post_text stringlengths 0 10k | post_title stringlengths 8 313 | chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k | rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k |
|---|---|---|---|
[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. | "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 | |
[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 | "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 | |
[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. | My phone rang, it was Dave. I let out a heavy sigh. Dave only called to share his crazy theories with me. I debated letting it go to voicemail. *Oh well, I can use a laugh I guess.*
"Hi, Dave. What now? Antisemitic lizard people have taken over Area 51?"
He laughed.
>No man. It's worse than that. It's real. The election...
"Come on man, don't... you know I hate politics. It's all bullshit. Both sides."
> Naw dude. We're being had, the whole thing's rigged. He's working for her!
I sighed, "Really. You really think that?"
>Look at the facts man. The **facts**: He was a huge supporter of hers in 2008. Started all that birther crap when it could benefit her. He's donated money to her for christsake! It's on record. All of this is. She was the guest of honor at his wedding, dude. They are old friends!
"He's running against her man. Politics is backstabbing, they... he's running attack ads."
>Dude, have you seen how weak they are? The ones **actually** coming out of his campaign? Not the ones from other PACs mind you, but his actual campaign? They're weaksauce. Have you also noticed every time he get's a lead in the polls he self-destructs? She's nearly unelectable, but he's blowing what should be an easy win.
"I don't think so man... what about the death threats? That gun stuff?"
>That, my friend, is where the plot thickens. Now, I don't have anything to back this up other than a hunch... but it's a doosey. So she's running on an anti-gun platform right?
"Yeah, so what? Just common sense stuff."
>Oh, those fucking buzzwords they feed you boyo, you folks just eat up those socially-constructed blue pills they keep shoving down your neckhole by the party-controlled media. Has nothing to do with common sense, just control. Whatever, look she's touting the hardline against guns. He's running, obviously, on the flip of that. He has to. Plays into the whole thing. You know he was pro-gun-ban once too?
"So what dude, he's playing the political game. She used to be anti-gay marriage too, til it made political sense for her to not be. It's what they all do."
>Not all of them, some stick to their platforms, but they never get far. Still, you haven't heard me out. So he talks a big game, with vague things that can get people riled up, things he can take the fall for later politically, but not legally. So someone goes after her, but fails. They die of course, there are a trail of bodies behind her stretching out decades. But she lives, maybe someone near her gets hit. Think back a few decades... it happened man. And guess who just got out of jail? None other than the infamous shooter. Still, I doubt they'd be brazen enough to use him, but damn if they did... 'He was crazy, already tired it once, we should have never let him out!' So she get's a bunch of sympathy votes, wins against the maniac who caused this... Gets elected and gets her gun control.
I listened to him exhale after his long tirade. "Dave... you are nuts." I hung up the phone and shook my head before turning on the news. More of the same, but this time it felt different, suspicious. "Oh that shit, I'm starting to think like him." | |
[WP] Aliens conquer Earth. Well, not whole Earth, one tiny village in Gaul is still resisting... | Aktor lead the Emperor had conquered many worlds, razed countless moons, scoured entire systems clean of life in the name of the Great Empire. He had never encountered a species he could not have submit to the Will.
Until he came upon this miserable, Emperor-forsaken planet in orbit-03. The entire planet was under subjugation, the natives forced to harvest their resources as was customary, cleansing their aether and preparing them for their next life in the service of the Emperor. But rumors whispered amongst the dregs--of a city that was still fighting--resisting. As per his mandate anyone who was found discussing the City, as they took to calling it, was taken for reassignment.
He didn't want any of this 'hope' as he found described in remnants of their communications network. He still did not understand what this had to do a hairy quadruped with a limb on the branch. He did want them to know the truth, however far from it was from their collective...'imagination?' He could not have them know of why they had been here for fifteen star rotations.
Fifteen star rotations and he had never felt more rage in his years of service. He had turned their cities into rubble and he had never found a greater obstacle than the small settlement in a small continent bordering one of their oceans. Planetary records gave the region multiple names, the earliest he could find referring to the region as Gaul. Never before had he seen such resistance. Orbital bombardment, raiding parties, strike teams, traditional infantry, Firewings--nothing took.
Days after they had scoured the area, the buildings rubble and ash once they left it only took days for the village to appear on their sensors once again. The buildings rebuilt, weapon stockpiles apparently replenished, it was above all else, **confounding**. No matter how completely, thoroughly they demolished and annihilated the settlement, against all possible odds, it was restored to pristine condition. Any aftereffects that **should** have remained were simply **gone**. Aktor suspected some sort of temporal effect was in play, but the natives technological level gave no such indication that they would be capable of such a feat.
He would have to send a request for a Technologist to determine the cause. It would be a blemish on an otherwise spotless record, but Aktor just wanted to return home. They all did. And he would not let some village stop them from that. | Mandragonian War Commentaries
The World of Earth Is A Whole Divided Into Four Parts. Three Have Been Conquered, The Fourth Europa In Which Gaul Awaits Conquering. Imperial Legions of Mandragonia Were Bringing The Barbarian Bandits Of Earth To Heel. Tenth Legion Personally Led By The Consul Will Be There At The Final Capitulation.
Will the author maintain that messed up capitalization of every word? Will their knowledge of Roman literature hold up long enough to form a coherent story? Does the small Gualish village have a plan to resist the invader? Find out next time in **Tales Of The Inedible!**
| |
[WP] Aliens conquer Earth. Well, not whole Earth, one tiny village in Gaul is still resisting... | In a small corner of Northern Gaul is a village where life continues much as it has done for many, many years. Once this village was besieged by legions of Cesar's finest troops, but in more recent times things have been a little... different.
Here now comes two of the men who live in the village, a young man named Asterix and his rather... rotund friend, Obelix. Whilst for many men simply chasing down a wild boar on foot would be enough of a challenge, Obelix is carrying with him a gigantic stone, a Menhir, which he nimbly holds as the two men rush after the beast.
At last the animal is cornered and with great care the two men approach from either side.
*****
"Be careful Obelix." Asterix watched the the boar looked from side to side, looking for a way to escape.
This tasty boar wont's escape me Asterix!" Obelix bellowed, leaping forward and grasping with one hand, the other balancing his Menhir. As if in slow motion Obelix reached for the animal, missed and a moment later landed on his face with a thud. "Alright, probably not anyway."
Asterix rolled his eyes. "Look maybe you could do your deliveries another time Obelix, i'm hungry and that boar can't have gone far."
Obelix looked at the remains of the flattened animal on the side of his rock and carefully began to scrape it off. "Maybe we could still make it a Pâté?"
*****
Walking back through the woods, Asterix tried to ignore two things, the rumbling in his stomach and the clicking noise as the sentry creatures tracked the two Gauls through the woods.
Obelix looked around at the trees on all sides. "Asterix, do you..."
"Yes Obelix, but just do as Chief Dominatrix said and ignore them." Obelix nodded, the strange creatures weren't as fun as the Roman's had been anyway and they didn't wear helmets or armour he could collect.
The two continued until the entered a small clearing and there, in the middle, the aliens had finally revealed themselves. the tall one at the front stepped forward. "criiitcccchchcch"
Asterix clapped his hands to his ears but Obelix nodded thoughtfully. "It's kind of melodic, don't you think?"
Asterix shook his head as the noise continued. "By the God's no! I wish he'd shut up!"
The clearing shook with a heavy thump and as the dust cleared Asterix could see that Obelix had solved the problem in the clearest way he knew how, with the application of a menhir to the face. A few limbs stuck out from under the rock in awkward angles.
Obelix picked the rock back up and began to brush off the bits of alien, along with the bots of boar that still stuck to it. "I'm definitely going to have to clean it before delivery now."
Te alien troops looked from the remains of their leader to the two men, the smaller of whom was now taking a swig from a bottle on his belt and the larger of which was still cleaning down its rock. With a piercing cry they charged, leaping forward towards the two men.
It was over in just a few seconds, Asterix sending two flying high into the sky, hard enough that they landed several miles away and Obelix carefully put down the stone, before slapping several until the came apart. he sighed heavily. "There *really* aren't as good as the Roman's were Asterix. I miss them a bit."
Asterix finished the last of them off and then turned to his friend, who had already begun to clean his rock. "I agree old friend, but whether it's Roman's or these... things, it seems we're still lacking some friendly neighbours."
He paused for a moment before suddenly, with superhuman speed and strength, he leap into a nearby bush and emerged with a wild boar under his arm. The menhir was dropped, forgotten and Obelix clapped with glee. He bowed happily to his smaller friend. "Who needs neighbours?! So long as there are wild boar about i'm happy!"
With that, the two turned for home, back to the village and their friends.
| Mandragonian War Commentaries
The World of Earth Is A Whole Divided Into Four Parts. Three Have Been Conquered, The Fourth Europa In Which Gaul Awaits Conquering. Imperial Legions of Mandragonia Were Bringing The Barbarian Bandits Of Earth To Heel. Tenth Legion Personally Led By The Consul Will Be There At The Final Capitulation.
Will the author maintain that messed up capitalization of every word? Will their knowledge of Roman literature hold up long enough to form a coherent story? Does the small Gualish village have a plan to resist the invader? Find out next time in **Tales Of The Inedible!**
| |
[WP] "THESE HUMANS ARE FUCKING INSANE!!!" reported one alien after their first joint combat operation with the humans... | DATE: 11/08/3048 TIME: 05:16
UNIT: 17th Gliesian Infantry Battalion
COMMAND POST: Lance-corporal in the 2nd Platoon
OPSUM: Tasked with capturing front-post on the outskirts of Hemland, Planitia Frigida, Mars in cooperation with a detachment of the 5th Earth Military Special Forces. Engaged enemy rebel HuMars after unintentional contact while scouting an abandoned farm. Fire exchange escalated into all-out entrenched shelling under heavy fire from HuMars. Situation resolved by insane assault by human Special Forces.
ENEMY: Freedom Fighters of Mankind faction of the Mars human rebels (HuMars)
>UNIT STAT
>PERSONNEL: 40 Gliesian armed forces, 3 Gliesian commanding officers,12 Human special forces, 1 Human acting commanding officer
>EQUIPMENT: 2 scouting drones, 1 mortar, 5 sharp shooting rifles, 2 combat radios, standard gliesian infantry equipment, standard human infantry equipment
EVALUATION: HuMars outpost captured. Situation under control. Hemland capture can proceed nominally. Recommend future human military cooperation be reevaluated. Human beings insane in combat.
NARRATIVE: Airdropped at 02:23 behind ridge of minor crater bordering entry to Hemland valley. Troops scattered in formation to progress towards the top of the ridge. Human commanding officer (Lieutenant Scott) insists on human forces taking front line on ascending. Gliesian forces walk behind.
