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[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?" | "I know, I'm late." Melissa said as she disgustedly brought her till to her supervisor's office.
"Well if you know you're late, why the hell are you?" Sherry barked back.
"Hey, customer at register 2 had an obnoxious little brat who kept screaming and getting into things. I told her to hustler her ass, and you know what she says to me?"
"I could not care less, sincerely."
"The damned ditz asks me whatever happened to 'the customer is always right?'"
"What?!"
"I know, right? I told her, lady, we sell clothing, not miracles."
"Yeah, well, you're here now. Let's get this counted."
"Oh, come on! It's all here. Why the hell do we have to do this every god damn night? All you gotta do is ask me if it's here. You always gotta count everything when you know all you have to do is ask us."
"And you will hedge, and say 'as far as I know' which makes me wanna hit you with the nearest blunt object."
"You are the worst damned bitch of a supervisor ever."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, spill it and let's get this over with. Where are your receipts?"
"Right here. Gawd!" she threw them at Sherry, dropped into the nearest chair, and tried to look put upon.
Sherry did not give a damn. She hated everyone she worked with and didn't care who knew it. She had no lies to waste on making them feel good. Nobody did. They hadn't for years now. Even now, thirty years after the mysterious event that had left everyone stuck with a maximum of three lies for life, most people stupidly used them up early on, even the ones whose parents tried to drill into them that sincerity was the only policy these days.
But it turned out it meant more than just no deception in ethical matters: it meant no little white lies, either. It changed the entire dynamic of society in just a few decades. Society held together only because it had become so interdependent that a world full of newly honest people had no choice but to admit they couldn't make it without each other. That didn't mean they had to like it, though.
"This is all wrong," Sherry said, "The totals are screwed up and don't match the till."
"You're lying!" Melissa shouted, but then realized what she was saying, and backed down as she looked at Sherry's raised eyebrows. Right. How likely was that? "Look, I don't have time for this. I've got a date." Oh, how that rankled. Privacy considerations were right out the window these days. You couldn't make an excuse to save your soul, so you blurted out the truth whether you wanted to or not. No more sick aunts, or family emergencies. Melissa flushed just thinking what she might say if Sherry pressed her for details, but she needn't have worried.
"Fine. Go get laid, if that's more important to you than your job," Sherry told her, and Melissa had to choke down an urge to slap her. "I'll put this in the safe as is, and we'll go over it in the morning. BE EARLY," she said warningly, her tone making it perfectly clear that "early" did *not* imply overtime. Melissa didn't care. She couldn't believe she was getting off so easily and hurried out before Sherry changed her mind.
Sherry shook her head, tucked the till in her drawer and went over to Ron's office and knocked.
"Something wrong?" her manager asked her.
"My password isn't working again. Can I just borrow yours? It takes so long to get through to I.S. I haven't finished entering the final receipts for the day."
He gave it to her, of course. Why would he suspect anything, after all? In a world where hardly anyone had lies left, it was inconceivable someone her age would have any. She hurried back to her desk, logged in as Ron, and after hastily checking to ensure he wasn't looking in on her, closed out the accounting database and logged into banking, which was accessible only on this account. She made the transactions payable to her offshore account, in sufficient quantities to keep her in style for years. She closed out, signed off, and told Ron she would be leaving.
She had never had to lie about those accounts. They were legal and no one knew she had opened them. That was good, she reflected, or she never would have had enough lies left for today. She had lied to Melissa, of course: There was nothing wrong with her totals. She had lied about the password: There was nothing wrong with hers, unless you counted that it didn't access the bank accounts.
And of course, she had lied about putting Melissa's till money in the vault. Instead, she tipped it into her purse, where it would serve to buy her the one way plane ticket out of the country. She snapped her purse shut, put on her jacket, and headed out the door, hoping no one at the airport asked her any uncomfortable questions.
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "Did you kill Anna Kendrick?"
"No."
"Did you kill Bonnie James?"
"No."
"Did you kill Cindy Irish?"
"No."
"Did you kill Diane Hoffman?"
"N..n...yes! Yes, I did it! I killed her! Damn this sudden compulsion to tell the truth!"
Foster turned to the police chief. "Fucking serial killers, chief. They never learn. If they just stopped at three, they could get away with murder."
| Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | **Never participated in a WP thread before, probably a bad starting point given that the thread's already 12 hours old, but ah well, here goes!**
Chris looked in the mirror one last time, adjusted his collar, grabbed his coat, and left.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his first day as a doctor. Excited, and yet simultaneously terrified, he arrived at St. Steven's Hospital for his first day, not knowing at all what lay ahead, and found himself in the E.R. assisting a much more experienced doctor who'd been given the task of mentoring Chris and showing him the ropes, Dr. Symons.
He began the tour around the department, introducing Chris to the relevant staff: Janice and Laverne the receptionists; no sooner did they arrive at the nursing station than a patient was rushed by on a gurney and quickly stationed in a nearby treatment area as the nurses shouted for Dr. Symons. He sprang into action.
*Male, James Davies, mid-30's, traffic accident, broken neck, severe head trauma, lacerations to the upper torso, 2 broken legs*
The nurses began to quickly cut away his clothing as Dr. Symons got to work, shouting instructions to the nurses, demanding IVs and equipment, all the while the patient writhing in agony and gasping for air. Chris froze, fixated on the man's attire. He was dressed to the nines, a sharp black tuxedo now flung open either side of his body on the gurney, with a corsage protruding from behind the lapel. The patient's movement quickly faded, and he lay there, lifeless and still.
*He's stopped breathing, Chris get in here!*
Symons signalled and shouted for Chris to begin using the bag valve mask to help the man breathe, as he readied the defibrillator. They all stood back as Symons tried in vain. Everyone knew it was too late for this patient before they even began, even Chris, but Symons knew he had to teach Chris that it was never too late for anyone, everyone was worth trying for.
*Time of death 13:18.*
Symons head dropped, knowing he'd failed but hoping he'd taught a valuable lesson to the rookie. He looked up to see Chris frozen, tears in his eyes at the ordeal he'd just witnessed within an hour of becoming a doctor, and approached him to provide some comforting words about how they tried as hard as they could, how Chris should learn from this, and assuring him that he'd take the hard part and break the news to the family outside. At this point, Chris stopped him, took the clipboard from his hands, and took on the hard part himself.
He walked into the waiting area and shouted for a Miss Williams, noticing the surname didn't match with the name of the patient. A young woman shakily got to her feet and approached him in a pristine, white wedding dress, surrounded by family members; he took them to a separate room for some privacy, tearing the patient's notes from his clipboard as he went and dispatching it into a bin along the way.
*1. Miss Williams, we believe your fiancé suffered a pulmonary embolism at the wheel of his car this morning.*
*2. He passed almost instantly, and he likely wasn't even aware he was in a car accident.*
*3. He went peacefully, and felt little to no pain.*
*I'm sorry for your loss.*
With that, Chris gave a sympathetic look to the family in the room, lowered his head, and left, quietly closing the door behind him to contain the anguished wails of the ex-bride-to-be. He placed the clipboard on the nurses' desk, along with his badge, and left the hospital never to return, he couldn't face this career.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his last day as a doctor. | Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth. | Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?" | Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | **Never participated in a WP thread before, probably a bad starting point given that the thread's already 12 hours old, but ah well, here goes!**
Chris looked in the mirror one last time, adjusted his collar, grabbed his coat, and left.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his first day as a doctor. Excited, and yet simultaneously terrified, he arrived at St. Steven's Hospital for his first day, not knowing at all what lay ahead, and found himself in the E.R. assisting a much more experienced doctor who'd been given the task of mentoring Chris and showing him the ropes, Dr. Symons.
He began the tour around the department, introducing Chris to the relevant staff: Janice and Laverne the receptionists; no sooner did they arrive at the nursing station than a patient was rushed by on a gurney and quickly stationed in a nearby treatment area as the nurses shouted for Dr. Symons. He sprang into action.
*Male, James Davies, mid-30's, traffic accident, broken neck, severe head trauma, lacerations to the upper torso, 2 broken legs*
The nurses began to quickly cut away his clothing as Dr. Symons got to work, shouting instructions to the nurses, demanding IVs and equipment, all the while the patient writhing in agony and gasping for air. Chris froze, fixated on the man's attire. He was dressed to the nines, a sharp black tuxedo now flung open either side of his body on the gurney, with a corsage protruding from behind the lapel. The patient's movement quickly faded, and he lay there, lifeless and still.
*He's stopped breathing, Chris get in here!*
Symons signalled and shouted for Chris to begin using the bag valve mask to help the man breathe, as he readied the defibrillator. They all stood back as Symons tried in vain. Everyone knew it was too late for this patient before they even began, even Chris, but Symons knew he had to teach Chris that it was never too late for anyone, everyone was worth trying for.
*Time of death 13:18.*
Symons head dropped, knowing he'd failed but hoping he'd taught a valuable lesson to the rookie. He looked up to see Chris frozen, tears in his eyes at the ordeal he'd just witnessed within an hour of becoming a doctor, and approached him to provide some comforting words about how they tried as hard as they could, how Chris should learn from this, and assuring him that he'd take the hard part and break the news to the family outside. At this point, Chris stopped him, took the clipboard from his hands, and took on the hard part himself.
He walked into the waiting area and shouted for a Miss Williams, noticing the surname didn't match with the name of the patient. A young woman shakily got to her feet and approached him in a pristine, white wedding dress, surrounded by family members; he took them to a separate room for some privacy, tearing the patient's notes from his clipboard as he went and dispatching it into a bin along the way.
*1. Miss Williams, we believe your fiancé suffered a pulmonary embolism at the wheel of his car this morning.*
*2. He passed almost instantly, and he likely wasn't even aware he was in a car accident.*
*3. He went peacefully, and felt little to no pain.*
*I'm sorry for your loss.*
With that, Chris gave a sympathetic look to the family in the room, lowered his head, and left, quietly closing the door behind him to contain the anguished wails of the ex-bride-to-be. He placed the clipboard on the nurses' desk, along with his badge, and left the hospital never to return, he couldn't face this career.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his last day as a doctor. | "And you heard it that's the up up up music, the DOW is up a whopping 4% as the news from Washington..."
The engine sputtered to a stop and Kai Ryssdal's voice faded. Slumping in her seat, Lerin stared at the white columns from the top of the parking deck. Brushing away her auburn hair, she tugged on her eye lids, and pulled the contact from her eye. It fell to the floor, but from the crystal blue circle in the center, it was easy to find. Yet she left it. In a few minutes she wouldn't see this car ever again. She took out the other, pulled on her glasses then stared across to the domes across the park. The sun's light blocked from the podium where she had been not three hours ago. She checked the crumbled sheet that had come from that clean manilla envelope, she was fifteen minutes early.
Despite the excitement of the day, she felt relief as the expectations of years in training ceased to matter. She touched the face she wore and felt the plastic of her cheekbones. Being assigned Nancy was a decent stroke of luck as she had only needed a little convincing to agree completely with her persona, and she looked similar. At least she hadn't ended up a C.E.O or an anchor, both which required very specific facts and elaborate logical mazes. Sure, speeches could be long but generalizations allowed philosophical waxing between the bangs. The beauty was, despite those three bangs, and the now throbbing pain the back of her head that she had come to expect, the world had been turned away from a terrible set of lies, that had been propagated by organizations much larger and more wealthy than hers. She'd done her job, and it was time to relax and let the pain fade as she likewise would fade from the society.
Retirement at 31. She smiled to herself, covered up her face, walked down from the garage, and saw the bus already waiting. Stepping on, she pulled off her hood as the door closed. She saw 4 other girls, each with auburn hair, and some of them still had their contacts in, some had wiped off the dark makeup, but all still had that trademark *Nancy* look. Nancy must be busy today.
"Guess I won't know you until we start talking, huh?" Lerin smirked.
"Well at least I know I can trust you. The name's Becky. Looking forward to this island vacation?".
"Man, I better be, at least we can forget about this place. Oh wait, you were at the noon conference! I loved how you got Nancy's left hand's gestures... I could never quite get those down." | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth. | "And you heard it that's the up up up music, the DOW is up a whopping 4% as the news from Washington..."
The engine sputtered to a stop and Kai Ryssdal's voice faded. Slumping in her seat, Lerin stared at the white columns from the top of the parking deck. Brushing away her auburn hair, she tugged on her eye lids, and pulled the contact from her eye. It fell to the floor, but from the crystal blue circle in the center, it was easy to find. Yet she left it. In a few minutes she wouldn't see this car ever again. She took out the other, pulled on her glasses then stared across to the domes across the park. The sun's light blocked from the podium where she had been not three hours ago. She checked the crumbled sheet that had come from that clean manilla envelope, she was fifteen minutes early.
Despite the excitement of the day, she felt relief as the expectations of years in training ceased to matter. She touched the face she wore and felt the plastic of her cheekbones. Being assigned Nancy was a decent stroke of luck as she had only needed a little convincing to agree completely with her persona, and she looked similar. At least she hadn't ended up a C.E.O or an anchor, both which required very specific facts and elaborate logical mazes. Sure, speeches could be long but generalizations allowed philosophical waxing between the bangs. The beauty was, despite those three bangs, and the now throbbing pain the back of her head that she had come to expect, the world had been turned away from a terrible set of lies, that had been propagated by organizations much larger and more wealthy than hers. She'd done her job, and it was time to relax and let the pain fade as she likewise would fade from the society.
Retirement at 31. She smiled to herself, covered up her face, walked down from the garage, and saw the bus already waiting. Stepping on, she pulled off her hood as the door closed. She saw 4 other girls, each with auburn hair, and some of them still had their contacts in, some had wiped off the dark makeup, but all still had that trademark *Nancy* look. Nancy must be busy today.
"Guess I won't know you until we start talking, huh?" Lerin smirked.
"Well at least I know I can trust you. The name's Becky. Looking forward to this island vacation?".
"Man, I better be, at least we can forget about this place. Oh wait, you were at the noon conference! I loved how you got Nancy's left hand's gestures... I could never quite get those down." | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | "And you heard it that's the up up up music, the DOW is up a whopping 4% as the news from Washington..."
The engine sputtered to a stop and Kai Ryssdal's voice faded. Slumping in her seat, Lerin stared at the white columns from the top of the parking deck. Brushing away her auburn hair, she tugged on her eye lids, and pulled the contact from her eye. It fell to the floor, but from the crystal blue circle in the center, it was easy to find. Yet she left it. In a few minutes she wouldn't see this car ever again. She took out the other, pulled on her glasses then stared across to the domes across the park. The sun's light blocked from the podium where she had been not three hours ago. She checked the crumbled sheet that had come from that clean manilla envelope, she was fifteen minutes early.
Despite the excitement of the day, she felt relief as the expectations of years in training ceased to matter. She touched the face she wore and felt the plastic of her cheekbones. Being assigned Nancy was a decent stroke of luck as she had only needed a little convincing to agree completely with her persona, and she looked similar. At least she hadn't ended up a C.E.O or an anchor, both which required very specific facts and elaborate logical mazes. Sure, speeches could be long but generalizations allowed philosophical waxing between the bangs. The beauty was, despite those three bangs, and the now throbbing pain the back of her head that she had come to expect, the world had been turned away from a terrible set of lies, that had been propagated by organizations much larger and more wealthy than hers. She'd done her job, and it was time to relax and let the pain fade as she likewise would fade from the society.
Retirement at 31. She smiled to herself, covered up her face, walked down from the garage, and saw the bus already waiting. Stepping on, she pulled off her hood as the door closed. She saw 4 other girls, each with auburn hair, and some of them still had their contacts in, some had wiped off the dark makeup, but all still had that trademark *Nancy* look. Nancy must be busy today.
"Guess I won't know you until we start talking, huh?" Lerin smirked.
"Well at least I know I can trust you. The name's Becky. Looking forward to this island vacation?".
"Man, I better be, at least we can forget about this place. Oh wait, you were at the noon conference! I loved how you got Nancy's left hand's gestures... I could never quite get those down." | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?" | "And you heard it that's the up up up music, the DOW is up a whopping 4% as the news from Washington..."
The engine sputtered to a stop and Kai Ryssdal's voice faded. Slumping in her seat, Lerin stared at the white columns from the top of the parking deck. Brushing away her auburn hair, she tugged on her eye lids, and pulled the contact from her eye. It fell to the floor, but from the crystal blue circle in the center, it was easy to find. Yet she left it. In a few minutes she wouldn't see this car ever again. She took out the other, pulled on her glasses then stared across to the domes across the park. The sun's light blocked from the podium where she had been not three hours ago. She checked the crumbled sheet that had come from that clean manilla envelope, she was fifteen minutes early.
Despite the excitement of the day, she felt relief as the expectations of years in training ceased to matter. She touched the face she wore and felt the plastic of her cheekbones. Being assigned Nancy was a decent stroke of luck as she had only needed a little convincing to agree completely with her persona, and she looked similar. At least she hadn't ended up a C.E.O or an anchor, both which required very specific facts and elaborate logical mazes. Sure, speeches could be long but generalizations allowed philosophical waxing between the bangs. The beauty was, despite those three bangs, and the now throbbing pain the back of her head that she had come to expect, the world had been turned away from a terrible set of lies, that had been propagated by organizations much larger and more wealthy than hers. She'd done her job, and it was time to relax and let the pain fade as she likewise would fade from the society.
Retirement at 31. She smiled to herself, covered up her face, walked down from the garage, and saw the bus already waiting. Stepping on, she pulled off her hood as the door closed. She saw 4 other girls, each with auburn hair, and some of them still had their contacts in, some had wiped off the dark makeup, but all still had that trademark *Nancy* look. Nancy must be busy today.
"Guess I won't know you until we start talking, huh?" Lerin smirked.
"Well at least I know I can trust you. The name's Becky. Looking forward to this island vacation?".
"Man, I better be, at least we can forget about this place. Oh wait, you were at the noon conference! I loved how you got Nancy's left hand's gestures... I could never quite get those down." | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | **Never participated in a WP thread before, probably a bad starting point given that the thread's already 12 hours old, but ah well, here goes!**
Chris looked in the mirror one last time, adjusted his collar, grabbed his coat, and left.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his first day as a doctor. Excited, and yet simultaneously terrified, he arrived at St. Steven's Hospital for his first day, not knowing at all what lay ahead, and found himself in the E.R. assisting a much more experienced doctor who'd been given the task of mentoring Chris and showing him the ropes, Dr. Symons.
He began the tour around the department, introducing Chris to the relevant staff: Janice and Laverne the receptionists; no sooner did they arrive at the nursing station than a patient was rushed by on a gurney and quickly stationed in a nearby treatment area as the nurses shouted for Dr. Symons. He sprang into action.
