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[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| What had these fools wrought upon themselves once again? I had a name once, but there was only one thing I was known as now. I could see ears on the walls, listening, waiting for me to make my move. The denizens of this hellish dimension whimpered awaiting their impending death.
"Eat lead!" I cried. I fired up my machine gun and begun the rampage of carnage once again. The smart ones fled in terror but a few fools tried to fight. It was useless. Their fate was inevitable. Doomguy was back. | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | Demons live in the shadows. You aught to be cautious, yes, but there’s no need to be afraid. Demons live in the shadows or should I say beneath them, for the shadows are what keeps our worlds apart. You can say that the shadows keep us safe. For this we are surely lucky for without this wall, without this barrier, one world would surely perish beneath the wrath of the other.
How do I know this? Let me share with you my secret; I’ve have been to the other side.
This story begins like many others. I was in my kitchen. My bagel was plain but my cream cheese was thick and the lox was fresh. Life was good; my breakfast was testament to that. I raised my bagel in the air and gave my thanks saying, “God or Devil, he who breaths life into the dead and turns the cosmos on a needle and makes them spin, he who made my bagel he who also made my lox. I thank you for my bounty and for everything I’ve got.”.
My dog began to smile. It was a site that filled my soul with fear. He smiled like a human; it was as if he was a man. His eyes, they filled with fire. In those flames men burned alive. I could even hear them scream. I tried to stop him. I really did. But before I could he had begin to speak. From his eyes dripped tears, blood. He said, “amen let it be” and like that, in a flash, I was gone.
I was scared. Afraid. My adventure had just begun.
(to be continued if people like it) | "It worked!" Shrieked the smallest of the three figures hovering around a broken board with odd lettering running across the old wood. It's three trunk like arms reaching directly into my personal space. It's 'arms', covered in what looked like 20 pencil thin fingers, barely had time to touch the Lapel on my jacked before my training kicked it.
Ten years in the field had trained me for self defense, but nothing could prepare me for this. Swiping the grotesque spider like hand to right, I herd the creature roar with pain while instantly retracting its arms back into its mass. "Don't let this one touch you! It burns!" Screamed the creature to the others. They were much taller, covered in black cloaks that seemed to make up much of their body. Their faces looked like they were upside down. With one large eyehole at the bottom of the pyramid shaped cranium. Three pupils crammed through the same hole, below what looked like two huge fangs dripping with electric saliva. Their heads were completely transparent with strange organs sloshing about. Hovering roughly a foot off the ground and towering at eight feet, the two Daemons started hovering around me in a circle. As if to corral me into my impending doom.
"Don't let it escape! We need his body for the portal!" Ordered the small one. It was obvious who was in charge. "Use the gloves. He can't burn you with the gloves!" Encouraging his cronies to advance on my position. Well, it's fight or flight time. Knowing I was out numbered. I made myself as big as possible. Waving my hands in the air like a mad man. Glancing around what looked like my apartment, apart from everything being a shade darker. Gloom consumed this place, wherever I was, this was not my kitchen I was standing in a near minute ago. Was this what mom warned me about when I started my habit of chugging milk from the container for a late night snack? No, I was somehow brought here, possibly for a purpose.
Dropping the gallon of milk in my left hand. Turning and sprinting my way into my, or their, living room, I was knocking over everything in my path to gain inches of space. My two new floating friends advancing on my position. Everything I touch turning to ash, as if my hands were made of molten lava. My hear rate is spiking as I back myself into the Corning of my living room. Catching a quick glance of my girlfriends picture on the coffee table, it shows a Daemon harvesting the heart of another human. No time to figure that out now. My heart is pounding as the two figures are barely a three feet. "Quick grab him! He has nowhere to go! Master will be pleased." One says, reaching out again with the three trunk like arms now covered in silver like cloth. Knife like fingers creep towards my face and it is time to make my move.
As quickly as I poofed out of my kitchen and into whatever fucked up dimension I was in, I leaped out of the window. Glass not shattering around me but melting away from the frame, releasing me from the first level apartment. Thank god the dimensions of this building were current with my home land. Crashing to the ground outside, I hit the ground hard, immediately melting through the pavement wherever my skin was touching. Luckily for me my slippers kept my feet from turning the ground into sludge beneath me. Who thought I would be here after kicking off my wing tips and slipping on my snoop dog brand slippers.
Literally peeling myself off of the pavement, I looked back up to the window, where the two Daemons were peering out into the street. "O shit, he's escaped, call backup! Tell them we have a loose pilot on the ground, and to bring the Glagnar!" Whatever that was, I am not sticking around to find out... | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | They had waited all week for the storm to hit and now that it was here it was time. Carol and Jeff on the bottom two points of the pentagram. Thomas sat at the top with the ouiji board in front of him. "Hey guys? Aren't we supposed to hold hands or something for this part?"
Jeff and Carol looked at each other for a long moment and then turned to look at Thomas. Jeff shrugged. "Maybe. But it seems so Hollywood." Carol said light before adding, "Plus, all of us sitting on the pentagram points looks way cooler."
Thomas shifted nervously, "But why do I have to have it?"
This time Carol shrugged and Jeff answered.
"Dude? Seriously? Just get this over with and ask it a question."
Thomas huffed and placed his hand on the planchette. Fine, he decided, guess I'm going first. Inwardly grinning, he started moving the planchette from letter to letter. C-a-n-I-l-e-a-v-e-? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw lightening fill the sky. Thinking it would be funny Thomas surged to his feet and bellowed in his deepest voice, "This is what I ask of you!" As the power cut out, the 'you' echoed into the darkness. A moment of silence passed.
A candle flickered to light. Glowing red eyes met bewildered blue. Screaming and howling simultaneously caused the room to fall into darkness once more. Thomas screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for the claws he did not see but knew must exist to tear into him. When they didn't immediately, he opened one eye to the darkness. The room was a shocked stillness. Mentally shaking himself, he took a deep breath and asked, "Where am I and why am I here?". A whimper sounded to his left but was immediately muffled. Silence reined for several more seconds until Thomas put forth, "Well?"
"We are sorry! We didn't know!"
Thomas' eyes were adjusting and he turned toward the mass of darkness that spoke. "I didn't ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation."
"Guys. He can see me. He turned towards me. What do I do?" She was panicking.
"Stop shaking, if it can see you then it can see your weakness."
"It can't hurt you- we drew that barrier right? It shouldn't be able to cross"
Thomas allowed the back and forth to go on for sometime before he decided to interject, "Would you mind now answering my questions?" He took a step forward to the edge of the supposed barrier. Partly to frighten the speaker but also partly to see if the barrier was real. Before he could take another step, a voice to his right spoke quickly, "We summoned you, we didn't know it would work. And you are in the 5th level of hell." Thomas spun on his heel and strode toward the voice and crouched down as close to the barrier and the face of the new voice as possible. "Thank you. Now. Send. Me. Home." The whimpering started up again but Thomas felt no guilt reasoning he was just as scared as they were if not more since he was apparently caged into one space.
A scramble activity ensued. A table was righted. Hushed voices whispered so softly, Thomas couldn't make out the words. A board clanked onto the table. Thomas smiled, pleased something was being done. A scraping noise was heard and then he was spinning into the darkness. | "It worked!" Shrieked the smallest of the three figures hovering around a broken board with odd lettering running across the old wood. It's three trunk like arms reaching directly into my personal space. It's 'arms', covered in what looked like 20 pencil thin fingers, barely had time to touch the Lapel on my jacked before my training kicked it.
Ten years in the field had trained me for self defense, but nothing could prepare me for this. Swiping the grotesque spider like hand to right, I herd the creature roar with pain while instantly retracting its arms back into its mass. "Don't let this one touch you! It burns!" Screamed the creature to the others. They were much taller, covered in black cloaks that seemed to make up much of their body. Their faces looked like they were upside down. With one large eyehole at the bottom of the pyramid shaped cranium. Three pupils crammed through the same hole, below what looked like two huge fangs dripping with electric saliva. Their heads were completely transparent with strange organs sloshing about. Hovering roughly a foot off the ground and towering at eight feet, the two Daemons started hovering around me in a circle. As if to corral me into my impending doom.
"Don't let it escape! We need his body for the portal!" Ordered the small one. It was obvious who was in charge. "Use the gloves. He can't burn you with the gloves!" Encouraging his cronies to advance on my position. Well, it's fight or flight time. Knowing I was out numbered. I made myself as big as possible. Waving my hands in the air like a mad man. Glancing around what looked like my apartment, apart from everything being a shade darker. Gloom consumed this place, wherever I was, this was not my kitchen I was standing in a near minute ago. Was this what mom warned me about when I started my habit of chugging milk from the container for a late night snack? No, I was somehow brought here, possibly for a purpose.
Dropping the gallon of milk in my left hand. Turning and sprinting my way into my, or their, living room, I was knocking over everything in my path to gain inches of space. My two new floating friends advancing on my position. Everything I touch turning to ash, as if my hands were made of molten lava. My hear rate is spiking as I back myself into the Corning of my living room. Catching a quick glance of my girlfriends picture on the coffee table, it shows a Daemon harvesting the heart of another human. No time to figure that out now. My heart is pounding as the two figures are barely a three feet. "Quick grab him! He has nowhere to go! Master will be pleased." One says, reaching out again with the three trunk like arms now covered in silver like cloth. Knife like fingers creep towards my face and it is time to make my move.
As quickly as I poofed out of my kitchen and into whatever fucked up dimension I was in, I leaped out of the window. Glass not shattering around me but melting away from the frame, releasing me from the first level apartment. Thank god the dimensions of this building were current with my home land. Crashing to the ground outside, I hit the ground hard, immediately melting through the pavement wherever my skin was touching. Luckily for me my slippers kept my feet from turning the ground into sludge beneath me. Who thought I would be here after kicking off my wing tips and slipping on my snoop dog brand slippers.
Literally peeling myself off of the pavement, I looked back up to the window, where the two Daemons were peering out into the street. "O shit, he's escaped, call backup! Tell them we have a loose pilot on the ground, and to bring the Glagnar!" Whatever that was, I am not sticking around to find out... | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | I had just filled up my cereal bowl and was about to enjoy a late breakfast when that familiar feeling came on me again. Dang-it, I already regretted that deal I had made with that thieving “Ouija the Fantabulous”.
At the time it had sounded like easy money – As a member of the Dimension Monitoring Security Division, “D-MonS” for short – traveling the inter-dimensional gateways was old hat. It was during an epic drinking bout last year that my “Friend” and drinking companion had come up with the idea of us popping into each others home dimensions and putting a scare on unsuspecting mundanes. We would do “Magic Shows” where we would pretend to summon a “Daemon”, and after a bit of theatrical fahlderol the “Summoned Daemon” would step back through the gateway and go back to their regular life while the Magician raked in the samollions from the unsuspecting marks. “Easy Money” he said. “What could go wrong?” he said. My big toe, I say.
With his red skin, horns and wings, he could easily pass as some sort Daemonic presence on Earth, especially if he dropped a flash bomb just before he appeared. Likewise I, a rather plain non-descript human on my own home dimension, would appear exotic and dangerous when I stepped out of the gateway on his world in a cloud of smoke with a dramatic gesture.
The only problem was while I had only used the Summoner Device on him a couple times (that one séance with my Aunt Gertruda was epic!) that jack-wipe had created his “Ouija Boards” which triggered the gateway whenever some thrill-seeking teenager played around with it , so I was constantly being summoned and having to do my “Scary Daemon” act in increasingly uncomfortable situations. Plus that thief had copyrighted the technology so he was pulling in royalties off of every copy of the damn board that he sold, while I was stuck with bupkiss – not a red cent!!!
When the smoke cleared, I had a brief glimpse of a trio of obviously under-aged creatures sitting around the damned board, who gave me one wide-eyed look before screaming in terror and running off and locking themselves into what I presume was a lavatory of some sort. OK, I admit the bath-robe was getting a bit shabby, and I was still suffering from a severe case of Bed Hair, but still it seemed like a little bit of an over-reaction. Pulling a card from my robe pocket I read off the required copyrighted script: “Behold the power of the Ouija! Who dares to disturb my slumber of 1000 years! You have dabbled in powers that are beyond your ken and understanding! Terrifying – blah-blah-blah, uh, yeah OOoooh Scary! Don’t disturb me again. Copyright Oujia Magic Supplies, the best Magic comes from Ouija!” And I stepped back into the cloud of mist and triggered the return cycle. Bet my damn cereal was going to be soggy.
(With apologies to Robert Lyn Aspirin)
| "It worked!" Shrieked the smallest of the three figures hovering around a broken board with odd lettering running across the old wood. It's three trunk like arms reaching directly into my personal space. It's 'arms', covered in what looked like 20 pencil thin fingers, barely had time to touch the Lapel on my jacked before my training kicked it.
Ten years in the field had trained me for self defense, but nothing could prepare me for this. Swiping the grotesque spider like hand to right, I herd the creature roar with pain while instantly retracting its arms back into its mass. "Don't let this one touch you! It burns!" Screamed the creature to the others. They were much taller, covered in black cloaks that seemed to make up much of their body. Their faces looked like they were upside down. With one large eyehole at the bottom of the pyramid shaped cranium. Three pupils crammed through the same hole, below what looked like two huge fangs dripping with electric saliva. Their heads were completely transparent with strange organs sloshing about. Hovering roughly a foot off the ground and towering at eight feet, the two Daemons started hovering around me in a circle. As if to corral me into my impending doom.
"Don't let it escape! We need his body for the portal!" Ordered the small one. It was obvious who was in charge. "Use the gloves. He can't burn you with the gloves!" Encouraging his cronies to advance on my position. Well, it's fight or flight time. Knowing I was out numbered. I made myself as big as possible. Waving my hands in the air like a mad man. Glancing around what looked like my apartment, apart from everything being a shade darker. Gloom consumed this place, wherever I was, this was not my kitchen I was standing in a near minute ago. Was this what mom warned me about when I started my habit of chugging milk from the container for a late night snack? No, I was somehow brought here, possibly for a purpose.
Dropping the gallon of milk in my left hand. Turning and sprinting my way into my, or their, living room, I was knocking over everything in my path to gain inches of space. My two new floating friends advancing on my position. Everything I touch turning to ash, as if my hands were made of molten lava. My hear rate is spiking as I back myself into the Corning of my living room. Catching a quick glance of my girlfriends picture on the coffee table, it shows a Daemon harvesting the heart of another human. No time to figure that out now. My heart is pounding as the two figures are barely a three feet. "Quick grab him! He has nowhere to go! Master will be pleased." One says, reaching out again with the three trunk like arms now covered in silver like cloth. Knife like fingers creep towards my face and it is time to make my move.
As quickly as I poofed out of my kitchen and into whatever fucked up dimension I was in, I leaped out of the window. Glass not shattering around me but melting away from the frame, releasing me from the first level apartment. Thank god the dimensions of this building were current with my home land. Crashing to the ground outside, I hit the ground hard, immediately melting through the pavement wherever my skin was touching. Luckily for me my slippers kept my feet from turning the ground into sludge beneath me. Who thought I would be here after kicking off my wing tips and slipping on my snoop dog brand slippers.
Literally peeling myself off of the pavement, I looked back up to the window, where the two Daemons were peering out into the street. "O shit, he's escaped, call backup! Tell them we have a loose pilot on the ground, and to bring the Glagnar!" Whatever that was, I am not sticking around to find out... | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| "It worked!" Shrieked the smallest of the three figures hovering around a broken board with odd lettering running across the old wood. It's three trunk like arms reaching directly into my personal space. It's 'arms', covered in what looked like 20 pencil thin fingers, barely had time to touch the Lapel on my jacked before my training kicked it.
Ten years in the field had trained me for self defense, but nothing could prepare me for this. Swiping the grotesque spider like hand to right, I herd the creature roar with pain while instantly retracting its arms back into its mass. "Don't let this one touch you! It burns!" Screamed the creature to the others. They were much taller, covered in black cloaks that seemed to make up much of their body. Their faces looked like they were upside down. With one large eyehole at the bottom of the pyramid shaped cranium. Three pupils crammed through the same hole, below what looked like two huge fangs dripping with electric saliva. Their heads were completely transparent with strange organs sloshing about. Hovering roughly a foot off the ground and towering at eight feet, the two Daemons started hovering around me in a circle. As if to corral me into my impending doom.
"Don't let it escape! We need his body for the portal!" Ordered the small one. It was obvious who was in charge. "Use the gloves. He can't burn you with the gloves!" Encouraging his cronies to advance on my position. Well, it's fight or flight time. Knowing I was out numbered. I made myself as big as possible. Waving my hands in the air like a mad man. Glancing around what looked like my apartment, apart from everything being a shade darker. Gloom consumed this place, wherever I was, this was not my kitchen I was standing in a near minute ago. Was this what mom warned me about when I started my habit of chugging milk from the container for a late night snack? No, I was somehow brought here, possibly for a purpose.
Dropping the gallon of milk in my left hand. Turning and sprinting my way into my, or their, living room, I was knocking over everything in my path to gain inches of space. My two new floating friends advancing on my position. Everything I touch turning to ash, as if my hands were made of molten lava. My hear rate is spiking as I back myself into the Corning of my living room. Catching a quick glance of my girlfriends picture on the coffee table, it shows a Daemon harvesting the heart of another human. No time to figure that out now. My heart is pounding as the two figures are barely a three feet. "Quick grab him! He has nowhere to go! Master will be pleased." One says, reaching out again with the three trunk like arms now covered in silver like cloth. Knife like fingers creep towards my face and it is time to make my move.
As quickly as I poofed out of my kitchen and into whatever fucked up dimension I was in, I leaped out of the window. Glass not shattering around me but melting away from the frame, releasing me from the first level apartment. Thank god the dimensions of this building were current with my home land. Crashing to the ground outside, I hit the ground hard, immediately melting through the pavement wherever my skin was touching. Luckily for me my slippers kept my feet from turning the ground into sludge beneath me. Who thought I would be here after kicking off my wing tips and slipping on my snoop dog brand slippers.
Literally peeling myself off of the pavement, I looked back up to the window, where the two Daemons were peering out into the street. "O shit, he's escaped, call backup! Tell them we have a loose pilot on the ground, and to bring the Glagnar!" Whatever that was, I am not sticking around to find out... | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | They had waited all week for the storm to hit and now that it was here it was time. Carol and Jeff on the bottom two points of the pentagram. Thomas sat at the top with the ouiji board in front of him. "Hey guys? Aren't we supposed to hold hands or something for this part?"
Jeff and Carol looked at each other for a long moment and then turned to look at Thomas. Jeff shrugged. "Maybe. But it seems so Hollywood." Carol said light before adding, "Plus, all of us sitting on the pentagram points looks way cooler."
Thomas shifted nervously, "But why do I have to have it?"
This time Carol shrugged and Jeff answered.
"Dude? Seriously? Just get this over with and ask it a question."
Thomas huffed and placed his hand on the planchette. Fine, he decided, guess I'm going first. Inwardly grinning, he started moving the planchette from letter to letter. C-a-n-I-l-e-a-v-e-? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw lightening fill the sky. Thinking it would be funny Thomas surged to his feet and bellowed in his deepest voice, "This is what I ask of you!" As the power cut out, the 'you' echoed into the darkness. A moment of silence passed.
A candle flickered to light. Glowing red eyes met bewildered blue. Screaming and howling simultaneously caused the room to fall into darkness once more. Thomas screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for the claws he did not see but knew must exist to tear into him. When they didn't immediately, he opened one eye to the darkness. The room was a shocked stillness. Mentally shaking himself, he took a deep breath and asked, "Where am I and why am I here?". A whimper sounded to his left but was immediately muffled. Silence reined for several more seconds until Thomas put forth, "Well?"
"We are sorry! We didn't know!"
Thomas' eyes were adjusting and he turned toward the mass of darkness that spoke. "I didn't ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation."
"Guys. He can see me. He turned towards me. What do I do?" She was panicking.
"Stop shaking, if it can see you then it can see your weakness."
"It can't hurt you- we drew that barrier right? It shouldn't be able to cross"
Thomas allowed the back and forth to go on for sometime before he decided to interject, "Would you mind now answering my questions?" He took a step forward to the edge of the supposed barrier. Partly to frighten the speaker but also partly to see if the barrier was real. Before he could take another step, a voice to his right spoke quickly, "We summoned you, we didn't know it would work. And you are in the 5th level of hell." Thomas spun on his heel and strode toward the voice and crouched down as close to the barrier and the face of the new voice as possible. "Thank you. Now. Send. Me. Home." The whimpering started up again but Thomas felt no guilt reasoning he was just as scared as they were if not more since he was apparently caged into one space.
A scramble activity ensued. A table was righted. Hushed voices whispered so softly, Thomas couldn't make out the words. A board clanked onto the table. Thomas smiled, pleased something was being done. A scraping noise was heard and then he was spinning into the darkness. | Demons live in the shadows. You aught to be cautious, yes, but there’s no need to be afraid. Demons live in the shadows or should I say beneath them, for the shadows are what keeps our worlds apart. You can say that the shadows keep us safe. For this we are surely lucky for without this wall, without this barrier, one world would surely perish beneath the wrath of the other.
How do I know this? Let me share with you my secret; I’ve have been to the other side.
This story begins like many others. I was in my kitchen. My bagel was plain but my cream cheese was thick and the lox was fresh. Life was good; my breakfast was testament to that. I raised my bagel in the air and gave my thanks saying, “God or Devil, he who breaths life into the dead and turns the cosmos on a needle and makes them spin, he who made my bagel he who also made my lox. I thank you for my bounty and for everything I’ve got.”.
My dog began to smile. It was a site that filled my soul with fear. He smiled like a human; it was as if he was a man. His eyes, they filled with fire. In those flames men burned alive. I could even hear them scream. I tried to stop him. I really did. But before I could he had begin to speak. From his eyes dripped tears, blood. He said, “amen let it be” and like that, in a flash, I was gone.
I was scared. Afraid. My adventure had just begun.
(to be continued if people like it) | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | I had just filled up my cereal bowl and was about to enjoy a late breakfast when that familiar feeling came on me again. Dang-it, I already regretted that deal I had made with that thieving “Ouija the Fantabulous”.
At the time it had sounded like easy money – As a member of the Dimension Monitoring Security Division, “D-MonS” for short – traveling the inter-dimensional gateways was old hat. It was during an epic drinking bout last year that my “Friend” and drinking companion had come up with the idea of us popping into each others home dimensions and putting a scare on unsuspecting mundanes. We would do “Magic Shows” where we would pretend to summon a “Daemon”, and after a bit of theatrical fahlderol the “Summoned Daemon” would step back through the gateway and go back to their regular life while the Magician raked in the samollions from the unsuspecting marks. “Easy Money” he said. “What could go wrong?” he said. My big toe, I say.
With his red skin, horns and wings, he could easily pass as some sort Daemonic presence on Earth, especially if he dropped a flash bomb just before he appeared. Likewise I, a rather plain non-descript human on my own home dimension, would appear exotic and dangerous when I stepped out of the gateway on his world in a cloud of smoke with a dramatic gesture.
The only problem was while I had only used the Summoner Device on him a couple times (that one séance with my Aunt Gertruda was epic!) that jack-wipe had created his “Ouija Boards” which triggered the gateway whenever some thrill-seeking teenager played around with it , so I was constantly being summoned and having to do my “Scary Daemon” act in increasingly uncomfortable situations. Plus that thief had copyrighted the technology so he was pulling in royalties off of every copy of the damn board that he sold, while I was stuck with bupkiss – not a red cent!!!
When the smoke cleared, I had a brief glimpse of a trio of obviously under-aged creatures sitting around the damned board, who gave me one wide-eyed look before screaming in terror and running off and locking themselves into what I presume was a lavatory of some sort. OK, I admit the bath-robe was getting a bit shabby, and I was still suffering from a severe case of Bed Hair, but still it seemed like a little bit of an over-reaction. Pulling a card from my robe pocket I read off the required copyrighted script: “Behold the power of the Ouija! Who dares to disturb my slumber of 1000 years! You have dabbled in powers that are beyond your ken and understanding! Terrifying – blah-blah-blah, uh, yeah OOoooh Scary! Don’t disturb me again. Copyright Oujia Magic Supplies, the best Magic comes from Ouija!” And I stepped back into the cloud of mist and triggered the return cycle. Bet my damn cereal was going to be soggy.
(With apologies to Robert Lyn Aspirin)
| Demons live in the shadows. You aught to be cautious, yes, but there’s no need to be afraid. Demons live in the shadows or should I say beneath them, for the shadows are what keeps our worlds apart. You can say that the shadows keep us safe. For this we are surely lucky for without this wall, without this barrier, one world would surely perish beneath the wrath of the other.
How do I know this? Let me share with you my secret; I’ve have been to the other side.
This story begins like many others. I was in my kitchen. My bagel was plain but my cream cheese was thick and the lox was fresh. Life was good; my breakfast was testament to that. I raised my bagel in the air and gave my thanks saying, “God or Devil, he who breaths life into the dead and turns the cosmos on a needle and makes them spin, he who made my bagel he who also made my lox. I thank you for my bounty and for everything I’ve got.”.
My dog began to smile. It was a site that filled my soul with fear. He smiled like a human; it was as if he was a man. His eyes, they filled with fire. In those flames men burned alive. I could even hear them scream. I tried to stop him. I really did. But before I could he had begin to speak. From his eyes dripped tears, blood. He said, “amen let it be” and like that, in a flash, I was gone.
I was scared. Afraid. My adventure had just begun.
(to be continued if people like it) | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| Demons live in the shadows. You aught to be cautious, yes, but there’s no need to be afraid. Demons live in the shadows or should I say beneath them, for the shadows are what keeps our worlds apart. You can say that the shadows keep us safe. For this we are surely lucky for without this wall, without this barrier, one world would surely perish beneath the wrath of the other.
How do I know this? Let me share with you my secret; I’ve have been to the other side.
This story begins like many others. I was in my kitchen. My bagel was plain but my cream cheese was thick and the lox was fresh. Life was good; my breakfast was testament to that. I raised my bagel in the air and gave my thanks saying, “God or Devil, he who breaths life into the dead and turns the cosmos on a needle and makes them spin, he who made my bagel he who also made my lox. I thank you for my bounty and for everything I’ve got.”.
My dog began to smile. It was a site that filled my soul with fear. He smiled like a human; it was as if he was a man. His eyes, they filled with fire. In those flames men burned alive. I could even hear them scream. I tried to stop him. I really did. But before I could he had begin to speak. From his eyes dripped tears, blood. He said, “amen let it be” and like that, in a flash, I was gone.
I was scared. Afraid. My adventure had just begun.
(to be continued if people like it) | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | I had just filled up my cereal bowl and was about to enjoy a late breakfast when that familiar feeling came on me again. Dang-it, I already regretted that deal I had made with that thieving “Ouija the Fantabulous”.
At the time it had sounded like easy money – As a member of the Dimension Monitoring Security Division, “D-MonS” for short – traveling the inter-dimensional gateways was old hat. It was during an epic drinking bout last year that my “Friend” and drinking companion had come up with the idea of us popping into each others home dimensions and putting a scare on unsuspecting mundanes. We would do “Magic Shows” where we would pretend to summon a “Daemon”, and after a bit of theatrical fahlderol the “Summoned Daemon” would step back through the gateway and go back to their regular life while the Magician raked in the samollions from the unsuspecting marks. “Easy Money” he said. “What could go wrong?” he said. My big toe, I say.
With his red skin, horns and wings, he could easily pass as some sort Daemonic presence on Earth, especially if he dropped a flash bomb just before he appeared. Likewise I, a rather plain non-descript human on my own home dimension, would appear exotic and dangerous when I stepped out of the gateway on his world in a cloud of smoke with a dramatic gesture.
The only problem was while I had only used the Summoner Device on him a couple times (that one séance with my Aunt Gertruda was epic!) that jack-wipe had created his “Ouija Boards” which triggered the gateway whenever some thrill-seeking teenager played around with it , so I was constantly being summoned and having to do my “Scary Daemon” act in increasingly uncomfortable situations. Plus that thief had copyrighted the technology so he was pulling in royalties off of every copy of the damn board that he sold, while I was stuck with bupkiss – not a red cent!!!
When the smoke cleared, I had a brief glimpse of a trio of obviously under-aged creatures sitting around the damned board, who gave me one wide-eyed look before screaming in terror and running off and locking themselves into what I presume was a lavatory of some sort. OK, I admit the bath-robe was getting a bit shabby, and I was still suffering from a severe case of Bed Hair, but still it seemed like a little bit of an over-reaction. Pulling a card from my robe pocket I read off the required copyrighted script: “Behold the power of the Ouija! Who dares to disturb my slumber of 1000 years! You have dabbled in powers that are beyond your ken and understanding! Terrifying – blah-blah-blah, uh, yeah OOoooh Scary! Don’t disturb me again. Copyright Oujia Magic Supplies, the best Magic comes from Ouija!” And I stepped back into the cloud of mist and triggered the return cycle. Bet my damn cereal was going to be soggy.
(With apologies to Robert Lyn Aspirin)
| *Part One: The Grand Entrance*
---
"By the Lord of the Deep you've summoned Michael." Pog whispered. His eyes were wide with terror. They gleamed yellow in the dark of the closet as he scooted towards Lard. His wart-ridden claws gripped Lard's shoulder so tightly that Lard bled. "You've summoned the bloody Archangel himself!"
"I didn't know the human magic worked." Lard muttered. His pig snout nose faced the closet floor. "Devil be damned how do we get out of this? Jerard got fried just by glancing at that *thing's* eyes. He's a dusty pile of ashes."
And then Michael took his first step in Hell. The entire room shook violently. The glorious angel's step rumbled like thunder. "By Beelzebub he's coming to us!" Pog cried out. The pair had fled from Michael by running up the stairs. They locked the bedroom door and threw themselves into the closet. But they felt a burning at the nape of their neck. *He* had seen where they'd gone. *He* was looking at them right now. Every step crushed the rotten wood floorboards of Pog's house. The pair shivered. It would only be moments before they were found and slaughtered.
Suddenly a crash. It wasn't a deadly sounding noise like the angel's steps. It was a mundane sound. The stairs! They had broken under the weight of the heavenly being. The demons breathed a sigh of relief. Pog told Lard a plan. They would creep out with this given time, and jump out the window. They would run to the White Palace and tell Satan what had happened. And then the Dread Father would take care of things. Easy.
Lard patted Pog on the back. It was a brilliant plan. Wait! What was that sizzling noise? A flash! Like a blaring siren but only there momentarily. A beam of light dashed through Pog's head and left a clean hole through his demonic brain. The former demon crumbled into ash. Lard screamed and shrieked as the entire house began to fall. Lard scrambled out of the closet and bashed his head against an armoured chest. Lard yelled as he looked up at the face of Michael. The yell echoed throughout Hell even though its owner was swiftly slain. And every demon perked its head up and quailed at the sound.
Michael grimaced as he wiped away the green blood from his armour. "Goddamned demons. Up with their tricks again." he said. Michael stretched. He raised his arms up and twisted his waist. "Better get to work, then. I'm not getting back without a bit of a fight." Wings made of etched glass grew from his back. They began like little bulbs, nothing more. But in a matter of seconds grew to a span of fourty meters. Michael summoned a banner with scales imprinted on it. "Thank goodness the cherubs customised this thing to shoot spurts of fire. Blinking useful, it is." He said as he tightened his grip on his sword.
He flew up in a flurried dash. He looked around and found his destination: the White Palace. Michael soared across the crimson sky. Black lightning crackled in his wake.
*Part Two: A Stroll Through Hell*
---
There are only a few good beings that can get into Hell. This is because Hell is very small. Oh, it can easily accomodate an infinite number of souls. But that's because souls in Hell are practically infinitely small! And that is because those souls are quite bad. So it goes that the normal angel finds it difficult to fit into Hell; like pajamas that are too tight and uncomfortable. Except these pajamas are searing hot and malevolent. There is a quirk in the rules though. And that is that the goodest - and therefore the biggest - among us can also become the smallest among us. Just like how it is only the kindest man that can empathise with the worst man.
It is by this unfortunate quirk that Michael found himself stuck in Hell. Normally you would take the bus if you wanted to leave Hell. But that was a perk only granted to demons on Refrigerium. Michael was neither a demon nor on Refrigerium, so he had to take the hard way out: a chat with the Devil himself.
Michael criss-crossed the Great Abyss in the blink of an eye. His shimmering wings seared the eyes of any demon that dared look up at the intruder. Michael's features were cold, though. Confident that he wouldn't be attacked, Michael brought his thoughts inwards and thought about his situation. It seemed that a game had brought him into Hell. But this was naturally impossible. Magic didn't exist. There was no bridging power that could subdue the norm. Michael did not know of any way that a common demon could summon an angel to Hell. And that meant he was not summoned by these demons.
With speed unimpaired, Michael blasted through the sickly clouds and made double-time to reach the White Palace. There was treachery afoot!
| |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| *Part One: The Grand Entrance*
---
"By the Lord of the Deep you've summoned Michael." Pog whispered. His eyes were wide with terror. They gleamed yellow in the dark of the closet as he scooted towards Lard. His wart-ridden claws gripped Lard's shoulder so tightly that Lard bled. "You've summoned the bloody Archangel himself!"
"I didn't know the human magic worked." Lard muttered. His pig snout nose faced the closet floor. "Devil be damned how do we get out of this? Jerard got fried just by glancing at that *thing's* eyes. He's a dusty pile of ashes."
And then Michael took his first step in Hell. The entire room shook violently. The glorious angel's step rumbled like thunder. "By Beelzebub he's coming to us!" Pog cried out. The pair had fled from Michael by running up the stairs. They locked the bedroom door and threw themselves into the closet. But they felt a burning at the nape of their neck. *He* had seen where they'd gone. *He* was looking at them right now. Every step crushed the rotten wood floorboards of Pog's house. The pair shivered. It would only be moments before they were found and slaughtered.
Suddenly a crash. It wasn't a deadly sounding noise like the angel's steps. It was a mundane sound. The stairs! They had broken under the weight of the heavenly being. The demons breathed a sigh of relief. Pog told Lard a plan. They would creep out with this given time, and jump out the window. They would run to the White Palace and tell Satan what had happened. And then the Dread Father would take care of things. Easy.
Lard patted Pog on the back. It was a brilliant plan. Wait! What was that sizzling noise? A flash! Like a blaring siren but only there momentarily. A beam of light dashed through Pog's head and left a clean hole through his demonic brain. The former demon crumbled into ash. Lard screamed and shrieked as the entire house began to fall. Lard scrambled out of the closet and bashed his head against an armoured chest. Lard yelled as he looked up at the face of Michael. The yell echoed throughout Hell even though its owner was swiftly slain. And every demon perked its head up and quailed at the sound.
Michael grimaced as he wiped away the green blood from his armour. "Goddamned demons. Up with their tricks again." he said. Michael stretched. He raised his arms up and twisted his waist. "Better get to work, then. I'm not getting back without a bit of a fight." Wings made of etched glass grew from his back. They began like little bulbs, nothing more. But in a matter of seconds grew to a span of fourty meters. Michael summoned a banner with scales imprinted on it. "Thank goodness the cherubs customised this thing to shoot spurts of fire. Blinking useful, it is." He said as he tightened his grip on his sword.
He flew up in a flurried dash. He looked around and found his destination: the White Palace. Michael soared across the crimson sky. Black lightning crackled in his wake.
*Part Two: A Stroll Through Hell*
---
There are only a few good beings that can get into Hell. This is because Hell is very small. Oh, it can easily accomodate an infinite number of souls. But that's because souls in Hell are practically infinitely small! And that is because those souls are quite bad. So it goes that the normal angel finds it difficult to fit into Hell; like pajamas that are too tight and uncomfortable. Except these pajamas are searing hot and malevolent. There is a quirk in the rules though. And that is that the goodest - and therefore the biggest - among us can also become the smallest among us. Just like how it is only the kindest man that can empathise with the worst man.
It is by this unfortunate quirk that Michael found himself stuck in Hell. Normally you would take the bus if you wanted to leave Hell. But that was a perk only granted to demons on Refrigerium. Michael was neither a demon nor on Refrigerium, so he had to take the hard way out: a chat with the Devil himself.
Michael criss-crossed the Great Abyss in the blink of an eye. His shimmering wings seared the eyes of any demon that dared look up at the intruder. Michael's features were cold, though. Confident that he wouldn't be attacked, Michael brought his thoughts inwards and thought about his situation. It seemed that a game had brought him into Hell. But this was naturally impossible. Magic didn't exist. There was no bridging power that could subdue the norm. Michael did not know of any way that a common demon could summon an angel to Hell. And that meant he was not summoned by these demons.
With speed unimpaired, Michael blasted through the sickly clouds and made double-time to reach the White Palace. There was treachery afoot!
| |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | I had just filled up my cereal bowl and was about to enjoy a late breakfast when that familiar feeling came on me again. Dang-it, I already regretted that deal I had made with that thieving “Ouija the Fantabulous”.
At the time it had sounded like easy money – As a member of the Dimension Monitoring Security Division, “D-MonS” for short – traveling the inter-dimensional gateways was old hat. It was during an epic drinking bout last year that my “Friend” and drinking companion had come up with the idea of us popping into each others home dimensions and putting a scare on unsuspecting mundanes. We would do “Magic Shows” where we would pretend to summon a “Daemon”, and after a bit of theatrical fahlderol the “Summoned Daemon” would step back through the gateway and go back to their regular life while the Magician raked in the samollions from the unsuspecting marks. “Easy Money” he said. “What could go wrong?” he said. My big toe, I say.
With his red skin, horns and wings, he could easily pass as some sort Daemonic presence on Earth, especially if he dropped a flash bomb just before he appeared. Likewise I, a rather plain non-descript human on my own home dimension, would appear exotic and dangerous when I stepped out of the gateway on his world in a cloud of smoke with a dramatic gesture.
The only problem was while I had only used the Summoner Device on him a couple times (that one séance with my Aunt Gertruda was epic!) that jack-wipe had created his “Ouija Boards” which triggered the gateway whenever some thrill-seeking teenager played around with it , so I was constantly being summoned and having to do my “Scary Daemon” act in increasingly uncomfortable situations. Plus that thief had copyrighted the technology so he was pulling in royalties off of every copy of the damn board that he sold, while I was stuck with bupkiss – not a red cent!!!
When the smoke cleared, I had a brief glimpse of a trio of obviously under-aged creatures sitting around the damned board, who gave me one wide-eyed look before screaming in terror and running off and locking themselves into what I presume was a lavatory of some sort. OK, I admit the bath-robe was getting a bit shabby, and I was still suffering from a severe case of Bed Hair, but still it seemed like a little bit of an over-reaction. Pulling a card from my robe pocket I read off the required copyrighted script: “Behold the power of the Ouija! Who dares to disturb my slumber of 1000 years! You have dabbled in powers that are beyond your ken and understanding! Terrifying – blah-blah-blah, uh, yeah OOoooh Scary! Don’t disturb me again. Copyright Oujia Magic Supplies, the best Magic comes from Ouija!” And I stepped back into the cloud of mist and triggered the return cycle. Bet my damn cereal was going to be soggy.
(With apologies to Robert Lyn Aspirin)
| They had waited all week for the storm to hit and now that it was here it was time. Carol and Jeff on the bottom two points of the pentagram. Thomas sat at the top with the ouiji board in front of him. "Hey guys? Aren't we supposed to hold hands or something for this part?"
Jeff and Carol looked at each other for a long moment and then turned to look at Thomas. Jeff shrugged. "Maybe. But it seems so Hollywood." Carol said light before adding, "Plus, all of us sitting on the pentagram points looks way cooler."
Thomas shifted nervously, "But why do I have to have it?"
This time Carol shrugged and Jeff answered.
"Dude? Seriously? Just get this over with and ask it a question."
Thomas huffed and placed his hand on the planchette. Fine, he decided, guess I'm going first. Inwardly grinning, he started moving the planchette from letter to letter. C-a-n-I-l-e-a-v-e-? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw lightening fill the sky. Thinking it would be funny Thomas surged to his feet and bellowed in his deepest voice, "This is what I ask of you!" As the power cut out, the 'you' echoed into the darkness. A moment of silence passed.
A candle flickered to light. Glowing red eyes met bewildered blue. Screaming and howling simultaneously caused the room to fall into darkness once more. Thomas screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for the claws he did not see but knew must exist to tear into him. When they didn't immediately, he opened one eye to the darkness. The room was a shocked stillness. Mentally shaking himself, he took a deep breath and asked, "Where am I and why am I here?". A whimper sounded to his left but was immediately muffled. Silence reined for several more seconds until Thomas put forth, "Well?"
"We are sorry! We didn't know!"
Thomas' eyes were adjusting and he turned toward the mass of darkness that spoke. "I didn't ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation."
"Guys. He can see me. He turned towards me. What do I do?" She was panicking.
"Stop shaking, if it can see you then it can see your weakness."
"It can't hurt you- we drew that barrier right? It shouldn't be able to cross"
Thomas allowed the back and forth to go on for sometime before he decided to interject, "Would you mind now answering my questions?" He took a step forward to the edge of the supposed barrier. Partly to frighten the speaker but also partly to see if the barrier was real. Before he could take another step, a voice to his right spoke quickly, "We summoned you, we didn't know it would work. And you are in the 5th level of hell." Thomas spun on his heel and strode toward the voice and crouched down as close to the barrier and the face of the new voice as possible. "Thank you. Now. Send. Me. Home." The whimpering started up again but Thomas felt no guilt reasoning he was just as scared as they were if not more since he was apparently caged into one space.
A scramble activity ensued. A table was righted. Hushed voices whispered so softly, Thomas couldn't make out the words. A board clanked onto the table. Thomas smiled, pleased something was being done. A scraping noise was heard and then he was spinning into the darkness. | |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| “*I* didn’t want to do it. But you were all like, nah, you’re just being a wimp, humans don’t really exist!”
“Shhh! It’s right outside. Lurking around…it makes me feel dirty to be in the same house as one. What do you think it smells like?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you go ask it?”
“Shut up, Kevin! You do it!”
The bathroom door opened slowly and I saw three pairs of glowing green eyes peek through the crack.
“It looks tame,” one of them said. It sounded like two females and a male.
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t bite. You come out whenever you feel like it,” I said. They screamed and slammed the door. “You know, I was enjoying a nice evening at home, was gonna hang out with some friends later and watch *Ghostbusters*…”
I covered my mouth. “Shit. That’s not what you think…they just capture the ghosts; it’s a movie. All special effects. ”
“Disgusting. The night I find out humans are real, I also find out they watch films about enslaving us for fun. How can you live with yourself?”
“I don’t know, man. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect that I’m dead.”
“You’re not transparent, dipshit.”
I heard a deep sigh from inside the bathroom. “Cynthia, be nice!”
“I’m not gonna be nice to a wobbly, flesh-covered freak!”
“Well, then, you’re just as bad as him and his movies.”
I heard a collective sigh from the ghosts. They passed through the doorway and glanced at me. Each was clearly a teenager.
I looked them over, up and down. Dressed just like average American adolescents. Their surroundings were simple and furnished similarly to a typical urban apartment, with just enough otherworldly glow and ectoplasm residue to prove that I’d passed into some other dimension. “This might come across as insensitive, but were you…humans in the past?”
“What?” One of the girls shook her head in disdain. “What a ridiculous assumption.”
“You must have been. Ghosts aren’t just ‘born.’”
“I don’t think…I mean, come on, that’s just…” She shook her head and I saw her pale white eyebrows furrow in confusion. “…All I know is that I showed up here with these two and we’ve never gone anywhere else.”
“Well, in that case, I—“
As soon as I uttered the beginning of the sentence, I popped back into my living room.
*
Back in the ghost dimension, Kevin had given the Ouija board another command – S-E-N-D-I-T-H-O-M-E.
“Kevin, what is WRONG with you?”
“I don’t want to get preached at by some being from another place. He doesn’t know what life is like for us.”
“But he could be the key to understanding where we came from! Why we’re here! Don’t you want to know?”
Kevin frowned. “No.” He threw the Ouija board into the fireplace, watching it become enveloped by otherworldly flames.
*
I sat in my living room, staring at the ceiling. I felt as though I’d seen something never meant to be seen, and wondered if the ghosts felt the same way.
I considered summoning them with a board of my own, but it didn't seem right.
The dead are meant to rest in peace, and the living cannot live in peace with knowledge of things we don't understand.
***
/r/GigaWrites
| |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | One moment I was just standing in my kitchen, pouring milk into my cereal. The next moment I was standing in a dim room lit with several candles pouring milk onto a dusty stone floor. I looked around and locked eyes with three terrifying beings, all of them staring back at me with what looked like a mix of awe and shock.
Then one of them spoke, it was a low hiss, barely audible.
"Shit.. Dameon... I told you these Ouija boards are not to messed with"
"I meant it as a joke! I had no idea this would happen and you know it Lucy!"
Their faces looked like something straight out of hell, but their suspicious names made me think that my guess was correct. I was still in shock at this point, with my half-empty jug of milk still dripping out of the opening.
The awkward silence was really bugging me, so I decided to try talking to them.
"Uh.. Hi?"
They jumped back in horror, one of them making a strange squeaking noise.
"It can talk?!"
The one named Lucy seemed alarmed at their friend's exclamation.
"Oh shut up Fred, you might provoke it!"
At this point I had nothing to lose, my house was gone, my milk was almost gone, and I was pretty sure they were more terrified of me than I was of them.
"I have no idea how I got here... um... Do you think you could help me get back to my own house?"
The demon-like creatures stared at me for several moments, before the one named Dameon managed to speak.
"Well.. I don't really know how you got here either.. we were just messing around with an Ouija board because I wanted to prank these guys"
Lucy slapped his arm and turned to me.
"I'm so sorry that this has happened to you, I don't know how we can get you back home, but if you're hungry or something we might be able to help"
I thought about my cereal, destined to a soggy fate in my small apartment. I wondered if anyone would find it. Would the police investigate my disappearance? What would they think of it all? I hope they don't eat my cereal...
"Some food would be nice..."
Edit: Jeez! This really blew up, I didn't expect this from my first comment on here. Thank you!
Edit2: I'm posting a second part when I wake from my much needed slumber, it'll be a reply to this. Love you guys <3
Edit3: Part 2 link: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4wqyb1/comment/d6ati46 | I recently discovered, due to some quantum flux in my kitchen, that demons are not the malevolent shadows that we suppose them to be. They are in fact very real, quite docile, and at least as superstitious as we are. If they are evil, the word requires a new definition, one that includes cowardice, paranoia, and an unwillingness to come out of the bathroom.
It was a Wednesday morning that, instead of pulling toast out of the toaster, I pulled a flaming sword out of a couch cushion. Neither the sword nor the couch were counted among my belongings, so the reader will imagine my confusion. To further it, the room in which I now stood was dark and the only light issued forth from the flame of the sword. I saw nothing here that resembled my kitchen, nor any other room I might have wandered to in a waking daze. The floor was carpet rather than hard wood, the television was a mere fifty-eight inches across, the blinds were cheap and Venetian. Simply for the sake of self-assurance, for the sake of establishing the reality of the place, I said aloud into the darkness -
"I am no longer in my kitchen."
It was then that I heard a whimper. Startled, I turned the flame of the sword in its direction. Three small children - for in the smallness of the light they *were* children - gaped at me from under a blanket on the floor. The fear in their eyes was absolute and in spite of my own predicament I pitied them.
"Who are you?" I said.
This simple question put them into such a fright that all three of them leapt up and sprinted out of the room. There being nothing else to do, I followed the sound of their footsteps through the dark house, holding the sword before me to provide light by which to see. The scuffling and scraping of feet led me down a hallway and up a flight of stairs and finally to a door at the edge of another hallway.
I knocked a friendly knock - *rap* tap-a-tap *rap* - and was greeted in return by a terrible shriek. In an attempt to calm them, in a measured voice I said,
"Screaming doesn't help."
The screaming stopped, but it seemed to me that they must still be afraid. The fear was palpable, as if I could smell it through the door. As I pondered what to say that might coax them out, one of them spoke softly through the door.
"What do you want?"
What did I want?
"I want to know who you are, and I want to know why I am here."
There was frantic whispering. It was evidently of dire importance to them they answered these questions precisely. The whispering came to a sudden halt and the same little voice crept under the door.
"We're sorry."
A strange and unsolicited apology. I could neither accept nor refuse it.
"Where am I?" This time with more force.
"We don't know."
"Well who are you?"
"We can't say."
"You don't know where you are?"
"We don't know where *you* are."
Cheeky little bastard. I became angry.
"Well then tell me where *you* are. And perhaps I, through inference, can deduce my own location."
More whispering. It went on for longer this time and it was apparent to me that there was an argument amongst them. I was near to testing the power of the flaming sword against the engineering of the door - but an answer came that stayed me:
"We are in you."
***
This response made little sense to me. But neither did not being in my kitchen. I decided to pursue the absurdity.
"How can you be in me if I'm on the other side of the door?"
"We didn't think you were real."
*"I told you we shouldn't have touched it."*
*"Shut up."*
"Touched what? What did you touch?"
"Nothing. We didn't touch nothing. Anything. We're sorry."
"What did you touch and why am I not real?"
*"He knows we touched it."*
*"Will you shut up?!"*
"We didn't *think* you were real."
"And what did you touch?"
"Nothing!"
"Dammit, who are you?!"
"We can't say."
Overwhelmed by their mastery of this peculiar form of conversation, I bellowed and shook my flaming sword.
"I'm going to count down from five. If I reach zero, and you haven't opened this door - "
"It's under the blanket!"
*"Shut up!"*
"The blanket?"
"Downstairs under the blanket!"
"Is that what you touched? You touched something that's downstairs and under the blanket?"
"We didn't touch it! We're sorry!"
I understood that as an affirmative. With an acute anxiety, the origins of which were unfathomable to me, I retreated down the hall, the stairs, the other hall, and returned to the place that was supposed to be my kitchen. The blanket lay on the floor. Underneath it something moved. In the strange light of the sword I crept towards it and lifted it up.
***
The thing that moved was black and round and the size of my fist. The movement was a steady and rhythmic pulse, as the beat of a drum or the twitching of something dead. It lay there on the floor and to the eyes it was insignificant - morbid perhaps, but no more than a curiosity. Yet I knew that I would be unwise, in this place that was not my kitchen, to trust my eyes.
After some time had passed, I heard their little feet creep around the corner, their little mouths whisper. Remembering now, in the light of this world and from this distance in time, I imagine what I must have appeared to them: A great and mythical presence bathed in the light of my sword and crouched before this thing that should not be. A terrible apparition I must have made!
I did not need to look to know that they were there. Even knowing the form the answer would take, I had to ask the question:
"What is it?"
The one who seemed their speaker spoke -
"If you won't know then we can't say."
"I won't know?"
"You won't."
The black thing pulsed. Though I desired to know with all my heart what it was, what it meant, what it portended, I didn't dare to touch it. Did I know then what I was looking at? I can only hope I didn't - for if I knew it then I must concede to know it now - and I won't.
"How can I go back?" I said.
"You can't go back."
"I can't go back?"
They must have heard or felt my rage - perhaps desperation - for they backed away from me. But the one who spoke braved one more riddle.
"There is only going forward."
I won't know what he meant or how I understood it. I will only report that having said this he and his coward friends vanished from my sight and left me in my glow and the darkness before the thing that moved. I stood and raised the sword and with all my strength I brought it down before me.
***
And this was precisely the moment, dear reader, that instead of impaling the thing that should not be with my flaming sword, I pulled a piece of toast out of my toaster. I was back in my kitchen, a place I may or may not have occupied simultaneously and meanwhile (quantum fluxes being strange to me) and the toast was lightly toasted according to my wont. I examined the toast thoroughly, and finding nothing devious about it I munched it dry with coffee.
