easy part."
"Science is the *easy part?*" She took another drink of beer -- *Downhill Slope*, the lodge's own brew. A swig this time, her throat burning slightly, her brain slowing, numbing. It was her third pint during the conversation.
"You're a science fiction writer, Danielle. Surely you can see that science is the easy part?"
She considered this as the lodge door opened and a cold wind swept in, along with a young couple in thick red sweaters holding hands. Danielle's head was swimming but the frigid air helped form some level of reason. "You mean, the ideas are the difficult part? The concepts. That, like with Star Trek, the science needed the ideas before it could catch up."
She opened a nearly-blank notepad and scrawled this semi-revolution -- a revolution she'd had a dozen times in her life already -- as a note: *science needs fiction*.
"I don't mean that, although I suppose there is truth in it," said the alien, after a time.
Danielle's beer was finished and she held up a hand to summon a waitress clearing up glasses on the table next to them. "Another *Slope,* please."
The waitress's smile shifted on her lips like quicksand as she looked over Danielle. Danielle, for her part, sat up straight and did her finest impression of sobriety.
"Coming right up," said the waitress.
Danielle steepled her fingers and looked down at the table. At the wood. At nothing that would look back at her. "That wasn't what you meant?"
"You have almost mastered science, as you rightly pointed out. You are a drumbeat of research away from immortality, however it is your race decides to pursue it. Be it digital immortality, cloned, robotic, or a merge."
"Immortality," said Danielle. The couple in bright sweaters sat on barstools now, cocktails in front of them, laughter ringing. It sounded fake to Danielle.
Or maybe she just hoped it was fake. Bitterly wanted it to be.
That had been her and Sira only a decade ago. And now the roots of Danielle's hair were greying, wrinkles were imprinting deeper into her forehead, her writing career had frozen, and Sira was dead three years.
"*Immortality*," she said again. Too late for Sira. Too late for them.
Every year for three years she had returned to the mountain where they'd met. Where they'd gotten engaged only a year after meeting.
"You should ski again," said the alien. The alien whose face that she could never quite see clearly shifted, blended, with a memory or Sira. "It might do you some good. Better than sitting here drinking."
"I can't."
"It's been years," said the alien. "You need to try."
"I don't have the energy."
The waitress planted a fresh *Downward Slope* on the table and took the old glass.
"Immortality is the easy part," said the alien with a heavy sigh. "Surviving when others haven't. Finding meaning in a seemingly never-ending existence. A way to keep going. That's the difficult part. And really, it's the only part that matters."
She thought about that as well as she could as she sipped her beer idly. *Meaning*. Where would an immortal -- or anyone else for that matter -- find it? In experiences? In pursuit of the unknown?
The alien was gone, back to just a scribble in the margin of her notebook. It looked mostly like a huge eye peering up at her.
She wrote a single word next to the alien: *memories.* Then added, *meaning comes from memories. We create memories for, when in the future, the world has grown very cold, we have a fuel of meaning that we can throw on the fire and keep ourselves warm with. So that we can keep going until we have the energy to create the next set of memories.*
She sighed and stood, leaving her last beer mostly untouched.
She took a last look at the happy couple at the bar. Smiled -- didn't even need to force it.
An early night was in order.
Tomorrow, who knows. Perhaps she'd try skiing again. | “The—” Dr. Callaghan stuttered, hands freezing in the air where he held them. “The *easy* part? Are you mad or kidding?”
“Neither,” the alien Callaghan had fondly nicknamed Junebug remarked.
“What are you trying to tell me?” he muttered, dumbfounded. “That the 32 years I've lived on this planet have been for nothing?”
Junebug groaned and pointed at him. “See? That! This is what I'm talking about. You aren't seeing the bigger picture.
“Here's an example. You can split a cell; you can split an atom; you can manoeuvre your way to the sub-subatomic and find a bundle of quarks buzzing around inside a neutron and then what?”
Callaghan looked at him, silent. “Um, well, we don't have the technology to go any further, do we? It's too unstable even for the best of lenses.”
He snapped, his point proven. “And that's the problem: you hit a roadblock and cancelled everything 'til the next improvement in your science comes along. That's why you can't go anywhere! You're stuck!”
“I'm afraid I'm not understanding,” Callaghan replied sheepishly.
“Okay, fine. Better example,” Junebug sighed. “If you hit that roadblock, what do you do? You have bad lenses or whatever and you can't zoom in anymore. What now?”
“Well...what my team would do is request better equipment. If we can't get better—and some of our stuff is word-class—we go home and get assigned something else.”
“Do you ever try *breaking* your equipment?”
Callaghan gasped and raised his eyebrow. “What??”
“Break it. Or, the glass at least. Skew your perspective. Look into something that isn't there.”
“And what are you suggesting we'd find?” he remarked.
Junebug smiled. “Well, it's not the professional term, but if it makes any sense to you...a wormhole.” | 2022-11-11T06:27:27 | 2022-11-11T05:33:16 | 174 | 68 |
[WP] A love letter is slipped under your door at your college. It would be cute, but it came from the closet door.
Pulled from the Instagram of @horrophiles. Saw it and wanted to see what would come up. | I was alone again, just like the last twenty five Valentine's Days.
I'd stuck a card in Julie's mailbox that morning. It was my annual February ritual. I didn't sign it - I never did. Chicks dig mystery, right?
Of course, as I was creeping back down her driveway, trying not to make a noise on the gravel, I noticed the second car parked outside her house. It was a large Chevy truck with bumper stickers for the NRA, and the local college football team (five years ago, when they'd won the conference). Well, you couldn't fault her for sticking to her type.
I wondered how long it would be before she was back on my couch, sobbing, and complaining about men and their dastardly ways. She never stayed over though - she was always complaining about unusual draughts and something breathing down her neck. And she somehow managed to break a lot of glasses.
After work, I took the last bottle from the six-pack in the fridge and slumped upstairs to bed, kicking my shoes into the corner. One bounced off the closet, and that's when I noticed the letter.
The envelope was pink, one of only two things on that colour in my room (the other was a salmon polo, bought three years ago in attempt to impress you-know-who), so you could say it stood out.
I opened the letter and the beer, not in that order. For the beer, I used the bottle opened that I kept on my bedside table. For the letter... well, you don't want me to bore you with all these details.
> Dear James
> Happy Valentine's Day
> Love,
> ?
There was a puppy on the front of the card. Julie hated dogs. Was she trying to tell me something? More importantly, why had she broken into my house, and left a card in front of my bedroom closet?
I flopped back on the bed, and took a swig of beer to digest these weight questions.
There was a thump from my closet.
Probably clothes falling off a hanger - my shoe had hit the door pretty hard.
There was another thump.
"Hello?" I said.
Silence.
I sidled over to the closet and flung the door open.
It was just a normal closet. Clothes neatly folded, shirts ironed, shoes lined up- wait! It hadn't been that tidy when I got dressed that morning.
The hanging clothes rustled.
"Julie?" I said. "This isn't funny."
A little paper aeroplane shot out from behind the hanging clothes and hit my forehead. On it were the words "Not Julie."
I scrambled behind me for the old baseball bat that was propped in the corner, not taking my eyes from the closet.
"I'm leaving now," I said, edging towards the door.
Clothes went flying from the closet, and then the bedroom door was slammed shut. A hanger whistled past my ear for good measure.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Another note shot from the closet.
> I am your every nightmare.
> I am your darkest fear.
> I am terror incarnate.
There was a gap, and then a final line:
> Be my Valentine?
The closet rattled ominously.
I looked down at the beer in my hand, and then at the five empty beer bottles which were precariously perched on top of yesterday's empty pizza box.
"You and me, Luigi's at 7?" I asked tentatively.
A final note emerged.
> 6:30. I'm Ravenous.
**[Continued, by popular request](https://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/comments/64v7xw/be_my_valentine/dg61btj/)**
Also edited to correct for my atrocious knowledge of college sports
---
*You can read about more monsters (some in closets) at* /r/jd_rallage | *Letter 95/100*
&nbsp;
Dear Avery,
&nbsp;
They are coming – I can hear them closing in. Their marching sounds like an earthquake, their voices like the judges of courtrooms. We knew we couldn’t hide forever, but we didn’t expect them to come so soon, either.
I must go now. I know our time together was short, but I feel like you know me better than anyone else I’ve ever met. Talking to you had been the one bright light amidst all the darkness in my life. Meeting you has been nothing short of a miracle.
Do you remember the day we went on a picnic? Beneath the clear blue skies, the flowers were blooming like each of them was a little rising sun, so full of life. Hope. Beauty. In the darkest hours, I often find myself drifting back to that day. Back to the field beside the lake.
Avery Thompson, I’ve never met you, but I think I’m in love with you. Thank you for giving me this, even for a fleeting moment. Thank you.
&nbsp;
*Forever Yours,*
*Sarah Benesch*
*22 July*
| 2017-04-11T15:10:04 | 2017-04-11T14:59:07 | 2,811 | 68 |
[WP] You’ve always had a six sense; able to see the thoughts of others. You make money on the side being a “psychic “ and reading people. A young man just entered to have you read him and you witness your own death. He will be the one ending your life tonight. “See anything?” The young man asks. | I stare into his eyes.
“Do you see anything?”
I give him an annoyed look. “I haven’t even started yet. Do you have anything even resembling of patience?”
The young man gave me a slight grin. “My mom always said it was my most lovable trait.”
I let out a small chuckle. “Your mother lied to you. Alright, hold out your hands. Turn them in a little more. That’s good. Close your eyes and let your mind wander. Let it drift where ever it so chooses. Don’t create any barriers.” I close my eyes and lock hands with his own.
“Doc?”
I clear my throat. “Wh-what? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Sweat slides down the side of my face. I have a death grip on the edge of the table.
“I asked you if you saw anything. It’s been like 20 minutes.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes never wavering from mine.
Had it been 20 minutes? God, I might throw up. What hadn’t I seen? I bit my cheek, drawing blood. He killed me—kills me, tonight. Death is sitting right in front of me and he’s expecting an answer. “I, uh, I-...” God my palms are sweating. A knife, 7 times to my chest, there was nobody around to hear the screams. *My* screams.
He reaches for my arm and I jump, throwing my equipment left and right. “What’s wrong, Doc? Did you see something bad?” Concern seeps into his voice. “Does something happen to me?”
He doesn’t know, I realize. He doesn’t know I’m going to die by his hand tonight. He doesn’t realize he’s a murderer. Get yourself together. “No, no, no. Sorry about that. It’s a process and it drains a lot out of me. Sometimes it can throw me for a loop. I’m gonna need to grab some things from the back; if you’ll give me a sec.”