Top of the ridge reached at 02:41, scouting drones deployed. Privates in charge of drone reconnaissance report the geographical situation conforms to expectations. Outpost is at the back of the crater controlling entry to Hemland valley. Crater populated by sparse farms and pressurised potato fields.
Gliesian commanding officer (Captain Somol) detaches two squads on recon mission to the two closest farms, with the rest of the forces standing behind on the ridge. Let it be noted that Captain Somol had to insist on human forces staying behind so as not to disrupt Gliesian recon SOP. I am attached to squad in charge of exploring farm west of our position.
03:05 both squads begin descending towards their respective objective. Farm east of our original position is attained first. My squad reaches its target at around 03:15. Farm is an enclosed semi-pressurised compound. Location appears entirely abandoned.
Private Elim forces entry into pressurised section of the compound confirming apparent emptiness. We begin searching room by room for intel and possible inhabitants.
03:22 large explosion on the side of the eastern farm. Followed by sporadic exchange of fire. We stop all exploration and start backing out towards unpressurised compound courtyard to try and assert situation in eastern farm.
As fire exchanges intensify around eastern farm, the pressurised part of the compound we just evacuated loudly explodes and collapses.
[Now let it be reminded that standard Gliesian military procedures specifies that the enemy shall always be notified of our presence before military engagement and that, in case of engagement, all means should be employed to avoid or minimise damaging, maiming or killing the enemy. I feel this is necessary in the light of the rest of the operation.]
Following initial explosion in our compound our squad quickly falls back to the western corner of the courtyard trying to locate the enemy and make ourselves known to them. HuMars remain hidden but we are under heavy fire. Private Fidu and Private Ston are hit by bullets fired from hidden corners of the compound. We radio for backup and deploy bright red inflatable sandbags for cover.
After brief intensification of fire in eastern farm, all sound has ceased. We are still under heavy fire but haven’t reciprocated yet. The enemy still hasn’t made itself known but is launching grenades towards us. Radio contact with forces on the ridge results in mortar fire on their position. Captain indicates human special forces have started moving towards us.
Private Fidu and Private Ston are still in the middle of the courtyard expecting medical assistance from rebels. HuMars combattant begins running towards them and fires a shot at point-blank range in Private Fidu’s head before kneeling next to Private Ston to cut his throat. Remaining soldiers of our squad is under shock.
Rest of the squad begins discussing the sanity of surrendering to rebels and has stopped reciprocating fire. Meanwhile HuMars rebels are now progressing towards our position with rifles out and a flamethrower.
Squad moral has dropped to absolute low when HuMars carrying flamethrower explodes in a volley of fire. Human special forces have begun storming the compound. Rapid fire is exchanged, HuMars trying to flee are summarily shot in the back. Complete mayhem as remaining HuMars try to engage Human special forces in close combat. A HuMars rebel is gutted by special force bayonet in front of us and tries to strangle the attacking soldier using his own intestines. He is dispatched by human soldier breaking his neck.
03:52 Human special forces finish securing the compound and begin moving towards the outpost. To avoid open engagement with rebels they opt to detonate the fuel generator outside the building. Occupants run away from resulting fire screaming and are shot one by one by human special forces waiting for them outside.
Gliesian soldiers have regrouped and observe from the ridge.
AUTHENTICATION: Lance-Corporal Seinbi 07BNN9834# | Zagnar was from space. His name wasn't really "Zagnar", but since we can't speak Alien, we'll call Zagnar "Zagnar". Zagnar was in charge with attacking Earth with Zagnar's spaceship. Zagnar's spaceship had a really sweet laser beam.
Zagnar's first idea was to find the place with the most humans, as humans were, and still are, the primary intelligent life form on Earth.
Zagnar went to his "computer", which wasn't really a computer, but was pretty close to one, so we'll just call it a "computer" and tapped it into the human's communication frequencies. Zagnar asked his computer to search the human's databases for "place with most humans". Zagnar found out that was Singapore, but after that, while searching the earth database, Zagnar also found 4chan's /b/. | |
[WP] "THESE HUMANS ARE FUCKING INSANE!!!" reported one alien after their first joint combat operation with the humans... | **August 10th, 1945** | **Aureus Monaro 33rd, 2234 AS** *1300 HOURS*
"With all due respect sir, THESE HUMANS ARE FUCKING INSANE!" exclaimed Sergeant Philips The Destroyer.
"You, of all organisms, say that?" replied Commander Slug, baffled.
"Have you seen them fight? No, but I HAVE! They don't care about shooting the target, they just shoot relatively close to the target, and hope they get it! They killed human women, children, unarmed civilians, and and some even injured allies!" said The Destroyer.
"Don't they claim to have *highly effective military apparatus*?"
"Oh but they do! They're very effective at killing *everyone*!"
"We never should have gave them the hydrogen bomb then, we must retrieve it before they use it, there's no telling what cou-"
"two HUNDRED thousand!" Shouted out Philips, interrupting the Commander, an insult punishable by *death* in the Intergalactic Federation.
"Did you just interrupt me Sergeant?"
"Two. Hundred. Thousand."
"Sergeant?"
"They killed 200,000 human beings in less than 3 days."
The Commander's eyed widened "They used them?"
"They used them? **HA!** They started *manufacturing them!*" | Zagnar was from space. His name wasn't really "Zagnar", but since we can't speak Alien, we'll call Zagnar "Zagnar". Zagnar was in charge with attacking Earth with Zagnar's spaceship. Zagnar's spaceship had a really sweet laser beam.
Zagnar's first idea was to find the place with the most humans, as humans were, and still are, the primary intelligent life form on Earth.
Zagnar went to his "computer", which wasn't really a computer, but was pretty close to one, so we'll just call it a "computer" and tapped it into the human's communication frequencies. Zagnar asked his computer to search the human's databases for "place with most humans". Zagnar found out that was Singapore, but after that, while searching the earth database, Zagnar also found 4chan's /b/. | |
[WP] Communists have invaded the North Pole and elves have taken up arms to defend their homeland. | Wind came through the broken glass of the workshop chilling the elves as they cuddled their weapons on the cold floor amidst shattered toys and broken dreams. The cries of the wounded came from the rear of Santa's Workshop barely audible over the voice calling at the elves from outside. It had continued for the three days the siege had held.
"Comrades! You have been brainwashed by the capitalists! You slave away for their gluttony while they deny your very existence! They don't care about you! Rise up with us and claim your place in the workers revolution!"
The elves shuddered as a random bullet whizzed through the opening and struck the wall behind them. The sharp crack of the rifle echoed in the silent halls.
"Maybe he is right." The tiny voice spoke from behind a rifle larger than the body that carried it; his eyes were dulled in the darkness. "We get nothing from Christmas, but another's years work. And they always ask for more!"
"Do you want to die. The big man will kill you if you talk like that!" An elf whispered from his position.
The elves quivered at the mention of Santa. The fear in their bodies was draining, and their frail frames were ready to break from days of toil in the soot racked factory.
"We owe him nothing. He is not Christmas! We are Christmas! We the workers who make the toys while our brothers collapse at the toy table, and our women and children starve at home." The young elf's eyes had regained passion as he spoke to his comrades. "We will die if we fight them, and we will die for a system we didn't choose. Or we can die fighting for freedom and equality!"
The elves around him nodded in agreement. Their nervous, frightened faces tense as they stared at their new champion.
Suddenly a pistol cracked behind them. The young elf screamed out in pain as the bullet flung him across the room.
"Ho, Ho, Ho. There will be no revolution. You remember your places! I have given you everything you have! You will be thankful for your place at my table!"
The big man's red face shook as he bellowed with rage at the small figures before him. The old revolver in his outstretched arm shook as he aimed it at the elves. Slowly, each elf stood and turned to face their red cloaked benefactor.
"You dare to stand against me!" His white beard shook and his mustache quivered. He fired into an elf, and turned the gun to another. Rifle shots echoed loud in the confines of the shop and the big man sank to his knees with new redness sprouting from his chest.
"Merry Christmas, you traitors."
He put the revolver to his chin and fired. | "Those sons of bitches don't know what
They're in for " sparkly said, loading the 50 cal
Sparkly never smoked but today the menthols were flowing easy. The silence in the room was heartbreaking . Rudolph flew for over 100 miles before collapsing out front the factory. They had skinned most of him and his light nose had been bashed in . His last words: flee while you can ...
Santa walked in wearing a full body suit.
"Listen here my friends . We face a threat which has never before been encountered. I sent some of the other reindeer on a scouting mission and we have a better understanding of the threat. They have 6 multi terrain tanks and a few jets. I'll need those trenches dug on the double . "
Haha that's all I got sorry for the lame story ! | |
[WP] On a whim, and despite your skepticism, you go to get your fortune read. During the reading, the psychic politely pauses to commit suicide. | My clothes were ruined. Not that it mattered. The police took those as evidence anyways. They gave me a blanket to stay warm, but the rough wool was making me itch everywhere it touched. They had me in an interrogation room, "to ask a few questions" they said. That was four hours ago. Back when I thought I knew how the world worked.
Two hours after being put into the room, a man opened the door. What I first noticed was his size. He had to bend over to fit inside the seven foot door frame. He was wearing a tux, a little ragged around the edges, frayed with time and use. As he straightened out, I started noticing more disturbing details. His arms and legs seemed twice as long as they should be, fingers like dried twigs, skin almost transluscent, eyes as dark as night. And a air about him that felt... cold.
"Good evening. Though from what I understand, that sentiment does not apply to you, does it?" the stranger said, in a voice as old as dust, and a chuckle that sounded like a tomb.
"No, no it does not. Who are..."
"My name matters little, Gerald. And worry not, our conversation will remain confidential. I imagine that the authorities will be experiencing... technical difficulties."
"What? How is that even... How did you..."
"Enter this room unopposed? People have a tendency to, ignore what they do not understand." Another chuckle, the wrinkles on his face seemed to stretch too far.
"Nevertheless, I have a message from a colleague of mine that I am to deliver to you. Do you accept it, will you? He went through a great deal of trouble to send it."
Half dumbfounded, half terrified, but mostly curious, I quietly said, "Yes."
"Very well." the man's eyes rolled back into his head, and those black eyes returned a deep blue-green. The same color as the fortune teller's.
"Hey! Gerald, short time no see! Sorry about the whole kill myself thing. I had business elsewhere, and having a body can be an issue sometimes. Anyways, I don't have much time, but you paid for a fortune telling, so you're getting one."
As I slowly debated over whether this was a dream or insanity, the creature in front of me continued.
"Let's see... Gerald Warchester, born on April 6th. An aries. As I'm sure you've noticed, you will come across new revelations that will cause you to question your place in life. Your choices concerning this new info will determine the path of your life. You will be thrown into a position that you feel you are incapable of filling. BUT, give it some time, and some effort, and you may find that it is what you have been missing in your life. Alright, that's it, Ill see ya around kid. Oh, and congrats on the new job!"