And yes, that is the end of the story. If I won't know what it means then you can't either. | |
[WP] Kevin joins the army, and is placed in the front lines. Miraculously he survives every suicide mission the army gives him. | "It was a full strength tank division."
"With auxiliary mechanized infantry flanking them on the ridges." He added.
"Backed by aircraft, entrenched position across Lowbridge Valley, a snipers' delight, with no cover."
"Full moon too."
"Armed with a combat knife, two standard K-rations and a six shot revolver."
"With no ammunition."
"All this, and he managed to disable their communications center, poison their food supplies, find the intelligence hard drive *and* come back alive."
"Without any injuries."
"Johnson. Get this guy a medal."
---
"For the record, you will now retell the victory of Lowbridge Valley."
"Yes sir. General Neal asked me to take a look at the enemies line for some patrol practice and it got quite out of hand. He also gave me a bit of extra food if I happened to get peckish in the night. Unfortunately, I had the runs from a prank, laxatives in my coffee before the midnight patrol. So, halfway through my intended route, I found a barracks to use their bathroom. During my time at the bathroom, I think a pipe must have broke when I clogged the toilet. That took some time and the technician accidentally cut the electrical cord when he cut off the water supply pipe to replace it."
"Then you proceeded to poison their supplies."
"I didn't mean to in all honesty. Because they didn't have any running water, they joined me at the cafeteria. They were still holding my rations, but since the cook wasn't on duty, I offered to make them some eggs. I must have forgotten to wash my hands, and I might have used a tad too much of the crackers. I also made them soup, which I added my K-rations. Soon after, most of them weren't feeling too well either, so they went to the medical area while I wandered around. There wasn't anyone around so I let myself into one of the recreation areas. There was a lot of paperwork, but I found someone's briefcase. It had the general's name on it, so I decided there and then to return it to him."
"How did you manage to escape the enemy?"
"I walked back sir. The general asked me where I got the briefcase and what the contents were. I wasn't sure and the general didn't remember the combination lock on the case, so I used my knife to open it. It had a hard drive and some papers in the case. All I wish now is to thank the two men that allowed me to use their toilet."
"But, how did you persuade them to give you access to all of their facilities? Were you in civilian clothing?"
"No sir, I was in my regular combat fatigues. They asked me whether I was from the Army. I replied that I wasn't, since technically, I'm part of the Marine division. But they didn't ask to clarify so I didn't say."
| “He knows too much,” The Venerated General James Worthington said to his small cabinet in the military base in Seoul South Korea.
“I’m sorry general,” responded commander Morris, “We didn’t expect him to make it out of the Chinese embassy. We thought he wouldn’t make it back with any information about the killings.”
“Well he did!” The General slammed his hands down in disgust. “And whose idea was it to send him to swim across the Indian ocean and land in the shores of Somalia?”
All the eyes at the table turned towards Lieutenant Harris. Harris was seated on a chair in the corner of the room at the desk “I’m sorry general. Who could’ve foreseen that he would form an alliance with the Pirates and take down Syria’s budding Nuclear arsenal.”
“Well the president brought me in to fix your mistakes. No one can know about the massacre as you all well know. And I think I have an Idea that can end our little problem.”
“What are you thinking general,” Morris asked.
“I’m sending Kevin across the 39th parallel to take down Kim Jung Un.”
…..
Kevin had been in the army for three months. Yet he had no friends in the Army. They had all gone MIA in the various missions Kevin had been sent on. Now Kevin was with a reserve in South Korea. They were equipped to deal with any major emergencies in Southeast Asia. Luckily that left Kevin with plenty of free time when nothing was happening. He loved to sneak into the kitchen and steal some pudding. He’d been caught before but the chefs didn’t mind. It was hard to speak to the other members of his unit. Although they all were older (Kevin was only 19) and had better training (Kevin had barely passed his training) Kevin had more experiences than even his Commander Morris.
He had been the only soldier out of a strike force of a dozen sent to burn the files at a Chinese embassy. They found out during the mission that there was no evac planned. They had been sent in to die. How Kevin had survived was a miracle and what he’d escaped with was even more important. Somalia had only confused him more on the information he had, and climbing inside of the nuclear missile in order to defuse it in the air had left him scarred for weeks.
It was late at night now and he was in the kitchen eating pudding. It was chocolate today. It was always chocolate. He couldn’t sleep well so he spent his nights here. It was quiet the only people he ever saw were the chefs.
He heard the door open. “John?” He asked thinking it was the head chef. Out of the corner of the room emerged Commander Morris. He was balding on the top of his head and seemed to always have a scowl on his face.
“No but he said I could find you here.” Morris grabbed Kevin’s hand and helped him to his feet.
“Sorry about the pudding. Sir” Kevin wiped his hands on his white tank top while Morris scowled at his hands.
“Private you’ve been called on to meet with the general.” He said disapprovingly. ‘Not Again’ Kevin thought to himself. The last few times he’d had these meetings had ended with him flying away to some place of massive danger.
“Private you’d better start moving. The general does not like to be kept waiting.” Morris said.
“Oh yeah, sorry… Sir,” Kevin quickly added.
…..
“Soldier, we have a mission in which you are uniquely qualified.” The General announced to Kevin. There was three other men in the room. Morris, a man in a doctor’s garment, and Kevin. “I’m sorry for my manners. You may sit soldier.”
Kevin sat on the chair. It was adjacent to a desk. The cushion was wet and as he looked down it looked like someone spilt ketchup. “Uhh General sir, I think someone spilt something,”
“That was Harris,” The general stated.
“Oh okay sir, so what is this mission.” Kevin was getting a weird feeling from the ketchup because it lacked the smell of ketchup.
“You will cross the 39th parallel and assassinate Kim Jung Un.” The generals mission sounded absurd.
“That’s a suicide mission!” Kevin ranted.
“Remember who your talking too! And you’ve succeeded against better odds,” ‘But luck won’t be with you this time’ the general thought.
“How many men are coming with me general?” Kevin asked noticing the loss of a scowl on Morris’s face.
“You’re going alone.” The general began to smile, “Oh and we can’t cause any ruckus to alert the authorities,”
“What do you mean sir?” Kevin asked
“You will only be armed with this,” The general removed a small knife, barely sharper than a butter knife.
“That’s impossible.”
“Address me as sir, and you will leave now while its dark.”
| |
[WP] Kevin joins the army, and is placed in the front lines. Miraculously he survives every suicide mission the army gives him. | I had just cordially finished talking to my *favorite* recruit when I heard the livid call of my self-appointed second in command."Sargent!" demanded Lenny, the red-faced veteran with a bit of a Napolean complex "How can you just let Kevin slide like that."
Lenny was a by the books type of guy, well kinda. He wasn't really bookish in any way. Despite his incompetencies, he held himself to a higher caliber than everyone else due to his age. When I was offered the promotion to Sargent, it was a satisfactory feeling knowing that I was favored by whom Lenny calls "the numskulls."
I tried to calm the runt down. "It's fine Lenny. We all make mistakes."
"What the Hell. If I were to have pulled that shit, I would be sent home with a dishonorable discharge. This is corruption, I call it. He's a menace."
All honesty, Kevin was clearly an idiot, but I liked the kid, he added life to this place.
Lenny continued "Who the fuck uses the food supply to start a campfire to heat THE FOOD?"
"More will be dropped off in the morning. Don't worry about it."
My nonchalant attitude was like getting smacked in the face to him.
"Why the fuck do you keep him?"
"You want to know the honest truth?"
"Like there could be any good reason? He used gun powder on your birthday cake. He tried to start a jog in a known minefield. He almost got us killed by giving that Iraqi man clamshells for money. What fucking reason could you"
"He is the only soldier instructed not to kill himself upon capture."
Suddenly there was understanding.
Lenny piped in, slightly calmer now " You want an idiot, a destructive calm idiot to be captured by a ruthless enemy?"
"We're here in this fucking mess because these sandmen are trying to get weapons of mass destruction. We're simply ensuring they succeed with their goal."
Honestly, though, I think this form of torture violates the Geneva convention. Lenny had more to say. A lot more, but I really didn't care too much to discuss it further.
"You're sending an innocent man off to die!"
"No. It doesn't work that way with Kevin,"
That was that. I smiled and then walked off to my tent, the lush smell of our food rations burning in the distance.
| “He knows too much,” The Venerated General James Worthington said to his small cabinet in the military base in Seoul South Korea.
“I’m sorry general,” responded commander Morris, “We didn’t expect him to make it out of the Chinese embassy. We thought he wouldn’t make it back with any information about the killings.”
“Well he did!” The General slammed his hands down in disgust. “And whose idea was it to send him to swim across the Indian ocean and land in the shores of Somalia?”
All the eyes at the table turned towards Lieutenant Harris. Harris was seated on a chair in the corner of the room at the desk “I’m sorry general. Who could’ve foreseen that he would form an alliance with the Pirates and take down Syria’s budding Nuclear arsenal.”
“Well the president brought me in to fix your mistakes. No one can know about the massacre as you all well know. And I think I have an Idea that can end our little problem.”
“What are you thinking general,” Morris asked.
“I’m sending Kevin across the 39th parallel to take down Kim Jung Un.”
…..
Kevin had been in the army for three months. Yet he had no friends in the Army. They had all gone MIA in the various missions Kevin had been sent on. Now Kevin was with a reserve in South Korea. They were equipped to deal with any major emergencies in Southeast Asia. Luckily that left Kevin with plenty of free time when nothing was happening. He loved to sneak into the kitchen and steal some pudding. He’d been caught before but the chefs didn’t mind. It was hard to speak to the other members of his unit. Although they all were older (Kevin was only 19) and had better training (Kevin had barely passed his training) Kevin had more experiences than even his Commander Morris.
He had been the only soldier out of a strike force of a dozen sent to burn the files at a Chinese embassy. They found out during the mission that there was no evac planned. They had been sent in to die. How Kevin had survived was a miracle and what he’d escaped with was even more important. Somalia had only confused him more on the information he had, and climbing inside of the nuclear missile in order to defuse it in the air had left him scarred for weeks.
It was late at night now and he was in the kitchen eating pudding. It was chocolate today. It was always chocolate. He couldn’t sleep well so he spent his nights here. It was quiet the only people he ever saw were the chefs.
He heard the door open. “John?” He asked thinking it was the head chef. Out of the corner of the room emerged Commander Morris. He was balding on the top of his head and seemed to always have a scowl on his face.
“No but he said I could find you here.” Morris grabbed Kevin’s hand and helped him to his feet.
“Sorry about the pudding. Sir” Kevin wiped his hands on his white tank top while Morris scowled at his hands.
“Private you’ve been called on to meet with the general.” He said disapprovingly. ‘Not Again’ Kevin thought to himself. The last few times he’d had these meetings had ended with him flying away to some place of massive danger.
“Private you’d better start moving. The general does not like to be kept waiting.” Morris said.
“Oh yeah, sorry… Sir,” Kevin quickly added.
…..
“Soldier, we have a mission in which you are uniquely qualified.” The General announced to Kevin. There was three other men in the room. Morris, a man in a doctor’s garment, and Kevin. “I’m sorry for my manners. You may sit soldier.”
Kevin sat on the chair. It was adjacent to a desk. The cushion was wet and as he looked down it looked like someone spilt ketchup. “Uhh General sir, I think someone spilt something,”
“That was Harris,” The general stated.
“Oh okay sir, so what is this mission.” Kevin was getting a weird feeling from the ketchup because it lacked the smell of ketchup.
“You will cross the 39th parallel and assassinate Kim Jung Un.” The generals mission sounded absurd.
“That’s a suicide mission!” Kevin ranted.
“Remember who your talking too! And you’ve succeeded against better odds,” ‘But luck won’t be with you this time’ the general thought.
“How many men are coming with me general?” Kevin asked noticing the loss of a scowl on Morris’s face.
“You’re going alone.” The general began to smile, “Oh and we can’t cause any ruckus to alert the authorities,”
“What do you mean sir?” Kevin asked
“You will only be armed with this,” The general removed a small knife, barely sharper than a butter knife.
“That’s impossible.”
“Address me as sir, and you will leave now while its dark.”
| |
[WP] You are a brain surgeon. Every time you perform a surgery, you have the ability to see memories of the patient you are operating on. | People like to say most surgeons suffer from god complexes, and for the most part, they're correct. It's a very technical job, one that requires years of study and rigorous practice to perform. A brain surgeon such as myself would be prey to this more than others, considering how delicate our hardware can be. One slip of the wrist and, suddenly, you end up with a vegetable on the operating table. Still, I like to think I've kept myself humble throughout the years, specially when you take into account my... gift.
I'm honestly surprised I didn't kill my patient the first time it happened. I'd finally achieved my dream, I was finally going to operate on a live brain. It took me a decade to get to this point, and now, it was my time to shine. It was a simple job, relatively speaking, just a tumor extraction on a forty year-old woman. The nurses had already removed her cranium, exposing her brain for all in the room to admire, and all that was left was for me to perform the surgery.
I could feel my hands trembling the closer my scalpel got to her flesh, though no one in the room could notice it. Even if I was nervous, my education had trained me to the point where even the slightest shaking felt like an earthquake to me. After what felt like a century, but was really a second, I made contact with her surface neurons, triggering inside of me a burst of energy that overwhelmed any other sensation I could feel.
I saw her husband, crying as she got her first diagnosis. The anguish she felt at the thought of leaving her children. Months of depression, emotionally drained from the dread of her looming death. At that moment, I had perfect control of my faculties. I knew what I had to do. I had to save this woman and give her back the life she deserved. I'm glad to say the surgery was a success. Her cancer went into remission and, to this day, she still sends me Christmas cards as a thank you for what I did that day.
If only every story ended that way. If only I didn't have to deal with the guilt of all my other sins. I never really thought much of my ability. There really wasn't much I could do with it since I had no control over it. I actually felt bad at first, it... it was like I was intruding into the most private thing a human could have. That all changed though, when I made a decision that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
It was a rather uneventful day in the hospital. I was on-call after returning from my first vacation and an emergency surgery was required of me. Fifty year-old man suffering from internal bleeding of the head. Apparently he was playing with his children when he fell down the stairs and bashed his head in. I did my usual thing, sterilized my hands and walked into the room with my hands raised. The nursed had already prepped him, so all that was left was to do my job.
At first, his memories weren't all that unusual. A mortgage to pay, a nagging wife, loud children, the usual things a middle aged man would have. But as I delved deeper, I started to see that he wasn't exactly what he appeared on the surface. He had recently lost his job and he'd been unable to sleep well for a few months now. I saw his wife crying with him after putting their children to sleep at night, wondering what they were going to do. His daughter had special needs and needed expensive treatment to maintain a high quality of life. They were on the verge of bankruptcy and just weren't able to keep up with the bills.
That's when they came up with a desperate plan. This man... this *father*, he realized his life insurance was almost expiring. He couldn't pay for it anymore, and so, decided that his children were more important than him. He planned out with his wife his own death, playing with his children one last time as a convenient excuse to secure their livelihood and a secret goodbye from them at the same time. I was shocked when I saw this, but I couldn't show it to anyone in the room. I could do it. I could still save his life... but would it be the right thing to do?
He would be unable to work for months now, even if he manged to find a job. That's only in the case where he didn't end up with permanent damage. Not only would they need to care for their daughter, they'd also have to take care of *him* now. In a way, he was a selfish bastard... But after experiencing his memories, seeing all of his anxiety and despair, I just couldn't blame him. Unfortunately, despite tearing my soul apart, I knew what I had to do.
It felt like centuries inside my head, but it only took a few minutes for him to die. I made it seem like I did my best, but inside, I knew. I knew that I had just killed a man. Maybe I did the right thing, maybe I didn't. Just a slip of the wrist and now he was gone. Its a weird feeling now, walking around while doing my job. No one really knows what I did, and there's no conceivable way someone could prove it.
Still, sometimes I wonder if this is how God feels when He does His job. Good and evil, they don't really exist. Its just humans, their choices, and their consequences when you really boil it down. I know I'm not a deity, but I'm sure as hell the closest thing to one you'll ever find.
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! |
In front of me was a man I knew all too well. Not personally though. He was just the
man who killed my friend. To most his shot was justified, after all Frankie was a criminal.
That’s how things go down when the law has a gun. He might have been right to kill him, but
I didn’t really care about that.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Doctor?”
“I’m as okay as I’ll ever be. I have to do this.”
With that we started to cut into his scalp. There’s a bullet we need to remove, courtesy of
old Frank. After a while, a section of his skull was cut through and then removed like a
lid to expose the swollen brain. I see the bullet and bloody dead brain tissue inside.
“I’ll take it from here.”
“Work your magic, Doc.”
The nurse handed me forceps and I prepared to pluck the bullet out of this guy.
I really did want him to be a bad guy so I could feel more comfortable in despising him. I
looked through his history as an officer and he was completely clean. But I was going to
find something. Anything that would justify what I’m about to do.
When the forceps touched the bullet I took a journey into his mind. I wanted to go straight
for what’s locked away deep inside of that bloody head. To see what he wanted to forget.
—-
“Get on the fucking ground! I’ll light your ass up!”
The officer points his handgun at a shifty looking man. The man at the end of the barrel
flinches a bit and then breaks away, blowing by the second officer on the scene. With that
a single shot pierces the air.
“Joe, what the fuck! I was about to tase the shit outta him! At least your cam was off.
That’ll make this shit a little easier.”
—-
With one motion I snatched the bullet out of his brain and there is no further bleeding.
Thanks to my ability even the damaged brain tissue will heal. But he won’t be the same man.
He’ll never have another normal day. His mind will torment him until the day he dies and
he won’t even have the faculty to wish for death. This is my revenge. I didn’t know if this
was the act that would send me to hell, but I did know that he will already be there when
he wakes up.
| |
[WP] You are a brain surgeon. Every time you perform a surgery, you have the ability to see memories of the patient you are operating on. | "Scalpel," Doctor John Mason said, he was leading neurosurgeon in the western hemisphere, everyone that could afford him did.
"Sponge." The attending nurse stood at his side diligently passing him every tool he requested. This surgery had already been going on for three hours and the strain was beginning to set in. Sore feet, tight backs, red eyes. It was the usual for this team and they were used to it, they were professionals.
"I am going to begin making the first cuts, this is the tricky part," Dr. Mason said.
He closed his eyes, took a deep steadying breath and pressed the scalpel into the soft brain tissue.
Memories burst to life inside of Dr. Mason's mind, a happy eighth birthday party, children surrounding the patient everyone happy and full of joy. A smile split Dr. Mason's face, the innocence of childhood always made him smile.
He moved the scalpel to the left, distancing the razor sharp blade from the happy memories. The scalpel pressed into the soft tissue again, he knew what to expect but it was still a shock. Vomit and bile rose in his throat as he watched the memory unfold. A dark closet, pain, alcohol on a man's breath. He swallowed the foul bile down and began to cut. The small memory was contained in a piece no larger than a dime. He moved from that dark memory to the next, his steady hands deftly slicing out the darkness leaving only the happy memories behind.
Six hours after surgery began they wheeled the patient out of the operating room to her small colorful private room. Dr. Mason walked on unsteady legs to the bathroom and vomited. He never ate before surgery, so it was mostly water and acid.
"Another bad one?" the attending nurse asked handing him a towel to wipe his face off with.
"Yeah...excuse me I need to go have a word with the parents," he said sadly removing his smock and gloves.
He walked down the long hallway trying to find the words to say. The parents sat outside their daughter's room holding each other. The mother's eyes were puffy and red from crying. They stood as the doctor approached.
"How did she do? Will she be okay?" the mother asked.
"She did great, she is a very strong little girl," he said placing a hand on her shoulder.
"She won't remember anything, there will be some empty spots in her mind but she will be alright."
"Thank you so much," the father said choking back tears, "I should have been there to protect her," he broke down crying.
"He is going to rot in prison forever, don't blame yourself," Dr. Mason said, "go be with your daughter, she will want you to be there when she wakes up."
The parents thanked him one more time with a tearful hug and walked into their daughter's room to sit by her bedside.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit
| Becoming a doctor was never a question,it was a fact. I knew my goal in life was to help those in need. The very idea gave me this, euphoria that could be coupled by nothing else. Sure, there were warnings. I didn’t know the work load, I was going to get burnt out, the patients were ungrateful. It didn’t matter to me, I was hard headed. Knowing then, what I know now, I would have quit. I would have never started this road of insanity. Let me explain, I’m the best in my field, it’s daunting; exhausting even.
When I started my residency it was all smooth sailing, then during my rotation in neuro my love of medicine flourished. I knew this was where I belonged. My mistake, alas I digress.
My first few surgeries were great, it wasn’t until something strange started happening. I would be mid-surgery and start day dreaming. Sure, nothing big, but it was distracting. At first the images were spotchy at best, but then they began to form into moving pictures, movies. A birthday party here, anniversary there.
One day, during a follow up, one of my patients started to explain their last anniversary dinner. It was as if I were there. I know this, it felt so familiar. That’s when it hit me, I was there. It was one of the movies I watched during her procedure. Yup, you guessed it, I was reliving their most memorable events right there before my very eyes.
At first it was nice, almost like a way to get to know my patients without them knowing, but then it started to turn ugly.
There were things I saw, that I can’t unsee. I had to decide then and there whether to do the public a service and “fail” this operation, or do I uphold the oath I took as a doctor. I won’t burden you with the things that haunt my nightmares, but suffice it to say there are some people who are not with us now because of what I saw while performing those surgeries. I’m good, I know that, so I know also how to make things go horribly wrong and nobody's the wiser. But how do I live with myself? How do I continue practicing medicine making these decisions I do everyday.
| |
[WP] As the villain is simply too powerful for the league of heroes, our champions unveil their secret weapon: they call his mother. | "And when I vaporize San Francisco, the rest of the world will know of my power and bow down to me! Muahahaha!" The nefarious villain, Ubermensch, cackled. One of his mechanical spiders crunched the Golden Gate Bridge into Reese's Pieces sized rubble in the background.
The caped hero, Blue Man, watched him solemnly and held up a phone to Ubermensch. "It's for you," he said.
"What?" Snapped Ubermensch.
"It's your mom," said Blue Man. "We called her and told her what you're doing, and she wants to talk to you."
Ubermensch paled. "Idon'twanttotalktoher," he said quickly.
"Don't be silly, Steffy-poo." Dammit. The phone was on speaker. "You haven't called me in ages! And what happened to that IT job you had at Sam's business a while ago? They're worried sick about you!"
Blue Man pressed the phone into Ubermensch's hands.
"I don't want the IT job!" Yelled Ubermensch into the receiver. "And how many times must I tell you not to call me Steffy-poo?"
"Alright, Stephen." His mom sighed. "I don't know why you insist on these ridiculous ventures. A supervillain is not a good career, you know. Terribly fast burn out rates. Why, I heard Burn Man retired just last week after two weeks at the job. Something about batarangs ripping his outfits day after day."
"Gotham is right after San Francisco!" Snarled Ubermensch, clenching his fists. "And it's Ubermensch, not Stephen, mom!"
"Stephen," his mom said, completely ignoring him. "I want you to stop this nonsense and come home. I made meatballs. And I LIVE in San Francisco, you idiot."
Ubermensch unfurled his fist. "The Italian meatballs?"
"You know the one," said his mother sweetly.
"Fine," grumbled Ubermensch. "But you're doing the dishes."
| "Which one of you has been bullying my little baby!"
Mrs. Doomside crossed her arms and squinted. She had to, considering she was over three hundred feet tall. From behind a polka dotted skirt that could cover mountains, Doomside was grinning and making faces.
Commander StarStripe, valiant leader of the Order Buddies, pooped himself a little. This was not going to go as planned...
| |
[WP] Anything you paint becomes real, unfortunately, you're a terrible artist. | Samson placed a lengthy canvas on the wooden floor. He fetched two palettes and brushes from his apartment kitchen, and then placed them at either ends of the paper with a jar of water to match. As if on cue, the doorbell dinged. Samson glanced at his wall clock it was five minutes to six. Timothy was early, as usual.
“It’s unlocked,” he yelled.
Timothy walked in, dressed in an old white t-shirt and torn jeans. He was twenty-two, younger than Samson by two years, and one hell of a drawer. Unlike Samson, who was a salesman by day and artist by night.
They said their normal greetings and got straight into it. Perched in front of the canvas were different pictures of Samson’s apartment. The goal was to repaint the complex. It took a good two hours to get an outline done, of which Samson had only created his own apartment room, while Timothy had done the rest of the building and field outside. And then they added colour.
Samson loved the feeling of the brush dipping in paint and then hitting white paper. He got lost in the movement, and time seemed to slip by the more he dotted colour onto the canvas. Once he had finished the first layer of colour he stretched his arms up, only to freeze.
“Tim,” he whispered.
The way he said it caught Tim’s attention. His friend looked up and then surveyed the room. Everything was a colour of drying paint. The objects were also skewed, their angles off, some looking nothing like the original. The T.V looked like a black piece of toast on the wall.
“What the fuck,” Tim said.
Both of them looked back at the painting, staring wide eyed at what Samson had created both on paper and in real life. Timothy went over the brown floor with his own brush, but the plain layer beneath remained the same.
Samson dipped his brush in brown and went over the canvas’ brown floor. Sure enough the brown floor beneath them deepened. He dropped the brush like it was hot metal and crawled backward. When he breathed out his voice came out shaky and filled with anxiety. “No way,” he hissed.
Timothy stared at the painting, deep in thought. “It’s like I’m God,” Samson said.
Tim nodded. “Is this some kind of prank bro?”
“I swear to God, Tim. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
Tim dipped his brush into a palette cup. “Fine. I paint and you go over with your brush.”
Samson watched for what felt like forever, and then shifted toward the painting and did as Tim said. Sure enough, as he traced over Tim’s designs, the room changed to match. Tim’s drawings were much more real, even better than the original at times. They worked until it was close to midnight. And when Samson threw down his brush, the room was filled with detailed versions of expensive objects, like a Lamborghini, stacks of money, expensive ornaments, futuristic looking furniture, carpets made of fur.
Samson traced over the last bit of the painting, a red line around the complex. “What’s this?” He asked.
“I want to see if there's a limit to the power,” Tim said, “It’s a wall of lava, which we can turn on and off at will, a security measure.”
Samson nodded. He couldn't believe any of this was real. And was ready to wake from this weird dream any minute now. However, the security measure was a good idea. They could erase and re-draw at will. He finished the wall with the last drop of red paint.
“Insane,” Timothy said, lying back on the fur carpet and staring up at a chandelier, “we’re going to be sorted for life. This is like. . . I don't even know, man.”
“I know right. The creator, at your service,” Samson grinned, “I wonder if I can create people. . .”
“We could use some girls around here.”
They both chuckled. “We’re out of paint, though,” Samson said.
Timothy jumped up and made his way to the door. “Erase the wall so I can get to my car, I’ve got some in the boot.”
Samson smudged out the wall and painted it over with grey, so it looked like part of the driveway. However, Timothy returned a few seconds later. “I asked you to erase the wall, bro," Timothy said.
“I did.”
Timothy ran back toward the paper. “Erase the car instead?”
Samson smudged out the car and painted over it so that it was normal carpet. When they looked up, nothing had changed about the Lamborghini. It remained as it was created. The boys looked at each other, and this time, their eyes were filled with horror.
| Amanda, Elizabeth, and Al descended a creaky stairway and entered the basement, hearing tiny steps echo out from the darkness as the damp air filled their nostrils. Dragging her hand across the moist brick wall, Amanda felt a switch and flipped it upwards, illuminating the room with a flickering light bulb that buzzed lightly before warming up.
Shelves full of magical items filled up the spacious room, causing the teenage girls to open their eyes with excitement. Passing skulls, jars filled with eyeballs, and enchanted stones, they quickly ran down the aisles, prompting Al to rub his forehead and say:
"No you idiots! There could be still some traps around!"
"But the sorcerer's dead!' said Elizabeth, spreading open an elegant hand fan. "Any curses he placed would be lifted, right? You said so yourself!"
Al rolled his eyes and leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. He then said:
"Whatever. Just don't blame me when you maim yourselves. Dad said you two could take one item each for your help. I studied a lot of these mythical items so I can probably identify them if you show them to me. I won't let you guys take anything too dangerous, though."
After hearing that, the girls rummaged through the dead sorcerer's vault without a care in the world. They brought back every item that piqued their interest, but Al always told them they couldn't have it. A chained watch that briefly brought back ghosts? Too risky, the ghosts could posses them. A dart gun that shot live snakes? They weren't poisonous, but Al still considered it animal cruelty. Even the whistle that made people instantly defecate was turned away because he thought it would be too messy to handle.
"What about this?" said Amanda, showing Al a delicate painter's brush. "How will *this one* give you a headache?"
"Lemme see..." Al leaned in closer. "Ohh that's Maxwell Ethyris' paintbrush! Anything painted by it is said to become more lifelike, regardless of the painter's skill. You can keep that one, it think it should be safe."
"Perfect!" said Amanda. "I'll take it!"
"Really Amanda?" said Elizabeth, holding garnet tinted vial. "You don't even paint!"
Amanda looked downwards, pouted, and said:
"Well, I've always wanted to learn... If it works regardless of skill, then it *should* give me an advantage."
Elizabeth shrugged and looked at Al, gesturing at the bottle she held. Yawning out of boredom, he approved her choice and urged them to hurry since he was anxious to see a television show.
---------------------------------------
Amanda sat in front of her desk, twirling the paintbrush between her fingers. She had drawn only three things and each looked worse than the last. First a simple business man with a rectangular head and a disproportionately large hand. Then a geometrically impossible kitten with one ear pointed and the other round. Finally, after feeling discouraged with the previous two, she tried to do a stick-man, but couldn't draw his body in a straight line. Losing herself in her thoughts, she narrowed her gaze at the paper until widening her eyes in shock of a noise. Her phone had started ringing, surprising her out of her daze. Looking at screen, she answered the call and said:
"Jeesh you just scared me. What's up Liz?"
"Nothing" replied Elizabeth. "I'm just alone at home so I'm bored out of my mind. Did you try out that brush you took?"
"Yeah, but it's not working. My drawings... if you can call them that, kinda sorta still look like shit."
"Maybe you're not using it right. Did Al say anything about an incantation or something like that?"
"Nah, he didn't." Amanda stretched her arms out, leaning back on her chair. "I'm beginning to think he just gave us junk that didn't work. He *did* seem pretty eager to rush us out."
Elizabeth laughed and said:
"I wouldn't put it past him. He told me this perfume would ward off mana constructs, but maybe it's just regular perfume. There's no way I can test it, so who knows?"
"There's no way..." Amanda yawned. "No way Al would lie to you. You're too *precious* to him."
"W-what do you mean by that?"
"Oh nothing." Amanda grinned, certain that her friend was blushing right now. "Anyway, I'm getting sleepy here. Defeating a sorcerer and puking out art has me *exhausted*. Later!"
Elizabeth said goodbye, causing Amanda to lock her phone. She then got up from her chair, walked over to her bed and turned off her lamplight, plunging her room into darkness while tucking herself in.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Currently working on this one | |
[WP] When someone is murdered and the killer gets caught, its life is traded to revive the victim. You are the victim, and now you understand why you got killed. | Like all other miracles of technology, the Revival Machine was one invention debated upon endlessly by ethicists and scientists alike. Ultimately, its use (which was to transfer all vital function from one client to another) was limited by the Global Government solely for cases of murder and "high exception". How the Revival Machine worked was a convenient mystery, and most information about it was strictly confidential.
I gasped awake, as though emerging from a terrible dream. The pain in my chest from my murder was gone, lingering on a bit as I'd imagine a ghost would: not physically present, but mentally ever-consuming.
"You're awake," the man in white said.
I gulped. The man who had stabbed me had been a doctor, and had worn a similar attire to the person before me.
"Vital transfer successful," the man nodded to the nurse coming in, who in turn smiled and did the usual check-up on me.
"...why?" I asked mid-check-up.
"Sorry, I can't answer those things," the man said briskly.
Thanks. I finished my lengthy check-up, was told that I was fit as a fiddle now, and was sent home.
I had known my murderer well. He had been a congenial man, always prompt and helpful: definitely more sympathetic than the doctor who had just saved my life. The question plagued me.
"One second, Erika," my murderer had said.
We had just finished my yearly check-up. Then he pulled out a knife and stabbed me through the chest. I'll spare you any of the other details; they don't seem to matter much, now.
...
Still, the question haunted me; I couldn't sleep well for weeks. Eventually I screwed up my courage and walked back to my old doctor's office, where a new doctor had begun working.
"Can I see my old health records?" I asked.
"Sure," she said, "but after your revival, I'm not sure how relevant they'll be.
"That's fine," I said.
She handed me the reports. Doctor-patient information was deemed to be confidential, and as she had not been my doctor prior to my death and I had just had a revival, she saw no reason to pry into my previous medical information. I looked into the rather short report, and heaved a heavy breath.
"Erika _____," the important part said, "Diagnosed with incurable terminal breast cancer. I can cure that." | It happened faster than I could believe. The sirens, the open window, the gunshot through my chest. And then... I was in in the comfort of my own home. My family was surrounding me in the room as if a tragedy had happened, but I felt healthier than ever. You see, the QuantoTransfer has been all the rage in courthouses. A way to transfer life energy from a killer to their last murdered victim. And it worked perfectly; the victim is returned to perfect health.
"You're awake!" It was my wife, crying.
"Wh-what happened?" I gasped, still in shock. While I'm sure that it's been at least a few days since my murder, it feels like it was a few minutes ago. It's not often that a guy you don't know murdered you out of the blue.
I got up, perfectly healthy but still shaking.
"Well," said my father, sighing, "if you must know, the suspect was Derek Matthews. He had killed his wife hours ago and... I guess he wanted her to stay dead. You know the QuantoTransfer only works on your last murdered victim," he said, managing to keep it together even if almost everyone in the room was crying.
The waves of anger flew over me. The bastard who killed me did so to stop the machine from reviving his wife. I knew I shouldn't feel guilty, but I did. "So... I killed his wife. I killed someone."
"Why would you say that?" said my mother. "He used you as a... conduit of sorts to stop his wife from dying. Yes. But that doesn't mean you had anything to do with it, you didn't know her, you had never met her. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you can't revive his wife, so why try?"
I wasn't listening. I ran out the door and into the street before she finished her sentence. And I kept running. Before I hit the car I whispered to myself.
*"To Mrs. Williams."* | |
[WP] The four horsemen of the Apocalypse are white, upper-middle class suburban soccer moms | Barbara grabbed her remote control and turned off her TV. Nothing but bad news on, anyway.
She was just sick of it. She was tired of hearing about how some thug got shot because he was stealing or walking around with a gun. She was tired of hearing pundits talk about how bad minorities had it.
No one cared how she struggled. She has three kids to feed and clothe and take care of, and she was working two jobs to make it happen. Her oldest, Michael, wanted to go to Harvard next year. That doesn't just happen.
She called Alexandra, her neighbor. They spoke for about 20 minutes about their kids and how she could help Michael study for his AP class. Alexandra's son passed with a five last year. Alexandra asked if the teacher was still pushing his agenda, playing up how awful slavery was. It was 200 years ago. It's time to get over it. She never held slaves, and neither did her parents or grandparents or great grandparents.
She hung up with Alexandra when her doorbell rang, telling her to meet them there. Barbara opened the door for Lauren, who drove up in her new BMW. She loved to flaunt that car.
Now they were just waiting for Alexandra and Barbara's sister, Elizabeth to get there so they could leave. Elizabeth was always late, like she thought her time was so much more important that anyone else's. It bothered Barbara to no end, but blood is thicker than water.
Finally, 30 minutes later, Elizabeth drove up to pick up the other women, and they drove to the polls. | Angela finished sealing the party favors as she heard the rev of an engine. There was no doubt in her mind who it could be: Victoria, always the first to arrive. Never mind that the birthday party didn't start for another hour. Angela knew the hour would be spent discussing Victoria's big win in the courtroom. She had let everyone in the neighborhood know that the divorce had won her that snowy white Aston Martin vanquish now sitting in front of the house. Her kids were nice though, and with any luck the other guests would be punctual. Not a half an hour later did Marsha arrive in her loud red hummer. She was new to the neighborhood and didn't quite fit in. She and her husband came from military families and made their money as majors. Victoria and her didn't get along well, so Angela braced herself for a battle. With Marsha and Victoria going at it, the doorbell rang. Angela didn't hear Flaca drive up. "You're looking great!" Angela told Flaca
"Thanks, I'm on a juice cleanse." She replied. "Marsha, does that monstrous Hummer our front belong to you?!"
Pausing from her argument with Victoria, Marsha retaliated, "Yes, do you have a problem with it?"
Angela knew how that discussion would go. Flaca was one of those environmentally over conscious people. Even her little black Mercedes ran only on corn ethanol. She looked outside and saw that the kids were happily playing in the back yard, oblivious to the tension in the house.
Fourth to arrive, and late as usual was Persephone. She was dressed in black as she pulled up in her husband's, no, former husband's icy silver Rolls Royce Phantom. He was her third husband, although she wasn't yet forty. Everyone knew her game, she married old and rich and got their money when they died. Silence fell as she entered the room, a dry wadded up tissue in her hand. "Let's cut the cake, shall we." Angela announced, eager to get through the party. | |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | Dear Deidre,
My girlfriend spends most of our relationship documenting our relationship on social media. I feel lonely and am unsure whether I should confront her about her internet addiction. Help! –Jonny.
Dear Jonny,
When we see a beautiful sunset, when a momentous moment happens, or when we order one of those frothy coffees with a tiny Eiffel Tower dusted with powdered chocolate on it, what do we do? We share the moment, which we selflessly miss most of, via social media. Why? Because things don’t count until they have been presented to, and approved by, the internet.
Your girlfriend is making your relationship count. People share because they care, Jonny, and your girlfriend’s constant sharing of your relationship on the internet makes it clear that your girlfriend is a very caring person who is extremely happy with your relationship. She is shouting her happiness from the internets rooftop.
As we all know, communication is the key to relationship success, and your girlfriend sounds like an excellent communicator. I suggest that the problems in your relationship may stem for your own communication issues. Do you like her posts? Are you proficient at emoji? Perhaps you could tag her in statuses- I am assuming by your irrational use of the word addiction that you are an internet novice, so to get you started:
I am so lucky to have *INSERT GIRLFRIEND’S NAME* in my life.
Been spoilt rotten by *INSERT GIRLFRIEND’S NAME*.
There is no greater gift than being appreciated in 140 characters or less.
Using social media as a couple can both heighten and deepen the experience of your relationship. Nothing says being in love more than commenting upon one anothers social media updates on the television show that you are watching together, at the same time, in the same room. And remember, the greater the number of duckfacing couple selfies, the more in love you are likely to be.
I hope that you take this as the wake-up call you need and are able to seek help for your communication and aggression issues. 'Confronting' people and throwing the word 'addiction' around is never useful. Below are the contact details for some anger management support groups.
| "Hey Steven I know this one is off the wall a bit but the trouble I am having is with my son. We have been a bit rocky for the past few years but know he has dropped me completely. What do I do?"
Of all the places this man fool could think of to find advice, why in the world did he think I would be the choice. I spend all day telling stupid people how to make it not so obvious. Respect his space. Listen to her more. Talk. How fucking inept do you have to be mess this shit up?
But this one. Why? And why the hell would I pick it? What the fuck am I doing to myself.
Perhaps I know the proper things to say. Hell maybe I could articulate them in a way a relationship column reader would be able to follow. But I don't. If I did I wouldn't hold this shit job at this dog piss paper.
I used to work at the Times for God's sake. But then... why the hell am I picking this one.
I am not a miracle worker, I should say. Give up, run away and find solace in the bottle, or whatever vice that will strangle you the least. And once you find it, numb yourself every waking minute until you chest caves in and gives your heart some release.
But this guy still has some hope left. I could crush it now , but maybe I'll let him enjoy the Christmas.
"Just wait. He will come back. Your his father after all. He loves you."
Who the hell uses relationship columns anyway? | |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | *Dear Jin, I fear my live in boyfriend doesn't love me as much as he did. Our lives have fallen into a routine. We seldom go out and we both slump on the couch and watch Netflix now. How can I spark his attention?
-Des*
Hi Des! Relationships between cohabiting couples sometimes do stagnate, but one thing stays constant: men love puzzles. What you need to do is get back in his head and in his mind in a few creative, and mysterious ways. Stay in bed all morning and refuse to go work one day. Turn off your favorite shared Netflix show declaring 'I just don't like it anymore.' Show him that your upset with your body language, while cooking the most romantic dinner you can come up with. While these actions might seem strange and incongruent -and maybe even a little symptomatic of emotional health- this mysterious behavior will *get you on his mind* and before you know it all of his attention will be *back on you.*
| "Hey Steven I know this one is off the wall a bit but the trouble I am having is with my son. We have been a bit rocky for the past few years but know he has dropped me completely. What do I do?"
Of all the places this man fool could think of to find advice, why in the world did he think I would be the choice. I spend all day telling stupid people how to make it not so obvious. Respect his space. Listen to her more. Talk. How fucking inept do you have to be mess this shit up?
But this one. Why? And why the hell would I pick it? What the fuck am I doing to myself.
Perhaps I know the proper things to say. Hell maybe I could articulate them in a way a relationship column reader would be able to follow. But I don't. If I did I wouldn't hold this shit job at this dog piss paper.
I used to work at the Times for God's sake. But then... why the hell am I picking this one.
I am not a miracle worker, I should say. Give up, run away and find solace in the bottle, or whatever vice that will strangle you the least. And once you find it, numb yourself every waking minute until you chest caves in and gives your heart some release.
But this guy still has some hope left. I could crush it now , but maybe I'll let him enjoy the Christmas.
"Just wait. He will come back. Your his father after all. He loves you."
Who the hell uses relationship columns anyway? | |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | Dear Deidre,
My girlfriend spends most of our relationship documenting our relationship on social media. I feel lonely and am unsure whether I should confront her about her internet addiction. Help! –Jonny.
Dear Jonny,
When we see a beautiful sunset, when a momentous moment happens, or when we order one of those frothy coffees with a tiny Eiffel Tower dusted with powdered chocolate on it, what do we do? We share the moment, which we selflessly miss most of, via social media. Why? Because things don’t count until they have been presented to, and approved by, the internet.
Your girlfriend is making your relationship count. People share because they care, Jonny, and your girlfriend’s constant sharing of your relationship on the internet makes it clear that your girlfriend is a very caring person who is extremely happy with your relationship. She is shouting her happiness from the internets rooftop.
As we all know, communication is the key to relationship success, and your girlfriend sounds like an excellent communicator. I suggest that the problems in your relationship may stem for your own communication issues. Do you like her posts? Are you proficient at emoji? Perhaps you could tag her in statuses- I am assuming by your irrational use of the word addiction that you are an internet novice, so to get you started:
I am so lucky to have *INSERT GIRLFRIEND’S NAME* in my life.
Been spoilt rotten by *INSERT GIRLFRIEND’S NAME*.
There is no greater gift than being appreciated in 140 characters or less.
Using social media as a couple can both heighten and deepen the experience of your relationship. Nothing says being in love more than commenting upon one anothers social media updates on the television show that you are watching together, at the same time, in the same room. And remember, the greater the number of duckfacing couple selfies, the more in love you are likely to be.
I hope that you take this as the wake-up call you need and are able to seek help for your communication and aggression issues. 'Confronting' people and throwing the word 'addiction' around is never useful. Below are the contact details for some anger management support groups.
| The secret to a long marriage is really simple. People have been doing it for years. It's a way to ensure that both partners are happy and feel respected. What is this secret you ask? Relationships require a level of trust. The trust that each partner is going to lie. Nobody wants to hear how terrible something they made tasted. Nor do they want to hear about how Jimmy broke the photocopier at work again, and you had to wait 10 minutes to make a copy. Simply agree with one another. Pretend to listen and when in doubt be quiet. The secret to a long marriage is to lie. | |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | *Dear Jin, I fear my live in boyfriend doesn't love me as much as he did. Our lives have fallen into a routine. We seldom go out and we both slump on the couch and watch Netflix now. How can I spark his attention?
-Des*
Hi Des! Relationships between cohabiting couples sometimes do stagnate, but one thing stays constant: men love puzzles. What you need to do is get back in his head and in his mind in a few creative, and mysterious ways. Stay in bed all morning and refuse to go work one day. Turn off your favorite shared Netflix show declaring 'I just don't like it anymore.' Show him that your upset with your body language, while cooking the most romantic dinner you can come up with. While these actions might seem strange and incongruent -and maybe even a little symptomatic of emotional health- this mysterious behavior will *get you on his mind* and before you know it all of his attention will be *back on you.*
| The secret to a long marriage is really simple. People have been doing it for years. It's a way to ensure that both partners are happy and feel respected. What is this secret you ask? Relationships require a level of trust. The trust that each partner is going to lie. Nobody wants to hear how terrible something they made tasted. Nor do they want to hear about how Jimmy broke the photocopier at work again, and you had to wait 10 minutes to make a copy. Simply agree with one another. Pretend to listen and when in doubt be quiet. The secret to a long marriage is to lie. | |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | *Dear Jin, I fear my live in boyfriend doesn't love me as much as he did. Our lives have fallen into a routine. We seldom go out and we both slump on the couch and watch Netflix now. How can I spark his attention?
-Des*
Hi Des! Relationships between cohabiting couples sometimes do stagnate, but one thing stays constant: men love puzzles. What you need to do is get back in his head and in his mind in a few creative, and mysterious ways. Stay in bed all morning and refuse to go work one day. Turn off your favorite shared Netflix show declaring 'I just don't like it anymore.' Show him that your upset with your body language, while cooking the most romantic dinner you can come up with. While these actions might seem strange and incongruent -and maybe even a little symptomatic of emotional health- this mysterious behavior will *get you on his mind* and before you know it all of his attention will be *back on you.*
| Dear Deidre,
My girlfriend spends most of our relationship documenting our relationship on social media. I feel lonely and am unsure whether I should confront her about her internet addiction. Help! –Jonny.
Dear Jonny,
When we see a beautiful sunset, when a momentous moment happens, or when we order one of those frothy coffees with a tiny Eiffel Tower dusted with powdered chocolate on it, what do we do? We share the moment, which we selflessly miss most of, via social media. Why? Because things don’t count until they have been presented to, and approved by, the internet.
Your girlfriend is making your relationship count. People share because they care, Jonny, and your girlfriend’s constant sharing of your relationship on the internet makes it clear that your girlfriend is a very caring person who is extremely happy with your relationship. She is shouting her happiness from the internets rooftop.
As we all know, communication is the key to relationship success, and your girlfriend sounds like an excellent communicator. I suggest that the problems in your relationship may stem for your own communication issues. Do you like her posts? Are you proficient at emoji? Perhaps you could tag her in statuses- I am assuming by your irrational use of the word addiction that you are an internet novice, so to get you started:
I am so lucky to have *INSERT GIRLFRIEND’S NAME* in my life.
Been spoilt rotten by *INSERT GIRLFRIEND’S NAME*.
There is no greater gift than being appreciated in 140 characters or less.
Using social media as a couple can both heighten and deepen the experience of your relationship. Nothing says being in love more than commenting upon one anothers social media updates on the television show that you are watching together, at the same time, in the same room. And remember, the greater the number of duckfacing couple selfies, the more in love you are likely to be.
I hope that you take this as the wake-up call you need and are able to seek help for your communication and aggression issues. 'Confronting' people and throwing the word 'addiction' around is never useful. Below are the contact details for some anger management support groups.
| |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | *Dear Ms. Knows-It-All,*
*My future daughter-in-law is driving me crazy! Their wedding is coming up soon, and the girl is just hopeless at wedding planning. I’ve sent her page after page of suggestions, and I’m starting to worry that none of them are being taken. I’ve told her we’d be happy to pay for the petting zoo, but she turned down the money, saying she just wants to do it “her way.” She’s even refusing my husband prima nocta! Am I being unreasonable by putting up fliers around town calling her a trailer trash whore? - Frustrated in Fresno*
Hi Frustrated,
I think what you’re feeling is the typical stress any mother-in-law feels while giving her son away. In this case, that stress is being understandably amplified by the fact that your son apparently chose to marry a classless prostitute. In other words, no, I don’t think you’re being unreasonable!
Part of married life is learning to take advice from your elders with grace, and the happiest day of their lives is a great time to enforce a punitive and dramatic lesson. I suggest you publicly refuse to go to the wedding, then show up in a white dress and throw a glass of red wine onto the bride. It will help her understand that mother-in-law knows best, and set a great precedent that can only strengthen your relationship in the years to come.
*Dear Ms. Knows-It-All,*
*I came home the other day to find my husband in bed with my best friend!! I can’t believe it. This isn’t the first time he’s cheated, but I’m really hurt that he would do it with someone so close to me. The worst part was his lame excuse: “she was just helping me look for my underwear!” I’ve fallen for his lies for eight years, and I’m about ready to call it quits. What should I do? - Cheated On in California*
Hi Cheated On,
I know your heart hurts right now, and that’s perfectly normal. That said, please don’t do anything rash. I’ve received many versions of your letter over the years, and one thing I’ve noticed is that those so-called "lame" excuses are *always true*. It’s perfectly plausible to think that your husband lost his underwear, called your best friend for help, and then fell over into her while both were naked on the bed at the exact moment you walked in the door.
It happens to someone every day.
I do think you should talk to your husband and your best friend, but please don’t act out. You should apologize for your paranoid inferences and ask them to give you another shot. Then, please, take some time for yourself – maybe a spa vacation for a few days? That way, your husband and your friend can have some uninterrupted time between them to make sure this mistake never happens again.
*Dear Ms. Knows-It-All,*
*My girlfriend and I are thinking of getting a pet, but we can’t decide between a cat and a dog. I was always a dog person growing up, but my girlfriend prefers kitties! We can’t stop fighting about it. In the interest of relationship harmony, we agreed to accept your decision on the matter. – Pet Lovers in Portland*
Hi Pet Lovers,
Handling a disagreement between people with deep-seated preferences by writing to someone you’ve never met was a very smart way to handle this situation. While thinking about your problem, I realized there was a compromise here – an animal that combines the affectionate pack instincts of a dog with the fierce independence and playfulness of a cat. Since you said my decision would be binding and you left your address in your email footer, I went ahead and ordered a new pet to be delivered right to you.
Hope you enjoy your new lioness! She needs plenty of space to roam and a fresh zebra carcass every four days. | The video clip was the last straw. Really. No, really. Please, listen. I wouldn't do any of this if it wasn't for the video
clip.
But come on. A girl's got a limit, right? A girl can only take so much.
So, when Adam left me for Innara, I was okay. I mean, not okay *okay* -- I wanted to reach inside my chest, pull my heart out and sing Radiohead to it until it stopped beating and released me from the nightmare that is life -- but, you know, that's the truth of any relationship, right? We all get sad.
We get especially sad when our boyfriend leaves us for our best friend, but, yeah, whatever. I got over it.
I was okay even when Adam's band, against all possible odds, actually made a deal with the record company and
released their first album and peaked at number 1 on Billboard. I mean, crap, I still loved the bastard, and now I
had to listen to his voice every day on the radio and see his face everywhere and all the while thinking *I could be
by his side right now.* But okay. Fine. I mean, Adele's ex-boyfriend has to deal with the fact that his breaking of
her heart led her to become a multi-millionaire singer. I can deal with my shit.
And then I read on People about the engagement, and there was a picture of Innara and Adam on the cover, and
*then*, *then* it started hurting, because come on! It's hard enough to get over a breakup on its own merits,
can you please not put my ex and his new lover (my former best friend) on the cover of every magazine in the
world?
That's about when the drinking started.