*Male, James Davies, mid-30's, traffic accident, broken neck, severe head trauma, lacerations to the upper torso, 2 broken legs*
The nurses began to quickly cut away his clothing as Dr. Symons got to work, shouting instructions to the nurses, demanding IVs and equipment, all the while the patient writhing in agony and gasping for air. Chris froze, fixated on the man's attire. He was dressed to the nines, a sharp black tuxedo now flung open either side of his body on the gurney, with a corsage protruding from behind the lapel. The patient's movement quickly faded, and he lay there, lifeless and still.
*He's stopped breathing, Chris get in here!*
Symons signalled and shouted for Chris to begin using the bag valve mask to help the man breathe, as he readied the defibrillator. They all stood back as Symons tried in vain. Everyone knew it was too late for this patient before they even began, even Chris, but Symons knew he had to teach Chris that it was never too late for anyone, everyone was worth trying for.
*Time of death 13:18.*
Symons head dropped, knowing he'd failed but hoping he'd taught a valuable lesson to the rookie. He looked up to see Chris frozen, tears in his eyes at the ordeal he'd just witnessed within an hour of becoming a doctor, and approached him to provide some comforting words about how they tried as hard as they could, how Chris should learn from this, and assuring him that he'd take the hard part and break the news to the family outside. At this point, Chris stopped him, took the clipboard from his hands, and took on the hard part himself.
He walked into the waiting area and shouted for a Miss Williams, noticing the surname didn't match with the name of the patient. A young woman shakily got to her feet and approached him in a pristine, white wedding dress, surrounded by family members; he took them to a separate room for some privacy, tearing the patient's notes from his clipboard as he went and dispatching it into a bin along the way.
*1. Miss Williams, we believe your fiancé suffered a pulmonary embolism at the wheel of his car this morning.*
*2. He passed almost instantly, and he likely wasn't even aware he was in a car accident.*
*3. He went peacefully, and felt little to no pain.*
*I'm sorry for your loss.*
With that, Chris gave a sympathetic look to the family in the room, lowered his head, and left, quietly closing the door behind him to contain the anguished wails of the ex-bride-to-be. He placed the clipboard on the nurses' desk, along with his badge, and left the hospital never to return, he couldn't face this career.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his last day as a doctor. | "Did you kill Anna Kendrick?"
"No."
"Did you kill Bonnie James?"
"No."
"Did you kill Cindy Irish?"
"No."
"Did you kill Diane Hoffman?"
"N..n...yes! Yes, I did it! I killed her! Damn this sudden compulsion to tell the truth!"
Foster turned to the police chief. "Fucking serial killers, chief. They never learn. If they just stopped at three, they could get away with murder."
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth. | "Did you kill Anna Kendrick?"
"No."
"Did you kill Bonnie James?"
"No."
"Did you kill Cindy Irish?"
"No."
"Did you kill Diane Hoffman?"
"N..n...yes! Yes, I did it! I killed her! Damn this sudden compulsion to tell the truth!"
Foster turned to the police chief. "Fucking serial killers, chief. They never learn. If they just stopped at three, they could get away with murder."
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | "Did you kill Anna Kendrick?"
"No."
"Did you kill Bonnie James?"
"No."
"Did you kill Cindy Irish?"
"No."
"Did you kill Diane Hoffman?"
"N..n...yes! Yes, I did it! I killed her! Damn this sudden compulsion to tell the truth!"
Foster turned to the police chief. "Fucking serial killers, chief. They never learn. If they just stopped at three, they could get away with murder."
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?" | "Did you kill Anna Kendrick?"
"No."
"Did you kill Bonnie James?"
"No."
"Did you kill Cindy Irish?"
"No."
"Did you kill Diane Hoffman?"
"N..n...yes! Yes, I did it! I killed her! Damn this sudden compulsion to tell the truth!"
Foster turned to the police chief. "Fucking serial killers, chief. They never learn. If they just stopped at three, they could get away with murder."
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth. | **Never participated in a WP thread before, probably a bad starting point given that the thread's already 12 hours old, but ah well, here goes!**
Chris looked in the mirror one last time, adjusted his collar, grabbed his coat, and left.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his first day as a doctor. Excited, and yet simultaneously terrified, he arrived at St. Steven's Hospital for his first day, not knowing at all what lay ahead, and found himself in the E.R. assisting a much more experienced doctor who'd been given the task of mentoring Chris and showing him the ropes, Dr. Symons.
He began the tour around the department, introducing Chris to the relevant staff: Janice and Laverne the receptionists; no sooner did they arrive at the nursing station than a patient was rushed by on a gurney and quickly stationed in a nearby treatment area as the nurses shouted for Dr. Symons. He sprang into action.
*Male, James Davies, mid-30's, traffic accident, broken neck, severe head trauma, lacerations to the upper torso, 2 broken legs*
The nurses began to quickly cut away his clothing as Dr. Symons got to work, shouting instructions to the nurses, demanding IVs and equipment, all the while the patient writhing in agony and gasping for air. Chris froze, fixated on the man's attire. He was dressed to the nines, a sharp black tuxedo now flung open either side of his body on the gurney, with a corsage protruding from behind the lapel. The patient's movement quickly faded, and he lay there, lifeless and still.
*He's stopped breathing, Chris get in here!*
Symons signalled and shouted for Chris to begin using the bag valve mask to help the man breathe, as he readied the defibrillator. They all stood back as Symons tried in vain. Everyone knew it was too late for this patient before they even began, even Chris, but Symons knew he had to teach Chris that it was never too late for anyone, everyone was worth trying for.
*Time of death 13:18.*
Symons head dropped, knowing he'd failed but hoping he'd taught a valuable lesson to the rookie. He looked up to see Chris frozen, tears in his eyes at the ordeal he'd just witnessed within an hour of becoming a doctor, and approached him to provide some comforting words about how they tried as hard as they could, how Chris should learn from this, and assuring him that he'd take the hard part and break the news to the family outside. At this point, Chris stopped him, took the clipboard from his hands, and took on the hard part himself.
He walked into the waiting area and shouted for a Miss Williams, noticing the surname didn't match with the name of the patient. A young woman shakily got to her feet and approached him in a pristine, white wedding dress, surrounded by family members; he took them to a separate room for some privacy, tearing the patient's notes from his clipboard as he went and dispatching it into a bin along the way.
*1. Miss Williams, we believe your fiancé suffered a pulmonary embolism at the wheel of his car this morning.*
*2. He passed almost instantly, and he likely wasn't even aware he was in a car accident.*
*3. He went peacefully, and felt little to no pain.*
*I'm sorry for your loss.*
With that, Chris gave a sympathetic look to the family in the room, lowered his head, and left, quietly closing the door behind him to contain the anguished wails of the ex-bride-to-be. He placed the clipboard on the nurses' desk, along with his badge, and left the hospital never to return, he couldn't face this career.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his last day as a doctor. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | **Never participated in a WP thread before, probably a bad starting point given that the thread's already 12 hours old, but ah well, here goes!**
Chris looked in the mirror one last time, adjusted his collar, grabbed his coat, and left.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his first day as a doctor. Excited, and yet simultaneously terrified, he arrived at St. Steven's Hospital for his first day, not knowing at all what lay ahead, and found himself in the E.R. assisting a much more experienced doctor who'd been given the task of mentoring Chris and showing him the ropes, Dr. Symons.
He began the tour around the department, introducing Chris to the relevant staff: Janice and Laverne the receptionists; no sooner did they arrive at the nursing station than a patient was rushed by on a gurney and quickly stationed in a nearby treatment area as the nurses shouted for Dr. Symons. He sprang into action.
*Male, James Davies, mid-30's, traffic accident, broken neck, severe head trauma, lacerations to the upper torso, 2 broken legs*
The nurses began to quickly cut away his clothing as Dr. Symons got to work, shouting instructions to the nurses, demanding IVs and equipment, all the while the patient writhing in agony and gasping for air. Chris froze, fixated on the man's attire. He was dressed to the nines, a sharp black tuxedo now flung open either side of his body on the gurney, with a corsage protruding from behind the lapel. The patient's movement quickly faded, and he lay there, lifeless and still.
*He's stopped breathing, Chris get in here!*
Symons signalled and shouted for Chris to begin using the bag valve mask to help the man breathe, as he readied the defibrillator. They all stood back as Symons tried in vain. Everyone knew it was too late for this patient before they even began, even Chris, but Symons knew he had to teach Chris that it was never too late for anyone, everyone was worth trying for.
*Time of death 13:18.*
Symons head dropped, knowing he'd failed but hoping he'd taught a valuable lesson to the rookie. He looked up to see Chris frozen, tears in his eyes at the ordeal he'd just witnessed within an hour of becoming a doctor, and approached him to provide some comforting words about how they tried as hard as they could, how Chris should learn from this, and assuring him that he'd take the hard part and break the news to the family outside. At this point, Chris stopped him, took the clipboard from his hands, and took on the hard part himself.
He walked into the waiting area and shouted for a Miss Williams, noticing the surname didn't match with the name of the patient. A young woman shakily got to her feet and approached him in a pristine, white wedding dress, surrounded by family members; he took them to a separate room for some privacy, tearing the patient's notes from his clipboard as he went and dispatching it into a bin along the way.
*1. Miss Williams, we believe your fiancé suffered a pulmonary embolism at the wheel of his car this morning.*
*2. He passed almost instantly, and he likely wasn't even aware he was in a car accident.*
*3. He went peacefully, and felt little to no pain.*
*I'm sorry for your loss.*
With that, Chris gave a sympathetic look to the family in the room, lowered his head, and left, quietly closing the door behind him to contain the anguished wails of the ex-bride-to-be. He placed the clipboard on the nurses' desk, along with his badge, and left the hospital never to return, he couldn't face this career.
4 years of medical school had all come down to this, his last day as a doctor. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "Your last mandate saw town debt increase by 15%. Are you REALLY going to halve it like your campaign says if you are elected this time ?"
*Crap, this guy is tough. I'm not gonna last the whole debate at this rate...*
Article 14th of the constitution of our nation ensured our right to keep the three lies. But lying was usually done by not answering the question, which in itself is a great indicator that you would have lied by giving the expected answer. So most people choose to not answer to most of the questions you get in everyday life, to avoid accidental lies or to blur lie-related non answers.
But politicians were the most affected. A debate would be useless without answering, and politicians would not be successful without lies. So they hired people to spoke lies for themselves at debates, the *spokepersons*. With a huge student debt, all my three lies still unused, I was hired by mayor candidate Jack Harrolds.
They pay you for every minute of speaking. I was confident I would be able to dodge some questions and last one or two debates. But they don't want you to interpret their answer, they just want a mouth to tell lies. We are expendable mouths.
And there is the answer of Mr Harrolds. "The increase was entirely due to the economical crisis. We're gonna halve it by selling some state unused land, cutting public expenses by 30%, and a winning a partnership with Cloudnet corp that wants to install a new datacenter and will greatly improve our town economy !".
If I say that, I'm sure my last lie will be consumed. Maybe some spokepersons can say lies about stuff they ignore. But I heard Mr Harrolds speaking in a corridor yesterday. It will not be enough. Cloudnet will give him a bribe to get tax reductions, and only create a few jobs. He doesn't care to fail the next election because he will get an administrative job at Cloudnet if he is successful this time.
He gives me a tough glare, having noticed my hesitation. They are rumors about spokepersons who betrayed their candidate. It did not ended well for them. I cannot go back now. Think of the money. There goes my third lie...
"The increase was...." | Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?" | Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | James was waiting just outside the door - the door to his future.
It all started, years ago, when he began working for an incumbent Senator from New York - trying to keep his position despite the massive swelling of support for the Republican opposition. He did simple things - phone calls, passing out fliers, until one day, everything changed. Jessie Valdero - the Senator he was working for - was arrested on charges of negligent manslaughter after running over three children while driving drunk. Small crimes could be pushed to the side, but the rage the community felt about this forced the D.A.'s hand, and Valdero was tried and sentenced within a week. The group was without a leader - who would stand up as their representative.
So he did.
He took the position - it took him half a month to get all the paperwork done, but he did it. Now running for Senator, he had to take the lead and organize his supporters. He did okay - the Republican candidate even recognized the hard effort he put forward, in his victory speech.
But losing this once didn't diminish his dreams. No. He now knew what he was meant to do. So he tried, again, four years later. He won.
His induction into the Senate was normal, until night came. He was dragged, screaming, from his office. He was eventually knocked out, and awoke bound to a chair. Men emerged from the shadows, all dressed as donkeys. They said some chanting, then removed their masks and congratulated him on now being a Senator. He'd expected something like this from frat boys, not politicians, then it was explained.
"In 1985," one man stated, stepping forward. "We realized that without the ability to lie often, we would not be able to beat out the Republican opposition - they were too honest, after Abe set a high bar they all had to pass." James nodded. "So we summoned the Devil and made a pact - so long we repeat this ceremony for each new Democratic politician, he will provide us with unlimited lies."
And so began his career as a politician.
And now, years later, here he was. He refused to test the theory of his fellow Democrats, he wanted to save his lies if he could.
He did.
And so now, came the time to use them.
His running mate came up behind him. "So, gonna still hold up your end of the bargain and tear down that wall the Republicans build between us and Mexico?"
He smiled. "Of course!"
One down.
The second came when he assured his wife that, yes, he still loved her and didn't use her for the political connections.
The third came when he said he was willing to work towards ending the wars in the Middle East - they'd been going on for fifty years now, why stop now?
And the fourth...
"Do you solemnly swear to protect, defend, and uphold the Constitution of the United States of America?"
"I do."
Four. | Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. |
Jess and Renée had been talking for a while. The hum of the hospital equipment was almost low enough for them to ignore. Still, this time it persisted in the mind, a deadening musical score to the scene.
Renée squeezed Jess's hand. "God. This wasn't fair. I don't...I wish I could...dammit, Jess, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry. I'm not afraid."
Renée gestured toward the tortuous arrangement of medical equipment, tubes, pumps, everything. "Does it hurt very much?"
"Not as much as I expected, really."
"Weasel words. Did you use up your lies, then?"
"Oh, yeah," and Jess laughed weakly. "Ages ago."
"Okay. Well, as long as it doesn't hurt too bad now." Renée blinked hard once or twice. "I'm sorry," she said again.
"Don't be." Jess focused for a few moments on just breathing in and out. She wanted to be alone for this part. No matter how loved she was. "Same time tomorrow? I just need to sleep for a bit now."
Renée looked wounded, but she covered that fast enough. "Okay," she said. "I'll be there."
Jess smiled, because facial expressions could be faked as much as you wanted in life. Then she closed her eyes and let the hum take over. | Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "So, what do you need a lie for?"
I sat behind my dirty desk, covered in take out boxes and cat fur. I sucked on my soggy cigarette noisily, daintily making notes on the back of an envelope.
The man in front of me nervously wrung his hands. He eyed me suspiciously, but I smelled the desperation. Well, most people were pretty desperate to come find my tiny office nestled behind a dumpster.
"I- shit - I need someone to confess to a murder."
I hesitated. Ah, this could get tricky. I snuffed on my cigarette contemplatively. Ricky? Naw, he wouldn't go to prison. There is Amy. But she only had one lie left. This situation will need more. Maybe Michelle? Eh, not clever enough. Then I remembered. Ernesto. 3 lies. Smart. A minority to boot. And he had a family that desperately needed money.
The man in front of me sweated like a pig in a slaughter house, as his round tummy smooshed against my desk. Little numbers popped into my head as I wondered how much his freedom was worth to the sticky little hog.
"Well, Mr. Noname," I drawled, "You do realize lies are a hot commodity. Hmmhmm? Very limited these days. What, with people only able to lie 3 times in their total lives. And humans being natural born liars! It's abysmal, I say. Hmmhmm. And in your situation, we will probably need - ohhhh- all 3 lies. Yes, definitely 3. This can be, hmmhmm, pricey. Hmmhmm."
"Price doesn't matter." The man burst out. I tried to keep my face impassive as I began heaving more money on my imaginary pile.
"Ahh, I see you are eager to have all this business behind you. Hmmhmm. Very good." I tapped my desk and gave him a sideways glance, "Sooooo, who didja kill?"
"What? What does that matter? I just need lies! Nothing more!"
I wagged a finger at him. "Oh, Mr. Noname. It's a very sensitive business this business is, hmmhmm. I need to figure out which one of my pretty little liars can succeed. I need to create a successful... story. So to say." A smile tugged at my lips. "Was it your wife? I betcha it was the wife. It's always the wife."
His face went white and he stood up abruptly. "This is outrageous! I don't have to stand for this!"
"Uh, you just did."
Immediately color began flushing back to his cheeks. "Why you little-" The man blustered for a second, and then with a flourish began stomping out of my alley.
"Oh Senator Calllleeeeeey!" I sang out. The rigidity that struck his back almost sent him squealing onto his face. He glanced back, whites wide.
"What? You got the wrong-" A coughing fit hit him, as he doubled over. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as his nose sprang a leak. Ah, well that answers that question. Not surprising, considering he is a politician. They used up their lies quickly.
I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously, Senator? How stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you trying to lie when you have no more lies? Hmmhmm. Come back here. I have some water. Drink your lie back down, hmmmhmmm."
He weaved back to my table, coughing still keeping him doubled over. I sloshed a half empty water bottle towards him. "It's fancy water. Just for you."
"It's - cough- it's- cough- half empty!"
"I prefer half full. Amazing what people throw out these days. Hmmhmm. Drink, before you choke on your lie."
With a torn grumble, tears and blood streaming down his piggy face, he grabbed the bottle and chugged the remaining water. I tapped my pen on the desk as I appraised the man in front of me.
"$20 million."
The senator spat out the last sip of water. "What?"
"$20 million. $5 mil for each lie. That makes $15, hmmhmm."
"And the last $5 million?" He sputtered.
"That's a bonus for my liar who will be going to prison for you." I glanced up contemplatively at the smog that cuddled amongst the buildings that rose above us. "Actually, hmmhmm, for scum like you, I should make it $10 million. I know who you are, and you are not a very nice man. No one was surprised when your wife was found dead, hmmhmm. So let's make it $25 million. And I need a favor. A favor only a senator could provide."
He glared at me stonily. I knew he wouldn't negotiate. He couldn't really. I was one of the few who could peddle a lie in this city, and - as I shuffled papers on my three legged desk propped up against the dumpster - very difficult to find. He must have pulled a lot of strings already to find me. I knew the moment he stepped curiously into my alleyway that he was a man out of options.