I started to stammer out a response, but by then the creature's eyes had turned back to their former darkness.
"But.... What new job?!?"
The thing in front of me let out a laugh not unlike the falling of leaves, as he leaned forward into a bow. "Shall I show you, Master?"
| My friends told me Gypsy Gina, a particularly interesting title for someone operating in the Mid-West of the United States, despite her eccentricities, was the real deal. I rode past her building every day to and from work, and after a particularly boring work day, I decided to let her read my fortune. Entering her psychic shop was exactly as I imagined: incense smoke filled a large room like a fog on a moonlit harbor, dim lighting obscured all the odds and ends on sale, including tarot cards, healing crystals, and even more incense, and of course, Gina herself sitting behind the counter. I paid for my fortune and she happily obliged to bring me into a backroom. \
Black satin lined the walls of the room creating a dark atmosphere as a table with a fortune teller’s ball sat in the middle. Only a handful of candles on shelves dared to shine light on the proceedings. She cast her gaze into the crystal ball which lit up with a deep blue before transitioning to a forest green. Her eyes, heavily caked in makeup, spoke volumes of pain and agony, disgust and revile. She looked at me the same way an abuse dog looks at his master.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke. She reached under the table and brandished a gun. I yelped and told her to stay calm. I would happily pay her any sum for my life, but when she placed the barrel of the gun in her mouth, I changed my tune to a broken song for optimism.
“No,” she replied, taking the gun from her mouth. “There is no optimism in your future. I’m sorry. You should leave now.”
I begged her to explain, but she threw a handful of crisp dollar bills meant to function as a refund and told me to leave the shop, never to return to bring back my misfortune and miseries. I left, completely dumbfounded and utterly terrified of my own future. | |
[WP] On a whim, and despite your skepticism, you go to get your fortune read. During the reading, the psychic politely pauses to commit suicide. | "I can't believe you're making me do this Jenna... You're a real prick you know that?" In a sarcastic joking way. But Paul loved being taken on all these adventures with his girlfriend, he didn't get out much and has really been enjoying the past 3 months since they started dating.
"Shut up! Don't be such a baby-besides a deal's a deal."
It was a Sunday and earlier in the day Jenna came over to watch football at Paul's. It was another wonderful day, they watched the game together; though their team lost, after the third quarter they began to make love on the couch, a win in Pauls eyes any day.
Jenna really complimented Paul's apprehensive personality. She was wild, lived in the moment, adventurous, and never worried about a thing. Everything he was not.
She wanted to get Thai food, but they settled on Pauls choice if he promised to finally go to the Psychic and get his palms read.
"Let's just do it after we eat? I'm starving," laughed Paul.
"Oh no, you're doing this now. It won't take long I promise. I need to pick up just a couple paint brushes from the art store and it's closing soon so it gives me time."
Butterflies filled Pauls stomach, he didn't know she wasn't going with him. That made him feel uneasy.
"You're not coming with? It'll be fun if we both do it," he pleaded.
Jenna smiled. She knew when he was nervous and thought it was so cute.
"I can't, it's like a birthday wish. If I'm there it won't be a *true* reading. Tell me about it at dinner, I'll meet you over here when you're done." As Jenna turned towards the art supply store.
Before Paul could think of something else to say, he said okay as she walked away.
His hands started getting sweaty. Jenna would always make him do these things that he was uncomfortable with. *she doesn't control me, I don't have to do this if I don't want to.*
PSYCHIC. That's all the sign said. *real authentic...* But as the wind crossed his face, he knew he has yet to once regret any of the things Jenna has made him do so far. So he pulled up his jeans and walked up to the house.
Upon entering it was dark besides for a light opening a little bit ahead. Paul walked towards it and through the dangling beads hanging. He could hardly see. Maybe they were closed and he could turn around.
Bang! Pauls foot walked into something hard as he tried to turn around. Before he could register the pain, the room lit up by candles instantly. From him was a table with a lady sitting across from it.
"Take a seat Paul."
Her voice. It was deep. Deeper than deep, it had to be an effect-wait how did she know my name? This sent the butterflies to his stomach.
"Wait, how did you know my name?" Paul tried to stand up as straight as possible.
"Your jacket has Paul Stear written on your right arm." The lady smiled, she didn't have the deep voice anymore, it was comforting. Must have been an effect.
She was right.
"You're right." He continued to stand there.
"Relax Paul, take a seat. I'm Madam Profound."
*did she come up with that by herself?* Paul pulled the other chair out and sat down across from her. Now he can really see what she looks like.
In a black shirt was a Hispanic woman, maybe in her 40's. Did not look like any of the stereotypical gypsies Paul had in mind. She was just a regular lady, she could've worked at the grocery store for all he knew.
"What brings you here?" As she looked down and moved two of the three cards sitting face down on the table.
"*a'hem* well I'm here with my girlfriend getting dinner and I had a few minutes while she ran an errand so I thought I'd like to get my palm read real quick if that's okay."
Paul was feeling at ease, this lady was no psychic, the decor is so tacky. It's just a gimmick. Oh well, a deal was a deal, those wings were going to be nice.
"Hmm... I sense your urgency and that will be no problem. That'll be $25."
*Shit. $25 for a palm reading? That's crazy, no wonder she's still in business. Greedy bag.* Reluctantly he handed her the money.
The lights dimmed down, you could barely see across the tiny room. "Jenna will be glad you're doing this-"
"Wait how did you-" Paul interrupted.
"Shhh! And yes I came up with the name Madam Profound, it's catchy right? Don't be nervous Paul. Your 25 dollars will change your life forever."
Paul was confused, not scared. How did she know what I was thinking, did I mention Jenna's name? I know I said girlfriend, I must've said her name right?
"Hold out your hand Paul."
She ran her fingers across the top of his hand. Grasped his hand with both of hers. Spun his over and then set her thumbs on his palm. As she did that he felt a cold shiver run up his arm. Made him jump a little.
"That's normal, you're alright." Reassured the Madam.
As she moved her thumbs over his palm, in such slow precise movements. More shivers ran up his arm. This is too surreal? It's actually kind of exciting.
Paul knew it was all a sham, but he was for the first time enjoying this experience so far. He knew he could trust in Jenna.
Madam Profound scrunched up her face as she moved all across his palm. It was quite a show. Then the lights darkened and went back up to dim. Almost made Paul jump but he caught himself and reminded himself it's just a show. Relax, this is neat.
She then released herself from his hands. It was like she yanked a power cord out of the wall, her thumbs were like stuck to his palms almost. He had no idea how she did this.
"Have you ever seen a psychic before?" Madam Profound asked. But this time her voice was different again, her voice echoed almost. As if two people were talking at the same time. And she didn't look as calm. She looked distraught, pale, and her eyes seemed to change colors? From brown eyes, the color turned grey, even her pupils had a washed color to them.
Weary now, Paul responded with "No, so what did you see?"
"No time Paul, this was not normal. You have the eye, and I'm going to give you the gift. I can't explain any more, it will all make sense one day."
"What the fu-" Paul couldn't even finish his sentence. The room darkened and he felt a chest pain like none other. He never had a heart attack but it a chest pain like none other. Paul was going to die. But before that could happened the room lit up again.
Madam Profound sat there shaking. She was even more pale. And skinny. In fact scrawny, she was nothing but bones basically.
But Paul felt okay. He wasn't scared, worried, what one might normally feel after seeing and feeling such an event. He didn't know how or why but it all made sense.
"Pa..Paul... Run." Croaked the brittle lady.
Then what happened in seconds felt like it lasted hours. Madam Profound drew up a large .357 Magnum.
Paul's eyes widened like never before. "No!" He yelled as he stood up out of the chair reaching for the gun. "Wait-"
Bang!
The lady fired right at her face. Instantly her face snapped back, well what was left. She was so fragile it was like her head exploded. Her hands launched forward from the recoil sending the gun up in the air. Blood splattered back into the dim room, it had to have a been a mess if you could see anything beyond the table of the room.
Paul clenched his ears. The room was smokey and his ears were ringing. He looked up and caught a glimpse of the body and reflexively turned away. He walked towards the beads and right out the door.
He was winded, he couldn't believe what he saw. What did he see? He couldn't believe that that happened. Feelings of nausea ran through, for a second he was going to hurl in the street. But he looked up and saw Jenna walking out the store.
Paul stood up and turned towards PSYCHIC, put his hands on his head. Shook up beyond anything that has happened in his life.
That's it. That's when it all changed. Pauls eye were closed as he took this deep breath. Everything seemed to stop, he heard what sounded like millions of voices go through his head. His body felt a rush of warmth and calmness. As these voiced filled his head, it slowed down to one. Jenna's. *"Is he okay?"*
"Yeah I feel good, did you get those brushes?" He did feel good. A full feeling, he was confident and didn't even worry him about what he just saw. Did that really happen? Like before it just made sense in his head and he was okay with it.
Jenna hesitantly replied, "Yeah... They had a sale... You sure you're okay? You looked sick there." As she put her arm around him, her arm jumped off him even quicker. "-You're scorching! What happened in there?"
Jenna was worried now. She approached the door of the house and tried to open it. But it was locked.
"Was the place even open?"
Paul walked over. Put his arm around her, "Jenna I'm fine." Temperature normal normal now. "Are you okay? Now I'm worried?." Diverting her attention away from him.
"No I'm okay, I just had a bad scare for a second. Maybe I'm hungry." She was feeling more assured by now.
"C'mon, let's go eat." As Paul put his arm around his girlfriend. He had a vision come to him, he saw her dying. She was being strangled, the vision was blurry. But she was turning blue and her arms and legs flopped around. Her eyes grew red, when finally it stopped. Her arms and leg rest, head tilted to the side and on her neck were dark purple hand prints. The vision proceeded towards a balcony in what looked like a junky hotel room overlooking the Thailand skyline. He knew what it was because Jenna always wanted to go to Thailand, she even mentioned it on their first date.
This didn't scare Paul to his surprise. It made sense, he knew it was meant to be.
*Go.*
Paul and Jenna walked together embracing each other when Paul decided to ask her.
"Hey I know this is spontaneous for me... But instead of dinner, let's go on a trip."