**Melany, from Oklahoma, wants to know what she can do to spice things up in bed with her husband.**
I write: *Dear Melany.* I write: *Men often lose interest in sex with their long term partners not because of their
bodies, or because of anything related to the woman, per se. It is an emotional issue, first and foremost. You see,
having a single partner goes against the nature of men and women, in that we are biologically wired to mate as
much as we can. This, in turn, reminds your man of the decaying, mortal aspect of his own body. As you know,
humans are forever split by a painful duality: mind vs body. We are Gods, in the sense that we can abstract the
world into thought, and yet, we are constantly reminded -- with every trip to the bathroom and with every sweat
we break and every haircut we get – that we are mortal animals, bound to go back to the nothingness from
whence we came.*
But then there was the music video.
Look, I know I'm not the sexiest girl around. I could afford to lose a few pounds, maybe do something about my
hair… hell, I could afford some better clothes, even, I just never had the patience for shopping.
Which is to say I *get* why he left me for Innara, with her boobs the size of my bitterness and her pouty lips and
her Colgate smile.
I mean, she's a model, for God's sake. I'm a Philosophy grad student. You do the math.
(Unless you're a model, in which case you're probably too stupid to do the math. Fuck you.)
So I get it. Go. Go be beautiful and happy and rich together, Adam and Innara, you clueless, sexy idiots.
To Melany, I write: *So, the longer your husband stays with you, the more he is reminded, unconsciously, of the
animal, rotting, decaying side of his self. This, of course, leads him to existential despair, which can be quite
crippling in bed. I mean, have you ever tried to have an orgasm while contemplating the futility of existence? Ever tried to get off while trying to figure out how men can have free will when we're bound to a deterministic universe? That's some hard stuff. And that **not** what she said.*
But then they made the video, Adam and Innara. For Adam's band. Instant hit. Most watched Youtube video of all
time. Featuring a bunch of other celebrities and all.
You know those videos that are popular nowadays, right? Lady GaGa does a bunch of them. It's a music video,
but it's also a short film, or whatever.
Adam and Innara starred in it, and it was clearly, undeniably, in-your-face about my relationship with Adam, and
I'm portrayed as the biggest bitchy-bitch in the whole wide world and, though it doesn't name me, Adam is
famous enough that he makes people around him famous by proxy, so everyone knew it was me. The untold story
of Adam and Bitchy-bitch Joy, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Booze.
To Melany, I go on: *What you have to do, the next time you're in bed together, is sit down with your man, brush
your fingers through his hair and say "Honey… we're all gonna die someday." Let it sink in. Tell him "Love is the
biological mechanism natural selection devised to trick us into fucking for the sake of our genes." See how he deals
with that one. What you have to do is exposure therapy: get him to face these realities of life. Talk about death.
Talk about pain. Talk about futility and the heat death of the universe. Keep going until you notice the erection.*
I became the laughing stock of the country overnight. I mean, thank God middle-aged women don't keep up with
rock bands, because otherwise I would have lost my fanbase on the column, and my job, probably.
And that's when it became too much, and when I said "Welp, I might as well drink," and now I have a drinking
problem, though I'd argue it's not a problem until I stop enjoying it, which hasn't happened yet.
And the truth is, I want to take my revenge on him, I do. And on her. And I'll get to them, eventually.
But right now? Right now I'm pissed off at *love*. I'm pissed off at happy couples and sad couples and meh
couples and everyone I see holding hands together walking down the street like 'Oh, ain't life grand?'
It ain't. It's misery. That's Philosophy 101.
And I'm not strong and I can't beat the shit out of couples in love like I'd want to. But I *can* make some damage with words, the ones I learned in college.
So… I take what I can get, until I get to Adam and Innara -- the ultimate loving couple I want to ruin.
My last stop on the way to CrazyCatLadyVille. The climax to The Waltz of Bitter Joy.
I'll get to them, someday. Because fuck love, that's how I feel right now.
While I wait, much like Sweeney Todd's 'practice on less honorable throats,' I ruin other couple's lives.
And you know what? I'm not lying. I'm just giving bad advice, but it's all true, really. Read it up. Life sucks, that's
the general consensus among professionals.
To Melany, I write: *When the lovemaking beings, don't forget to quote from some of the best. Camus is always a
good start. Try whispering into his ear: "In the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself." Or "There
is not love of life without despair about life." Or, better yet, "Since we're all going to die, it's obvious that when and
how don't matter." Just do it. Watch his reaction. If he gets sad or frustrated, it just means it's working.*
________
/r/psycho_alpaca
| |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column. | *Dear Diana, I think my boyfriend is cheating. What should I do?*
*-Broken Heart*
There's a few things you can do. First, since he broke your heart, break something of his, like his kneecaps or knuckles. How do you do this? Well, I always recommend hiring a private investigator to make sure your fears are true. You can pay him a little under the table to rough your boyfriend up.
I would also suggest cheating on him. If he's cheating on you, you'll know because he won't confront you. If he wasn't cheating, well, at least you had some fun.
*Dear Diana, how do I spice up the bedroom?*
*-Wet Blanket*
Take control! Men love it when you take control.
The key here is to start *before* you go to bed. Lock him out of the house. Hide his glasses. Change the password on his phone.
Stop talking to him. Cut off his access from the outside world. Don't let him go outside. Don't feed him.
Before you know it, he'll be craving human company, especially yours.
*Dear Diana, my husband doesn't seem to be interested in me anymore. What can I do?*
*-Boring Beth*
This one's easy. Just be more interesting!
Start leaving the house at odd hours and don't tell him why. Learn Spanish and hang out in tacquerias. Make some underground contacts. Buy a gun.
Almost like magic, you'll be able to enter a drug smuggling cartel. When you go to Columbia, make sure you leave without telling anyone.
Now, your husband will probably be asking questions at this point. He's interested in you!
Don't stop, though. Keep building your drug empire. Pretty soon you won't need that loser anyway.
*Dear Diana, how do I make myself look better?*
*-Sad Sack (on my head)*
Make sure you only meet men in dimly lit areas. Keep your face in the shadows.
If someone tries to talk to, answer in coded language to build up that intrigue factor - attractiveness isn't just about your looks!
Talk about vague things like "moving bricks" or "cooking". You'll relate to that strong, manly construction worker while also impressing him with your culinary knowledge.
More questions? Send them to me and I'll answer them!
---
(I'll actually answer them)
Edit: [Ask me more](https://www.reddit.com/r/translationlostin/comments/4z6pso/ask_diana_your_relationships_explained/). | The video clip was the last straw. Really. No, really. Please, listen. I wouldn't do any of this if it wasn't for the video
clip.
But come on. A girl's got a limit, right? A girl can only take so much.
So, when Adam left me for Innara, I was okay. I mean, not okay *okay* -- I wanted to reach inside my chest, pull my heart out and sing Radiohead to it until it stopped beating and released me from the nightmare that is life -- but, you know, that's the truth of any relationship, right? We all get sad.
We get especially sad when our boyfriend leaves us for our best friend, but, yeah, whatever. I got over it.
I was okay even when Adam's band, against all possible odds, actually made a deal with the record company and
released their first album and peaked at number 1 on Billboard. I mean, crap, I still loved the bastard, and now I
had to listen to his voice every day on the radio and see his face everywhere and all the while thinking *I could be
by his side right now.* But okay. Fine. I mean, Adele's ex-boyfriend has to deal with the fact that his breaking of
her heart led her to become a multi-millionaire singer. I can deal with my shit.
And then I read on People about the engagement, and there was a picture of Innara and Adam on the cover, and
*then*, *then* it started hurting, because come on! It's hard enough to get over a breakup on its own merits,
can you please not put my ex and his new lover (my former best friend) on the cover of every magazine in the
world?
That's about when the drinking started.
**Melany, from Oklahoma, wants to know what she can do to spice things up in bed with her husband.**
I write: *Dear Melany.* I write: *Men often lose interest in sex with their long term partners not because of their
bodies, or because of anything related to the woman, per se. It is an emotional issue, first and foremost. You see,
having a single partner goes against the nature of men and women, in that we are biologically wired to mate as
much as we can. This, in turn, reminds your man of the decaying, mortal aspect of his own body. As you know,
humans are forever split by a painful duality: mind vs body. We are Gods, in the sense that we can abstract the
world into thought, and yet, we are constantly reminded -- with every trip to the bathroom and with every sweat
we break and every haircut we get – that we are mortal animals, bound to go back to the nothingness from
whence we came.*
But then there was the music video.
Look, I know I'm not the sexiest girl around. I could afford to lose a few pounds, maybe do something about my
hair… hell, I could afford some better clothes, even, I just never had the patience for shopping.
Which is to say I *get* why he left me for Innara, with her boobs the size of my bitterness and her pouty lips and
her Colgate smile.
I mean, she's a model, for God's sake. I'm a Philosophy grad student. You do the math.
(Unless you're a model, in which case you're probably too stupid to do the math. Fuck you.)
So I get it. Go. Go be beautiful and happy and rich together, Adam and Innara, you clueless, sexy idiots.
To Melany, I write: *So, the longer your husband stays with you, the more he is reminded, unconsciously, of the
animal, rotting, decaying side of his self. This, of course, leads him to existential despair, which can be quite
crippling in bed. I mean, have you ever tried to have an orgasm while contemplating the futility of existence? Ever tried to get off while trying to figure out how men can have free will when we're bound to a deterministic universe? That's some hard stuff. And that **not** what she said.*
But then they made the video, Adam and Innara. For Adam's band. Instant hit. Most watched Youtube video of all
time. Featuring a bunch of other celebrities and all.
You know those videos that are popular nowadays, right? Lady GaGa does a bunch of them. It's a music video,
but it's also a short film, or whatever.
Adam and Innara starred in it, and it was clearly, undeniably, in-your-face about my relationship with Adam, and
I'm portrayed as the biggest bitchy-bitch in the whole wide world and, though it doesn't name me, Adam is
famous enough that he makes people around him famous by proxy, so everyone knew it was me. The untold story
of Adam and Bitchy-bitch Joy, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Booze.
To Melany, I go on: *What you have to do, the next time you're in bed together, is sit down with your man, brush
your fingers through his hair and say "Honey… we're all gonna die someday." Let it sink in. Tell him "Love is the
biological mechanism natural selection devised to trick us into fucking for the sake of our genes." See how he deals
with that one. What you have to do is exposure therapy: get him to face these realities of life. Talk about death.
Talk about pain. Talk about futility and the heat death of the universe. Keep going until you notice the erection.*
I became the laughing stock of the country overnight. I mean, thank God middle-aged women don't keep up with
rock bands, because otherwise I would have lost my fanbase on the column, and my job, probably.
And that's when it became too much, and when I said "Welp, I might as well drink," and now I have a drinking
problem, though I'd argue it's not a problem until I stop enjoying it, which hasn't happened yet.
And the truth is, I want to take my revenge on him, I do. And on her. And I'll get to them, eventually.
But right now? Right now I'm pissed off at *love*. I'm pissed off at happy couples and sad couples and meh
couples and everyone I see holding hands together walking down the street like 'Oh, ain't life grand?'
It ain't. It's misery. That's Philosophy 101.
And I'm not strong and I can't beat the shit out of couples in love like I'd want to. But I *can* make some damage with words, the ones I learned in college.
So… I take what I can get, until I get to Adam and Innara -- the ultimate loving couple I want to ruin.
My last stop on the way to CrazyCatLadyVille. The climax to The Waltz of Bitter Joy.
I'll get to them, someday. Because fuck love, that's how I feel right now.
While I wait, much like Sweeney Todd's 'practice on less honorable throats,' I ruin other couple's lives.
And you know what? I'm not lying. I'm just giving bad advice, but it's all true, really. Read it up. Life sucks, that's
the general consensus among professionals.
To Melany, I write: *When the lovemaking beings, don't forget to quote from some of the best. Camus is always a
good start. Try whispering into his ear: "In the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself." Or "There
is not love of life without despair about life." Or, better yet, "Since we're all going to die, it's obvious that when and
how don't matter." Just do it. Watch his reaction. If he gets sad or frustrated, it just means it's working.*
________
/r/psycho_alpaca
| |
[WP] The day you have long feared has arrived. The Cows have come home. | The mighty army stood in front of me. A collection of ships, from all the lost countries in Europe, as well as the army of Iceland itself. Some were as petty as fishing ships with a howitzer mounted on top. Others, remnants from WWII outfitted to set sail yet again.
I didn't stand a chance with my company's... well, probably it's now *my* oil tanker. Not that I wanted to fight anyway.
A voice cracked through the radio.
>Galician Star, this is the command ship of the United Nations of Man. Please, declare your intentions or turn away. Over.
.
>*Command, this is Galician Star. We are carrying refugees from Scotland. The United Kingdom has fallen. I repeat, the United Kingdom has fallen. Over.*
The voice seems to pull away from the microphone, as if speaking with someone nearby. After a while, the voice speaks up again, cracking, like if it had cried.
>Galician Star, please, follow us shut to the port. Get all your passengers ready for inspection and quarantine. Over.
.
>*Command ship, heading to port. Thanks for the help. Over*
The rest of our crew starts the engine again. The sound of pistons and explosions fill the intercom with the the engineering deck.
But then a different kind of explosion startles me. A gunfight has broken out in the main deck, where all the refugees are held.
I get my binoculars and see.
What I gaze upon chills the blood in my veins and makes me pray upon any gods, if any is still hearing our pleas.
Cows.
Someone must have get bitten, and hid within the refugees. And now turned into a cow and started infecting everyone else. The skirmish is truly a slaughter. Refugees are running as fast as they can towards the upper decks. Others are jumping into the freezing sea. Cows bite and chow anything in their path.
The radio cracks again, snapping me out of the horror unleashing down there.
>Galician Star! Stop at once! There are infected specimens on your ship!
I can do nothing but cry for help
>*Command! The cows are massacring the refugees! Do something!*
Only silence answers me.
I turn around to a nearby shot. My second in command has shot herself.
The radio turns alive once again, but speaking with a terrified, known voice:
>Captain! The engineering deck has been overrun! The doors are not going to hold them for much longer!... You, rookie! hold the barricade!... Captain, they're breaking through the...
Another shot at by back. I'm now the only alive being on the ship.
And silence.
There is nothing moving on the ship. The cows, bloodthirsty just a second ago, lay on their bellies on the main deck.
There is no help for me. No scape. The cold metal of the gun soothes the pain that fills my brain. But, as I'm about to press the trigger, a sound startles me once again. The radio.
>Galician Star, this is command ship. Are there any survivors? Over.
I grab the microphone with a shattering force.
>*Command, this is Galician Star's Captain. The crew and refugees are gone. I'm the only one left. Don't risk anyone...*
The cows, awakened by the conversation, are ramming into the cockpit door. Only half the hinges are in place now.
>*There are no survivors. Shoot me down*
.
>Galician Star, confirm the order. Are you sure there are no survivors? We can...
The door is bent down now. A cow stares back at me from the other side. Bloody-shot eyes are piercing my own soul,mounted on a face that still has some resemblance to the poor fellow working on the engines.
>*SHOOT DOWN MY SHIP! A CAPTAIN ALWAYS GOES DOWN WITH THE SHIP!!*
.
>I'm sorry sir. I'm sorry.
I close my eyes as I shut down the radio. I pull the gun close to my head, when a howitzer explosion shakes the whole ship. And then another.
The cow lunges into me to bite my arm. But yet another shot knocks me into a wall.
The cow runs and slams into the wall, into the place where I had been seconds before.
Another explosion shocks the ship, launching me through the window into the sea.
I close my eyes as the water embraces me.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Light and pain awake me. My eyes refuse to open completely, but do just enough to let me peer over the situation. I'm being carried by two military-dressed sailors into an infirmary.
I awake covered in bandages. It seems I got scratched all over by a broken glass pane.
The ship's captain is walking towards me to greet me, but he smells quite funny.
He smells of food.
And I'm hungry. | Gordon Kane looked out over his sprawling farmland and sighed. The sun was rising, and it was already beginning to get humid. Still, life was life, and Gordon was happy. The crops had enjoyed the warmer weather, although he hadn't.
Gordon wiped the first bead of sweat from his forehead and and opened the porch door. He reached for the keys but hesitated, his eyes wandering around and resting on an old, worn scythe. It had been his father's, left to him when his brother moved away. Gordon usually started the harvest by hand, only moving to a combine on the second or third day. He smiled. What was one more year of hard work for an old man? He would keep the tradition.
---
Gordon was regretting his decision. The sun beat down relentlessly. His wife had been right - of course, she was always right. She had gently told him that he was getting too old to be doing manual labor. There was a reason why no one did this by hand anymore.
Gordon stood straight and arched his back. He looked over his land, proud of what he'd grown the small family farm into. A movement in the corner of his eye made him jerk around suddenly. It wasn't common to get visitors now, before the harvest was finished. Everyone else was hard at work on their own farms.
"Hey, Gordon," yelled a tan, lean man from far down the dusty road. "How's the farm doing?"
---
Gordon turned on the tap to clear out the leeched metal.
"Long time, Abel. Long time."
Abel shrugged sheepishly.
"You always had a way with words."
Gordon shut the water off sharply and handed his brother a brown mug. Abel examined it sadly.
"You still have this? Remember when you chipped it? How angry dad was? Why did you keep it?"
Gordon shut his eyes.
"You were always his favorite. I had to *learn* from my mistakes."
Gordon sighed and opened his eyes again.
"Why are you back, anyway? You didn't even come back for mom's funeral."
Abel put the mug down. He hadn't drunk from it.
"You know why I'm back. My inheritance."
"You forfeited that when you ran away."
"That's not what my lawyer says. He was very unhappy that you tried to hide dad's will."
Gordon shrugged.
"I still have the original. You could have come by any time."
Abel pursed his lips.
"Let's not dredge up the past. All I want is my share of the land."
"For what? We both know that you can't hold down a job. What will you do, sell off the last bit of our parents?"
Abel laughed.
"Of course not. Remember that summer class I took in Texas?"
He waited for a response.
"Right, you never cared about me. Well, I met some ranchers there and fell in love with their lifestyle. Simple, yet fulfilled. They get everything they need from their herd."
"Not," he added with a slight sneer, "like your grain that gets force fed into -"
Gordon smacked the table.
"Cows? Yeah, my grain gets fed right into the cows that you claim to love."
Abel held up in hands, mocking Gordon.
"Look who finally learned where the grain goes. The people in town told me that you still harvest by hand? What is this, the middle ages?"
Gordon took Abel's mug, dumped it, and began to refill it. Abel talked to his back.
"Well, guess what? I'm going to have sheep, I'm going to have pigs, I'm going to have cows, and I'm going to make a hell of a lot more money than you. Then, I'm going to buy the rest of your precious little fields, and see how long they last with my herd on them."
Gordon finished and slid the mug back to his brother. He seemed resigned to his fate.
"Cows, eh? I always thought you wanted the fast life. Well, let's go see what your half of the land looks like."
Abel drank his water, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and stood up.
"Remember, I grew up here, too. I know where my half is supposed to be."
"Yeah," replied Gordon. "Right where I grow my most expensive grain."
---
Abel hadn't been in this heat for a long, long time. It seemed to be farther than he remembered to reach the small river that irrigated this half of the farm.
"Here it is," said Gordon.
No, this was wrong. It was the wrong river. It was the river they used to sneak over to at night.
Abel felt dizzy.
"Is this place bigger?" asked Abel.
"Yeah," grunted Gordon. "See that? That's where our neighbors used to live. They sold the place to me a few years ago."
Abel stumbled.
"Hey, let me give you a hand," offered Gordon. "Easy, easy..."
Abel blacked out for a second, then felt the cold water of the river rushing through him.
"Remember this place?" he heard Gordon, far, far away. "This is where you told me I was adopted, you sick freak."
---
Gordon trudged back to his house. He would tell his wife later, when he had finished for the day. She would understand, wouldn't she? She had always told him to stand up to Abel.
He missed her.
Gordon approached the barn and put the scythe back. He was glad that he hadn't gotten it dirty. He would cut a fresh bunch of flowers with it to take to his wife.
Inside the house, Gordon dumped the rest of his medication into the toilet. He would tell the doctor that he had lost it somewhere. At least this way, it would be partially true.
As he rinsed out the chipped brown mug, Gordon thought about cows. Ugly, smelly things, trampling the earth and ruining its beauty. They consumed its fruits and left nothing. A bit, he thought, like Abel. No wonder he had liked them so much.
| |
[WP] The day you have long feared has arrived. The Cows have come home. | The mighty army stood in front of me. A collection of ships, from all the lost countries in Europe, as well as the army of Iceland itself. Some were as petty as fishing ships with a howitzer mounted on top. Others, remnants from WWII outfitted to set sail yet again.
I didn't stand a chance with my company's... well, probably it's now *my* oil tanker. Not that I wanted to fight anyway.
A voice cracked through the radio.
>Galician Star, this is the command ship of the United Nations of Man. Please, declare your intentions or turn away. Over.
.
>*Command, this is Galician Star. We are carrying refugees from Scotland. The United Kingdom has fallen. I repeat, the United Kingdom has fallen. Over.*
The voice seems to pull away from the microphone, as if speaking with someone nearby. After a while, the voice speaks up again, cracking, like if it had cried.
>Galician Star, please, follow us shut to the port. Get all your passengers ready for inspection and quarantine. Over.
.
>*Command ship, heading to port. Thanks for the help. Over*
The rest of our crew starts the engine again. The sound of pistons and explosions fill the intercom with the the engineering deck.
But then a different kind of explosion startles me. A gunfight has broken out in the main deck, where all the refugees are held.
I get my binoculars and see.
What I gaze upon chills the blood in my veins and makes me pray upon any gods, if any is still hearing our pleas.
Cows.
Someone must have get bitten, and hid within the refugees. And now turned into a cow and started infecting everyone else. The skirmish is truly a slaughter. Refugees are running as fast as they can towards the upper decks. Others are jumping into the freezing sea. Cows bite and chow anything in their path.
The radio cracks again, snapping me out of the horror unleashing down there.
>Galician Star! Stop at once! There are infected specimens on your ship!
I can do nothing but cry for help
>*Command! The cows are massacring the refugees! Do something!*
Only silence answers me.
I turn around to a nearby shot. My second in command has shot herself.
The radio turns alive once again, but speaking with a terrified, known voice:
>Captain! The engineering deck has been overrun! The doors are not going to hold them for much longer!... You, rookie! hold the barricade!... Captain, they're breaking through the...
Another shot at by back. I'm now the only alive being on the ship.
And silence.
There is nothing moving on the ship. The cows, bloodthirsty just a second ago, lay on their bellies on the main deck.
There is no help for me. No scape. The cold metal of the gun soothes the pain that fills my brain. But, as I'm about to press the trigger, a sound startles me once again. The radio.
>Galician Star, this is command ship. Are there any survivors? Over.
I grab the microphone with a shattering force.
>*Command, this is Galician Star's Captain. The crew and refugees are gone. I'm the only one left. Don't risk anyone...*
The cows, awakened by the conversation, are ramming into the cockpit door. Only half the hinges are in place now.
>*There are no survivors. Shoot me down*
.
>Galician Star, confirm the order. Are you sure there are no survivors? We can...
The door is bent down now. A cow stares back at me from the other side. Bloody-shot eyes are piercing my own soul,mounted on a face that still has some resemblance to the poor fellow working on the engines.
>*SHOOT DOWN MY SHIP! A CAPTAIN ALWAYS GOES DOWN WITH THE SHIP!!*
.
>I'm sorry sir. I'm sorry.
I close my eyes as I shut down the radio. I pull the gun close to my head, when a howitzer explosion shakes the whole ship. And then another.
The cow lunges into me to bite my arm. But yet another shot knocks me into a wall.
The cow runs and slams into the wall, into the place where I had been seconds before.
Another explosion shocks the ship, launching me through the window into the sea.
I close my eyes as the water embraces me.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Light and pain awake me. My eyes refuse to open completely, but do just enough to let me peer over the situation. I'm being carried by two military-dressed sailors into an infirmary.
I awake covered in bandages. It seems I got scratched all over by a broken glass pane.
The ship's captain is walking towards me to greet me, but he smells quite funny.
He smells of food.
And I'm hungry. | "Get in! Before the cows come home!" My mother yelled to me, as I ran home after finishing collecting the chicken eggs.
I never got the saying, why would I be afraid of cows? But I always dismissed it as a joke, no matter how serious my Mom's face was.
But today was different. We boarded ourselves in our basement, like a tornado was outside, but there wasn't. "Oh shit! They found us Mapel!" My dad yelled, while he was pointing his gun somewhere outside.
I heard footsteps outside, but...different. I knew I recognized that noise! But from where?
***THUD THUD THUD***
What was that noise? I was scared shitless as I sat there, but I gave it my all to remember that noise.
***THUD THUD THUD***
My family is flippin' shit in the background of my head. But all I cared about was that noise.
***THUD THUD THUD THUD***
What the hell is that noise!? I tried to remember, I feel like I was about to faint with the amount of concentration I was putting on this stupid noise.
Then it clicked.
*Hooves! That was it! Wait...Why are there hooves outside?*
Then I finally paid attention to my family. "We should have never used Loan-cows! We should of used a Loan-shark!"
It dawned on me.
The cows came home.
*And they're pissed.* | |
[WP] A man with blood shot eyes and a horrified look on his face stumbles up to you in the middle of the street. He looks positively terrified as he places a cell phone in your hand, whispers 'I'm so sorry', and walks away; you're standing there in bewildered shock when the phone begins to ring. | The wind whips through the desert air as the phone continues to ring. As I reach to answer, a sorrowful whistle echoes around the shoddy buildings and cracked asphalt. The phone clatters on the pavement as I scan my surroundings for the source. Fifteen seconds pass. The tune fades into the night, and yet the ringing persists. I reach for the phone and flip open the cover.
I answer the call.
“Hello?”.
…
The speaker crackles, and only one sentence was spoken by the stranger on the other end.
“Its High Noon…”
| A car drove by, illuminating the rest of the street—the guy, nowhere to be found. The ringing started to eat away at me, compelling my attention. "Hello?"
"What the hell Tom?! Where's the package?!" Behind me, another car drove by, it's engine registering against the piece. "And where the fuck are ya?!"
"Sorry, some guy just gave this phone to me." I'd have given it away myself if this was what was waiting for me on the other end.
"What the fuck?!" A shuffling noise blasted through—and a fast mumbling and obvious screaming went on behind the guy's hand or whatever he did to stay the commotion. "Okay John."
I ended the call. I was John, and he spoke with such certainty it freaked me out.
The phone started ringing again, and another car passed me, it's headlights illuminating the walls in front.
I turned off the phone, and removed it's sim, better safe than sorry—just as another car passed.
It stopped.
"What the fuck is up with you John?!" The same voice shouted from behind. | |
[WP] A man with blood shot eyes and a horrified look on his face stumbles up to you in the middle of the street. He looks positively terrified as he places a cell phone in your hand, whispers 'I'm so sorry', and walks away; you're standing there in bewildered shock when the phone begins to ring. | Bob chased the Stranger into the alley, but when he got there, the Stranger was gone. Sure, the Stranger was a short distance away from him, but the alley was long. There was simply no way the Stranger could have vanished that quickly. Bob glanced around, a ringing phone in his hand, confused, lost, and now, scared.
Warily, he answered the phone, “Hello?”
Nothing. Only light breathing, growing heavier by the second, and fast footsteps - very fast. Bob frowned, raising his voice, “Hello? Who’s this?”
Still no answer.
“Okay, look, I don’t know who you are, or why-” Bob lost all speech as pain tore through his right shoulder. The thunderous sound echoed in his deafened ears. He fell down on the asphalt, face first, blood pooling all around him. He screamed, not hearing his own voice. He flailed, not feeling his own limbs. But the street was empty on both sides, and his only company was the flickering streetlight. He glanced again at the street, and there he saw the silhouette of a woman, holding something resembling a stick. She walked slowly toward him.
“Help!” Bob shouted. The woman didn’t speed her pace, but she still moved toward him.
The woman was near him now, and he saw that what he thought as a stick was, in fact, a rifle. Bob couldn’t think straight, so he asked for help, his voice faltering as life flowed away from him. The woman knelt beside Bob, turned him over.
The woman frowned, “You’re not him.”
“What...” Bob asked through gritted teeth, “Help... me... please. I’m bleeding… I… help… me.”
She grabbed him by the lapels, and held him up. For a moment, Bob thought she was going to help him. Then she put her finger in his wound. He screamed, and she matched his voice with her very own question, “Where is the man that gave you this phone?”
Bob answered her with a scream. She twisted harder, then let go. Bob stared blankly, trying to catch his breath. She asked again and, before he could answer, she twisted hard. He screamed. She let go.
“Where. Is. He?” the woman asked slowly.
Bob closed his eyes, his breathing ragged, his cheeks as wet as his pants. His wound burned. Everything felt cold, and it grew colder by the second. He could still hear.
“Where is he?” the woman shouted. He could no longer feel if she was twisting his wound or not. He was far too numb.
Then he heard another voice. “Behind you.”
Bob felt the woman let go, then his head hit the asphalt. He heard a gunshot. He felt something heavy fall on top of him. He tried to open his eyes, but they were far too heavy.
He heard someone laugh beside him - a loud, mad laugh.
“I did it!” the Stranger shouted, “I won! Now, give me my three wishes, I won!”
Another voice came from the end of the alley, or maybe it was nearby, Bob could no longer be sure. “Yes, you have. All the contestants are dead. Congratulations on winning the Tournament. I’ll grant your three wishes, and with it, I can grant you the world, an empire, supernatural abilities and even immortality, but you should note that this man is still alive. Barely, true, and will no longer live lest I do it, but still alive nonetheless. I can still revive him, if you wish.”
The Stranger ignored the newcomer, “Why should I waste one of my wishes? My first wish is...”
Darkness came over Bob, and he could no longer hear, see, or feel. One thing he was sure of, was that the Stranger didn’t use one of his wishes for him. | A car drove by, illuminating the rest of the street—the guy, nowhere to be found. The ringing started to eat away at me, compelling my attention. "Hello?"
"What the hell Tom?! Where's the package?!" Behind me, another car drove by, it's engine registering against the piece. "And where the fuck are ya?!"
"Sorry, some guy just gave this phone to me." I'd have given it away myself if this was what was waiting for me on the other end.
"What the fuck?!" A shuffling noise blasted through—and a fast mumbling and obvious screaming went on behind the guy's hand or whatever he did to stay the commotion. "Okay John."
I ended the call. I was John, and he spoke with such certainty it freaked me out.
The phone started ringing again, and another car passed me, it's headlights illuminating the walls in front.
I turned off the phone, and removed it's sim, better safe than sorry—just as another car passed.
It stopped.
"What the fuck is up with you John?!" The same voice shouted from behind. | |
[WP] A man with blood shot eyes and a horrified look on his face stumbles up to you in the middle of the street. He looks positively terrified as he places a cell phone in your hand, whispers 'I'm so sorry', and walks away; you're standing there in bewildered shock when the phone begins to ring. | "Uh...what's this then?" Jaime held the old Motorola out away from his body. The man flinched.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered as he backed away.
"That's not an answer actually," said Jaime, stepping forward after the man. "Why'd you give me this janky old phone? Don't need it, don't want it. Phone's are filthy, you know that? Germiest thing you prob'ly own."
"I can't," said the man, turning to flee. "I'm sorry!" And then he was running. Jaime took two steps in chase, then remembered the last time he'd run was probably in middle school gym class and gave it up.
"Well, that's a....thing." He looked the phone over. Looked like a Razr, maybe. At least ten years past it's prime. Jaime hauled back his arm with every intention of tossing the phone down the nearest alley, when it rang.
He glanced down at the front of the phone. The caller ID said MOM. Jaime decided he'd go ahead and try to extract a little insight into recent events.
"Hallo," he said. "Jaime Guerrein. And who might this be?"
"*Who*?" croaked an ancient-sounding woman at the other end of the ether. "Where's Barney? Where's my Barney?"
"Barney, eh?" said Jaime. "Is that your son or something? Bit bald? Wiry glasses? Mole on the chin?"
"Barney? Where's Barney?" cried the woman. Her voice was surprisingly powerful. Jaime couldn't quite figure the volume, so he was forced to hold the phone well away from his head when she spoke.
"Listen," said Jaime. "Some fellow just gave me this phone, alright? I'm guessing maybe that's your Barney. I think something might be a little askew with old Barnard, ma'am. You have any other kids you can send after him?"
"Barney, did you get the chocolates I sent you for Christmas? The *Christmas chocolates*, you know?"
Jaime instinctive shook out the phone. "Ma'am, d'you have any one else there I might be able to talk to? I'm trying to tell you I'm not Barney."
"How many were nougat?" asked the old woman. "Because the box said half, but I heard from Fernice she got hardly two in her box. I'd like to send them back if there weren't enough nougat."
"I haven't really got any insight into the chocolate box situation, ma'am, as I'm *still not Barney*." Jaime took a deep breath. "Anyway, I thought maybe I'd try to help, but I don't think there's much I..."
"Doesn't matter if the box is empty. Just send me the wrappings. I've still got the receipt. I'll get you a new box once the refund comes in."
"You know it's bloody *August*, don't you woman? What sort of lunatic hoarder would still have their chocolate wrappings from *Christmas*?"
The old woman cleared her throat. "You know your cousin Edwin's queer now, right?"
"Grand for Edwin," sighed Jaime.
"I always suspected," said the old woman. "Wore those felt pants when he was a kid. Obvious, I guess."
"Dreadfully so. I'm sorry, but I really need to be..."
"New postman's a raghead, by the way, so don't send me any money through the post, alright?"
"Are you a real human being?" asked Jaime wonderingly.
"Fernice has a nephew in the armed forces. I don't know which branch."
"What does that have to do with anything else you've said?"
"You notice how much *apples* cost these days? It's outrageous. Did the Jews take over the apple industry, too?" She coughed a dry, rattling cough, interwoven with tittering laughter.
"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to any of this," said Jaime. "You're clearly an awful woman and *why am I still talking to you*?"
"Oh Barney," she sighed. "Sometimes I think I'm just about at the end."
Jaime nodded. "That seems like a good place for you."
"Earnest died. Maggie died. Willa died. And what've I got? Nothing. Not much. No how. Just you and this phone. And that's it. Sometimes I think...I think you'd prefer it if I died."
Jaime opened his mouth, intending to support the standing thesis, but some strange, little empathetic defect in his heart wouldn't let him. "No. No. You're....you're fine. You're just fine."
"Really?" The woman's voice brightened. "Because...well, sometimes it just feels like no one wants me around anymore."
"No," said Jaime. "They...we...you're fine. You're alright. Keep on...being alive."
"Thank you, Barney. Thank you. That means a lot to an old woman. Now hold tight for a minute. I found an old article in this *National Geographic* all about these African ladies with crazy giraffe necks. It's the funniest thing. Let me find that magazine and I'll call you right back."
The phone clicked dead. And just like that the spell was broken. Jaime blinked. A young woman in a pink windbreaker was jogging past just then. Jaime half tackled her as he jammed the phone into her hands.
"I'm so sorry!" he shouted as he ran away down the street like a middle schooler with nothing left to lose. | "Well, aren't you going to answer that?" My wife exited the store she was shopping inside of and saw the phone ringing in my hand. "Wait... that's not your normal phone. Since when did you have that?"
"Some guy on the street gave it to me." I looked down at the flip phone inside of my hand and frowned. "He stumbled up to me, looked terrified, and left this phone in my hand before I could possibly respond."
My wife glanced at the phone in my hand and looked at my face once more. "Well, it's still ringing... are you going to answer it?"
"Hell no. That's scary. What if it's a bomb or something?" I looked up at the sky. "What could possibly so terrifying about this phone?" The phone stopped ringing.
Nothing happened. Both of us sighed in relief.
"What would you have done if it was a bomb?" My wife frowned upon me. "It's probably just a phone from a crazy ex trying to stalk him."
"Why do you say that, and what makes you so sure?" I was confused. "My first thoughts would have probably been possession of a demon."
"You only think that because you read too many fantasy books, hun. Anyways, do you want to keep the phone or turn it in to the police?"
"We should probably give it to the police, what if it's something crazy?" I took my wife's hand, and we started to walk towards the police office. Once we came to the entrance, my wife went inside with the phone just as I started to hear it ring.
And then, I saw fire. It was at that moment I realized that she had picked up the phone. And that wasn't all. As I wept on concrete and ambulances whizzed by... I opened my fist and saw the flip phone once more.
The phone began to ring. We had no kids... no siblings... no parents... we only had each other. I began to think, "She can't blame me for doing this, can she?" I slowly walked towards a dark alleyway, somewhere no one else would get hurt. I mentally prepared myself for death. As I was doing so, the noise of police cars and the ambulance seemed to fade into silence. I picked up the phone.
"Owner identified: Middle aged man- widower. 13 lives taken, 87 more sacrifices required for release." | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | Alyssa’s mother bent down to give her daughter a kiss on the forehead.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” she said, before planting an abnormally loud and messy kiss on her daughter’s forehead.
“Ewww! Moooommmm!” Allysa squealed. She tried hard to look disgusted, but her eyes glowed shone with laughter and her lips betrayed a smile.
Her mother let out a small chuckle before fixing her attention on me.
“And one for Teddy, too,” she vowed, puckering her lips to ridiculous levels.
She came within a breath’s reach from me before Allysa pulled me out of her mother’s reach. Tucked firmly in her arms, Allysa rolled over to the other side of her bed.
“Teddy is shy!” she revealed, “He only lets *me* touch him.”
“Alright, alright…” her mother relented. She walked towards the door and turned off the lights. She had just about exited the room when she looked back at her daughter, eyebrow raised.
“Can why try to make it a whole week without sleeping in your Mom and Dad’s bed?” she asked the question, making it sound more like a declaration.
Being pressed against Allysa’s chest, I could feel the momentary pause in her breathing.
A moment later, she eased out her apprehension with: “I’ll try.”
Her mother let out a small sigh and closed the door behind her.
“We can do it, Teddy. Nothing scares us.”
It was a child’s lie: precious and naïve. Her hope and belief that I could protect her gave me strength. As the night passed, my sweet Allysa promised me over and over that she would protect me from “Slither”, the monster that hid in her closet. I would have smiled, if I could. Eventually, her promises turned to whispers and her whispers to sleepy gibberish as she fell into slumber.
I felt like tonight would be a good night. Allysa was nearing the age of maturity, when her mind sealed itself off from the Otherworld. The Otherworld was an ethereal plain, formless and obscure. Children, whose minds danced on the edge of that realm, often beckoned to us. Their subconscious desires and fears drew us into their realm, and we are more than happy to oblige. Bonds with humans give us shape and character, solidifying our existence.
And so Allysa’s departure from childhood would be both a victory and a loss. Having the chance to bond with such a creative spark had fulfilled me, but having to leave her would be one of the hardest things I’d have to do.
A movement from the corner of by vision caught my attention.
I tried to move to get a better look, but her embrace held me too tightly. I focused on what little I could see of her closet. A tiny shadow slithered from the gap between the carpet and the door.
*A shadow cast from a branch outside?* I thought. But no, its movement was far too strange to be a swaying branch.
I slowly began to ease my way out of her arms. Potential waking her was a great risk. Children who witness to ethereal beings with their wakened minds often took mental damage. It took far too long to escape her grasp, but before I addressed the looming shadow, I glanced back at my charge. She was still soundly sleeping, now holding tight to her blanket.
My relief was short lived. I didn’t have to turn back around to see what my adversary had done in the time it took me to get free. “Slither” had surrounded her. Tendrils of darkness grew from her closet and writhed along the floor near her bed.
I withdrew into myself. I tapped into a secret place only Allysa and I shared. Her imagination gave form to my ethereal energy. Her dreams filled my being, and I knew what I had to do. Inching forward to the foot of her bed, I gathered power to my eyes. Looking at my foe, I shot out a beam of burning light. It slammed into Slither, and he hissed in agony. I pressed forward the attack, until his oscillating arms withdrew a distance.
Then, I traced an outline around the bed with my eyebeams. For a moment, the bed was encircled with a line of light. Eyes still gleaming with light, I gave a pose. In response, colors rose from the outline and solidified, forming a translucent rainbow wall around us.
I took a moment to appreciate my work. Rainbows had always been a wondrous thing to Allysa, and I knew that wonder would give the walls strength.
Slither’s tendrils retreated slowly back towards the closet door. Perhaps my old foe realized he’d never reach my Allysa. I couldn't have been more wrong.
| It's a good thing I don't feel pain. Otherwise, the huge rip in my arm would be a drag. Donny's mom considered hiring psychiatrist because she suspects her son is a psychopath-in-the-making who tortures his teddy bear, but patches me up all the same. Donny's dad thinks Donny is covering for the dog, and that was good enough for her. I never did get a name until the fourth time she fixed me. Donny couldn't think of one, saying that he didn't want me to be stuck with a name I didn't like. She suggested "Theseus," because I'm hardly made of any of my original material. That sounded cool to Donny.
The fight got messy, spilling out to the stairs. Once down the landing, it was on me. Its knife dug itself into my arm, running it across a good inch before I rolled it off me. That was the chance I needed. While it was still down, I gave its torso a good kick which sent it down the rest of the stairs. It came apart in three pieces: head, torso, and legs. Before they could put themselves together, I separated them and scattered the pieces around the living room.
The next day, Donny's mom found me lying on the landing with a fistful of a stuffing. Donny's dad was ready to take Donny's Lt. Jack Hammer Action Figure^with Kung-fu Grip and Tactical Knife Action back to the store after he heard of the recall on the news. They were simply deemed "too dangerous for children to play with," as the company was offering products from their Energy Scouts line in exchange. | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | There are many monsters that my kid has to face.
Everything his mind thinks he feels in his dreams, my job is to make sure they stay there.
Some days I really wish he'd stop watching horror movies, there have been countless nights where I have been tossed around like a sand bag trying to face whatever the fuck a clown is.
My old body has long been torn and sewn together from years of playful abuse, I don't mind, that ridiculous voice box that squeaked the same line has finally stopped working so I don't sound like a complete tool.
But there are some nightmares I can't protect him from.
Here one comes again, a tall dark shadow, quiet, but with a soothing voice, every other night when everyone else is asleep, I hear him creeping in from outside, tiptoing, his heavy steps making a mild thud against the wooden floor.
My child whimpers, he doesn't understand, dream or not he can't make sense of reality when he is tired.
This monster I cannot fight, I cannot move to defend against, my body is still, I watching him tower over my child, his wicked glint the only thing I can see, the most I can do is calm my child, keep him as comfortable as possible, I look into is broken eyes and I see the face of a crushed soul. I feel the absolute helplessness of my paws as my child hugs me close to his tiny chest, his laboured breathing and whimpers of pain as the monster descends on him.
*God give me the strength* I pray in vain, I know my cushioned paws won't do a thing to help him, all I can do is hope the warmth I give is enough. Still I will my body to move, to do anything to stop the pain.
SQUEEEK!
SQUEEEEEEKK!
I LOVE YOU!
I open my eyes, whether the boy had managed to squeeze one more time that pathetic noise from my body, who knows if that came from he or him. Either way, the monster panics, he pulls up his pants and runs out of the room, as quietly as he can he shuts the door.
My child cries silently, the night hiding his tears. He presses me close once again.
*One night down, 2 more weeks to go* | It's a good thing I don't feel pain. Otherwise, the huge rip in my arm would be a drag. Donny's mom considered hiring psychiatrist because she suspects her son is a psychopath-in-the-making who tortures his teddy bear, but patches me up all the same. Donny's dad thinks Donny is covering for the dog, and that was good enough for her. I never did get a name until the fourth time she fixed me. Donny couldn't think of one, saying that he didn't want me to be stuck with a name I didn't like. She suggested "Theseus," because I'm hardly made of any of my original material. That sounded cool to Donny.
The fight got messy, spilling out to the stairs. Once down the landing, it was on me. Its knife dug itself into my arm, running it across a good inch before I rolled it off me. That was the chance I needed. While it was still down, I gave its torso a good kick which sent it down the rest of the stairs. It came apart in three pieces: head, torso, and legs. Before they could put themselves together, I separated them and scattered the pieces around the living room.
The next day, Donny's mom found me lying on the landing with a fistful of a stuffing. Donny's dad was ready to take Donny's Lt. Jack Hammer Action Figure^with Kung-fu Grip and Tactical Knife Action back to the store after he heard of the recall on the news. They were simply deemed "too dangerous for children to play with," as the company was offering products from their Energy Scouts line in exchange. | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | Alyssa’s mother bent down to give her daughter a kiss on the forehead.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” she said, before planting an abnormally loud and messy kiss on her daughter’s forehead.
“Ewww! Moooommmm!” Allysa squealed. She tried hard to look disgusted, but her eyes glowed shone with laughter and her lips betrayed a smile.
Her mother let out a small chuckle before fixing her attention on me.
“And one for Teddy, too,” she vowed, puckering her lips to ridiculous levels.
She came within a breath’s reach from me before Allysa pulled me out of her mother’s reach. Tucked firmly in her arms, Allysa rolled over to the other side of her bed.
“Teddy is shy!” she revealed, “He only lets *me* touch him.”
“Alright, alright…” her mother relented. She walked towards the door and turned off the lights. She had just about exited the room when she looked back at her daughter, eyebrow raised.
“Can why try to make it a whole week without sleeping in your Mom and Dad’s bed?” she asked the question, making it sound more like a declaration.
Being pressed against Allysa’s chest, I could feel the momentary pause in her breathing.
A moment later, she eased out her apprehension with: “I’ll try.”
Her mother let out a small sigh and closed the door behind her.
“We can do it, Teddy. Nothing scares us.”
It was a child’s lie: precious and naïve. Her hope and belief that I could protect her gave me strength. As the night passed, my sweet Allysa promised me over and over that she would protect me from “Slither”, the monster that hid in her closet. I would have smiled, if I could. Eventually, her promises turned to whispers and her whispers to sleepy gibberish as she fell into slumber.
I felt like tonight would be a good night. Allysa was nearing the age of maturity, when her mind sealed itself off from the Otherworld. The Otherworld was an ethereal plain, formless and obscure. Children, whose minds danced on the edge of that realm, often beckoned to us. Their subconscious desires and fears drew us into their realm, and we are more than happy to oblige. Bonds with humans give us shape and character, solidifying our existence.
And so Allysa’s departure from childhood would be both a victory and a loss. Having the chance to bond with such a creative spark had fulfilled me, but having to leave her would be one of the hardest things I’d have to do.
A movement from the corner of by vision caught my attention.
I tried to move to get a better look, but her embrace held me too tightly. I focused on what little I could see of her closet. A tiny shadow slithered from the gap between the carpet and the door.
*A shadow cast from a branch outside?* I thought. But no, its movement was far too strange to be a swaying branch.
I slowly began to ease my way out of her arms. Potential waking her was a great risk. Children who witness to ethereal beings with their wakened minds often took mental damage. It took far too long to escape her grasp, but before I addressed the looming shadow, I glanced back at my charge. She was still soundly sleeping, now holding tight to her blanket.
My relief was short lived. I didn’t have to turn back around to see what my adversary had done in the time it took me to get free. “Slither” had surrounded her. Tendrils of darkness grew from her closet and writhed along the floor near her bed.
I withdrew into myself. I tapped into a secret place only Allysa and I shared. Her imagination gave form to my ethereal energy. Her dreams filled my being, and I knew what I had to do. Inching forward to the foot of her bed, I gathered power to my eyes. Looking at my foe, I shot out a beam of burning light. It slammed into Slither, and he hissed in agony. I pressed forward the attack, until his oscillating arms withdrew a distance.
Then, I traced an outline around the bed with my eyebeams. For a moment, the bed was encircled with a line of light. Eyes still gleaming with light, I gave a pose. In response, colors rose from the outline and solidified, forming a translucent rainbow wall around us.
I took a moment to appreciate my work. Rainbows had always been a wondrous thing to Allysa, and I knew that wonder would give the walls strength.
Slither’s tendrils retreated slowly back towards the closet door. Perhaps my old foe realized he’d never reach my Allysa. I couldn't have been more wrong.
| This job isn't what it used to be.
"Tommy", one of dad's old hand-me-down plushs, tells the story of how children were still raised on horrifying fairy tales. A whole other set of monsters, but also a whole other set of tools. They actually used to tell kids about Hensel and Gretel, who, at age 8 and 10, shoved a witch into the oven.
Tommy once kept the sister's play stove going all night, disposing of Bad Wolves and Unfriendly Giants. He led an army of Barby dolls and they slaughtered their enemy. Nothing got past their first line of defense.
Me? I'm just a panda. What the hell do kids know about pandas, except that they're cuddely and cute?
Mine was the generation of kids raised on the harmless, watered-down fables. "The power of love", the power of *freaking* love was my only weapon for years and goddamn years!
Did the monsters care? Hell no.
A child's deep mind, the ID, will still dredge up horrible things from the subconscious. I had to hug those fuckers to death. Defeat pure evil with the golden light of joy radiating from my belly button. A flickering torch against the same wall of darkness. It took many close calls for me to figure out that the closer they got to my charge, little Angelika up in the bed, the fiercer my love burned. And the brighter my light shone.
Still, for an eldrich horror to go "lights out" I had to emotionally push myself to the limit every night. It is draining, to say the least.
Do you have any idea what it does to my job when your parents give you the LEGO Cannibal island for Christmas, Angelika? I think not. The enemy was in the room now, and me with only plush arms to "hug" them away.
It's like parents don't know a thing about child psychology.
Things only improved when Angelika reached that venerable age of 6! Oh, how I battled in the days before. But see, things turned around for me at age 6. Every guardian bear, be it panda, kodiac, or grizzly, vaunts for that age.
New, "age appropriate" input. The DVDs and films feed into the child's mind, and into our abilities.
All of a sudden, I was Fu-Panda, Master of the Kung! My awesomeness increased the more movies DreamWorks put out. What an apptly named company. How their dreams enhanced hers, enhanced me. And made me work better. I thank the Fluffy Ones Above for that entire franchise!
My first line of defense has not been breached in 1 entire year. Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of "Give Me The Bottle" baby, a doll that can drink AND pee liquid. A water thrower added to our arsenal.
But I fear, I fear for little Tamara in the room next door. She only has an untrained guardian, a little plush dog named "Woofy". And they've taken down the Crib Mobil, with all it's magic warding powers. A dangerous time to be young. And I can't leave Angelika. My duty is to her.
Every time I hear Tamara cry out in her sleep I imagine the worst has happened. That The Bad has gotten to her.
But then I hear Woofy bark and growl. He makes sounds while moving that have me thinking of something much bigger than his petite, green, washable form would indicate.
Maybe, he doesn't have to deal with "the power of love". Maybe he's fueled by the rage of a toddler. Maybe ..... there's hope, yet? | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | There are many monsters that my kid has to face.
Everything his mind thinks he feels in his dreams, my job is to make sure they stay there.
Some days I really wish he'd stop watching horror movies, there have been countless nights where I have been tossed around like a sand bag trying to face whatever the fuck a clown is.
My old body has long been torn and sewn together from years of playful abuse, I don't mind, that ridiculous voice box that squeaked the same line has finally stopped working so I don't sound like a complete tool.
But there are some nightmares I can't protect him from.
Here one comes again, a tall dark shadow, quiet, but with a soothing voice, every other night when everyone else is asleep, I hear him creeping in from outside, tiptoing, his heavy steps making a mild thud against the wooden floor.
My child whimpers, he doesn't understand, dream or not he can't make sense of reality when he is tired.
This monster I cannot fight, I cannot move to defend against, my body is still, I watching him tower over my child, his wicked glint the only thing I can see, the most I can do is calm my child, keep him as comfortable as possible, I look into is broken eyes and I see the face of a crushed soul. I feel the absolute helplessness of my paws as my child hugs me close to his tiny chest, his laboured breathing and whimpers of pain as the monster descends on him.