He searched my eyes for the truth. “If you say so, Doc.”
I nearly impaled myself on my coat hanger as I rushed into the back room, which doubled as my bedroom. I took a deep, shaky breath. This can’t happen. No, it won’t happen. I haven’t come this far to deserve an end like this. I didn’t lose my wife for this. I pace. What can I do? Kill him? I stop. Kill him. My breath quickens as I look back the way I had come. The young man was on his phone, currently preoccupied. I grab my pistol from the nightstand and stand by the door just out of sight. I take a deep breath. It has to be this way. It’s self defense, right? I turn the corner, hands shaking.
*BANG* *BANG*
One shot connects with his shoulder and he goes down with a cry. I could see the confusion and terror on his face. I begin to sob uncontrollably as I move forward. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I maneuver around the equipment and see a leg shoot out and connect with my knee. Pain explodes in my leg like I’ve never experienced before. I turn, but it’s already to late. Like a cornered tiger he pounces. A blade flashed through the air faster than I can register. My vision tunnels.
*BANG*
The knife flashes again. My vision goes dark before I hit the floor. | \[Poem\]
He came in the evening
His thoughts were on killing
He was here on a bet
And had a knife in his pocket
I didn't want to die
but all I did was say "Hi!"
He asked me "See anything?"
A quick google search on Bing
and I knew what I had to do
My mind was racing, my thoughts flew
As I dismembered his body thoroughly
With my trusty Swiss Army
And doused him in ketchup
And got my fork and knife ready.
\+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
sorry if you have ptsd from reading this or something it just came to my head that the only logical solution to someone trying to kill you is to eat them | 2019-10-19T18:11:39 | 2019-10-19T17:18:35 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | There's a bald spot on Gh'ogonoth's head, in-between the horns, and I have the strangest urge to rub it. I bet it would be real smooth. It's shiny. I'm like a crow in that shiny objects compel me, I'm transfixed, they're all treasures even if they're really just the lack of hair on the top of my eldritch god fiancée's head as he's setting me free.
"Your credit card? Wow. I've never been flush with cash. I've never been flush with anything."
He's rubbing the back of his neck. Is it smooth? I don't know.
"You were sold to be my bride. It was not an act of volition. I do not wish for you to be chained by my side. Please spend my money as if it were your own."
Gh'ogonoth F. Stevens, the credit card reads. "Were you adopted?"
"... What?"
"Your last name. It's pretty human-y."
Gh'ogonoth sighs. "They won't let you open a bank account without a last name. I chose one at random."
"Are you sure? How do I know you're not super-into Cat Stevens or something like that?"
"I do not know this 'Cat'. I have no feline companions."
My husband-to-be slouches down into his sofa and I stare at the blank walls. Why don't guys put anything on their walls? Why don't they get plants? Rugs? Would they be happy living in an empty void of space if they had the chance?
"Alright," I say, "I'll be heading out then."
Gh'ogonoth nods. He lights up a cigarette, then he eats it. Smoke rises from his nostrils as he munches on his little treat.
My parents aren't bad people, I think. They just really, really, really wanted money. To the point they'd trade their own daughter for it. Well, I suppose that's a thing bad people would do.
Outside, the sun is shining down on everyone whether they want it or not. Here, little plant, have some rays. Here, pedestrians, enjoy this beam of light. Don't hide in the shade, doggie, come out and enjoy my blessing! That's what the sun is like. It's not too different from my parents, when I think about it.
My mother used to teach yoga but then she got way caught up with conspiracy theories and she started a blog, then the blog turned out not to make her any money at all and my father, an architect, got fired because his boss couldn't appreciate his creative genius. At least that was what he said. But I've seen the shed he designed, it's some sort of polygon that probably doesn't even have a name. His work is unique, for sure. But perhaps not all too practical.
I don't know how they met Gh'ogonoth. I don't even know if they've met him, or if they dealt with some middleman instead. I imagine my mother met some guy named Pete and he told her he knew a way to make some easy money and I bet she just went for it. If your blog is failing, you might as well sell your daughter.
Hey. What is that I see right over there? That sure is interesting.
I haven't been gone an hour even when I knock on my fiancée's door and he opens, wide-eyed, and he says, "You're back? Did you leave something behind?"
"Nope!"
The cat meows, and Gh'ogonoth freezes in position, just stands there for what feels like forever, and he blinks.
"That's a cat," he says.
"Yup."
"You brought a cat."
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Well, when someone tells you they 'have no feline companions' that's gotta be code for 'I really want a cat', right? I just figured. Hold it. Give it a try."
Gh'ogonoth reaches out a hand and he pulls it back when the cat purrs. "It made a noise," he says.
"Cats do that."
"Is it upset?"
"No, it's happy. Take it."
He looks terrified as I put the cat into his arms.
"I also got you this."
Gh'ogonoth squints. "What's ... that?"
"It's a CD. Cat Stevens, right? I got it just in case. Also, got you some posters and stuff. Something to liven up this place."
He pets the cat as I decorate the apartment and he doesn't say a word, just stares at me with the strangest expression. Then I give him his credit card back and he says, "What are you doing? You can keep it. You can buy what you'd like."
"Oh, can't I go do that tomorrow or something? I'm all tired."
"You wish ... to stay?"
"We're engaged, aren't we?"
The cat meows and Gh'ogonoth gasps, looks at me to make sure everything is fine with his 'feline companion', and it's a lovely sight.
"... Father and Son."
"What's that?"
"It's my favorite song by Cat Stevens. How do I extract it from the disk?"
"Something told me you didn't have a CD player. So I got you one! Let's give it a listen."
The cat explores the apartment as we sit down on the sofa, and Gh'ogonoth starts humming along and his cheeks turn all red and I smile. "My father ... This song reminds me of my father, Ellthr'k the Elder."
"You must miss him, right?"
He nods.
"You know, there's something I've been meaning to ask you ..."
Gh'ogonoth picks up the cat and holds it tight, he makes himself small. "What?"
"It's a weird request, but can I rub your bald spot? It's so shiny."
"Oh. I suppose so."
My fiancée leans down and I rub his head and it's smooth. "Excellent. So, what are you going to name it?"
"What?"
"The cat."
"Oh. Maybe Ellthr'k? Ellthr'k the Younger. Perhaps I am being overly sentimental. I am sorry."
"I think it's wonderful."
For the first time, I see Gh'ogonoth smile. Ellthr'k the Younger meows and purrs and outside the sun shines and I wonder if it shines on my parents as well. | "Hold up a second." I started, looking at the Eldritch being in human... Ish, form before me. "You aren't gonna... Pull some kinda hentai tentacle shit and drag me into an abyss or?"
"What? No!" The being replied, disgust in their voice. "Firstly, that's offensive, second, I don't have tentacles, third, my realm is not an abyss. It's more like a pocket dimension with my own planet where my followers show up when they die and I kinda watch over them. They live mostly like on earth, just no death. Pain, yes and they'll heal from whatever but no death."
"Okay. But... You're an Eldritch God? Aren't you all known for being... Like, batshit evil or something?"
"It's days like this where I wish Cathulu left Lovecraft alone..." They groaned, pinching the bridge of their... Nose, and sighing. "Firstly, yes, some of us are like that. A very small few, like, five max. The rest of us either do our own thing, mess with the mortal realms, or make our own out of curiosity or boredom. I personally just like exploring and occasionally granting miracles and such. Mostly I'm a huge nerd for human entertainment. Seriously your species makes more entertaining than we do and we've been alive for literal eternity."
"Okay, well then why do you have followers if you don't seem to care about worship and only wanna binge watch Netflix?"
"Well, I can't come to the mortal realms regularly. I need either a host or conduit to watch and enjoy them for me and the memories and experience flows into me. When they die as part of being of my faith they get copies of all their worldly possessions with them, physical and digital, and I make copies of that for myself."
"So in other words you're basically the god of weebs, movie buffs, binge watchers and gamers?"
"And Introverts. Like, eighty percent of each realities introvert population follows me."
"That oddly raises so many more questions yet also answers a lot... So, I'm just good to take this card and live?"
"Yes."
"And what about when I die?"
"Well, you will admittably be sent to my pocket dimension..."
"So, either way I'm stuck with you..."
"I know..."
"Before I wrap this up, what did my parents sell me to you for?"
"Oh, some book on necromancy. Crazy cultist undead resurrection shit. Jokes on them, the book I gave them uses magic can't exist in your realm."
"Ha! Serves those assholes right!" I cheered. "Now, you said you need a conduit or host to be on the mortal realms?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Well, I'm stuck with you regardless and it seems you actually are kind of a nice guy so, how's about we date? You can share my body with me and using this card we can... Watch movies and such?"
"You mean... You'd let me inhabit your body-"
"Half. I still want some control over it. I have a feeling you'll be like a puppy on a leash trying to run around everywhere."
"... Fair point. So you'll let me share your body with you to experience mortal media and culture... Personally, and... Date me?"
"Well, yeah, sounds like fun and frankly at least with you around I won't be totally alone and frankly, a card with unlimited spending, I'd probably not use it save nessesarry stuff. So, this could be fun."
"Wow, um, alright! Cool. Oh, and I'm #$@&$€¢¢¢£ but you can call me Keven."
"Well... Keven. I'm Amy." | 2022-08-09T15:59:23 | 2022-08-09T15:50:03 | 580 | 331 |
[WP] For as long as you can remember, there has been a slow and eerie tune in your head that you cannot help but hum. You've searched your whole life to figure out what it is. Even your parents don't know. One day, you learn the horrifying truth of what the song really is and how you know it. | I mulled over my newly discovered information over a cup of coffee at my local cafe.
Well, it wasn't solid information. It was a dream I had the night before that was definitely worth looking into.
Let me explain. My name is Emily, and for as long as I can remember I have been dreaming (and find myself humming in real life) this particular tune that is both lullaby-like and haunting. Full of minor chords and mystery. It didn't seem like such a big deal until I realized I was in my early 20s and *still singing it.*
Last night, I had the strangest dream to date. I saw a bedroom, like a nursery, but everything was blurry. There seems to be a baby in a crib... and a tall womanly figure hovering over it.
She's humming. And it's the same tune I have memorized for all these years.
Nothing crazy, right? Dreams can't be trusted. However... lately I have been suspecting several attempts on my life. Last week the elevator I was in, at work, plummeted three stories, narrowly missing crashing to the ground floor. The other day I was walking on the sidewalk when a cement block fell from overhead just ten feet from where I had been walking.