Jenna at ease, surrounded by Paul's arms. Her spirit for adventure was always on, she trusts Paul. He makes her feel safe. "Of course, where are we going to go?" | My friends told me Gypsy Gina, a particularly interesting title for someone operating in the Mid-West of the United States, despite her eccentricities, was the real deal. I rode past her building every day to and from work, and after a particularly boring work day, I decided to let her read my fortune. Entering her psychic shop was exactly as I imagined: incense smoke filled a large room like a fog on a moonlit harbor, dim lighting obscured all the odds and ends on sale, including tarot cards, healing crystals, and even more incense, and of course, Gina herself sitting behind the counter. I paid for my fortune and she happily obliged to bring me into a backroom. \
Black satin lined the walls of the room creating a dark atmosphere as a table with a fortune teller’s ball sat in the middle. Only a handful of candles on shelves dared to shine light on the proceedings. She cast her gaze into the crystal ball which lit up with a deep blue before transitioning to a forest green. Her eyes, heavily caked in makeup, spoke volumes of pain and agony, disgust and revile. She looked at me the same way an abuse dog looks at his master.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke. She reached under the table and brandished a gun. I yelped and told her to stay calm. I would happily pay her any sum for my life, but when she placed the barrel of the gun in her mouth, I changed my tune to a broken song for optimism.
“No,” she replied, taking the gun from her mouth. “There is no optimism in your future. I’m sorry. You should leave now.”
I begged her to explain, but she threw a handful of crisp dollar bills meant to function as a refund and told me to leave the shop, never to return to bring back my misfortune and miseries. I left, completely dumbfounded and utterly terrified of my own future. | |
[WP] On a whim, and despite your skepticism, you go to get your fortune read. During the reading, the psychic politely pauses to commit suicide. | The rain poured down on main street, and I cursed under my breath when I reached for my umbrella. Forgotten in my desk back at the office. "No point in walking back there now in this mess," I think, lighting a cigarette under an awning.
Not even a minute passes by before a bouncer cracks open the door behind where I'm standing. "This is a no smoking area, so beat it or I'll remove you," he says. For a second I want to say something, but I can't find the words. I give an awkward little nod and walk back out into the thunderstorm, my cigarette getting soaked.
It's another half mile to my car. Corporate thought it would save the business money if their employees found their own parking, but the only spots available were far from the building, in neighborhoods you wouldn't want visit. Lucky for me, no one wants to steal a run down cop car.
Another awning appears when I turn the corner, and by now I'm soaked to the bone. Green neon flashes behind me, advertising the words, "Fortune Reading!" The brick building looks like something out of a dystopian movie, and I would have guessed it was abandoned if it wasn't for the sign.
My pastor told me never to get my fortune read, because you'd go to hell with your head on backwards if you did. God doesn't want you to know the future, but I never cared to know mine any way. Every day was the same grind, making money to pay off my broken car, or pay my insane rent.
Those fortune tellers are all full of crap. The psychic on TV will tell you your dead grandpa is sorry for missing your birthday, or your cat is chasing mice in heaven. Playing on emotions and telling idiots what they want to hear gets you paid, and I wasn't going to donate to the idiot tax.
The rain didn't let up though, and if I didn't get inside somewhere soon, I'd have another cold for sure. I turned the brass knob of the fortune teller's store and expected to find an old granny, dressed like a gypsy hovering over a crystal ball. Instead I found a skinny guy with thick glasses typing away at a computer, shocked that someone actually came into his business.
"Welcome, welcome! Please have a seat right over there and I'll be right with you," he says, gathering some paperwork and readjusting his glasses. "If it's alright with you, I was just stepping out of the rain for a moment."
"I'm afraid everyone has to pay if they want to stay." I looked at the prices on the wall and picked out the cheapest option, then sat down on a dusty stool by a card table.
"Okay lets see here," the nerd said, holding up some kind of scanner to my face. "Looks like you are in great heath!" Wrong. "You'll live a long time, and it looks like the people around you are very happy." Undoubtedly wrong.
Then his face went pale, and his eyes widened as he looked into the scanner. His breath became short, and he clutched the side of the card table with a death grip.
"What did you see?" I asked, trying my best not to roll my eyes. This nerd wasn't going to get a tip for theatrics.
"Nothing. Um...no reason to panic. Please excuse me," he said, shuffling back over to his computer where he pulls out a pistol.
"Woah, just take the rest of my cash okay?" I say, and begin pulling out my wallet. I hope he'll be happy with 27$ and a coupon for a fish restaurant.
"I'm afraid that this is the end. Maybe you'd like to follow me, but there is very little time. You'll have to excuse me," and before I could say another word the walls were painted red. | My friends told me Gypsy Gina, a particularly interesting title for someone operating in the Mid-West of the United States, despite her eccentricities, was the real deal. I rode past her building every day to and from work, and after a particularly boring work day, I decided to let her read my fortune. Entering her psychic shop was exactly as I imagined: incense smoke filled a large room like a fog on a moonlit harbor, dim lighting obscured all the odds and ends on sale, including tarot cards, healing crystals, and even more incense, and of course, Gina herself sitting behind the counter. I paid for my fortune and she happily obliged to bring me into a backroom. \
Black satin lined the walls of the room creating a dark atmosphere as a table with a fortune teller’s ball sat in the middle. Only a handful of candles on shelves dared to shine light on the proceedings. She cast her gaze into the crystal ball which lit up with a deep blue before transitioning to a forest green. Her eyes, heavily caked in makeup, spoke volumes of pain and agony, disgust and revile. She looked at me the same way an abuse dog looks at his master.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke. She reached under the table and brandished a gun. I yelped and told her to stay calm. I would happily pay her any sum for my life, but when she placed the barrel of the gun in her mouth, I changed my tune to a broken song for optimism.
“No,” she replied, taking the gun from her mouth. “There is no optimism in your future. I’m sorry. You should leave now.”
I begged her to explain, but she threw a handful of crisp dollar bills meant to function as a refund and told me to leave the shop, never to return to bring back my misfortune and miseries. I left, completely dumbfounded and utterly terrified of my own future. | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Slowly walking home after a late night of drinking after work, Stiven reaches down to pick up the phone he dropped in a puddle of water. "Got to be kidding me" mumbled Stiven, while he wiped off the water on his phone. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he sees someone under the bridge across the street, he notices the Relevance higher then he has ever seen before, this persons Relevance was 0.97. Relevance is predictable with a normal ranking system, Parents always sat at 0.4-0.5 while the love of your life and your children say at 0.5-0.6. No one has ever witnessed 0.97 before.
At first Stiven thought it was the booze that may have hindered his Relevance ability, until the 0.97 looked up and froze while staring at each other from so far away.. Stiven could not make out how the person looked, he had a hoodie covering their face and wore baggy clothing shadow from a near street light casted a dark shadow making the person seem like a shadow themselves.
A split second passes and Stiven calls out "Whhoo are you?". 0.97 takes a step back, dropping what looked like a needle and after a moment turns around and runs in the opposite direction. After a short delay Stiven gives chase, running until Stiven trapped him in a dark alleyway. The 0.97 turns and stares at Stiven, almost like he knew Stiven his entire life, he turns around running into a wall disappearing into the brick as if he dove into water.
Stiven looked down at his hands shaking, feeling the adrenaline sober himself up. He slowly walks up to the wall, putting his trembling hand against it to see if he fell through like the 0.97. Nothing happened, it was just a normal wall. Both confused and disappointed, he turns around to walk out of the alley. Before he could make his first step, he notices his ID on the ground. Confused to how it got there, he picks it up to put back in his wallet. Opening up his wallet to put his ID back in, his hands start trembling again. The ID he picked up was a copy, his ID was still in his wallet. A sinking feeling of anxiety hit as he looked down at the other ID, noticing that his picture was of an older looking version of him. Suddenly Stiven felt a presence behind him, slightly turning his head to see the brick wall that he just had his hand on, casting ripples as if a rock dropped into a lake. He wanted to turn and run but his body didn't listen and started walking to the wall as if it was instinct. His hand raising to touch the wall as hid hid before. The rippling on the wall froze as if time had stopped. After blinking once, Stiven notice he was no longer in the alley but in a street in large city of houses surrounding a hill with a tower. The houses were all made of marble and had large pillars supporting them. The tower on the hill reached the clouds, it was white with a spiraling road going up the side, peaking through thew clouds was a giant floating orb atop the pillar, glowing blue light pierced the orb. Confused he noticed that people were walking on the street, no one had Relevance appearing. Stiven felt calm but fearful at the same time as he peered up the giant tower.
| I hate this fucking bridge.
The walk home from work always brings me this way. This part of town is so ghetto. I can’t even walk down the street for 5 minutes without getting honked at, offered drugs, or asked to buy some thugs mixtape. Nah man, I don’t care how ‘fire’ your shit is. I’m just trying to get home. Keep a roof over my head. Damn, I need a car.
And this bridge. This one is the worst. No sidewalk, basically have to cling to the sides and hope the cars that blast through see me. Gives me an anxiety attack every time I cross it. No other choice though.
I’m only two steps across the rundown piece of concrete when a raindrop lands on my glasses. Nifty. Muttering a few obscenities, I remove them from my face as more rain begins to fall. Just as I’m about to wipe them off…
*Woosh*
A car passes me like a damn bullet. In the moment, I lose my grip on my glasses and down, down down they go… clattering off the side of the bridge onto the ground below. What the everlasting fuck is wrong with today.
Now I’m blind and becoming increasingly wet. It’s going to be dark soon, and if I don’t get those glasses soon I’m never going to find them. I sigh and walk carefully to the edge of the bridge. The slope is muddy from the rain, so I ease down it slowly. My work shoes are going to be ruined. I can feel my socks getting wet as I tread down. A few strands of hair have come loose from my ponytail and they stick to the back of my neck uncomfortably. By the time I reach the bottom, It’s pouring, and I’m soaked.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how cold I am or how agonizing the sound of my wet socks squishing inside my shoes is. I just need my damn glasses. Even if everything else has fallen apart today, this is the one thing I will not fail at. If I can’t even do seeing right, what can I do?
I do what all helpless people do. I get on my knees. I start feeling around in the grass and mud, my blurry eyes searching for the pale brown frames that seem to blend into the dying weeds all too well. I know they fell somewhere around here, but I’m helpless to the fleeting light of day and my impairments. After 10 minutes of searching, I feel tears welling in the corners of my eyes. Normally I’m too proud to cry, but now seems like more of an appropriate time than ever. And then it hit me.
My glasses. They hit me.
The impact nicked my temple with a slight sting. For a moment I think I just imagined it, perhaps it was just an irregularly large raindrop. But there they are, my glasses, my sight, resting next to my palm on the ground. Like a rabid goose grabbing at bread, I snatch them up and cradle them in my hands. Relief washes over me. I’ve won. But…
Where had they come from?
I turn my head to the side, to the direction I’d been hit from. Through the rain, through the fall of evening, I can make out a figure. I slide on my glasses and the world becomes clear. He’s illuminated by a trashcan fire, sitting casually on the ground. In his hand, he has what looks like a needle. Beside him is other drug paraphernalia. Normally my nose would shrivel up in disgust at the sight of someone like him. Normally I’d have some cross words for some addict throwing my glasses at my head as opposed to just handing them to me. But there was something that made this different. This wasn’t normally. This was…
.97. Clear as day, hanging like a billboard over his head.