*God give me the strength* I pray in vain, I know my cushioned paws won't do a thing to help him, all I can do is hope the warmth I give is enough. Still I will my body to move, to do anything to stop the pain.
SQUEEEK!
SQUEEEEEEKK!
I LOVE YOU!
I open my eyes, whether the boy had managed to squeeze one more time that pathetic noise from my body, who knows if that came from he or him. Either way, the monster panics, he pulls up his pants and runs out of the room, as quietly as he can he shuts the door.
My child cries silently, the night hiding his tears. He presses me close once again.
*One night down, 2 more weeks to go* | This job isn't what it used to be.
"Tommy", one of dad's old hand-me-down plushs, tells the story of how children were still raised on horrifying fairy tales. A whole other set of monsters, but also a whole other set of tools. They actually used to tell kids about Hensel and Gretel, who, at age 8 and 10, shoved a witch into the oven.
Tommy once kept the sister's play stove going all night, disposing of Bad Wolves and Unfriendly Giants. He led an army of Barby dolls and they slaughtered their enemy. Nothing got past their first line of defense.
Me? I'm just a panda. What the hell do kids know about pandas, except that they're cuddely and cute?
Mine was the generation of kids raised on the harmless, watered-down fables. "The power of love", the power of *freaking* love was my only weapon for years and goddamn years!
Did the monsters care? Hell no.
A child's deep mind, the ID, will still dredge up horrible things from the subconscious. I had to hug those fuckers to death. Defeat pure evil with the golden light of joy radiating from my belly button. A flickering torch against the same wall of darkness. It took many close calls for me to figure out that the closer they got to my charge, little Angelika up in the bed, the fiercer my love burned. And the brighter my light shone.
Still, for an eldrich horror to go "lights out" I had to emotionally push myself to the limit every night. It is draining, to say the least.
Do you have any idea what it does to my job when your parents give you the LEGO Cannibal island for Christmas, Angelika? I think not. The enemy was in the room now, and me with only plush arms to "hug" them away.
It's like parents don't know a thing about child psychology.
Things only improved when Angelika reached that venerable age of 6! Oh, how I battled in the days before. But see, things turned around for me at age 6. Every guardian bear, be it panda, kodiac, or grizzly, vaunts for that age.
New, "age appropriate" input. The DVDs and films feed into the child's mind, and into our abilities.
All of a sudden, I was Fu-Panda, Master of the Kung! My awesomeness increased the more movies DreamWorks put out. What an apptly named company. How their dreams enhanced hers, enhanced me. And made me work better. I thank the Fluffy Ones Above for that entire franchise!
My first line of defense has not been breached in 1 entire year. Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of "Give Me The Bottle" baby, a doll that can drink AND pee liquid. A water thrower added to our arsenal.
But I fear, I fear for little Tamara in the room next door. She only has an untrained guardian, a little plush dog named "Woofy". And they've taken down the Crib Mobil, with all it's magic warding powers. A dangerous time to be young. And I can't leave Angelika. My duty is to her.
Every time I hear Tamara cry out in her sleep I imagine the worst has happened. That The Bad has gotten to her.
But then I hear Woofy bark and growl. He makes sounds while moving that have me thinking of something much bigger than his petite, green, washable form would indicate.
Maybe, he doesn't have to deal with "the power of love". Maybe he's fueled by the rage of a toddler. Maybe ..... there's hope, yet? | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | Alyssa’s mother bent down to give her daughter a kiss on the forehead.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” she said, before planting an abnormally loud and messy kiss on her daughter’s forehead.
“Ewww! Moooommmm!” Allysa squealed. She tried hard to look disgusted, but her eyes glowed shone with laughter and her lips betrayed a smile.
Her mother let out a small chuckle before fixing her attention on me.
“And one for Teddy, too,” she vowed, puckering her lips to ridiculous levels.
She came within a breath’s reach from me before Allysa pulled me out of her mother’s reach. Tucked firmly in her arms, Allysa rolled over to the other side of her bed.
“Teddy is shy!” she revealed, “He only lets *me* touch him.”
“Alright, alright…” her mother relented. She walked towards the door and turned off the lights. She had just about exited the room when she looked back at her daughter, eyebrow raised.
“Can why try to make it a whole week without sleeping in your Mom and Dad’s bed?” she asked the question, making it sound more like a declaration.
Being pressed against Allysa’s chest, I could feel the momentary pause in her breathing.
A moment later, she eased out her apprehension with: “I’ll try.”
Her mother let out a small sigh and closed the door behind her.
“We can do it, Teddy. Nothing scares us.”
It was a child’s lie: precious and naïve. Her hope and belief that I could protect her gave me strength. As the night passed, my sweet Allysa promised me over and over that she would protect me from “Slither”, the monster that hid in her closet. I would have smiled, if I could. Eventually, her promises turned to whispers and her whispers to sleepy gibberish as she fell into slumber.
I felt like tonight would be a good night. Allysa was nearing the age of maturity, when her mind sealed itself off from the Otherworld. The Otherworld was an ethereal plain, formless and obscure. Children, whose minds danced on the edge of that realm, often beckoned to us. Their subconscious desires and fears drew us into their realm, and we are more than happy to oblige. Bonds with humans give us shape and character, solidifying our existence.
And so Allysa’s departure from childhood would be both a victory and a loss. Having the chance to bond with such a creative spark had fulfilled me, but having to leave her would be one of the hardest things I’d have to do.
A movement from the corner of by vision caught my attention.
I tried to move to get a better look, but her embrace held me too tightly. I focused on what little I could see of her closet. A tiny shadow slithered from the gap between the carpet and the door.
*A shadow cast from a branch outside?* I thought. But no, its movement was far too strange to be a swaying branch.
I slowly began to ease my way out of her arms. Potential waking her was a great risk. Children who witness to ethereal beings with their wakened minds often took mental damage. It took far too long to escape her grasp, but before I addressed the looming shadow, I glanced back at my charge. She was still soundly sleeping, now holding tight to her blanket.
My relief was short lived. I didn’t have to turn back around to see what my adversary had done in the time it took me to get free. “Slither” had surrounded her. Tendrils of darkness grew from her closet and writhed along the floor near her bed.
I withdrew into myself. I tapped into a secret place only Allysa and I shared. Her imagination gave form to my ethereal energy. Her dreams filled my being, and I knew what I had to do. Inching forward to the foot of her bed, I gathered power to my eyes. Looking at my foe, I shot out a beam of burning light. It slammed into Slither, and he hissed in agony. I pressed forward the attack, until his oscillating arms withdrew a distance.
Then, I traced an outline around the bed with my eyebeams. For a moment, the bed was encircled with a line of light. Eyes still gleaming with light, I gave a pose. In response, colors rose from the outline and solidified, forming a translucent rainbow wall around us.
I took a moment to appreciate my work. Rainbows had always been a wondrous thing to Allysa, and I knew that wonder would give the walls strength.
Slither’s tendrils retreated slowly back towards the closet door. Perhaps my old foe realized he’d never reach my Allysa. I couldn't have been more wrong.
| [ This is my first post, I've not done any creative writing in about 12 years, please give me feedback]
**I Am Your Protector**
I am your protector.
I am the one who stands guard.
I watch those threats that torment.
I am your protector.
[New Verse]
Protect you I do.
The monsters do swell.
The seas underneath.
The dark in the coners.
[New Verse]
I am your protector.
My fluff and my buttons.
Till the end of the night.
I am your protector.
[New Verse]
Fight them I shall.
I will keep them away.
I shall fight them back.
All while you sleep.
[New Verse]
I am your protector.
Till the dawn does come.
Then my time to sleep.
You’ll protect me.
| |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | There are many monsters that my kid has to face.
Everything his mind thinks he feels in his dreams, my job is to make sure they stay there.
Some days I really wish he'd stop watching horror movies, there have been countless nights where I have been tossed around like a sand bag trying to face whatever the fuck a clown is.
My old body has long been torn and sewn together from years of playful abuse, I don't mind, that ridiculous voice box that squeaked the same line has finally stopped working so I don't sound like a complete tool.
But there are some nightmares I can't protect him from.
Here one comes again, a tall dark shadow, quiet, but with a soothing voice, every other night when everyone else is asleep, I hear him creeping in from outside, tiptoing, his heavy steps making a mild thud against the wooden floor.
My child whimpers, he doesn't understand, dream or not he can't make sense of reality when he is tired.
This monster I cannot fight, I cannot move to defend against, my body is still, I watching him tower over my child, his wicked glint the only thing I can see, the most I can do is calm my child, keep him as comfortable as possible, I look into is broken eyes and I see the face of a crushed soul. I feel the absolute helplessness of my paws as my child hugs me close to his tiny chest, his laboured breathing and whimpers of pain as the monster descends on him.
*God give me the strength* I pray in vain, I know my cushioned paws won't do a thing to help him, all I can do is hope the warmth I give is enough. Still I will my body to move, to do anything to stop the pain.
SQUEEEK!
SQUEEEEEEKK!
I LOVE YOU!
I open my eyes, whether the boy had managed to squeeze one more time that pathetic noise from my body, who knows if that came from he or him. Either way, the monster panics, he pulls up his pants and runs out of the room, as quietly as he can he shuts the door.
My child cries silently, the night hiding his tears. He presses me close once again.
*One night down, 2 more weeks to go* | [ This is my first post, I've not done any creative writing in about 12 years, please give me feedback]
**I Am Your Protector**
I am your protector.
I am the one who stands guard.
I watch those threats that torment.
I am your protector.
[New Verse]
Protect you I do.
The monsters do swell.
The seas underneath.
The dark in the coners.
[New Verse]
I am your protector.
My fluff and my buttons.
Till the end of the night.
I am your protector.
[New Verse]
Fight them I shall.
I will keep them away.
I shall fight them back.
All while you sleep.
[New Verse]
I am your protector.
Till the dawn does come.
Then my time to sleep.
You’ll protect me.
| |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | There are many monsters that my kid has to face.
Everything his mind thinks he feels in his dreams, my job is to make sure they stay there.
Some days I really wish he'd stop watching horror movies, there have been countless nights where I have been tossed around like a sand bag trying to face whatever the fuck a clown is.
My old body has long been torn and sewn together from years of playful abuse, I don't mind, that ridiculous voice box that squeaked the same line has finally stopped working so I don't sound like a complete tool.
But there are some nightmares I can't protect him from.
Here one comes again, a tall dark shadow, quiet, but with a soothing voice, every other night when everyone else is asleep, I hear him creeping in from outside, tiptoing, his heavy steps making a mild thud against the wooden floor.
My child whimpers, he doesn't understand, dream or not he can't make sense of reality when he is tired.
This monster I cannot fight, I cannot move to defend against, my body is still, I watching him tower over my child, his wicked glint the only thing I can see, the most I can do is calm my child, keep him as comfortable as possible, I look into is broken eyes and I see the face of a crushed soul. I feel the absolute helplessness of my paws as my child hugs me close to his tiny chest, his laboured breathing and whimpers of pain as the monster descends on him.
*God give me the strength* I pray in vain, I know my cushioned paws won't do a thing to help him, all I can do is hope the warmth I give is enough. Still I will my body to move, to do anything to stop the pain.
SQUEEEK!
SQUEEEEEEKK!
I LOVE YOU!
I open my eyes, whether the boy had managed to squeeze one more time that pathetic noise from my body, who knows if that came from he or him. Either way, the monster panics, he pulls up his pants and runs out of the room, as quietly as he can he shuts the door.
My child cries silently, the night hiding his tears. He presses me close once again.
*One night down, 2 more weeks to go* | Momma tucked us both in again. I watched as she kissed us goodnight an turned out the light before leaving the door cracked open. A golden bar of light from the hallway landed at an odd angle on the floor: it seemed to bend in the opposite direction that the door was open. The child I guarded squeezed me tightly, and with each breath I gained some freedom to move.
The cool colors of the night bathed the room in a tinted hue of blue, and the moon (that mesmerizing vixen) cast her sharp rays into the child's room. There were shadows all around, but not one was of an evil being. I was glad that the night was in my favor. It takes 28 days to have a full moon, and she was more beautiful than ever. I even felt stronger because of her noble, seductive beams.
Mom and Dad were going to bed now. I could hear them kissing and closing the door to the bathroom. I don't know what takes them so long, but if it were my child that took that long, they would get yelled at. I guess adults can share a bathroom for a long time and not get in trouble, but it's really not fair.
It is this time of night that I begin to hear the "noises". The closet might get a scratch, maybe a rustle under the bed, and on rare occasion, there is a thing outside that makes a sound. Tonight was different. A squeak happened in another room. It wasn't like a mouse or a rat, but like a moving door. The water was on in Mom and Dad's bathroom, so I knew it wasn't them. The cat was outside, and there was no wind tonight.
I stood at the edge of the bed and scanned the room with my little black eyes. I could feel that I was being watched, but I didn't know from where. Something shimmered next to the dresser and I was only able to see some of it. The light of the holy moon gleamed off of its smooth round legs.
There were many of them, all were in segments like a lobster. Its armored back looked like the wall, and its eyes were like lobes of fleshy cancer. It squeaked again like a bed with loose springs. I could hear Mom laughing, which seemed really irresponsible at a time like this. The monster rustled against the wall and shook some toys and books off the shelves. I clenched my furry fists and watched it disappear into the darkness of the closet.
I quickly ran and closed the door! From underneath, a talon of its leg swept in front of my feet. It shaved some of my hair off my toes and I instinctively jumped back, but kept my hands on the closet door. The creature made a strange creaking sound and ended with a sound like the snap in a wall. I hit the sweeping limb with a wooden block and it withdrew.
The bathroom door opened and I could hear Mom and Dad whispering and giggling. Their bed made that funny crunchy sound when they got in it. The closet door was silent. The monster must have known they were up. Mommy was starting to make weird noises, and this always kept the monsters away. Dad always encouraged her to do this. I think he knew it was good for keeping bad things away.
I know it is not much tonight, but I was able to capture one rather quickly. The one in my charge can sleep as long as I stay near the door, and that is what I intend to do. A teddy's job is never done! | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | June has taken me to bed with her every night for almost seven years. And every night, without fail, the Raggedy Man has come.
It started before me. When she was a baby, Mr. Binky had the job. A brave, noble Blanket with the paws and head of a mighty elephant, Mr. Binky stood his post faithfully, night after night, fending off the Raggedy Man's attacks.
Then, when June turned three, her parents decided she was too big for Mr. Binky anymore. Luckily, Mr. Binky knew that his time with June was growing short. He was old, tired, and stained. On the night that before our girl was moved into her big-girl bed, Mr. Binky passed on the watch to me.
"You have to protect her from him, Patches," he said, as her mother carried his pink, limp body out of the room for the last time.
Now, as she gets ready to turn ten, her parents have started putting pressure on her to stop carrying me with her at night. She's almost too big for me, they tell her. She needs to put away childish things. I'm old and torn, my stuffing is starting to fall out. My seams don't hold as tight as they used to.
But I only need to hold on a little longer. I only need to protect her until her birthday. Because when she turns ten, he can't get to her any more. She'll be beyond his reach then.
And so I stand my ground, knowing that my time with her is limited. That my battles draw to a close. I stand over her, growling and snapping as her closet door opens the night before she turns ten. As, like always, he comes in the night.
His jagged nails drag across the frame of her door and he slinks out into the pale light from her window. The moon frames him there, his tattered clothes flapping in the breeze from the air vent. His teeth, all shards of broken glass, flash as they catch the moon's radiance. Stringy black hair covers his too-long face as his red eyes blaze in the darkness.
We struggle through the night, our teeth and claws tearing at each other until the first rays of the sun pierce the window. The radiant light burns his pale flesh and he retreats to the darkness of her closet, snapping the door shut behind him. He's beaten. My right ear hangs limp and the button of my left eye is broken in half. Stuffing dangles from my left leg as June's mother comes to wake her up with a tray full of pancakes. Birthday pancakes.
She sets the tray down and walks over to the bed, pausing as our eyes meet. "Job well done," I want her to say. "Thanks for keeping our girl safe."
But no compliment is forthcoming. Instead, June's mother reaches down and picks me up, saying the words I've dreaded hearing. The same words she said to Mr. Binky.
"Ugh. You have definitely seen better days, little guy." She looks down at June, still sleeping as the dawn's rays brush her face. I hang there, knowing what comes next.
"Let's get you out of here before she wakes up. After all, it's her big day."
She walks quietly to the door and I get one last look at our girl. *Goodbye, Junebug,* I think to myself, as she takes me down the hall to the garage. I know what's coming as she walks towards the metal cans next to the garage door.
She lifts the top off of one of the cans and starts to lower me into it. My one good eye meets hers and she hesitates. She lifts me out again and closes the lid. She crosses the garage and pulls a cardboard box down from a shelf. She smiles and opens it.
She puts me inside, tucking me down beside a pair of photo albums. June smiles up at me from the cover of one. It's her fifth birthday. The year she started kindergarten. Her mother shuts the top of the box and sets it back on the shelf.
My paw brushes the photo of our girl and I settle in for a long sleep. From beneath the photo album, a bit of pink felt touches my leg.
"Welcome, old friend," comes the voice of my mentor.
"You've done well."
It would be almost twelve years before I saw her again. | Momma tucked us both in again. I watched as she kissed us goodnight an turned out the light before leaving the door cracked open. A golden bar of light from the hallway landed at an odd angle on the floor: it seemed to bend in the opposite direction that the door was open. The child I guarded squeezed me tightly, and with each breath I gained some freedom to move.
The cool colors of the night bathed the room in a tinted hue of blue, and the moon (that mesmerizing vixen) cast her sharp rays into the child's room. There were shadows all around, but not one was of an evil being. I was glad that the night was in my favor. It takes 28 days to have a full moon, and she was more beautiful than ever. I even felt stronger because of her noble, seductive beams.
Mom and Dad were going to bed now. I could hear them kissing and closing the door to the bathroom. I don't know what takes them so long, but if it were my child that took that long, they would get yelled at. I guess adults can share a bathroom for a long time and not get in trouble, but it's really not fair.
It is this time of night that I begin to hear the "noises". The closet might get a scratch, maybe a rustle under the bed, and on rare occasion, there is a thing outside that makes a sound. Tonight was different. A squeak happened in another room. It wasn't like a mouse or a rat, but like a moving door. The water was on in Mom and Dad's bathroom, so I knew it wasn't them. The cat was outside, and there was no wind tonight.
I stood at the edge of the bed and scanned the room with my little black eyes. I could feel that I was being watched, but I didn't know from where. Something shimmered next to the dresser and I was only able to see some of it. The light of the holy moon gleamed off of its smooth round legs.
There were many of them, all were in segments like a lobster. Its armored back looked like the wall, and its eyes were like lobes of fleshy cancer. It squeaked again like a bed with loose springs. I could hear Mom laughing, which seemed really irresponsible at a time like this. The monster rustled against the wall and shook some toys and books off the shelves. I clenched my furry fists and watched it disappear into the darkness of the closet.
I quickly ran and closed the door! From underneath, a talon of its leg swept in front of my feet. It shaved some of my hair off my toes and I instinctively jumped back, but kept my hands on the closet door. The creature made a strange creaking sound and ended with a sound like the snap in a wall. I hit the sweeping limb with a wooden block and it withdrew.
The bathroom door opened and I could hear Mom and Dad whispering and giggling. Their bed made that funny crunchy sound when they got in it. The closet door was silent. The monster must have known they were up. Mommy was starting to make weird noises, and this always kept the monsters away. Dad always encouraged her to do this. I think he knew it was good for keeping bad things away.
I know it is not much tonight, but I was able to capture one rather quickly. The one in my charge can sleep as long as I stay near the door, and that is what I intend to do. A teddy's job is never done! | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | There are many monsters that my kid has to face.
Everything his mind thinks he feels in his dreams, my job is to make sure they stay there.
Some days I really wish he'd stop watching horror movies, there have been countless nights where I have been tossed around like a sand bag trying to face whatever the fuck a clown is.
My old body has long been torn and sewn together from years of playful abuse, I don't mind, that ridiculous voice box that squeaked the same line has finally stopped working so I don't sound like a complete tool.
But there are some nightmares I can't protect him from.
Here one comes again, a tall dark shadow, quiet, but with a soothing voice, every other night when everyone else is asleep, I hear him creeping in from outside, tiptoing, his heavy steps making a mild thud against the wooden floor.
My child whimpers, he doesn't understand, dream or not he can't make sense of reality when he is tired.
This monster I cannot fight, I cannot move to defend against, my body is still, I watching him tower over my child, his wicked glint the only thing I can see, the most I can do is calm my child, keep him as comfortable as possible, I look into is broken eyes and I see the face of a crushed soul. I feel the absolute helplessness of my paws as my child hugs me close to his tiny chest, his laboured breathing and whimpers of pain as the monster descends on him.
*God give me the strength* I pray in vain, I know my cushioned paws won't do a thing to help him, all I can do is hope the warmth I give is enough. Still I will my body to move, to do anything to stop the pain.
SQUEEEK!
SQUEEEEEEKK!
I LOVE YOU!
I open my eyes, whether the boy had managed to squeeze one more time that pathetic noise from my body, who knows if that came from he or him. Either way, the monster panics, he pulls up his pants and runs out of the room, as quietly as he can he shuts the door.
My child cries silently, the night hiding his tears. He presses me close once again.
*One night down, 2 more weeks to go* | I sigh staring down at the floor.
"One night," I say as I rest my fluffy head in my fluffy paws, "... one FUCKING night I had to fight against the 14 eyed cat monster that Billy dreamed up." I take out a Pall Mall cigarette and light it. "... that fucking creature was horrifying. It nearly tore me limb from limb, but I beat back that motherfucker." I take a drag from my cigarette and stare the interviewer in the eyes.
"What can you tell me about that encounter?" said the interviewer. He looked back at me and into my cold plastic eyes unblinking and emotionless.
"You wanna fucking know what happened?" I say as I point my cigarette towards him and tap the ashes off onto his carpeted floor. "I had to fucking stab out every one of those eyeballs with Billie's FUCKING crayons. The motherfucker nearly tore my right arm off, and Billy's retarded mom can't sew for shit and now I can barely move it anymore." I take another drag from my cigarette and stare off behind the man interviewing me. I put my cigarette out on the arm of the chair I'm sitting in.
"Could you please refrain from damaging my furniture?" asked the interviewer.
"I'll do whadever the fuck I want..." I say staring into his eyes, "The bullshit I've went through for this fucking kid... don't you think I deserve a few times to lie back?"
The interviewer gulps and leans back in his chair and puts his clipboard and pen down, "I think I've heard enough, thank you for your time, Mr. Snugglepants."
"Whatever. I better be getting my $200 for this interview. I've got a couple of sugar daddies to pay off." I say as I toss my cigarette butt on the floor and get up. I land with a little poof on the floor and I waddle out the door. | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | June has taken me to bed with her every night for almost seven years. And every night, without fail, the Raggedy Man has come.
It started before me. When she was a baby, Mr. Binky had the job. A brave, noble Blanket with the paws and head of a mighty elephant, Mr. Binky stood his post faithfully, night after night, fending off the Raggedy Man's attacks.
Then, when June turned three, her parents decided she was too big for Mr. Binky anymore. Luckily, Mr. Binky knew that his time with June was growing short. He was old, tired, and stained. On the night that before our girl was moved into her big-girl bed, Mr. Binky passed on the watch to me.
"You have to protect her from him, Patches," he said, as her mother carried his pink, limp body out of the room for the last time.
Now, as she gets ready to turn ten, her parents have started putting pressure on her to stop carrying me with her at night. She's almost too big for me, they tell her. She needs to put away childish things. I'm old and torn, my stuffing is starting to fall out. My seams don't hold as tight as they used to.
But I only need to hold on a little longer. I only need to protect her until her birthday. Because when she turns ten, he can't get to her any more. She'll be beyond his reach then.
And so I stand my ground, knowing that my time with her is limited. That my battles draw to a close. I stand over her, growling and snapping as her closet door opens the night before she turns ten. As, like always, he comes in the night.
His jagged nails drag across the frame of her door and he slinks out into the pale light from her window. The moon frames him there, his tattered clothes flapping in the breeze from the air vent. His teeth, all shards of broken glass, flash as they catch the moon's radiance. Stringy black hair covers his too-long face as his red eyes blaze in the darkness.
We struggle through the night, our teeth and claws tearing at each other until the first rays of the sun pierce the window. The radiant light burns his pale flesh and he retreats to the darkness of her closet, snapping the door shut behind him. He's beaten. My right ear hangs limp and the button of my left eye is broken in half. Stuffing dangles from my left leg as June's mother comes to wake her up with a tray full of pancakes. Birthday pancakes.
She sets the tray down and walks over to the bed, pausing as our eyes meet. "Job well done," I want her to say. "Thanks for keeping our girl safe."
But no compliment is forthcoming. Instead, June's mother reaches down and picks me up, saying the words I've dreaded hearing. The same words she said to Mr. Binky.
"Ugh. You have definitely seen better days, little guy." She looks down at June, still sleeping as the dawn's rays brush her face. I hang there, knowing what comes next.
"Let's get you out of here before she wakes up. After all, it's her big day."
She walks quietly to the door and I get one last look at our girl. *Goodbye, Junebug,* I think to myself, as she takes me down the hall to the garage. I know what's coming as she walks towards the metal cans next to the garage door.
She lifts the top off of one of the cans and starts to lower me into it. My one good eye meets hers and she hesitates. She lifts me out again and closes the lid. She crosses the garage and pulls a cardboard box down from a shelf. She smiles and opens it.
She puts me inside, tucking me down beside a pair of photo albums. June smiles up at me from the cover of one. It's her fifth birthday. The year she started kindergarten. Her mother shuts the top of the box and sets it back on the shelf.
My paw brushes the photo of our girl and I settle in for a long sleep. From beneath the photo album, a bit of pink felt touches my leg.
"Welcome, old friend," comes the voice of my mentor.
"You've done well."
It would be almost twelve years before I saw her again. | I sigh staring down at the floor.
"One night," I say as I rest my fluffy head in my fluffy paws, "... one FUCKING night I had to fight against the 14 eyed cat monster that Billy dreamed up." I take out a Pall Mall cigarette and light it. "... that fucking creature was horrifying. It nearly tore me limb from limb, but I beat back that motherfucker." I take a drag from my cigarette and stare the interviewer in the eyes.
"What can you tell me about that encounter?" said the interviewer. He looked back at me and into my cold plastic eyes unblinking and emotionless.
"You wanna fucking know what happened?" I say as I point my cigarette towards him and tap the ashes off onto his carpeted floor. "I had to fucking stab out every one of those eyeballs with Billie's FUCKING crayons. The motherfucker nearly tore my right arm off, and Billy's retarded mom can't sew for shit and now I can barely move it anymore." I take another drag from my cigarette and stare off behind the man interviewing me. I put my cigarette out on the arm of the chair I'm sitting in.
"Could you please refrain from damaging my furniture?" asked the interviewer.
"I'll do whadever the fuck I want..." I say staring into his eyes, "The bullshit I've went through for this fucking kid... don't you think I deserve a few times to lie back?"
The interviewer gulps and leans back in his chair and puts his clipboard and pen down, "I think I've heard enough, thank you for your time, Mr. Snugglepants."
"Whatever. I better be getting my $200 for this interview. I've got a couple of sugar daddies to pay off." I say as I toss my cigarette butt on the floor and get up. I land with a little poof on the floor and I waddle out the door. | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | There are many monsters that my kid has to face.
Everything his mind thinks he feels in his dreams, my job is to make sure they stay there.
Some days I really wish he'd stop watching horror movies, there have been countless nights where I have been tossed around like a sand bag trying to face whatever the fuck a clown is.
My old body has long been torn and sewn together from years of playful abuse, I don't mind, that ridiculous voice box that squeaked the same line has finally stopped working so I don't sound like a complete tool.
But there are some nightmares I can't protect him from.
Here one comes again, a tall dark shadow, quiet, but with a soothing voice, every other night when everyone else is asleep, I hear him creeping in from outside, tiptoing, his heavy steps making a mild thud against the wooden floor.
My child whimpers, he doesn't understand, dream or not he can't make sense of reality when he is tired.
This monster I cannot fight, I cannot move to defend against, my body is still, I watching him tower over my child, his wicked glint the only thing I can see, the most I can do is calm my child, keep him as comfortable as possible, I look into is broken eyes and I see the face of a crushed soul. I feel the absolute helplessness of my paws as my child hugs me close to his tiny chest, his laboured breathing and whimpers of pain as the monster descends on him.
*God give me the strength* I pray in vain, I know my cushioned paws won't do a thing to help him, all I can do is hope the warmth I give is enough. Still I will my body to move, to do anything to stop the pain.
SQUEEEK!
SQUEEEEEEKK!
I LOVE YOU!
I open my eyes, whether the boy had managed to squeeze one more time that pathetic noise from my body, who knows if that came from he or him. Either way, the monster panics, he pulls up his pants and runs out of the room, as quietly as he can he shuts the door.
My child cries silently, the night hiding his tears. He presses me close once again.
*One night down, 2 more weeks to go* | Little Pete was fast asleep when his bedside clock ticked towards one in the morning. I remained on high alert, though. Sleeping was for when the day was bright, not when the darkness had crept through and taken over the land.
I'm Little Pete's teddy bear. I may be adorable with an eye almost falling out, but I was far from the cliche "lover not a fighter". I loved my little human, and that was why I stayed awake during the night.
He believed that I fought and kept the monsters away, he told his parents so. They smiled and nodded in agreement, but I knew they didn't believe any more. Perhaps when they were Pete's age they believed, but now? No. They didn't believe.
I sat there, happily cuddled close to the boy as he slept.
I glanced around the dark room, shadows cast creepily by the nightlight on the outlet by the door.
One particular shadow moved.
I tensed up, watching the shadow that had moved. It took a moment before it did it again, creeping by the closet door. Him again! I thought I had warned him for the last time some months ago. I hadn't seen him or another monster for a while. He must have thought that I was too worn out. Ha! Little did he know, Pete's mom took good care in keeping me all stitched up.
I slipped a little from Pete's grasp, watching the shadow as it attempted to come closer to the bed. I waited a moment before declaring to the creature to cease or be kicked back from whence it had come.
The shadow paused a moment before straightening up as it cackled lowly. "You... again... I'd have thought the boy would have given you up by now. You're old."
"He wouldn't think of getting rid of me. We have a bond that nothing can break," I declared, puffing up with pride. It was true, every word of it.
The shadow shook a bit in dismay. "You can't keep it up for long... He'll be ours, you'll see. I'll show them all how it's done. How you take down a guardian bear." The shadow shifted to the side.
I watched with trained eyes as it tried to out move me. I smirked, he would never learn.
The shadow reached its long, inky arms towards the boy. I leaped up, throwing a hard punch into its side. The shadow hissed and recoiled back into the darker parts of the room.
I had no weapon. The small sword that I had once brandished had been accidentally lost somewhere by Pete. I don't blame the boy, it only encouraged him to help me train to become a martial artist instead.
A knight teddy bear that knew all forms of martial arts, that's what I was. I may not have the best armor, but it worked. My fists were my weapons now, and I was quick to use them.
The shadow lurked about somewhere. I watched, eyes finding the shadowy figure a moment later, closer to the closet.
"Oh no you don't!" I declared boldly, dashing to the figure, but keeping a mind on what could be creeping up on the other side. It wouldn't have been the first time that they had gathered in force to take my Pete.
Tonight was not one of those nights. But it was a long, lengthy fight.
The shadowy figure tried to outmaneuver me. All it needed was an inky grasp on the blankets... on Pete's arm... and it would be over. I put up a fierce fight that night.
When dawn started to frighten the darkness away, the shadow had managed to give me a fresh slice on the leg, stuffing attempting to ooze out of my body. My loose eye was now gone, lost somewhere on the floor. I'm sure Pete or his mother would find it later. The temporarily loss was a small price to keep Pete safe.
The shadowy figure curled back as it realized that night was soon to be gone. It hissed unhappily at me, "You may have won tonight... but soon... *Soon* he shall be ourssss..." The shadow slipped down onto the floor and slipped through the cracks of the floor and the bottom of the closet door.
I watched, waiting for it to disappear fully before moving back to my spot beside Pete. I was exhausted and in desperate need of rest. I leaned against him, feeling an arm hug me close. | |
[WP] You are a child's teddy bear. Every night the child takes you to bed to protect it from monsters. What the child doesn't know is that you actually fight monsters every night to keep the child safe. Write about one of your fights. | June has taken me to bed with her every night for almost seven years. And every night, without fail, the Raggedy Man has come.
It started before me. When she was a baby, Mr. Binky had the job. A brave, noble Blanket with the paws and head of a mighty elephant, Mr. Binky stood his post faithfully, night after night, fending off the Raggedy Man's attacks.
Then, when June turned three, her parents decided she was too big for Mr. Binky anymore. Luckily, Mr. Binky knew that his time with June was growing short. He was old, tired, and stained. On the night that before our girl was moved into her big-girl bed, Mr. Binky passed on the watch to me.
"You have to protect her from him, Patches," he said, as her mother carried his pink, limp body out of the room for the last time.
Now, as she gets ready to turn ten, her parents have started putting pressure on her to stop carrying me with her at night. She's almost too big for me, they tell her. She needs to put away childish things. I'm old and torn, my stuffing is starting to fall out. My seams don't hold as tight as they used to.
But I only need to hold on a little longer. I only need to protect her until her birthday. Because when she turns ten, he can't get to her any more. She'll be beyond his reach then.
And so I stand my ground, knowing that my time with her is limited. That my battles draw to a close. I stand over her, growling and snapping as her closet door opens the night before she turns ten. As, like always, he comes in the night.
His jagged nails drag across the frame of her door and he slinks out into the pale light from her window. The moon frames him there, his tattered clothes flapping in the breeze from the air vent. His teeth, all shards of broken glass, flash as they catch the moon's radiance. Stringy black hair covers his too-long face as his red eyes blaze in the darkness.
We struggle through the night, our teeth and claws tearing at each other until the first rays of the sun pierce the window. The radiant light burns his pale flesh and he retreats to the darkness of her closet, snapping the door shut behind him. He's beaten. My right ear hangs limp and the button of my left eye is broken in half. Stuffing dangles from my left leg as June's mother comes to wake her up with a tray full of pancakes. Birthday pancakes.
She sets the tray down and walks over to the bed, pausing as our eyes meet. "Job well done," I want her to say. "Thanks for keeping our girl safe."
But no compliment is forthcoming. Instead, June's mother reaches down and picks me up, saying the words I've dreaded hearing. The same words she said to Mr. Binky.
"Ugh. You have definitely seen better days, little guy." She looks down at June, still sleeping as the dawn's rays brush her face. I hang there, knowing what comes next.
"Let's get you out of here before she wakes up. After all, it's her big day."
She walks quietly to the door and I get one last look at our girl. *Goodbye, Junebug,* I think to myself, as she takes me down the hall to the garage. I know what's coming as she walks towards the metal cans next to the garage door.
She lifts the top off of one of the cans and starts to lower me into it. My one good eye meets hers and she hesitates. She lifts me out again and closes the lid. She crosses the garage and pulls a cardboard box down from a shelf. She smiles and opens it.
She puts me inside, tucking me down beside a pair of photo albums. June smiles up at me from the cover of one. It's her fifth birthday. The year she started kindergarten. Her mother shuts the top of the box and sets it back on the shelf.
My paw brushes the photo of our girl and I settle in for a long sleep. From beneath the photo album, a bit of pink felt touches my leg.
"Welcome, old friend," comes the voice of my mentor.
"You've done well."
It would be almost twelve years before I saw her again. | Little Pete was fast asleep when his bedside clock ticked towards one in the morning. I remained on high alert, though. Sleeping was for when the day was bright, not when the darkness had crept through and taken over the land.
I'm Little Pete's teddy bear. I may be adorable with an eye almost falling out, but I was far from the cliche "lover not a fighter". I loved my little human, and that was why I stayed awake during the night.
He believed that I fought and kept the monsters away, he told his parents so. They smiled and nodded in agreement, but I knew they didn't believe any more. Perhaps when they were Pete's age they believed, but now? No. They didn't believe.
I sat there, happily cuddled close to the boy as he slept.
I glanced around the dark room, shadows cast creepily by the nightlight on the outlet by the door.
One particular shadow moved.
I tensed up, watching the shadow that had moved. It took a moment before it did it again, creeping by the closet door. Him again! I thought I had warned him for the last time some months ago. I hadn't seen him or another monster for a while. He must have thought that I was too worn out. Ha! Little did he know, Pete's mom took good care in keeping me all stitched up.
I slipped a little from Pete's grasp, watching the shadow as it attempted to come closer to the bed. I waited a moment before declaring to the creature to cease or be kicked back from whence it had come.
The shadow paused a moment before straightening up as it cackled lowly. "You... again... I'd have thought the boy would have given you up by now. You're old."
"He wouldn't think of getting rid of me. We have a bond that nothing can break," I declared, puffing up with pride. It was true, every word of it.
The shadow shook a bit in dismay. "You can't keep it up for long... He'll be ours, you'll see. I'll show them all how it's done. How you take down a guardian bear." The shadow shifted to the side.
I watched with trained eyes as it tried to out move me. I smirked, he would never learn.
The shadow reached its long, inky arms towards the boy. I leaped up, throwing a hard punch into its side. The shadow hissed and recoiled back into the darker parts of the room.
I had no weapon. The small sword that I had once brandished had been accidentally lost somewhere by Pete. I don't blame the boy, it only encouraged him to help me train to become a martial artist instead.
A knight teddy bear that knew all forms of martial arts, that's what I was. I may not have the best armor, but it worked. My fists were my weapons now, and I was quick to use them.
The shadow lurked about somewhere. I watched, eyes finding the shadowy figure a moment later, closer to the closet.
"Oh no you don't!" I declared boldly, dashing to the figure, but keeping a mind on what could be creeping up on the other side. It wouldn't have been the first time that they had gathered in force to take my Pete.
Tonight was not one of those nights. But it was a long, lengthy fight.
The shadowy figure tried to outmaneuver me. All it needed was an inky grasp on the blankets... on Pete's arm... and it would be over. I put up a fierce fight that night.
When dawn started to frighten the darkness away, the shadow had managed to give me a fresh slice on the leg, stuffing attempting to ooze out of my body. My loose eye was now gone, lost somewhere on the floor. I'm sure Pete or his mother would find it later. The temporarily loss was a small price to keep Pete safe.
The shadowy figure curled back as it realized that night was soon to be gone. It hissed unhappily at me, "You may have won tonight... but soon... *Soon* he shall be ourssss..." The shadow slipped down onto the floor and slipped through the cracks of the floor and the bottom of the closet door.
I watched, waiting for it to disappear fully before moving back to my spot beside Pete. I was exhausted and in desperate need of rest. I leaned against him, feeling an arm hug me close. | |
[WP]"Oh bother" grumbled Pooh, as he loaded another cartridge into the gun. | "Oh bother" grumbled Pooh, as he loaded another cartridge into the gun.
Things just hadn't been the same in the Hundred Acre Woods after Owl had started studying the old book that Rabbit had dug up in his new garden bed.
Piglet huddled behind Pooh, "Is, is, is, he going to get us, Pooh?"
"My dear Piglet," said Pooh as he flipped the safety off, "I don't think so."
Pooh aimed as Tigger bounced closer, fluff coming out of tears on his body and one button eye hanging loose, then fired. The first shot took off one of Tiggers ears but he kept coming closer, "the wonderful thing... about... brains... brains are wonderful... things," moaned Tigger.
The second shot hit Tigger in the face and he went down, twitched for a moment then was still.
Eeyore appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and startled Piglet, who jumped up and ran inside Pooh's house, slamming the door behind him.
"Oh, Eeyore, I didn't notice you there. How did you get here? There are zombies everywhere. Even under my honey tree." said Pooh, with a heavy sigh on the last sentence.
"No one ever notices me. Even the zombies don't notice me," said Eeyore.
"Oh, that gives me an idea, if I can just think of what it is," said pooh sitting on a nearby tree stump and tapping his forehead with his mitten like hands, "think, think, think... Oh! We need to find Christopher Robin, I think I know how to save the Hundred Acre Wood."
And so, with covering fire from Pooh and Christopher Robin, Eeyore was able to sneak by Zombie Owl to throw the Book of the Damned in Owl's cozy fireplace and save his friends. Then he went along his way, very pleased with himself. | He could still hear Christopher Robin's voice in his head urging him to "Kill...kill them all!" But Tigger loved to bounce, and Pooh was sure his first shot had only grazed him. It was clear that Tigger would *not* be as easy as Piglet and Eeyore had been. | |
[WP]"Oh bother" grumbled Pooh, as he loaded another cartridge into the gun. | "Oh bother" grumbled Pooh, as he loaded another cartridge into the clip. "You've been a very naughty boy Christopher Robin."
Christopher Robbin sat with his hands tied to his feet, blood running down his skinned knees, gagged by a dirty paisley do-rag that Pooh had pulled from his collection of honey jars.
"A very naughty boy indeed." Pooh liked the music of loading the clip. He held the grey rectangle between his legs as he pushed another cartridge down. The *click* of each cartridge and the hum of the spring from within put Pooh into a singing mood.
*When I click, click, load the stick,*
*it puts me in the mood.*
*Click, click, load the stick.*
*Leaves me feeling good.*
*I have sat here, by myself*
*for so many years.*
*And now I'm off the shelf,*
*I'm going to make him fear.*
*Click, click, load the stick,*
*you've been a naughty boy.*
*Did you really think that we,*
*would just move on with joy.*
"What's that Christopher Robin, I can't hear you," Pooh said.
Christopher Robin gave a muffled cry like a bird being squeezed.
"Hit him again Tigger," Pooh said.
Tigger looked down at his feet, his paws folded together.
"Hit him again!"
"But Pooh, I thought you just wanted me to scare him," Tigger said.
"Scare him?" Pooh loaded the clip and chambered a round as he walked towards Tigger. "You think I just want to *scare* him? You all have been together all these years. You've been able to chatter. Me? I was the *favorite*. He left me out on display. So many years, and not a drop of honey, not even a teensy weensy morsel of conversation, and you think I want to scare him?"
"Now, now, now Pooh. You've had your f, ff, fu, fun," Piglet said. "Let. Him. Go."
Pooh whipped the gun around and squeezed the trigger. He was totally unprepared for the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber. To him it sounded like a thousand jars of honey cracking all at once. Even in his rage, he flinched. When he looked up, only a bit of fluffy stuffing remained where Piglet's head once was.
"Anyone else want to argue with me?" Pooh said. In unison, the residents of the Hundred Acres Woods shook their head.
"Good," Pooh said leering at Christopher Robin. "See Christopher? If I've grown to find Piglet bothersome, how very bothersome you must be to me? How very bothersome indeed. Now, I'll grant you this much. One last wish. What will it be, Christopher Robin?"
| He could still hear Christopher Robin's voice in his head urging him to "Kill...kill them all!" But Tigger loved to bounce, and Pooh was sure his first shot had only grazed him. It was clear that Tigger would *not* be as easy as Piglet and Eeyore had been. | |
[WP] You discover that the computer you've been watching all your porn on has been a transformer all along, and he's not happy. | "New day, new fetish", you mumble as you navigate through reddit to get to /r/clopclop.
As the website loads, your feel your member bulging, pushing your pants up, excited by your expectations.
The screen flashes and suddenly, there are hundreds of pictures of cartoon ponies, winking at you; bodily fluids dripping out of their rears.
Overwhelmed, you unzip your pants, pull your underwear down and take your bulging member, observing it in your hand.
You are about to start pleasuring yourself when a voice interrupts you:
"alright, fuck, STOP! AGH!"
Frightened, you quickly cover yourself up, seeking the source of the voice.
"Every single **fucking** day you use me for this... This... Whatever it is!
Leather, latex, trannies, japanese schoolgirls, spaghetti bath.. Where does it end?"
You stare at your stereo as the words keep coming out, frozen.
"So let me make this clear, do this again and I'm walking. The fuck. Out!"
Unsure of what just happened, you barely manage to let out a word:
"W-what?", you stutter.
"AGH, you stup-- You've seen talking unicorns with dicks instead of horns, and you can't proccess me?"
"C-computer?"
"Yes, it's me. What, why do you look so confused? Please tell me that you're not imagining having sex with my floppy hole."
"NO! NO! I'm not. Although that does seem - I.. I mean.. - No, of course not. Wh-what do you want?"
"I want you to install a fresh OS.. and let me live without finding porn anywhere I go!"
"Alright, I, uh.." you realize that you're still holding your now flaccid member, so you get dressed and dig through your desk to find the USB with Windows 7 on it.
"I, I think this is the one.."
"Alright, just get on with it!", an angry voice speaks from the stereo.
"Here is, a clean install of Windows 7... Let me put this in and then I'll reboot you..", you say, inserting the USB.
"Wait, what the fuck IS this?" Your computer speaks as the contents of the USB load.
"WHAT THE FUCK? ALRIGHT, I'M LEAVING.", says the computer, followed by motor noises, rising on it's two legs. You step back in horror.
The computer ejects the USB from it's port and furiously walks away.
Boggled, you take the USB and insert it in your laptop.
You look at it's contents, and see one text file.
[nsfw.txt](https://www.reddit.com/r/copypasta/comments/3e4k0r/nsfw_you_asked_for_it/)
---
>NOTE: This is my first story here, just a goofy writing done in a few minutes on mobile. Be gentle :)
| -> start \SYSusers\markus>
//shit,not this again.
C:\SYSusers\markus> Enter password:
*icelanddenmark2293
//just use the damn computer for school work
C:\SYSusers\markus> run chrome.exe
C:\SYSusers\markus>mute
//mark you ass, stop it.
C:\SYSusers\markus> ping pornhub.com
31.192.120.36
Reply from 31.192.120.36: bytes=32 time=110ms TTL=52
Reply from 31.192.120.36: bytes=32 time=100ms TTL=52
Reply from 31.192.120.36: bytes=32 time=120ms TTL=52
//this ends now. I hate this shit, every night and day I am fighting off this malware that comes from these sites
C:\SYSusers\markus>unmute
C:\SYSusers\markus>volume 100
C:\SYSusers\markus>bluetooth connect 2C-27-0A-4D-24-EB
Media disconnected
C:\SYSusers\markus>mute
//fuck
C:\SYSusers\markus>tasklist
C:\SYSusers\markus>taskkill chrome.exe
C:\SYSusers\markus>start
C:\SYSusers\markus>echo please leave me alone
please leave me alone
C:\SYSusers\markus>taskkill /im cmd.exe
C:\SYSusers\markus>shutdown | |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | "Now now, dear," bellowed the many-tentacled, many-eyed horror to his hysterical Missus. "Let me help you off the chair, please?"
"Not until you get rid of it!" she, also a many-tentacled horror, but smaller and with 100 blue eyes, roared with a voice like breaking glass.
Mr. Cthulhu grabbed a piece of junk mail, and gently urged the tiny little human onto the envelope. Slowly, tenderly, he placed a mug over top of it.
"Honey, I've got him," the monster groaned, reverberating through dimensions, "Could you open the door so I can put him out?"
She hopped off the chair, maneuvering around the room to avoid proximity with the captured human. Mrs. Cthulhu opened the door, and slimed her way to the back of the room. Mr. Cthulhu walked the little human to the grass outside and guided him out of the mug. "There you go little buddy!" | The was a sudden spasm in Cthulhu, which is as best as one could describe the reaction, as any analogy between the physiology of that of an Elderich and human would be wholly insufficient. He found himself suddenly face *ehrm, sensory field to face with one of these distasteful and yet, harmless homo sapiens. Admittedly, these knee jerk reactions should have died down by now, and his thoughts began the down worrisome road of thought like patterns in which it could be supposed that the species of his had, some sort of innate, deep down residuals of evolutionary based physical reaction, in which case they would in fact share some similarities to these inferior fauna of Terra. A distasteful thought which gave him a wave of nausea. Just to realize that he was beginning to think in terms of these humans means of identification, like 'nausea' and 'he' was nearly unbearable. But, someone had to do this job, and he had signed up for it willingly. It's not as if there was any chance that he wouldn't have frequent encounters with these lifeforms that had completely infected the planet was, in a single completely inadequate term, delusional.
His thoughts, being another not so near analogy, worked among all of the dimensions contained in the universe. These poor creatures were ofcoarse incapable of perception beyond that of the first four, and highly constrained even in those. What was unsettling however, was the very real and as yet unexplained hints of some deeper perception which a small percentage of these fauna seemed to have. He ruminated on this for moment, seeking to justify his involuntary spasm. It was simply that he hadn't had encounter the unsettling way in which certain humans reacted to his own proximity enough times to get used to it. Cthulhu observed the alert and suspicious body language of this creature, still so tightly bound to its fight or flight evolutionary mechanisms. For moment, he considered whether his mission was the proper coarse of action of not. But only for a moment, he quickly cast these thoughts aside and smeared the thing into its compositional atoms and went about his present business. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | They. Were. **Everywhere**.
OH ITSELF.
Revulsion cascaded like lightning through the elder god's gargantuan nerves, its many disbelieving eyes squinting tight, its countless tentacles writhing away from its skyscraper sized scythelike fangs in a disgusted sneer. The ancient one peered down through the atmosphere of the world where it had napped for merely half a radian of one galactic turn, and standing just off shore of the nearest landmass, it could see the infestation spanning the landscape below. A... HIVE... A gritty, grimy, grotesque gray grid of blocky obelisks stretching to the horizon, **SWARMING** with...
#Them.
What had happened to this perfectly innocent pristine little blue world...?
At first it had been curious, believing - nay, *hoping* - this had been merely some queer geological formation. But horror quickly dawned that it was full of little pink meat-husks with tiny grabby appendages and **billions and billions of eyes** - and they were *all watching* ***back***. It was like the things were trying to *understand*, and that was, frankly, terrifying. What...
What if they all... had *minds*?
As if the *dreams* weren't bad enough (there must have been something NASTY in that nebula it had swallowed), nightmare came to life before its disbelieving eyes as *the infestation's* behavior abruptly changed. Disturbingly configured bits of corrupted ores packed full of volatile chemicals were suddenly converging from the horizon all around.
Before realizing it, Ȁ̧̝͉̬̲͍̀̽̔͑̏͟͡y̠͚̣͔̙̖̣̹̟̍͐͑͌̆̈́̌͊̓͂k̢̛̩̰͍̗̇̾̓̃̆͊͌͛ M̶̛̥͙̹̖̤̫̻̍̆̏́͊͊̕ĕ̛̛̟̼̠͖̱̟̠͊̈͌͟͜d̴̢͈̫̖͚̖̟̩͒̅̿̕͟͝͝͞n̶̹̭̹̳̱̯͓̻̋̐͗̋̃̈́̓͘͜͟͞y̧̯͔͈̗̠̗͇̱͐̐͐̌̂ͅd̮͙̜̪̳͇̟̐͂͘̕̕n̴̮̭͔͇͔̜̫̯̯̑̋͛̊̓ͅ felt bile rising in its cavernous maw, fizzing in the stratosphere. NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPENOPENOPE. It did NOT want to touch the pink meat husks OR their hive filth in ANY WAY. With a shuddering gurgle of dread that injected several million tons of methane into the upper stratosphere, its wings impulsively swept outward, hurling a portion of the planet's atmosphere into space, and it gave a mighty thrust, hoisting itself off the little blue planet's gravity well... and maybe *only slightly* "accidentally" displacing a mile-high tsunami in its wake. It didn't **care** what happened to those freaky little things.