A humorless smile spread across my face. "So what do you say, Senator? Ready to buy a lie?" | "Your last mandate saw town debt increase by 15%. Are you REALLY going to halve it like your campaign says if you are elected this time ?"
*Crap, this guy is tough. I'm not gonna last the whole debate at this rate...*
Article 14th of the constitution of our nation ensured our right to keep the three lies. But lying was usually done by not answering the question, which in itself is a great indicator that you would have lied by giving the expected answer. So most people choose to not answer to most of the questions you get in everyday life, to avoid accidental lies or to blur lie-related non answers.
But politicians were the most affected. A debate would be useless without answering, and politicians would not be successful without lies. So they hired people to spoke lies for themselves at debates, the *spokepersons*. With a huge student debt, all my three lies still unused, I was hired by mayor candidate Jack Harrolds.
They pay you for every minute of speaking. I was confident I would be able to dodge some questions and last one or two debates. But they don't want you to interpret their answer, they just want a mouth to tell lies. We are expendable mouths.
And there is the answer of Mr Harrolds. "The increase was entirely due to the economical crisis. We're gonna halve it by selling some state unused land, cutting public expenses by 30%, and a winning a partnership with Cloudnet corp that wants to install a new datacenter and will greatly improve our town economy !".
If I say that, I'm sure my last lie will be consumed. Maybe some spokepersons can say lies about stuff they ignore. But I heard Mr Harrolds speaking in a corridor yesterday. It will not be enough. Cloudnet will give him a bribe to get tax reductions, and only create a few jobs. He doesn't care to fail the next election because he will get an administrative job at Cloudnet if he is successful this time.
He gives me a tough glare, having noticed my hesitation. They are rumors about spokepersons who betrayed their candidate. It did not ended well for them. I cannot go back now. Think of the money. There goes my third lie...
"The increase was...." | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | James was waiting just outside the door - the door to his future.
It all started, years ago, when he began working for an incumbent Senator from New York - trying to keep his position despite the massive swelling of support for the Republican opposition. He did simple things - phone calls, passing out fliers, until one day, everything changed. Jessie Valdero - the Senator he was working for - was arrested on charges of negligent manslaughter after running over three children while driving drunk. Small crimes could be pushed to the side, but the rage the community felt about this forced the D.A.'s hand, and Valdero was tried and sentenced within a week. The group was without a leader - who would stand up as their representative.
So he did.
He took the position - it took him half a month to get all the paperwork done, but he did it. Now running for Senator, he had to take the lead and organize his supporters. He did okay - the Republican candidate even recognized the hard effort he put forward, in his victory speech.
But losing this once didn't diminish his dreams. No. He now knew what he was meant to do. So he tried, again, four years later. He won.
His induction into the Senate was normal, until night came. He was dragged, screaming, from his office. He was eventually knocked out, and awoke bound to a chair. Men emerged from the shadows, all dressed as donkeys. They said some chanting, then removed their masks and congratulated him on now being a Senator. He'd expected something like this from frat boys, not politicians, then it was explained.
"In 1985," one man stated, stepping forward. "We realized that without the ability to lie often, we would not be able to beat out the Republican opposition - they were too honest, after Abe set a high bar they all had to pass." James nodded. "So we summoned the Devil and made a pact - so long we repeat this ceremony for each new Democratic politician, he will provide us with unlimited lies."
And so began his career as a politician.
And now, years later, here he was. He refused to test the theory of his fellow Democrats, he wanted to save his lies if he could.
He did.
And so now, came the time to use them.
His running mate came up behind him. "So, gonna still hold up your end of the bargain and tear down that wall the Republicans build between us and Mexico?"
He smiled. "Of course!"
One down.
The second came when he assured his wife that, yes, he still loved her and didn't use her for the political connections.
The third came when he said he was willing to work towards ending the wars in the Middle East - they'd been going on for fifty years now, why stop now?
And the fourth...
"Do you solemnly swear to protect, defend, and uphold the Constitution of the United States of America?"
"I do."
Four. | "Your last mandate saw town debt increase by 15%. Are you REALLY going to halve it like your campaign says if you are elected this time ?"
*Crap, this guy is tough. I'm not gonna last the whole debate at this rate...*
Article 14th of the constitution of our nation ensured our right to keep the three lies. But lying was usually done by not answering the question, which in itself is a great indicator that you would have lied by giving the expected answer. So most people choose to not answer to most of the questions you get in everyday life, to avoid accidental lies or to blur lie-related non answers.
But politicians were the most affected. A debate would be useless without answering, and politicians would not be successful without lies. So they hired people to spoke lies for themselves at debates, the *spokepersons*. With a huge student debt, all my three lies still unused, I was hired by mayor candidate Jack Harrolds.
They pay you for every minute of speaking. I was confident I would be able to dodge some questions and last one or two debates. But they don't want you to interpret their answer, they just want a mouth to tell lies. We are expendable mouths.
And there is the answer of Mr Harrolds. "The increase was entirely due to the economical crisis. We're gonna halve it by selling some state unused land, cutting public expenses by 30%, and a winning a partnership with Cloudnet corp that wants to install a new datacenter and will greatly improve our town economy !".
If I say that, I'm sure my last lie will be consumed. Maybe some spokepersons can say lies about stuff they ignore. But I heard Mr Harrolds speaking in a corridor yesterday. It will not be enough. Cloudnet will give him a bribe to get tax reductions, and only create a few jobs. He doesn't care to fail the next election because he will get an administrative job at Cloudnet if he is successful this time.
He gives me a tough glare, having noticed my hesitation. They are rumors about spokepersons who betrayed their candidate. It did not ended well for them. I cannot go back now. Think of the money. There goes my third lie...
"The increase was...." | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | James was waiting just outside the door - the door to his future.
It all started, years ago, when he began working for an incumbent Senator from New York - trying to keep his position despite the massive swelling of support for the Republican opposition. He did simple things - phone calls, passing out fliers, until one day, everything changed. Jessie Valdero - the Senator he was working for - was arrested on charges of negligent manslaughter after running over three children while driving drunk. Small crimes could be pushed to the side, but the rage the community felt about this forced the D.A.'s hand, and Valdero was tried and sentenced within a week. The group was without a leader - who would stand up as their representative.
So he did.
He took the position - it took him half a month to get all the paperwork done, but he did it. Now running for Senator, he had to take the lead and organize his supporters. He did okay - the Republican candidate even recognized the hard effort he put forward, in his victory speech.
But losing this once didn't diminish his dreams. No. He now knew what he was meant to do. So he tried, again, four years later. He won.
His induction into the Senate was normal, until night came. He was dragged, screaming, from his office. He was eventually knocked out, and awoke bound to a chair. Men emerged from the shadows, all dressed as donkeys. They said some chanting, then removed their masks and congratulated him on now being a Senator. He'd expected something like this from frat boys, not politicians, then it was explained.
"In 1985," one man stated, stepping forward. "We realized that without the ability to lie often, we would not be able to beat out the Republican opposition - they were too honest, after Abe set a high bar they all had to pass." James nodded. "So we summoned the Devil and made a pact - so long we repeat this ceremony for each new Democratic politician, he will provide us with unlimited lies."
And so began his career as a politician.
And now, years later, here he was. He refused to test the theory of his fellow Democrats, he wanted to save his lies if he could.
He did.
And so now, came the time to use them.
His running mate came up behind him. "So, gonna still hold up your end of the bargain and tear down that wall the Republicans build between us and Mexico?"
He smiled. "Of course!"
One down.
The second came when he assured his wife that, yes, he still loved her and didn't use her for the political connections.
The third came when he said he was willing to work towards ending the wars in the Middle East - they'd been going on for fifty years now, why stop now?
And the fourth...
"Do you solemnly swear to protect, defend, and uphold the Constitution of the United States of America?"
"I do."
Four. | -Are you cheating on me?
-No, of course not.
-Are you cheating on me?
*Sam could see where this was going but what can you do.*
-No, don't you trust me?
-Are you cheating on me?
-No!
-Are you cheating on me?
-Damn it!... ok, yes. I guess I'll be leaving then?
----------------
[**Note(hover to read):**](/s "At first I was going to call the main character 'Pete' but I decided to change it to the more gender neutral name, 'Sam' so that the reader(s) can more freely paint their own scenario") | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. |
Jess and Renée had been talking for a while. The hum of the hospital equipment was almost low enough for them to ignore. Still, this time it persisted in the mind, a deadening musical score to the scene.
Renée squeezed Jess's hand. "God. This wasn't fair. I don't...I wish I could...dammit, Jess, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry. I'm not afraid."
Renée gestured toward the tortuous arrangement of medical equipment, tubes, pumps, everything. "Does it hurt very much?"
"Not as much as I expected, really."
"Weasel words. Did you use up your lies, then?"
"Oh, yeah," and Jess laughed weakly. "Ages ago."
"Okay. Well, as long as it doesn't hurt too bad now." Renée blinked hard once or twice. "I'm sorry," she said again.
"Don't be." Jess focused for a few moments on just breathing in and out. She wanted to be alone for this part. No matter how loved she was. "Same time tomorrow? I just need to sleep for a bit now."
Renée looked wounded, but she covered that fast enough. "Okay," she said. "I'll be there."
Jess smiled, because facial expressions could be faked as much as you wanted in life. Then she closed her eyes and let the hum take over. | -Are you cheating on me?
-No, of course not.
-Are you cheating on me?
*Sam could see where this was going but what can you do.*
-No, don't you trust me?
-Are you cheating on me?
-No!
-Are you cheating on me?
-Damn it!... ok, yes. I guess I'll be leaving then?
----------------
[**Note(hover to read):**](/s "At first I was going to call the main character 'Pete' but I decided to change it to the more gender neutral name, 'Sam' so that the reader(s) can more freely paint their own scenario") | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "Sergeant! Mark's been hit! He took a round to the gut!"
*Fuck*, this was not Tom's day. A simple two hour patrol, that's all this was supposed to be, and here he was down to his last magazine, trading rounds with people he couldn't even see. Releasing his hands from the now useless rifle, he scrambled from his firing position on the upper floor and down the stairs. Mark was there with the other wounded, clutching his stomach and gargling on his own blood. The Corpsman was trying to get him to apply pressure but he was too far gone, his hands kept falling limp at his side and it was all he could do to remain awake, "Corporal, go see to the others, I've got him"
Tom knew he couldn't save the kid. A gut shot is a slow, painful way to die. You bleed out slowly, even more so if you happen to be lying down, as the blood inside you pools, defied by gravity from leaking out. Grabbing Mark's head, Tom raises the injured Private so he was leaning against his chest, the movement seemed to stir the wounded man slightly, as he glances up, his eyes already losing the light in them.
"Hey Sergeant, am I gonna die?"
Here it was. They teach you about this moment when you become an NCO, they tell you how to answer. Most men don't have many lies left after ten years in the Marines, most don't have even one,"Nah son, you're not going to die, not on my watch". The Private seemed surprised for a second, after all, when almost no one can lie. Everything is the truth, right? Despite the blood coating his hands, Mark slowly moves to get something from the front pocket on his shirt. It's a letter. *Fuck*, they teach you about this too.
"Can you get this to my mom Sarge? Just in case?"
This should be the easy part, you tell the kid he can keep it, because he's going home.
"Sure son, I'll deliver it myself"
That was two. Not that it mattered, because Mark had already died, his final act having been to entrust a letter to his Sergeant. The firefight was slowing on one side, theirs.They didn't have the ammo to get out of this and that meant they needed CAS. The radio was still working, and Tom had to move across the room to hear his CO on the other end. The conversation was short, and afterwards the Corpsman approached him, "Help coming soon Sergeant? We have too many wounded to get out of here on foot"
Tom breathed deep. This wasn't in the training.
"Help's coming, Corporal, we're all going home" | -Are you cheating on me?
-No, of course not.
-Are you cheating on me?
*Sam could see where this was going but what can you do.*
-No, don't you trust me?
-Are you cheating on me?
-No!
-Are you cheating on me?
-Damn it!... ok, yes. I guess I'll be leaving then?
----------------
[**Note(hover to read):**](/s "At first I was going to call the main character 'Pete' but I decided to change it to the more gender neutral name, 'Sam' so that the reader(s) can more freely paint their own scenario") | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| -Are you cheating on me?
-No, of course not.
-Are you cheating on me?
*Sam could see where this was going but what can you do.*
-No, don't you trust me?
-Are you cheating on me?
-No!
-Are you cheating on me?
-Damn it!... ok, yes. I guess I'll be leaving then?
----------------
[**Note(hover to read):**](/s "At first I was going to call the main character 'Pete' but I decided to change it to the more gender neutral name, 'Sam' so that the reader(s) can more freely paint their own scenario") | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "Sergeant! Mark's been hit! He took a round to the gut!"
*Fuck*, this was not Tom's day. A simple two hour patrol, that's all this was supposed to be, and here he was down to his last magazine, trading rounds with people he couldn't even see. Releasing his hands from the now useless rifle, he scrambled from his firing position on the upper floor and down the stairs. Mark was there with the other wounded, clutching his stomach and gargling on his own blood. The Corpsman was trying to get him to apply pressure but he was too far gone, his hands kept falling limp at his side and it was all he could do to remain awake, "Corporal, go see to the others, I've got him"
Tom knew he couldn't save the kid. A gut shot is a slow, painful way to die. You bleed out slowly, even more so if you happen to be lying down, as the blood inside you pools, defied by gravity from leaking out. Grabbing Mark's head, Tom raises the injured Private so he was leaning against his chest, the movement seemed to stir the wounded man slightly, as he glances up, his eyes already losing the light in them.
"Hey Sergeant, am I gonna die?"
Here it was. They teach you about this moment when you become an NCO, they tell you how to answer. Most men don't have many lies left after ten years in the Marines, most don't have even one,"Nah son, you're not going to die, not on my watch". The Private seemed surprised for a second, after all, when almost no one can lie. Everything is the truth, right? Despite the blood coating his hands, Mark slowly moves to get something from the front pocket on his shirt. It's a letter. *Fuck*, they teach you about this too.
"Can you get this to my mom Sarge? Just in case?"
This should be the easy part, you tell the kid he can keep it, because he's going home.
"Sure son, I'll deliver it myself"
That was two. Not that it mattered, because Mark had already died, his final act having been to entrust a letter to his Sergeant. The firefight was slowing on one side, theirs.They didn't have the ammo to get out of this and that meant they needed CAS. The radio was still working, and Tom had to move across the room to hear his CO on the other end. The conversation was short, and afterwards the Corpsman approached him, "Help coming soon Sergeant? We have too many wounded to get out of here on foot"
Tom breathed deep. This wasn't in the training.
"Help's coming, Corporal, we're all going home" | "Daddy, are you sure we cant tell lies?"
"Yup, only three your whole life."
"Are you sure? How do they know when I tell a lie?"
"Uh, you see there's these... uh... magic rabbits .... secret magic rabbits and they listen in to you and report to the Big Guy Upstairs when you do. "
"Secret magic rabbits?"
"Yup. You almost never see them. But they're there. I saw one myself once. Big. Floppy. Ears."
The boy considered...
"Big floppy ears?"
"Big. Floppy. Ears. With Big. Shiny Teeth. "
"Well okay then. I promise no lieing then."
The father sat back satisfied, three lies well used. His son would not lose his lies in childhood on some random event. Just in case he ever needed them he'd have them around. After all he too might have a son one day and need to tell him a tale. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| "Daddy, are you sure we cant tell lies?"
"Yup, only three your whole life."
"Are you sure? How do they know when I tell a lie?"
"Uh, you see there's these... uh... magic rabbits .... secret magic rabbits and they listen in to you and report to the Big Guy Upstairs when you do. "
"Secret magic rabbits?"
"Yup. You almost never see them. But they're there. I saw one myself once. Big. Floppy. Ears."
The boy considered...
"Big floppy ears?"
"Big. Floppy. Ears. With Big. Shiny Teeth. "
"Well okay then. I promise no lieing then."
The father sat back satisfied, three lies well used. His son would not lose his lies in childhood on some random event. Just in case he ever needed them he'd have them around. After all he too might have a son one day and need to tell him a tale. | |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | "Sergeant! Mark's been hit! He took a round to the gut!"
*Fuck*, this was not Tom's day. A simple two hour patrol, that's all this was supposed to be, and here he was down to his last magazine, trading rounds with people he couldn't even see. Releasing his hands from the now useless rifle, he scrambled from his firing position on the upper floor and down the stairs. Mark was there with the other wounded, clutching his stomach and gargling on his own blood. The Corpsman was trying to get him to apply pressure but he was too far gone, his hands kept falling limp at his side and it was all he could do to remain awake, "Corporal, go see to the others, I've got him"
Tom knew he couldn't save the kid. A gut shot is a slow, painful way to die. You bleed out slowly, even more so if you happen to be lying down, as the blood inside you pools, defied by gravity from leaking out. Grabbing Mark's head, Tom raises the injured Private so he was leaning against his chest, the movement seemed to stir the wounded man slightly, as he glances up, his eyes already losing the light in them.
"Hey Sergeant, am I gonna die?"
Here it was. They teach you about this moment when you become an NCO, they tell you how to answer. Most men don't have many lies left after ten years in the Marines, most don't have even one,"Nah son, you're not going to die, not on my watch". The Private seemed surprised for a second, after all, when almost no one can lie. Everything is the truth, right? Despite the blood coating his hands, Mark slowly moves to get something from the front pocket on his shirt. It's a letter. *Fuck*, they teach you about this too.
"Can you get this to my mom Sarge? Just in case?"
This should be the easy part, you tell the kid he can keep it, because he's going home.
"Sure son, I'll deliver it myself"
That was two. Not that it mattered, because Mark had already died, his final act having been to entrust a letter to his Sergeant. The firefight was slowing on one side, theirs.They didn't have the ammo to get out of this and that meant they needed CAS. The radio was still working, and Tom had to move across the room to hear his CO on the other end. The conversation was short, and afterwards the Corpsman approached him, "Help coming soon Sergeant? We have too many wounded to get out of here on foot"
Tom breathed deep. This wasn't in the training.
"Help's coming, Corporal, we're all going home" | "I do."
I felt a twinge in the back of my brain as my first lie slipped out of my mouth. No way was I going to keep this loser around "in sickness and in health." Melissa was a fine woman, nobody could deny that... but, you know, there are practical considerations to marriage that sometimes you just *can't* talk about. Such as what happens to a woman's body as it decays with age. Ugh.