I stand up, my body shivering but not from the rain. Mud covers my pants, water has soaked every inch of my body.
Those numbers. Those numbers that ruled my life were shining above his head. I had used those numbers my whole life to determine someone's worthiness to me. It determined how I treated them, who my friends were, who I would pursue romantically… and up until now, I’d never seen any number that high. .97? That’s endgame. From a junkie. Doing heroin. Under a bridge.
If he didn’t have those numbers, I realize what I would have done. I would have dismissed him. I would have turned up my nose in judgment and pride. I would have thought myself too good to give him anything more than a cross “thanks”.
I move towards him, and he stares back. My throat aches for words to say, but I have none. Two steps later, I’m illuminated by the same fire he is. In that brief moment, his eyes catch mine, and then he looks up. His expression changes to horrified, and panic sets in. He’s going to run.
And he does. In a breath, he’s scrambled to his feet and is darting out the other end of the bridge, leaving his needles and drugs behind. I stand in the light of the flames. The bridge gives relief from the rain, but water still streams down my face; and I cry harder then I have in my entire twenty three years.
We’re just two humans. He’s scared. And I’m scared too. | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Slowly walking home after a late night of drinking after work, Stiven reaches down to pick up the phone he dropped in a puddle of water. "Got to be kidding me" mumbled Stiven, while he wiped off the water on his phone. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he sees someone under the bridge across the street, he notices the Relevance higher then he has ever seen before, this persons Relevance was 0.97. Relevance is predictable with a normal ranking system, Parents always sat at 0.4-0.5 while the love of your life and your children say at 0.5-0.6. No one has ever witnessed 0.97 before.
At first Stiven thought it was the booze that may have hindered his Relevance ability, until the 0.97 looked up and froze while staring at each other from so far away.. Stiven could not make out how the person looked, he had a hoodie covering their face and wore baggy clothing shadow from a near street light casted a dark shadow making the person seem like a shadow themselves.
A split second passes and Stiven calls out "Whhoo are you?". 0.97 takes a step back, dropping what looked like a needle and after a moment turns around and runs in the opposite direction. After a short delay Stiven gives chase, running until Stiven trapped him in a dark alleyway. The 0.97 turns and stares at Stiven, almost like he knew Stiven his entire life, he turns around running into a wall disappearing into the brick as if he dove into water.
Stiven looked down at his hands shaking, feeling the adrenaline sober himself up. He slowly walks up to the wall, putting his trembling hand against it to see if he fell through like the 0.97. Nothing happened, it was just a normal wall. Both confused and disappointed, he turns around to walk out of the alley. Before he could make his first step, he notices his ID on the ground. Confused to how it got there, he picks it up to put back in his wallet. Opening up his wallet to put his ID back in, his hands start trembling again. The ID he picked up was a copy, his ID was still in his wallet. A sinking feeling of anxiety hit as he looked down at the other ID, noticing that his picture was of an older looking version of him. Suddenly Stiven felt a presence behind him, slightly turning his head to see the brick wall that he just had his hand on, casting ripples as if a rock dropped into a lake. He wanted to turn and run but his body didn't listen and started walking to the wall as if it was instinct. His hand raising to touch the wall as hid hid before. The rippling on the wall froze as if time had stopped. After blinking once, Stiven notice he was no longer in the alley but in a street in large city of houses surrounding a hill with a tower. The houses were all made of marble and had large pillars supporting them. The tower on the hill reached the clouds, it was white with a spiraling road going up the side, peaking through thew clouds was a giant floating orb atop the pillar, glowing blue light pierced the orb. Confused he noticed that people were walking on the street, no one had Relevance appearing. Stiven felt calm but fearful at the same time as he peered up the giant tower.
| I chased the addict with everything I had, but there was a reason why I swam instead of running track in high school. I had cornered him in an alley only to have him turn around to break down and cry, so I did what I would want in this situation...I took him to McDonalds! We sat there and talked about where he was from, same hometown, and we really vibed over our equal love for Kung-Fu too. The guy was really swell and we had a great time, the number above his head obviously showed up for everyone cause he was so well adjusted. That night I had skipped the block party down the way so that me and my friend, Rick, could plastered on the roof top and watch the festivities from afar...
That night we got a little too tipsy and decided to spar...from sparring to dancing...from dancing to wrestling...and from that
Love.
As he slept, I caressed his long hair behind his head but something broke the mood in the air...his phone vibrated?! I pulled it out of his pocket gently and began to fiddle with the lock screen, surprisingly my password worked on his phone. There were weird apps like Mindspeech, FutUber, and a bunch of other apps that I had never seen. The last page of the home screen was created by something call Hopper, I opened the app screen only to be met with a timer that ended in 3 hours. Midnight? It was like something from Cinderella, so I did like any nosey individual and proceeded to go through his photos.
I was met with a dead body...and another dead body...and my dog dead...my Grandma's headstone...and a photo of me at my 3rd birthday...I dropped the phone shaking but I was comforted by the cold sting of a knife in my side
"It's a damn shame you had to be nosey, this is definitely a story for the record books"
I bleed on the floor slowly for at least 3 hours, and watched Rick pack up his things on the rooftop and open the Hopper app...I could faintly hear the EMT's coming in on my area.
He must've called the EMT while I blacked out, he leans to me and kisses my forehead and reels back to leave me with one final sentiment "Whether you remember or forget, it will shape your future undoubtedly...also don't bet on the Golden State Warriors for the NBA Finals this year"
He sits back on top of his things and before I black out I hear someone speaking through his phone, but recites a protocol that still haunts me to this day
"Prepare to return to Temporal Checkpoint 32, Richard Knoxville, your credits for the job will be deposited at the Hunter Stashbox in 6 hours"
...I passed out finally when EMT's were shouting to me from the street, the silver lightning enveloped Richard and he disappeared...
3 years have past since then so I've grown, and I still see Richard everyday, but he doesn't recognize me or even the night of unrivaled passion we shared which is damn shame...
I see him every time I look in the mirror...and my scar still tingles every time I hear his name...
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Slowly walking home after a late night of drinking after work, Stiven reaches down to pick up the phone he dropped in a puddle of water. "Got to be kidding me" mumbled Stiven, while he wiped off the water on his phone. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he sees someone under the bridge across the street, he notices the Relevance higher then he has ever seen before, this persons Relevance was 0.97. Relevance is predictable with a normal ranking system, Parents always sat at 0.4-0.5 while the love of your life and your children say at 0.5-0.6. No one has ever witnessed 0.97 before.
At first Stiven thought it was the booze that may have hindered his Relevance ability, until the 0.97 looked up and froze while staring at each other from so far away.. Stiven could not make out how the person looked, he had a hoodie covering their face and wore baggy clothing shadow from a near street light casted a dark shadow making the person seem like a shadow themselves.
A split second passes and Stiven calls out "Whhoo are you?". 0.97 takes a step back, dropping what looked like a needle and after a moment turns around and runs in the opposite direction. After a short delay Stiven gives chase, running until Stiven trapped him in a dark alleyway. The 0.97 turns and stares at Stiven, almost like he knew Stiven his entire life, he turns around running into a wall disappearing into the brick as if he dove into water.
Stiven looked down at his hands shaking, feeling the adrenaline sober himself up. He slowly walks up to the wall, putting his trembling hand against it to see if he fell through like the 0.97. Nothing happened, it was just a normal wall. Both confused and disappointed, he turns around to walk out of the alley. Before he could make his first step, he notices his ID on the ground. Confused to how it got there, he picks it up to put back in his wallet. Opening up his wallet to put his ID back in, his hands start trembling again. The ID he picked up was a copy, his ID was still in his wallet. A sinking feeling of anxiety hit as he looked down at the other ID, noticing that his picture was of an older looking version of him. Suddenly Stiven felt a presence behind him, slightly turning his head to see the brick wall that he just had his hand on, casting ripples as if a rock dropped into a lake. He wanted to turn and run but his body didn't listen and started walking to the wall as if it was instinct. His hand raising to touch the wall as hid hid before. The rippling on the wall froze as if time had stopped. After blinking once, Stiven notice he was no longer in the alley but in a street in large city of houses surrounding a hill with a tower. The houses were all made of marble and had large pillars supporting them. The tower on the hill reached the clouds, it was white with a spiraling road going up the side, peaking through thew clouds was a giant floating orb atop the pillar, glowing blue light pierced the orb. Confused he noticed that people were walking on the street, no one had Relevance appearing. Stiven felt calm but fearful at the same time as he peered up the giant tower.
| "Why does everyone have a number over their heads? he asked the young witch with the flaming red hair trying desperately to hide herself behind a mountain of rapidly conjured paperwork.
"Ummm, would you believe it's not a protection spell?"
"I am not *that* old," the white-haired Auror remarked rapping the desk with how wand.
"It just shows you people's relevance to you so..."
"I'm not senile yet, young witch. I can still very well tell your great-grandfather apart from your great-grandmother. "
"...you can see spot any of the Dark One's followers if they were to try and spy on you."
"Oh, smart work." He re-assesed. It might be useful. After battling Daughter of the Dark One, Son of the Dark One, Secret Follower of the Dark One, Forgotten Follower of the Dark One, Crazy Girlfriend of Son who actually follows the Dark One, That One Horcrux in Space Everyone Forgot About, The Other Horcrux in Space, Apparently There's Another Horcrux and He's Running for Prime Minister, the "Last" Horcrux and Comcast Harry has a well-developed appreciation that trouble could come from any angle.
"You really think it's a good idea, Grunkle?" asked the witch. "I... I suggested it."
Harry's eye's twinkled.
"Well, I for one think it's a splendid one," he said gently apparating away.
He landed with a thud back in central London. This was an unusual occurrence these days. He gingerly rubbed a sore buttock. It was getting harder and harder to stick landings these days. He'd been forced to cut trips into short hops as well.
It was then that he spotted the strange, pale man injecting himself with something below the wooden bridge in the park, upon which he stood.
A 0.97.
He harn't remembered seeing a number that high before. Albeit he amended, the spell is only 24 hours old. His parents portrait has only showed a 0.5 and no-one at the ministry has been higher than a 0.2. Who woukd have such any effect on his life?
His heart sank as he realised what that meant. *Again*
"Horcrux."
He started running, "I'm getting too old for this shit," he yelled racing off to his 1294th adventure.
One last thought though came to him, unbidden.
"I wonder what number's Ginny?" As he ran, he prayed she would be higher. | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | *Follow him.*
Only thought in my head, and I did. My kicks pumped against the asphalt a cold rush of adrenaline flooded my thighs.
And we raced.
Through the park, onto Kessler. The bum began weaving through some a crowd of folks.
'Watch it fucker!' Barista guy, lost his coffee on the bums shoulder.
'He' well, at least I think... Skirted into an alley way, I was beginning to wheeze. He crashed through a trash bin stumbling on his own laces, tripped and face planted into a brick wall.