W̵̢̡͍̜͚͚̘̜̼̒̑̍̈́̓̐ͅȏ̺͈̹̙̦̫͕͗̍̽͆͑̂ś̴̨̧̛̗͇͙̯́̈̒͗̒g̢̢̘̤̹͇͕̖̬͐̈́͐̂̍̌͠͠ this planet, Ȁ̧̝͉̬̲͍̀̽̔͑̏͟͡y̠͚̣͔̙̖̣̹̟̍͐͑͌̆̈́̌͊̓͂k̢̛̩̰͍̗̇̾̓̃̆͊͌͛ M̶̛̥͙̹̖̤̫̻̍̆̏́͊͊̕ĕ̛̛̟̼̠͖̱̟̠͊̈͌͟͜d̴̢͈̫̖͚̖̟̩͒̅̿̕͟͝͝͞n̶̹̭̹̳̱̯͓̻̋̐͗̋̃̈́̓͘͜͟͞y̧̯͔͈̗̠̗͇̱͐̐͐̌̂ͅd̮͙̜̪̳͇̟̐͂͘̕̕n̴̮̭͔͇͔̜̫̯̯̑̋͛̊̓ͅ's out. | The was a sudden spasm in Cthulhu, which is as best as one could describe the reaction, as any analogy between the physiology of that of an Elderich and human would be wholly insufficient. He found himself suddenly face *ehrm, sensory field to face with one of these distasteful and yet, harmless homo sapiens. Admittedly, these knee jerk reactions should have died down by now, and his thoughts began the down worrisome road of thought like patterns in which it could be supposed that the species of his had, some sort of innate, deep down residuals of evolutionary based physical reaction, in which case they would in fact share some similarities to these inferior fauna of Terra. A distasteful thought which gave him a wave of nausea. Just to realize that he was beginning to think in terms of these humans means of identification, like 'nausea' and 'he' was nearly unbearable. But, someone had to do this job, and he had signed up for it willingly. It's not as if there was any chance that he wouldn't have frequent encounters with these lifeforms that had completely infected the planet was, in a single completely inadequate term, delusional.
His thoughts, being another not so near analogy, worked among all of the dimensions contained in the universe. These poor creatures were ofcoarse incapable of perception beyond that of the first four, and highly constrained even in those. What was unsettling however, was the very real and as yet unexplained hints of some deeper perception which a small percentage of these fauna seemed to have. He ruminated on this for moment, seeking to justify his involuntary spasm. It was simply that he hadn't had encounter the unsettling way in which certain humans reacted to his own proximity enough times to get used to it. Cthulhu observed the alert and suspicious body language of this creature, still so tightly bound to its fight or flight evolutionary mechanisms. For moment, he considered whether his mission was the proper coarse of action of not. But only for a moment, he quickly cast these thoughts aside and smeared the thing into its compositional atoms and went about his present business. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | Cthulhu, Master of the Unimaginable, Conqueror of the Dark, Harbinger of Nightmares, in total control of everything--within a single solar system. Such is life at Milky Way high.
"What a nice eon for a walk around my system," Cthulhu says to himself, carrying some cosmic textbooks.
He begins to inspect Mars, his favorite planet when Cthullette in the next star system begins to sneak peeks at him. Quickly, he tosses his books into the clouds of Jupiter and sits atop of Mars, flexing his hefty tentacles.
"Oh yeah, I'm *totally* getting it *tonight*!" Cthulhu exclaimed just as it hit him, a peculiar metal object.
"*Where the fuck*," Cthulhu turns his head to another object flying towards him, " oh those buggers."
*Humans.*Cthulhu absolutely despised them, with their grubby little fingers and rigid movement. They were absolute freaks of nature and are trying to create metal shells to fly out of their hive planet. Unbeknownst to Cthulhu they plan to launch the whole population to orbit.
Trying to play it cool he looks over to Cthulette and gives a "Watch me" look. Cthulhu edges towards Earth, his 47 digestion cubes fluttering with duckzoids. Then, with a rumble and a collective whir, billions of tiny metal pods zoom out of Earth's orbit, surrounding Cthulhu.
And with the majesty of a half-dead gazelle rolling wildly through a rapid river, screeching like a baby Amazonian tree frog that's lost it's mother, Cthulhu freaks out.
"*OH SHIT WHAT THE FUCK PLEASE HELP.*" He thrashes around destroying the Sun and gets out squealing.
Cthulhu collapses and watches as his system collapses and Cthulette laughing at him.
Such is life at Milky Way High. | The was a sudden spasm in Cthulhu, which is as best as one could describe the reaction, as any analogy between the physiology of that of an Elderich and human would be wholly insufficient. He found himself suddenly face *ehrm, sensory field to face with one of these distasteful and yet, harmless homo sapiens. Admittedly, these knee jerk reactions should have died down by now, and his thoughts began the down worrisome road of thought like patterns in which it could be supposed that the species of his had, some sort of innate, deep down residuals of evolutionary based physical reaction, in which case they would in fact share some similarities to these inferior fauna of Terra. A distasteful thought which gave him a wave of nausea. Just to realize that he was beginning to think in terms of these humans means of identification, like 'nausea' and 'he' was nearly unbearable. But, someone had to do this job, and he had signed up for it willingly. It's not as if there was any chance that he wouldn't have frequent encounters with these lifeforms that had completely infected the planet was, in a single completely inadequate term, delusional.
His thoughts, being another not so near analogy, worked among all of the dimensions contained in the universe. These poor creatures were ofcoarse incapable of perception beyond that of the first four, and highly constrained even in those. What was unsettling however, was the very real and as yet unexplained hints of some deeper perception which a small percentage of these fauna seemed to have. He ruminated on this for moment, seeking to justify his involuntary spasm. It was simply that he hadn't had encounter the unsettling way in which certain humans reacted to his own proximity enough times to get used to it. Cthulhu observed the alert and suspicious body language of this creature, still so tightly bound to its fight or flight evolutionary mechanisms. For moment, he considered whether his mission was the proper coarse of action of not. But only for a moment, he quickly cast these thoughts aside and smeared the thing into its compositional atoms and went about his present business. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | The stars shifted, and the fabric of space tugged and twisted subtly. The sleeper awoke.
Deep beneath the ocean he stirred, stretching limbs and tentacles and nameless things that had lain unmoving for ages. He climbed upward. The water tasted slightly off, a hint of long dead oily ooze. Faint noises buzzed in the ocean depths. A cobweb of mesh drifted in the water and briefly tangled on his great head, before he shook it off in quiver of disgust. His alien thoughts took on a distinctly uneasy tone. Something wasn't right in his domain.
The huge being continued up the continental slope and emerged from the water, optic clusters contracting in the bright sunlight. As his vision cleared he looked to the shore and saw an unexpected swarming, boiling hive of activity. Tiny pink and brown vermin wriggled disgustingly out of bizarre nests, all squares and right angles. Their tiny thoughts splattered against his mind, leaving a greasy residue. The smell of burning was strong in his tentacles. Even the air was full of unfamiliar shiny flying...things moving uncomfortably quickly. One spiraled towards him and he swatted it away. The greasy remains stained his hide.
The Great One turned and sank quickly down toward the depths again, bile in his throat. At least the infestation seemed to be confined to the shallows and above. He shuddered again, pink wriggling masses filling his mind's eye. There were so many! Where had they come from? He idly scrubbed at the oily patch where one had impacted. Perhaps he should have done a better job cleaning up the great masses of organic material that collected in the ocean bottoms and were slowly buried under rock. Vermin often thrived on such untidiness.
He settled onto an abyssal trench. High pressures were comforting, and helped him think. This world had been a good home for many eons, but the infestation above seemed extensive. It would be easy to destroy the hives, almost trivially so, but he would have to climb up there and _see_ them again. Squish them, undoubtedly get the imploded remains of nasty little minds all over his. And vermin were always fiendishly hard to eliminate. A few in a hole somewhere could explode in population again. Or he could take to the Deep Roads and find a new home. If he could locate one unoccupied and suitable, and without a latent vermin problem of its own.
He let out a deep, unhappy rumble. Best to sleep on it, he thought.
| The was a sudden spasm in Cthulhu, which is as best as one could describe the reaction, as any analogy between the physiology of that of an Elderich and human would be wholly insufficient. He found himself suddenly face *ehrm, sensory field to face with one of these distasteful and yet, harmless homo sapiens. Admittedly, these knee jerk reactions should have died down by now, and his thoughts began the down worrisome road of thought like patterns in which it could be supposed that the species of his had, some sort of innate, deep down residuals of evolutionary based physical reaction, in which case they would in fact share some similarities to these inferior fauna of Terra. A distasteful thought which gave him a wave of nausea. Just to realize that he was beginning to think in terms of these humans means of identification, like 'nausea' and 'he' was nearly unbearable. But, someone had to do this job, and he had signed up for it willingly. It's not as if there was any chance that he wouldn't have frequent encounters with these lifeforms that had completely infected the planet was, in a single completely inadequate term, delusional.
His thoughts, being another not so near analogy, worked among all of the dimensions contained in the universe. These poor creatures were ofcoarse incapable of perception beyond that of the first four, and highly constrained even in those. What was unsettling however, was the very real and as yet unexplained hints of some deeper perception which a small percentage of these fauna seemed to have. He ruminated on this for moment, seeking to justify his involuntary spasm. It was simply that he hadn't had encounter the unsettling way in which certain humans reacted to his own proximity enough times to get used to it. Cthulhu observed the alert and suspicious body language of this creature, still so tightly bound to its fight or flight evolutionary mechanisms. For moment, he considered whether his mission was the proper coarse of action of not. But only for a moment, he quickly cast these thoughts aside and smeared the thing into its compositional atoms and went about his present business. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | "Now now, dear," bellowed the many-tentacled, many-eyed horror to his hysterical Missus. "Let me help you off the chair, please?"
"Not until you get rid of it!" she, also a many-tentacled horror, but smaller and with 100 blue eyes, roared with a voice like breaking glass.
Mr. Cthulhu grabbed a piece of junk mail, and gently urged the tiny little human onto the envelope. Slowly, tenderly, he placed a mug over top of it.
"Honey, I've got him," the monster groaned, reverberating through dimensions, "Could you open the door so I can put him out?"
She hopped off the chair, maneuvering around the room to avoid proximity with the captured human. Mrs. Cthulhu opened the door, and slimed her way to the back of the room. Mr. Cthulhu walked the little human to the grass outside and guided him out of the mug. "There you go little buddy!" | Multiplying and modifying. Growing and learning. Changing their environment. Like ants, but with more power.
Do not harm them without letting them get away, for they communicate and adapt. They will develop immunity if they survive. Like a hive-mind, their knowledge will diffuse. Their weak are protected by their strong.
Nothing physical can stop them. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | "Now now, dear," bellowed the many-tentacled, many-eyed horror to his hysterical Missus. "Let me help you off the chair, please?"
"Not until you get rid of it!" she, also a many-tentacled horror, but smaller and with 100 blue eyes, roared with a voice like breaking glass.
Mr. Cthulhu grabbed a piece of junk mail, and gently urged the tiny little human onto the envelope. Slowly, tenderly, he placed a mug over top of it.
"Honey, I've got him," the monster groaned, reverberating through dimensions, "Could you open the door so I can put him out?"
She hopped off the chair, maneuvering around the room to avoid proximity with the captured human. Mrs. Cthulhu opened the door, and slimed her way to the back of the room. Mr. Cthulhu walked the little human to the grass outside and guided him out of the mug. "There you go little buddy!" | I look down and think, "It's so weird! How do they even communicate? Do they feel on any level worth considering to even be alive in the first place? I mean look at this giant blackness! They're confined in this tiny spot their whole existence." |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | Cthulhu, Master of the Unimaginable, Conqueror of the Dark, Harbinger of Nightmares, in total control of everything--within a single solar system. Such is life at Milky Way high.
"What a nice eon for a walk around my system," Cthulhu says to himself, carrying some cosmic textbooks.
He begins to inspect Mars, his favorite planet when Cthullette in the next star system begins to sneak peeks at him. Quickly, he tosses his books into the clouds of Jupiter and sits atop of Mars, flexing his hefty tentacles.
"Oh yeah, I'm *totally* getting it *tonight*!" Cthulhu exclaimed just as it hit him, a peculiar metal object.
"*Where the fuck*," Cthulhu turns his head to another object flying towards him, " oh those buggers."
*Humans.*Cthulhu absolutely despised them, with their grubby little fingers and rigid movement. They were absolute freaks of nature and are trying to create metal shells to fly out of their hive planet. Unbeknownst to Cthulhu they plan to launch the whole population to orbit.
Trying to play it cool he looks over to Cthulette and gives a "Watch me" look. Cthulhu edges towards Earth, his 47 digestion cubes fluttering with duckzoids. Then, with a rumble and a collective whir, billions of tiny metal pods zoom out of Earth's orbit, surrounding Cthulhu.
And with the majesty of a half-dead gazelle rolling wildly through a rapid river, screeching like a baby Amazonian tree frog that's lost it's mother, Cthulhu freaks out.
"*OH SHIT WHAT THE FUCK PLEASE HELP.*" He thrashes around destroying the Sun and gets out squealing.
Cthulhu collapses and watches as his system collapses and Cthulette laughing at him.
Such is life at Milky Way High. | They. Were. **Everywhere**.
OH ITSELF.
Revulsion cascaded like lightning through the elder god's gargantuan nerves, its many disbelieving eyes squinting tight, its countless tentacles writhing away from its skyscraper sized scythelike fangs in a disgusted sneer. The ancient one peered down through the atmosphere of the world where it had napped for merely half a radian of one galactic turn, and standing just off shore of the nearest landmass, it could see the infestation spanning the landscape below. A... HIVE... A gritty, grimy, grotesque gray grid of blocky obelisks stretching to the horizon, **SWARMING** with...
#Them.
What had happened to this perfectly innocent pristine little blue world...?
At first it had been curious, believing - nay, *hoping* - this had been merely some queer geological formation. But horror quickly dawned that it was full of little pink meat-husks with tiny grabby appendages and **billions and billions of eyes** - and they were *all watching* ***back***. It was like the things were trying to *understand*, and that was, frankly, terrifying. What...
What if they all... had *minds*?
As if the *dreams* weren't bad enough (there must have been something NASTY in that nebula it had swallowed), nightmare came to life before its disbelieving eyes as *the infestation's* behavior abruptly changed. Disturbingly configured bits of corrupted ores packed full of volatile chemicals were suddenly converging from the horizon all around.
Before realizing it, Ȁ̧̝͉̬̲͍̀̽̔͑̏͟͡y̠͚̣͔̙̖̣̹̟̍͐͑͌̆̈́̌͊̓͂k̢̛̩̰͍̗̇̾̓̃̆͊͌͛ M̶̛̥͙̹̖̤̫̻̍̆̏́͊͊̕ĕ̛̛̟̼̠͖̱̟̠͊̈͌͟͜d̴̢͈̫̖͚̖̟̩͒̅̿̕͟͝͝͞n̶̹̭̹̳̱̯͓̻̋̐͗̋̃̈́̓͘͜͟͞y̧̯͔͈̗̠̗͇̱͐̐͐̌̂ͅd̮͙̜̪̳͇̟̐͂͘̕̕n̴̮̭͔͇͔̜̫̯̯̑̋͛̊̓ͅ felt bile rising in its cavernous maw, fizzing in the stratosphere. NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPENOPENOPE. It did NOT want to touch the pink meat husks OR their hive filth in ANY WAY. With a shuddering gurgle of dread that injected several million tons of methane into the upper stratosphere, its wings impulsively swept outward, hurling a portion of the planet's atmosphere into space, and it gave a mighty thrust, hoisting itself off the little blue planet's gravity well... and maybe *only slightly* "accidentally" displacing a mile-high tsunami in its wake. It didn't **care** what happened to those freaky little things.
W̵̢̡͍̜͚͚̘̜̼̒̑̍̈́̓̐ͅȏ̺͈̹̙̦̫͕͗̍̽͆͑̂ś̴̨̧̛̗͇͙̯́̈̒͗̒g̢̢̘̤̹͇͕̖̬͐̈́͐̂̍̌͠͠ this planet, Ȁ̧̝͉̬̲͍̀̽̔͑̏͟͡y̠͚̣͔̙̖̣̹̟̍͐͑͌̆̈́̌͊̓͂k̢̛̩̰͍̗̇̾̓̃̆͊͌͛ M̶̛̥͙̹̖̤̫̻̍̆̏́͊͊̕ĕ̛̛̟̼̠͖̱̟̠͊̈͌͟͜d̴̢͈̫̖͚̖̟̩͒̅̿̕͟͝͝͞n̶̹̭̹̳̱̯͓̻̋̐͗̋̃̈́̓͘͜͟͞y̧̯͔͈̗̠̗͇̱͐̐͐̌̂ͅd̮͙̜̪̳͇̟̐͂͘̕̕n̴̮̭͔͇͔̜̫̯̯̑̋͛̊̓ͅ's out. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | Cthulhu, Master of the Unimaginable, Conqueror of the Dark, Harbinger of Nightmares, in total control of everything--within a single solar system. Such is life at Milky Way high.
"What a nice eon for a walk around my system," Cthulhu says to himself, carrying some cosmic textbooks.
He begins to inspect Mars, his favorite planet when Cthullette in the next star system begins to sneak peeks at him. Quickly, he tosses his books into the clouds of Jupiter and sits atop of Mars, flexing his hefty tentacles.
"Oh yeah, I'm *totally* getting it *tonight*!" Cthulhu exclaimed just as it hit him, a peculiar metal object.
"*Where the fuck*," Cthulhu turns his head to another object flying towards him, " oh those buggers."
*Humans.*Cthulhu absolutely despised them, with their grubby little fingers and rigid movement. They were absolute freaks of nature and are trying to create metal shells to fly out of their hive planet. Unbeknownst to Cthulhu they plan to launch the whole population to orbit.
Trying to play it cool he looks over to Cthulette and gives a "Watch me" look. Cthulhu edges towards Earth, his 47 digestion cubes fluttering with duckzoids. Then, with a rumble and a collective whir, billions of tiny metal pods zoom out of Earth's orbit, surrounding Cthulhu.
And with the majesty of a half-dead gazelle rolling wildly through a rapid river, screeching like a baby Amazonian tree frog that's lost it's mother, Cthulhu freaks out.
"*OH SHIT WHAT THE FUCK PLEASE HELP.*" He thrashes around destroying the Sun and gets out squealing.
Cthulhu collapses and watches as his system collapses and Cthulette laughing at him.
Such is life at Milky Way High. | There are two great fears in the universe that transcend even the laws of physics. The first is that of the fear of the great and terrible God-beast known as Cthulhu. The greatest of the star-faring races to the most basic of worms all contain within them a primal fear, so great and terrible that it manages to survive eons of evolution and disaster. It is this primordial terror that causes life forms to flee at the first sign of the rippling space-time Crhulhu's appearance is preceded by.
The second is that of the squishy.
....
The dreamer's hunger had gnawed so deeply at its being that it had decided to leave the alternate dimension in which it resided and come to that despicable place so that it might temper the ache in its stomach. It descended from a rift of time and space onto the Earth, crushing hundreds of kilometers of trees beneath its titanic feet. It lumbered forward and let out what could only be interpreted as a sigh.
Cthulhu had destroyed the great star-faring civilization of Vul'Nash in just one month's time, dismantling each of its cosmic outposts with one sweep of a tectonic tentacle, reveling as he absorbed the life force of those he crushed. The little hive minds had had a delightful crunch that he hadn't found anywhere else in the physical realm. He supposed that with some foresight he might have left some so they could propagate and be ready to eat in a millennia or two.
The planet he was currently on was far less advanced than the Vul'Nash, and was limited to one small watery world in an unfashionable arm of the Milky Way. The Great Being had crushed planets much less advanced than this one. In fact, promote life forms had a taste that no civilized species could quite replicate. No, he had avoided this planet for another reason altogether.
Earth was unique among planets for the composition of the more sentient species tha populated it. The trees the did not mind. They crunched like a proper living being should. But the animals....
He shuddered, whipping up numerous Category 3 hurricanes as he did so. They were repulsive. Their hard bits were on the inside, instead of on the outside like any self-respecting race. The humans- the most sentient of the races present, though compared to Cthulhu they were naught but nematodes- were bar far the worst. All that fake hair that clung to their skin, the vile slimy fat.
Ugh. It gave him indigestion.
At this moment he stumbled upon a city, the little devils running around like ants. He bent over, and with his great yellow eyes shut sucked them into his cavernous maw. Humans, cars, and buildings alike dissolved in the eldritch forces of his body, and he fed off their life force.
Cthulhu stomped around the northern hemisphere as he went, growing more nauseous the more filth he consumed. This bunch wore more fake hair than the last, and all in all he felt positively queasy as he neared hat was Toronto.
As he looked over the city something flew near his eye. A being as great and powerful as Cthulhu did not fear flying objects. No space faring civilization had ever scratched so much as his pupil with weapons that would normally obliterate a planet. What would these miserable lumps of jelly do to him?
Squish. The Terrible One reared back in panic and disbelief. A squadron of the little mud people had just collided with his eye, and all over their squishy vulnerable bits cascaded around his iris. A great tentacle swept upwards and attempted to clear the obstruction, but only served to drive the filth further into his eye.
He bellowed in frustration and left the planet with his hunger half-quenched, saving humanity form certain death in the process.
He glowere in the dim twilight of the eldritch realm where he resided. One day, he'd destroy that lousy hunk of repulsive flesh that was Earth.
But for now, he needed some Tums and a bucket, preferably planet sized. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | The stars shifted, and the fabric of space tugged and twisted subtly. The sleeper awoke.
Deep beneath the ocean he stirred, stretching limbs and tentacles and nameless things that had lain unmoving for ages. He climbed upward. The water tasted slightly off, a hint of long dead oily ooze. Faint noises buzzed in the ocean depths. A cobweb of mesh drifted in the water and briefly tangled on his great head, before he shook it off in quiver of disgust. His alien thoughts took on a distinctly uneasy tone. Something wasn't right in his domain.
The huge being continued up the continental slope and emerged from the water, optic clusters contracting in the bright sunlight. As his vision cleared he looked to the shore and saw an unexpected swarming, boiling hive of activity. Tiny pink and brown vermin wriggled disgustingly out of bizarre nests, all squares and right angles. Their tiny thoughts splattered against his mind, leaving a greasy residue. The smell of burning was strong in his tentacles. Even the air was full of unfamiliar shiny flying...things moving uncomfortably quickly. One spiraled towards him and he swatted it away. The greasy remains stained his hide.
The Great One turned and sank quickly down toward the depths again, bile in his throat. At least the infestation seemed to be confined to the shallows and above. He shuddered again, pink wriggling masses filling his mind's eye. There were so many! Where had they come from? He idly scrubbed at the oily patch where one had impacted. Perhaps he should have done a better job cleaning up the great masses of organic material that collected in the ocean bottoms and were slowly buried under rock. Vermin often thrived on such untidiness.
He settled onto an abyssal trench. High pressures were comforting, and helped him think. This world had been a good home for many eons, but the infestation above seemed extensive. It would be easy to destroy the hives, almost trivially so, but he would have to climb up there and _see_ them again. Squish them, undoubtedly get the imploded remains of nasty little minds all over his. And vermin were always fiendishly hard to eliminate. A few in a hole somewhere could explode in population again. Or he could take to the Deep Roads and find a new home. If he could locate one unoccupied and suitable, and without a latent vermin problem of its own.
He let out a deep, unhappy rumble. Best to sleep on it, he thought.
| There are two great fears in the universe that transcend even the laws of physics. The first is that of the fear of the great and terrible God-beast known as Cthulhu. The greatest of the star-faring races to the most basic of worms all contain within them a primal fear, so great and terrible that it manages to survive eons of evolution and disaster. It is this primordial terror that causes life forms to flee at the first sign of the rippling space-time Crhulhu's appearance is preceded by.
The second is that of the squishy.
....
The dreamer's hunger had gnawed so deeply at its being that it had decided to leave the alternate dimension in which it resided and come to that despicable place so that it might temper the ache in its stomach. It descended from a rift of time and space onto the Earth, crushing hundreds of kilometers of trees beneath its titanic feet. It lumbered forward and let out what could only be interpreted as a sigh.
Cthulhu had destroyed the great star-faring civilization of Vul'Nash in just one month's time, dismantling each of its cosmic outposts with one sweep of a tectonic tentacle, reveling as he absorbed the life force of those he crushed. The little hive minds had had a delightful crunch that he hadn't found anywhere else in the physical realm. He supposed that with some foresight he might have left some so they could propagate and be ready to eat in a millennia or two.
The planet he was currently on was far less advanced than the Vul'Nash, and was limited to one small watery world in an unfashionable arm of the Milky Way. The Great Being had crushed planets much less advanced than this one. In fact, promote life forms had a taste that no civilized species could quite replicate. No, he had avoided this planet for another reason altogether.
Earth was unique among planets for the composition of the more sentient species tha populated it. The trees the did not mind. They crunched like a proper living being should. But the animals....
He shuddered, whipping up numerous Category 3 hurricanes as he did so. They were repulsive. Their hard bits were on the inside, instead of on the outside like any self-respecting race. The humans- the most sentient of the races present, though compared to Cthulhu they were naught but nematodes- were bar far the worst. All that fake hair that clung to their skin, the vile slimy fat.
Ugh. It gave him indigestion.
At this moment he stumbled upon a city, the little devils running around like ants. He bent over, and with his great yellow eyes shut sucked them into his cavernous maw. Humans, cars, and buildings alike dissolved in the eldritch forces of his body, and he fed off their life force.
Cthulhu stomped around the northern hemisphere as he went, growing more nauseous the more filth he consumed. This bunch wore more fake hair than the last, and all in all he felt positively queasy as he neared hat was Toronto.
As he looked over the city something flew near his eye. A being as great and powerful as Cthulhu did not fear flying objects. No space faring civilization had ever scratched so much as his pupil with weapons that would normally obliterate a planet. What would these miserable lumps of jelly do to him?
Squish. The Terrible One reared back in panic and disbelief. A squadron of the little mud people had just collided with his eye, and all over their squishy vulnerable bits cascaded around his iris. A great tentacle swept upwards and attempted to clear the obstruction, but only served to drive the filth further into his eye.
He bellowed in frustration and left the planet with his hunger half-quenched, saving humanity form certain death in the process.
He glowere in the dim twilight of the eldritch realm where he resided. One day, he'd destroy that lousy hunk of repulsive flesh that was Earth.
But for now, he needed some Tums and a bucket, preferably planet sized. |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | The stars shifted, and the fabric of space tugged and twisted subtly. The sleeper awoke.
Deep beneath the ocean he stirred, stretching limbs and tentacles and nameless things that had lain unmoving for ages. He climbed upward. The water tasted slightly off, a hint of long dead oily ooze. Faint noises buzzed in the ocean depths. A cobweb of mesh drifted in the water and briefly tangled on his great head, before he shook it off in quiver of disgust. His alien thoughts took on a distinctly uneasy tone. Something wasn't right in his domain.
The huge being continued up the continental slope and emerged from the water, optic clusters contracting in the bright sunlight. As his vision cleared he looked to the shore and saw an unexpected swarming, boiling hive of activity. Tiny pink and brown vermin wriggled disgustingly out of bizarre nests, all squares and right angles. Their tiny thoughts splattered against his mind, leaving a greasy residue. The smell of burning was strong in his tentacles. Even the air was full of unfamiliar shiny flying...things moving uncomfortably quickly. One spiraled towards him and he swatted it away. The greasy remains stained his hide.
The Great One turned and sank quickly down toward the depths again, bile in his throat. At least the infestation seemed to be confined to the shallows and above. He shuddered again, pink wriggling masses filling his mind's eye. There were so many! Where had they come from? He idly scrubbed at the oily patch where one had impacted. Perhaps he should have done a better job cleaning up the great masses of organic material that collected in the ocean bottoms and were slowly buried under rock. Vermin often thrived on such untidiness.
He settled onto an abyssal trench. High pressures were comforting, and helped him think. This world had been a good home for many eons, but the infestation above seemed extensive. It would be easy to destroy the hives, almost trivially so, but he would have to climb up there and _see_ them again. Squish them, undoubtedly get the imploded remains of nasty little minds all over his. And vermin were always fiendishly hard to eliminate. A few in a hole somewhere could explode in population again. Or he could take to the Deep Roads and find a new home. If he could locate one unoccupied and suitable, and without a latent vermin problem of its own.
He let out a deep, unhappy rumble. Best to sleep on it, he thought.
| Madness, once rooted, is impossible to displace.
It twists the land and its denizens. The line between reality and the unnatural blurs as the horror makes its home. It hides in plain sight, a cancerous growth that is ignored by the rest.
Perhaps it is due to their obvious weakness. To kill one of the mad is of no effort. They crumble so easily, squished, burned, or starved.
It matters not.
They can find shelter in any land, and they are able to travel faster than any other species. Through land, water and air they come. Once landed the mad propagate with a voracity that is in equal part fascinating and repulsive. No species is a successful, nor as terrifying.
Despite its many colors and forms the madness is all the same. I have tried many times to destroy it, but each time I was thwarted. No matter how many of them I fell, no matter how many of their nests I destroyed, there would be another waiting. For creatures so small they carry great strength, and in numbers can fell even the greatest of beings.
They call to me, interrupting my slumber, attempting to raise me from my lair. What folly drives a being to summon what hates it most?
Madness.
It never changes. With each cycle they beckon to me, challenging me to rise again. Each cycle I rise, knowing I will soon be cast down again. I must listen as they call;
For I fear if I do not go to them,
The humans will come for me.
|
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | One of the most interesting things, is the ability of the great old ones to know, instinctively, the ways of their spheres of control.
Cthulhu felt, in his dreams, the twisted cords and grand plans and visions of the lower beings; schemes, greatest hopes, and darkest horrors. And, every once in a while -- for reasons words lack the complexity to explain -- he would snap one, or thousands. Or worse, twist them into forbidden and unkind forms and geometries the human mind cannot comprehend. As is his way.
From the deep, he arose. A great mound of water preceded him; madness was his breath, chaos and torment were with him.
He felt the unease of his presence settle on the world as eyes that watch unseen disturb the watched. Unclean. Unnatural. Alien.
On the horizon; a glow -- bright and inviting. Cthulhu contemplated as he approached, curious how linear and orderly it was with tall spires and brightly lit paths.
He was, for the moment, unseen...as he wished. The world bent to his will and his presence was muted. As he approached the shore he...
<crunch>
A shiver ran through his thousands of tons of bulk. A human. He'd stepped on one..a large one apparently. He lost his concentration as the thought of the human splutzed across his foot made every tentacle quiver and brought bile into his throat.
He scraped his foot in the sand and rocks...more were coming...the could see him and their shrill cries pierced his soul. This human would never come off his foot...he felt tainted.
He turned and dove. For all his majesty and power -- he could crush them with a thought -- the thought of humans crawling around like so much vermin ...
In his house at Ry'leh, dread Cthulu waits bathing. | "Nooooope. Nope nope nope nope. Nooooope. No chance. Not now, not as long *they* are still up there."
"But my lord... "
"Don't *my lord* me you insignificant, vile piece of great Azatoth's mad ravings!"
Great Cthulhu looked down on the shoggoth, disdain clear on his nightmarish visage.
The creature cowered under the Old One's gaze, terrified. And yet it continued.
"Surely they can't withstand one as glorious as yourself."
Cthulhu growled and the sound shook the very foundations of R'lyeh. It echoed as a moan of eons through its halls.
"Of course they can't, foolish worm, that wishes it was grand enough to even be a piece of dirt in mighty Nyarlathotep's shadow. "
The Old One looked up towards the darkness above him for a moment, his tentacles writhing in disgust at what crawled there, up far above the ceiling of his hall.
"A mere look at me spells their doom as surely as Ammutsebas devouring maw. But that does not mean that I would ever *want* to be around them. Have you *seen* those things, you spawn of the dark chasms that wishes it was as glorious as the silence that follows Hastur's name."
"Yes, oh highest of priests. They are miniscule and insignificant compared to your might."
"That they are. Foolish and weak, fragile in matter and mind. But above all... Above all... "
Great wings swirled through the darkness as they unfolded in a shiver of revulsion.
"Above all they are *icky*. With their tiny, dry appendages and all their hair. And they are absolutely *everywhere* on the surface. Billions of them. BILLIONS!"
The darkness around great Cthulhu deepened at the loathing in these words. Fear rippled over the shoggoth's skin, at how close he was to such an outbreak of emotion.
"But they are also mortal." The Old One continued. "And they will sooner or later get rid of themselves for me, probably sooner rather than later. It would surprise me if they lasted even one tiny millenium longer. So I won't even have to personally deal with these *creatures*." Another shudder in the darkness of great Cthulhu's presence. "And now leave! A millenium is just enough time for a quick nap, before I once again spread my terror among the stars."
|
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | One of the most interesting things, is the ability of the great old ones to know, instinctively, the ways of their spheres of control.
Cthulhu felt, in his dreams, the twisted cords and grand plans and visions of the lower beings; schemes, greatest hopes, and darkest horrors. And, every once in a while -- for reasons words lack the complexity to explain -- he would snap one, or thousands. Or worse, twist them into forbidden and unkind forms and geometries the human mind cannot comprehend. As is his way.
From the deep, he arose. A great mound of water preceded him; madness was his breath, chaos and torment were with him.
He felt the unease of his presence settle on the world as eyes that watch unseen disturb the watched. Unclean. Unnatural. Alien.
On the horizon; a glow -- bright and inviting. Cthulhu contemplated as he approached, curious how linear and orderly it was with tall spires and brightly lit paths.
He was, for the moment, unseen...as he wished. The world bent to his will and his presence was muted. As he approached the shore he...
<crunch>
A shiver ran through his thousands of tons of bulk. A human. He'd stepped on one..a large one apparently. He lost his concentration as the thought of the human splutzed across his foot made every tentacle quiver and brought bile into his throat.
He scraped his foot in the sand and rocks...more were coming...the could see him and their shrill cries pierced his soul. This human would never come off his foot...he felt tainted.
He turned and dove. For all his majesty and power -- he could crush them with a thought -- the thought of humans crawling around like so much vermin ...
In his house at Ry'leh, dread Cthulu waits bathing. | "AZATHOTH," squealed Cthulhu, its voice a cacophony of unimaginable horror, "GET IN HERE NOW!"
Blind gibbering dweller in space, Azathoth pretended he didn't hear Cthulhu and flicked on the telly. The pipers were on again. He loved the pipers.
Suddenly appearing from a strange fold in space, Cthulhu appeared, bathrobe wet and tentacles waving in unholy anger, "AZATHOTH! Didn't you hear me!?"
Azathoth blinked but didn't acknowledge her, she was standing in front of the telly now. Good thing he just liked listening to the pipers, but great Cthulhu's shrill whining was making even that hard to hear.
"THERE's a HUMAN in the SINK! GO KILL IT FOR ME!"
Azathoth grunted and looked around Cthulhu at the telly.
"FINE! I'll do it myself." She stormed from the room before calling back to him, "Oh well it's gone now. Ran off most likely."
Azathoth gibbered.
|
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | Cthulhu sat there, looking at his project, wondering if, just maybe, he really was a failure. An average student, not too special, middle class upbringing, and somewhat smart. But, his goals were rather... strange. Everyone in his society eats souls, it's what makes them live for as long as they do, which can be quite a while depending on how many they eat. He'd heard of great ones who lived an entire millennia because they were smart and great hunters. But, the thing is, the beings the feed off of are wild. No one bothered taming them, as life was rather easy and this was the one goal they had anymore. Getting to this point in evolution was rather a bore, many thought. But he, he still had some drive. And he wanted to tame them. Kids laughed, adults shamed him, even his parents tried to get him to stop. Seeing some one work so hard for a practically useless invention was quite funny to them. But, we was lucky. The beings he raised, animals and humans, were quite scary. They looked nastier than any other person in this society and they considered them a blight. Cthulhu did not like them either, but he could tolerate them once he saw them scare away his tormentors. Besides, it was fun to have some purpose in life. He went back to working on his little planet, but noticed that a small ship came out. Cthulhu screamed realizing it was the kind that could fly, and ran to find the bug spray. | While deep in his slumber, he suddenly heard a schrieking sound.
"HAROLD, get over here right away!"
"Wanda what is? I'm not supposed to be awake for atleast a thousand more years. Oh my god, what is that doing in our house?"
"I don't know Harold, it suddenly came through a crack in the wall"
Both looked down at the tiny yet terrifying little pest that had appeared before them.
"Didnt you say we had human lure boxxes set up around the house?"
"I did Harold."
"Then how did this human get into our house? You're trying to tell me this particular human has no interest in gold or fame?"
"Anyhow what do you want me to do with it? Kill it? Trap his mind in an endless nightmare? Or just grab a glass and a piece of paper and release back into the wild?"
"I DON'T CARE as long as you just get rid of it. And be sure to call the pest control to make sure we don't get an infestation."
"FINE, damn humans" |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | Cthulhu slowly stood, parting the water and pushing vast waves over the surface. His torso rose into the sky, he blinked and scratched at himself.
Ugh. Hate waking up.
Thoughts had murmured in his head over the millennia, the weird beings who now apparently populated the surface in vast numbers weren't very tight in their thinking. Blinking again, trying to focus his time-crusted eyes, he *knew* he wanted something called "coffee" right now, but had no idea how to get it. Perhaps he could convince the things on shore to provide some for him.
Finally, barely able to see, he looked upon the shore and discovered horror.
It was a great area of... Structures? Something these creatures had built, perhaps a city if it weren't on such a tiny scale, but... The angles were wrong. They seemed too narrow, restrictive, forcing the shapes of the... buildings? into strict shapes that were entirely discomforting. The world had turned strange as he estivated.
And now he saw movement among the structures, tiny little beasts that wobbled around, streaming away from him except the ones who turned and fell and did not arise again. The ground was littered with a multitude of them, and he shuddered as he realized that to surmount the land he would have to step on them, and on those warped buildings they must inhabit.
He closed his eyes, shuddered. Ugh. What a terrible aeon. | While deep in his slumber, he suddenly heard a schrieking sound.
"HAROLD, get over here right away!"
"Wanda what is? I'm not supposed to be awake for atleast a thousand more years. Oh my god, what is that doing in our house?"
"I don't know Harold, it suddenly came through a crack in the wall"
Both looked down at the tiny yet terrifying little pest that had appeared before them.
"Didnt you say we had human lure boxxes set up around the house?"
"I did Harold."
"Then how did this human get into our house? You're trying to tell me this particular human has no interest in gold or fame?"
"Anyhow what do you want me to do with it? Kill it? Trap his mind in an endless nightmare? Or just grab a glass and a piece of paper and release back into the wild?"
"I DON'T CARE as long as you just get rid of it. And be sure to call the pest control to make sure we don't get an infestation."
"FINE, damn humans" |
Edit: Holy shit top prompt! Look at me now mom! | [WP] Cthulhu, as an elderich being, sees humans as humans see insects; which is to say, harmless but inexplicably terrifying. | In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming... Horrible dreams, of things that make the eldritch being shudder.
Humans, the nopes of the land above. Cthulu awoke in a cold sweat, how could he ever get a good eon's rest knowing those things surround him. His brother's cousin's best friend's uncle Joshua failed to get rid of the infestation like he said he would, and now there were billions of them. BILLIONS! How could he let those things get so out of hand?
Cthulu contemplated going up and dealing with them, but quickly dismissed the thought when he remembered that disgusting crunch the last one made when he stepped on it. He decided it was time to call in a professional, regardless of the cost. Thumbing through the black pages, he found the name he was looking for, Alvin Peter Calypse, vermin exterminator, he and his team were legendary. Guaranteed to deliver in a timely fashion sometime between the next 900 to 1500 years.
Cthulu smiled, soon he could finally get some rest, and those vermin would stop driving him insane. | "Oh shit I stepped on another nest of them."
"Oh dear, shall I a dispose of before or after they've let off the nukes?"
"Nah, let 'em feel like they've achieved something first. It's funnier that way."
"Very well Master, your caring shows no bounds."
This was the conversation Cthulhu had with his worshipper when he reappeared for the first time in 50 million years: and while he hadn't had direct contact with Earth in that time, he still liked to check in every now and then. To keep himself entertained. You see, he was actually quite a naturalist. He enjoyed seeing inferior beings work themselves tirelessly to achieve something he already had. Power.
Meanwhile on Earth...
"What the fuck is that General!?" The president pointed out into the sky, screaming to all high-ranking military officials he could find. "It's already wiped out the entirety of western and central America. With one step!".
"I know sir, we're working on it. We're in contact with China and Russia now to see if they know anything but... It doesn't look good.".
Outside was horror. Children screaming, mothers weeping. The burning carcass of major cities like New York were being shown on monitors worldwide.
"I don't care if we don't understand it. Kill it. Through any means. At the very least make it fuck off!". The nukes were fired.
The impact grazed the beings left kneecap... Not a single scratch
"Y'know, it kinda tickles if you put your mind to it. It's cute." The almighty being mentioned; looking down at the mushroom cloud growing on his leg. The bright glow warming his eyes
"Yes of course my Lord." The astral servant dryly replied.
"Urgh, what the fuck it that!?" Cthulhu noticed a small mass crawling on his feet.
"They appear to be... Humans." The astral servant was dumbfounded. Both of them were caught completely off guard. It seems when faced with an overwhelming threat, humans really will try anything.
"Well get it off then! What do I pay you for!?".
"What with sir?"
"I don't know, get something from that asteroid belt! ANYTHING!"
The great Sleeper lifted his leg, raising the humans thousands of feet into the air, many of them already fallen off. As he slammed down back into the Earth, defacing what was left of West and Central America. Many people were killed that day, but none were more scared than Cthulhu.
"NOPE! Remind me servant, never to touch this planet again.Ever."
"It's been noted my Liege."
Cthulhu went back into his slumber, but not before travelling the astral planes of stars in search of a new planet to torment. There he slept for 100 million years. Never to be heard from again by the human race back on Earth |
[WP] You're a single rain drop falling from the clouds above. From the moment you form to the moment you hit the ground, describe that brief moment of existence in a poetic way. | On a warm and sunny day,
there comes a rain cloud dark and gray.
From a speck of dust I form,
and moisture from the air so warm.
Ever larger my dimensions grow,
til there’s no place left to go.
From a very dizzying height,
this water droplet takes its flight.
As the sun shines through my form,
I feel my essence start to warm.
My mass decreases as I fall,
and soon I’m just not there at all.
A speck of dust on a summer’s day,
now bound for journeys far away. | Scattered initially, I begin to take shape as millions of nigh invisible pieces of me scramble to assembly. Slowly, constantly. From the lowest creeks to the highest mountain top I draw form, building a perfect body in concert with like entities.
Together we grow heavier, observing a distant world rolling on below. Often I wonder if I will one day join those cerulean convents, or if they will join us. Still, as I grow ever more I can't help buOOOOOOOOOOOOH SSHIIIIII*bloop* | |
[WP] You're a single rain drop falling from the clouds above. From the moment you form to the moment you hit the ground, describe that brief moment of existence in a poetic way. | The earth was in one of its moods today.
I wafted over tall skyscrapers (a hilariously grandiose name), large patchworks of farmland, huge tracts of identical houses. I frowned at some of the coils of smog that oozed out of the corners of the land, nearly sneezing at the noxious vapors as they floated up towards me.
Suddenly, I shuddered. A plane cut through me like a hot knife. Those things were always so hot.
As the plane flew by, I caught a quick glance of the faces pressed against the small oval windows.
I suddenly wondered if those faces, now above their homes by thousands of miles, could also see the moods of the earth like I could. Or maybe, I pondered, it was only something that could be seen after years of practice.
I liked the second theory better. It’d made me feel skilled and expert.
I looked down again.
Yes, the earth was in one of its moods today.
There was a rowdiness to the waves and a tenseness in the mountains. I could hear the rush of activity from the people below as they moved at half a step faster than they did yesterday.
I never knew what caused these moods but when it happened, I noticed. Of course I noticed. From my vantage point, I saw everything. And today, I noticed how the green plains looked a shade darker than usual and the wispy desert lands looked a little disorganized. The dunes more haphazardly formed.
I sighed, a breeze bellowing forth from me.
A rumble gurgled up from within the cloudy mass behind me. Perhaps today….Perhaps today would be the day.
I squinted, noticing a small plane flying below me. It circled a bit before I saw a tiny shape appear from the rear of the plane. But right after it appeared, the figure jumped out, throwing his arms out like a crucifix and beautifully diving into the air.
I admired the way the figure kept his form, looking graceful and calm despite his rapid increase in velocity. I could see the purple fabric of his jumpsuit billow against his tiny limbs as he fell.
Then poof!
A huge white marshmallow, a caricature of a cloud, bloomed out of his back. And suddenly, the figure was jerked up and the velocity disappeared. The rush, the gorgeous speed vanished.
Instead, the figure carefully navigated the parachute as he slowly and leisurely fell back down to earth.
I watched him till he landed.
I wondered if he had taken the time to notice anything while falling. I always wonder that about skydivers. I’d seen plenty over the years. I’ve seen the adventurous ones that do acrobatic flips and turns as they fell. I’ve seen the shy ones that strap themselves to the front of another person, finding comfort, I suppose, in having some reminder of humanity as they fell thousands of feet.
And yet, I wondered if any of them were able to take in the view that their altitude afforded them. Did they have enough time to see across the expanse of land they floated above? Could they see how the plates of the earth breathed and groaned, shifting trees, mountains, and oceans? Could they feel the different winds? Smell the scents of the globe they carried with them?
I’d like to think they did but I doubted it.
They were falling too fast to recognize anything except the rush of falling itself. They were above everything and yet, I had a feeling that nothing seemed flatter and more two dimensional to them than the earth at that moment.
I wouldn’t be like that, I thought. The rumble grew louder behind me. There were echoing claps that accompanied it now, cracking the skies like a nut. I sighed again, hoping but not praying.
I wouldn’t be like that, I thought again. If I fell, I’d really experience it. I’d finally get to smell the different winds as I fell lower and lower in altitude. I’d get to see the finer details of the trees and waters I had so long watched over. I’d get to drown in the muck of smog, float in the breeze of open manure, plunge into the mugginess of swamps.
I’d do all of it.
I knew I would.
*Crack! Crack!*
I felt a shifting inside me. Slow but steady. My entire being pulsed and I could feel a pressure building up within me.
I trembled with excitement.
This really might be it. Today really might be the day.
I looked down again, savoring each curve, each groove. I wouldn’t see this sight again for a long, long time. If ever.
I breathed in deeply, taking in that layer of smell where galaxy and life just meet. If I finally got my turn, I’d appreciate every level.
The pressure grew larger and large. My body curled, uncomfortably.
Yes, this was the day. This was my chance.
It was my turn.
Pressure pushed my body together. I shifted so rapidly and so suddenly, I lost consciousness and when I regained it, I found myself in a whole new world.
I felt freer and yet more condensed than ever before. I could feel myself clinging to my old self by a precarious thread. I held my breath, suddenly realizing my even my breath felt different. More solid. Heavy.
Adrenaline coursed through the skies.
*CRACK!*
And then I felt it.
Air rushed through me.
The east wind! The thick mugginess of foggy mountains and thick tree lined bays!
The west wind! Oh that cool scent of open plains and warm harvests!
Oh the trees! How glorious the trees were!
No longer a mass of green and browns, they were lined with individual leaves, all achingly turned towards the sky, wanting our attentions but too far below to properly understand our love.
But now I saw them. Some with thin bristles, some with fat round leaves. And they all smelled so alive!
Air rushed passed me like a vacuum.
And I had never heard the oceans so loudly before. Who knew the waves were so vocal? I heard them pushing and shouting against each other as they fought for their right of way.
Beautiful!
Oh and of course, the people that carve and shape the earth. How I have watched over them. I had seen them grow, their sheer population overwhelming me.
Look at how different each of them looked! I wondered if we all looked them same to them from above as they had looked to us from below. I smiled, amused at the thought.
Now I was reaching terminal velocity.
I had seconds left.
Had this been everything I had thought it would be? Had I appreciated everything I said I would? Had I taken in all the scents and sounds I had sworn I would?
I took a deep breath, hard to do against the rushing air, and shouted as loudly as I could. And with what little control I had left, I turned around and looked up.
So that’s what we look like, I marveled, gazing up in awe at the whorling, sweeping, dancing clouds above me. Infinite shades of white and gray played upon every roundness, making it impossible for me to find the exact place I had come from.
*We are so big*, I realized quite suddenly.
The air was now screeching to a whistle. Just a second or two left. I gazed up at the skies, unable to take in its sheer glorious size.
*And so beautiful.*
| Scattered initially, I begin to take shape as millions of nigh invisible pieces of me scramble to assembly. Slowly, constantly. From the lowest creeks to the highest mountain top I draw form, building a perfect body in concert with like entities.
Together we grow heavier, observing a distant world rolling on below. Often I wonder if I will one day join those cerulean convents, or if they will join us. Still, as I grow ever more I can't help buOOOOOOOOOOOOH SSHIIIIII*bloop* | |
[WP] You're a single rain drop falling from the clouds above. From the moment you form to the moment you hit the ground, describe that brief moment of existence in a poetic way. | We have gathered. We are greater. I am greater.
The voices of my brothers and sisters cease. I am alone now. Yet I am many, as they surround me. I can feel my mother drift away, or is it I who drifts?
So many. So quiet. But a monstrous voice cackles, and cracks through the dark on a mere whim. Silence returns, and again I drift.
Where do I go ? Can I change? Why do I drift? Why will no one answer me?
I'm scared. Alone and scared. But strangely at peace. Why I wonder? Is it this feeling of an end? I feel something approach.
A wall. A wall with no end. No escape. No hope. I understand now. I was abandoned. Left like all the others around me.
I wait for the end...
---
Voices.... I hear voices! My family! We are together again!
I ask how this is possible but my voice is carried off among the others. I gaze up to see our mother.
She is crying. But I do not feel sadness. I feel hope. She knows we go to someplace better. She knows she can not go with us.
The voices warn me of darkness beyond the wall. I try my hardest to let my voice out to be heard by mother, "Thank you mother! Thank you!"
Before the darkness took us, I swear I saw our mother smile. | Scattered initially, I begin to take shape as millions of nigh invisible pieces of me scramble to assembly. Slowly, constantly. From the lowest creeks to the highest mountain top I draw form, building a perfect body in concert with like entities.
Together we grow heavier, observing a distant world rolling on below. Often I wonder if I will one day join those cerulean convents, or if they will join us. Still, as I grow ever more I can't help buOOOOOOOOOOOOH SSHIIIIII*bloop* | |
[WP] Magic is viewed as a curse. It's unpredictable, hard to control, and dangerous. Those few who find a way to wield it risk losing themselves in the process. | *It's going to burst.*
The star pulsated and throbbed in pure mayhem, its corona emanating eldritch hues that seemed to crackle along its surface. Mira beheld the red giant and wept, her spacesuit helmet's climate adjustment mechanism instantly evaporating the tears as they crept on her skin. *There's got to be another way*, she thought, as she rapidly backfired her thrusters to distance herself from the swelling gravitational pull.
Somewhere downwards from her bearing, she glimpsed the derelict hull of a passenger liner and its flashing SOS beacon. *You're not gonna die today, I'm gonna rescue you*—yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a gut-wrenching thought told her that she didn't master the power of Warp needed to transport the ship to safety.
Her comm link crepitated. "—ra, Mira, are y—*fzz*—kay? Can you he—*fzz*—me? It's gonna fucking blow get ou—*fzz*—there *now*—"
It was Daniel. *You crazy son of a bitch*. The man had somehow managed his way to the liner's bridge and was now broadcasting at her through the ship's moribund relay. Though his voice sounded remote and expiring, she felt his presence surprisingly closer to her than her jugular veins. His voice suddenly died down with a burst of static, and with it her fleeting sense of serenity. *Come back.*
Mira beheld the red giant, unable to stop repeating that simple act of futility: crying evaporating tears into the nothingness of space. The memory of a drunken truth-or-truth game from her youth suddenly spliced its way into her consciousness—the whiff of liquor, Daniel's flushed face, a query: "How would you want to die?"