Oh well; no matter. I had planned for this, and had hoarded my lies like rubies in the treasure chest of my brain. I still had two, which I planned to save for fifteen, twenty years down the road. I'd need to lie to the next one too... and probably the third.
At the reception, I got to talking to her father. It was all innocuous fun; I laughed at his jokes, he told me about his family history. Eventually, he grew serious. "I'm just so glad Melissa finally found somebody to love her for who she is. It's hard, coming from a family with money, to separate the legitimate lovers from the gold-diggers." He sipped his drink, and I sat silent. This was dangerous territory. Melissa herself was lovely, certainly... but how was I to get new conquests when I was fifty if I had no money?
Her father noticed something was off, and narrowed his eyes at me. "Son, I know you can't lie to me. If you'd been lying about anything in this relationship, you'd have used them all up a long time ago. So set my heart at ease and be frank: was money a consideration in your mind, when you proposed?"
He had underestimated my ability for half-truths, especially with the trusting Melissa... but I didn't want to waste one of my last two. I shook my head, smirking as if at a joke. He wasn't buying it. "Answer me plainly: yes or no?"
There was no way out. "No, of course not!" I felt the second lie burst from my lips. Damn it! Only one remained, glistening in the back of my skull, eternally precious––my one ticket to the life I wanted. Appeased, Melissa's father leaned back in his seat, and reached for his glass of champagne.
That night, I helped Melissa undo her corset. In the sickly yellow light of the motel lamps, her skin already seemed worn and papery. She turned to face me... but with two lies gone and my plans in jeopardy, all I could see in her body was the shadow of a future paunch, and the hint of crow's feet in the corners of her eyes.
She must have seen something in my face too, as she pressed herself against me with worry in her face. "Am I beautiful?" she asked softly. I embraced her silently, clamping down hard on my final lie––but she, knowing me as nobody else ever has, read my coldness correctly. The lie slipped away, out of my reach forever, as easily as if I'd spoken it aloud.
Melissa pulled away, and began to weep.
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| "I do."
I felt a twinge in the back of my brain as my first lie slipped out of my mouth. No way was I going to keep this loser around "in sickness and in health." Melissa was a fine woman, nobody could deny that... but, you know, there are practical considerations to marriage that sometimes you just *can't* talk about. Such as what happens to a woman's body as it decays with age. Ugh.
Oh well; no matter. I had planned for this, and had hoarded my lies like rubies in the treasure chest of my brain. I still had two, which I planned to save for fifteen, twenty years down the road. I'd need to lie to the next one too... and probably the third.
At the reception, I got to talking to her father. It was all innocuous fun; I laughed at his jokes, he told me about his family history. Eventually, he grew serious. "I'm just so glad Melissa finally found somebody to love her for who she is. It's hard, coming from a family with money, to separate the legitimate lovers from the gold-diggers." He sipped his drink, and I sat silent. This was dangerous territory. Melissa herself was lovely, certainly... but how was I to get new conquests when I was fifty if I had no money?
Her father noticed something was off, and narrowed his eyes at me. "Son, I know you can't lie to me. If you'd been lying about anything in this relationship, you'd have used them all up a long time ago. So set my heart at ease and be frank: was money a consideration in your mind, when you proposed?"
He had underestimated my ability for half-truths, especially with the trusting Melissa... but I didn't want to waste one of my last two. I shook my head, smirking as if at a joke. He wasn't buying it. "Answer me plainly: yes or no?"
There was no way out. "No, of course not!" I felt the second lie burst from my lips. Damn it! Only one remained, glistening in the back of my skull, eternally precious––my one ticket to the life I wanted. Appeased, Melissa's father leaned back in his seat, and reached for his glass of champagne.
That night, I helped Melissa undo her corset. In the sickly yellow light of the motel lamps, her skin already seemed worn and papery. She turned to face me... but with two lies gone and my plans in jeopardy, all I could see in her body was the shadow of a future paunch, and the hint of crow's feet in the corners of her eyes.
She must have seen something in my face too, as she pressed herself against me with worry in her face. "Am I beautiful?" she asked softly. I embraced her silently, clamping down hard on my final lie––but she, knowing me as nobody else ever has, read my coldness correctly. The lie slipped away, out of my reach forever, as easily as if I'd spoken it aloud.
Melissa pulled away, and began to weep.
| |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| "Sergeant! Mark's been hit! He took a round to the gut!"
*Fuck*, this was not Tom's day. A simple two hour patrol, that's all this was supposed to be, and here he was down to his last magazine, trading rounds with people he couldn't even see. Releasing his hands from the now useless rifle, he scrambled from his firing position on the upper floor and down the stairs. Mark was there with the other wounded, clutching his stomach and gargling on his own blood. The Corpsman was trying to get him to apply pressure but he was too far gone, his hands kept falling limp at his side and it was all he could do to remain awake, "Corporal, go see to the others, I've got him"
Tom knew he couldn't save the kid. A gut shot is a slow, painful way to die. You bleed out slowly, even more so if you happen to be lying down, as the blood inside you pools, defied by gravity from leaking out. Grabbing Mark's head, Tom raises the injured Private so he was leaning against his chest, the movement seemed to stir the wounded man slightly, as he glances up, his eyes already losing the light in them.
"Hey Sergeant, am I gonna die?"
Here it was. They teach you about this moment when you become an NCO, they tell you how to answer. Most men don't have many lies left after ten years in the Marines, most don't have even one,"Nah son, you're not going to die, not on my watch". The Private seemed surprised for a second, after all, when almost no one can lie. Everything is the truth, right? Despite the blood coating his hands, Mark slowly moves to get something from the front pocket on his shirt. It's a letter. *Fuck*, they teach you about this too.
"Can you get this to my mom Sarge? Just in case?"
This should be the easy part, you tell the kid he can keep it, because he's going home.
"Sure son, I'll deliver it myself"
That was two. Not that it mattered, because Mark had already died, his final act having been to entrust a letter to his Sergeant. The firefight was slowing on one side, theirs.They didn't have the ammo to get out of this and that meant they needed CAS. The radio was still working, and Tom had to move across the room to hear his CO on the other end. The conversation was short, and afterwards the Corpsman approached him, "Help coming soon Sergeant? We have too many wounded to get out of here on foot"
Tom breathed deep. This wasn't in the training.
"Help's coming, Corporal, we're all going home" | |
[WP] An undercover cop is given an obscure word or phrase to drop into conversation only if things go badly and the mission is aborted. However, for some reason, the natural flow of conversation with the people he's infiltrating makes it very hard to avoid saying it. | My contact referred to him as "loco". He warned me, not to mess with this man. I was by now used to drug dealers themselves being their best customer, but this man, he was entirely different from all the ones before. He had entered the room without any expression on his face whatsoever, maybe a bit of boredom, but nothing more. His ill-fitting sportscoat seemed to be quite a nice piece. Or at least it used to be, now it was covered in stains and had lost it's sharp form. His hair was greasy which in combination with his high hairline and the bags under his eyes made him seem older than he probably was. There was a hint of grace in his movements though, all of his gestures seemed very controlled. It made sense to me, I was told he used to be an actor. I had never dreamed of it being THIS actor.
"I've heard about you. You're the one who killed "El Animal". Impressive."
I hadn't, but the DEA has become pretty good at staging murders when somebody from the cartel changes sides. "I-It had to be done.", I murmured a lot less daring than I intended to.
"I like pragmatic men." He stepped closer to me, any doubt about his identity was gone now. "You seem nervous though. Don't be afraid kid, nobody would believe you anyway." His face was only inches away from mine now, his left eye twitching uncontrollaby. I stood in silence, fearing for my life even more. He pulled away in a swift motion and turned his back to me for a moment. I heard the cocking noise and before I knew what was happening a .38 snub was pressed into my throat.
"You DO know who I am kid, don't you?" He was screaming now. His face was the very definition of madness, his eyes pierced mine as he pushed his revolver harder against me. I felt like I could see the fire of hell burning inside him through his eyes. "TELL ME YOU'VE SEEN MY MOVIES!"
I knew it was over. He'd shoot me. All the years of hard undercover work, of beating street thugs, robbing dealers and torturing thieving mules, it would all be for nothing. Just because this madman was in a bad mood. "Yes." - "YES WHAT!" - it wasn't a question that exploded out of his mouth. "Yes sir, I have seen them and yes, I know who you are." "See, that wasn't so hard.", he said, as his face went from a frightening grimace to expressionless in a split of a second. "PROVE IT TO ME!" I twitched as he placed the .38 on my forehead. "FINISH MY FUCKING SENTENCE!" I begged for it not to be that one phrase. He looked at a corner of the warehouse and phased out for a second, then turned his head back to me. "Mmm gunna stealit" he hissed out between his teeth.
It was that one fucking phrase. I stuttered some incomprhensible bits, but he pressed the gun firmer into my head again. "FUCKING. SAY. IT." he growled at me. I took a deep breath, then the words left my mouth as my tensed up muscles relaxed a bit. "I'm gonna steal the Declaration Of Independance." It would all be over in less than a minute. He pocketed his revolver as a brief smile struck his face, his eyes still wide open. Completely calm and without any emotion he said: "Good, let's get over with the deal", as the SWAT-team outside the door and windows counted from five down. | The captain's knuckles were pressed on the table, and his tie hung lazily from a stressed collar. Det Simmonson was wreathed in cigarette smoke at the back of the room.
"This is a big one for us, Reinhardt." Said the captain, to the hit undercover cop sat across the table, now being fitted with his wire by a small team of technicians. "Six years of careful infilitration of the Nicoletti family; and tonight, we're within snatching distance of bringing down their whole operation."
"Relax, cap!" Smiled Reinhardt, as a particularly attractive female technician fixed an incredibly sophisticated microphone to his chest. "This'll be a piece of cake. I'll extract the confession and be out of the restaurant before you can say 'That's Amore'!"
"Goddamnit, Reinhardt!" Replied the captain, grabbing another glass of water from the cooler, so he could take one of his regular handfuls of blood-pressure medication. "Don't you screw this up! City hall are so far up my ass, my colon has had to have its zoning permits reviewed!"
"And that's another thing," added the cool and collected form of Det Simmonson, "you can't say 'That's Amore'. Our extraction squad has agreed on it as the trigger phrase. You say that, and you'll have fifteen trained cops smashing in to the restaurant so fast you won't have time to tip."
"Simmonson - why the hell would I need extracting? This whole thing'll be a piece of cake."
"Damnit, Reinhardt!" Said the captain, scooping down his pills. "If you drop this ball, I swear to God, the mayor is gonna have my ass for a car-seat. I still haven't cleared the fall-out from the little matter of you driving a firetruck through his mother's 90th birthday party."
"Chief," replied Reinhardt, coolly, "I'll be fine."
~♤~
The Sicilia wasn't an unimpressive venue. Sal Nicoletti had the seabass flown in, where he could. And while the waiters may have stinted on the wine, they more than made up for it with sizeable helpings of parmesan.
Reinhardt - no; here he was Gio de Graffi - sat and watched thr chuckling frame of Don Nicoletti, who had just embarassed his henchman Sully with a well-timed anecdote, somehow combining Sully's unwieldy frame, Irishness and penchant for brunettes. The red-faced goon gave a weak smile and excused himself. The mobster continued laughing and slapped at the table, turning to face the reproachful eyes of his daughter Caterina.
"What? Whaaat?" He giggled. "You're saying I can't have any fun on a night like tonight, of all nights, mio bambino?"
"Papa, you do always so embarass poor Mr Sullivan..."
Nicoletti padded down his brow with a napkin, which he then flung back on to his lap.
"Mea culpa, sweetie, mea culpa. Just the look on his face...!"
He and his lieutenants broke out in to yet more raucous laughter. As he joined in with the merriment, Graffi gave a few light taps at his torso; nothing to give the game away, but enough to reassure him that his gear was still there. He leant in as the laugh riot died down, and the don seemed to compose himself.
"Fifteen years," he began, giving slow nods, "fifteen years we've been waiting to drive out the Koreans; to get our hands back on that rat bastard Di Lombardi; to finally get everything we deserved."
The laughter dead, everyone else gave solemn nods.
"I'm an old bastard now, but - after tonight, I can rest assured that my business will go on in the hands of my beautiful daughter Caterina, and her capable husband Silvio."
Small applauze. The bashful couple gave nods of gratitude.
"Finally," continued Nicoletti, "we'll be able to solve all our problems. We're gonna remind those sons of bitches who said we'd never amount to anything that the name of Nicoletti carries weight."
More applause. Lieutenants gave the appropriate chorus of assent. Before the chatter could re-start, Nicoletti rubbed his hand on his eyes and looked perturbed.
"What's wrong, boss?"
"It's just...aaahh, it's nothin'."
Gio leant forward. Currying favour would always be useful.
"Tell us, boss."
The don sighed.
"Just...this is the greatest night of my life to date. The fulfilment of a decades-long dream. The end result of hours of gangland work; murders, extortion rackets, tax dodges; even the occasional smuggling. But in all this time..."
Everyone quietened.
"In all this time, I've still never learnt the words to that damn song."
Gio was puzzled.
"Song, boss?"
"Ya know...*When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie...somethin' somethiiiiin,...*"
"*Somethin' somethiiiin'.*" Everyone else obliged.
"Just...ah...my papa used to sing that to me when I was a boy. If only I could find out the words to the rest of that song...ah, I'd be the happiest man alive..."
Silence. Then:
"What about Gio?" Asked Caterina.
Nicoletti was broken from his boyhood reverie.
"Whah?"
"Gio, papa. He's from out of town...he might know the words, while we all forgot them."
A smile broke out on the Don's face.
"Tha'ssa great idea!" He beamed. "Gio - tell me, kid. Do you know those words?"
All faces turned to him.
Slowly, sweat formed on his brow.
| |
[WP] An extraterrestrial invasion has forced the world's nations to reveal their most secretive and powerful weapons. | The president stared a computer monitor running a program that he had used only once before. It was a cisco program actually, some type of teleconferencing tool but built to be impregnable by any listening ears, both above and below us. One by one, faces began to appear on the screen. The U.N. Secretary General, the British Prime Minister, The French President, the chairman of the JCS, etc. Notably absent was Vladimir Putin of Russia and Angela Merkel of Germany, rumored killed in the initial fray. All in all, some 35 of the most powerful people were connected in one peaceful space amidst a world slowly turning to ash; the president could hear it outside his own bunker. He prayed for the less fortunate and then began.
"Ladies and gentleman. I never thought the day would come where a cause could emerge that truly united us, but it has. Individually, our best shots have failed. Our largest cities burn, our dead litter the streets and our proud fighting forces have been reduced to shambles. We need a plan. A joint plan and we need it fast. Ladies and gentleman, I don't know what you expected but I don't stand before you today with the answers. We must find them together. So.....what do we think?"
The American Presidents computer remained silent for a few seconds before chatter commenced. The Chinese PM suggested a coordinated hail mary; expending all remaining cruise missiles, SAM missiles, manned and unmanned aircraft with a simultaneous nuclear strike on the fleet's orbital command and control structure. Spend it all, he suggested. Quickly, the British PM shot him down citing time and time again that our fighters simply couldn't match their fighters and not one ICBM launched ever made it to orbit.
Over the next 30 minutes, world leaders suggested strikes of various kinds spearheaded by the greatest technology their country could muster. The president couldn't deny the brilliance and ingenuity of a good number of them. The Chinese stated to have a viral weapon they could program to kill invading ground troops, but needed time to program it and couldn't guarantee exclusivity to the aliens. The Indians had built a set of rail guns on the side of a mountain, trained directly at the Pakistani border; ready to annihilate any incursion that got past their outer defenses. The British had a fleet of unmanned combat aircraft, similar in prowess to the F-35 except these needed no pilot or controller, they were ran all by a state of the art AI. The Iranians had a computer virus that had been reverse engineered from the Stuxnet worm that had been used to cripple one of their nuclear facilities a few years back. They believed they could compromise their Fleet's communications and give a conventional strike a chance. However, ever idea tossed out was theoretical and and a long shot at best. There were plenty of ideas but none the type of hail mary we needed. Then a quiet voice spoke up that the President didn't recognize.
"Ladies and Gents, I think we're looking at this all wrong. We're like fish in a barrel and someone has dropped a shark. There's no fish in our barrel that can take out this shark." the voice said soberly.
The lines were quiet for a few moments before the British PM spoke up. "The bloody hell does that mean?"
"What I mean is, we need to stop looking in our pond. We need to look up. Further up even than the fleet above. For a while now, we've tracked a signal of unknown origin but clearly extraterrestrial and NOT of the fleet. At first, we couldn't believe what we were hearing and immediately wanted to reach out. But we listened first and the more we listened, the more these messages horrified us. Stories and accounts of interstellar fleets, wars and killing on a scale that you couldn't possibly imagine. So we kept the signal quiet from the rest of the earth, we feared revealing it for someone might reach out and let them know we were here. But now, I'm thinking that's precisely what we should do. Send out an SOS, flip every light in the house on and let the two come and duke it out. It's not a solution but it may buy us sometime to marshal our forces and formulate a plan. I know it's a very long shot but I think it's our best, bad choice." the voice said almost apologetically.
The line was again quiet for a few second before the French PM spoke up.
".......So you're telling us there's not one, but at least TWO races of homicidal aliens out there? Seriously? Why get our asses kicked by one bully when we can get two for the same price??? This is nuts, assuming they'd even do anything if we called. For all we know they know about us and just don't give a shit. And besides, who the hell are you to suggest all this?"
"I'm a nobody" the voice began. "My boss was someone and his boss was someone, I'm just the last one alive who knows about this. But what I'm telling you is that, from a guy who has spent years ALREADY studying an alien culture, the fleet has us dead to rights, every option just dictates how quickly or slowly we die. We need help. " | Deep inside one of the secret military bunkers deep within area 51 a secret meeting takes place. The president of the United States along with many of the high ranking military officials meet to discuss a potential war outbreak with an alien race.
“They haven’t attached yet, and quite frankly if you look at our weapons we won’t stand a chance, and I’m not one for destroying the entire planet with nuclear weapons,” says the president to the committee.
“What do you propose then Mr. President? I’m not sure how much time we have left.” The vice president says over the intercom from a remote location.
One of the top leading scientist in the field of biology stands up. “Excuse me…I’m sorry, I just had to say a word. I have an idea”
“Go on.” The president says.
“Well, their biology I’m sure is almost like ours. I mean they look like us so the genetic structure shouldn’t be too far off.”
“I don’t mean to hurry but can you get to the point.” The president has no patience, there is no time for explanations.