Stopping in my tracks, the number still ticked above .097.
Curiosity, fear... *What if he knifes me? What if he pricks with a needle full of AIDs or spits acid in my face?*
Slowly, I crept towards this fallen man. Slowly he stirs, moaning. Yeah, it's a man...or Cher. Pretty sure a man though.
*Maybe, maybe I should go.* Second thoughts creeping on me. *No, no, I got this far.*
I crouched, arms length away, rolling over him over. His forehead was soaked in deep mauve from colliding with the wall. I couldn't tell what was dirt, what was scabbed blood, where his newly acquired head wound was. The man was filthy as a damn rat.
'No...' He moaned again. Out again.
I checked his person for anything that could help me attribute his identity. The number above his noggin still taunting.
*Who are you?* I fingers raced over his coat looking for an answer.
*Bingo bitch*
My hands collected a warm brown piece of scraggly leather. His wallet, it looked worn and aged. Not fairly old, but not fairly new either. I peeled it open, running through his cards looking for some I.D. on him. An old gym membership (same as me, wonder if I'd met him long ago), worn credit cards, crumbled picture of a woman (possibly old lover), the final card had to have some answers. Had to be the I.D. typical white color with the state's crest on the back. Here we are...
'Wha...'
It was me. The I.D. in his wallet was mine. Same picture, same smile, same red-eyed stoned-satan stare. Weight, height, address, soci- jesus....Everything!
I couldn't believe this, I grabbed the credit cards searching the numbers. Reaching for my wallet, comparing to mine. Everything was an aged duplicate.
'Holy shit...Holy shi-'
CRACK!
The alley began to spin, I couldn't breathe. Struggling, something was pulling it all outta my lungs.
'No...' I cried... then black.
I woke up, the back of skull was warm and wet. The pain throbbed in and out, front to back. I don't know how long I was out but the man was gone. My wallet (or his?) lay open face down in some dark crud. Opening the bill fold, my cards were all there. Gym membership, credit cards, MY I.D.... but my cash was gone.
He robbed me. The junkie took my cash.
My future self robbed me.
| I'm staring.
I can't stop staring.
This whole thing has become second nature to me at this point. I've seen numbers go up every once in a while, but nothing, nothing like this.
It's like a clock... you always know it's there, it's always reliable, and you see it change every once in a while. What I'm currently experiencing... it's as if my clock showed "25:00".
He knows I'm here, he knows I'm looking at him, he must. It's a waste of time to hide. He- He saw me! ... ... ... He's gone.
Should I run? I should. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Could it be a typo? Do those happen in the real world? FUCK! I'm gonna run.
Well, I tripped over a branch. My knee is covered in blood. I'm crying, both because of the number thing, and because my knee is covered in blood. Someone is calling an ambulance for me.
No one is going to believe me. 9.7? I'm probably not even a 9.7 with my left arm... no one is going to believe me. Shit... | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Of course I went after her. I needed to know. Even though the odds were low that I could actually catch up, I ran as fast as I could. I was painfully out of shape, long hours at a demanding law firm have seen to that. But the girl... Even though she looked as though she was at death's door, there was something graceful about her. Her ragged hair seemed to shine with an otherworldly light, and a strange tattoo was curled provocatively around her freckled shoulder. Were those letters Hebrew?
Her badly bruised legs beat the pavement furiously, as though she was trying to reach escape velocity. At last, she ducked into a narrow alley. My heart pounded in my chest. Was I lucky enough to have cornered her, or would she be long gone by the time I got there? Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.
My incredibly relevant junkie was melting. The number ran down like a timer as her flesh became a crystal-clear liquid which dried almost instantly as it hit the hot asphalt: .94, .87, .82, .79... She turned to me, smiling, and spoke melodically.
"Sorry you had to see this. You're going to want answers, but I don't have time to give them. But I want you to know that I was always with you. This is what we do, Jacob."
She held up the needle, and the number ticked up briefly, back to .65. I didn't even have a chance to marvel at the fact that she knew my name.
"We absorb what we can't protect you from. In some other life, this needle, this sickness would have been yours to bear. I'm (.43) sorry I can't (.21) be with you now, but know (.19) that I did everything I could --"
She was gone now, the clear liquid vanishing rapidly. In her place were several white feathers, long and perfect, shining with the same otherworldly glow which was evident in her hair. | I'm staring.
I can't stop staring.
This whole thing has become second nature to me at this point. I've seen numbers go up every once in a while, but nothing, nothing like this.
It's like a clock... you always know it's there, it's always reliable, and you see it change every once in a while. What I'm currently experiencing... it's as if my clock showed "25:00".
He knows I'm here, he knows I'm looking at him, he must. It's a waste of time to hide. He- He saw me! ... ... ... He's gone.
Should I run? I should. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Could it be a typo? Do those happen in the real world? FUCK! I'm gonna run.
Well, I tripped over a branch. My knee is covered in blood. I'm crying, both because of the number thing, and because my knee is covered in blood. Someone is calling an ambulance for me.
No one is going to believe me. 9.7? I'm probably not even a 9.7 with my left arm... no one is going to believe me. Shit... | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | "Who are you? How do you know me? Why are you so important to me?", I shouted to the junkie. He was a mess, ratty hair, emaciated; fortunately for my curiosity he was too high to maintain a chase and he dropped after about a quarter mile.
"How the fuck should I know, kid, you're a 0.001 to me. Why don't you do me a favor: fuck off and make it an even zero." Exhaustion apparently didn't brighten his mood.
"There has to be some reason; how could anyone be so important to someone else? My mom told me that the day I was born I was a 0.62 to her! You're a 0.97!"
"And you're a point-I-don't-give-a-fuck." He stood up and started walking away from me. "Now, I'm going to one of those scary places they warn you not to go to in school. If your candy ass follows me, you're liable to get shot. If that happens, I'm not gonna care."
I watched him walk away with a mixture of disgust and fascination, but decided to let him go. I headed back the way I was going, and eventually arrived at my buddy's party."
"Woah, look who finally showed up!"
My friends were happy to see me. Loud music was playing, people were walking around. The friend who greeted me came up and whispered conspiratorial.
"You would not *believe* what Lisa's boyfriend scored us! The rest of the guys are upstairs, want to come check it out?"
Hell yes I did! We made our way through the partygoers, upstairs, and into the host's bedroom. The guys I would smoke weed with were all higher than I'd ever seen them. Most of them didn't even make eye contact as I entered the room. The smell in the air was weird; not like any weed I'd ever smoked.
"This stuff is epic. Lisa told us the right way was to inject it, but fuck messing around with needles. Apparently smoking it is almost as good. I have to drive up north tonight or else I'd already be riding it like the rest of us, but I'll get one ready for you if you want"
Now I knew why that junkie was a 0.97: If I didn't have that image of him in my head at the time, I would have done it. I walked home that night, and over the next few months that group of friends broke up. A few of them, the ones that would only come around to smoke, dropped from 0.05 to 0.001 to 0. | I'm staring.
I can't stop staring.
This whole thing has become second nature to me at this point. I've seen numbers go up every once in a while, but nothing, nothing like this.
It's like a clock... you always know it's there, it's always reliable, and you see it change every once in a while. What I'm currently experiencing... it's as if my clock showed "25:00".
He knows I'm here, he knows I'm looking at him, he must. It's a waste of time to hide. He- He saw me! ... ... ... He's gone.
Should I run? I should. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Could it be a typo? Do those happen in the real world? FUCK! I'm gonna run.
Well, I tripped over a branch. My knee is covered in blood. I'm crying, both because of the number thing, and because my knee is covered in blood. Someone is calling an ambulance for me.
No one is going to believe me. 9.7? I'm probably not even a 9.7 with my left arm... no one is going to believe me. Shit... | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Joseph was on his way home from work. He picked up a candy bar and a scratch card from the local 7-11.
He unmasked each number with a chewed finger nail before tossing that day's losing ticket onto the ground. He lit up a smoke and continued on home. Then he saw her.
At a number that outclassed even soul mates, he was stunned to be impacted so much by this bridge junkie. As he approached her, she shrieked and fled into the shadows.
He chased her, and in the darkness he stumbled, and felt both a sharp pain in his hand, and the strongest sense of bliss and delight the body and soul have ever known. When he realized what had happened, with equal parts horror and excitement, the thought hit him.
*I need more.* | I'm staring.
I can't stop staring.
This whole thing has become second nature to me at this point. I've seen numbers go up every once in a while, but nothing, nothing like this.
It's like a clock... you always know it's there, it's always reliable, and you see it change every once in a while. What I'm currently experiencing... it's as if my clock showed "25:00".
He knows I'm here, he knows I'm looking at him, he must. It's a waste of time to hide. He- He saw me! ... ... ... He's gone.
Should I run? I should. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Could it be a typo? Do those happen in the real world? FUCK! I'm gonna run.
Well, I tripped over a branch. My knee is covered in blood. I'm crying, both because of the number thing, and because my knee is covered in blood. Someone is calling an ambulance for me.
No one is going to believe me. 9.7? I'm probably not even a 9.7 with my left arm... no one is going to believe me. Shit... | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | “Dude! Wait!”
The man under the bridge had dropped his previously heroin-filled needle when I locked eyes with him. And then he bolted. With a 0.97 over his head, taunting me.
“Shit,” I breathed. I took off after him.
He was fast, but the knowledge of his potentially life-shattering importance filled every muscle of my body, driving me forward with surprising speed. I chased him down the street until he tripped and fell.
“No, no. No!” he held up his hand as he lay on the ground. “Back off!”
“I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” his hand was still raised.
Did he know?
“That 0.97 over my head too tempting?”
Ever since I was young, I had always seen numbers floating over people’s heads. My parents, my teachers, my friends, girlfriends, coworkers, bosses, even the mailman. They all had a fraction from 0.01 to—theoretically—0.99 that only I could see. Over time, I realized that the number represented how important that person was to my life. Not only currently, but also in the future.
A 0.01 was usually someone I’d pass on the street. My parents were both around 0.5. My current girlfriend was someone I chatted up in a bar because I saw she had a 0.3—likely not marriage material, but definitely dateable. I was waiting for a 0.6 or 0.7 before settling down.
But this guy. This guy was the highest I’d ever seen. My best friend was only a 0.53. And here was a junkie with a mythical 0.97, who knew I could see it.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know?” I demanded.
He slowly lowered his hand. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know. I just woke up one day, not remembering anything. Who I was, where I worked, anything. But I knew who you were.”
I stared. He continued, “I knew everything about you. Even the fact that you see numbers over everbody’s heads.”
He sighed. “You really should just get the hell out of here and forget you ever saw me.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever this guy was, he was meant to change my life. When he saw I wasn’t moving, he sighed again. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“I don’t just know everything about you. I also have the overwhelming urge to fucking murder you.”