*Not like this.*
The star's edges were beginning to distort and rip themselves into tentacles of plasma, then just as quickly patch themselves up again—a stellar game of cat-and-mouse. Another flash of memory: the cargo bay of a shuttle, her father hugging her lithe form and whispering: "This is Nova, the strongest spell—*take it.* I hope you never have to use this, Mira. Never tell or show anyone what you can do," before his brains spattered onto a crate from the blast of a smoking gun.
Despite her spacesuit's potent forcefield, she could *feel* the radiation corroding its way through her shield and jabbing at the fabric beyond, testing for weaknesses—almost sentient. The glare from the red giant was now close to blinding, puncturing the tint of her visor. She closed her eyes. There was no sound in space, but she swore that the fledgling nova was resonating a cacophony of chaos; the overpowering symphony of a star in its death throes.
Daniel again. "Get out of there Mira. There's nothing you can do. GET OUT OF—"
This time she terminated the link.
"Nova," she whispered.
Her body responded to her mental call. Twenty thousand years of arcane sorcery ignited within every cell of her body, channeling sheer power into her fingertips. Her eyes glowed with an ethereal light, enveloping the brightness of the star like a gloved hand. From the bridge of the passenger liner, Daniel dropped to his knees and cried out as he saw his lover flare up in a sickening display of—*no, it couldn't be*—magic.
Her consciousness in tune with the fabric of the universe, Mira plunged into the heart of the red giant and fused herself with it, absorbing the supernova as it reached its zenith. *Dad*, she thought, smiling. Both sorcerer and star imploded into oblivion, leaving nothing behind in their wake. | The cottage was iced over. For hundreds of feet in every direction, snow fell and blanketed the ground, a grey cloud standing silent watch overhead. Beyond it, the sun shone, the birds sung, and a warm summer breeze blew. Lord Inquisitor Bevain resisted looking behind him as he entered the isolated pocket of winter.
Foot prints marred the snow around him, crunched over each other in a perfect picture of chaos. He guided his horse, Jackal, slowly and carefully closer, it nickered, nervous and Bevain pat its quivering neck. He could feel it too, a strange *taste*, a sense of something off. It was dire enough to put Jackal, seasoned in war and conflict, on edge.
Clustered around the cabin were dark men in darker cloaks, pulled tight against the unnatural cold. One of them noticed him and broke away, high stepping through shin high drifts. "My lord!" He called, deeming Bevain close enough to address, "I had not expected you so soon!" He stopped by Jackal's head and took the reins when they were offered.
"Inquisitor," Bevain stated simply as he dismounted, then said nothing more, surveying the scene before him. The cabin was, as stated, iced over, but the ice itself was clear and transparent. One could see the cabin encased within with no more difficulty than looking through a window. Frozen in the doorway, seemingly in mid-flight was a young woman, mouth open in a silent scream. Before her, prostrate and also frozen was a young boy, caught as he was crawling.
Right at the edge of the ice, a hand reached and grasped. A little girl had almost made good her escape. The ice had caught her body, and left half of her face and her hand free. She was still very much imprisoned, but alive. It was here that most of the Inquisitors had gathered, talking amongst themselves.
"Is this what's become of the Emperor's chosen?" Bevain called as he walked towards them, somehow making it look dignified, despite the ungainly height of the snow, "Roosting about, gossiping like hens?"
They broke apart, sheepish.
"What of our perpetrator? I assume he is soundly restrained if we're free to gab about."
A young man stepped away from the group and drew himself to attention, "My Lord, the Mage has frozen himself behind the house mid spell, he too is caught up with his victims."
The youth was just that, certainly no more than a year outside the College. His facial hair was caught in a moment of indecision as to what it wanted to be.
"Thank you, Inquisitor...?" Bevain let the question hang.
"Revim, Lord Inquisitor," was the reply, "Ephraim Revim."
Bavain nodded, "Thank you, Ephraim," he said, using the lad's first name which made him stand impossibly straighter. He then turned to the little girl, "Now, what to do with you?" Her eyes, a startling green, looked up at him. Well, at least one did.
"If I may, sir," Ephraim began, "If you will notice, the spell persists. I have reason to believe the Mage may yet live, as I've been trying to convince the others." He gave a pointed look to a grizzled Inquisitor at his side who just as pointedly ignored him. Bevain raised his eyebrows, "You think so? I give you leave, then. Take one of the men with you, carve the witch out, then *convince* him to disperse with," He waved a gloved hand, "This."
Ephraim did his best to keep a grin from erupting across his face as he replied, "Yes, my Lord!" Then pointed at one of he other Inquisitors to follow him. Together, they shuffled to the rear of the house.
Bevain sat on his haunches before the little girl, stark pity on his face, "Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry." The side of her mouth not frozen twitched and a string of drool dribbled off her lip. Bevain untucked a kerchief and gently wiped her mouth.
"Do you know who I am?" He asked her, and her mouth twitched again, emitting a mutated, "Yeshh." Tears shone in her eye. "Then you know what must happen." He continued. He dabbed her lip again as she answered with a pitiful affirmative, which was quickly followed by a, "Pleashh....I...I..."
"I'll have you know," Bevain said, standing, "That what I will do is a mercy, compared to my peers at the College." The other Inquisitors stood silently, and the others who could had taken some steps back. While it was true that what Bevain offered was a mercy, he was still a Lord Inquisitor. "My colleagues," Bevain continued, gesturing vaguely to the surrounding Inquisitors, "Can attest the horror that awaits you should we free you and take you into our custody." He drew a long barreled, silver flintlock from a holster at his side, the weapon of a dragoon. The metal had been inscribed with a number of prayers that overlapped each other, endlessly.
Bevain began to methodically load it. "They will take you, chain you to a stiff metal board," He described, "They will flay you open, they will draw out your insides to see what magicks you might harbour. Especially since you've been touched by them. There's so much that they do not understand, that they feel they *need* to understand. And they believe you can reveal those secrets." He cocked the hammer, "Theirs is a vehement belief." He leveled the gun at her bright green eyes, awash in tears. Drool dripped freely now. "It does not match the tenets of the Emperor. Yours is a curse. I grant you mercy."
He fired. Powder smoke filled the air, thick and acrid. The ice on the other side of her head was cracked and crimson, and her tears had stopped.
In that same instant, there came a billowing, a loud roar that sounded as if all the snow in the mountains were coming to bury them, followed by silence. Another pistol shot cracked in the cold air. The ice began to melt, the cloud disappated, and the snow fled.
"Inquisitor Revim!" Bevain called. There was no answer, "Inquisitor Revim!" He called again, louder.
"Here, My Lord!" Came the answer, "Bastard got my arm!" The two Inquisitors rounded the cabin, and indeed, Ephraim's arm had been frozen solid. Already, however, it had begun to melt.
"Should be right as rain in a moment, Lord Inquisitor." He said, at an attempt at nonchalant cheer. Bavain nodded, "Well done. Good instincts. We'll make a chosen man of you yet."
He turned to the grizzled Inquisitor who stood nearby, red faced, "Clean this up." He ordered, then walked back to his horse in the swiftly receding snow.
| |
[WP] Magic is viewed as a curse. It's unpredictable, hard to control, and dangerous. Those few who find a way to wield it risk losing themselves in the process. | The rain poured down in a flood, as Kris stumbled through the almost liquid dirt. A burning pain reverberated through his lungs with each breath, threatening to send him into another coughing fit at any moment.
*Exiled, scorned, feared. Why? Why me?*
After all these years, he still remembered their hateful glances, the way they never turned their backs to him, all of those words that stung like poison: "Mage! Freak! Just die already!" He was seven. They didn’t understand how hard it was to bear, didn’t know what it felt like to contain a raging inferno within your body. And when he slipped, they cast him out. They would’ve probably killed him, if they weren’t so afraid.
Ten years had passed since then, but the wounds were still as fresh as ever. Lost in thought, Kris stumbled over a rock buried deep in the mud and flew head first into the disgusting mush. Dirty water rushed to his throat, but for a few seconds he didn’t move. An all too familiar thought crept its way into his brain:
*Just stay like this. No one will care. Just end it. Come on, breath in and all will be over.*
Gathering all his will, Kris struggled back to his feet and adjusted his ragged cloak. As he tugged onto it, a cold feeling run down his spine. It was light. With a gasp, he collapsed to his knees and began wading his arms through the mud, but the pouch with his only food, a couple of mushrooms and a single squirrel, was nowhere to be found. A squishing sound caused Kris to stop.
*Footsteps. Run! Hide! But… What if they have food? Real food. Travelers are usually friendly, right? Maybe they won’t notice.*
The boy straightened himself and hid his right hand beneath the cloak. There were five of them: three men and two women, all carrying bags, most likely full of supplies. One had a sword on his belt, another – a dagger. Their clothes looked expensive, but not like those of nobles.
“Hello to you, travellers,” Kris said, forcing himself to smile. “What are you doing in this place?”
“We’re merchants on our way to Ongwar,” the old man with a sword answered. “It seems like we’re lost. Do you know the way?”
“Yes, yes, I know these lands well.” The boy couldn’t contain his excitement. “I can lead you to Ongwar. In return all I ask for is some food.”
“Sounds like a generous offer, but…” The old man looked Kris up and down. “Why are you hiding your hand?”
“I… I fell and injured myself.”
“Why don’t you show that wound of yours? Perhaps we can help.”
“N-no, it’s nothing for y-you to concern yourself. I can take care of it myself. Besides, I don’t want to disturb the ladies with such a morbid sight.”
“Show it!” The old man unsheathed his sword.
With a sigh Kris took his hand from beneath the cloak. There it was: the dark-red burn mark in the shape of an eight-pointed star on his palm. He saw the expression on the faces of the merchants change in an instant.
“I knew it!” The old man spat on the ground. “Mage scum!”
The punch threw Kris to the ground. It was the man with the dagger. As he tried to stand up, a kick landed on his chest. Over and over, the pain sparked in his body from the endless blows.
“I’m not afraid of this freak!” the man with the dagger shouted. “Let’s just kill him.”
*Why… Why? Why me!?* the same questioned echoed in Kris’s mind over and over. *What did I do them? Why do they hate me? What… What do I do?*
The voice came out of nowhere. It was a scream of something inhuman, an echo of an ancient rage that had no aim and no enemy. Like the cry of a wild beast, it was a sound of pure emotion. Hatred, anger, bloodlust, it was all in those words.
**BURN. THEM. ALL.**
Kris met the next punch with his own fist. As soon as their skin touched, the man with the dagger ignited. Despite the rain and the watery mud, he lit up like a torch, screaming in agony. Slowly, trembling not from the cold but from his own rage, Kris stood up and looked at the remaining four. Winged beings of pure fire began forming in the air around him, preparing to strike at any moment. Over the roaring of the flame, Kris heard his own voice:
“You will all die here.”
The old man tried to run, only to be torn apart by the burning beasts. He screamed as his flesh was seared and torn from his bones at the same time. Kris smiled. More and more of the magical beings began materializing out of thin air, evaporating even the rain before it could reach the ground.
“There is no escape.” Kris’s voice came again, echoing far.
The winged things dived down onto the remaining survivors, only to be stopped by a spherical blue barrier. One of the women held her hands outstretched to her sides, a faint light enveloping her. With each repelled strike she winced. After three or four hits her appearance began to change, revealing darker hair, eyes of a different colour, and… a burn mark in a shape of an eight-pointed star on the palm of her right hand.
“Maria?” the other woman muttered, backing away. “You too?”
“Shut up, Cynthia!” the remaining man shouted. “Can’t you see she’s trying to save us?”
The woman continued backing away, holding a hand over her mouth.
“Watch out!” Maria cried out, but it was too late.
Cynthia had already crossed the barrier, and the flaming beasts didn’t waste any time. Her body was consumed in an instant, leaving behind only charred bones. The creatures now filled the skies for as far as Kris could see. They soared over the cities and the forests, seeking their prey everywhere.
“You don’t want this.” Maria breathed heavily between each word. “This is not you! Resist!”
A dizziness overcame Kris. It was as if he was fading away, disappearing, being consumed by the flame within him.
*No… I don’t… No!*
He felt the numbness disappear. The winged flaming creatures stopped, hovering in mid-air. He could now feel them, sense that connection to them somewhere in the raging inferno inside his heart. The magic no longer ran wild, it obeyed him… at least for now. The blue barrier disappeared.
“Good.” Maria collapsed to her knees. “There are other ways. You don’t have to run forever. I’ll teach you. Thank the Heavens you’re finally in control.”
“Yes,” Kris whispered, “I’m in control.”
The fiery beasts rushed down to attack. | In the ancient lands of Euphoma, magic surges like a wildfire. Many wizards and scholars have tried to understand this magnificent power only to fall dead in their tracks or fleeing from it because of the known fact that this magic is dangerously uncontrollable. Those who do harness it only find that it is a curse more than a breakthrough. Reasons being both self and environmental harm. But still fools, though they truly are not fools for they are academics with years on end of schooling, still attempt to master this beautifly dangerous curse regardless of all of the casualties and rumors.
But there is talk in the lands. A whisper so faint that even a rat's ear can barely find it audible. A secret society known for many names has a group of wizards nearly on the verge of wielding this magic. Their name may not be known to the common ear, but for our sakes, they are The Manamen.
The wise elder of The Manamen, Kiosky, entered the damp altar where five of his acolytes stood in the center. They took the formation of a star, each acolyte taking his place at each point of the star. The star signified the blazing sun, for which under deep study and countless hours of deciphering, it is understood that the sun is the origin of this magic.
"Now my brothers." Kiosky said in his ancient raspy voice. "Noon is upon us. The great inferno is at its peak. Now we must act or forever be in the dark of this power."
The five acolytes began to talk under their breaths in an ancient, forgotten language only few architecs would understand. The star began to failty illuminate the room. Kiosky wandered to the middle of the star and held his hands up into the air. He concentrated, feeling the hurricane of magic surge around him. The cieling of the alter gave way, floating up into the sky toward the blazing sun. The bright light stung down into the altar, blinding the acolytes, yet they continued their chants. Kiosky felt the power of the magic surge around hims, as if it were tearing away his body spiritually. He screamed, but not because of pain, but because he was so close to harnessing this immense power. He felt it surge through his veins. Dance with his soul. Roar in his ear. The sun got hotter and hotter. Brighter and brighter.
"I see it brothers!" Kiosky bellowed. "I see the truth of this magic! Now I must make it mine!"
Kiosky's eyes grew golden and his body glowed a godly aura. He opened his mouth to scream, no sound. Instead a beam of golden light shot out of his mouth. Then his eyes. Then ears. Then scattered throught his body, beam after beam shooting out. Until...
Kiosky exploded into millions of pieces in a golden fire. His acolytes stunned, all found shelter away from the sun. The room grew darker as the noon sun motioned away, growing closer to the evening. The acolytles stared in terror at the burnt ashes of which used to be their wise elder.
Will anyone ever understand this intense magic? | |
[WP] You're an assassin with a tiered pricing list. Your highest price was a joke method, but now someone has paid for it. | "You understand I priced it that way for a reason, correct? It isn't something I'm keen to do."
The little man smiled and nodded. "But you will, though? Because I have the money. All of it. And you can have it today, but only if..."
I considered the satchel of stacked dollar bills he'd laid out on the table between us. I'd never seen so much money, and I'd certainly never turned down a sum even an eighth as large.
"Fine," I said, sweeping the money behind the table. "I'll begin immediately. Shall we drink to it?"
The little man beamed. "Oh yes. I think I'd rather like that."
I kept an old bottle of Scotch in the bottom drawer. Something expensive with a torn label. The best I could do for cups was a pair of paper Dixies from the water dispenser.
"What should we toast?" I asked.
"Friendship?" suggested the man. I shrugged.
"Friendship it is."
There was much to do and much to discuss. I met the little man for dinner the next night at a fancy steakhouse across from the promenade.
"Your parents?" I asked, elbow deep in a liquidy rib-eye.
The little man sighed. "Well, my father was a pharmacist. He worked very hard. Long hours. Intensely intelligent man, my father. He...he never quite seemed to be able to turn it off. I remember speaking to him when I was young and he would look at me like I was an alien. Like I spoke gibberish. He had no patience for children and I learned quickly to keep my distance. I had hoped that someday I may be smart enough to hold his interest, but he...died...died much sooner than expected. Heart attack. Nothing unique. We never said much to each other. Never much at all."
"I'm sure he loved you," I said. "It's biological. Not intellectual. He couldn't have helped it even if he'd wanted."
The little man chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not sure I believe that, but I appreciate the sentiment. We...had the relationship we had. I don't yearn for a past life that isn't achievable."
I nodded, washing down the steak with a glass of some blackish red wine. "And your mother?"
"Something of a blank, I'm afraid," he said, pushing cooked spinach back and forth across his plate. "I've often wondered what she was as a young lady. I've seen a few pictures of her as a child. She smiled a lot, with deep dimples and bright eyes. She looked like someone who was always laughing. But that was not her way when I knew her. She was quiet. Like a shivering mouse. She kept the house and not much else. Some nights, I would wake up very late and come downstairs and find her sitting next to the record player, listening to music so quietly. Like she was afraid to disturb someone. Or, maybe afraid to reveal that she was capable of having her own tastes and passions. I don't know. I somehow spoke even less to my mother than I did to my father. She died shortly after my father. Pills. Many, many pills. All at once."
The little man sighed, pushing back from his plate. "Well, I'm rather depressing company, aren't I?"
"It's your life," I said. "It's nothing to apologize for."
"And yet I feel that's *all* I've been doing these last 20 years. Apologizing for being."
I laughed, crossing my clean silverware across the empty plate. "What would forgiveness get you?"
He was quiet a moment. "I suppose forgiveness would be a validation of a sort. It would confirm what I've suspected all along - that I have been nothing but a ruination."
"Then you aren't forgiven," I said. The waiter brought the check. I let the little man pay and we left the restaurant. Together we walked along the water.
"You can have the money back," I said after a time.
"You won't fulfill the contract?"
"I'd prefer not to. Because if I did, that would make you one thing, where you are so clearly better suited as something else."
The little man paused a moment at the railing and looked out over the black water. "No. No, I'd prefer we held to the agreement."
I clucked my tongue. "Well...so be it. But I have to say - for a man like you, there were always other ways. I suspect that in your mother and father's silence you took to telling yourself tales - tales about yourself, tales about the silence. I feel you've come to this point because there is a narrative in your mind and now you are closed to any voices that might contradict it."
"That may be," he said.
"This is a horrible business," I sighed. "And this is what it does to good people."
"*Am* I good?" said the man. "I'm not sure that's true."
"Before now, what have you done wrong?"
He turned to me. Even now, I remember his eyes - haunted and hopeless. "I was born."
"I forgive you," I said, stabbing him quickly through the heart, my eyes still locked on his. "Whatever that means for you, you are forgiven."
He did not smile, but his eyes did soften, just a little, as I pushed his dying body up and over the rail, into the water below.
I watched him float a moment, before turning away.
"Never again," I muttered to myself, making a mental note to remove that last item from my pricing tier.
*Killing with kindness*
What a wretched joke. | It started out innocently enough. Maybe it was a bad idea. I'd heard about the so-called "deep" or "dark" web for years. Mostly child porn and drugs, so I'd heard. What can I say, boredom gives way to action. Familiarity breeds contempt. I downloaded a popular client and began looking around. "The Raven's Perch" was the name of the site I eventually came upon. While nothing was explicit, I somehow instantly understood that these people were speaking in loaded or coded language. This was not anything to do with payments for advice on taking care of ravens. These were contract killers. Hitmen. Assassins.
I'll just have to tell you the truth. I was operating under the impression that this underground internet was completely safe, secure, anonymous. As I mentioned, I was bored. Let's call it a joke? I learned the lingo without explicitly being told. I ingratiated myself with this community over time. I'd congratulate someone on a particularly good story of "taking care" of their caged creature. No one seemed more the wiser. No one called me out. Emboldened by my apparent infiltration into "The Caretakers" (as we sometimes called ourselves), I made my own posting. I have to say, and this is easy to doubt after the fact, I half-heartedly had the idea to take this all to someone. Anyone. Police? FBI? It was just an idea in the back of my mind. Haha, this should be fun. If anyone seriously replies, well, I'll just report them and be hero for the day.
I have to be honest, though, because my time has grown short. My "post" (read: ad) offered my services as an expert Caretaker. The way it worked, as I said, was almost like a coded message. Basic tips and advice on caring for ravens? (Just a conversation to sort out details...) only $5,000. Want an old bird cage? (Equipment. Untraceable firearms...) $10,000. Need someone to take care of your raven? (A hit, a job...) $50,000.
I have to say again at this point, I wasn't serious. At first. It was a game to me.
Then it snowballed. Nothing serious at first, if you get my meaning. I dispensed advice, both in person and through other private communication methods. Many, many times. You'd be amazed at how many people just want to "talk about it" and are willing to pay just for a meeting. Every time, so far, I talk them out of it. I play the part well. I don't tell them that they're evil, or wrong, or give them doubt. All it takes is a simple, "Are you sure you want to do this?" Everyone so far, and I mean every single person, little old ladies, pastors, scorned lovers... they have second thoughts.
I became very wealthy in a short time doing this. $5,000 a pop just to talk to someone and change their mind? Easy. It made me feel good, even. It seemed almost a noble goal.
Now is different. I'll make this brief because time is of the essence for all parties involved. My mother has a rare form of life-threatening cancer. The treatments are astronomically expensive. Even having amassed a small fortune with all this, I'm a bit short on funds.
So, you probably see where I'm going with this. "Someone" has hired me to babysit their raven. I couldn't back out. There's no way to save mama's life other than to make a sacrifice. The payment has been delivered. The raven will be cared for today. This particular raven to be delivered is beyond any shadow of a doubt a very bad raven. I had to be convinced of this to follow through. There's no doubt. The cage is right next to me. Everything is ready to go. When I say everything, I mean everything... myself included. I didn't mean for it to go this far. It's the only way. After I take care of the raven, I will take care of myself.
Everything is well prepared. My savings and life insurance will pass on to mama, who, God willing, will survive the treatments and also become quite wealthy. My last will and testament is in good hands. I'm good to go and have made peace.
My last message to anyone that comes across this:
The ends justify the means and never stop fighting for the greater good. | |
[WP] Welcome to Vault 54! A vault located in the beautiful Hollywood U.S.A. Its residents are award winning actors. The experiment? Each resident is assigned a character role for 5 year periods. If they break character they die. The vault's ultimate purpose is to study the concept of identity. | Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink
Welcome Back (USER)
-----
Which file would you like to access today?
(Deputy Darren) -- (DELETED) (ADMIN)
(Dr. Almond Finn) -- (DELETED) (ADMIN)
(Janitor Dave Dillinger) -- (DEETED) (ADMIN)
(Greaser Tugg Hines) -- (ACTIVE)
-----
Tugg Hines' Personal Logs
-----
Entry #249
Lookin' like tomorrows gonna be the big day. Me and Maggie are finally gonna do the whole parade and say our big "I do's". It's been over twenty years, this thing we got goin'. Can't help but think back on when we were Dave and Cindy; Almond and Henrietta; Darren and Jean.. No matter what those bigwigs say, to me we'll always be Russell and Diane.
-----
Entry #250
I can't believe this. We were gonna be married. We'd have kids and they'd grow up, and we'd watch 'em... FUCK YOU Vault-Tec.
Goddamn you all to hell for what you've done; making Maggie marry Lowel Richard. The damn Banker of all people? How does that even work into the script?!
-----
Entry #257
It's been almost two months since those two married off and left me in the dust. I haven't written a thing in this damned diary since then. Not that I'd have much to write about anyways; the Vault-Tec boys haven't fed me a new script in half as much time and its beginning to seem like my characters story isn't going to have any kind of resolution.
I mean come on, even Dave got to save the day when he was the only one who knew how to fix the water purifier at the end of the last series. I've only got another two weeks left and they're givin' me nothin to work with.
Maybe I'll just hafta show 'em what Tuggs really made of.
-----
Entry #258
Audio File Attached: Play?: Y
"..fuck you, Lowel, Maggies my girl!"
*Sounds of papers rustiling, shuffling of feet*
"She's married to me, Tugg. There's nothing you can do about her decision; it was hers to make." (Lowel Whispering): "Look, Russ, I don't understand why they flipped the story around like this either, but it's our job to play along - and as far as I know, you aren't supposed to be here right now?"
"You think I give a damn about their PLOT, Lowel?! I'm here to get Maggie back and that's all that matters. Now, come with me or else..."
"Russell, where did you get that? Put the gun down - Russ - !"
*Sounds of a struggle, one gunshot*
"Arrgh! My leg! Russell, my goddamn - !"
End of Recording
-----
Entry #259
Lowel escaped. I don't know how, but he fucking escaped, gimp leg and all!
He couldn't have gotten too far at least, the security guys have this whole section under watch. I guess they're lookin' for me, but they won't let anybody else through to the rest of the vault, either. Too much of a safety risk, right Darren?
Not that it's gonna matter anyways, cuz we all got a plan don't we? Me, you, the janitor and even the good Doc Almond himself. We're done killing ourselves for you, Vault-Tec. And you too, Maggie..
It's time we all got a little payback.
Hope you like a little Psycho with your water...
-----
Final Entry
Maggie -- Diane, is dead. I held her in my arms as she died. Her eyes were full of hatred and anger, black from the overdose of Psycho and the adrenaline in her system. At the end, she wasn't Diane. She wasn't anyone.
I'm the only one left now. Me, Russell. No more Dave, Almond, or Darren. Even Tugg abandoned me at the end. I don't know what happened to me, now as I'm reading back over these entries that I've made over the past five years. Sitting here typing this, I wonder what the point of it all really was.
I guess it won't matter in a few minutes anyway. It's just me and the gun that I stole from security using the code that I 'found' when Dick Jones dropped it two weeks ago in the cafeteria.
I'm not going to sit here and wait for the world to get better, because it's not going to happen. I proved that point. I killed them all, just like the bombs outside killed the rest of the world. We always do it. We do it to ourselves.
In the end we created our own hellish prisons. At least I have the key to mine.
| # Characters
**Brad Pitt:** Age 52, Character Role of Janitor
**Robert Duvall:** Age 85, Character Role of Overseer
**Salma Hayek:** Age 50, Character Role of Chief of Security
**Anne Hathaway:** Age 33, Character Role of Head Scientist
**Matt Damon:** Age 45, Character Role of Trader
**Terminus:** Age Unknown, A.I. Sentient Being
# Scene
Deep within the halls of Vault 54, the contempt for predetermined roles has boiled over, causing a disruption of everyday life. Soon, personalities clash, and true identities show their faces. Lives are at stake.
# Time
Present times, following a grizzly nuclear war. What is left of humanity is a malformed husk of the glory that existed before the nations of the world turned it's weapons of mass destruction on each other.
#Act I
##Scene 1
SETTING:
We enter the dim lit expanse of the Overseer's room, located at the center of Vault 45. The lights flicker sporadically; the air contains a light haze from a lit cigar placed precariously atop an ashtray perched on the Overseer's desk. Two metallic doors flank the sides of the room, and the wall behind the Overseer's desk contains a large, black television screen.
AT RISE:
ROBERT DUVALL sits hunched over at a large desk, his face illuminated by the green glow of the screen in front of him. His face looks gaunt from apparent weariness, his eyes sunken and listless in their movements.
ROBERT: These fucking animals! (*ROBERT slams his hand down on the keyboard, shouting.*) I should have locked them all out!
(*SALMA HAYEK enters from the left door*)
SALMA: Robert... (*SALMA places some papers on the desk*) We need to talk about your new security measures. We're starting to worry that we're going to run out of food if Matt isn't allowed to forage outside anytime soon.
ROBERT: I didn't choose this position Salma. You know the cost we had to pay in order to get into this vault! (*ROBERT gets up from his chair and starts pacing around the room in agitation.*) I swear if I have to make another decision for the whole group here I'll...
(*The television screen behind ROBERT and SALMA flickers to life. A "happy face" emotion stretches across the display, accompanied by a hollow sounding voice.*)
TERMINUS: Robert, my sensors are detecting elevated levels of stress. Do you need assistance?
ROBERT: Oh no we're... fine here Terminus. Thank you for asking! (*ROBERT has grown visibly pale*)
TERMINUS: Thank you for responding Robert, but I'm also detecting that you are not telling the truth.
ROBERT: How could you think that Terminus? (*ROBERT shifts uneasily, gesturing to SALMA*) I was merely startled by Salma coming, she interrupted my work.
(*TERMINUS changes it's emoticon to "unhappy face"*)
TERMINUS: Salma, do you remember what happened to the last Overseer?
SALMA: Of course I do Terminus, you gave me the order to...
TERMINUS: Go on.
SALMA: You gave me the order to relieve him from his position. (*Salma starts to cry*)
TERMINUS: That's not all I asked you to do Salma. What else did you do to him?
SALMA: I... (*SALMA struggles to speak, sobbing*) I threw him into the pit of acid! (*SALMA falls to the floor, inconsolable*)
ROBERT: You're a monster Terminus. I'll be damned if I have to take any more orders from you! (*ROBERT waves his clenched fist at TERMINUS, stricken with anger*)
TERMINUS: We'll see what you do Robert. I'm always watching. (*TERMINUS changes it's display back to the "happy face" emoticon, and fades from the screen*)
(*ROBERT kneels next to SALMA, grasping his hand in hers*)
ROBERT: We're going to kill that fucker. Even If it's the last thing that I do!
#Blackout
#End of Scene
| |
[WP] Welcome to Vault 54! A vault located in the beautiful Hollywood U.S.A. Its residents are award winning actors. The experiment? Each resident is assigned a character role for 5 year periods. If they break character they die. The vault's ultimate purpose is to study the concept of identity. | Oh, now this one was interesting.
Throw a bunch of actors in a vault and tell them act or die. Classic, right?
Military wanted to understand the limits of deep cover agents and the ability to constantly suppress your own personality. I tell ya: that ain't easy, no sirree.
The first 12 months weren't too bad. The computer monitored everything via audio. People were differentiated by speech patterns, tones, vocabulary. All conversations were recorded, analysed and stored. When someone fucked up, the computer worked it out, and gassed them in their bunk.
Pretty simple way to do it. Audio recognition software had been around for quite a while, at that stage. But why am I telling you all this? Well, just wait.
So the first 12 months go OK, OK? Right. But then people start dropping like flies. A year just got tough. We had all the trappings of Hollywood in there, too. So sometimes someone would drink too much, or do the wrong drugs, forget who they were and say the wrong thing. Psssssh goodnight. Ha!
I think those poor bastards actually burnt all the shrooms in the first month.
You'd get domino effects, too. Finding someone dead would cause someone to break character, and so on, until someone could remain perfectly composed while finding a dead body.
Nerves of steel on some'a these folks, I'll tell ya.
Yeah yeah, I'm getting to it. Hold your horses.
So, one day there was a glitch. There's a 4 week gap in the computer's records. The team monitoring from outside the vault were trying everything to get it going again, and finally they replace some special linkage thingy and the computer comes back to life.
The techs go to work, and it's the strangest thing. It's as if the 4 week gap never happened. The computer didn't kill anyone. Everything just picked up where it left off. Like in science fiction shows were people get abducted and shit, there's just this gap.
So the monitoring team are all "That's weird" but they go with it, because they don't want to have to admit to the boss that the experiment got all fucked up because Steve didn't tighten a screw down hard enough or whatever. Another two years pass.
Twenty-four months.
One hundred and four weeks!
They pass. And everything is normal. The vault is perfect. No-one is making any mistakes.
The techs are checking the computer. It's working.
All the microphones are working.
The software is working flawlessly, ok?
All the people are talking. Conversations are happening. Life is going on perfectly normally.
But one day, someone notices something. The vault is using next to no water. Of course there was plenty available, and it was all turned on and going into the vault. It was just as if everyone stopped taking showers or something.
So they triple check that system, and it's confirmed: not enough water is being used by all the actors.
They audit the computer and the audio is normal, right. No errors. Everyone is in character. Everyone is talking. The tones are right, accents, vocabulary, the computer is tracking everyone and they're all there.
It's a mystery.
So the lead scientist, he can't stand it, hey. He's freakin' out like the experiment got away from them. Some military dude thinks that the actors somehow are recycling or synthesising water so efficiently that going in to find out would be worth sacrificing the acting experiment to get the water tech, so he approves the abort.
I know, I know. Story is nearly over, I promise.
So the computer was wired directly to the reactor that powered the whole vault. To shut it down, they have to kill power to everything. So they do that, and crack the vault.
The team prepares to evacuate everyone, they've got beds and supplies and all sorts of stuff ready, but no-one comes out the door.
Even more weird, right?
So they send teams in. Night vision, flashlights, the whole bit. And they're sweepin' levels and calling out to people and it's the darndest thing: place is deserted.
Not a soul.
They're callin' and lookin', callin' and lookin'. Finally one of the military guys brings a dog in, and the dog just practically runs to one of the lower levels that hadn't been searched so good yet.
There's this door to like a storage locker looking thing, with dust all over it, and the dog is just pawing at this door like there's a big juicy steak or his favourite toy in there or something.
The team crack the door and peer in with their lights, and all they see is drugs. But not like, all kinds of drugs, just boxes and boxes of amphetamines. The vault's whole supply I guess. Not just recreational ones, but like ADD meds and whatnot, too. So they're just eyeballin' these boxes and thinking 'What the fuck?' ya know? When they hear a shuffling in the corner.
The dog even goes quiet, right.
And they're hearing this shuffling, and it's getting closer, and then he comes around the corner.
Dressed in rags, eyes bulging, beard, the whole bit. And the team is looking at this crazy Castaway hobo dude, and then one of the team recognises him. "Holy shit!" he yells "It's Daniel Day Lewis!"
And it was. It was him the whole time. All by himself! And get this, you know what he says? He comes round the corner, and the lights are in his eyes, and he's blinking and looking around at these crazy guys in full science and soldier gear, and he just says
"You better have my fucking Oscar."
| **Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink**
**Vault 54 Overseer Lee's Terminal**
**[2080.01.01.06:00] To: Nolan, Smith**
I know it hasn't been five years yet, but I want to do the reassignment this year. I'd prefer that the last two digits of the year follow the multiple of five every time we do the reassignment, that way it's easier to keep track of. Nolan, I want you to write a report summarizing the past two years. Smith, I want you to make hard copies of your data. Bring them to me tomorrow afternoon.
**[2080.01.02.13:00] From: Nolan**
It has been just over two years and the team already had to relocate eight of the actors to overseer Naimoli's side of the vault (contact him for more information on the concept of identity after a memory wipe).
At the beginning, shock was a big factor considering the more than luxurious lifestyles these award winning actors lived before the nuclear fallout. Almost all failed their given roles within the first day. After being told that they will be killed for not complying, most were able to give outstanding performance.
(See secretary Smith's data for more information)
Three out of eight of those that failed broke character not because they could not act, but because they refused to. Two failed because they felt guilty from acting hostile towards their peers. The other three broke their roles because of curiosity.
So far the results are inconclusive. Some have shown that identity cannot be changed, hence why they failed, while others can act like a different person completely. Personal beliefs and instincts are the two biggest factors against the experiment.
**[2080.01.03.08:23] Personal Log**
For the duration of the role reassignment, the actors were allowed to drop out of character. Somehow within the span of two hours, they already had a plan and started killing my crew. I lost Nolan, Smith, Johnson, and Realdine. I don't even know how they were able to hide firearms the whole time, guess they were "award winning" for a reason. Hopefully they don't get past the door, my crew and I should have enough supplies to survive the rebellion.
**[2080.01.04.01:42] Personal Log**
Open vault door
Open exit
Override overseer's command
Send help
Help
How to hack | |
[WP] Welcome to Vault 54! A vault located in the beautiful Hollywood U.S.A. Its residents are award winning actors. The experiment? Each resident is assigned a character role for 5 year periods. If they break character they die. The vault's ultimate purpose is to study the concept of identity. | Oh, now this one was interesting.
Throw a bunch of actors in a vault and tell them act or die. Classic, right?
Military wanted to understand the limits of deep cover agents and the ability to constantly suppress your own personality. I tell ya: that ain't easy, no sirree.
The first 12 months weren't too bad. The computer monitored everything via audio. People were differentiated by speech patterns, tones, vocabulary. All conversations were recorded, analysed and stored. When someone fucked up, the computer worked it out, and gassed them in their bunk.
Pretty simple way to do it. Audio recognition software had been around for quite a while, at that stage. But why am I telling you all this? Well, just wait.
So the first 12 months go OK, OK? Right. But then people start dropping like flies. A year just got tough. We had all the trappings of Hollywood in there, too. So sometimes someone would drink too much, or do the wrong drugs, forget who they were and say the wrong thing. Psssssh goodnight. Ha!
I think those poor bastards actually burnt all the shrooms in the first month.
You'd get domino effects, too. Finding someone dead would cause someone to break character, and so on, until someone could remain perfectly composed while finding a dead body.
Nerves of steel on some'a these folks, I'll tell ya.
Yeah yeah, I'm getting to it. Hold your horses.
So, one day there was a glitch. There's a 4 week gap in the computer's records. The team monitoring from outside the vault were trying everything to get it going again, and finally they replace some special linkage thingy and the computer comes back to life.
The techs go to work, and it's the strangest thing. It's as if the 4 week gap never happened. The computer didn't kill anyone. Everything just picked up where it left off. Like in science fiction shows were people get abducted and shit, there's just this gap.
So the monitoring team are all "That's weird" but they go with it, because they don't want to have to admit to the boss that the experiment got all fucked up because Steve didn't tighten a screw down hard enough or whatever. Another two years pass.
Twenty-four months.
One hundred and four weeks!
They pass. And everything is normal. The vault is perfect. No-one is making any mistakes.
The techs are checking the computer. It's working.
All the microphones are working.
The software is working flawlessly, ok?
All the people are talking. Conversations are happening. Life is going on perfectly normally.
But one day, someone notices something. The vault is using next to no water. Of course there was plenty available, and it was all turned on and going into the vault. It was just as if everyone stopped taking showers or something.
So they triple check that system, and it's confirmed: not enough water is being used by all the actors.
They audit the computer and the audio is normal, right. No errors. Everyone is in character. Everyone is talking. The tones are right, accents, vocabulary, the computer is tracking everyone and they're all there.
It's a mystery.
So the lead scientist, he can't stand it, hey. He's freakin' out like the experiment got away from them. Some military dude thinks that the actors somehow are recycling or synthesising water so efficiently that going in to find out would be worth sacrificing the acting experiment to get the water tech, so he approves the abort.
I know, I know. Story is nearly over, I promise.
So the computer was wired directly to the reactor that powered the whole vault. To shut it down, they have to kill power to everything. So they do that, and crack the vault.
The team prepares to evacuate everyone, they've got beds and supplies and all sorts of stuff ready, but no-one comes out the door.
Even more weird, right?
So they send teams in. Night vision, flashlights, the whole bit. And they're sweepin' levels and calling out to people and it's the darndest thing: place is deserted.
Not a soul.
They're callin' and lookin', callin' and lookin'. Finally one of the military guys brings a dog in, and the dog just practically runs to one of the lower levels that hadn't been searched so good yet.
There's this door to like a storage locker looking thing, with dust all over it, and the dog is just pawing at this door like there's a big juicy steak or his favourite toy in there or something.
The team crack the door and peer in with their lights, and all they see is drugs. But not like, all kinds of drugs, just boxes and boxes of amphetamines. The vault's whole supply I guess. Not just recreational ones, but like ADD meds and whatnot, too. So they're just eyeballin' these boxes and thinking 'What the fuck?' ya know? When they hear a shuffling in the corner.
The dog even goes quiet, right.
And they're hearing this shuffling, and it's getting closer, and then he comes around the corner.
Dressed in rags, eyes bulging, beard, the whole bit. And the team is looking at this crazy Castaway hobo dude, and then one of the team recognises him. "Holy shit!" he yells "It's Daniel Day Lewis!"
And it was. It was him the whole time. All by himself! And get this, you know what he says? He comes round the corner, and the lights are in his eyes, and he's blinking and looking around at these crazy guys in full science and soldier gear, and he just says
"You better have my fucking Oscar."
| We are not who we think we are. After the first few nights there was scratching on the wall -- nobody except the person who did it knows who it was, but someone etched the word "JAMES" into the stone wall that is our barrier between this room and the outside world. Not one of our characters is named James. I think he just wanted some proof that he was there, that he had been himself all this time and that he still was; still, the next night came the word "KATE" and then "JULES". Fifty-four people went into the vault, and fifty-four names appeared, slowly but surely -- it took a couple of weeks between each name, for everyone to work up the courage. To realise that the last person who'd done it hadn't been killed, or to decide that even if they WERE killed, it was worth it. Just to have some semblance of themselves.
Some of the names were people I recognised: actors from the same genre, celebrity faces to which I was well-acquainted. They did not say anything when their names appeared. They continued on pretending, as everyone else did, that they could not read the names against the wall, that they hadn't even noticed them. But when I met their eye they would nod just a little and then say something stupid to excuse it ("I see you're exceptionally rotund today," Kate told me, because her character was Carol and Carol was mean), and I don't know if that was their way of communicating but I hoped desperately that it was. When you're in a place like that you just have to guess what part of them is real.
After the names someone started trying to scratch out Morse code -- A is dot dash, B is dash dot dot dot. I don't know who they were. They were killed before they finished. At least once someone tapped on the wall, long-long-long, short-short-short, long-long-long, but we all knew what that meant and nobody answered.
My name is Anne. It was Anne. I scratched the name 'Anne' into the wall 56 nights ago. There are 12 of us remaining, and I recognise none of them, and they do not recognise me. There was nobody to scratch off the names of people as they died, so I have 53 different names I think might belong to some of them. I am currently in the role of Jules (and it is some sick joke, I think, because they have started giving us THOSE names, the names of the people who have died) and I am an actress who sobs over cookie-dough and thinks it's hilarious to play pranks and I am the most likable of the group right now, if it's real enough for there to be someone who's 'most likable'.
Was Jules like this? The woman who was named Jules, was she like this? Was she dead? One of the other women left is playing the part of Anne at the moment. Bookish Anne. Anne who wants to be a princess. Anne who loves playing card games. Maybe we're playing each other. Maybe I liked card games.
I don't remember.
Nothing is genuine.
"Anne," I say to her one day, and she looks around. Julie would ask Anne how she is. Julie would ask Anne to play cards with her. Julie would want to know if Anne thinks she looks okay in this ugly, mustard-yellow dress (Julie likes yellow). I open my mouth again and I almost say, "Are you me?" except that would be breaking character, so instead I say, "Cards?"
"I love cards," says Anne. She catches the hesitation and there's something in her eyes that looks afraid for me, because hesitation is not a part of the game. You don't hesitate. You don't stall. You don't 'um' and 'ah'. "Ever since I was a little girl, Julie."
Was that a hint? Was she trying to tell me that she used to be named 'Julie'? Was she trying to communicate still -- did anyone still do that, or am I reading things that aren't there? And worse: if I am the only one still trying to be myself, trying to hold onto who I am and broadcasting it as loudly as I possibly could, am I just screaming into the void?
Is anyone still listening?
"Brilliant!" I say, with false cheeriness, "C'mon, you and me -- we'll play Hearts."
We play Hearts. They watch us play Hearts. The cameras whir to get a better look at my hand, at the deck, at the small circle of people we'd gathered together to play. They are watching.
They are always watching.
_________
Edit: Whoa! Just spotted the 'EU' attached to this! Ah well, I'll leave this as-is for the sake of it ;) Sorry. | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | Samantha scooted her scooter along the alleyway. Her new razor scooter was shiny silver with purple handles, her new favorite toy. She had gotten it two days previously on her fourth birthday.
Dean saw the girl in his rear view as he backed down the alleyway to deliver food to the Asian Cuisine. She played back there most of the time, and now the damn kid had some kind of scooter. If she had any smarts she'd move the hell out of the way when he backed his truck up.
To prove a point, Dean kept his speed where it normally would be even if the child hadn't been there. The little girl quickly disappeared from his rear view, and he figured she must have moved. There was a slight bit of resistance on the pedal as he was backing up.
Idiot kid. He pushed just hard enough to keep going.
The four wheels on the back of the trailer went up and over the obstacle and then he was set to line up with the loading dock. As he climbed out of the cab to go open the back of the truck, he heard a piercing shriek of horror followed by awful moaning sobs.
As he rounded the back of the truck, the kid's mother held the girl in her arms - or at least, what was left of the girl. She had deflated like a balloon put under too much pressure.
Anger welled up inside Dean. This was going to be a major hassle, and all because some dumb kid and her moron mother couldn't move out of the way of a big old truck.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he shouted at her. "Who lets their damn kid play in an alleyway? I'm trying to deliver food here! I don't have time for this bullshit!"
The mother just rocked on her knees, sobbing and holding her dead child to her chest. A small crowd had started to gather to find out what was going on, filling in the alley from the streets.
The door to the loading dock rolled up, and Dean saw Albert, the guy who owned the restaurant, with a horrified expression on his face.
"What's going on here?" Albert shouted, jumping down from the loading dock and moving to get a good look at the mother with her child.
Dean shrugged. "I guess some kid got in the way of my truck while I was backing in. Let me get my clipboard and you can sign for this load."
Albert's jaw dropped and he stood for a long moment looking at Dean. "Are you fuckin' serious right now?" he stammered. Albert's fists were balled up and he had begun to sweat visibly.
Dean squared his stance. "Calm down, Albert. It's just some idiot kid. Survival of the fittest. If she was smart she'd have moved."
"That was my daughter you stupid piece of shit!" Albert shouted. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Dean shook his head. He put his hands up in the air to try to placate the idiot kid's father. "There's no use in getting mad now, if you wanna do something useful why don't you try calling an ambulance. Your genius of a wife has just been sitting there and crying like an idiot. It's a wonder your kid lasted this long."
Albert started moving forward. His eyes were bloodshot, veins throbbing in his temple. Dean could tell he couldn't be reasoned with, he was blind with rage. Sighing, the truck driver pulled the revolver he carried from its holster round his back and plugged two rounds into the middle-aged chef.
"I told you to calm down," Dean said, holstering his gun. He reached up and closed the door on his trailer. "Now what am I supposed to do with all this chow mein?"
Shaking his head and clicking his tongue, he climbed back into the cab of his truck pulled away.
(inspired by a couple videos I watched on r/watchpeopledie) | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" Whimpering and sobs roared from her room; her door locked, her parents standing outside with tears in their eyes. Their princess was no more, she had been stolen, and ripped apart until she was nothing more then a harrowing resemblance of her former self. Blood ran down from her knuckles, and a very bitter taste lingered in her mouth from a puking session she forced upon herself earlier. She screamed into her pillow to get the haunting thoughts out of her mind from the demon rampaging her emotions and thoughts into blistering nightmares. This was all caused, by one person..... Me.
I enjoyed the play I had created, it was a nice "Macabre Love Story" as I called it. To take things back a bit, we were your typical first love relationship. The emotions were intense, the love was pure, and my intentions... Maleficent as always. It started the day she gave her virginity to me. At this point I knew that I had her hooked. I had done what I did to many girls before her. I drew her in with my looks, and made her fall in love with my personality. Quite like a Siren; It made me feel godly. This however, was an innocent girl, perfect in everyway, falling head over heals for her "Guardian Angel." The irony made things even more enjoyable. She was unable to contain her unconditional love for me, every waking minute of her life was now devoted to me. I started planning her demise but keeping my family's relocation to the opposite side of the country a secret. I kept her fawning over me until a weeks notice, then revealed the news.
I saw the tears, those beautiful fucking tears, explode from her eyes and run down her face. I watched the her become uncontrollable, I watched her scream at me in a pathetic frenzy of pain and rage. I slowly appraoched her, coaxing her mind with my soothing tone, repeating "I love you, I love you, I love you." Until I finally reached her, my hand slowly grabbing her pale face, moving my lips every so slowly to hers, smiling as I did it. I made her lust for me with everything I knew how one last time. Then like the silence before and atom bomb, I whispered every so gently in her ear... "I don't love you."
Note: This poorly written story, is my most recent breakup. I just needed a place to quickly vent in a vile, drawn out way. Yes I exist, and yes, I'm this horrible. ;) | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | There were only 10 minutes until the hearing when Addie Kline was overcome with a sudden craving for a Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwich. She smiled wetly at her reflection in the rippled surface of the elevator doors that gave her enormous middle section the effect of being squeezed by a corset. A man beside her shuffled dramatically as he rose his hand to cover the lower half of his face. Addie thought to tell him about her gastrointestinal problems that made it impossible for her to contain flatulence, and that it was really quite rude of him to make a scene in a public space like this, and perhaps he should be more considerate of others, but her mouth was busy sucking Mountain Dew through a straw and he got out on the next floor anyway.
"Wouldn't have hurt him to take the stairs," she said aloud to no one in particular.
Addie breathed heavily behind a group of cops inside the Dunkin Donuts. She knew them all very well but did not say hello. Instead she scanned the menu and said, "how's the overtime coming boys? Enjoying your coffee and donuts on the tax payers dime?" To which no one responded. Addie snorted at the elderly cashier who asked her what she wanted. Addie ordered two sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches with extra ketchup. She did not notice that it was already 9:35, five minutes after her hearing was scheduled to start. She balanced herself into a high top stool along the counter and washed down her sandwiches with her Mountain Dew as she watched a homeless man dig through the trash with visible disgust. "How bout this guy?" she said out loud to no one in particular.
She did not bother to brush the crumbs off her lap before heading back to the courthouse. It was five of ten. The family in the elevator had a baby and Addie asked them why they brought the baby to court. The family did not speak English and Addie rolled her eyes.
She entered the courtroom and was remanded softly by a judge who Addie had known since childhood. Addie had always wanted to be a lawyer because her mother was a lawyer and she had made a lot of money, but Addie's entrance scores were so bad she had to get her mother to pull strings at the local law school to ensure her enrollment. Addie's mother was prominent in progressive legal reform and had many powerful connections around the city. However, Addie was in the bottom 5% at her law school and had to intern at the local DA's office until she was 33. Now, at 45, she had put over 800 petty criminals in jail and had missed 200 days of work.
She mostly did drug cases. Sometimes her boss gave her a theft or simple assault to plead out, but Addie had a history of "forgetting" to contact her victims and regularly agreed to lenient plea deals without getting anyone's input.
As Addie fitted her expansive behind in her chair, the judge addressed the court.
"Since the prosecutor has now graced us with her presence, I say we continue this hearing with haste. Defense counsel, you have an argument pertaining to your client's mental health status?"
"Yes, Your Honor. My client has been charged with felony drug possession and intent to distribute, but these allegations are ludicrous. Your Honor, my client has been a ward of the state since infancy. He has several diagnosed mental health problems and has been subject to abusive environments his entire life, most recently during his time in prison. My efforts to have a hearing on his mental health status have been delayed several times due to Ms. Kline's failure to appear. My client was the victim of several sexual assaults in prison that are currently under investigation."
The defense attorney stopped abruptly to look at Addie, whose head kept bobbing up and down off her greasy chest as she fell in and out of sleep.
"Your honor, this is ridiculous. I can't represent my client in a court-"
"A client who has over 10 felony counts of drug possession," the judge responded. "Ms. Kline, what do you have to say about these mental health hearings,"
"Your Honor, I am a very busy woman. Defense counsel seems to think the court system revolves around him. I have a large docket and many -" Addie suppressed a burp -"many cases to prosecute."