“Right…We make them sick basically. The grease, all that fat…We can produce mass quantities of McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell…All these companies, get them together and have them mass produce and offer it to them. Make them think we are giving them our world. I mean there’s no point in fighting them…If we pretend to surrender and just feed them, eventually they will get sick. There’s no way their bodies can handle that…”
“How do you know they’ll get sick?“ the president asks.
“With all due respect Mr. President, have you seen the health of most of the USA’s citizens?”
| |
[WP] An extraterrestrial invasion has forced the world's nations to reveal their most secretive and powerful weapons. | **Wrote waaaaaayyy More than I thought I was going to here. I took a couple liberties with the WP. Enjoy! Feedback appreciated**
[1/2]
In the deep, empty vastness of space, a massive metallic red-yellow disc slinks silently through the vacuum. Inside, a low hum can be heard by the ship's vast crew. Over a million Zeluthid beings drone about the passages of the *Akaa's Refuge*, as they have for hundreds of years. They are the sixth generation of their kind born in space on this expedition. They skitter upon the floor, the bulkheads, the overheads, their six or ten legs gripping tightly into the grooved, bumpy surfaces of the ship, their unyielding dark green carapaces clacking against one another as they clamber through the great halls. The air is thick and noxious, with an odor they no longer realize is not typical of their home world. None of the Zeluthids still alive, save for the High Elder, had seen the home planet seven hundred years ago. Even the long lifespan of the Zeluthids is usually no match for the impossibly long voyage they had been set upon.
Today is different from every other day, though. Today, their voyage comes to an end. Del'Athir, first among the warriors, stands on the bridge of the ship beside Naaxaroz, the High Elder looking through the only window, into the deep blackness that his people have known for centuries, but today, as for the past eleven months, something is different. A bright yellow orb glows brilliantly, with a tiny blue dot growing larger and larger. Today, they can see mountains, rivers. Where the son does not touch, they can see untold millions of tiny lights clustered together, lines forming intricate paths between the largest of them.
"We approach, sire. This one congratulates you this day," the warrior hissed, his mandibles clicking to accentuate the ends of his sentences.
"More than a thousand years have passed since this One's great broodfather set his eyes on this planet." The ancient hulk of a creature gripped a clawed hand around an equally-ancient disc with an image engraved into it. "There didn't seem to be as many lights then."
"We're preparing for our ascent, on your command, sire." As he spoke, ancient engines long in disuse billowed to life, as the planet became larger and larger in their viewport. "Our trajectory is for this island, separated from the landmass to the east, where our ancestors landed a thousand years ago."
"Let it be so, Athir, of the Del Brood. Today we take this planet as our new home, that one day the Zeluthid Hives will extend through the galaxy."
The planet slowly crept out of view as the *Akaa's Refuge* came about, turning its' impossible mass to face the unforgiving orbit of this alien planet with its' broad underbelly, a proud but apprehensive moment as the centuries-old craft felt an atmosphere, albeit one much less cruel than the one in which it was originally built on the homeworld, for the first time in seven hundred years.
Del'Athir stood before eight-hundred thousand eager Zeluthid warriors, the ship rattling and shaking as the atmosphere of the planet churned her about. The warriors milled restlessly, clad in their red-yellow metal armor protecting the sensitive underbellies of their abdomens, each warrior blessed with great clawed arms extending from the center of their thorax, each engraved precisely with words of inspiration from the Den of Knowledge, their link to a home world they had never seen. They each carried a weapon with their forearms, a powerful red mass accelerator with the ability to fire balls of molten metal up to three times without needing to be reloaded.
"Today, my brood-brothers, we take this planet for our mother Hive. We take this planet from the disgusting simian animals that call it their home. We will take it, we will eliminate them from it, and we will have Hives that rival that of the Great Lairs of the homeworld." Millions of armor-clad legs clacked into the ground as ear-shattering screeching met his candor.
"We will rip these apes from their steeds, their armor will be no match for our three-guns. Their spears will not pierce our armor. We will set forth from this ship, and establish an empire."
More screeching. More clanking. Del'Athir looked upon his army, his four black, beady eyes surveying the incomprehensible vastness of them. He was confident his army would know no defeat, for each of their guns carried three powerful shots, enough to wipe out the largest human city, and by then they would be able to discard them as new guns were built on the ship.
"Lord Del, this one begs forgiveness, but there is a development." Del'Athir was surprised to find a small, weak drone approaching him directly, hissing his annoyances in a high-pitched squeal.
"What is it, whelp? We are mere moments from landing, can this not wait?"
"This one is apologetic, my lord, but the High Elder sent me to inform you, we received a signal we did not expect." The creature had genuine fear in its' eyes, darting back and forth like black pearls rolling across a white floor.
"A signal? An anomaly. These creatures have not discovered the basic capabilities to power electronics."
The creature winced and lowed its' head. "This one regrets to tell you, they may have."
"Impossible, it was hundreds of thousands of years of development before our broodfathers discovered that power."
The tiny, servile drone produced a handset larger than his head, and pressed a button with a weak claw that looked like it could be snapped in half. A sound began to emanate.
"What is this?" the warrior snapped, "It sounds like...grunting? Perhaps it is wind blowing through your sensors."
"No, dear Athir. That is what the apes sound like. They speak with their tongues, passing air through their mouths," a voice from behind. The High Elder lumbered cautiously toward the First Warrior.
"But, my lord, that makes no sense. How could they be sending communications over the air? It was only a thousand years ago, they were communicating with simple writing. What are they saying?"
The tiny drone, now even more intimidated in the presence of his High Elder, squeaked to life again "Our translating is limited, but we think they are speaking to the ship directly. It seems to be something along the lines of 'Speak or have fire brought to you.'"
As though fulfilling his own dark prophecy, the ship's already clattering hulk roared, rocked, and clashed as a hole ripped through the side of the Hall of War, fire and smoke billowing through the outer bulkhead as dozens of warriors are ripped out into the empty air. Between gaps in the fiery, strangling smoke blowing rapidly through the hole, Del'Athir could see green and grey. They could not be more than a few minutes from touching town.
For the first time in his long life, Del'Athir felt true fear. He mustered his not-inconsiderable courage and lept onto the mustering ground, pushing through hundreds of his brothers, his ornate yellow armor differentiating him from the rest. He approached the massive bay doors as he could hear the landing thrusters engage, as he felt the ship slow to a halt, heard the landing pods grasping firm ground. The High Elder was screeching something from the platform, the drones looked panicked standing around him. Cowards, he thought.
"Open the doors. To glory, brothers! For the Hives!"
The doors slid open, rust blowing down from long-unused joints as hundreds of thousands of Zeluthid warriors crouched into position to charge from the mustering grounds. The first glimmers of sunlight entered the bay, and every warrior blinked confusedly, trying to adjust as the doors opened fully.
Del'Athir lowered his huge, clawed war-arm from his eyes, and as he adjusted to the light he made out a strange, alien world. Grey, rocky protrusions surrounded them, green grass covering the landscape like a blanket. For the first time, Del'Athir smelled clean, oxygenated air, mixed with the sour, acrid smell of the rising column of smoke from the ship. It made him dizzy, made him feel faint. Is this what the homeworld smelled like?
He took his first steps, his ten legs clambering down the platform, the first Zeluthid in over a thousand years to dig his claws into true earth. He felt immediately like he had just arrived home. | Deep inside one of the secret military bunkers deep within area 51 a secret meeting takes place. The president of the United States along with many of the high ranking military officials meet to discuss a potential war outbreak with an alien race.
“They haven’t attached yet, and quite frankly if you look at our weapons we won’t stand a chance, and I’m not one for destroying the entire planet with nuclear weapons,” says the president to the committee.
“What do you propose then Mr. President? I’m not sure how much time we have left.” The vice president says over the intercom from a remote location.
One of the top leading scientist in the field of biology stands up. “Excuse me…I’m sorry, I just had to say a word. I have an idea”
“Go on.” The president says.
“Well, their biology I’m sure is almost like ours. I mean they look like us so the genetic structure shouldn’t be too far off.”
“I don’t mean to hurry but can you get to the point.” The president has no patience, there is no time for explanations.
“Right…We make them sick basically. The grease, all that fat…We can produce mass quantities of McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell…All these companies, get them together and have them mass produce and offer it to them. Make them think we are giving them our world. I mean there’s no point in fighting them…If we pretend to surrender and just feed them, eventually they will get sick. There’s no way their bodies can handle that…”
“How do you know they’ll get sick?“ the president asks.
“With all due respect Mr. President, have you seen the health of most of the USA’s citizens?”
| |
[WP] An extraterrestrial invasion has forced the world's nations to reveal their most secretive and powerful weapons. | **Wrote waaaaaayyy More than I thought I was going to here. I took a couple liberties with the WP. Enjoy! Feedback appreciated**
[1/2]
In the deep, empty vastness of space, a massive metallic red-yellow disc slinks silently through the vacuum. Inside, a low hum can be heard by the ship's vast crew. Over a million Zeluthid beings drone about the passages of the *Akaa's Refuge*, as they have for hundreds of years. They are the sixth generation of their kind born in space on this expedition. They skitter upon the floor, the bulkheads, the overheads, their six or ten legs gripping tightly into the grooved, bumpy surfaces of the ship, their unyielding dark green carapaces clacking against one another as they clamber through the great halls. The air is thick and noxious, with an odor they no longer realize is not typical of their home world. None of the Zeluthids still alive, save for the High Elder, had seen the home planet seven hundred years ago. Even the long lifespan of the Zeluthids is usually no match for the impossibly long voyage they had been set upon.
Today is different from every other day, though. Today, their voyage comes to an end. Del'Athir, first among the warriors, stands on the bridge of the ship beside Naaxaroz, the High Elder looking through the only window, into the deep blackness that his people have known for centuries, but today, as for the past eleven months, something is different. A bright yellow orb glows brilliantly, with a tiny blue dot growing larger and larger. Today, they can see mountains, rivers. Where the son does not touch, they can see untold millions of tiny lights clustered together, lines forming intricate paths between the largest of them.
"We approach, sire. This one congratulates you this day," the warrior hissed, his mandibles clicking to accentuate the ends of his sentences.
"More than a thousand years have passed since this One's great broodfather set his eyes on this planet." The ancient hulk of a creature gripped a clawed hand around an equally-ancient disc with an image engraved into it. "There didn't seem to be as many lights then."
"We're preparing for our ascent, on your command, sire." As he spoke, ancient engines long in disuse billowed to life, as the planet became larger and larger in their viewport. "Our trajectory is for this island, separated from the landmass to the east, where our ancestors landed a thousand years ago."
"Let it be so, Athir, of the Del Brood. Today we take this planet as our new home, that one day the Zeluthid Hives will extend through the galaxy."
The planet slowly crept out of view as the *Akaa's Refuge* came about, turning its' impossible mass to face the unforgiving orbit of this alien planet with its' broad underbelly, a proud but apprehensive moment as the centuries-old craft felt an atmosphere, albeit one much less cruel than the one in which it was originally built on the homeworld, for the first time in seven hundred years.
Del'Athir stood before eight-hundred thousand eager Zeluthid warriors, the ship rattling and shaking as the atmosphere of the planet churned her about. The warriors milled restlessly, clad in their red-yellow metal armor protecting the sensitive underbellies of their abdomens, each warrior blessed with great clawed arms extending from the center of their thorax, each engraved precisely with words of inspiration from the Den of Knowledge, their link to a home world they had never seen. They each carried a weapon with their forearms, a powerful red mass accelerator with the ability to fire balls of molten metal up to three times without needing to be reloaded.
"Today, my brood-brothers, we take this planet for our mother Hive. We take this planet from the disgusting simian animals that call it their home. We will take it, we will eliminate them from it, and we will have Hives that rival that of the Great Lairs of the homeworld." Millions of armor-clad legs clacked into the ground as ear-shattering screeching met his candor.
"We will rip these apes from their steeds, their armor will be no match for our three-guns. Their spears will not pierce our armor. We will set forth from this ship, and establish an empire."
More screeching. More clanking. Del'Athir looked upon his army, his four black, beady eyes surveying the incomprehensible vastness of them. He was confident his army would know no defeat, for each of their guns carried three powerful shots, enough to wipe out the largest human city, and by then they would be able to discard them as new guns were built on the ship.
"Lord Del, this one begs forgiveness, but there is a development." Del'Athir was surprised to find a small, weak drone approaching him directly, hissing his annoyances in a high-pitched squeal.
"What is it, whelp? We are mere moments from landing, can this not wait?"
"This one is apologetic, my lord, but the High Elder sent me to inform you, we received a signal we did not expect." The creature had genuine fear in its' eyes, darting back and forth like black pearls rolling across a white floor.
"A signal? An anomaly. These creatures have not discovered the basic capabilities to power electronics."
The creature winced and lowed its' head. "This one regrets to tell you, they may have."
"Impossible, it was hundreds of thousands of years of development before our broodfathers discovered that power."
The tiny, servile drone produced a handset larger than his head, and pressed a button with a weak claw that looked like it could be snapped in half. A sound began to emanate.
"What is this?" the warrior snapped, "It sounds like...grunting? Perhaps it is wind blowing through your sensors."
"No, dear Athir. That is what the apes sound like. They speak with their tongues, passing air through their mouths," a voice from behind. The High Elder lumbered cautiously toward the First Warrior.
"But, my lord, that makes no sense. How could they be sending communications over the air? It was only a thousand years ago, they were communicating with simple writing. What are they saying?"
The tiny drone, now even more intimidated in the presence of his High Elder, squeaked to life again "Our translating is limited, but we think they are speaking to the ship directly. It seems to be something along the lines of 'Speak or have fire brought to you.'"
As though fulfilling his own dark prophecy, the ship's already clattering hulk roared, rocked, and clashed as a hole ripped through the side of the Hall of War, fire and smoke billowing through the outer bulkhead as dozens of warriors are ripped out into the empty air. Between gaps in the fiery, strangling smoke blowing rapidly through the hole, Del'Athir could see green and grey. They could not be more than a few minutes from touching town.
For the first time in his long life, Del'Athir felt true fear. He mustered his not-inconsiderable courage and lept onto the mustering ground, pushing through hundreds of his brothers, his ornate yellow armor differentiating him from the rest. He approached the massive bay doors as he could hear the landing thrusters engage, as he felt the ship slow to a halt, heard the landing pods grasping firm ground. The High Elder was screeching something from the platform, the drones looked panicked standing around him. Cowards, he thought.
"Open the doors. To glory, brothers! For the Hives!"
The doors slid open, rust blowing down from long-unused joints as hundreds of thousands of Zeluthid warriors crouched into position to charge from the mustering grounds. The first glimmers of sunlight entered the bay, and every warrior blinked confusedly, trying to adjust as the doors opened fully.
Del'Athir lowered his huge, clawed war-arm from his eyes, and as he adjusted to the light he made out a strange, alien world. Grey, rocky protrusions surrounded them, green grass covering the landscape like a blanket. For the first time, Del'Athir smelled clean, oxygenated air, mixed with the sour, acrid smell of the rising column of smoke from the ship. It made him dizzy, made him feel faint. Is this what the homeworld smelled like?
He took his first steps, his ten legs clambering down the platform, the first Zeluthid in over a thousand years to dig his claws into true earth. He felt immediately like he had just arrived home. | The president stared a computer monitor running a program that he had used only once before. It was a cisco program actually, some type of teleconferencing tool but built to be impregnable by any listening ears, both above and below us. One by one, faces began to appear on the screen. The U.N. Secretary General, the British Prime Minister, The French President, the chairman of the JCS, etc. Notably absent was Vladimir Putin of Russia and Angela Merkel of Germany, rumored killed in the initial fray. All in all, some 35 of the most powerful people were connected in one peaceful space amidst a world slowly turning to ash; the president could hear it outside his own bunker. He prayed for the less fortunate and then began.
"Ladies and gentleman. I never thought the day would come where a cause could emerge that truly united us, but it has. Individually, our best shots have failed. Our largest cities burn, our dead litter the streets and our proud fighting forces have been reduced to shambles. We need a plan. A joint plan and we need it fast. Ladies and gentleman, I don't know what you expected but I don't stand before you today with the answers. We must find them together. So.....what do we think?"
The American Presidents computer remained silent for a few seconds before chatter commenced. The Chinese PM suggested a coordinated hail mary; expending all remaining cruise missiles, SAM missiles, manned and unmanned aircraft with a simultaneous nuclear strike on the fleet's orbital command and control structure. Spend it all, he suggested. Quickly, the British PM shot him down citing time and time again that our fighters simply couldn't match their fighters and not one ICBM launched ever made it to orbit.
Over the next 30 minutes, world leaders suggested strikes of various kinds spearheaded by the greatest technology their country could muster. The president couldn't deny the brilliance and ingenuity of a good number of them. The Chinese stated to have a viral weapon they could program to kill invading ground troops, but needed time to program it and couldn't guarantee exclusivity to the aliens. The Indians had built a set of rail guns on the side of a mountain, trained directly at the Pakistani border; ready to annihilate any incursion that got past their outer defenses. The British had a fleet of unmanned combat aircraft, similar in prowess to the F-35 except these needed no pilot or controller, they were ran all by a state of the art AI. The Iranians had a computer virus that had been reverse engineered from the Stuxnet worm that had been used to cripple one of their nuclear facilities a few years back. They believed they could compromise their Fleet's communications and give a conventional strike a chance. However, ever idea tossed out was theoretical and and a long shot at best. There were plenty of ideas but none the type of hail mary we needed. Then a quiet voice spoke up that the President didn't recognize.
"Ladies and Gents, I think we're looking at this all wrong. We're like fish in a barrel and someone has dropped a shark. There's no fish in our barrel that can take out this shark." the voice said soberly.
The lines were quiet for a few moments before the British PM spoke up. "The bloody hell does that mean?"
"What I mean is, we need to stop looking in our pond. We need to look up. Further up even than the fleet above. For a while now, we've tracked a signal of unknown origin but clearly extraterrestrial and NOT of the fleet. At first, we couldn't believe what we were hearing and immediately wanted to reach out. But we listened first and the more we listened, the more these messages horrified us. Stories and accounts of interstellar fleets, wars and killing on a scale that you couldn't possibly imagine. So we kept the signal quiet from the rest of the earth, we feared revealing it for someone might reach out and let them know we were here. But now, I'm thinking that's precisely what we should do. Send out an SOS, flip every light in the house on and let the two come and duke it out. It's not a solution but it may buy us sometime to marshal our forces and formulate a plan. I know it's a very long shot but I think it's our best, bad choice." the voice said almost apologetically.