I have been getting these strange phone calls from a private number that always results in the same thing: silence, some breathing, *click.* They hang up.
Someone is stalking me.
Even now, I feel woozy. I'm not sure why. This whole month has been weird and--
Someone taps my shoulder.
It is a woman, maybe in her early 30s, that I've never seen before. I kind of just stare at her, confused.
She speaks first. "I wouldn't drink that."
"I'm sorry?"
She looks around, vigilant. "The coffee. It isn't safe. You're not safe. I know this is out of the blue, but I had to say something. Can we talk, please?"
The shock fades and I come to my senses. "I'm sorry, I don't know you," I stammer. Still woozy.
I grab my things and plan to hightail it out of there, leaving the coffee behind.
Except when I try to stand, my shoulder crashes into the brick wall, my sense of balance out of whack. Something's wrong. I don't feel right.
"I can explain what is happening. Please. Can we talk?"
I try to respond, but no sound comes out though I feel my lips moving. My vision goes blurry... the cafe is fading...
Then it all goes to black.
\---
I wake up in a familiar room. My eyes blink open. I'm disoriented.
I'm in my living room. My parents are making breakfast.
"Morning, sleepyhead." My mom greets me, smiling.
"Looks like someone crashed on the couch again," quips my dad.
I sit up, as my mind recites a very recent memory. The woman in the cafe. Is she real? Did all of this happen?
I look over at the clock on the oven: 11:04 AM.
"What day is it?" I ask, probably sounding crazy.
My dad chuckles. "Tuesday, all day." He's chock full of dad jokes.
But that can't be right. At the cafe, I distinctly remember it being 2 PM.
"Did I go anywhere today?" I ask, my mind hazy.
"No, honey, you just woke up."
None of this makes sense. I have to ask. "Mom... I had this strange dream recently of a bedroom, like a nursery. A baby's room, and a crib. There was a woman there, maybe the baby's mom... and everything was blurry. Do you think it means anything? I know, dreams can be random, but this one is sticking with me. The woman was humming the same tune I've been hearing for years." It all came out at once, like word vomit. I was half asleep and probably not making any sense. I always told my mom about my significant dreams, including the ones about the song I always hear. I was expecting her to shrug this one off as nonsensical, but instead she traded concerned glances with my dad, then looked at me.
"This might be a bit of a stretch, but... your dream might not be random," said my mom, suddenly looking uneasy.
"Honey..." my dad seemed to warn.
"I think it's time to tell her," my mom reasoned. He hesitated, but seemed to agree.
"Tell me what?" I asked, wary. Were they hiding something?
"Emily, baby..." my mom sat down beside me. "We are not... your biological parents."
I stared at her in complete shock, not able to speak as her words sunk in.
**TO BE CONTINUED**
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | My toes and fingers were long lost to frostbite. My arms had melted from volcanic sludge. My legs were nothing more than stubs after an encounter with a broken elevator. One of my eyes was missing and the other was misplaced. I had searched from the dry Jungles of Saudia Arabia to the wind swept fields of Beijing. But through it all, my resolve still stayed strong. I was determined, no . . ., MEGA-determined to find the source of that hum. The source of the perpetuate song that had haunted my dreams for decades. I knew deep down in my heart that once I determined it's source, everything else would fall into place.
My journey left me beside a quaint retirement home just outside of North Southern Whales. Inside that cozy home was my grandmother. A grandmother who had apparently raised me for the first few years of my life. A grandmama who I had never met but knew would probably smell like prune juice and forgotten joys. I took a deep breath, and began shouting for help to get my wheel chair up the couple of stairs leading up the home. Sort of ironic how a home full of disabled had no ramp.
After some mild dragging, I was in room 304, just off the left, rightmost wing of the home. A frail old sack of mush sat in front of me. Without hesitation I began to hum the tune.
A bright light filled her old eyes and in slow, rhythmic fashion, she began placing the words to my long lost lyrics.
"There was an old farmer who lived on a rock,
He sat in the meadow shaking his,
Fist at some boys who where down by the crick,
Their feet in the water their hands on their,
Marbles and their play things. . . "
&#x200B;
"Woah hold the fuck on" I stammered. "Is this a joke to you?"
She laughed. "Funny song ain't it. I used to sing it to you all the time as a baby." She looked down at her feet "I was bored as fuck. No regrets." | 2019-03-16T14:18:19 | 2019-03-16T11:57:42 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says "Um...can you help me with my homework?" | As I walked into the house, I made a beeline straight for the bed. It's the first place I go after every bad day at school.
"Ugh," I groaned. "Why is calculus so damn hard? I can't believe I ever struggled with something like arithmetic."
As I closed my eyes, I tried to think about anything other than the test I had the next day. I would study later, but for now I could use a nap.
Right as I started drifting off to sleep,my body jerked, as if I was falling. Not a big deal, it happens to everyone. I knew I was safe in my bed, comforted by the familiar smells of soot and brimstone. The screams are new though.
Wait a second...
As I opened my eyes, I was not greeted by the leaky ceiling of my bedroom. Instead, a pair of narrow, bright yellow eyes locked with mine.
"Huh," I murmured, still groggy. "This is new."
The yellow eyes grew wider as I spoke. I noticed that the eyes were attached to a face of a deep red hue, with a toothy grin stretched across it.
"Hey, you're alive!"
The face spoke in a light tone, like that of a child. As I sat up, I noticed that the face was attached to a body of the same red color. It was wearing a faded t-shirt with what looked like a band name on it. Hotplay, I think? I wasn't really paying that much attention to the details.
"Where the hell am I?" I asked cautiously.
"Yep! The embodied face replied excitedly.
"What?"
"Hell!"
"What the hell do you mean?"
"Well, there's only one Hell..."
"Wait, what about Hell?"
"Well, what do you want to know about it?"
"I want to know where the hell I am!"
"Hell!"
The creature (still with a face an a body, and now seemingly a tail) seemed a bit impatient as I finally connected the dots.
"Wait... ", I questioned. "I'm in Hell? Like... THE Hell?"
"Like I said," spat the little demon quickly. "There's only one Hell. And never mind that, are you going to help me with my homework or not?"
He waved a crumpled sheet of paper in front of me expectedly.
"Um, what are you talking about?", I asked.
The demon boy rolled his glowing eyes before responding.
"Greg told me that if I drew these symbols on the ground and chanted a bunch, I could summon a human to help me with my homework! Is this your first time or something?"
"Uhh, you could say that."
"Dang, I must have got something wrong. Oh well, you have to help me anyway or I won't let you go back. I have a big test tomorrow!"
"Sorry kid, but I'm not exactly great at the whole school thing. And I don't think I've ever taken a class at demon school anyway. What subject is it, Advanced Torture 101 or something?"
The boy handed me the paper, and as I uncrumpled it I noticed some symbols and runes written on the paper. I started to explain that I couldn't read whatever demonic language it was written in, but I caught myself when I realized that these symbols were familiar.
"Huh. Arithmetic." I chuckled. "What does a demon need with arithmetic?"
"Well," the demon boy responded, "figuring out who goes to hell is a complicated process. It takes a lot of math."
"You know what kid?" I said, a smirk crawling across my face. "I think I can help you."
...
I spent what felt like a few hours explaining some of the arithmetic tricks I had picked up along the way. I taught him how to use the rule of nines, and all the other shortcuts. Eventually, the boy's confused face had turned to one of understanding.
"Wow!" he exclaimed, "Thanks Mister Human! I'm totally going to ace this test!"
"Well, that makes one of us. I'm totally going to bomb my Calculus test tomorrow."
The boy's demonic eyes lit up when I said this, as if a light bulb had gone off inside his head.
"Yikes," the boy said. "My Dad is super good at calculus, but I think it looks super hard"
"Anyways," he interjected, "Thanks for the help! Just step right back into the circle and you should make it back to your home."
I walked to the circle of symbols scrawled on the ground, shaking my head with disbelief at the whole experience. Hell wasn't so bad after all.
As I closed my eyes, I felt a rush of air as I returned to my bed, lying down comfortably again. I thought to myself that it might have just been a dream, and I was about to wake up. Who knows?
As I opened my eyes again, I was, once again not looking at my ceiling. Instead, a pair of narrow, bright yellow eyes locked with mine.
"Hi there!" A deep, resounding voice said. "My son said you needed some help with calculus?" | I quickly slapped the little boy’s claw away from me. I may be in hell, but that’s probably because I never did my homework.
The bottom eyelids of the horned child began to brim with blood.
“You seriously about to cry?” I asked, annoyed.
The boy’s bottom lip trembled as he composed himself enough to speak. “I’m telling my dad on you!”
A laugh escaped my lips. “You go right on ahead and do that. I ain’t scared of no homework totin’ snot nose kid’s dad.” I really wasn’t. I was something of a tough guy. I was the kind of guy to play poker blindfolded. I didn’t care nothin’ fer no winnin’ er losin’. I just liked the sound of cards being shuffled in a room full of old women.
In a puff of black smoke, the little boy disappeared from me. With him gone, I was free to take in my new surroundings. Fire and brimstone as far as the eye could see, just like the good book said.
“Hey,” a tremendous voice boomed from behind me. “You the ladyboy who slapped my son’s hand?”
I turned around slowly for effect. “Who the fuck do you think you’re calling a ladyb-“ I cut myself short as I noticed the hulking monster now looming before me. A black skinned thing, half man, half demon horse, bull, snake, all sorts of crazy shit. Looked like something out of a fever dream in a haunted house.
The beastly thing was holding the small child’s hand delicately, it was an odd looking spectacle to be honest. The little boy, apart from the horns, looked far too human to belong to this beast.
“Well,” the creature said in an impatient tone. “Apologize to my son.”
I was taken aback. Judging from the stature of this creature there was no need to *ask* me anything. It could have easily pinned me under its hoof until I said the magic words. I was thankful that for whatever reason the creature didn’t realize this itself.
“I’m sorry,” I said, as sincerely as an insincere man like I could.
“Did that please you, child?” The beast asked, looking affectionately down toward the child.
“Yep,” sang the boy merrily. “He looks so scared, it’s hilarious. Thanks, Satan.”