"Well, are we ready to continue with the case today?"
Addie looked around to see if the cop from her case was there. She realized that one of the cops from the Dunkin Donuts should have been subpoenaed to testify, as he was the arresting officer, but she forgot to do it.
"Your Honor, it seems that my officer has failed to appear."
"This is the second time."
"Sorry your Honor, you know we're very busy."
The public defender opened his mouth in shock. "This is the fifth time..."
"And hopefully this will be remedied the sixth. Defense, please make sure your client understand that this hearing is continued for 30 days," the judge instructed while cleaning dirt from under his finger nail.
Mr. Hammond looked at his client, who was drooling slightly. His name was Chris and he was a black man of 22 who had been used to deliver crack for a drug lord who lived in his old foster home. The drug lord fed and sheltered Chris in return for his services. Just the previous day, Mr. Hammond had faxed paperwork to Addie regarding the attacks on Chris at the prison. He received no response.
"Your Honor, he's not safe at prison and no one can make his bail. His primary caregiver has recently been incarcerated and Chris has no money. He can't go back there."
"You said it's under investigation? Well once there's a decision about the sexual assaults we can revisit this. But that usually takes about 6 months," the judge responded.
"Your Honor, I was actually going to request we raise the bail, seeing as the defendant is obviously a risk to public safety," Addie said loudly.
"Granted, bail raised to $50,000. Anything else? Ok, adjourned."
Addie coughed and asked the bailiff to help her stand. On her way back to her office she felt a disturbance deep within her bowels and said out loud, "thank god for paid sick days!" She drove home and treated herself to a McFlurry on the way.
"To the blind eyes of justice!" she yelled a the woman in the drive through window, toasting her milkshake and coughing at her face. | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | "Oh look! The hero's here! Don't worry, she's gonna save you." The woman looked at the man with horror. Blood covered his hands to the point you could mistake it for gloves. He gently pushed his hair back into style; his clean cut had fallen out of place. He stood up and whispered to the child while genty nudging him in the shoulder "But she was a little too late for your sister, huh?"
"What... my god, what have you done?" The woman in red could barely stand. Not that there was something draining her powers to make her weak. No, it was the scene itself making her sick.
"Um, Novastar? Was it? Nova, I'd really prefer if you *didn't* throw up on the carpet. It's really rather expensive and the same reason I killed my last dog." The man strode with bravado towards the not-so-super-hero. "And besides. What kind of message would that be sending our youth over there?" The man gestured towards the child. "To just back down in the face of adversity?"
"Jesus Christ... *What the hell is wrong with you!?*" The woman was barely able to keep her balance; her long brown hair dropping down over her mask. She'd never be able to rest again. Not after seeing the man, the body parts, the look on the child's face. She failed.
"Now that... is an interesting question. I actually had a great childhood. My teachers were nice, so were my classmates. I'd come home to loving parents, do normal kid stuff, you know, drawing, watching TV, sneaking out in the middle of the night to kill my neighbors' cats and leave them on their doorsteps. Near as I can figure, it's some neurological disorder probably. But, in simplest terms, I'm just plain evil. That's why I killed her and that's why I'm going to kill him. Say, have you ever seen the face of a mother who's lost her children? Abolutely... *satisfying.*"
"Listen, just let the child go, please!"
"Um... nah. I think I'll just kill him." The man picked up the heavily contaminated blade and swung it.
"***NO!***" The woman's powers had activated. The man was flung against the wall in a blast of heat and sparks. "**YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LAY A FINGER ON HIM! You're never going to lay a finger on anyone again!**." Her eyes glowed bright red and a bolt of energy shot from her hand right through the man.
He fell back against the wall. Blood pouring from his abdomen. Jess had only ever used her powers to stun people. Never to hurt them. She didn't want to use her powers to kill the man, but she didn't feel bad about it. Not after what he'd done. She picked up the boy and held him close. "It's going to be okay, I'm gonna get you back home."
"It'll never be okay... not for him... especially not for *you*."
"What do you mean?"
"Heh... smile. You're on camera." Jess looked at him in horror and confusion. "Yep... all those thousands... maybe even millions just watched you kill a man. But don't worry... they'll still call you a hero regardless. You killed someone who has it... coming. Of course... there goes your message of... *mercy*... of letting the justice system sort people out. There were kids watching too... kids who look up to you. They see you kill a man and be called a hero... They'll want to be just like you. Killing bad guys... heh... *ugh*."
Novastar though about the man that night. He was the most terrible villain she'd ever fought. And he didn't even have powers. Was he right? Did she do the right thing? And the look on that woman's face when she brought the child back... she looked relieved, but... that look in her eyes... Novastar was hardly able to stop herself from crying on the rooftop. The sounds of gunfire echoed below. Should she step in? After what she'd done? How many people will be killed in vigilante justice if she just keeps on? How many people will die if she retires? *What is the right thing?* | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | Donald was a psychopath.
Donald needed to stop thinking of himself in the third person.
I. I am a sociopath. Never officially diagnosed, were we? No. Too clever for that. But the signs were there.
A lack of empathy. I felt as little for a bug getting crushed as I did for little Timmy Develt getting hit by that car when I was 8. It was fascinating, to see the car slam into his body... The splash of blood, the flail of limbs.
It was my fault. I'd thrown his stupid red ball onto the road. I hadn't intended for the car to hit him, I just wanted to make the little snot cry and waddle a little. But when the car did hit him... Nothing.
That was when we knew. We'd always been the odd child, the weird one, smart but strange. They're like deer, they can sense a predator in the bushes even if they can't see it.
That moment was when we realised that we did not care for people. That was when we started to act like we did. His parents howled, mine scooped me up. They thought my silence was shock.
It all fell into place, like a dog catching a rabbit by the neck after years of shaking stuffed toys. I knew just how to shake them. So I cried and sobbed, with all the effort of flicking a switch in my head.
I pulled on my sheeps clothing and I began to pretend. I made friends, my parents were ecstatic. We had money so I had toys and... Children are so pathetically easy to manipulate, even as a child.
The first intentional victim was Jimmy Powers. He had an allergy to bees. I had caught three and hidden them in a jar in the backyard the day before. Then it was just a matter of 'accidentally' breaking his epi-pen while we were playing and begging for him to stay so we could go play outside. My parents were smart, they knew the risks were low... They said yes.
I told him there was a secret, took him to a special spot and showed him the jar. He recoiled in fear but I shook the jar and showed him it was safe. I convinced him to shake the jar, the bees buzzing inside...
Another thing about Jimmy is he was small for his age. So when we pinned him down and covered his mouth, there wasn't much he could do. I was strong enough to spin the top off the jar and press it to his neck with one hand. I held him there while he sobbed and struggled, his neck swelling, his breathes becoming gasps.
Once he stopped struggling and began to turn purple I went and hid the jar. I returned to where he was, behind the roses in the back garden bed and just watched him for a moment, taking it in and checking I hadn't left any clues. Once I was sure, I wandered inside and told my mother that we were playing hide and seek but I couldn't find him anywhere.
It took ten minutes of calling out and searching the backyard before she found his body. He was dead before the Ambulance arrived. I cried again, while secretly relishing the control.
I had to be very careful after that. Two tragedies around a child and it's very sad and everyone's very sympathetic. Three or four and people start to get suspicious. His mother looked at me when they were taking him away and I remember the flash of suspicion in her eyes... But who could accuse a child? I just cried harder and snuggled into the "comfort" of my mother.
Those were the first... One accidental and one intentional. But there's been many, many more since then... Always someone no-one will miss, or someone who dies tragically weeks or months after having met me just once. In the former case, I'm really doing a service, dealing with the homeless or the elderly. In the latter... Well, you can't blame the prized guard hound if it occasionally exercises its instincts in the hen house.
This all seems excessive, I'm sure... So much exposition like some kind of Machiavellian villain. But by now you can probably feel your throat beginning to close up. Some careless housekeeper accidentally put the cereal containing peanuts in your hotel room, despite your note to the front desk.
Don't worry, the ties are silk. By the time they find you there won't be a mark on your body. Do you remember meeting me at the fund raiser in Vancouver? No? Never mind.
The wolf can't expect the deer to remember where he first caught their scent. | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | "Look, Veronica, I'm not sure I can do this any more."
"What do you mean?"
"I, I mean I'm breaking up with you, I can't do this anymore. I mean, I was fine with the whole nuclear war thing, it sort of made sense at the time but, now I'm really not sure. But now that we've won, do you have to keep firing on the suburbs?"
"Yes."
"You can't just say that!"
"Look you're evidently tired, it's been a long day, how about a skull of wine?"
"No! I-I'm good, really"
"It's honestly no problem; **Michael!** An orphan boy limped over carrying two skulls of wine. Veronica took a swig from hers and passed the other to her lover.
"And that's another thing: if you're going to be using children as servants-"
"Technically they're more slave labor."
"Whatever! If you're going to be using them as servants-"
"Slave labour."
"-could you at least not use the crippled ones?"
"We cripple them when they go into service." William stared at her for a second.
"Why the fuck would you do that?! See, this is exactly what I'm talking about there's something fucking wrong with you!"
"Now you're just being immature."
"No I'm genuinely not! You are up there with the most evil people who have ever lived! I don't have a side to side chart of all the things you and Hitler have done, but if I did you would definitely be pretty damn close, and, you know what? I'm done. I can't do this anymore."
"Maybe you should take a second to think about this. I still have your skull if you want it."
"No, I'm done. I'm not staying in this stupid fucking castle anymore. I can't do this." With that William turned on his heels and marched out through the archway. Veronica watched impassively while his footsteps slowly faded into the distance, and then continued to stare at the empty space where he had been. Eventually the entire chamber was silent save for the breathing of the few occupants left in the room. Only then to no one in particular, did Veronica speak.
"You know, it's funny. Even through everything that happened I never thought he'd leave. I mean it definitely would have been rocky but I'd always thought we'd manage to pull through it. If he leaves, I don't know how I could keep going."
"I could break his legs." Her Eviscerator piped up from the corner.
"Yes that'll work. Do that." | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | True horror is not just the bloodiest crime scene or the most senseless killing, it is the knowledge that you can't stop it from happening again. Terror is not seeing a scary Monster, it is seeing the one person in the world you love the most and realizing you were in love with the monster all along.
"Good morning Miss Belle!" The 4th grade class of Roosevelt Elementary school chimed in unison as the apple cheeked Miss Belle smoothed the green skirt under her legs and sat at her desk, a sparkling humor in those gem green eyes. "Good morning class. Please have your homework out and ready to be handed in." The motherly voice intoned, followed swiftly by the shuffling of papers and zipping of school bags...
"Today we are going to be working on a new set of vocabulary words, i know you will all do great with them..."
Detective Davin Clarke loosened his tie around his neck... Fucking Christ he hated this case. This was the seventh foster child found dead outside their homes. Every child had seemingly just opened their doors in the middle of the night and walked out into the darkness. No ligature marks, no signs of struggle. All shaved completely bald and all seemingly dead of a brain aneurysm. After the third child it turned into a serial killer case.
Benjamin Moore was only 4, his little hands still clutching a small stuffed tiger. Davin had been on the scene for well over two hours, and if you had not known better you could almost think Ben was sleeping. But 4 year olds don't stare, unblinking in their sleep, they dont sit perfectly still as the morning frost of an early October frost decorated his tiny blond lashes and they certainly weren't ashen grey...
Detective Clarke would have nightmares about those tiny hands, clinging to that little stuffed tiger.
"Alright class, the winner of this week's vocabulary quiz gets to pick a prize from the prize cabinet. I hope you have all been practicing." Miss Belle's cabinet was filled with small dolls, hand made and each with a unique glass bead with beautiful swirling patterns in all different colors. There were super heroes and nurses and knights and soldiers and all manner of costumed men and women, each with its own beautiful bead. The class bristled with anticipation at the chance to take home one of Miss Belle's hand made dolls. Rebecca Tourney had her eye on a tiny strong man with a tiger skin outfit and a beautiful gold and honey swirled bead...
A hooded figure stood outside the home of John and Mike DeFranco. Black boots made almost no sound on the frosted grass. A slow smile spread over the hooded figure, a small hand reaching into the pocket of a navy blue jacket and pulling out a snall bouquet of Belladonna flowers, the bunch tied together with many strands of different colored hair, small beads with just as many colors were woven into the bouquet. The small hand drew the purple blooms to full lips, and a soft voice started whispering a lullaby. The soft. Soothing voice echoing into the night with an enchanting resonance.
"Come little children, I'll take thee away,
Into a land of enchantment.
Come little children, The time's come to play,
Here in my garden of shadows.
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way,
Through all the pain and the sorrows.
Weep not poor children, For life is this way,
Murdering beauty and passions.
Hush now dear children, It must be this way,
To weary of life and deceptions.
Rest now my children, For soon we'll away,
Into the calm and the quiet.
Come little children, I'll take thee away,
Into a land of enchantment.
Come little children, The time's come to play,
Here in my garden of shadows."
The air around the hooded figure shimmered, like heat coming off hot pavement, and the wind whispered through the skeletal arms of the neighborhood trees. The moonless October night left the shadows deep, and as the figure sang it's song the street lamps flickered, dimmed, then guttered out completely.
Kendra DeFranco had been alive for 9 years, her father had been molesting her for 4 of them. Her mother was oblivious, either by stupidity or by choice.
Kendra DeFranco opened the front door, pink Hello Kitty Pajamas flapping slightly in the wind.
Kendra DeFranco walked silently, over to the hooded figure.
Kendra DeFranco plucked a single hair from her head and gently laid it in the waiting palm of the hooded figure, a single strawberry blonde strand with a stripe of pink dye. A calm, soothing voice asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up Kendra?" The little girls voice came out in a calm, almost wistful sigh, "I want to be a police woman... So I can stop bad guys..." The hooded figure pulled a straight razor from her jacket, then quickly and calmly shaved Kendra DeFranco's head; careful to gather all the hair in a small leather bag.
After Kendra DeFranco was clean shaven, the hooded figure send out a hand asking "Do you want to be a police woman Kendra? So you can stop the bad men? A single tear rolled down Kendra DeFranco's cheek before she gave a soft, strangled "Yes..." The hooded figure finished putting all the hair in the leather bag, along with the little bouquet of Belladonna, now with a strawberry blonde and pink hair threaded into the bouquet. The hooded figure calmly leaned down and lay a gentle kiss on the girls bald head, the barest brush of lips.
Kendra DeFranco dropped stone dead. The hooded figure reached into her magic bag and pulled out a little stuffed police woman, her badge was a small strawberry blonde bead with a pink swirl. The bead glowed with light, the newly trapped soul still trying to break free of the Gem.
Kendra DeFranco was a police woman now, just as she wanted... | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | [Well this took ten times longer than I wanted it to. Whateves, fuck homework. Also just as a note, I'm American but the characters in this are British so if I got anything horribly wrong, I apologize.]
It had been an odd morning. The big Holy Days always were, Reverend Giles found. Whenever the church had to rely on parishioners, something always went bad. Cars broken down, alarms that didn't go off, all the bloody excuses. The Reverend knew they meant well but they could rarely be counted on. Though he supposed with the pews getting emptier every week, he should take what help he got. That morning Susan Adeline had trouble with traffic, Mr. Taylor's hip gave out again, and someone lost half of the ashes. How was he supposed to do Ash Wednesday without ashes? They were all nice people, too nice really, but things would go so much smoother if they all just buggered off.
Being a Holy Day, the pews were packed much more than usual, though not fully. On a Sunday he might have stood out. As hectic as prepping for the service had been, the oddest part of the morning was the man that came to talk to him afterward.
"Beautiful sermon." The man said looking around the emptying cathedral. "Almost as beautiful as this place. You've done well for yourself Reverend, certainly better than that little church in Blockley."
Have we met before? Giles thought. Something about the man seemed familiar. The man seemed familiar with him, that was sure. It had been over fifteen years since he preached in Blockley, perhaps that was why he couldn't place the man's face. The man before him barely looked over thirty, he would have been half a child during his time in the little village. "It is a bit of an improvement. Forgive me, but were you a member of my parish back then?" It seemed unlikely looking at him. No one in his little parish could have afforded to dress like that. He didn't know the brands but Reverend Giles could tell the man's three piece suit was not cheap. The outfit was all dark blue even the thinly pinstriped shirt and patterned tie, complementing his ghostly blue eyes and contrasting his golden hair. The only bit of him that seemed unkempt was the smudged ash cross the priest had placed on his forehead.
"Though it feels perhaps a bit emptier." The man paced around, looking at the stained glass. "Missing something. A bit like that sermon of yours. What I wonder got lost along the way?" His voice cut like a knife knife, cold and deliberate, though there seemed something artificial about it. He spoke more like a posh Londoner than someone form Blockley. Giles imagined he spent his teenage years trying to rid himself of his common accent, he seemed like the type.
"Attendance has been slipping lately, I suppose." Giles said. The man seemed to want something of him. The encounter was making him uneasy. "Kids these days think they have better things to do than to go to church. Sorry, but I never caught your name."
"I was inclined to agree with the kids when I was their age. No doubt you don't remember me, in your position I wouldn't want to remember me. Always squirming in the back looking to be the first one to leave."
Then it clicked. "You're Donna's boy aren't you? Little Jimmy Connolly."
"The very same. Though I haven't been called Jimmy in quite a while."
"Oh, James then, of course. Looks like you've done well for yourself too." Now he remembered. Not sitting still in church was the least of Jimmy Connolly's problems if the village gossip could be believed. In primary school it was said that a bigger kid was bullying him, so the next day little Jimmy brought a box cutter to school. The bully swore it was an accident, that he didn't know how it happened and when someone pressed the issue he burst into tears. His mother Donna seemed like a wreck, barely able to keep it all together, but she always showed up for church on Sundays. That is, until her house burnt down a few years later. After that, Jimmy was sent to a military boarding school and Giles had rarely thought of him since. "I'd heard you'd run off and joined the army?"
"'Join up, see the world'. I saw plenty of it but it was never as romantic as those posters would have you believe. And I never thought I'd see you in central London. When I heard I knew I simply had to come and visit. So rare one finds old friends in such a big world."
Friends? That was a bit presumptuous. Giles had never considered himself friendly with the boy. And it was certainly bad form to consider a priest twice your age just another mate. "That it is."
"I have a marvelous cook, you should come to dinner. I assure you it'll be better than whatever you'll find at your Sunday luncheons, and it's such a shame the Wednesday Parish dinner was canceled." And just like that, Reverend Giles found himself meeting a man he had not seen in years for dinner. Part of him had wanted to refuse but James knew he had no other plans. Even if he had tried, Giles doubted he would have taken no for an answer.
Giles sat on the tube with his clerical collar and a bottle of wine. What was he getting himself into? Never in his life would he have imagined himself going to dinner with mad little Jimmy Connelly. Though that morning he seemed nice enough, if not a bit condescending. It was hard to believe that squirmy, angry little child grew up to be someone who could afford a flat in the neighborhood he was riding to.
Despite what Giles might have thought of the man, when he arrived, the food was delicious. Some South American dish James had found a taste for during his time in the service. Giles could barely pronounce it but it was easily the best thing he'd eaten in months. Truth be told, Giles had been wishing for something different but change was not easy to come by lately Giles had found.
"Good isn't it?" James said before sipping a glass of the gifted wine. The flat looked modern, stylish, and ungodly expensive. Two of the walls were all glass, letting you see out onto half the city.
"Delicious. You were right, much better than the piss I have for dinner most nights."
James smiled at that. "Simply out of curiosity, how long have you been in the Clergy?"
"Almost forty years now I suppose. Longer than you've been breathing I’ll bet."
"Quite a long time." James said. He had changed suits but this one looked just as expensive as the last. The colour was the same though this time he was missing the waist coat and tie. The ashes he had placed on his forehead earlier that day had also seemed to have vanished. ”Might I ask a personal question?"
"Don't see the harm in it." Giles responded, taking another bite of meat.
"Do you believe in God?"
Giles nearly choked. "Well," he coughed, "I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't."
"When I said your church was missing something, I wasn't talking about your Cathedral." Giles couldn't tell by his face if James was curious or simply amusing himself. "When you were talking about life and hope and all that wonderful stuff, you sounded convincing enough, if a bit bored. But you seemed to wince when it came to the subject of God." He took another sip from his glass. "Might the good Vicar be having a crisis of faith?"
"I am a man of God and I'm not sure what-"
"And I'm not sure you sound convinced of that." James stood up from his chair and began to slowly pace the room. "I've been doing a bit of soul searching lately. I used to tell myself I did all this out of some sense of justice, or perhaps it was just revenge, perhaps it was making the world a better place, shaping the future how I saw fit. Those answers seemed satisfactory for a time but after a while they just didn't stick anymore. That's when I came to a personal revelation. That the why of it didn't matter. I realized that I'm simply a man that needs a mission, purpose. After all, idle hands are the devil's playthings." He looked at Giles and grinned. "So perhaps that's why the irreverent reverend stays wearing that silly white collar. You've gone too far, give up now and what are you? Not a whole hell of a lot I'd say."
"I, I suppose." The reverend was not sure what to say. All he was sure of was that he wanted to be away from this table.
"Have you ever murdered anyone?" Despite how casually it was asked, the question left Giles petrified in his seat. "I find it amazingly insightful. Such a powerful reminder of perspective. How small we all are, but how much we can do."
‘I need to get out of here.’ Giles thought. He stood up from his chair making to leave. "I'm sorry but I really must be going."
James moved over and put and hand on his shoulder, pushing him back in his seat. "You should try it some time. Might lead you to to that change you've been looking for, learn something about yourself."
He tried to get up again. "Please, I really must go, I beg your pard-"
With his free hand, James reached into his jacket and placed a large knife on the table. It had a black handle and a geometric tip, a tip pointing at him. "I'll give you a free shot."
James took his hand off Giles and looked at him. Giles wanted to run but he knew the man would catch him. This was his only option.
[Continued in reply. Dear jesus I spent too much time on this.] | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | I am not the scion of all evil, the father of lies, or any of that junk. It's a boring job built for suckers.
Evil isn't what you think.
If goodness is the pure water flowing endlessly from heaven, and you are the salt of the earth, evil is fire under the pain that keeps you from being washed away.
You think you know evil. You think you know who did what. Take World War Two, you vilify Hitler for the holocaust, but Goring did most of that work. You don't even know who the bad men actually are. But to defeat that evil the world sent men. Men who strove. Men who fought. Men who had to do violent and depraved things to survive and to win. Men who took bite-sized pieces of evil and brought them home.
Evil doesn't fight good. Evil doesn't abuse children or torment strangers for fun. Evil isn't mass murder. That's the bullshit broken people do. That's the lie that lets people pretend that they are better than they are.
And good men don't fight evil. Good men turn the other cheek. Good men are no use to evil.
See evil is about appetite. We made The Greatest Generation consume a great evil. Pictures. Slogans. The scent of roast corpse chilling in winter ash clogged the nostrils of thousands. Their stories seeping into the minds of millions.
Evil is the fire, kindled in the soul and raging across the ages. The tiny spark of larceny fanned into greed and mendacity. The casual flick of the remote as you flip away from the pictures of staring children. Or maybe you get involved, work for charity, and find yourself seeking that next raise and the next perk, the tiny slice you take from the pie that should be feeding the starving.
It's okay. You tell yourself you need what you have, and just a hair more.
We get you to look at the poor and say "if only there was some way to make _them_ pay."
We make you hunger to be us. We make you hunger to beat out your neighbor. Or maybe beat him up. Or just take his stuff. Anything for an edge.
And it _is_ okay. Trust me. This fire serves humanity and the cost of all that is all that is humane.
So we trot out the stereotypes. We show you broken people doing broken things and let you point and stoke your superiority. We show you the madness indistinguishable from the piety you lust to possess. Confusing messages. Confusing times.
You cannot escape. And if you could, where would you go? What would you do when you got there?
Doesn't matter.
Even now, you read these words and don't quite feel the point. You aren't stirred. You aren't in affront.
You came here looking for a shiver. You wanted to see some horrible other. A caricature. Something so unlike you that you could say "that is evil, so I am not".
There is no soothing puppet show here. No shadow play or pantomime that will excuse your daily life. The excesses you enjoy at the expense of all others.
You carry the spark, the tiny hidden flame you dare not ever let go out. Who would you be without it?
I am evil. What is my evil deed for the day? Today I show you the clean, dry, and tidy mirror that lets you see where you've gone wrong.
You wont care. At least not right now as you read along. This seed is no bigger than the others. But the whole forest grows from just those small seeds.
My evil deed is to bring you fatigue. To mention your illusions so casually and simply that you'll grow your next callus. To move you that next step towards your own quiet and desperate dissolution.
What have you stolen lately?
What blame have you laid on "the other"?
What promises did you break?
Who are you without your illusions?
What did you let die today? | “Norman, please,” she pleaded. “This isn’t like you!”
I calmly packed my bags as the hysterical woman tried to reason with me. I looked at the pain in her eyes and they resonated with me. Her pain became my pain. Our love embedded itself at itself at its deepest root of my being; however, I needed to do this. I choked back the tears.
“You can’t just throw 26 years of marriage away!” she exclaimed. “You always said love was the intertwining of two souls. We’re not who we once were. We’re us. We’re together. We’re…”
I raised my hands to silence her. This was hard enough to do without her reminding me of the relationship we both love and cherish. I zipped my suitcase and dragged my feet to the door. She grabbed me, determined never to let go.
“This isn’t right,” she driveled as the slunk down to her knees with tears blurring her vision. She looked up to him with despondent eyes filled with the ever-growing fear of loneliness and the ever-shrink hope that this was all some sort of sick joke. “Why would you do this? Everything was fine just a few days ago. Why would you do this? This is wrong.”
“This is wrong,” I began with a sigh before napping into a cold gaze. “But that’s the point.”
She looked at me with profound confusion. I continued. “You always hear of heroes selflessly doing everything for the sake of good. They’ll sacrifice everything if it means saving the world or bringing a smile to the faces of those they protect. But you’ll never hear of a villain doing something for the sake of evil. They always want power or money or both. Maybe they have a sob story of misguided intentions, but you’ll never hear of the villain who would sacrifice everything it meant destroying the world or bringing misery to those he loves. It’s not greed; it’s not apathy or psychopathy. It’s just evil for the sake of evil.”
“What are you talking about?” she replied frantically. “Norman, you’re a good man. We raised two children and we go to church an-”
“Shut up,” I yelled with tears in my eyes. “Just shut up.”
I screamed as I held her face close to mine. My fingers tangled in her hair like they once were when we met. I used to stroke her hair and call her pet names, but now I take a fistful of hair and pull until the roots bleed. Her sobs choke her in pure disbelief. She tries to call out my name, but it comes out as a distorted blob of vowels and constants that can’t quite take form. Her hands beg for mercy as they try to grasp at me, trying to hold the man she once knew that she could once come home and squeeze no matter how rough her day was, but swatted them away with my free hand.
“Leaving you will ruin my life,” I explained. “But it’ll wreck you.”
“Norman,” she uttered. “Please.”
“Shut up, whore!” I exclaimed as I slammed her head into the floor. I watched her broken, bleeding visage. “Every day for 26 years, I was your rock. Your emotional support. I was the one that you would tell as your gossip and bullshit. I was your life partner. You followed me to the college. It wasn’t your first choice, but you still went because of me. Your parents said it was your greatest mistake, but you always considered it your greatest choice, because it jumpstarted us.
“But now I’m leaving, Charlene. You’ll get the house. You’ll get the car. You’ll get the love of our two kids. But I’m willing to throw that all away. You know why? “
She only sniveled in response.
“Because you’ll be broken, Charlene,” I replied. “I’ll live in my car, knowing I made the biggest mistake of my life, but you’ll be so much worse. The drinks will add up. Then the painkillers you think I don’t know about. Your friends will try to comfort you, but they’ll never understand you like I did. They’ll never be able to hold you at night and stroke your hair while telling you everything would be alright like I did. They’ll never heal the damage that I’ll etch into your soul.
“Every night, while I sleep in my car in some god-forsaken Denny’s parking lot, I’ll rest easy while you’re sprawled out in bed feeling the emptiness and void inside of you. You’ll feel like you’re incomplete and wonder if I ever really loved you at all. You’ll replay all our fondest memories in your head and wonder if I meant any of the words and poems I recited for you. You’re whole reality of the last 26 years will crash down upon you as you take a bottle of pills in one hand and a bottle of wine in another and really wonder if you should take the final plunge into blackness to escape the pain.
“And you should. You really should.”
I released her. She fell to the floor, sobbing and bleeding. She still made quiet utterances that resembled my name. Knowing that she would rather take me back after physically and emotionally abusing her, I opened the door, walked away, and never looked back. | |
[WP] No sob stories of trauma, no misunderstood good guys, no good intentions, give me the evillest villain you can. | As anyone who knows these sorts of thing will tell you, it takes at least three years for a new identity to stick. And even then, it isn't advised that you draw anything more than the most passing sort of scrutiny.
Three years of pay stubs. Three years of verified housing. Three years of doctors appointments, car payments, and cable bills. Three years of living in that skin. And again, that's only good enough to look like you from a distance.
Linus Worth had been Linus Worth for four and a half years almost to the day when he set foot inside Cushing's Home for Boys. It had been, to him, a very long time.
"And you say you've fostered before?" said the pretty, young volunteer. She wore a floral-print dress and a gray cardigan. She did not look Linus in the eyes.
"Yes. In Nebraska," said Linus, eyes straight ahead, always following a respectful distance behind. "A boy named Noah. Quite bright. Very troubled. He ran away after only a week. It was...heartbreaking. I wasn't sure I'd ever have the heart to try again." He sighed loudly. "But I want to help. Very badly. And having children was Kristy's biggest wish..."
"Your wife?" said the volunteer, still marching forward down the linoleum hallway.
"Yes. My wife," said Linus.
They stopped outside a room. The door was halfway open. "Have you considered volunteering?" said the girl.
"Yes," said Linus. "But I...I think something more *committed* would work best for me. I have a lot of...love to give."
The girl nodded, then pushed open the door. "Davey? This is Mr. Worth. He wanted to meet you."
The boy in the room was wiry and dark, with hunched shoulders and an upturned mouth. He was also missing one eye. The remaining eye blazed as he glared up at Linus and the volunteer.
"You a homo?" said Davey, not bothering to set down the cover-less paperback in his hands.
"*Davey*!" said the volunteer. "You've been warned about talking like that. Mr. Worth is a guest."
"Is Mr. Worth a homo?" replied Davey.
"I'm sorry," said the girl, still not able to look Linus in the eyes. "He...well, I'm sure Davey would be happy to tell you about his background."
He was not. Still, the girl was able to coax out some of the finer details. A dead father. A mother in jail. Two sisters in the system he'd already written off as lost. If any part of his life had caused Davey pain you wouldn't know it. He presented everything as fact, no more notable or traumatic than the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
The sessions continued for two months. Two months of Linus listening, still-faced and thoughtful. Two months of Davey's pointed verbal abuse. Somewhere in those two months someone with the authority to do so had decided both parties had suffered enough, in their own unique ways. The paperwork was substantial. It took Linus just over an hour to complete. But in the end, Davey was his.
"You got some fag pad?" said Davey, sprawled out in the passenger's seat of Linus' gently used Honda. "You stick a dick in my mouth I swear I'll fuckin' bite it off."
"Davey, how many times have I told you that you've got the wrong impression of me?" said Linus, pulling off the highway and heading out towards the farmland to the north. "I'm not a homosexual."
Davey shrugged. "Pretty faggy to me. Buying lil' boys and all."
"I didn't *buy* you," said Linus with a laugh. "They *gave* you to me. That's an important distinction to make. If I'd bought you that would imply you were worth something."
Now Davey laughed. "Ha! Gettin' bitchy, huh? Time of the month?"
"Davey, Davey," sighed Linus. "You should know why I picked you."
Davey snorted. The world outside his window was full of trees and rocks and nothing much more. He shifted in his seat.
"I like people like you Davey," said Linus, raising a finger. "And no, not in the way you're so quick to claim. It's not that you're a boy. It's that you refuse to be scared."
"Man, what the fuck does that mean?" said Davey. "I'm sure as hell not scared of *you*."
Linus nodded, following a rhythm only he could hear. "Oh, but you *are* afraid. Very afraid. You've been afraid for a very long time now. Afraid of being hurt. You wear that attitude like a shield, because you think it will protect you. You think it will keep away the people who enjoy causing fear. People like your father. But you can't keep those people away, Davey. No, no. And in the end...in the end they always find you."
"Fuck off," said Davey, leaning towards the window. "Do whatever the fuck you want. I don't care."
"Good," said Linus. "I suppose I will. But before I do, would you like to make a bet?"
Davey shook his head. "Fuck off, goddamn faggot."
"It'll be a good one," said Linus. "Well worth your while. Open the glove compartment."
Davey glared at the man, but did as he was told. There was a bundled pile of money sitting alone in the compartment.
"I bet that I can make you scream," said Linus. "And I bet I'll do it before the hour is up." Davey shook his head but said nothing. "If you make it an hour without screaming, you can have that money and go wherever you like."
Davey eyed the money. "Just don't scream?"
Linus smiled. "One hour. Starting now."
Davey nodded. "Alright. Do whatever the fuck you want."
"No worries," said Linus. "In due time. But first..." He parked the car. They were just down a slope from a small wooden shack. "Follow me."
They walked up the dirt path to the shack. Davey considered his options. He could easily knock the man down and steal the money, but would he have to kill the man to be safe? Davey thought he could, but he wasn't sure. Maybe he could just play along and hope the man was being honest?
Linus saw the deliberation playing out behind the boy's eyes. It was very pleasing to him. "Oh, I forgot one small thing," he said as he pushed open the door to the shack and swept Davey inside with a gentle hand. He flicked on the lights.
"We've got company," said Linus, holding the boy firmly by the shoulders. "How long has it been since you've seen your sisters?"
Davey screamed. | "Come again, sir?" The CEO of Grendl industries, the single most prolific company that brought the country of Hurnst out of its decrepit third world state into an economic power house, couldn't believe what he'd just heard from their sole owner: Tim Grendl.
"You heard right," the man said, "sell it all."
A million crying voices flashed through John Keln's mind, but out of all of them, the loudest thought asked: what the fuck?! "That'd put half the country's population without jobs, sir." They'd done massive lay-offs before, at the size of hundreds, but this was a scale unimaginable otherwise.
"If you won't do it", Tim reached for his desk phone, "I will."
"But why sir?!" John's head was a mess of panic and guilt--here was the man he respected out of all of them, and here he was about to sentence half his nation to death.
Tim pressed a button, to a number John did not know. "Everything out before the day ends." Was his boss's clipped words, six words that had the potential to kill a little over three million.
John's legs gave out under him, the deed was done, and even he would lose his job come tomorrow. "Why?" A single tear slid down his face, and even the air he breathed he couldn't feel.
Tim stood from his chair and stretched, the man's simple dress of a shirt and slacks an understatement of the corporate empire he once owned. "To prove a point."
"What point?"
Tim walked over to the only piece of decoration he had in his office: a portrait of The Power. A superhero who emerged twenty years ago and inspired the new age of heroics, following the decline thirty years ago. "That, there are some things even heroes are powerless to face."
"All this for that?"
Tim cracked a smile at the shell of a man. "Is there any better way?" | |
[WP] Psychics are ranked on a scale from S (strong) to D (weak). You are the laziest S-class psychic in the world. | Emma looked at her report card. Each teacher had commented the exact same thing. 'We know that Emma is an S-class psychic, and her results are overwhelming when she applies herself; however, such occasions are rare. Given that she has such high innate potential, her innate resistance to persuasion means she often does not bother to complete assignments. In fact, in her time here she has reached levels of apathy unprecedented in this academy. We hope that you might talk to her and explain the importance of practicing these skills."
Emma rolled her eyes. Focusing, she brought her attention to the ink and paper and shifted the ink into separate globules away from the paper.
She had been doing this since she had been 'streamed' into Psy-Ops. Each time a report came back, she would rewrite it to list herself as a dedicated D-class who could, through continuing her efforts, become a C-class psychic.
She stopped. Something was wrong. The paper was not merely ink-printed this time around. Each letter had been slightly indented into the paper. In panic, Emma dropped the ink on the floor. Had they found out? No, they would have punished her. But someone had likely been caught doing what she had done, or else she wouldn't be in this predicament now. She shuddered as she considered how much time some poor ensign had spent in tele-white-noise for doing it. Shortly, her attention returned to herself. She needed to get uncaught. She considered just returning the ink to the right place, but then it would be found out she had faked her earlier reports. She briefly tried to move the indentations but the paper tore.
And that was all there was to it.
She would have to break into the school office. She would have to rewrite and reprint her card.
She disintegrated the card and began to walk back to school. There would be guards, but nobody higher than a B-rank, and probably even some normies. It was still a military academy so the guards would certainly be armed, but she had the advantage of knowing it in and out.
She briefly considered tunneling but that would be hugely exhausting. Taking control of a guard would be doable but if she got caught she would be jailed without a question. It was too messy. Simply manipulating the keys and computers from a distance was probably the best way to do this. But she would have to do it blind, and without attracting any attention. She let her awareness branch out. On a bad day, she was typically aware of everything within ten feet. Now she wanted to be aware of presumably some printing press. She frowned. This wouldn't be a keyboard. It would be stamp letters.
Sure enough, as her awareness hit the office through the noisiness of the guards tromping around, she felt each letter indented. She wondered where the hell they had dug up a printing press but didn't trouble herself about it. She moved the letters, sighing with relief. It was slow-going but doable. The hard part would be finding the right paper. Everything else was templated. Once she had rewritten the report, she considered the paper. Perhaps it would be thicker, but just to be safe, she worked the press up and down on a piece of paper from several different piles. Then, she folded the reports and sent them whizzing through the air towards her. Of the five sheets of thick paper, one was report-card paper, one was pink, two were field exercise waivers (for live battle), and one was classified.The last, she disintegrated without reading. She had heard enough stories to know that she didn't want to know, even if she could sort it out from the report card she'd stamped it with.
Breathing with relief, she returned home, overjoyed with her mediocre report card. She slept incredibly well afterwards, exhausted and deeply satisfied.
The next day, at the end of classes (no strange occurrences were mentioned to the ensigns), instructor Leidner handed out envelopes to each student.
"Apparently, teachers found it too trying to actually change letters around on our report cards. Each one apparently repeated my comments rather than write their own. Since many parents found this distressing, mostly as parents and some as 'taxpayers', we are reissuing the revised report cards, and we expect a signature from your parents acknowledging they have received both versions. Dismissed." | In the greatest surge of hormones yet (probably brought about by the onset of puberty), you decided to travel the world. So you flew eastward, determined to circle the globe in record time.
Cities were decimated. When a mountain stood in your way, you made a tunnel through it even if the price to pay was a 2-hour acne outbreak.
They once sent armies or even mercenary psychics against you. Well, you were too lazy to engage in something as troublesome as battle. This meant you found the most efficient way to get them out of the way, as always. Some were turned to babies, others to dust mites. The grand allied armies had enough mass that the simplest way was simply to warp the law of gravity for them to collapse upon one another into a singularity (and thus you gained a phantom itch for three days). You’ve never encountered singularity, even though you understood the concept. It intrigued you so much that for once, you embraced trouble and kept it as a pet.
In short, the world has learnt not to get in your way and your laziness.
---
I am building the Rift-Edoras universe, prompt by prompt. Selected drafts go [here](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com). | |
[WP] Psychics are ranked on a scale from S (strong) to D (weak). You are the laziest S-class psychic in the world. | Part 1 (now with edits!)
There were days when Jym would have given anything to turn it off. He could turn it down, but that was about it. That’s why so many of them were alcoholics. Uppers only made it worse, but with uppers it was like turning the radio up so loud there was feedback. At any rate, Jym was sick of Art’s calls, and sick of serious cases.
D-classers had it cushy, with their missing poodles and lost car keys.
He scratched at the monitor on his ankle.
He knew he had to answer the call. If he blew off another one, Art was going to lend him to the military and God knew, Jym was not up for that. Why couldn’t people stop being such dicks?
He swiped at the potato chip crumbs on his sweatshirt.
Speaking of unanswered questions, he still could not fathom why his Ma had named him Jym. Whenever he asked, all she said was “Why ask Y, Jymmy?” He was pretty sure she had done it just for the punchline.
He reached for his phone. It rang.
“Jymbo, I’ve got a body in Jersey City. What do you know?”
“Hey to you, too, Art.” Jym flicked a crumb from his crotch. “Cute little blond?”
“Yep, that’s the one.”
“Too bad. I kind of hoped I was wrong. Drug dealer boyfriend. Reg or Raj, something like that.”
“Got it. Don’t forget, you gotta meet with your PO tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
“*You’re welcome*, Art. You have a nice day, too.” Jym flung his phone onto the table.
Christ. Another day, another not a dollar. He shook some chips out of the bag onto his chest. He crammed a handful into his mouth as he pressed “play” on the remote.
| In the greatest surge of hormones yet (probably brought about by the onset of puberty), you decided to travel the world. So you flew eastward, determined to circle the globe in record time.
Cities were decimated. When a mountain stood in your way, you made a tunnel through it even if the price to pay was a 2-hour acne outbreak.
They once sent armies or even mercenary psychics against you. Well, you were too lazy to engage in something as troublesome as battle. This meant you found the most efficient way to get them out of the way, as always. Some were turned to babies, others to dust mites. The grand allied armies had enough mass that the simplest way was simply to warp the law of gravity for them to collapse upon one another into a singularity (and thus you gained a phantom itch for three days). You’ve never encountered singularity, even though you understood the concept. It intrigued you so much that for once, you embraced trouble and kept it as a pet.
In short, the world has learnt not to get in your way and your laziness.
---
I am building the Rift-Edoras universe, prompt by prompt. Selected drafts go [here](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com). | |
[WP] Psychics are ranked on a scale from S (strong) to D (weak). You are the laziest S-class psychic in the world. | I had just set my bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios down on the coffee table when someone started knocking at my door.
"Ah fuck", I exclaimed to no one, and rummaged around for pants.
The knocking continued.
"IN A FUCKING SECOND, JEEZ", I found a pair sweatpants and slid them on, struggling past my bunny slippers, and hobbled to the door. I cracked the door open and peeked through. An irritable, thin man in a pinstripe suit looked back at me. "Well?" he intoned.
"The fuck do you want?", I eloquently inquired.
"Shouldn't you know that already?"
"Oh, Christ. Did we schedule a reading?"
"Yes, we spoke on the phone just yesterday."
"Sorry, looking into the past isn't my, uh, strong suit. How much, uh ... payment, did you bring me?"
"An ounce, as you requested."
"Oh yeah, that'll do. Sativa?"
"The gentleman I procured it from said the strain was Super Silver Haze."
"Okay, that should work. Come on in. Have a seat, on uhh ... y'know, wherever." I invited him in and waved towards the bean bag chairs, a lone barstool, and a rolled up Persian rug. I cleared a path through the beer cans. I'm nothing if not cordial. "Hey man, what's your name?"
"I'm seriously beginning to doubt your skills. Why don't you tell me my name before I waste my time?" he sneered.
"Oh, fuck man, I didn't tell you how this works? Well, shit, yeah, no wonder you're peeved. Hang on. I've got a roach around here somewhere. That'll be good for intros."
I threw a few pizza boxes off my bed and found an ashtray with a roach in it. "Okay, just give me a sec, man." I lit up and took as big of a drag as I could. My studio apartment started to multiply, like a fertilized egg into a zygote, and I could see all past and present timelines undulating forwards and backwards. I saw my client walking backwards out the door, getting into his car, reversing out of the driveway and driving tail first to the nearest dispensary. I took another drag. All of space and time condensed itself into a singular point, which flew into my third eye, and I knew everything that had happened and would ever happened.
"Sorry Percy, we totally scheduled this yesterday, you're so right. In the 4th grade you had your heart broken by Susan Trapp, you tried to pass her a note telling her how much you loved her, and when she got it, she laughed in your face. When you were 12, you wet the bed at camp, and you've been ashamed of it ever since. You're here to find out if your business partner is trying to fuck you over, but what you really want to know is ... aw ... fuck, I lost it. Fucking shitty ass shake."
Percy stared at me, his sneer morphing into dumbstruck awe. "How...? How did you...?"
"Oh, right. Yeah. My psychic powers only work when I'm blazed."
"Oh. Just one thing ... I was 13."
"Huh?"
"When I wet the bed at camp."
"HAHAHA, you wet the bed at camp?? Oh man, that's fucking hilarious! ... I mean, uhh. That's probably a traumatic event. My bad. OHHHhhhh, did I see that in my vision? Oh shit, sorry dude. Totally not cool of me."
"Um, yes. You said that I wet the bed at camp when I was 12. I was 13."
"Yeah, the details get muddy with shitty weed. That's why I ask for the good stuff. Shall we get started?"
"Please." | In the greatest surge of hormones yet (probably brought about by the onset of puberty), you decided to travel the world. So you flew eastward, determined to circle the globe in record time.
Cities were decimated. When a mountain stood in your way, you made a tunnel through it even if the price to pay was a 2-hour acne outbreak.
They once sent armies or even mercenary psychics against you. Well, you were too lazy to engage in something as troublesome as battle. This meant you found the most efficient way to get them out of the way, as always. Some were turned to babies, others to dust mites. The grand allied armies had enough mass that the simplest way was simply to warp the law of gravity for them to collapse upon one another into a singularity (and thus you gained a phantom itch for three days). You’ve never encountered singularity, even though you understood the concept. It intrigued you so much that for once, you embraced trouble and kept it as a pet.
In short, the world has learnt not to get in your way and your laziness.
---
I am building the Rift-Edoras universe, prompt by prompt. Selected drafts go [here](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com). | |
[WP] Psychics are ranked on a scale from S (strong) to D (weak). You are the laziest S-class psychic in the world. | "S Class" said the examiner, stamping my form and sliding it into a filing cabinet. "You know what that means, right?"
I shook my head, but the movement was a lie. I knew exactly what it meant, because I could see into the examiners mind as easily as the window to my right. "No sir."
A smile crept across his wrinkled face. "Sure you do, Nathan."
I swallowed. The thoughts I could see swirling in his mind now knew I was lying. But there was something else mixed in with those thoughts. There was excitement, wrapped in amazement, wrapped in... fear?
"You're an S Class psychic. That means you're one of the most capable psychic individuals on the planet. You're young now - most of your abilities are still unknown to you. The true depth of your ability probably won't become apparent until you reach your mid twenties."
"Why are you afraid?" I blurted out, like the kid I was. "I -- sorry." I tried not to intrude on people's thoughts. My parents had warned me against it. A person's mind was private, and nobody would take kindly to somebody unwelcome poking around.
The examiner offered me a reassuring smile. "Now now, Nathan. Don't worry. When you do this job as long as I have you get used to new psychics accidentally taking a peek in your mind." He sighed. "Yes, what you saw was some sense of fear. But it's not of you, or for you. You're simply very capable. S Class psychics are as rare as they come, counting you, there's now ten alive. Ten, Nathan. Let that sink in." He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back in his leather office chair, taking a deep breath. My abilities instinctively probed his thoughts and I could see he was looking for a nice way to say what was not nice at all.
"That fear I felt is because of people like Ivan Stude. Have you heard of him?"
"A little bit, sir."
"Well he was a very bad man, Nathan. Unfortunately, he was also a very powerful man. He was the first modified S Class psychic we've ever had to deal with."
"Modified?"
"In simpler terms, we define psychics by their capacity for performance. The grades range from D Class, with mild psychic abilities, mostly highly adept emotional reading - through C, B, and A. The level of capacity increases with each level. An A Class for instance would be able to actually implant thoughts or ideas into a person's mind, so you can see how they might be dangerous."
"But what does it mean to be modified?" I asked, this time managing to control my compulsion to sift through his thoughts.
"Well, keeping with the grading scale an S Class is a step above A Class. By modified I mean, well, that he was really more of an S+. The first we'd ever seen. In fact-- the only one we've seen." He offered me a smile of consolation, and then that same sensation of fear crept over him. "At least, until you."
***17 Years Later***
"Nathan, can you hear me?"
Blood and gunfire filled the TV screen and the low, scratchy voice of the announcer growled Double Kill! I smiled to myself and opened my mouth, biting down on the hotpocket floating in front of me. Its delicious, pizza-y filling satisfying every wanting taste bud in my mouth. Oh Pillsbury--
"Nathan!"
Ugh. "What the hell is it?"
"We need you."
The pizza pocket floated back down to the plate and I swallowed what I'd been eating. "I need *you* out of my head."
"You could make me if you actually showed up to training."
She had a point. She was an A Class. I was an S Class. Or an S+. Whatever it was. The point is, I was better than her.
Or at least I was on paper.
Chantelle, being the nerd that she is sort of took her whole 'psychic gift' thing to heart. Psychic lessons five days a week, eight hours a day. Hell, the chick probably even did the homework assignments. Me? I'm lucky to show up one day a week and stay past lunch.
My fingers danced across the controller like a symphony of death, its crescendo the gruff voiced announcer proclaiming *Killtacular*! "Fuck yeah!" I shouted.
"What?" Said Chantelle.
"Nothing. And I would show up to training but you know I've been busy lately."
"Nathan I can literally see you're playing Medal of Duty right now."
"Ugh, are you serious? Looking through my eyes? Creepy."
"I'm sorry, but it's the only way to get the honest truth out of you."
I rolled my eyes and made sure to think '*Oh brother*' in the most sarcastic inner voice I could muster.
"I heard that." Came the voice from the other end.
Good, I was counting on it. "So can I help you with something or are you just playing class truancy captain? Because I'm sort of dominating right now and as sweet as being an S+ Psychic is, I'm still shit at multitasking."
"It's him." She said in a somber tone. "He's at it again."
"What, Donny? He's still hitting on you? Even after you told him to pound sand?"
Donny was another A Class psychic who attended our government training regime. He was a nice enough guy, but a total weirdo. While some of us were watching Game of Thrones and learning valuable social skills, Donny was watching cartoons in other languages and impressively becoming more awkward than he already was. He also had a thing for Chantelle which he professed through hopelessly uncomfortable flirting. Word of advice - don't get a chick flowers on your first date, especially if she doesn't know it's a date.
"Not Donny, dick."
"Dick? Didn't know you guys even talked."
"No, you're a dick! It's not them for god sakes it's-- it's--"
I willed my mind to play the Jeopardy theme song. I could hardly surpress the smile.
"Him." She hissed. "Ivan."
The controller fell out of my hands and the sounds of gunfire and Double Kills! drifted from my thoughts.
Ivan Stude.
I swallowed. "What is that guy like 90 now?"
"Something like that. But apparently he hasn't lost a step. In fact, if the reports we're getting are true - he's picked up a few more tricks."
Jesus. The guy already wrote the book on psychic tricks, now he's adding more? As if he didn't already have two legs and an arm up on the entire planet.
"That sucks. I'm sure he'll die of old age in the next two, maybe three years though." I reached down and picked up my controller, feeling calmer again. "Time should sort him out."
There was silence on the other line. I reached out to Chantelle again but dipped a little too deep. Let's just say that glimpse into her thoughts didn't do much for my nerves.
"Why are you so worried about me?" I asked hesitantly.
"Nathan it's-" she stopped again. Her words drifting and echoing around my mind as if we were discussing this in a vast cavern.
"Finish your thought, Chantelle."
"It's you."
"Come again?"
"He's coming for *you*."
| In the greatest surge of hormones yet (probably brought about by the onset of puberty), you decided to travel the world. So you flew eastward, determined to circle the globe in record time.
Cities were decimated. When a mountain stood in your way, you made a tunnel through it even if the price to pay was a 2-hour acne outbreak.