I could feel my eyes grow wider.
“If I’m not working on a plan to make it happen, if I’m not doing things to reach that goal, I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt. All over. Everywhere. In my bones.”
I took a step back. He laughed. “You’re safe. Right now, at least. The heroin numbs the urges…the pain. I might not remember who I am, but I don’t want to be a murderer.”
I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I had to know more. “You have…no idea why you want to kill me?”
“Look, man. Brian. I told you,” he paused. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not fucking normal for someone to see magic numbers over people’s heads. Or for a man to be turned into some sort of brainwashed assassin overnight.”
We locked eyes again.
“I’d say you probably pissed off some powerful people.” | I'm staring.
I can't stop staring.
This whole thing has become second nature to me at this point. I've seen numbers go up every once in a while, but nothing, nothing like this.
It's like a clock... you always know it's there, it's always reliable, and you see it change every once in a while. What I'm currently experiencing... it's as if my clock showed "25:00".
He knows I'm here, he knows I'm looking at him, he must. It's a waste of time to hide. He- He saw me! ... ... ... He's gone.
Should I run? I should. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Could it be a typo? Do those happen in the real world? FUCK! I'm gonna run.
Well, I tripped over a branch. My knee is covered in blood. I'm crying, both because of the number thing, and because my knee is covered in blood. Someone is calling an ambulance for me.
No one is going to believe me. 9.7? I'm probably not even a 9.7 with my left arm... no one is going to believe me. Shit... | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Of course I went after her. I needed to know. Even though the odds were low that I could actually catch up, I ran as fast as I could. I was painfully out of shape, long hours at a demanding law firm have seen to that. But the girl... Even though she looked as though she was at death's door, there was something graceful about her. Her ragged hair seemed to shine with an otherworldly light, and a strange tattoo was curled provocatively around her freckled shoulder. Were those letters Hebrew?
Her badly bruised legs beat the pavement furiously, as though she was trying to reach escape velocity. At last, she ducked into a narrow alley. My heart pounded in my chest. Was I lucky enough to have cornered her, or would she be long gone by the time I got there? Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.
My incredibly relevant junkie was melting. The number ran down like a timer as her flesh became a crystal-clear liquid which dried almost instantly as it hit the hot asphalt: .94, .87, .82, .79... She turned to me, smiling, and spoke melodically.
"Sorry you had to see this. You're going to want answers, but I don't have time to give them. But I want you to know that I was always with you. This is what we do, Jacob."
She held up the needle, and the number ticked up briefly, back to .65. I didn't even have a chance to marvel at the fact that she knew my name.
"We absorb what we can't protect you from. In some other life, this needle, this sickness would have been yours to bear. I'm (.43) sorry I can't (.21) be with you now, but know (.19) that I did everything I could --"
She was gone now, the clear liquid vanishing rapidly. In her place were several white feathers, long and perfect, shining with the same otherworldly glow which was evident in her hair. | Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Sometimes I feel, like I'm all alone.
You get so used to it, you see it everyday.
The person at the supermarket, 0.
The person at the gas station, 0.
The person at the drive through, 0.
Under the bridge downtown, I met a .97.
Under the bridge downtown, I could not get enough.
Under the bridge downtown, I forgot my love.
Under the bridge downtown, I gave my life away.
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | "Who are you? How do you know me? Why are you so important to me?", I shouted to the junkie. He was a mess, ratty hair, emaciated; fortunately for my curiosity he was too high to maintain a chase and he dropped after about a quarter mile.
"How the fuck should I know, kid, you're a 0.001 to me. Why don't you do me a favor: fuck off and make it an even zero." Exhaustion apparently didn't brighten his mood.
"There has to be some reason; how could anyone be so important to someone else? My mom told me that the day I was born I was a 0.62 to her! You're a 0.97!"
"And you're a point-I-don't-give-a-fuck." He stood up and started walking away from me. "Now, I'm going to one of those scary places they warn you not to go to in school. If your candy ass follows me, you're liable to get shot. If that happens, I'm not gonna care."
I watched him walk away with a mixture of disgust and fascination, but decided to let him go. I headed back the way I was going, and eventually arrived at my buddy's party."
"Woah, look who finally showed up!"
My friends were happy to see me. Loud music was playing, people were walking around. The friend who greeted me came up and whispered conspiratorial.
"You would not *believe* what Lisa's boyfriend scored us! The rest of the guys are upstairs, want to come check it out?"
Hell yes I did! We made our way through the partygoers, upstairs, and into the host's bedroom. The guys I would smoke weed with were all higher than I'd ever seen them. Most of them didn't even make eye contact as I entered the room. The smell in the air was weird; not like any weed I'd ever smoked.
"This stuff is epic. Lisa told us the right way was to inject it, but fuck messing around with needles. Apparently smoking it is almost as good. I have to drive up north tonight or else I'd already be riding it like the rest of us, but I'll get one ready for you if you want"
Now I knew why that junkie was a 0.97: If I didn't have that image of him in my head at the time, I would have done it. I walked home that night, and over the next few months that group of friends broke up. A few of them, the ones that would only come around to smoke, dropped from 0.05 to 0.001 to 0. | Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Sometimes I feel, like I'm all alone.
You get so used to it, you see it everyday.
The person at the supermarket, 0.
The person at the gas station, 0.
The person at the drive through, 0.
Under the bridge downtown, I met a .97.
Under the bridge downtown, I could not get enough.
Under the bridge downtown, I forgot my love.
Under the bridge downtown, I gave my life away.
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Joseph was on his way home from work. He picked up a candy bar and a scratch card from the local 7-11.
He unmasked each number with a chewed finger nail before tossing that day's losing ticket onto the ground. He lit up a smoke and continued on home. Then he saw her.
At a number that outclassed even soul mates, he was stunned to be impacted so much by this bridge junkie. As he approached her, she shrieked and fled into the shadows.
He chased her, and in the darkness he stumbled, and felt both a sharp pain in his hand, and the strongest sense of bliss and delight the body and soul have ever known. When he realized what had happened, with equal parts horror and excitement, the thought hit him.
*I need more.* | Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Sometimes I feel, like I'm all alone.
You get so used to it, you see it everyday.
The person at the supermarket, 0.
The person at the gas station, 0.
The person at the drive through, 0.
Under the bridge downtown, I met a .97.
Under the bridge downtown, I could not get enough.
Under the bridge downtown, I forgot my love.
Under the bridge downtown, I gave my life away.
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | “Dude! Wait!”
The man under the bridge had dropped his previously heroin-filled needle when I locked eyes with him. And then he bolted. With a 0.97 over his head, taunting me.
“Shit,” I breathed. I took off after him.
He was fast, but the knowledge of his potentially life-shattering importance filled every muscle of my body, driving me forward with surprising speed. I chased him down the street until he tripped and fell.
“No, no. No!” he held up his hand as he lay on the ground. “Back off!”
“I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” his hand was still raised.
Did he know?
“That 0.97 over my head too tempting?”
Ever since I was young, I had always seen numbers floating over people’s heads. My parents, my teachers, my friends, girlfriends, coworkers, bosses, even the mailman. They all had a fraction from 0.01 to—theoretically—0.99 that only I could see. Over time, I realized that the number represented how important that person was to my life. Not only currently, but also in the future.
A 0.01 was usually someone I’d pass on the street. My parents were both around 0.5. My current girlfriend was someone I chatted up in a bar because I saw she had a 0.3—likely not marriage material, but definitely dateable. I was waiting for a 0.6 or 0.7 before settling down.
But this guy. This guy was the highest I’d ever seen. My best friend was only a 0.53. And here was a junkie with a mythical 0.97, who knew I could see it.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know?” I demanded.
He slowly lowered his hand. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know. I just woke up one day, not remembering anything. Who I was, where I worked, anything. But I knew who you were.”
I stared. He continued, “I knew everything about you. Even the fact that you see numbers over everbody’s heads.”
He sighed. “You really should just get the hell out of here and forget you ever saw me.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever this guy was, he was meant to change my life. When he saw I wasn’t moving, he sighed again. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“I don’t just know everything about you. I also have the overwhelming urge to fucking murder you.”
I could feel my eyes grow wider.
“If I’m not working on a plan to make it happen, if I’m not doing things to reach that goal, I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt. All over. Everywhere. In my bones.”
I took a step back. He laughed. “You’re safe. Right now, at least. The heroin numbs the urges…the pain. I might not remember who I am, but I don’t want to be a murderer.”
I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I had to know more. “You have…no idea why you want to kill me?”
“Look, man. Brian. I told you,” he paused. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not fucking normal for someone to see magic numbers over people’s heads. Or for a man to be turned into some sort of brainwashed assassin overnight.”
We locked eyes again.
“I’d say you probably pissed off some powerful people.” | Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Sometimes I feel, like I'm all alone.
You get so used to it, you see it everyday.
The person at the supermarket, 0.
The person at the gas station, 0.
The person at the drive through, 0.
Under the bridge downtown, I met a .97.
Under the bridge downtown, I could not get enough.
Under the bridge downtown, I forgot my love.
Under the bridge downtown, I gave my life away.
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | "Who are you? How do you know me? Why are you so important to me?", I shouted to the junkie. He was a mess, ratty hair, emaciated; fortunately for my curiosity he was too high to maintain a chase and he dropped after about a quarter mile.
"How the fuck should I know, kid, you're a 0.001 to me. Why don't you do me a favor: fuck off and make it an even zero." Exhaustion apparently didn't brighten his mood.
"There has to be some reason; how could anyone be so important to someone else? My mom told me that the day I was born I was a 0.62 to her! You're a 0.97!"
"And you're a point-I-don't-give-a-fuck." He stood up and started walking away from me. "Now, I'm going to one of those scary places they warn you not to go to in school. If your candy ass follows me, you're liable to get shot. If that happens, I'm not gonna care."
I watched him walk away with a mixture of disgust and fascination, but decided to let him go. I headed back the way I was going, and eventually arrived at my buddy's party."
"Woah, look who finally showed up!"
My friends were happy to see me. Loud music was playing, people were walking around. The friend who greeted me came up and whispered conspiratorial.
"You would not *believe* what Lisa's boyfriend scored us! The rest of the guys are upstairs, want to come check it out?"
Hell yes I did! We made our way through the partygoers, upstairs, and into the host's bedroom. The guys I would smoke weed with were all higher than I'd ever seen them. Most of them didn't even make eye contact as I entered the room. The smell in the air was weird; not like any weed I'd ever smoked.