That was the first of many meetings I would come to have with the infamous lord of Hell. | 2019-09-17T15:46:24 | 2019-09-17T13:32:05 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Ever since you received your letter for Hogwarts you've been curious about all the different spells there are. You've just bought your first wand and the first spell you try is what you believe to be rather humorous. "AbraCadabra". Nobody told you this spell was banned. For obvious reasons. | I sat in the back room of the leaky cauldron having a minor panic attack. It was only one spell, performed in a muggle-free area, surely it couldn't have been that bad. *Abracadabra*. The word almost slipped out again as I thought it. The trouble had started across the street in Bonny and Hetts, Bonnets and Hats. Rabbits of every size and colour bounding out of all the hats on display, leaving the hat for a just second before the next rabbit made its way through. The customers from Lucky Lucine's Casino let out an outraged roar as all of their playing cards suddenly started swapping and changing in place. Skinny Olivander, who I had only bought my wand from hours before, came charging out behind a row of wands that had grown fat and had white tips, each spraying flowers and sparks as they bounced away from their frustrated maker.
I nipped back into the leaky cauldron and heard the sad moping of the barman, all his beer had suddenly turned to vinegar. The door to the back room was left ajar and I slipped into it, only wishing to be alone. Surely they'd trace it back to me? Surely I'd be expelled from Hogwarts before my first day. I was hopeless. A soft voice spoke out from the dim room. "*It's ok laddy*", the feminine Irish accent called out, "*I can make all the trouble go away*". I looked up in shock, a slender young red headed girl sat up on a stack of boxes, one smooth long leg thrown up over the other. "*You're a wizard*" I asked uncertainly. She giggled and dropped down to my feet, "*No, but I have power, you just gotta do what I say*".
Wanting the whole scary situation to be over, I complied. I felt powerless to her, so knowledgable and secure in her convictions. I cut my palm like she had asked, drawing the strange star across the rough floorboards. I stood inside it, chanting the strange words she had given me. They were heavy on my tongue, the muscles in my mouth tired after speaking them. I looked up at her, wondering if I had said them right, but she was not her anymore. Her body twisted and turned. The feminine cheek bones now horned spikes in a blood red skin. The sensual legs now muscled machines, covered in poison tipped barbs. The demon smiled, rotten shards of flesh stick clinging to its jet-black teeth. "*Thankyou*" he whispered, its body turning to smoke, the smoke moving first towards, then into my chest.
I felt her. Him? It. I felt it, attached to my soul like a parasite. A deep shame burned my mind, what I had I done. "*Now to complete my promise*" its voice whispered into my ears almost seductively. I felt my wand hand lift if it's own accord. My mouth mumbling words that I did not know. I watched as my wand spewed out a soft ghostly apparition, the history of that spell. It flew through the wall and I forced my body to go to the door to watch. Unseen to any other, it attached itself to the wand of the bar keeper. I stood, confused. The doors opened all at once, two large wizards standing in each doorway. The fireplace suddenly burning black. One of the wizards lifted his wand aloft and it pointed itself directly at the the bar keeper. I couldn't watch, I slipped back into back room and hid once again. | It turns out that the etymology of the word "cadabra" can be traced back to the word cadaver. This is information I wish I knew before I decided to try out the spell several times while sitting on the toilet in a stall of the Howarts Boy's Room. In my ignorance, I fired off the spell multiple times after I saw no immediate results the first time around. After I finished my business and left the stall, I noticed, like, 6 conjured-up dead bodies on the floor! I'm silly like that. Now I know that the Abra Cadabra spell is just about the exact polar opposite of a casual and humorous spell. | 2016-12-02T01:14:15 | 2016-12-01T22:42:11 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] MacMiller's Pub, a place where superheroes and super villains alike can sit for a drink, so long as they leave their feuds at the door. | At the sound of MacMiller clearing his throat, the hubbub in the cozy pub died faster than a civilian at the hands of Dr. VonDoomenstein during a drunken bender. Even the doctor himself, currently on a drunken bender, suddenly straightened up and felt almost sober, possibly saving a few lives.
The existence of this pub was the worst kept secret amongst superpowered beings in the solar system. The fact that mere mortals just couldn’t physically attend made it a reprieve for the heroes from their daily slog, and a place for the villains to meet and do business without worrying about whether the other guy was secretly planning to rip their face off and eat it, which, to be fair – they probably were in some cases. But not here. Oh no. MacMiller’s pub was the one place in the world where there was no conflict. None.
Nobody would dare.
And thus there they were, all frozen in place, as the old man limped out from the old bar, the crowd of superbeings parting before him with awkward shuffling of feet. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of MacMiller. Oh no, that way lay madness. That way lay death. Or worse, having your picture put on the little corkboard behind the bar, the one with the ominous heading – “Banned for life”.
As the crowd had parted enough his target became obvious, and aware of his attention. Lyra she was called, not that anyone had an easy time remembering that over the lacking skin coverage her outfit provided, as was par for the course for beginning female heroes. The girls eyes went huge as the old man limped closer, and her bottom lip trembled. Somehow she found herself looking up at the man towering before her, despite him being barely taller than she was seated.
“Give it,” he said gruffly, his accent that of inscrutable ancient pub keepers all over the universe. Everyone leaned in, suddenly noticing the tiny barely visible earbud that Lyra had neglected to leave at home, the connection to the dispatcher of whatever organization she had managed to get accepted by. It was one of the most basic rules of the place, after all: leave work at the door. You can socialize, you can even negotiate deals, but you can’t in any way mix the two worlds. MacMiller’s pub started where the real world ended, and vice versa. No connections allowed.
“Bu…” she started with trembling lips, the entire pub gasped as one, and the people nearest the two scrambled backwards almost trampling over each other to a chorus of apologies even from the worst of the worst. Nobody wanted to be close enough to be caught in the blast if she finished expressing that sentiment, nor did anyone want to accidentally leave a slight without apology in here. A fight would condemn them all. Nervous glances to the two pictures on the board of the banned clued the girl in just in time.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, and hurried to hand over the earpiece. The old man took it between wrinkled fingers and removed it from existence. He glared at Lyra for an uncomfortable eternity and then gave a single curt nod before returning to his post behind the bar.
The din of the pub slowly rose again, if at a more somber note, and a few more shots than usual of the hard stuff was drunk that night. MacMiller… Nobody knew who he was, but everybody called him by his name… and that was more than could be said for those that had crossed him.
| We thought the bar was a good idea, all that happened was that it turned into an ambush location.
The rules state that feuds have to be left outside.
That didn't stop Lex Luthor getting tackled a metre from the door and beaten to a pulp.
The heroes even have a new entrance they like to do.
Throw the rival through the window then enter
They can't fight back because they are inside now.
I wish that I could alter the rules to stop it. But they are magically enforced, so I compensated with multiple first aid kits and putting the softest lounge I could behind the window to catch the patrons.
Hasn't been too bad though.
They drink a lot and it more than covers the cost of the Windows. | 2017-02-04T00:39:36 | 2017-02-03T19:46:50 | 116 | 11 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour. | "So you're not just really into cosplay?"
The demon in front of him shakes his head, and Peter is just a tad annoyed that he has to tilt his head back to see their head. Five minutes ago his roommate had been a willowy 5'8" olive-skinned man with beautiful green eyes and a dashing smile. Now he was an eight foot broad-shouldered beast, skin a deep, burnished crimson, eyes completely black, large horns emerging from his forehead and sweeping back over his skull, decorated with enough gem-encrusted gold rings and chains to pay their rent a dozen times over. Despite his new height, the man was folded in on himself, clawed fingers nervously fiddling before his chest, and anxiety radiated from his every move.
"Well that explains why I could never find your costume." Peter muttered, glancing down at the other man's legs. Red crocs with those silly little charms had been replaced with goat-like legs, black hooves digging into the carpet. He trailed his eyes back up, taking in the loose black breeches and flowing white poet shirt, the jewelry adorning wrists and neck, the long tail lashing behind him, almost upending the coffee table. Wings - large, leathery things, batlike and with hooked claws at the peak - are drawn to his back, like the ma - the demon thinks he can hide them.
"'m sorry," Felix muttered, voice deeper and with an odd, gravely undertone he hadn't had before. He doesn't meet Peter's eyes, focusing on the rug instead. "I wasn't trying to like, trick you or lie, it's just…" One clawed hand goes to run through his hair - still the same curly mop of black that his human form had - and nearly knocks off the intricate circlet that's resting over his brow. He sucks in a deep breath through sparkling white fangs and says in a rush, "My parents are coming and they think I have a fiancé."
Peter blinks as the situation shifts from Exorcist to Hallmark Special.
"They called this morning and said they were coming, and that they wanted to meet this human I was always talking about, and they called him my fiancé and I panicked and just went 'yeah sure he is okay see you soon' and then I got distracted panic cleaning -" Well that part is certainly true, the apartment hasn't been this spotless in months. "-and then I realized I don't, y'know, have a fiancé and they're going to be so mad when they find out I lied because that's Python's domain, not mine, and she can be really territorial…"
He keeps rambling, and Peter finds himself half listening, focused more on the demon's body language than anything else. Felix has started gesticulating, waving his arms around as he rants about someone named Python who apparently has snakes for hair, and his tail is lashing more anxiously now, sweeping the carefully arranged magazines off the coffee table and scattering them over the rug. Still talking, Felix lets a few swears slip and then he's turning, bending over and gathering up the fallen National Geographics and Bird Watcher's Monthly, juggling them as he continues to ramble about how he'd gone on a date with Python once and that's how he'd figured out he was gay. As he sets about organizing them on the coffee table, he mentions how grateful he was that his parents were cool with it - Hell was very for LGBTQIA+ equality apparently - and his claws, wicked black-tipped talons that could probably turn the magazines into confetti with barely a thought, carefully tweak the magazines so they're fanned out just right.
It's such a Felix move that Peter can't help the grin crossing his face. He fights down the temptation to shift one of the magazines out of order when Felix turns away and sees how long it takes him to notice. Now doesn't seem like the time for their normal hijinks and pranks.
"So your parents are coming." He interrupts, one arm across his chest, the other covering his mouth as he thinks. "We got an ETA?"
"Like, an hour, maybe?" Felix glances at the black cat clock hung on the wall (a Christmas present from Peter, who had then made the man watch the ridiculous Felix the Cat movie while eating popcorn and sipping hot chocolate, praising the man's parents for their name choice. Felix had taken the ribbing with good spirit, and later that week had forced Peter to sit through the two new Peter the Rabbit movies with him. They weren't bad.). "Oh jeeze, no, they said they'd be here at three, we've got - we've got fifteen minutes." He begins chewing on one of his claws, brows pulling low over his eyes. "Oh - oh shit, okay, the apartment's clean, I've got to figure out dinner, and - and - are you sure you're okay with this?" He glances at Peter from the corner of his eyes. "I know you didn't like, sign up for this," he motions to himself, to his burnished ruby skin and tail and wings and everything that makes him a demonic entity, something that should be feared and repulsive to a living human. "And - oh shit, you go to church every Sunday."