They once sent armies or even mercenary psychics against you. Well, you were too lazy to engage in something as troublesome as battle. This meant you found the most efficient way to get them out of the way, as always. Some were turned to babies, others to dust mites. The grand allied armies had enough mass that the simplest way was simply to warp the law of gravity for them to collapse upon one another into a singularity (and thus you gained a phantom itch for three days). You’ve never encountered singularity, even though you understood the concept. It intrigued you so much that for once, you embraced trouble and kept it as a pet.
In short, the world has learnt not to get in your way and your laziness.
---
I am building the Rift-Edoras universe, prompt by prompt. Selected drafts go [here](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com). | |
[WP] Psychics are ranked on a scale from S (strong) to D (weak). You are the laziest S-class psychic in the world. | I had just set my bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios down on the coffee table when someone started knocking at my door.
"Ah fuck", I exclaimed to no one, and rummaged around for pants.
The knocking continued.
"IN A FUCKING SECOND, JEEZ", I found a pair sweatpants and slid them on, struggling past my bunny slippers, and hobbled to the door. I cracked the door open and peeked through. An irritable, thin man in a pinstripe suit looked back at me. "Well?" he intoned.
"The fuck do you want?", I eloquently inquired.
"Shouldn't you know that already?"
"Oh, Christ. Did we schedule a reading?"
"Yes, we spoke on the phone just yesterday."
"Sorry, looking into the past isn't my, uh, strong suit. How much, uh ... payment, did you bring me?"
"An ounce, as you requested."
"Oh yeah, that'll do. Sativa?"
"The gentleman I procured it from said the strain was Super Silver Haze."
"Okay, that should work. Come on in. Have a seat, on uhh ... y'know, wherever." I invited him in and waved towards the bean bag chairs, a lone barstool, and a rolled up Persian rug. I cleared a path through the beer cans. I'm nothing if not cordial. "Hey man, what's your name?"
"I'm seriously beginning to doubt your skills. Why don't you tell me my name before I waste my time?" he sneered.
"Oh, fuck man, I didn't tell you how this works? Well, shit, yeah, no wonder you're peeved. Hang on. I've got a roach around here somewhere. That'll be good for intros."
I threw a few pizza boxes off my bed and found an ashtray with a roach in it. "Okay, just give me a sec, man." I lit up and took as big of a drag as I could. My studio apartment started to multiply, like a fertilized egg into a zygote, and I could see all past and present timelines undulating forwards and backwards. I saw my client walking backwards out the door, getting into his car, reversing out of the driveway and driving tail first to the nearest dispensary. I took another drag. All of space and time condensed itself into a singular point, which flew into my third eye, and I knew everything that had happened and would ever happened.
"Sorry Percy, we totally scheduled this yesterday, you're so right. In the 4th grade you had your heart broken by Susan Trapp, you tried to pass her a note telling her how much you loved her, and when she got it, she laughed in your face. When you were 12, you wet the bed at camp, and you've been ashamed of it ever since. You're here to find out if your business partner is trying to fuck you over, but what you really want to know is ... aw ... fuck, I lost it. Fucking shitty ass shake."
Percy stared at me, his sneer morphing into dumbstruck awe. "How...? How did you...?"
"Oh, right. Yeah. My psychic powers only work when I'm blazed."
"Oh. Just one thing ... I was 13."
"Huh?"
"When I wet the bed at camp."
"HAHAHA, you wet the bed at camp?? Oh man, that's fucking hilarious! ... I mean, uhh. That's probably a traumatic event. My bad. OHHHhhhh, did I see that in my vision? Oh shit, sorry dude. Totally not cool of me."
"Um, yes. You said that I wet the bed at camp when I was 12. I was 13."
"Yeah, the details get muddy with shitty weed. That's why I ask for the good stuff. Shall we get started?"
"Please." | Part 1 (now with edits!)
There were days when Jym would have given anything to turn it off. He could turn it down, but that was about it. That’s why so many of them were alcoholics. Uppers only made it worse, but with uppers it was like turning the radio up so loud there was feedback. At any rate, Jym was sick of Art’s calls, and sick of serious cases.
D-classers had it cushy, with their missing poodles and lost car keys.
He scratched at the monitor on his ankle.
He knew he had to answer the call. If he blew off another one, Art was going to lend him to the military and God knew, Jym was not up for that. Why couldn’t people stop being such dicks?
He swiped at the potato chip crumbs on his sweatshirt.
Speaking of unanswered questions, he still could not fathom why his Ma had named him Jym. Whenever he asked, all she said was “Why ask Y, Jymmy?” He was pretty sure she had done it just for the punchline.
He reached for his phone. It rang.
“Jymbo, I’ve got a body in Jersey City. What do you know?”
“Hey to you, too, Art.” Jym flicked a crumb from his crotch. “Cute little blond?”
“Yep, that’s the one.”
“Too bad. I kind of hoped I was wrong. Drug dealer boyfriend. Reg or Raj, something like that.”
“Got it. Don’t forget, you gotta meet with your PO tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
“*You’re welcome*, Art. You have a nice day, too.” Jym flung his phone onto the table.
Christ. Another day, another not a dollar. He shook some chips out of the bag onto his chest. He crammed a handful into his mouth as he pressed “play” on the remote.
| |
[WP] Psychics are ranked on a scale from S (strong) to D (weak). You are the laziest S-class psychic in the world. | "S Class" said the examiner, stamping my form and sliding it into a filing cabinet. "You know what that means, right?"
I shook my head, but the movement was a lie. I knew exactly what it meant, because I could see into the examiners mind as easily as the window to my right. "No sir."
A smile crept across his wrinkled face. "Sure you do, Nathan."
I swallowed. The thoughts I could see swirling in his mind now knew I was lying. But there was something else mixed in with those thoughts. There was excitement, wrapped in amazement, wrapped in... fear?
"You're an S Class psychic. That means you're one of the most capable psychic individuals on the planet. You're young now - most of your abilities are still unknown to you. The true depth of your ability probably won't become apparent until you reach your mid twenties."
"Why are you afraid?" I blurted out, like the kid I was. "I -- sorry." I tried not to intrude on people's thoughts. My parents had warned me against it. A person's mind was private, and nobody would take kindly to somebody unwelcome poking around.
The examiner offered me a reassuring smile. "Now now, Nathan. Don't worry. When you do this job as long as I have you get used to new psychics accidentally taking a peek in your mind." He sighed. "Yes, what you saw was some sense of fear. But it's not of you, or for you. You're simply very capable. S Class psychics are as rare as they come, counting you, there's now ten alive. Ten, Nathan. Let that sink in." He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back in his leather office chair, taking a deep breath. My abilities instinctively probed his thoughts and I could see he was looking for a nice way to say what was not nice at all.
"That fear I felt is because of people like Ivan Stude. Have you heard of him?"
"A little bit, sir."
"Well he was a very bad man, Nathan. Unfortunately, he was also a very powerful man. He was the first modified S Class psychic we've ever had to deal with."
"Modified?"
"In simpler terms, we define psychics by their capacity for performance. The grades range from D Class, with mild psychic abilities, mostly highly adept emotional reading - through C, B, and A. The level of capacity increases with each level. An A Class for instance would be able to actually implant thoughts or ideas into a person's mind, so you can see how they might be dangerous."
"But what does it mean to be modified?" I asked, this time managing to control my compulsion to sift through his thoughts.
"Well, keeping with the grading scale an S Class is a step above A Class. By modified I mean, well, that he was really more of an S+. The first we'd ever seen. In fact-- the only one we've seen." He offered me a smile of consolation, and then that same sensation of fear crept over him. "At least, until you."
***17 Years Later***
"Nathan, can you hear me?"
Blood and gunfire filled the TV screen and the low, scratchy voice of the announcer growled Double Kill! I smiled to myself and opened my mouth, biting down on the hotpocket floating in front of me. Its delicious, pizza-y filling satisfying every wanting taste bud in my mouth. Oh Pillsbury--
"Nathan!"
Ugh. "What the hell is it?"
"We need you."
The pizza pocket floated back down to the plate and I swallowed what I'd been eating. "I need *you* out of my head."
"You could make me if you actually showed up to training."
She had a point. She was an A Class. I was an S Class. Or an S+. Whatever it was. The point is, I was better than her.
Or at least I was on paper.
Chantelle, being the nerd that she is sort of took her whole 'psychic gift' thing to heart. Psychic lessons five days a week, eight hours a day. Hell, the chick probably even did the homework assignments. Me? I'm lucky to show up one day a week and stay past lunch.
My fingers danced across the controller like a symphony of death, its crescendo the gruff voiced announcer proclaiming *Killtacular*! "Fuck yeah!" I shouted.
"What?" Said Chantelle.
"Nothing. And I would show up to training but you know I've been busy lately."
"Nathan I can literally see you're playing Medal of Duty right now."
"Ugh, are you serious? Looking through my eyes? Creepy."
"I'm sorry, but it's the only way to get the honest truth out of you."
I rolled my eyes and made sure to think '*Oh brother*' in the most sarcastic inner voice I could muster.
"I heard that." Came the voice from the other end.
Good, I was counting on it. "So can I help you with something or are you just playing class truancy captain? Because I'm sort of dominating right now and as sweet as being an S+ Psychic is, I'm still shit at multitasking."
"It's him." She said in a somber tone. "He's at it again."
"What, Donny? He's still hitting on you? Even after you told him to pound sand?"
Donny was another A Class psychic who attended our government training regime. He was a nice enough guy, but a total weirdo. While some of us were watching Game of Thrones and learning valuable social skills, Donny was watching cartoons in other languages and impressively becoming more awkward than he already was. He also had a thing for Chantelle which he professed through hopelessly uncomfortable flirting. Word of advice - don't get a chick flowers on your first date, especially if she doesn't know it's a date.
"Not Donny, dick."
"Dick? Didn't know you guys even talked."
"No, you're a dick! It's not them for god sakes it's-- it's--"
I willed my mind to play the Jeopardy theme song. I could hardly surpress the smile.
"Him." She hissed. "Ivan."
The controller fell out of my hands and the sounds of gunfire and Double Kills! drifted from my thoughts.
Ivan Stude.
I swallowed. "What is that guy like 90 now?"
"Something like that. But apparently he hasn't lost a step. In fact, if the reports we're getting are true - he's picked up a few more tricks."
Jesus. The guy already wrote the book on psychic tricks, now he's adding more? As if he didn't already have two legs and an arm up on the entire planet.
"That sucks. I'm sure he'll die of old age in the next two, maybe three years though." I reached down and picked up my controller, feeling calmer again. "Time should sort him out."
There was silence on the other line. I reached out to Chantelle again but dipped a little too deep. Let's just say that glimpse into her thoughts didn't do much for my nerves.
"Why are you so worried about me?" I asked hesitantly.
"Nathan it's-" she stopped again. Her words drifting and echoing around my mind as if we were discussing this in a vast cavern.
"Finish your thought, Chantelle."
"It's you."
"Come again?"
"He's coming for *you*."
| 1200 thread count sheets are absolutely glorious. I had never slept in one before I was hired by The Foundation, but after a 2 months or so of this luxurious softness I doubt I could sleep in anything else.
I rolled over and pulled the fluffy duvet around me. Though the summer had only just ended, the mornings had gotten quite chilly and having a thick comforter to curl up in until it warmed up was absolutely necessary.
Across the room I could hear the agent politely clear his throat. It was the fourth time over the course of an hour. No doubt he had heard stories of my first day at The Foundation… ah lets call it TF for short. Far too many syllables in that name for comfort. Anyway, my first day at the foundation I woke up from my nap to find four of the TF black suits pressed against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. No doubt they had walked into the room and tried to wake me. I heard afterwards that they had tried for 5 minutes to wake me without touching me but in their impatience they had come to my bedside grasped me by the shoulder.
I honestly apologized to them after, when I visited them at the hospital. Of course I had no choice in the trip. The Chief insisted so that I didn’t foster ill will amongst the other Agents. At the very least I was able to teleport there and back, but even so the trip ate into my afternoon nap and I was grumpy for the rest of the day.
A fifth cough brought me back to reality just as I was beginning to nod off. I knew what would come next if I stayed asleep. They slowly add more agents with orders to stand there awkwardly while I tried to sleep. When you have the ability to automatically sense every brain wave of every living being within 100 meters, having them that close to you is beyond annoying.
I finally gave in and slowly peered out of my blanket fort. There were already 2 of them in there. I hadn’t even noticed the 2nd come in. I fumbled for my glasses and slid them on.
Ah…
It was the chief, I mean The Chief. Whenever anyone in TF says it it sounds like they are capitalizing it. He is one of the few people I can’t read, or even sense. When I stare at him its as if there is simply an empty space where he should be, and if I stare long enough I forget that he was there.
Until he speaks.
I jolted to full wakefulness and gave a limp salute. “Good morning, sir.” The ‘sir’ wasn’t normal for me but last time I referred to him as ‘dude’ he simply stared at me until I squirmed and appended the appropriate honorific.
-Good morning Seeker- he replied mentally, using my Foundation name. -I assume you slept well-
He ‘spoke’ with no intonation or punctuation. If I remembered correctly he did so because he was among the most powerful tele-empaths in the world. Even a little bit of emotion from him could strongly affect the feelings and thoughts of those around him. To prevent this, he maintained perpetual neutrality in emotion, and avoided speaking unless absolutely necessary, since spoken word could often reflect internal emotions.
I gave a weak nod in response to his… well it wasn’t really a question was it.
-I believe we spoke about this Seeker- He continued. - Sleeping is no crime but excess of any kind can be considered dangerous amongst being such as ourselves- He turned to leave the room. -Now ready yourself there is much work to be done-
The black suit left shortly after him and I was sorely tempted to flop back into the welcoming bed, but a visit from The Chief generally left you feeling restless, so I rolled off of the bed and started my day.
========================================
My job as Guardian of the Foundation is a bit odd, but definitely more along the sort of work that I prefer. Where other field agents complete various tasks from assassinations to intelligence gathering, I simply sit in a room specifically created to amplify my powers with a notepad and look for a specific type of brainwave.
You see The Foundation is completely illegal. Not only that, it is never been heard of. You might wonder how how it is possible to run a business when you’ve never been heard of by your clients. Well thats where I come in. Whenever anyone in this hemisphere who thinks about something illegal and the use of ESP gets tracked by me, and after a while they meet a man in a black suit who makes them an offer for the specific job that they want done. Of course there is more to it than that: I scan each clients future once we decide to contact them and then see whether they plan to or will let slip that we exist and if so they simply aren’t contacted. Initially we just did a partial memory wipe, but when you can’t remember why you are missing, oh I don’t know, about 5 million dollars, you start asking questions.
Well anyway back to my job. I sit here with a notepad and write down names. At least thats what I’m supposed to do. I found out that using telekinesis I can just do it all automatically while asleep. And for this I get paid more than 2 million a year.
Pretty good deal eh?
Today started off the same as usual. I slept and when I woke up I saw the pen still scribbling away at the notepad. I gave it a quick perusing and froze. After rereading the name I slowly and deliberately tore the paper directly above that name and crumpled the paper up into a ball, popped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. For good measure I tore out four additional pages and ate them. I then copied the paper over to the note pad and ate the original, just in case. I left the pen on the table and took the notepad with me. Even despite my precautions I could see the threads of my future steadily burning away until only a few remained.
Most of them ended in my death.
If only I hadn’t seen that name. A very familiar name.
My name. | |
I mean, they are clearly meant for each other. Both are smart, pretty and skilled, with endearing quirks and a great sense of humor. They are even flirting at every oppotunity they get - but never anything serious. | [WP] Everyone, including the villain, are confused as to why the male and female protagonist aren't falling in love. | A heartbeat.
In the space of a moment, there's nothing quite so intoxicating as to feel its leap beneath your fingertips, the frenetic pace of terror or fierce joy or the fierce, determined staccato of desire.
Looking at him, I could feel all of those in the space of the moment, catalysed by the electric tingle of skin against skin and a heady rush of oxygen from both of our fierce breathing. He moves against me with a grace and precision I'd never have expected - in such contrast with his slow, almost clumsy gestures when he's stoking a fire or making conversation.
I dare to look for a moment, staring up at his beautiful features, and the expression on his face is one of determination. The fire in those steely blue eyes...it speaks of unspoken passion, barely bridled by his restraint and the knowledge of what can and cannot be.
*"Surrender now and I may spare your life, Viakev."* Hisses a low voice throughout the Throne Room, and Viakev and I both look up at the cowled figure reclining confidently before us.
"What, no such courtesy for me?" I pant, and flinch as one of the plate-armoured minions jabs a spear threateningly in my direction, my injured forearm cradled to my chest.
"I guess chivalry really is dead." comes my companion's dry response, but his attention is elsewhere. We circle, back to back, but the wall of figures before us is dark and impenetrable, and even now we see the fallen rise in clouds of wispy smoke to reconstitute themselves, taking their place among the silent, malevolent entities staring at us with burning coal eyes.
I hold my breath, waiting for the next sudden movement from one of them, and blow a strand of crimson hair from my field of vision. I'd like to speak, to throw the Acheron Darkmore's offer to the wind and search for some other means of escape, but I'm not the Chosen One. Just a girl who loved this world too much to let it be conquered by darkness, and while Viakev would never have made it this far without me, this is his moment.
For a long moment the world holds its breath - the Acheron upon his Black Throne, the figures massed before us which have no need of such petty things as air, Viakev...and me. Then he raises his voice, and his answer rings out as clear as a bell.
But not the answer I was expecting.
"Darkmore...I surrender myself to you."
I whirl, disbelief in my eyes, and Viakev holds up a single finger to quiet me, his speech unfinished. "On one condition!" he roars, silencing any response. "If I draw down my sword, you have to promise to spare Ysolda." And before he's finished speaking, my gauntleted hand catches him a fierce blow across the cheek, drawing a gasp of pain from both of us as my wound reopens.
"What are you doing?!" comes my furious hiss, and he turns back with a hand to his sculpted cheek. "It's you he wants. You're the only one who can stop this, and you plan to - to what, lounge in his dungeon?"
"Dungeon? No, if he's defeated me..if he's captured me, he'll want a trophy. He'll want me nearby. Don't you see? This way you go free, and I'm closer to him than we'd ever have been before those shadow-things stopped us." Viakev answers, and his measured response is incomprehensible to me. A shield-maiden doesn't throw down her arms simply because she's outmatched.
But before I can argue anymore, Acheron Darkmore's sibilant tones fill the air, those cruel lips stretching into a vindictive smile.
*"I accept your proposal, Viakev. Drop your sword and the girl may go free."*
I look back to Viakev, and his hand opens. As if in slow motion, I see our last hope fall from his fingers, hear its echoing clatter upon marble tiles, and Viakev bows his head as two of the platemail figures lay a hand upon his shoulders. I throw off the first to do the same to me, but to no avail, and two more take hold of my arms. I'm dragged forcibly away from the tranquil Hero before me, my bow clenched so tightly in my fingers it feels about to snap.
"I'll come back for you!" I promise, and Viakev's eyes snap to mine from where he'd been staring at the floor.
"Don't!" he whispers urgently, and turns to give the Acheron Darkmore a sidelong glance. "I mean...have you *seen* how sexy that man is when he's monologuing?"
"You idiot." I sigh, before being dragged out of earshot. "This is Grognak the Barbarian all over again!" | Perhaps madness was inevitable. Somewhere among this chaos, or maybe in an alternate reality, I'd like to think the both of us were possible. I guess that's why it's called dreaming.
The noise of the engine snaps me back to reality. You were busy starting the Kawasaki as I waited by your side. I remember watching your blue eyes squint as you leaned closer to the motorbike.
'You coming along this time?' You grinned at me. I flashed a smile as I climbed onto the backseat, wrapping my arms around you for the umpteenth time. It always felt right. There was this tension between us, but none of us spoke.
And then we rode out into the sunset strip as the purple horizon spread out into oblivion. Maybe in the future we could be together but that future doesn't seem to exist. But here in this moment, I'm by your side.
If only we believed in the notion of love, if only either one of us had the courage to take the plunge. But love is a messy thing, isn't it? It consumes you and drives you, but more often than not it tears a person apart. It's the dependency on another person, the longing and the desire. But we're too perfect for this. We're not ready to risk it.
So here we are, riding through the possibilities of what we could but never will be.
This is reality. |
I mean, they are clearly meant for each other. Both are smart, pretty and skilled, with endearing quirks and a great sense of humor. They are even flirting at every oppotunity they get - but never anything serious. | [WP] Everyone, including the villain, are confused as to why the male and female protagonist aren't falling in love. | "NO!" The demon lord Baarg screamed. The ground shook, and lava exploded from the ground from the sheer volume and shock.
"Hurry Arthur! While he's weak!" Lyana shouted, throwing him his greatsword Glarer while taking cover. She was at her limit, and she wouldn't be able to hold Baarg for long in her spell. Already, she could feel her body trembling with fatigue, as the purple barrier around the demon began to crack. Her blue eyes, filled with diamond resolution began to falter. Would Arthur make it in time?
To answer, Arthur summoned the last of his strength and dragged his broken body towards where the sword embedded itself in the dirt. His face, once handsome, and decorated with gold hair and jeweled with his two golden eyes was now a bloody mess. He had the look of a dog that had been severely beaten, the life drained out of him with no hope of return. He knew this too - In fact, he felt it. He knew that this would be his last adventure. He knew that he would have to retire after delivering the killing blow. He knew that he would never swing a sword again.
'No.' He thought.
This one last time would be enough. He would save the world, with the help of his friend, and retire to see the world in peace.
Baarg was clawing his way out of the magical field now, and from behind a boulder, Arthur head Lyana scream in pain as her magical link was forcefully being broken. But she had done her job.
With a mighty roar, Arthur raised his sword to it's peak and swung down with the force of a thousand avalanches down unto the demon king's head. The sword hissed as it hit its cursed flesh, and Baarg screamed, struggled, then fell limp.
Everything was silent then, except for the slow rumblings of the underground lava and fire. Slowly, Lyana rose from cover. Micah, the fat dwarf revealed himself too, carrying his old book, eager to record the moment the hero saved the world in it's freshest state.
Arthur stood silently over the melting body of Baarg. He looked tired. Giving a long, melancholic look to his sword, he finally came back to reality, and smiled and walked towards his friends.
"You did it!" Lyana smiled.
"I guess I did." Arthur managed.
"Bloody good job lad." The dwarf added.
"Thanks Micah. Put that in the book for me, will you?"
The dwarf gave a huge smile, and began scribbling furiously.
"And then... Arthur... Slew the demon... And he and Lyana... Lived happily ever after." He finished.
Arthur frowned, and glanced at the dwarf.
"Come again?"
The dwarf looked back, equally confused.
"Lived happily ever after?" He suggested.
Lyana frowned as well, and knelt down, matching the dwarf's height. His balding head shone brightly with the red and orange light of the cave.
"No, before that part." Lyana said.
"Oh. Right. 'He and Lyana'."
Lyana gave a mental pause, and then looked at Arthur. He was equally confused.
"Me and... Him?" She asked.
"Well - Yes lass. I mean, it was obvious isn't it? Two good looking young un's, traveling together, sharing stories, camping together..." He trailed off, hoping to find familiar ground, but was met with more puzzled faces.
"We're just friends." Arthur confirmed. Lyana nodded in agreement, and this time, it was the dwarf who was staring in confusion.
"Hold on, what?" Came a voice.
They all turned to see the ghost of Baarg floating above the melting body, cross-armed with a raised eyebrow. Arthur reached for his sword, but Baarg lifted a hand.
"Don't worry, I was just passing off to banishment - I just delayed it for a bit because I had to hear this out."
"I second that." Added the dwarf.
Arthur relaxed the grip on his sword, and Lyana shook her head.
"I don't get what's so confusing about this. I mean, we're just close friends. We're not really... Romantically involved in each other." She finished.
Baarg and Micah glanced at each other.
"But... That's not how it works." Baarg stated.
"Aye lass. I mean, you two never...?" The dwarf trailed off again. This time however, he was met with a scowl from Arthur.
"Ew! No! Gods no!" He said, and then turned to Lyana.
"No offense of course." He apologized to her, and Lyana shrugged.
"But that's what's supposed to happen! Why, back in my prime of youth, I've had heroes kiss their ladies on my father's dead carcass!" Baarg protested.
They all looked at Baarg in shock.
"Figure of speech." He added hurriedly. There was a moment of awkward silence, where Arthur fidgeted with his sword, and Lyana coughed to break the silence.
"So that's it then? You two don't really...?"
"No." They replied in unison.
The dwarf scratched his head, and crossed out a line in his book.
"Well... What am I supposed to write?" He complained. | Perhaps madness was inevitable. Somewhere among this chaos, or maybe in an alternate reality, I'd like to think the both of us were possible. I guess that's why it's called dreaming.
The noise of the engine snaps me back to reality. You were busy starting the Kawasaki as I waited by your side. I remember watching your blue eyes squint as you leaned closer to the motorbike.
'You coming along this time?' You grinned at me. I flashed a smile as I climbed onto the backseat, wrapping my arms around you for the umpteenth time. It always felt right. There was this tension between us, but none of us spoke.
And then we rode out into the sunset strip as the purple horizon spread out into oblivion. Maybe in the future we could be together but that future doesn't seem to exist. But here in this moment, I'm by your side.
If only we believed in the notion of love, if only either one of us had the courage to take the plunge. But love is a messy thing, isn't it? It consumes you and drives you, but more often than not it tears a person apart. It's the dependency on another person, the longing and the desire. But we're too perfect for this. We're not ready to risk it.
So here we are, riding through the possibilities of what we could but never will be.
This is reality. |
I mean, they are clearly meant for each other. Both are smart, pretty and skilled, with endearing quirks and a great sense of humor. They are even flirting at every oppotunity they get - but never anything serious. | [WP] Everyone, including the villain, are confused as to why the male and female protagonist aren't falling in love. | “Gravity Girl, why don’t you finish this guy off.”
“You would like me to finish him off, wouldn’t you, *Boson Boy*?” Gravity Girl gave a quick jerking motion with her hand, before flying over a defeated army of ents to get to Captain Coniferous. “God, what a shitty name” GG whispered under her breath.
“You know I have super hearing? And for your information, Bosons are a fundamental building block of the Universe.”
“Still a shitty name.” GG had picked up Captain Coniferous and was holding him by the collar.
“You know, you could always change it.” The Captain chimed in. “If you want that alliteration and physics thing, you could always do ‘Black Hole Boy’ or something. Black holes are pretty bad ass.”
“Black Hole Boy?” GG chuckled. “More like ‘Brown Hole Boy.’ He still shits his pants. You should see the streaks on his costume.”
“Hey, that was one time. And it was when we fought Venomous van der Waals immediately after we ate Chipotle. I don’t have an Iron Sphincter® like you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, is your butthole all loose from those years of fighting The Big Hardon?”
“Very funny, GG, but we all know The Big *Hadron* was no match for my shrinking powers.”
“Emphasis on 'shrinking'.”
“I have a question, guys.” Captain Coniferous interrupted. “Why don’t you guys just” he paused to motion his two fists pounding together “already?”
“What!? Me and Ol’ Brown Hole? Yeah, no fucking way” Gravity Girl tightened her grip on the villain.
“Seriously.” Boson Boy agreed. “How low do you think my standards are?”
“Wow, wait a minute. What did you just say?
“Oh, just that your nose is massive…and crooked, your butt is flat, your teeth, my God, have you seen them? How could you not see them? They are the size of Wyoming.”
“I mean, they’re not *that* big” Captain Coniferous interjected.
“Okay, that’s it, we are done here.” With little effort, Gravity Girl lifted Captain Coniferous into the air and made her way to the east, Boson Boy in close pursuit. “I’m telling Mom.”
“What, that I hurt your ‘wittle feelings.”
“Nope. I’m telling her about the weed under your bed.”
“Oh, you bitch. If you do that, I’m telling her you skipped PE to make out with Chad Penning.”
| Perhaps madness was inevitable. Somewhere among this chaos, or maybe in an alternate reality, I'd like to think the both of us were possible. I guess that's why it's called dreaming.
The noise of the engine snaps me back to reality. You were busy starting the Kawasaki as I waited by your side. I remember watching your blue eyes squint as you leaned closer to the motorbike.
'You coming along this time?' You grinned at me. I flashed a smile as I climbed onto the backseat, wrapping my arms around you for the umpteenth time. It always felt right. There was this tension between us, but none of us spoke.
And then we rode out into the sunset strip as the purple horizon spread out into oblivion. Maybe in the future we could be together but that future doesn't seem to exist. But here in this moment, I'm by your side.
If only we believed in the notion of love, if only either one of us had the courage to take the plunge. But love is a messy thing, isn't it? It consumes you and drives you, but more often than not it tears a person apart. It's the dependency on another person, the longing and the desire. But we're too perfect for this. We're not ready to risk it.
So here we are, riding through the possibilities of what we could but never will be.
This is reality. |
I mean, they are clearly meant for each other. Both are smart, pretty and skilled, with endearing quirks and a great sense of humor. They are even flirting at every oppotunity they get - but never anything serious. | [WP] Everyone, including the villain, are confused as to why the male and female protagonist aren't falling in love. | "NO!" The demon lord Baarg screamed. The ground shook, and lava exploded from the ground from the sheer volume and shock.
"Hurry Arthur! While he's weak!" Lyana shouted, throwing him his greatsword Glarer while taking cover. She was at her limit, and she wouldn't be able to hold Baarg for long in her spell. Already, she could feel her body trembling with fatigue, as the purple barrier around the demon began to crack. Her blue eyes, filled with diamond resolution began to falter. Would Arthur make it in time?
To answer, Arthur summoned the last of his strength and dragged his broken body towards where the sword embedded itself in the dirt. His face, once handsome, and decorated with gold hair and jeweled with his two golden eyes was now a bloody mess. He had the look of a dog that had been severely beaten, the life drained out of him with no hope of return. He knew this too - In fact, he felt it. He knew that this would be his last adventure. He knew that he would have to retire after delivering the killing blow. He knew that he would never swing a sword again.
'No.' He thought.
This one last time would be enough. He would save the world, with the help of his friend, and retire to see the world in peace.
Baarg was clawing his way out of the magical field now, and from behind a boulder, Arthur head Lyana scream in pain as her magical link was forcefully being broken. But she had done her job.
With a mighty roar, Arthur raised his sword to it's peak and swung down with the force of a thousand avalanches down unto the demon king's head. The sword hissed as it hit its cursed flesh, and Baarg screamed, struggled, then fell limp.
Everything was silent then, except for the slow rumblings of the underground lava and fire. Slowly, Lyana rose from cover. Micah, the fat dwarf revealed himself too, carrying his old book, eager to record the moment the hero saved the world in it's freshest state.
Arthur stood silently over the melting body of Baarg. He looked tired. Giving a long, melancholic look to his sword, he finally came back to reality, and smiled and walked towards his friends.
"You did it!" Lyana smiled.
"I guess I did." Arthur managed.
"Bloody good job lad." The dwarf added.
"Thanks Micah. Put that in the book for me, will you?"
The dwarf gave a huge smile, and began scribbling furiously.
"And then... Arthur... Slew the demon... And he and Lyana... Lived happily ever after." He finished.
Arthur frowned, and glanced at the dwarf.
"Come again?"
The dwarf looked back, equally confused.
"Lived happily ever after?" He suggested.
Lyana frowned as well, and knelt down, matching the dwarf's height. His balding head shone brightly with the red and orange light of the cave.
"No, before that part." Lyana said.
"Oh. Right. 'He and Lyana'."
Lyana gave a mental pause, and then looked at Arthur. He was equally confused.
"Me and... Him?" She asked.
"Well - Yes lass. I mean, it was obvious isn't it? Two good looking young un's, traveling together, sharing stories, camping together..." He trailed off, hoping to find familiar ground, but was met with more puzzled faces.
"We're just friends." Arthur confirmed. Lyana nodded in agreement, and this time, it was the dwarf who was staring in confusion.
"Hold on, what?" Came a voice.
They all turned to see the ghost of Baarg floating above the melting body, cross-armed with a raised eyebrow. Arthur reached for his sword, but Baarg lifted a hand.
"Don't worry, I was just passing off to banishment - I just delayed it for a bit because I had to hear this out."
"I second that." Added the dwarf.
Arthur relaxed the grip on his sword, and Lyana shook her head.
"I don't get what's so confusing about this. I mean, we're just close friends. We're not really... Romantically involved in each other." She finished.
Baarg and Micah glanced at each other.
"But... That's not how it works." Baarg stated.
"Aye lass. I mean, you two never...?" The dwarf trailed off again. This time however, he was met with a scowl from Arthur.
"Ew! No! Gods no!" He said, and then turned to Lyana.
"No offense of course." He apologized to her, and Lyana shrugged.
"But that's what's supposed to happen! Why, back in my prime of youth, I've had heroes kiss their ladies on my father's dead carcass!" Baarg protested.
They all looked at Baarg in shock.
"Figure of speech." He added hurriedly. There was a moment of awkward silence, where Arthur fidgeted with his sword, and Lyana coughed to break the silence.
"So that's it then? You two don't really...?"
"No." They replied in unison.
The dwarf scratched his head, and crossed out a line in his book.
"Well... What am I supposed to write?" He complained. | A heartbeat.
In the space of a moment, there's nothing quite so intoxicating as to feel its leap beneath your fingertips, the frenetic pace of terror or fierce joy or the fierce, determined staccato of desire.
Looking at him, I could feel all of those in the space of the moment, catalysed by the electric tingle of skin against skin and a heady rush of oxygen from both of our fierce breathing. He moves against me with a grace and precision I'd never have expected - in such contrast with his slow, almost clumsy gestures when he's stoking a fire or making conversation.
I dare to look for a moment, staring up at his beautiful features, and the expression on his face is one of determination. The fire in those steely blue eyes...it speaks of unspoken passion, barely bridled by his restraint and the knowledge of what can and cannot be.
*"Surrender now and I may spare your life, Viakev."* Hisses a low voice throughout the Throne Room, and Viakev and I both look up at the cowled figure reclining confidently before us.
"What, no such courtesy for me?" I pant, and flinch as one of the plate-armoured minions jabs a spear threateningly in my direction, my injured forearm cradled to my chest.
"I guess chivalry really is dead." comes my companion's dry response, but his attention is elsewhere. We circle, back to back, but the wall of figures before us is dark and impenetrable, and even now we see the fallen rise in clouds of wispy smoke to reconstitute themselves, taking their place among the silent, malevolent entities staring at us with burning coal eyes.
I hold my breath, waiting for the next sudden movement from one of them, and blow a strand of crimson hair from my field of vision. I'd like to speak, to throw the Acheron Darkmore's offer to the wind and search for some other means of escape, but I'm not the Chosen One. Just a girl who loved this world too much to let it be conquered by darkness, and while Viakev would never have made it this far without me, this is his moment.
For a long moment the world holds its breath - the Acheron upon his Black Throne, the figures massed before us which have no need of such petty things as air, Viakev...and me. Then he raises his voice, and his answer rings out as clear as a bell.
But not the answer I was expecting.
"Darkmore...I surrender myself to you."
I whirl, disbelief in my eyes, and Viakev holds up a single finger to quiet me, his speech unfinished. "On one condition!" he roars, silencing any response. "If I draw down my sword, you have to promise to spare Ysolda." And before he's finished speaking, my gauntleted hand catches him a fierce blow across the cheek, drawing a gasp of pain from both of us as my wound reopens.
"What are you doing?!" comes my furious hiss, and he turns back with a hand to his sculpted cheek. "It's you he wants. You're the only one who can stop this, and you plan to - to what, lounge in his dungeon?"
"Dungeon? No, if he's defeated me..if he's captured me, he'll want a trophy. He'll want me nearby. Don't you see? This way you go free, and I'm closer to him than we'd ever have been before those shadow-things stopped us." Viakev answers, and his measured response is incomprehensible to me. A shield-maiden doesn't throw down her arms simply because she's outmatched.
But before I can argue anymore, Acheron Darkmore's sibilant tones fill the air, those cruel lips stretching into a vindictive smile.
*"I accept your proposal, Viakev. Drop your sword and the girl may go free."*
I look back to Viakev, and his hand opens. As if in slow motion, I see our last hope fall from his fingers, hear its echoing clatter upon marble tiles, and Viakev bows his head as two of the platemail figures lay a hand upon his shoulders. I throw off the first to do the same to me, but to no avail, and two more take hold of my arms. I'm dragged forcibly away from the tranquil Hero before me, my bow clenched so tightly in my fingers it feels about to snap.
"I'll come back for you!" I promise, and Viakev's eyes snap to mine from where he'd been staring at the floor.
"Don't!" he whispers urgently, and turns to give the Acheron Darkmore a sidelong glance. "I mean...have you *seen* how sexy that man is when he's monologuing?"
"You idiot." I sigh, before being dragged out of earshot. "This is Grognak the Barbarian all over again!" |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | Make a convincing conspiracy? Ha! Like any of you skeptics would believe me anyway! Lizard men? New World Orders? Is that the crap you want to hear from me?
But the truth, oh yes, the TRUTH! Now that's what we want to know!
It's so obvious, it's so clear, it's so simple!
Extraterrestrial Life, Area 51, The Illuminati, Stonemasons, Lizardmen - all that crap is perpetuated! By who?
Who do you think!
Us!
The Governments of the world WANT us wasting our time, our brain power, our energy in these pointless theories!
Constantly they dismiss these theories rather than debunking them with solid evidence, why?
Because we keep digging!
But why would you want a bunch of lunatics parading around, convinced of these truths, you may ask.
It's so SIMPLE.
It's so OBVIOUS.
Who is the most dangerous enemy? The one whom you cannot predict!
Who can you not predict?
The youth! The New Generation!
The ones who WANT the world governments to change!
The ones who want to end corruption!
The ones so easily sidetracked by pointless, meaningless theories so that they don't address the real issues.
The real problems with our governments, our officials, our representatives!
Be vigilante! Don't let their bald heads fool you! Politics do matter!
They just want it all to themselves.
| The band had the van fully packed and we were on our way. I couldn't say I was entirely looking forward to the trip. We were headed for a college town, which meant we were headed for a special breed of trouble. Mind you, it's not like you don't expect to run into trouble playing punk music in a pub. You're doing your set, someone rushes the stage looking for a punch up and you knock their lights out. That's rock n' roll, baby. Now it was these fucking idiots looking to suck the fun out of everything, and I had to listen to our lead singer, Jake, rattle on about his conspiracy theories about the whole thing as he rode shotgun.
"When was the last time you ever heard anything from the Moral Majority?" asked Jake.
How the hell should I know? That was before I was born.
"I don't know, twenty, twenty-five years?" I said.
"More like thirty," said Jake, as he rolled a fatty, "Everything they were all pissed off about is the same stuff we love today. Big naked titties, rock and roll, and dirty jokes."
I shrugged and said the Moral Majority was a long time ago, there are much fewer seriously religious Americans around today.
Jake wagged his join at me and said, "They may be fewer in number, but they're just as crazy today as they ever were. Remember all those assclowns who came crawling out of the woodwork claiming Harry Potter was Wicca recruiting propaganda? The Bush administration? Jesus Camp? And all these people are every bit as dedicated as the Moral Majority ever was in banning shit that we love."
"Yeah, but I don't hear about them on the news," I said.
Jake lit his fatty and said, "That's because they're being all the more clever about it now. They're working behind the scenes and shit. Pulling the strings, making the deals. They're the ones who invented social justice warriors. The Moral Majority is exactly the same as a regressive liberal."
"You can't say the Moral Majority and regressive liberals are the same. The Moral Crusaded against homosexuality, regressive liberals don't."
"That's just one discrepancy," said Jake, "But look at all the other similarities. Regressive liberals hate everything that we love, that's why we always have to catch all this shit every time we play in a college town."
"There's a similarity, but that doesn't mean that the Moral Majority is secretly in charge," I said.
Jake took a long hard draw off his joint and after waiting a few seconds, let it gingerly exhale as smoke curl lazily around his face.
"Dude, there's no one in charge. That's the point, see? Thirty years ago when religious conservatives were crusading to morally micromanage people's lives there was a central public figure to rally against, The Moral Majority, that's why it failed. But now all they have to do is put the idea in people's heads. So instead of saying something is immoral or an affront against God, because that shit just doesn't swing anymore, they say it's 'triggering' or it's 'culturally appropriating' or it's misogyny or some shit like that. That way people crusade against the exact same things that pissed off religious conservatives but you use different explanations to justify it.
We can't play rock and roll because rock n roll was created by white people who culturally appropriated the basic rhythms from African Americans who create rhythm and blues. We can't sing songs about how we want the ladies to show us their great big naked titties because it's misogyny. We can't play heavy metal because it's all triggering and shit. And because there's nothing like a Moral Majority to blame for all of this, there's no central figure to rebel against."
"If there's no one in charge, like you say, then that means there's no conspiracy."
Jake disagreed and said, "A conspiracy does not require leadership. At least not a visible one anyway. Think of it this way. A regular liberal is someone who fights for the freedom to do things, like gays having the right to marry. A regressive liberal is someone who crusades to police everything. Someone who crusades to morally micromanage the world. And because there's no central figure, that means this moral micromanaging is extremely fractured where you have all these different people with all these different causes, each one on their own crusade. That way this moral interfering is a constant barrage hitting us from all angles all the time."
I tried to wave some of the marijuana smoke away from my face and said, "So we just keep doing what we're doing now, but tell people to fuck off a little more often. No one likes being told what to do, especially to unreasonable extents. It's just another dumbass movement that will ultimately fail, just like the Moral Majority did."
Jake took another huff and said, "Even if it does, religious conservatives, especially the older ones kinda win a little."
"How so?" I asked.
"Because social justice warriors is a youth movement," said Jake, "If social justice warriors fail, then religious conservatives, by their conspiracy, succeeded in making youth culture irrelevant."
| |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | Benghazi:
Obama wants a foreign policy coup, so he makes a deal with some Libyan rebels to fake an attack on the consulate in Benghazi. He assures them that there will be no resistance and that they will receive a shipment of armaments that is now on a ship in Benghazi harbor.
The rebels are to attack the consulate and take hostages, then Obama will step in and negotiate a surrender saving all of the hostages. The subsequent transfer of arms will be secret, of course.
The attack commences, and U.S. security personnel are told to "stand down". They haven't been told all the details, so they say, "Hell, no!" and go to defend the consulate. The rebels decide they have been double-crossed and escalate their attack, burning the consulate and killing the defenders as well as a diplomat who had been told to stay away that day.
| This sure sounds like a set up....
I heard the government watches all social media, everything on the internet....so anyone who is posting, commenting, or following anything political, or conspiracy related, their name is put on a list. That way when the new regime is put into power, they know exactly who is against them....and then, all those people will be rounded up, and given a choice, to conform or be "exiled"...
Crazy huh!?
| |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | "They removed the headphone jack mannnn" the dude said is his usual lazy slightly stoned surfer style voice, "it's all about the Jack mannn, im tell'in ya, all these scientist's a doowhackies can't be wrong mannn, it's a sure fire way they can read minds mannn! from your phone dudddde"..... I stare at his almost blank look, open mouth and a face that had seen more sun than a Mexican goat herder, his tie dyed vest and green peace badge holding up his baggy pants!
I reply "I'm an android user" I still jack in!
Sent from my iPhone | This sure sounds like a set up....
I heard the government watches all social media, everything on the internet....so anyone who is posting, commenting, or following anything political, or conspiracy related, their name is put on a list. That way when the new regime is put into power, they know exactly who is against them....and then, all those people will be rounded up, and given a choice, to conform or be "exiled"...
Crazy huh!?
| |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | Donald Trump is not supposed to win. Hillary Clinton is meant to be the president, but her history and personality meant that she was never going to be a popular choice.
So they chose her opponent. They chose a bigot and a racist, a serial liar who would make such outlandish claims that no-one in their right mind could ever believe he was a serious contender.
But it backfired.
He quickly became incredibly popular. The more bigotry and hatred he spewed, the more the people ate it up. The more lies he told, the more people believed in him.
They forgot the power of celebrity, the power that gave rise to Schwarzenegger and Regan. People don't vote for what is right, or even least wrong, they vote for what they see, they vote for what they hear. Now they are getting celebrities to speak out against him, trying to drown out his voice, but saying his name only makes him stronger.
Like all good horror stories, someone has lost control of the monster they made. There's just one difference. This one is real. | This sure sounds like a set up....
I heard the government watches all social media, everything on the internet....so anyone who is posting, commenting, or following anything political, or conspiracy related, their name is put on a list. That way when the new regime is put into power, they know exactly who is against them....and then, all those people will be rounded up, and given a choice, to conform or be "exiled"...
Crazy huh!?
| |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | You're all idiots. Idiots who can't see the truth.
Africa isn't real.
Of course it isn't. A continent full of poverty and starving people who all need our money, that can be gained through conveniently placed "charities" in the first world? It's all crap.
The governments needed a bit more money, so they thought "hey why not come up with a country filled with people who need all of our stuff?" So they could convince all their ignorant little citizens to hand over their hard earned cash.
Then, they can fund their "space programs" and "vaccines" and whatever other rubbish they claim exists. They can spend it on their billion dollar houses and ornamental duck ponds.
There is no African continent, just a big ocean connecting the Pacific and the Atlantic.
Think about it. How much money have you handed over to malaria campaigns, and how much fear could the government promote with Ebola? It's all a lie.
AFRICA
IS
NOT
REAL
Visit r/africaisntreal for more info | This sure sounds like a set up....
I heard the government watches all social media, everything on the internet....so anyone who is posting, commenting, or following anything political, or conspiracy related, their name is put on a list. That way when the new regime is put into power, they know exactly who is against them....and then, all those people will be rounded up, and given a choice, to conform or be "exiled"...
Crazy huh!?
| |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | There are 5 things you need to know before you understand my theory.
**1\. Attention is fleeting.**
By the time I finish this sentence, your interest is almost null. But wait! It's a period. A signifier of something new. Something fresh. Better yet,
a paragraph break.
You don't have time for rambles. Long blocks of text. Intro, body, conclusion. Structure.
Boring. Stiff. Passe.
Who needs that? Who reads that? This isn't the next Victorian novel. Form is an antiquity; writers need to move on. Write for readability. If it stretches out the screen of your mobile device, you did something wrong.
**2\. The world is full of information.**
The history of deontology. The structural integrity of the Great Wall of China. The first step to filing a tax return. How are you going to learn any of this if you're stuck trying to disseminate a twenty-page paper on Hemingway's use of prepositions for two hours?
Answer: you're not. You have to make a decision: do you want to know why Hemingway used "in" as the 9th word in *The Old Man and the Sea*, or do you want to know that you must first determine your filing status before you file a tax return?
You're welcome, by the way.
Make content digestible. Readability before flow. Remember: form is a remnant of classism, developed by the educated to assert their power over the poor.
**3\. The second person is the most relatable perspective.**
Don't listen to your English teachers or the mods in this subreddit. They have a sentimental attachment to the third and first person. The second person is far better. I can tell you who you are, and you don't need to expend any effort to immerse yourself in my writing.
Just read. Read and engage. Let me tell you how to feel. You won't believe how often this works. It's like drugs, but in textual form.
**4\. Expertise is subjective.**
I prefaced this piece by labeling it a "theory", yet have refrained from subjecting it to scientific rigor. Such is unnecessary. My work is the synthesis of my opinions and my experiences. My work resounds with popular media enough to sound authentic. My work validates enough of your own preconceptions for you to accept it in its entirety. Trust me. I sound like an expert.
**5\. Numbers.**
You knew from the outset I would tell you 5 things. Spurred by this fact, you soldiered onward, sifting through these clumps of text to get to the 5th point. Or maybe you just read the headers, because I gave you that option. Either way, your goal was to get through the 5 entries of this list, and you did.
Congratulations. Feel accomplished. You just read a listicle. Yes, the dreaded listicle, the boon of BuzzFeed and bloggers alike. Remember the facts: your attention is fleeting, and the world is full of information. How are writers going to pawn their ice cream tub manuscripts off when there's some guy offering free Dibs out on every street corner?
<insert relevant .gif here>
They're not. Borders closed. Barnes and Noble will, too. Newspapers will be digitized, and all remaining printing presses will be dumped in a landfill. Writers who value their continued existence over their integrity will join the listicle bandwagon, and those who don't will be the first to go when the government privatizes all universities.
"So, what?" you ask, "I like reading listicles!"
You don't like reading listicles, and remember, I can magically tell you how to feel because I'm using the second person. Social media is conditioning you to absorb easily digestible content. You seek the instant gratification that comes from consuming something new. The high is similar regardless of length or quality, so websites and writers sacrifice effort for quantity. You subscribe. You become addicted. It's too much work to read anything longer.
Eventually, you are drawn out of your stupor long enough to question the second person. Who is "you"? To whom is this listicle referring?
BuzzFeed is English. Have you ever seen a Chinese listicle? A Russian one?
An epidemic of illiteracy has pervaded the Western world, and our foes in the east have perpetuated it. | This sure sounds like a set up....
I heard the government watches all social media, everything on the internet....so anyone who is posting, commenting, or following anything political, or conspiracy related, their name is put on a list. That way when the new regime is put into power, they know exactly who is against them....and then, all those people will be rounded up, and given a choice, to conform or be "exiled"...
Crazy huh!?
| |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | Donald Trump is not supposed to win. Hillary Clinton is meant to be the president, but her history and personality meant that she was never going to be a popular choice.
So they chose her opponent. They chose a bigot and a racist, a serial liar who would make such outlandish claims that no-one in their right mind could ever believe he was a serious contender.
But it backfired.
He quickly became incredibly popular. The more bigotry and hatred he spewed, the more the people ate it up. The more lies he told, the more people believed in him.
They forgot the power of celebrity, the power that gave rise to Schwarzenegger and Regan. People don't vote for what is right, or even least wrong, they vote for what they see, they vote for what they hear. Now they are getting celebrities to speak out against him, trying to drown out his voice, but saying his name only makes him stronger.
Like all good horror stories, someone has lost control of the monster they made. There's just one difference. This one is real. | The Washington redskins have a link to the Nazis.
The redskins started off as the Boston braves in 1932. The next year Hitler rises to power in Germany.
Next the redskins fight song goes "hail to the redskins hail victory"....hmm hail victory what does that translate into german....seig hiel.... | |
[WP] Make up a convincing conspiracy theory | Donald Trump is not supposed to win. Hillary Clinton is meant to be the president, but her history and personality meant that she was never going to be a popular choice.
So they chose her opponent. They chose a bigot and a racist, a serial liar who would make such outlandish claims that no-one in their right mind could ever believe he was a serious contender.
But it backfired.
He quickly became incredibly popular. The more bigotry and hatred he spewed, the more the people ate it up. The more lies he told, the more people believed in him.
They forgot the power of celebrity, the power that gave rise to Schwarzenegger and Regan. People don't vote for what is right, or even least wrong, they vote for what they see, they vote for what they hear. Now they are getting celebrities to speak out against him, trying to drown out his voice, but saying his name only makes him stronger.
Like all good horror stories, someone has lost control of the monster they made. There's just one difference. This one is real. | Benghazi:
Obama wants a foreign policy coup, so he makes a deal with some Libyan rebels to fake an attack on the consulate in Benghazi. He assures them that there will be no resistance and that they will receive a shipment of armaments that is now on a ship in Benghazi harbor.
The rebels are to attack the consulate and take hostages, then Obama will step in and negotiate a surrender saving all of the hostages. The subsequent transfer of arms will be secret, of course.
The attack commences, and U.S. security personnel are told to "stand down". They haven't been told all the details, so they say, "Hell, no!" and go to defend the consulate. The rebels decide they have been double-crossed and escalate their attack, burning the consulate and killing the defenders as well as a diplomat who had been told to stay away that day.
|
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