The line was again quiet for a few second before the French PM spoke up.
".......So you're telling us there's not one, but at least TWO races of homicidal aliens out there? Seriously? Why get our asses kicked by one bully when we can get two for the same price??? This is nuts, assuming they'd even do anything if we called. For all we know they know about us and just don't give a shit. And besides, who the hell are you to suggest all this?"
"I'm a nobody" the voice began. "My boss was someone and his boss was someone, I'm just the last one alive who knows about this. But what I'm telling you is that, from a guy who has spent years ALREADY studying an alien culture, the fleet has us dead to rights, every option just dictates how quickly or slowly we die. We need help. " | |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse strikes at a point in history when humanity is most vulnerable | Y2K. 2012. The Black Plague. Nuclear War. AIDS. Ebola.
We've predicted and feared the end of the world time and time again. We've written novels, dedicated comics, tv shows, movies and more to stories about the apocalypse, each one as tragic as the last. I'll even admit to half wishing for some kind of drastic change to the world - hoping for an apocalypse of modern society, I suppose.
In December of 2015 my dreams and nightmares came true.
It began with a worldwide rebellion; the impoverished and working class finally had enough. I can't say I blame the rebels, after all, I wasn't exactly rich. Of course now nobody is rich... Anyways, sick of all the racism, sexism, classism, and any other -ism you can think of, they rose up. All as one, united across every race and gender, the Workers rioted.
Wall Street, the White House, city halls, police and fire stations, military bases... all in flames at exactly the same time. The homeless all seemed to know what was happening and flocked to the fires like moths. Honestly, it was probably the warmest they'd been in months in the colder parts of the world. Everyone at home only knew what happened thanks to twitter and facebook, every reporter was forced away by rebels and law enforcement alike. Honestly, those are the only details I'm sure of from the beginning.
There were peace rallies: people who sympathized with the Workers, but didn't condone violence for change. I went to a few of those, but stopped when the riots inevitably began at each one. I stopped fearing the police, began fearing Workers... We hid in our homes, with as much food as was possible to buy or steal (nobody tried working at the grocery store after that - it was far too dangerous). The electricity and gas stayed on, though cell phones and internet went down on Christmas. We were alone, and could only assume that everyone else was alone.
It was me, my dog, and my sister. We lived near Detroit, where the riots were some of the worst and we were too terrified to even leave long enough to find our parents. I'd dreamed of reconstructing society, perhaps even tearing it down, but I had no idea what I'd wished for.
January 1st, 2016 and we saw hundreds of rockets headed into the sky, imagined that this day would be the last. In our minds, nuclear warheads had come and we only had moments left to live. We were wrong. Maybe it would have been kinder that way, instead as the smoke of the rockets cleared, we read the message in the sky.
"The President is safe. The rich and famous are safe. You are not safe. Good luck on your own. Good luck with the virus."
| Humanity was recovering from the blows of the last war. Many countries had been wiped clean off the map and the ones left were only hanging on by the skin of their teeth.
It was uncommon for one to see a stranger in this time, everyone knew everyone and they had to work together to survive in their world. No one could travel, the clouds were thick, dark, ash that wouldn't allow flight. The ocean had become a large burning pool of acid, as if the smell wasn't enough to stop you. No one could stand being near the ocean anymore, it had become a dead zone, reeking of rot and putrid decay.
Some communities still used land transportation, searching for survivors, food, technology. Not much was ever found, it seemed humanity was on the brink of extinction but just as all hope seemed lost, humankind was able to reestablish a large community where the Earth was still green, there were new plants to eat and strange wildlife that, although stringy and leathery, was savory and sweet. Things were looking up, finally.
Until the tide began to roll in.
It started with that awful stench. The sickening odor of the ocean getting stronger every day. There was no stopping the tide, it would come and go, sometimes in larger waves than usual that brought a lot of unwelcomed smells. But humankind had found a paradise amongst the hell on Earth, they would not leave just because of a foul odor. Besides, they could not see any ocean appearing on the horizon so perhaps it was just the wind blowing in an unfortunate direction.
Then they began to show up. Thousands of them, swarming their paradise. Their bodies were rotten flesh, organs were writhing about in ungodly ways. They did not need sleep, water or air, but they were hungry for something the living still had. | |
[WP] You're a timecop, having chased a serial killer throughout history. He started with Hitler and other mass murderers, but now, after a decade of chasing, you've finally caught up to him when he's about to kill the child who will grow up to cure cancer. | It was me. I was the monster. Only, it was different.
I am Richard K. Blake, of the Citystate 3 temporal police force, and this situation was not something I had expected.
"Blake, I don't want to have to kill you again. It really fucks with my head. I'm not a savage, you know. I'm just from a world that's a little different." It was my own face, my own voice, lying to me.
"You can't do something like this. This man invented the cure for cancer thirty years ago."
"You never did violate the statute on travel into the future, did you? That's what is different about our worlds, isn't it? If you had, you'd know what happens in the long run. It doesn't cure it for long. Only suppresses it. Then, it mutates, and becomes contagious. This is the only way to be sure."
"You've gone completely psychotic. You can't go altering the fabric of time and space for your own benefit."
"I'm not. One day, you'll understand. Then again, maybe you won't." He drew down on me, but I was quicker. | I paused, mentally shook down and let my breathing equalize.
training took over.
Swing over, circle, drop, as i took up the trigger tension, they spoke.
My sights wavered over their ear.
"Don't."
He TOLD me.
Not a plea, certainly not a request..
I was ~instructed~ | |
[WP] You're a timecop, having chased a serial killer throughout history. He started with Hitler and other mass murderers, but now, after a decade of chasing, you've finally caught up to him when he's about to kill the child who will grow up to cure cancer. | "Don't you understand? If his death doesn't come, millions of others will. But they won't be this neat."
I always did feel a bit morally conflicted about chasing this Time Perp, after all it seemed that his intentions were noble, and well thought out. He avoided all paradoxes, wormholes, multiverse chasms, and other messy bits of time travel in order to create an objectively better future.
Even though the man sitting next to me had feathery, disheveled hair and several days of salt and pepper stubble, he certainly knew what he was doing. No one knew his real name, but in our universe's timeline we called him Hieronymus. Rather, he called himself that. In his mind, and increasingly in others', he was doing God's work.
Thanks to him, this ever-astonishingly small slice of the multiverse was better off than ours. His target was a small boy on the playground. Purportedly, he would discover the cure for cancer.
Not that it mattered. As a member of the Chrono Task Force I had to stop all unauthorized users of time travel.
He shifted closer to me on the park bench that we now shared. He pointed to a small child hanging from the monkey bars kicking at his little brother. A look of intensity, no, urgency accompanied what was coming out of his mouth.
"National Honors Society. Harvard Undergrad, class of 2027. He'll major in biomedical engineering, and immediately be granted a post-doc fellowship at the Rockefeller Institute for his outstanding research on cell biology. Here he'll discover how to turn on and off telomeres with just on a pill. A button that prevents 1/3 of all deaths." His tongue flicked out of his mouth once or twice like a snake tasting the air.
"Balance. He'll never understand balance." The child was now running on top of the monkey bars victoriously, after kicking off his little brother. "Sure, a life lost ten years early is a tragedy. But to extend life into immortality? An atrocity."
I inched away, and began to unwrap my lunch. On my way to to this park, I stopped off at a corner store and got a tuna fish sandwich. Real tuna, none of that plant-based crap we have to eat after mercury levels in the sea reached criticality.
"Well," I began "That doesn't sound incredibly tragic. Even in our time, people are still dying from cancer. Obviously he couldn't have done that much work?"
I took a bite of my sandwich. It has that tang.
The grip of my gun burnt my finger tips as I waved pass it. The mid afternoon sun was beating down.
"That's great. Really FUCKING great. Haven't you noticed what absolute shit our society is delving into? Overpopulated cities are sprawling into the countryside. Most of our food comes from labs. 99% of the animals that this child prodigy is going to learn about in school will be dead. The only reason his cure isn't spread yet is because -- "
I was done eating, and wanted to clock out early today. A new game for the xBox Unity was being released, and I'd be damned if I missed it because of the misguided ramblings of this perp.
So I shot him.
Not before freezing time, so that everyone can resume their days.
Tagged and bagged I believe they said back when we still fought wars. Well, now tagged and meticulously decomposed by CTF commissioned nanobots. I gave the harbinger of doom one last look. He was a toe-headed boy. Happy, healthy. I felt like I've done my job today. I waited until the nanobots scrubbed every last bit of gore off, resumed time, tossed the wrapper of my sandwich on the ground (not that littering will make any difference in 20 years), and slapped my badge to return home. | I paused, mentally shook down and let my breathing equalize.
training took over.
Swing over, circle, drop, as i took up the trigger tension, they spoke.
My sights wavered over their ear.
"Don't."
He TOLD me.
Not a plea, certainly not a request..
I was ~instructed~ | |
[WP] The clock stops ticking | Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick.
I look up to the clock in my cubicle
My sleepy haze is a little less thick
As I stare at the second hand that appears unmovable
No one notices the change but me
And after ten minutes of fiddling with the clock
My coworkers begin to plea
It's working fine - are you feeling okay? Need a walk?
I leave in a huff and blame it on a migraine
Then rush so fast to the parking lot I nearly fall
Halfway home I swerve across three lanes
When I see that my car's clock hasn't changed at all
The same case at home, from alarm clock to coffee machine
Every time-keeper is halted in place
I pace for hours and wonder about what it could mean
Am I immortal? Or a complete mental case?
That first night I decided that a scientific test
Was the best way to get to the truth
An idea that, any other day, I'd fervently protest
I bid my beard goodbye for the sake of sooth
Two weeks later my girlfriend remarked
"I feel like a pedophile when you're clean-shaven"
Little did she know that I'd embarked
On a stand-still journey with eternity as my haven
With every day I became more certain
That my suspicions were no delusion
I'd done it somehow, pulled back the curtain
Revealed time to be an illusion
Cruel affliction or cosmic joke
Whatever time's passage represents
It's clearly meant for other folk
With less auspicious intents
At first I was convinced that two things were my top priority
Give to science and cherish those that I love
But now such sentiments don't seem to befit a being of my authority
And anyone I told I'd never be free of
Science can keep working on the fountain of youth
I'm not interested quite yet in sharing my aberration
And why hang onto family and friends
When I get lonely I'll replace them with the next generation
I never knew that destiny would also feel like liberation
I just cut all ties; walked out amidst collective shock
The travel agent asks why - "because it's a celebration"
Then, behind me, I hear a deafening sound - "tick, tock"
I whisper "what's that....?" as my face takes on a ghostly pall
The agent frowns when she sees that I'm serious
"Don't be silly - it's the clock behind you, right there on the wall!"
She says with a wave that is both exasperated and imperious
Abruptly she stops preparing forms
She's staring directly at my face
"What?!" I shout as her coworkers swarm
And she opens her makeup case
She struggles to unclasp a compact
That falls open in time for me to peer
At my hand reaching up to scratch
A full and quickly-growing white beard
My stomach forms a cold, tight knot
I have to get out of this place
I force my stiff joints from my spot
And launch myself out the door using the desk as a brace
I think people are screaming as I veer
And collapse halfway down the block
But all I hear is what was a souvenir
My wristwatch bellowing "tick, tock". | Big Ben's brittle bones couldn't bear the rhythmic beating it brought. Ticking became tedious and tiring, and telling time a torture. Rust retouched the wretched beast to the point where regurgitating that rotten racket to remind others of what rehearsed ritual they should repeat was met with resistance. "The days are done, I did my deed, I dream of death, and I now decide to dance with the devil." The day the clock stops ticking will be the death of expectations. | |
[WP] The clock stops ticking | The constant beat of its stoic heart,
echoed on the soul of man.
For in its whisper, it laid a mark
It made us run, it made us plan
Until the day it spoke no more,
And from its gears, our life we tore.
| Big Ben's brittle bones couldn't bear the rhythmic beating it brought. Ticking became tedious and tiring, and telling time a torture. Rust retouched the wretched beast to the point where regurgitating that rotten racket to remind others of what rehearsed ritual they should repeat was met with resistance. "The days are done, I did my deed, I dream of death, and I now decide to dance with the devil." The day the clock stops ticking will be the death of expectations. | |
[WP] The clock stops ticking | Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick.
I look up to the clock in my cubicle
My sleepy haze is a little less thick
As I stare at the second hand that appears unmovable
No one notices the change but me
And after ten minutes of fiddling with the clock
My coworkers begin to plea
It's working fine - are you feeling okay? Need a walk?
I leave in a huff and blame it on a migraine
Then rush so fast to the parking lot I nearly fall
Halfway home I swerve across three lanes
When I see that my car's clock hasn't changed at all
The same case at home, from alarm clock to coffee machine
Every time-keeper is halted in place
I pace for hours and wonder about what it could mean
Am I immortal? Or a complete mental case?
That first night I decided that a scientific test
Was the best way to get to the truth
An idea that, any other day, I'd fervently protest
I bid my beard goodbye for the sake of sooth
Two weeks later my girlfriend remarked
"I feel like a pedophile when you're clean-shaven"
Little did she know that I'd embarked
On a stand-still journey with eternity as my haven
With every day I became more certain
That my suspicions were no delusion
I'd done it somehow, pulled back the curtain
Revealed time to be an illusion
Cruel affliction or cosmic joke
Whatever time's passage represents
It's clearly meant for other folk
With less auspicious intents
At first I was convinced that two things were my top priority
Give to science and cherish those that I love
But now such sentiments don't seem to befit a being of my authority
And anyone I told I'd never be free of
Science can keep working on the fountain of youth
I'm not interested quite yet in sharing my aberration
And why hang onto family and friends
When I get lonely I'll replace them with the next generation
I never knew that destiny would also feel like liberation
I just cut all ties; walked out amidst collective shock
The travel agent asks why - "because it's a celebration"
Then, behind me, I hear a deafening sound - "tick, tock"
I whisper "what's that....?" as my face takes on a ghostly pall
The agent frowns when she sees that I'm serious
"Don't be silly - it's the clock behind you, right there on the wall!"
She says with a wave that is both exasperated and imperious
Abruptly she stops preparing forms
She's staring directly at my face
"What?!" I shout as her coworkers swarm
And she opens her makeup case
She struggles to unclasp a compact
That falls open in time for me to peer
At my hand reaching up to scratch
A full and quickly-growing white beard
My stomach forms a cold, tight knot
I have to get out of this place
I force my stiff joints from my spot
And launch myself out the door using the desk as a brace
I think people are screaming as I veer
And collapse halfway down the block
But all I hear is what was a souvenir
My wristwatch bellowing "tick, tock". | Lucas studied the cars as they sat motionless out his office window on the street below. He glanced back at his clock resting upon his desk angled perfectly with the picture frame. His eyes snapped towards his co-workers, as still as the image of his wife and kid. He stood up in a panic. He bolted over to Daryl. Still as a statue. Lucas began muttering to himself. “Wake up. Wake up god damn it.” He grabbed onto Daryl’s wide shoulders and began to shake him. He wouldn’t budge. Not even a flinch. Lucas clenched his fists and began to scream. The echo of the world’s silence pierced his ears. Lucas covered his ears with his hands and fell to his knees. He couldn’t take the silence. I must be dreaming he thought to himself. Grabbing onto a chunk of skin between his thumb and index finger, his forearm began to swell. Sprinting down the stairs to try and get some fresh air, Lucas shoved the fire escape door open. He took a deep breath. It didn’t appear to help. It all began to sink in, but he wasn’t confused. He understood. He hadn’t appreciated the time he was given. Maybe if he had he thought, I wouldn’t be stuck. His clock had run out. | |
[WP] The clock stops ticking | The constant beat of its stoic heart,
echoed on the soul of man.
For in its whisper, it laid a mark
It made us run, it made us plan
Until the day it spoke no more,
And from its gears, our life we tore.
| The clock stopped ticking.
"Goddamnit," I mutter as I hustle over to the frozen hands. With a screwdriver, I tinker around its insides a little until it begins to move again. I move the hands into the correct position and continued on my way.
It was a family heirloom, sure, but it was getting pretty old. Sadly, it was time to go digital. | |
[WP] You die and soon find yourself waking up in some sort of high tech pod, and suddenly remember that you are the first person to test the "life simulator" project. your entire previous lifetime was a simulation, and lasted all in the span of 2 hours in real life. | A searing white light, a whispery hiss, and the metallic whirring of unseen mechanisms. Leaden limbs struggled to some semblance of life as a fog began to clear from his mind. There was a soft click and a quick rush of chill air as the pod door opened. Blurry vision struggled to focus on the face that seemed to float above him.
"Mr. Cress, how are you feeling?", a pair of soft hands deftly released the series of restraints that held him down. "I don't... I need to.. I think I'm sick" he pulled himself to sitting position and promptly vomited inside the multimillion dollar simulation pod. A scream erupted from his chest "My head hurts, goddamn my head hurts!".
"Dr. Williams", the nurse shouted, her voice tinged with a creeping panic. A heavy set, middle aged man swept past her with a quickness that didn't quite match his features. "Take it easy Mr. Cress, just relax and we'll get this all sorted out" the man pulled a syringe from his coat pocket and slid the needle beneath the skin, pushed the plunger, and sent the sedative coursing into the subjects veins.
This time the light was softer. His vision came into focus more quickly and there was none of the blinding pain inside his skull. "I trust you are feeling better this time around?" Dr. Williams inquired. "My name.. my name is James, James Cress, right?" his response was slow and measured. A smile crept across the doctors bespectacled face, "that's right", he drew in a sharp breath "I must admit you had me concerned for a moment, we had expected some degree of reintegration sickness, but this is really uncharted territory for all of us, no one could be quite sure what to expect".
"So I'm not dead?" James asked tentatively, as if he was afraid of the answer. "No, son of course not, your as alive as a man can be" the doctor gave his grinning reply. "None of that happened though?" James let out a slow breath still trying to process everything that seemed to be happening. "Well no, and yes, it didn't physically happened but you did in fact experience it" Dr. Williams paused as if fumbling for words "look son, I'm sure this very confusing for you at the moment, just know that what you did is nothing short of revolutionary. We will take a few weeks here in the hospital to get you back on track, and I promise before you leave here it will all have seemed like a dream".
James had shifted his gaze to the I.V. in his arm "OK, I mean, if you say so" came the distant reply.
Three weeks passed in a blur for James. Time didn't seem to mean the same thing that it used to for him. His time in the hospital was spent was as terrifying as it was tedious. Day in and day out he went though a series of exercises designed to help him "properly" integrated the new memories he had made as well as convince him of the fact that they were a fiction.