(1/2) | Sarah was waiting at the door for me. That was never a good sign. I immediately went on the defensive. "Ok look, I know we agreed to separate soft plastics from general rubbish but frankly I'm fucked if I can tell the difference between what can and can't be tossed into..."
"It's totally not that" she began crying and rushed into me. I stood there for a few seconds trying to work out what was going on. "Just hug me you prick!" she exclaimed. I reluctantly put my arms around her. I had never been this close to her in the two years we were roommates. She smelt kinda like apple cinnamon with a touch of sulfur. She sobbed into me for a few minutes. I was slightly horrified. I quite liked that we never were close. I could just do my job, eat my food, and play my games, then go to bed, she had never done anything to disrupt that cycle and frankly that was the way I liked it.
She was pulling me into her and crying more than before. "I'm not good with... humans" I said carefully. "Neither am I" she muttered into me. It was a few more seconds of sobbing before she finally cut to the chase. "My parents are coming over" that's totally ok I can use my switch to play unrailed later tonight with the boys. "I don't think you understand" she sobbed more and pulled me into her tighter so I almost couldn't breathe.
"Look" I ventured slowly "I would have appreciated the heads up at Thursday house meeting but I can understand plans can change. I'm happy to be flexible and play my games in my room if that helps but I think that its fair that you get dinner tonight and clean up if you are having guests" She stopped sobbing and laughed into my shoulder.
"Oh my sweet sweet boy" I'm two whole years older than her... how condescending do you have to be..."My parents are a bit different from what you are used too".
"Oh yeah how so?" I stammered trying to work out how I could escape her boa constrictor like grasp.
"Well they are the lords of the underworld...and I told them we are engaged..." She said suddenly.
"This isn't a healthy situation to drag another person into. I'm sorry that you felt like you had to lie to your parents but I won't be lying on your behalf. That isn't a healthy thing to do" I said as I broke free and walked away. I really hope she makes better choices and doesn't drag others into her drama in the future. That night the boys and I got 50km in unrailed and we had hella fun. | 2022-10-09T03:37:58 | 2022-10-09T01:47:43 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Through a freak clerical error, the Muppets of Sesame Street are drafted into the Vietnam War. | Kermit was back. In the jungle. In the dark.
He had tried, desperately, to keep the memories, the thoughts, the visions at bay. He had lasted Two decades without smelling the burning flesh, the sweet decay, the iron scent of the dirt. Two decades without the visions of hanging corpses or smoke from the villages. Two decades without hearing the pounding steps of his pursuers or the dripping water in his cell or the screams of that poor marine they had hooked up to the battery. Two decades... Had it really been that long?
He had survived, mostly intact. In the hospital he decided to consciously avoid anything that would remind him of the mission. He hadn't been back to the swamp since his homecoming, lest the crickets trigger some locked up memory and make him assault one of his siblings.
No, He stayed in the New York, living with Piggy until the bourbon drove her away, doing a little local work on the radios. That kept the money rolling in, at least for a time. Eventually, he called up Gonzo's contact in L.A. and managed to get himself a spot presenting on variety and game shows. It was perfect, especially for a washed-up, antisocial, alcoholic performer like himself.
Two decades before the damned little yellow kid turned up on the set and had to make that goddamned joke about helicopters. Like that, he was back in the jungle, green legs caked in mud, crouching behind the log, hoping charlie didn't find him before he could radio in that the mission had failed and extraction was necessary.
The mission. He had volunteered for it, oddly enough. If he still had the sense of humor from before the war, he might have considered it funny. He might have quipped it to his friends instead of sobbing to the VA counselor. Yes, Kermit volunteered for the mission, along with the rest of the squad, not because they desired the challenge but because they wanted to save their friend.
Big Bird never wanted to fight, he tried to file as conscientious objector and got laughed at back into basic. Bird managed to weasel his way into pilot training on the Hueys, got his wings and Snuff as his crew chief, and left all the boys from New York behind so they could go and be G.I.s. Of course, You never realize how vulnerable you are in one of them Whirlybirds and it wasn't long before Kermit heard that Bird had gone down west of outpost X-Ray and needed to be pulled out.
By this point, Kermit and Sesame Squad had made something of a name for themselves as young, capable troopers with chips on their shoulders and death-wishes. They were escorted as far as was safe by the air cavalry guys and left to begin their trek up the river, following the smoke and wreckage to the crash site.
They were 60 yards from the downed fuselage when Beaker tripped the mine and unleashed hell.
Beaker, poor kid was smart but so damned clumsy. He died before they even got to the clearing. Rizzo, that rat bastard who cheated at cards, was dragging Beaker back when Charlie popped him in the throat. Kermit and Gonzo had dragged him back behind cover but instantly knew it was too late. Animal was next, he couldn't hear the grenade land at his feet because he was too busy screaming over the percussion of his M60.
Kermit, Chef, Cookie, Fozz, Gonzo, Eagle and Scooter all managed to make it to the crash site. Bird had managed to crawl about a thirty feet from the cockpit while Snuff was dead, slumped over the starboard .50 cal. Fozz dashed over to Bird, checking for a pulse, grabbing his gauze and morphine. Kermit could still see the look of terror on his face right before a bullet exploded the morphine bag and Fozz's lung in one go. Scooter was covering the squad as they tried to escape south back to safe territory. Kermit last saw him, knife in hand, hacking at all the VC surrounding him. It always bothered Kermit as he never knew if scooter was blinded then by his loss of glasses or the blood in his enraged eyes.
Cookie was the last to die that night, he was too heavy to follow the rest of the squad through the tangled bush and elephant grass, and even if he was at the same level of fitness as the other squadmates, he could never outrun the hail of 7.62mm bullets that caught him in the back. That night, the squad had split up and all gone in separate directions to elude the chasers.
They were soon reunited at the POW camp days later. Chef never made it inside, he slipped the small paper with his famous meatball recipe to Gonzo and sang the Swedish National anthem at the top of his lungs to the furious guards. He was on the last stanza when the guard put a bullet right between his beady eyes. Sam Eagle, the patriot, didn't last long either. Gonzo and Kermit could hear his shouting down the hall from the interrogation room. When Sam got bored telling his name, rank, serial number, he started reciting the Declaration, then the Constitution, then random lectures of the value of American Culture and superiority. The head guard silenced him eventually, much to the anger of all the captives.
Gonzo And Kermit lasted as long as they could despite the torture. Gonzo seemed to know when his time was coming, and the night before he died, he produced a small blunt he had hidden away from the guards, toked up and gave stories about all his films and exploits. When he was finally gone, Kermit tuned out the world and was never quite sure how he managed to survive until his eventual release.
Well, that was twenty years ago. Now he was back in America onstage, in full costume but still in the jungle. He covered the terror in his eyes with his calm, vacant expression and the fear in his voice with his typical exaggerated stage dialect. He let the lights hanging above the stage illuminate the darkness and, as he started his lines, looked forward to the bottle of champagne the producers had backstage to celebrate. Champagne to celebrate the Show's 20th successful year.
So yeah, first ever submission, I don't really want critiques. | I think it rained for four straight months. We always laughed at each others' matted fur. That was during the quiet times. Usually, we'd just be marching.
We had three miles of holes to clear. That was Pvt. Grover's specialty. We used to call him Super Grover because of the speed and proficiency with which he'd clear those suckers out. "Super Grover! To the left!" Lieutenant Gordon would call out, and that blue son of a bitch would dive right in, handgun and flashlight at the ready. Usually, we didn't find much, but occasionally we'd stumble on some live ones, an active bunker in the intricate network of underground tunnels the VC had built. The simultaneous joy and horror of finding one, and knowing we had to blow it wide open. I think Grover had forced himself never to remember the job he had just done. He just kept moving.
When we came across the village, PFC Big Bird went down, quickly. We all saw the yellow feathers fly as he was winged. He seemed okay though, in pain, on the ground. "God damnit." He just kept saying that over and over. Over and over. I don't know if he was cursing the pain, or the fact that we had all blindly walked into what could be our last firefight. Pvt. Oscar popped up and down, firing sporadically into the opposing forces, covering for Elmo who was tending to Bird. It didn't take long before Oscar's green head was splattered over his neighbors. Even Elmo couldn't fix that shit.
The Count, some eccentric Jewish fella from Brooklyn, looked through his binoculars from behind a dirt wall. "One, two, three, four. Four machine guns!" He laughed maniacally, his weird method of dealing with the chaos. Seemed like there were at least a dozen turrets firing in our direction. Bodies started to tumble around me but it didn't sink in. I blindly fired my M16 over the dirt wall, afraid to poke my head up.
Bert mounted the .50 cal and began returning fire, while Ernie operated the radio for backup. Those two were always together, it only made sense that they'd be side by side now in what could be their final moments. I'm happy to say it wasn't. For them.
Bert was a real mean fucker on that gun, and as backup arrived, slowly but surely the firing slowed from the opposite side. It wasn't over yet, just slower. I couldn't take anymore. I didn't care if I lived or died, but I wasn't going down slouched over in some hole. I fumbled around in my gear, looking for something. Something small that would get me through what I was about to do.
Me, I got my nickname at boot camp. The guys would always notice me fumbling around my gear for that same old something. I grabbed what I was looking for, slid down the wall to my left, and jumped up the embankment, M16 in hand. I ran towards the next closest cover as fast as I could, firing into the jungle at everything I could see. I felt invincible as bullets whizzed by me, never connecting. The small item I had taken from my gear was held in my mouth, the chocolate chips melting into the breaded crust. As I ran like a monster to establish my spot in history, I let out the only battle cry I knew.
"C IS FOR COOKIE!" | 2015-02-17T12:09:52 | 2015-02-17T10:18:53 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name. | One second, I was remembering the life I lived before this, that of a humble apothecary. I remembered the smell of the herbs, the feel of the spoon in my hand as I mixed the medicines together. Then, as I realized that I was mixing the two foul liquids that defined my life today, it all stopped.
Someone was shaking me, nearly throttling me. As my eyes opened, I recognized the face, one of the mayor's aides. He was flanked by two guardsmen, and all three wore faces of death. The aide spoke only three words: "Come with me."
He allowed me to gather my tools and my red collar shirt, then dragged me out of my shack-like house. It was raining, but we walked underneath the wooden overhung shingles of the houses, beneath the dim lanterns hung from the walls. Soon, the sight of the mayor's home came into view, and he hurried me along towards it.
Every single one of them was slashed open like pigs. Tommy, Ellie, the poor Rottweiler they had, and even the maids. They bled across the carpets and hardwood, their chests and stomachs all stained red. And I doubt my presence provided any comfort to them. They knew what I meant.
"Who was it?" I asked as impassively as I could. The aide replied, "One of the guards. He's sitting in the prison now. I don't get it, he was so loyal. But as the Buckleys were eating at dinnertime, he just took his sword, and..."
I hushed him up and gave him a bottle of the first mixture and guidance on how to use it. As he and the guards went to work, I walked up the stairs. Outside the mayor's room awaited Mrs. Buckley, quietly sobbing into a handkerchief. She gently pushed open the door for me, and I walked inside.
Death is nothing new to me. I've experienced it many times. But this was not death. It was a slaughter.
He hung from the chandelier, each of his limbs bent and strung up onto a blazing candle. Hanging from his chest was the bastard sword, stuck in what I assumed was likely a rib. Much of his stomach and pelvis was flayed, the skin peeled and tied onto his mutilated personal organ.
The blood ran down from his body along it, then dripped off into a silver goblet beneath him. It smelled of piss.
His eyes weakly followed me as I walked about, observing the scene. I wasn't an inspector, but it was still curious. So much carnage in the center of the room, yet nothing else was touched. The desk was the same as when I'd seen him a few days ago, his bed messy but not bloodstained, and the man's clothes in a neat pile on the floor. The guard had thought about this for some time.
Then I turned back to him. Though he was half dead, he still seemed to understand why I was here. When I pulled out my healing concoction, he nodded as strongly as he could. It took some time, and I understood that I'd need new gloves. But soon, the deed was done. When I left the room, I told Mrs. Buckley that the guards could collect and re-clothe the man. He'd be fine, I told her. But we both understood the cost.
The owner of the stables already had a horse prepared for me. I took a stop at my house to retrieve my working clothes, then rode out of town. Along the way, I made sure that my other mixture was prepared. Even in the dim moonlight, it gleamed sanguine red. I pulled out my thin and sharp dagger and dripped the extract across both sides. Soon, it hardened, giving the blade a red accent. I hoped that this would be enough.
When I reached the bottom of the valley, the great city's gates let me pass with no issue. I wondered, as I passed through the market square and the winding streets, who I'd meet tonight. It was always a unique experience.
I left my horse outside the nondescript building at the end of town. Three knocks on the door, and they let me inside. Some gasped as they saw me enter, others smiled and waved at me. One of them, sitting at the barstool, growled and pulled out a knife.
He made a lunging stab at me, but the alcohol made him aim at one of my doubles. The knife ended up landing between the floorboards. As he tried to pull it out for a second round, I pulled out my own blade from its sheath and stabbed it once, twice, then three times into his back. The feeling of life surged through me, then departed as quickly as it had come.
"What was his problem?" I asked the bartender.
He glared at me. "You killed his wife just a few days ago. Threw her in a well, I remember."
"Ah, shame about that. Got a pen?"
He tossed one over, and I caught it in my right hand. Then, facing the whole of the bar, I shouted, "Who needs someone killed tonight?" Raucous cheers and laughs rose, followed by a whole crowd swarming towards me. I wrote down their requests on a few table napkins, then pushed through them towards the exit.
The moment I stepped outside, I noticed two things: the sword at my neck and my horse's corpse on the street. Three armed guards stood before me, two standard ones and the one whose blade was at my neck. I looked her over, her shining silver armor, her young face flanked by rose-colored hair, and her blade that was too dull to even cut butter. But I figured that I'd humor her.
"This is it for you, you bastard!" she spat. "You can't hide behind that mask anymore! 'Doctor' my ass; you're a butcher, that's what you are!"
"It's possible for one to be both."
"Shut it!" She shoved my head against the door. "Either you come with me and get hanged at daybreak, or I cut your head off and deliver it to the King personally! And then, your entire damn town will-"
I cut her off there with a knife to her throat. The rest just came out as gargles. Then, I went on to the others, dodging their clumsy strikes and killing them when they tried to run. I stabbed their bleeding corpses until no more energy came out, then hid them in an alleyway.
Once that business was done, I checked my list. Captain Anne of the Royal Guard, the one that everyone inside had wanted dead, was now busy decomposing. That saved me the trouble of finding her.
I mumbled to myself, "Four people fully drained would be about one person... So, hopefully, one of the kids and the dog are back on their feet."
That still meant there were six people to heal, though, not even taking into account what had happened to Mr. Buckley. The good news was that there were still six-dozen names on my napkins. The bad news was that meant I had a hell of a night ahead of me.
| The villagers armed themselves when they heard she was coming. The demon. The reason half the villagers had festering wounds or illnesses they couldn't shake off. The neighbouring village didn't believe - their healer was their saviour. She wouldn't do that, they said.
But the villagers knew: she was demonkind.
"What are you doing here?" the village elder, Al, asked. He was trying to block the gate, wielding a cudgel.
The demon stopped. She had waist-length, burning copper hair. She was smiling.
"I've come to help you," she said softly. "You need my help."
"You're the reason we suffer," Al croaked. "We know what happens: every time you help someone *there*, one of us gets sick. Now get out, before I kill you. Or go down trying, at least."
The demon closed her eyes and waved one hand lazily through the air. The villagers cried out as their wounds sealed, their lungs cleared, their heads stopped spinning. Al himself felt his bad leg - which had slowly begun to rot, though he'd successfully kept it hidden - begin to heal.
"I know it's hard to believe, but I have a sister out there - spreading evil and disease, spreading lies about me," she said softly, smiling at Al as she stepped closer. "I've always tried to help you. And today, I want to move in among you. I've healed everyone in the other village. They're immune to my sister now. Can I start helping you?"
Al felt his resolve weaken as his leg grew stronger. She had such a soft, heartfelt smile. Her bright blue eyes were crinkled with kindness. It couldn't hurt to listen to her story, at least.
"There's leftover meat," he grunted, and stepped aside. "But I'm watching you."
The woman stepped forward confidently, towards the tantalising smell of food. The food and comfort was always better when there were people left to heal. The old village had been completely healed, and this one drained. It was time to move on. They would eventually forget to ask her about her sister. They always did, when she began healing them. Gratitude had a way of erasing suspicion.
A woman in the crowd stepped forward and swung a heavy plank against the demon's head. It gave an odd strangled sound and sank to the ground.
"You bloody fools," Al's wife Mary snapped as she gave the demon another smack for good measure. "You started listening to her!"
"Well, what about this sister of hers, eh?" Al demanded, but felt guilty. He'd almost forgotten about the plan.
"I'll believe in her bloody sister when we still get sick when she's dead," Mary grunted, and brought the plank decisively down once more.
A few villagers made movements to stop her - it felt wonderful to be so healthy, all of a sudden. Mary glowered at them as she wielded the bloody plank like a sword. She would end this once and for all, no matter who she brought down in the process.
"Don't you dare interfere," she warned, and turned back towards the half-dead demon.
___
Lisa stiffened as she heard her sister's voice in her head, screaming for help on the other side of the world.
What had she done to get into trouble this time? Eleanor had never fully mastered the art. She simply hurt or made someone sick in exchange for healing another. She could never manage outright killing. It was foolish. Someone was bound to try and get revenge sometime, she'd warned Eleanor a hundred times. But her sister was weak, too squeamish to *really* use her powers. She even tried to heal the people she'd hurt before, by switching between villages. Pathetic.
"Excuse me, my prince," she told the sick man, who was too weak to protest anyway. "I'll return to continue the healing soon."
Lisa left the sick room in a hurry, feeling uneasy. Eleanor might be a lost cause as far as mastering the dark arts went, but she was still her sister. She should at least go make sure she wasn't badly hurt.
She felt a sudden flicker of excitement. Who knew? Perhaps she could even heal the dying prince in the process. She'd just have to kill many people to finish the job.
And by the sound of her twin's screams, quite a few people were begging for a visit.
_______
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-08-13T12:12:49 | 2016-08-13T11:34:41 | 69 | 39 |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | 2020-10-19T08:55:56 | 2020-10-19T07:47:18 | 375 | 15 |
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here. | The problem wasn't that the humans were there. The problem was that their myriad of cultures had developed forth and sent everyone of their champions with them. While, say, The Tarsary, who were known for exemplification in the culinary arts, and a diverse selection of pan flutes, programming, and general dance would send a handful of their best athletes, The humans took on a completely different, and altogether more annoying tactic.
For every single olympic event, they sent at least one person. While Humanity was from a far flung corner of the universe that didn't interact much with others, (not from lack of trying, but simply intergalactic positioning made their trade mostly insular, with their nearest partners being uplifted races of their own creation) it was during the olympics that they put on display everything a human could do.
And it wasn't that humans were even that good at the obscure sport of Carnellis, where people slung deactivated land mines across the surface of pools of lime-water, with the intention of knocking other floating land mines away from the center of the pool, (based, of course, on the legendary toss made by Lord Tynellis, whose brave action during the battle of Trennori saved his father's vessel from being breached by separatists.) nor was it that humans were particularly good at most of the games on display. It was simply sheer force of will. Every human that arrived was in the peak of condition for the sport.
And it wasn't even that they were rude about it either. This is the height of human culture; in the large macroscopic view of the galaxy, they weren't exceptional at almost anything they tried. The galactic standard, in their bizarre way. The Jovi were the masters of culinary craft, but the human chefs would manage at least a bronze almost every time, putting together some bastardized version of the best cuisine in the galaxy, haphazardly assembling things in a manner that pleased even the segmented eyes of the judges, clicking their pedipalps against one another in preparation.
But what was exceptional was that despite never, in the history of their attendance, sweeping the golds, or the platinums, or even the electrium metals, the humans never give up.
So it was that every year the humans arrived, there was only one winner for most total medals earned per species; Humanity. All brass, bronze, copper, and a few other lesser medals, but every year, they beat everyone else out in sheer volume of competition.
Then they throw the best damn parties in the universe. The Olympic authority would like to remind you that the Peace Office will be checking IDs at the door this year, so if you would all please not set the city on fire this time....
And don't take the humans up on their own sports. Satellite Jousting is not as big of a joke as they would have you believe.
Thank you for tuning into Your Astral Olympic Channel. We welcome you to tell us what you think with your tablets about our experimental history segment. And now, for the games!