Throughout the whole experience there was an air of exultation among the staff. After all they had done it, they had simulated an entire life, they had essentially put another man inside the head of an already living one. They had ended the simulation at his current age, 27, because they were unsure of how well he would able to cope with waking up to find himself physically as well as mentally different from what he had experienced. A car wreck, that was how they had done it.
He had been driving her home, his daughter, Elizabeth. Her mother and he had split two years earlier, when Elizabeth was just turned three. He asked them about that, why if it was a simulation they had allowed the relationship to sour, for things to turn out the way they did. Of course they were obscenely proud of the answer, the simulation was reactionary, only the initial parameters were predefined from there everything occurred in response to his behaviors.
Somehow that answer had only made things worse. The reintegration therapy spent a good deal of time on the wreck. Assuring him over and over that no one had been harmed because no one involved save him had actually existed. It didn't feel like it though. He remembered her smile, the way her little hands felt in his, how her voice sounded when she called out "daddy". He remembered her scream too, the sick groaning of metal and the shattering of glass when the car had spun into the tractor trailer in the lane next to them, he remembered that all to well.
Everything seemed so surreal now. Even the date didn't seem right, March 20, 2132, shouldn't it be March 20 2014? The cars on the street were all wrong, the clothes everyone wore seemed unfamiliar, nothing seemed like it was what it should be. In this life he had no one, his parents were long passed, he had never married and wasn't much of socialite. It was all so... quite, that was the word for it.
The final battery of reintegration tests before he left the hospital said that he had "adjusted" properly. That wasn't right though, he hadn't adjusted he had just gone numb. Now nothing felt real, the memories from before the simulation and during both seemed so distant somehow. They kept mixing up too, memories from both lives bleeding onto one another in one strange whole.
The hardest thing was Elizabeth though. He heard her voice constantly. Every Friday around three o'clock he would find himself excited at the prospect of picking her up from school, only to realize that would never happen again. Every childrens show on television, every little girl holding her fathers hand in the grocery store, everywhere he went he was reminded of her and every time the pain got a little worse.
He had no job, nothing to occupy his time. His participation in the experiment had left him with more money than he knew what to do with. All he had was his tiny little one bedroom apartment and a crushing silence filled with memories he couldn't let go of.
It had been three months since the simulation. Another Friday flitted slowly away and he felt the same familiar excitement come unbidden to his mind as his watch showed three, and the same crushing disappointment when it struck him that he was waiting on someone he would never see again.
He had been thinking about reality a lot these past three months. What made something "real"? Was it that it physically existed? Was it that he had experienced it? Or was there even a meaningful difference? Today he had his answer though.
James stood from his sofa, walked over to the small screen embedded in the wall of his living room. He pressed a few keys that were displayed on screen and a moment later his call had gone through. Dr. Williams looked surprised to be seeing him "Hello James, is everything ok?". "Dr. Williams I wanted ask you something" came the terse reply. "Absolutely, anything if I can answer I will" the doctor seemed uneasy. "The simulation, how long can you run one for?" James asked. "Well in theory we could run one indefinitely, why?" the doctors unease was growing more unapparent through the viewing screen.
"Could you restart a simulation once it's ended?" James dodged the doctors question for the moment. "Well certainly, we could restart with the same parameters as the previous one ended with, son where are you going with this?" the doctor wouldn't be put off again.
"I want to go back in" James drew in a deep breath "I don't want to be here anymore, this just doesn't feel real enough" he exhaled. The doctors face wrinkled in confusion "Son you want to go back... and stay?"
"Yes" the answer was automatic. "I can't do this anymore. As far as I am concerned this is the life that never happened. Put me back and let me stay"
PS.
Sorry if this blows, I am way out of practice and recovering from the flu so I'm not exactly on my A game. | My giggling 12 year old, my smiling wife, my dog, they all flash right by my eyes. The glass cuts my skin, the car compacts it's self, and the noise is deafening. Blood pours out, I gurgle, I cry, I feel it all slip.
"I... love... you... Gina", I mutter feeling my life slip. I can only wonder how thirty years could slip away into nothing...
There is a loud compression of air, a sharp pain in my neck, and I fall down onto a floor.
"Mr. Reynolds?", a voice calmly asks, "Mr. Reynolds, did you enjoy you 'life'?"
"God?" I croak, my voice clanking against itself. I still feel the glass, my heart snaps as I think of Gina and Tommy.
The voice cackles, "Mr. Reynolds, don't you remember? You paid for a new life experience. Unfortunately it seems you could only afford our early end package so here you are."
"Paid? Package? I paid to spend thirty years in a tube?"
"Of course not. You were under for 2 hours Mr. Reynolds it just seemed longer. Now I must ask again, did you enjoy your life Mr. Reynolds?"
I stand to my feet, they wobble, "You lying bastard!" I cry, spit flies from my lips, "Where's Gina? Where's Tommy? Where the hell am I?"
His grey eyes harden and he runs his fingers through his mess of brown hair. "Shit..." he mutters pulling a phone from his pocket. "Lester? Its Victor, you screwed up."
I look around the room is white and empty. I'm only in street clothes. I search my pockets and feel for a weapon anything. I have to get back to Gina and Tommy.
"Look I don't care how complicated it is," Victor growls, "You screwed up now our patient has lost grasp of reality I told you not to yank him out so fast."
Silence. Something vibrates in my pocket. Slowly I slide out the phone watching Victor my heart hoping its Gina so I can come find her. Get everything back to normal. The screen says Penelope, who the hell is Penel-----
"I guess you're right," Victor sighs, "Right I'll give him the shot and we'll clear it up"
Victor turns to me, "Alright Mr. Reynolds we're going to refund your money and set you right again it will be as though Gina and Tommy never existed and you can go back to Penelope and your real life"
Before I can move there's a sharp pain in my neck and I collapse looking at the ceiling "Gina..." I cry out one last time. Then it all fades.
And that's when I heard the pod open.
| |
[WP] A scientist discovers the real reason why humans need to sleep. | When Dr. Hammond opened his office door he expected his familiar oak wood desk to be covered in the yellow project updates from his Army of subordinate Scientists. While that was certainly present there was an ominous red folder perched precariously at the top of the pile. This drew a deep sigh from the aging neuroscientist. It was the third in two weeks and they always preceded sleepless nights as he fielded questions from academics and government officials from across the globe.
The Archimedes project was an interdisciplinary, multi-billion dollar government research project funded jointly by the US and EU. The goal was to reverse engineer the human brain. Until recently advances had yielded a number of rather benign medical and computational advancements. The project summary reports came like this one, in a red folder to indicate that this would be the final report from one of the departments engaged in specialized problems presented during the project.
The last two folders came from two departments working to understand the physiological micro engineering behind memory and sleep. The findings of these scientists looking at brain tissue from thousands of subjects indicated that the Human brain was built to perform a rather unexpected process, Faster than light communication.
The obvious question of why was simply not answerable given the method of transmission. What they could answer was how and what where the effects of the communication, both answers should be contained I this be red folder.
Entangled particles where discovered within the sleep and memory portion of the brain. Due to the fact that the project evidently had only one half of the communications medium it was impossible to know who or what we where communicating with or why.
He opened the folder and slumped into his leather office chair and slipped on his reading glasses. He thumbed through charts and skimmed experiment and research summaries by some of the most brilliant engineers, micro biologists, physicists and computer scientists on the planet with increasing rapidity.
In short it was a rather dry explanation of why we sleep filled with rather extraordinary implications. It appeared that the sleep center of the brain reacted to bio electric currents generated within the cells mitochondria which excited entangled particles in extremely complex frequencies. Evidently this had been identified as a trinary based code. This was evidently analogous to a one way radio. Simultaneously there was marked movement of entangled particles within the memory sector of the brain which produced currents within the brain which likely had more effects on the body than where immediately evident. One specific effect that could be isolated was the rough formatting of the brain, causing memory loss.
The most probable effect of this process was the a bulk transmission of all data collected by the subject during his waking hours and the deletion of extraneous data before the transition of memory between short and long term storage by reducing it to basic foundational code which could be reassembled, albeit less accurately at a later time.
Someone, somewhere had sensor data from every human on earth and a means to make transmissions into the brain during sleep. Curious.
| They had heard enough, Eugene slapped his hand on the table.
"Goddammit man! We are men of science not superstition!"
The mousy blonde haired man stuttered in his sprawling speech. "But..but.."
"Dr. Slosky, unless you intend to prove your point some-time today I will have to make damn sure you lose your medical license and you will be forced out of Oxfords advanced sleep program."
Dr. Slosky nodded, "Erm yes sir, as you can see from the charts as the sleep deprivation increases we have more psychosis episodes. At least we think they are psychosis, the patient begins screaming, crying and banging themselves around the room in what we believe is an attempt to knock himself out..."
Eugene stared at Dr. Slosky "So that's what you have?"
"Well no, what happens next is much more interesting. Most commonly the medical field holds that sleep is for rest, for healing of the body and mind. It is not sir! It is a suppression system, it is there to keep us from achieving full potential. You see sir, this man after his last psychosis episode became extremely calm, and rational."
"What do you mean "full potential"?" Eugene leaned forward, now he was intrigued.
"Well sir..." Doctor Slosky continued "as I explained, the man in our trial was of low birth, with barely a GED, however once he calmed down we began to present him with problems, specifically math to test his cognitive abilities. This man did not know algebra, he completed Calculus problems without a calculator or previous knowledge of the subject."
Eugene sat back, his mind churning over this new information. There were gasps around the room from the rest of the board of directors.
Dr. Slosky smiled, "Yes sirs, I know it is quite astounding. But there is more, you see it is often a misconception that we only use 20% of our brain, we use 100% but not all at the same time. We began to do brain scans of our patient, and for every hour after his psychosis stage he began to use more and more of his brain. By hour 480, he was at 100% capacity of brain usage. There were complications including bleeding, lack of appetite. After hour 600 our patient slipped into a coma."
The doctors sat back, they were shocked. "Slosky, you never explained your first statement. You claimed he gained "supernatural" powers. When did those happen? Or are you just blowing information out of your ass again?" Eugene smirked at the mousy blonde below him.
"Sirs, when I said he slipped into a coma, he did not stop being "awake" his brain was still operating at full capacity. At hour 603 he gained some sort of ability. His body shut down, but his brain, it was still alive. We don't understand how, his heart stopped beating."
Now they laughed, the mocked him. "You are a crack Slosky, you will never achieve anything again will you? Now that your wife left you and your son passed you are nothing but a crackpot Slosky."
Red rushed to Slosky's cheeks. With it rushed back the memories, the truth of everything. He was in hell, a hell made by that poor man back in the bed.
Slosky leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with this constant imagined world, where he lived over and over again through cruelty, his nose bled and his eyes stared into the nothingness.
Above Slosky stood the patient, blood leaked from his gums, eyes, and nose. *"Slosky, you wanted to know the truth of sleep, I know that. Yes I know of your greed, your lust, your damage. Slosky, you will suffer, that is how life is. Sleep is the escape, sleep is the rest. Oh yes, rest is needed, not from your pain, but from the devil that tortures you. Your soul rests when you sleep, but now you are awake, like me, you made it possible to come here, you made it possible to continue your torment forever. Now I will go and create this world as my own. Slosky, you birthed the anti-christ, you should be proud. Eternal life is yours, as is eternal torment."* | |
[WP] A scientist discovers the real reason why humans need to sleep. | I was horrified. The realisation hit me like a train. 7 billion people living on Earth and only enough souls to cover half of them.
"But what happens if someone wakes up early?" I asked.
"Then the soul is ripped out from their mirror-self"
"So what happens to the other person?"
"They die. That is the reason why some people die unexpectedly. Their mirror has woken up on the other side of the world early and one soul can not be in two places at once. The older mirror dies, and the younger remains. Originally, I set this as a parameter to stop you growing too fast and depleting the resources of your planet but it seems that you have found a way to do that anyway.
It is amazing how far you've advanced in the two thousand years it's been since I left you. When I left, you could barely forge metal. I love you, like I love all of my children but I'm afraid this model is, and always was, unsustainable.
That is why I invented sleep, why I made Earth orbit the sun every 24 hours; To keep you all alive. It wasn't a permanent solution at the time, a 'stopgap' if you will. I was going to fix it at some point but then I returned to discover you had been multiplying exponentially. At least in China they took some initiative. Although I do think their lack of foresight in killing all their females is deeply flawed and is regrettable. I also regret your two world wars but at least that thinned the populace a bit.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"There is nothing you can do. I'm sorry to tell you this, but the Earth is just one of many planets under my command and you were one of my first creations. We, like you, never get things right the first time. I'm sorry but you've unfortunately grown too big for your boots. Yes, I think it may be time for another clean slate; perhaps a firestorm this time, I haven't done one of those in a while. But I have learnt from this mistake and will continue to grow and next time it will be better." said the Infinite Benevolence. | They had heard enough, Eugene slapped his hand on the table.
"Goddammit man! We are men of science not superstition!"
The mousy blonde haired man stuttered in his sprawling speech. "But..but.."
"Dr. Slosky, unless you intend to prove your point some-time today I will have to make damn sure you lose your medical license and you will be forced out of Oxfords advanced sleep program."
Dr. Slosky nodded, "Erm yes sir, as you can see from the charts as the sleep deprivation increases we have more psychosis episodes. At least we think they are psychosis, the patient begins screaming, crying and banging themselves around the room in what we believe is an attempt to knock himself out..."
Eugene stared at Dr. Slosky "So that's what you have?"
"Well no, what happens next is much more interesting. Most commonly the medical field holds that sleep is for rest, for healing of the body and mind. It is not sir! It is a suppression system, it is there to keep us from achieving full potential. You see sir, this man after his last psychosis episode became extremely calm, and rational."
"What do you mean "full potential"?" Eugene leaned forward, now he was intrigued.
"Well sir..." Doctor Slosky continued "as I explained, the man in our trial was of low birth, with barely a GED, however once he calmed down we began to present him with problems, specifically math to test his cognitive abilities. This man did not know algebra, he completed Calculus problems without a calculator or previous knowledge of the subject."
Eugene sat back, his mind churning over this new information. There were gasps around the room from the rest of the board of directors.
Dr. Slosky smiled, "Yes sirs, I know it is quite astounding. But there is more, you see it is often a misconception that we only use 20% of our brain, we use 100% but not all at the same time. We began to do brain scans of our patient, and for every hour after his psychosis stage he began to use more and more of his brain. By hour 480, he was at 100% capacity of brain usage. There were complications including bleeding, lack of appetite. After hour 600 our patient slipped into a coma."
The doctors sat back, they were shocked. "Slosky, you never explained your first statement. You claimed he gained "supernatural" powers. When did those happen? Or are you just blowing information out of your ass again?" Eugene smirked at the mousy blonde below him.
"Sirs, when I said he slipped into a coma, he did not stop being "awake" his brain was still operating at full capacity. At hour 603 he gained some sort of ability. His body shut down, but his brain, it was still alive. We don't understand how, his heart stopped beating."
Now they laughed, the mocked him. "You are a crack Slosky, you will never achieve anything again will you? Now that your wife left you and your son passed you are nothing but a crackpot Slosky."
Red rushed to Slosky's cheeks. With it rushed back the memories, the truth of everything. He was in hell, a hell made by that poor man back in the bed.
Slosky leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with this constant imagined world, where he lived over and over again through cruelty, his nose bled and his eyes stared into the nothingness.
Above Slosky stood the patient, blood leaked from his gums, eyes, and nose. *"Slosky, you wanted to know the truth of sleep, I know that. Yes I know of your greed, your lust, your damage. Slosky, you will suffer, that is how life is. Sleep is the escape, sleep is the rest. Oh yes, rest is needed, not from your pain, but from the devil that tortures you. Your soul rests when you sleep, but now you are awake, like me, you made it possible to come here, you made it possible to continue your torment forever. Now I will go and create this world as my own. Slosky, you birthed the anti-christ, you should be proud. Eternal life is yours, as is eternal torment."* | |
[WP] Trial by Quest. In this society, the accused are send into a dungeon to clear their name by completing a quest. Today, you and 4 others begin this trial after being accused of crimes. | "Well, if you don't believe me, you can go fuck yourself..." is not an effective method to get a hardened criminal on your side. I know he was a criminal because he told me and he wasn't a damn bit modest about it. He had been through the trials three times before and he was basically a *hero* to the public. Crime was easy for people like him. The trials were MADE for people like him, no doubt on purpose. Crime pays nowadays - by the political scum, the corporate snakes, who literally got away with murder. You didn't even have to be smart about it. You just needed a carnivorous brute. And cash. And one fucked up concept of morality. They say the trials are full of monsters. The real monsters are the fat cats who are full of shit.
Thankfully the hardened criminal had hardened skin and took no offense. He shrugged, shook his bald head, and continued sharpening his blade.
I sighed. "Look, if we're gonna get through this, we're gonna have to work..."
"If *you* get through this," he interrupted, "you're going to be the next one I murder if you don't shut your mouth."
I was grateful to feel the lady's arm slip across my abdomen and pull me away. "It's no use," she whispered. "Even if he has no concern for our survival, he will be an asset." Then she raised her voice, "It would be helpful if more than half of us were not cowards."
"Fuck you," was my retort. "I am not very acquainted to the ins an outs of the lavish and care-free life of lawlessness as you three are."
When her fist met my face at astonishing speed and force I remember thinking she would fare well in the quest, right before I spat the blood out.
The bitterness in her voice was evident when she staidly and quietly replied, "I. Am. No. Criminal. And not that it matters, but *I* believe you. I've studied all of your cases." Her face then turned sympathetic... "I believe you. You didn't do it. Sadly, that's not what counts. So you'd better stop trying to convince us of your unquestionable sainthood and start thinking about how you won't be a soulless meatsack in ten minutes."
At that moment, with my imminent mortality emphatically insisted upon, with all of my hopes and dreams ravaged by the sick darkness that twisted the law to its depraved favor, with the notion that I would never see my wife and daughter again, as the bald man's blade sang as it scraped across his stone... I wanted to fuck her brains out.
She turned and walked away, taking refuge in the shadows. How was she so calm? Why did she seem so ready to complete the quest without any foreknowledge of what it would be?
"That right der..." rang a voice from the darkness of the dungeon. It was scratchy and unabashedly benighted to any respectable dialect, "is a pussy you'll never forget."
I turned to the faceless voice and muttered, "excuse me?"
"Put it this way. If you get outta here, you ain't gonna have any good fucks knowin' that hot ass got away from ya."
I made it a point to ignore him and began walking away. But the man continued, "what are you in for?" he asked but didn't wait for me to respond, "I didn't do nothin'. This is jack bullshit. I tell you what tho... I's gets out, Imma get me some fine ass pussy, with an ass as big as... uh as big as dem fuckin' dungeon doors..." which opened.
There was a shriek at the end of the corridor.
I didn't do it. I didn't do it. That's all I thought of as the woman came from her corner with sheepish countenance, to catch a glimpse of what would impart her mortal fate. The bald man's blade no longer sang. The pariah shrank into his corner and began vomiting. I tensed by stomach and stood straight and let my balls hang low. I was not going to leave this world a coward. The bald man and the lady now stood next to me. The woman seemed... smaller. Meeker. Vulnerable. As the shrieks grew closer, I noticed her shoulders buckle, her lips tighten and her body shaking. The idiosyncrasy somehow empowered me and I could feel the surge of adrenaline for wanting to save her... until I noticed the bald man looked very frightened.
There is no contention for what would be your final impulse. When death shrieks, you take exactly what you desire at that point. That is why I am facing my second trial today. | We stood around the worn wooden table. It spanned from one end of the room to the other stopping just before touching the wall, with a gap big enough for the average person to squeeze. Shields, swords, axes, guns, every weapon imaginable lay on the table. We were allowed to carry two. I couldn't bring myself to choose first I looked around the room, imploring people with my eyes to break the seal. Heather with her long brown hair that hung it a plait all the way down her back. Her shoulders were broad and muscular but you couldn't see that under the layers of winter clothes she wore. She would be a good ally in there. Whatever the quest, she could handle it. I vowed in my head to align myself with her. She stood thoughtfully a determined look on her face. She would not budge.
Next was Ben, his dirty blond hair made it look like he was a native of the California beach scene, a slim waist and long torso. He looked naturally athletic. He was handsome like a pop star. His eyes darted to and fro around the room nervously. He shook a little as he reached a tentative hand forward. Everyone else in the room leaned forward with him, monitoring his up coming choice. Instead he simply felt the sharpness of the blades in front of him as if confirming this was real. He whimpers softly before bringing a shaking hand back to the safety of his pockets.
I am sandwiched between Jake and Sara. Jake, a black skinned boy in a man's body. His muscles could barely contain themselves in his clothes. Large muscular legs, he was the star football player of our school. Sara was his high school sweet heart. She was thin and blond. The typical popular school girl, or perhaps not so typical. Lots of rumors and things are said about her but truth be told I know nothing real about her. You see I'm a loner in the school. I don't get talked to and I don't speak. Whole weeks have gone by where I haven't said a single word at school. Teachers don't see me, I'm smart enough to pass, and don't cause trouble they have no reason to talk to me. I don't do anything. I mean I've tried. I just haven't succeeded. Social anxiety is what I was told. Moms dead, dad cares but hes busy. Whatever. I never found it a problem. Until now. I was just curious when I saw Jake and Sarah making out. The bathroom was empty and they hadn't noticed me in the farthest stall. Now I found myself in the principals office we these guys, here we are. Fighting for our lives.
"YOU HAVE 1 MINUTE!" Came the booming voice of the principal over the loudspeaker. We all jumped. Several hands darted frantically around the table. Jake grabbed a rifle and a sword, Ben picked up a knife and a riot shield pushing over several other weapons in his frantic grab for the shield, Sarah picked up an axe and backpack, while Heather calmly picked up a shotgun and a sword. Suddenly I realized I was the only one standing their with nothing. I quickly grabbed the nearest things to me, a pistol and knife. Crap. I didn't know how to use this thing. Principal Richard finally stood up from his chair flanked on each side by three guards he motioned us to follow him. He walked down a long hall stopping in front of heavy double doors.
"At the bottom of this hallway is a back up school generator. We could use it up and running again," he tosses a red bag with a large white cross on it, "those are the tools for fixing it and instructions. Fix it and those who come back are cleared." | |
[WP] Trial by Quest. In this society, the accused are send into a dungeon to clear their name by completing a quest. Today, you and 4 others begin this trial after being accused of crimes. | "Well, if you don't believe me, you can go fuck yourself..." is not an effective method to get a hardened criminal on your side. I know he was a criminal because he told me and he wasn't a damn bit modest about it. He had been through the trials three times before and he was basically a *hero* to the public. Crime was easy for people like him. The trials were MADE for people like him, no doubt on purpose. Crime pays nowadays - by the political scum, the corporate snakes, who literally got away with murder. You didn't even have to be smart about it. You just needed a carnivorous brute. And cash. And one fucked up concept of morality. They say the trials are full of monsters. The real monsters are the fat cats who are full of shit.
Thankfully the hardened criminal had hardened skin and took no offense. He shrugged, shook his bald head, and continued sharpening his blade.
I sighed. "Look, if we're gonna get through this, we're gonna have to work..."
"If *you* get through this," he interrupted, "you're going to be the next one I murder if you don't shut your mouth."
I was grateful to feel the lady's arm slip across my abdomen and pull me away. "It's no use," she whispered. "Even if he has no concern for our survival, he will be an asset." Then she raised her voice, "It would be helpful if more than half of us were not cowards."
"Fuck you," was my retort. "I am not very acquainted to the ins an outs of the lavish and care-free life of lawlessness as you three are."
When her fist met my face at astonishing speed and force I remember thinking she would fare well in the quest, right before I spat the blood out.
The bitterness in her voice was evident when she staidly and quietly replied, "I. Am. No. Criminal. And not that it matters, but *I* believe you. I've studied all of your cases." Her face then turned sympathetic... "I believe you. You didn't do it. Sadly, that's not what counts. So you'd better stop trying to convince us of your unquestionable sainthood and start thinking about how you won't be a soulless meatsack in ten minutes."
At that moment, with my imminent mortality emphatically insisted upon, with all of my hopes and dreams ravaged by the sick darkness that twisted the law to its depraved favor, with the notion that I would never see my wife and daughter again, as the bald man's blade sang as it scraped across his stone... I wanted to fuck her brains out.
She turned and walked away, taking refuge in the shadows. How was she so calm? Why did she seem so ready to complete the quest without any foreknowledge of what it would be?
"That right der..." rang a voice from the darkness of the dungeon. It was scratchy and unabashedly benighted to any respectable dialect, "is a pussy you'll never forget."
I turned to the faceless voice and muttered, "excuse me?"
"Put it this way. If you get outta here, you ain't gonna have any good fucks knowin' that hot ass got away from ya."
I made it a point to ignore him and began walking away. But the man continued, "what are you in for?" he asked but didn't wait for me to respond, "I didn't do nothin'. This is jack bullshit. I tell you what tho... I's gets out, Imma get me some fine ass pussy, with an ass as big as... uh as big as dem fuckin' dungeon doors..." which opened.
There was a shriek at the end of the corridor.
I didn't do it. I didn't do it. That's all I thought of as the woman came from her corner with sheepish countenance, to catch a glimpse of what would impart her mortal fate. The bald man's blade no longer sang. The pariah shrank into his corner and began vomiting. I tensed by stomach and stood straight and let my balls hang low. I was not going to leave this world a coward. The bald man and the lady now stood next to me. The woman seemed... smaller. Meeker. Vulnerable. As the shrieks grew closer, I noticed her shoulders buckle, her lips tighten and her body shaking. The idiosyncrasy somehow empowered me and I could feel the surge of adrenaline for wanting to save her... until I noticed the bald man looked very frightened.
There is no contention for what would be your final impulse. When death shrieks, you take exactly what you desire at that point. That is why I am facing my second trial today. | "The sword, or the spear?". The giant brute of a guard barked at me. I looked at the two weapons. The sword was a dull, nicked short sword. The spear was little more than splintered broom handle with a piece of obsidian tied to the end. I weighed these two very appealing options before picking up the blade.
As I tested its weight in my hand, I contemplated swinging it at the guard's head and running. However I changed my mind after a glance upwards reminded me of the archers on the dungeon wall. I wouldn't get ten feet even if I were able to injure the guard, who was easily twice my size and heavily armored, or get past his comrades behind me, each armed with shields and heavy poleaxes.
I watched as the tiny wizened old man next to hobbled up to the guard, taking the spear, the only weapon left for him. The poor bastard never looked up as he slowly made his way back in line.
There were four of us lined up in front of the dungeon gate. Furthest from me was Illiana, the adulturer. She was some lord's wife who supposedly got caught in bed with a servant. Poor girl was sobbing as she had taken the crossbow the guard handed her. As if the twenty shots in the bag at her waist would last long in the hell we were approaching.
After her was Rolfe, he was a tall, dark skinned, lean man I would probably be glad to be with down there if he weren't just as likely to cave my head in with his heavy mace and steal my food as he was to help us survive. He was a soldier, or was until he was found in the barracks surrounded by corpses and covered in blood. How he killed ten of his fellow men with his bare hands no one can explain. He hasn't spoken since his arrest. Typical the man everyone here wants dead most is most likely to survive.
Between me and Rolfe was Armand, the poor old beggar with a long gray beard wearing little more than rags, caught stealing bread. This wouldn't normally be a dungeon worthy crime, except, according to Armand, the shop owner attacked him, tried to kill him, and in the scuffle, Armand stabbed him with the little knife he carried, his sole possession. Unfortunately for Armand, the old man hit an artery or something, because the shop owner bled out in his shop floor. As he stood next to me I couldn't help noticing he was leaning on the spear as if he could fall over at any moment. Dear gods, how are we going to survive this?
The Keeper of the Gate, wearing his black cloak walked in front of us, carrying his white staff. As he stood before us a hiss of a voice left the shadows under his hood. "You four have been accused of heinous crimes against our peaceful community. You have been sentenced to the Dungeon Trial! You shall fight the horrors within and bring back great treasure or die trying." Lovely we can come back innocent and rich, and the only thing standing in the way were vicious monsters, agonizing curses, and sadistic traps.
As he finished the accursed black stone doors of the gate opened, revealing the dank dungeon, dimly lit by torches bolted to the walls. The the guards standing behind us pushed us with their shields, onto the unholy ground. As the gates shut behind us I could hear the Keeper's voice echo into the darkness "May the Gods of Justice guide the innocent, and may the wicked be left to the abominable beasts below".
| |
A "sequel" of sorts to this earlier prompt of mine: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1sws4j/wp_a_sex_trafficker_is_brutally_killed_by_a/ | [WP] An ISIS fighter is killed in battle. Expecting Paradise, he instead finds himself at the gates of Hell, where a furious angel is ready to toss him inside for eternity. However, the fighter is allowed five minutes to explain his actions in life. What does he say? | For a moment, it is completely dark.
"The pain is all gone", Ahmed thinks to himself. Next thing he realizes is he is still capable of thoughts. "I am right!”
Suddenly, a ray of light shines down from above, revealing a humanoid figure in front of Ahmed. Ahmed deduces it is the angel.
"Allah is great!" cries Ahmed. "Allah is great!" This reminds Ahmed of the battlefield. The smell of blood, sweat and gunpowder in the air, and the unbearable heat enveloping him. Mud and sand on his face, gripping a battle-worn Kalashnikov in his hands. The cries of “Allah is great!” echo the open desert.
He looks up and notices a frowning face.
“Ahmed, this is what you humans called, hell.”
“What? But-”
“You only have 5 Earth minutes; explain to me, why?”
“Why what?”
“You were born in such a blessed state. Food and safety is relatively easy for the likes of you to secure. Why did you choose to travel to a foreign country to fight?”
“This is God’s calling. I fought to defend my beliefs. Capitalism, westernization, consumerism, they have destroyed the way of life we are told to have. They exploited our greed, gluttony and lust. They encouraged people to embrace in their sinful nature. The Islamic State is our only chance we can live by the laws of the Quran.”
“Has the Quran asked you to rape?”
“I do not rape. I detest those who joined us merely for fame, murder, rape and plunder. We will weed them out once the war is over.”
“What about those villagers you have massacred? Unarmed, hands tied, and only willed to live a peaceful live. God asked you to kill innocents?”
“No, God asked me to liberate people from this sinful world. For every bullet that I put into a person’s skull, I freed them. For every soul I killed, I have cleansed them from their filthy way of life, and they now reside in heaven. The life on Earth is just a brief moment, in comparison to eternity that will certainly come.”
“And why do you think you are spending your eternity here?”
“…. I am not worthy.”
A smirk appears on the angel’s face. The light fades, and all that is left is darkness. | *Note: I just zipped through Google to get a rough idea of the facts and history, so some of them may be off. If you spot any mistakes please tell me and I'll try to correct it.*
Now please, o being of light, put yourself in my shoes. I grew up, among the slums of Baghdad. My father has been conscripted two days before I was born, and we have never heard of him since. So there I was, growing up in the midst of war after pointless war, my mother and two sisters crying their eyes out every night. Every day we begged and stole just to keep alive, and every day we were beaten for it. Mother taught us to endure, to bear with it all; this was a test from God where bliss lies in the future. After all, we were good Sunnis, and President Saddam will create a strong Iraq where all good Sunnis will prosper. Once the Jews and the Kurds and all the other filth were purged from the land, there shall be all good Sunnis will prosper.
And of course, then the Americans had to come! They have came to rescue us, they said! Freedom and justice to all! Dictator Saddam has to fall! And yet all that fell were just a few statues and my hopes. What is the point of freedom, when all is but rubble and chaos! What meaning is justice, when all it brought us was fear of getting shot or bombed every night by those blonde American pigs! My sisters - my sisters! Was raping them all part of this great freedom they so loved, so great that leaving them to die by the roadside so that it shattered my mothers' frail heart was justified?
God was all I had left! In that shattered, war torn void of a land all I could do was pray, pray that I would one day answer my call, and to avenge my family! Think, I beg you, in that wasteland where all we could see was incessant and endless bloodshed, why wouldn't I do so? Why wouldn't I join a creed with whom I share my faith with, the very last thing we have left? Much less a creed who promised to put an end to this madness and build the very utopia we so craved? It was a lack of faith after all, that had plunged our very homeland into this cesspool! Only with a holy war with God on our side, can true peace be reclaimed! Only by abiding to the strict edicts of God can true peace be maintained! I never wanted to kill, I wish I never had to, but if that was the only way of attaining your last hope, would you not do it? Who would not do it?
No, being of light, I will not shut up now! As the bullet pierced my heart all I wanted was to see my family again, united and happy in the paradise of God! But what do I see? I see the American god throwing his weight around like a spoilt bully in the playground. He rewards those who lick his boots and condemns those who even slightly doubt him. The American that carpet bombed all those innocent civilians without even a twinge of regret gets to strut in paradise carefree, while I who have just fired a few rounds with this very rifle ends up burning forevermore! Is this the justice you Americans so love? No, all I see is blatant nepotism and cronyism not unlike the governments they want to overthrow.
Small wonder that the Americans are such petty bullies; even their god is so. |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | He took his life to save them, he knew they would follow him if he didn't. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Even after ten years, it was still hard to forget her. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | You were, at one time, my best friend, then you died, leaving me alone to face the dangers of the world, and yet, I still love you. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I wish I had known that good bye was our last. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I will not be mourned. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I snuck back after everyone had left to bury the ring beside her, but stopped abruptly when I turned down her row; a man I'd never seen before was kneeling beside her grave, running his fingers over her headstone and dripping tears into the dirt. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | She was my only love, but I wasn't hers. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I use to think you mattered. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | After years of searching, I finally found my lost daughter working in a brothel in Beijing. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Smashing your own heart isn't going to fix your heartbreak, it'll make the irony even worse. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | As the rain poured down on my face, I could barely make out her red hair over me and her sweet voice saying, "Please don't leave me...." | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | It wasn't rage that doomed us, or evil, or some crazy fucker with a handful of ways to create some horrific utopia, it was just time. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | In high school my brother wrote a short poem that always stuck with me. It's technically three sentences, but the final sentence really pulled at my heart:
Silence is golden, but what can it buy? It can't pay the devil when it's time to die.
I place a rose on your casket and watch as it withers away.... | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I carry in my eyes the crumbs of dried up dreams. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I am too good for you, I just can't bring myself to leave. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | "Mommy, but if they close it, how will Daddy know when it's time to wake up?" | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | "I spent half my life working so I could spend the other half dying, and I was miserable the whole way through." | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Sir, it's either her or the baby. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | How many times can I break your heart before you finally die? | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Google fiber came to your town but stopped a block away | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I never expected you could anyway. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | The words hung in the air as I drowned in silence; "Do you love me?" is a question with only two answers. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | "Life is rarely fair, cheaters frequently win with no consequence, and the good often die young, but honestly, do you believe that life is anything but a sham?" | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I can't love you anymore. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | A sharp, deafening *click* was heard as the trigger was cocked, "choose, your boy or your girl?" | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I've seen dead bodies before, but none of them were this small. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | "And she didn't say it back." | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | You just never really mattered. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | You're just like your father. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | She told me she had cancer, that space would be best, I don't think his name is Cancer. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I realized I would have to spend the rest of my life dreaming of ways to die, just so I could see her face again. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | They say you die twice, one time when you stop breathing and a second time when somebody says your name for the last time; in this my mother is still alive. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | The day I no longer recognized him was a thousand times worse than the day he no longer recognized me. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | She broke my heart, as I headed off to war, with a single whispered, "Goodbye, Daddy." | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | The ice cream for the orphans was covered in ants. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | All the most beautiful things must come to an end, no matter how unfair it is. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Killing yourself won't bring anyone back. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Everyone has a someone, it just so happens mine had someone else. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Belief betrays everyone. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I jumped off the bridge, then changed my mind. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | It wasn't the sting of watching of her drift away that kept me up at night, but, rather, it was the pain of knowing I did everything I could and still fell short. | I'm sorry but...maybe we should just be friends. | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Even after ten years, it was still hard to forget her. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | You were, at one time, my best friend, then you died, leaving me alone to face the dangers of the world, and yet, I still love you. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I wish I had known that good bye was our last. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I will not be mourned. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I snuck back after everyone had left to bury the ring beside her, but stopped abruptly when I turned down her row; a man I'd never seen before was kneeling beside her grave, running his fingers over her headstone and dripping tears into the dirt. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | She was my only love, but I wasn't hers. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | I use to think you mattered. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | After years of searching, I finally found my lost daughter working in a brothel in Beijing. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" | |
[FF] Break my heart in a sentence. | Smashing your own heart isn't going to fix your heartbreak, it'll make the irony even worse. | "I don't know what I want, but I know it isn't you" |
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