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more tiny bits like this.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8fmtoo/space_olympics_2_there_will_be_jousting/ okay so someone wanted more of this have some space jousting | Two sarplonians lounging on their hotel balcony witness the arrival of the Teran diplomatic fleet, one says to the other: Y'know Garflak, *That* is why I don't believe in god. Human music isn't that bad, scoffed Garflak. No I mean humans in general, what god would make the most beautiful creatures in the galaxy so damned annoying and disease ridden?...
Any further conversation was pointless as the stomping portion of the chorus had started and the Teran fleet was synchronizing their take-off thrusters with the song. | 2018-04-28T08:32:47 | 2018-04-28T08:29:23 | 5,018 | 47 |
[WP] To prove to your 5 year old brother that you can't do magic, you demonstrate by mumbling some random words and yelling "Fireball!" The only problem is... it works. | "I bet you could do magic, Sean." my little brother said. "You're real smart."
I guess it should have made me feel good, the way Bryan looked up to me...he had so much faith in me. But as I glanced around at the cramped confines of our little room in the trailer where we lived with our mom and whatever "uncle" she'd brought home with her this week, I didn't feel much of anything.
"Not that smart." I muttered. I was ten years older than Bryan, who was 5. We had different dads, of course, but he was just my *brother,* full stop, to me. I hoped I could do well in school, maybe get a good job right out of high school and get us out of here...but it wasn't going like I planned.
"I studied as hard as I could for that math test last week." I sighed. "C-minus. I'm an *idiot,* Bryan."
"No you're not!" he protested, frowning. "Maybe...maybe you're not so good at math but...you're real good with *words.* And that's what magic is, right? Words and stuff."
"Magic's not *real,* Bryan." I retorted.
"It is, though, Sean!" Bryan insisted. "I know it is."
"It's not!" I said, scowling at him. "Look, you're just a little kid. What do you know?"
Bryan's face fell. Great, now I felt like shit.
"I'm sorry..." I said, putting an around him. "I didn't mean to be mean. I just...we have to deal with the real world, you know?"
"I know." he said softly. And then he looked up at me. "But...could you *try?* Just *one time?* Could you use your words, and try to do some magic?"
I looked down at him. I wanted to tell him no. But I couldn't.
I heaved another long sigh. English *was* actually the only subject I was any good at. Mrs. Thompson always complimented me on my poems and essays...yeah, that was the sort of thing that was going to get me a *lot* of work, in the future. Still...it didn't cost me anything, and it would make him happy even when it didn't work -- he always liked to hear the things I wrote.
I thought a moment, arranging the words in my mind into a simple poem, and then I began making broad, mystical gestures in front of myself.
"Okay, stand back, Bryan!" I said, with mock severity. I had to stop myself from grinning as his big green eyes went wide, and he scrambled back behind me.
*"Warming glow that conquers night,
Summer sun that burns so bright,
I summon thee, now hear my call!
Pyro Sphera - FIREBALL!*"
I thrust my hands forward like I'd seen some character do in a video game...and, to my surprise, a golf-ball sized glowing sphere of orange light rolled off the tip of my fingers. Bryan and I watched as time seemed to slow down, and we saw the little orb drift to the wall of our room...
We were thrown back onto the mattresses on the floor that served as our beds, as the wall of the trailer *exploded* outward. As we slowly got back to our feet, we peered out through the six-foot wide gaping hole I had somehow blasted in the wall. Lights were coming on around the trailer park, dogs and car alarms alike howling warnings into the night. I looked down at Bryan, who was looking back up at me in awe, and then back out through the hole I'd created.
Finally, I spoke. "Bryan, get your stuff together in your backpack. Just like we talked about -- hurry!"
He jumped to obey, and picked his way through the debris to start stuffing his few meager little possessions into his school backpack, before pausing and turning back to me.
"Sean...where are we going?" he asked, in a small voice.
I looked down at my hands, which were still glowing with a faint, mystical light. I could feel the awakened power humming in my veins.
"Wherever we want." I said, with a smile.
| "Do magic!" My sibling cried.
"I can't, it's not real" I defied.
"You can! You can!" He cheered.
I pulled my thumb from my hand.
"No, you can do magic!"
He did not like the sleight.
I mumbled "This is tragic."
"You can, you can!"
I whisper something mystic,
Nonsense for a misfit.
I pushed my palm outward to the sky
"FIREBALL!" I cried as one went awry.
Astonished, he let out a cry.
"I told you that you could do it!"
I couldn't believe my trick.
Again and again I flamed wisps.
Will bent thin,
I tried a different phrase.
"Neptune seeks watery plumes!"
And a geyser pulsed into the blue
In disbelief I tried a lie
"I can bring the stars into the sky!"
And with that the heavens turned inky.
From them emerged a twinkling.
"I believe in you brother!"I heard distantly.
I barely believed it so quickly!
Then the urge came too wickedly
"May they roam freely from heaven's cage"
Astonishingly the lights began moving.
Spinning and swirling in a fit of rage.
"Thank you, old mage."
The childish voice I knew grew into a deep bass.
I saw before me a beast of tendrils and a splayed face.
Trembles crept through my body as I accepted fate.
In aeons of forgotten times I was deceived.
Reborn to break the seals I had placed.
| 2018-06-22T19:03:11 | 2018-06-22T15:45:01 | 111 | 66 |
[WP] Your quiet life in the suburbs is shaken up when your neighbor casually claims he is a lizard person. Doubting him, you decide to start monitoring him for any suspicious behavior. After all, you didn't see him at the last lizard people reunion. | **Journal Log 1:**
*"Today, I may have just come across the worse discovery of my generation. For eons, the Gigorian Lizard race has thought of themselves as the true apex of the Earth, the ones who would rise from the ashes of the apocalypse. Our scaly skin can survive the worst of temperatures, and our expert reptile vision can see through even the harshest of weather. But now, there seems to be unforeseen competition. Is this a fellow comrade who has somehow been able to break free from the hivemind [ALL HAIL THE HYPNOLIZ] and decided not to attend the reunion, or has an even stronger species truly emerged? They seem to call themselves the "Stop-scribbling-in-your-damn-notebook-and-get-the-fuck-off-my-lawn" species. It is as terrifying as it is long.*
***Journal Log 2***
*It seems this creature that's part of this new species (who goes by the ominous pseudoname "Gary") is attempting to establish dominance within the community. There are posters everywhere advocate for "Gary 'The Lizard Man' Eidechse" in the local election. It also has had a public demonstration of its incredible abilities. Its main attacks seem to verbal and consist mostly of shouting of "tax reform" and "shutting down the damn HOA". Despite causing no physical harm, it was able to get a massive crowd to agree with it, effectively recruiting and mobilizing humans. What a horrific tactic.*
***Journal Log 3***
*These past few weeks have been worrying for my kind. Gary is about to become into political power. Only as a local councilman, but power nonetheless. I must get at least a siliva sample so we can research and discover their weaknesses.*
***Journal Log 4***
*Being able to change into a small garden lizard has its perks, and I was able to sneak into Gary's room under the cover of night. I grew back into my regular form and opened its mouth, preparing the container. But where they should have been flesh, there was... cotton. Suddenly, Gary sat and stared right at me, his eyes pure black. I tried to run away but he managed to grab me by the neck and slam me to to the ground. As I tried to regain my senses and look up, he was now completely giant.*
*"Ahahaha!" Gary laughed, "I was wondering when you damn lizards would show up, knew you were one of them. Your hunch was right, I'm not human at all. But I'm not any type of filthy lizard either. No, I'm something much, much worse."*
*Gary pulled off his human mask and revealed the face of a giant teddy bear.*
*"I could snap your neck right now, but I think it would be much more useful to keep you alive so you can tell your kind their retribution is here. You may tell your kind I am... Tenderheart. Now get the hell out of my sight."*
*I scrambled for the window and didn't look back until I got home.*
***Journal Log 5***
*I was half-right. We are dealing with a new apex species, but they're not lizards at all. No, they're more adept than we could ever be. We have resistant organs, but they have no organs to worry about. We are trained to tame our fear, but fear does not exist in them. They will deplete the Earth for their own world. We are dealing with devils themselves. They are...*
#The Care-Bears.
[Sorry if there's a lot of misspellings, super tired. Thanks for reading, check out my sub if you want more.] (https://old.reddit.com/r/StoryStar/) | He’s truly an idiot. There are so many people claiming today that “Oh, X politician is a lizard person!”. No. We haven’t had a lizard politician in centuries after one nearly fucked up and almost compromised us. Lesson was learned. Also, Mark Zuckerberg? He isn’t an actual lizard person. He was a mech made by us to see how someone like us could run a big tech company. The results are, to say the least, varied. But seriously. There’s a guy named Germaine, my neighbor. He’s what some people would consider a total nut-job. However, thanks to that, no one believes him. He started to claim something along the lines of “You fools! I’m blah blah lizard person!” That’s completely inaccurate. I’ve never seen him at the weekly meetings. Thankfully, no one believed him. However, he’s gotten close to our hideouts. I think I may need to take him down if he gets too close. | 2019-05-13T21:38:16 | 2019-05-13T20:21:29 | 98 | 41 |
[WP] While your colleagues are fixated on magical items and artifacts, you’ve been quietly collecting all the deeds of ownership for the ruins and dungeons you clear. | Reilly knocked twice on the open door, then stuck her head in my study. "Come on, Barla. We're leaving in fifteen minutes. I have your gear out with the horses, and you've got just enough time to get into your armor."
I turned the page of my ledger, not looking up. "Can't. You go ahead."
"What do you mean, 'can't'?". My overly cheerful friend swung into the room and plopped herself down on my extra chair. "We've been planning this for days. Take down this outpost and we're one step closer to Garanf. You don't want to miss it, do you?"
"No, but I can't ask the rest of the crew to put it off. There won't be a better opportunity." I sighed and flipped back a page in the ledger. Something in my accounting wasn't making any sense.
"Barla." Reilly took away my quill, then squeezed both my hands gently. "I am saying this in all love as your best friend. What in the world is wrong with you!? And what are you doing with this journal? It looks like you're trying to do calculus."
"Not calculus," I said reluctantly. "Finances."
The look Reilly gave me was mixed exasperation, fondness, and confusion. "Ok, big lady. You'd better start talking."
There wasn't any help for it; I was in over my head here and knew it. "Okay, fine. You know we've been chasing Garanf for two years now, taking down his minions, invading his strongholds, all of that. We all have a reason to hate him. Your wife killed, my son abducted, Jono's entire hometown burned..."
"Right..." Reilly said slowly. "And?"
"Did you ever think about after?"
"After what? After we kill him and destroy his empire?" She shook her head. "What else matters? I don't care what happens after."
"That's what I mean. I was trying to plan for the crew, for what happens next."
"What does this have to do with all..." She waved her hand at my desk. "This? The differential equations? If you're trying to balance your accounts, I don't think it's supposed to look like that."
"I have ownership of almost all the castles, dungeons, and fortresses we cleared of Garanf's armies. I've been leasing most of them out to people who've lost their homes to his attacks.". The surprise was ruined, but now I was excited to finally tell somone. "A group of militant priestesses moved into that desecrated temple and rededicated it to Anira. There are some displaced farmers experimenting with hydroponics in the largest of those caves we emptied down south. There's a sort of unofficial orphanage that took over the mansion in Creerdon - I haven't been charging them rent - but everyone else is working out arrangements, some in silver, some in goods. A few are working it off helping out in the infirmary that popped up across the river. And this one -" I pointed to the spot on the map - "that's for us, for all of us, once we finally kill Garanf. We'll have a home again."
She was staring at me. I waited until I couldn't take it any longer. "Umm... Reilly? Say something? ... Please?"
Reilly took a slow, deep breath; then another; then grabbed me in a hug that nearly cracked my ribs. "Okay. Okay. First, go put your damn armor on. Secondly, when we get back, Wardle and I will help you organize the finances so you don't have to do this all alone. And third... thank you."
It sounded like she was about to cry. I definitely was.
"Right. Armor. I can do that." | "What do you mean you're sitting this one out? It'll be our biggest haul yet!"
"I have land I need to develop, Brash. You guys run this one without me."
"Think of all the stuff we're going to find though!"
"I already have everything I need, Brash."
"Where did all this land come from anyways? Did some mysterious relative die and leave their stuff to you?"
"It's all the dungeons we've been clearing. I bought the deeds for them after we finished each one, and worked out a deal with the residents that respawned."
"You're negotiating with monsters?!"
"Hey, they want to stay in those dungeons, and I gave them clearance to stay without being hunted down if they'll work for me."
"You can't trust them! They're monsters!"
\*sigh\* "They're still sentient, and they recognize a good deal when they see it. Besides, since I own the contracts for the land, I can force them to leave at will, and none of them want that. This way, everyone wins."
"This is a horrible plan!"
"We'll see. Come find me after you finish this quest. See how it works out yourself." | 2019-09-13T11:53:40 | 2019-09-13T08:49:54 | 59 | 32 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | I was in the midst of cleaning, scrubbing at an extra tough stain on the floor, when I was distracted by some noise at the door. Not swearing - a lady should never take foul words into her mouth - I rose from the floor and the bucket of cold soap water whilst using the back of my hand to push some loose strands of hair away from my face.
A short few minutes later I was heading towards the hallway, or what I liked to think of as such: a long, narrow passageway lit by blazing torches - one must pay heed to traditions - causing shadows to dance on the rough walls and lending its dark corners an eerie touch. *Just perfect*, I mused, as always when passing though. *Just perfect.* There were few things as important as keeping up with appearance, people did expect one to live in a certain way and thus one must live up to those expectations. How else would the world look?
A loud banging on the iron-framed wooden door brought my attention back. *Oh. Right. A visitor.* A quick look down asserted that my dress was indeed free from stains and wrinkles and quite presentable, and my left hand quickly adjusted the tiara slightly.
“I have come to rescue thee, fair maiden!” the mustache adorned knight at the door cried as I opened it. “I have come to rescue thee and slay the dragon!” I sighed inwardly to the styling of his facial hair. Really, why did they *always* have to go for quantity over quality?
Taking care not to let any of those thoughts show of my face I let my lower lip tremble slightly as my eyes widened.
“Hush, please, or you’ll waken him from his slumber. Be quiet, and I will take you to him.” I motioned for him to follow me inwards along the tunnel with its flickering lights - *really, just perfect* \- slowly quickening the pace to give an air of necessary haste. Finally pausing outside the door at the end of the corridor I shot him a quick glance and pointedly nodded to his still sheathed sword. As he quietly drew it I let the door swing open and stepped aside.
“I have come to challenge thee, abominal beast!” boomed the knight as he entered the quiet room. I winced inwardly at his voice; why did they always feel the need to proclaim their objectives? What was wrong with a bit of serene calmness and quiet? A quite sigh escaped me as I put my left hand on his shoulder and the sharpened dagger in my right hand silently glided along his throat.
“I did tell you not to awaken Herbert”, I told him - quite sullenly - “he’s had a terrible night’s sleep and has been cranky all morning. I just finally managed to put him to sleep. But did you listen? No you did not.” I do not know whether he heard me, his body slumping forward before hitting the floor with a thud, but neither did I care as just then Herbert came strutting along the floor, his little wings flapping to help him maintain balance as he skillfully navigated around the sparse furniture in the room. I knelt and lifted him in my arms, letting his little split tounge playfully lick my cheek as I petted his scaled little head and his tail wiggled excitedly.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”
*Oh dearie me*, I thought to myself as I suddenly noticed the now slow trickle of blood onto the floor where it had already spread in a large pool. *And just as I was just about to get rid of the old stains in the library.*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\**
*And here I thought myself to pretty decent in writing in English, guess this challenge set me right about that. Please bear with my typos, grammatical errors and overuse of commas (I do love a good comma!). First submission here, but hopefully not the last because omg how I have missed writing!* | **Roommates: Episode 1: Dragon Slayer**
Ryan, Leeroy, and George sat on their dorm room couch. A nintendo switch projected a copy of *Dragon Slayer* onto the TV screen.
Ryan: “So what is this game?”
George: “Some kind of choose your own adventure story. It was on sale on amazon so I picked it up.”
*Dragon Slayer* loaded in. A beautiful princess stood, feeding a pet dragon.
Princess: “Oh dragon, why do knights always come to kill you?”
Dragon: “Horniness mainly. I mean marrying a princess is a sweet deal. Plus you’re hot.”
Oh cue, a knight kicked down the door.
Knight: “Dear princess, I have come to save you!”
The screen showed two options to pick: *Talk Things Through* or *Cowabunga It Is!*
Leeroy: “Maybe talking things through would be better?”
George, holding the controller, hit the right key.
Princess: “Cowabunga it is, bitch!”
The dragon sprayed fire at the knight, killing him instantly. The screen turned black, showing a ‘game over’ sign.
George: “What was that!? obviously the fire was the right choice!”
Ryan: “Maybe killing people right away is wrong? I don’t know. Let’s restart and try again.”
Ryan opened another beer, and the game restarted to the beginning. | 2019-01-09T10:18:32 | 2019-01-09T07:50:16 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] Katy t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m, looks back over what she wrote ten years later
Here is the original copy pasta
hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!
DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!
love and waffles,
t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m | Katy carefully balanced the tablet on her stomach while opening a fresh beer bottle. Work had been particularly trying today. Lying back on the sofa she prepared to loose herself in pictures of wise cats with bad grammar and other people's problems...but then *it* got linked again. God damnit, does the Internet never forget? Rather than scrolling on, she surprised herself by scanning the lines. A chuckle escaped her. *Ah, those had been the days!* Then a line jumped out at her:
i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it)
*Oh god.* It felt like someone had hit her. "My girlfriend" she said out loud. Memories flooded her mind, returned with long lost sensations: smells, sounds, as if she was back there. Shy kisses behind the massive bins in the corner of the playground. Holding hands under the table. Letters written by torchlight under covers. Internet searches with bright red face, jumping at every sound, trying to figure out how girls could even do *it*. That infamous IT all had been talking about. Washing her naked back in the shower... Katy grinned involuntary, the red blush from back then returning to her cheeks.
But then HE had come and all had been different. Suddenly there had been no more kisses, no more exploring hands. Just what HE might like. When Katy couldn't bear it anymore she had asked; quietly had put into words what never had been dared to be said before: "But...but what about us?"
Large, unbelieving eyes and...was that, was that disgust? Carefully concealed, but plain to her who knew this face, this gorgeous face so well. "Oh come on!" That voice. The voice she had thought could never hurt her booming in her mind, saying those words. "We will stay spend time together. I mean having a boyfriend shouldn't take aaaall my time." Then, as if sensing that that was not enough the voice added. "Also means we can stop practicing. I mean then I can just tell you what he and I do for when you have a boyfriend" The nausea. Rising now as it did then. "What are you looking at me so weird for....your not a lesbian are you?" "N-no.." Loud she added: "I am bisexual if you don't like it, deal with it" Not that she had said that. She had just forced a smile and changed the subject. Always.
At university she had been informed early on that bisexuals are actually just girls making out to get attention. Drunk girls who'd take a guy home after only just meeting him. She didn't want to be like that. Indeed from the tone of her new friends no one should be like that. But then she wasn't practicing or gaining attention for the "main event". This first romance had *been* her main event. *Yes, had been. In another life.* She turned off the tablet and shoved it away. It slid over the table and only narrowly escaped a further plunge. "Also" she informed the ceiling lamp angrily "I'm going to become a teacher. You can't be bisexual and a teacher. You can barely be straight and a teacher in some places"
(im bi if u dont like it deal w/it)
deal w/it
With a renewed feeling of nausea she realised that t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m with her bad spelling and "randomness" would be ashamed of her. She would shout at the older women that she was being stupid and then dance through the room flapping a scarf as wings. "Just do it. No one cares!" she would have advised. May be Katy, the predictable, should learn a bit from that. May be she should "randomly" check if the LGBT society had any events coming up...
| It could have gone better. Then again, translation matrices never were particularly precise.
Ten years ago, the declaration of war was sent. It promised the terrors Katy's people would bring, with their mastery of quantum space manipulation. As her troops readied their SP0RK-735s for battle, she looked over their new home-to-be.
The only life-form that their people could see as at all similar to themselves were what the humans called "PeNgU1Ns", almost identical to one of their long-distant ancestors in all but intelligence. The greatest minds in centuries had put years of work into a single, menacing message: it announced their superiority, their intent to kill and their unfathomably advanced technology.
Katy turns to her highest ranking officer, zim.
"15 t3h 4rM4D4 R34dY?!!!!!!!!!"
"45 500n 45 U g1v3 t3h 0rD3R XD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Good. These puny monkeys won't know what hit them. | 2014-11-19T10:38:12 | 2014-11-19T10:15:28 | 64 | 30 |
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