"This stuff is epic. Lisa told us the right way was to inject it, but fuck messing around with needles. Apparently smoking it is almost as good. I have to drive up north tonight or else I'd already be riding it like the rest of us, but I'll get one ready for you if you want"
Now I knew why that junkie was a 0.97: If I didn't have that image of him in my head at the time, I would have done it. I walked home that night, and over the next few months that group of friends broke up. A few of them, the ones that would only come around to smoke, dropped from 0.05 to 0.001 to 0. | Of course I went after her. I needed to know. Even though the odds were low that I could actually catch up, I ran as fast as I could. I was painfully out of shape, long hours at a demanding law firm have seen to that. But the girl... Even though she looked as though she was at death's door, there was something graceful about her. Her ragged hair seemed to shine with an otherworldly light, and a strange tattoo was curled provocatively around her freckled shoulder. Were those letters Hebrew?
Her badly bruised legs beat the pavement furiously, as though she was trying to reach escape velocity. At last, she ducked into a narrow alley. My heart pounded in my chest. Was I lucky enough to have cornered her, or would she be long gone by the time I got there? Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next.
My incredibly relevant junkie was melting. The number ran down like a timer as her flesh became a crystal-clear liquid which dried almost instantly as it hit the hot asphalt: .94, .87, .82, .79... She turned to me, smiling, and spoke melodically.
"Sorry you had to see this. You're going to want answers, but I don't have time to give them. But I want you to know that I was always with you. This is what we do, Jacob."
She held up the needle, and the number ticked up briefly, back to .65. I didn't even have a chance to marvel at the fact that she knew my name.
"We absorb what we can't protect you from. In some other life, this needle, this sickness would have been yours to bear. I'm (.43) sorry I can't (.21) be with you now, but know (.19) that I did everything I could --"
She was gone now, the clear liquid vanishing rapidly. In her place were several white feathers, long and perfect, shining with the same otherworldly glow which was evident in her hair. | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | “Dude! Wait!”
The man under the bridge had dropped his previously heroin-filled needle when I locked eyes with him. And then he bolted. With a 0.97 over his head, taunting me.
“Shit,” I breathed. I took off after him.
He was fast, but the knowledge of his potentially life-shattering importance filled every muscle of my body, driving me forward with surprising speed. I chased him down the street until he tripped and fell.
“No, no. No!” he held up his hand as he lay on the ground. “Back off!”
“I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” his hand was still raised.
Did he know?
“That 0.97 over my head too tempting?”
Ever since I was young, I had always seen numbers floating over people’s heads. My parents, my teachers, my friends, girlfriends, coworkers, bosses, even the mailman. They all had a fraction from 0.01 to—theoretically—0.99 that only I could see. Over time, I realized that the number represented how important that person was to my life. Not only currently, but also in the future.
A 0.01 was usually someone I’d pass on the street. My parents were both around 0.5. My current girlfriend was someone I chatted up in a bar because I saw she had a 0.3—likely not marriage material, but definitely dateable. I was waiting for a 0.6 or 0.7 before settling down.
But this guy. This guy was the highest I’d ever seen. My best friend was only a 0.53. And here was a junkie with a mythical 0.97, who knew I could see it.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know?” I demanded.
He slowly lowered his hand. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know. I just woke up one day, not remembering anything. Who I was, where I worked, anything. But I knew who you were.”
I stared. He continued, “I knew everything about you. Even the fact that you see numbers over everbody’s heads.”
He sighed. “You really should just get the hell out of here and forget you ever saw me.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever this guy was, he was meant to change my life. When he saw I wasn’t moving, he sighed again. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“I don’t just know everything about you. I also have the overwhelming urge to fucking murder you.”
I could feel my eyes grow wider.
“If I’m not working on a plan to make it happen, if I’m not doing things to reach that goal, I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt. All over. Everywhere. In my bones.”
I took a step back. He laughed. “You’re safe. Right now, at least. The heroin numbs the urges…the pain. I might not remember who I am, but I don’t want to be a murderer.”
I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I had to know more. “You have…no idea why you want to kill me?”
“Look, man. Brian. I told you,” he paused. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not fucking normal for someone to see magic numbers over people’s heads. Or for a man to be turned into some sort of brainwashed assassin overnight.”
We locked eyes again.
“I’d say you probably pissed off some powerful people.” | Joseph was on his way home from work. He picked up a candy bar and a scratch card from the local 7-11.
He unmasked each number with a chewed finger nail before tossing that day's losing ticket onto the ground. He lit up a smoke and continued on home. Then he saw her.
At a number that outclassed even soul mates, he was stunned to be impacted so much by this bridge junkie. As he approached her, she shrieked and fled into the shadows.
He chased her, and in the darkness he stumbled, and felt both a sharp pain in his hand, and the strongest sense of bliss and delight the body and soul have ever known. When he realized what had happened, with equal parts horror and excitement, the thought hit him.
*I need more.* | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | “Dude! Wait!”
The man under the bridge had dropped his previously heroin-filled needle when I locked eyes with him. And then he bolted. With a 0.97 over his head, taunting me.
“Shit,” I breathed. I took off after him.
He was fast, but the knowledge of his potentially life-shattering importance filled every muscle of my body, driving me forward with surprising speed. I chased him down the street until he tripped and fell.
“No, no. No!” he held up his hand as he lay on the ground. “Back off!”
“I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” his hand was still raised.
Did he know?
“That 0.97 over my head too tempting?”
Ever since I was young, I had always seen numbers floating over people’s heads. My parents, my teachers, my friends, girlfriends, coworkers, bosses, even the mailman. They all had a fraction from 0.01 to—theoretically—0.99 that only I could see. Over time, I realized that the number represented how important that person was to my life. Not only currently, but also in the future.
A 0.01 was usually someone I’d pass on the street. My parents were both around 0.5. My current girlfriend was someone I chatted up in a bar because I saw she had a 0.3—likely not marriage material, but definitely dateable. I was waiting for a 0.6 or 0.7 before settling down.
But this guy. This guy was the highest I’d ever seen. My best friend was only a 0.53. And here was a junkie with a mythical 0.97, who knew I could see it.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know?” I demanded.
He slowly lowered his hand. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know. I just woke up one day, not remembering anything. Who I was, where I worked, anything. But I knew who you were.”
I stared. He continued, “I knew everything about you. Even the fact that you see numbers over everbody’s heads.”
He sighed. “You really should just get the hell out of here and forget you ever saw me.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever this guy was, he was meant to change my life. When he saw I wasn’t moving, he sighed again. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“I don’t just know everything about you. I also have the overwhelming urge to fucking murder you.”
I could feel my eyes grow wider.
“If I’m not working on a plan to make it happen, if I’m not doing things to reach that goal, I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt. All over. Everywhere. In my bones.”
I took a step back. He laughed. “You’re safe. Right now, at least. The heroin numbs the urges…the pain. I might not remember who I am, but I don’t want to be a murderer.”
I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I had to know more. “You have…no idea why you want to kill me?”
“Look, man. Brian. I told you,” he paused. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not fucking normal for someone to see magic numbers over people’s heads. Or for a man to be turned into some sort of brainwashed assassin overnight.”
We locked eyes again.
“I’d say you probably pissed off some powerful people.” | She wasn't a lover. There was no way.
My parents were only .4 to me on a good day but in terms of PRI [personality relevancy index], not even children ever reached more than .7 to their parents. but a great relief to children who didnt understand yet how At .97 I felt compelled to approach her, despite my increasing worry that the blue veins that spiderwebbed from the crease in her elbow were a sign she was already gone. On occasion she would nod and mutter, assuaging my fear that the toxic needle which lay at her feet was filled with a fatal shot not too long before I had seen her. I was curious for answers. I couldn't figure out why she scored so high, even after a number of confirmation and control analyses proved she was truly that relevant. When I got close enough to see her shining bright eyes, the glint of her blade and the sharp pain in my ribs were more than enough proof that she was alive, highly agitated, and fucked up more than any human I had met in my life.
No, she wasn't a lover. | |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | “Dude! Wait!”
The man under the bridge had dropped his previously heroin-filled needle when I locked eyes with him. And then he bolted. With a 0.97 over his head, taunting me.
“Shit,” I breathed. I took off after him.
He was fast, but the knowledge of his potentially life-shattering importance filled every muscle of my body, driving me forward with surprising speed. I chased him down the street until he tripped and fell.
“No, no. No!” he held up his hand as he lay on the ground. “Back off!”
“I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow.
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” his hand was still raised.
Did he know?
“That 0.97 over my head too tempting?”
Ever since I was young, I had always seen numbers floating over people’s heads. My parents, my teachers, my friends, girlfriends, coworkers, bosses, even the mailman. They all had a fraction from 0.01 to—theoretically—0.99 that only I could see. Over time, I realized that the number represented how important that person was to my life. Not only currently, but also in the future.
A 0.01 was usually someone I’d pass on the street. My parents were both around 0.5. My current girlfriend was someone I chatted up in a bar because I saw she had a 0.3—likely not marriage material, but definitely dateable. I was waiting for a 0.6 or 0.7 before settling down.
But this guy. This guy was the highest I’d ever seen. My best friend was only a 0.53. And here was a junkie with a mythical 0.97, who knew I could see it.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know?” I demanded.
He slowly lowered his hand. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know. I just woke up one day, not remembering anything. Who I was, where I worked, anything. But I knew who you were.”
I stared. He continued, “I knew everything about you. Even the fact that you see numbers over everbody’s heads.”
He sighed. “You really should just get the hell out of here and forget you ever saw me.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Whoever this guy was, he was meant to change my life. When he saw I wasn’t moving, he sighed again. “I’m supposed to kill you.”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“I don’t just know everything about you. I also have the overwhelming urge to fucking murder you.”
I could feel my eyes grow wider.
“If I’m not working on a plan to make it happen, if I’m not doing things to reach that goal, I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt. All over. Everywhere. In my bones.”
I took a step back. He laughed. “You’re safe. Right now, at least. The heroin numbs the urges…the pain. I might not remember who I am, but I don’t want to be a murderer.”
I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I had to know more. “You have…no idea why you want to kill me?”
“Look, man. Brian. I told you,” he paused. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s not fucking normal for someone to see magic numbers over people’s heads. Or for a man to be turned into some sort of brainwashed assassin overnight.”
We locked eyes again.
“I’d say you probably pissed off some powerful people.” | The park is usually a pretty quiet place and almost everybody there means nothing to me. Everyones a 0.0000000000001 or something. Maybe there'l be the occasional person I went to high school with or an Ex-Girlfriend's best friend who gets up to a .1 but thats it. It makes me feel anonymous. I feel like I have the freedom to be myself. Nobody matters and if they cared they could just walk away.
I usually walk to the park after I'm done with classes for the day. I people watch, read, walk, contemplate my insignificance in the universe. Y'know normal stuff. But today something felt off. Like it was that feeling of "I need to go home because a huge storms coming through" but there was no storm. The weather was actually really nice. So I figured it must have been the taco bell from earlier and continued on my walk. I went down the path I normally take. The path goes under this over-sized bridge in the middle of the park. I always like to look at it and wonder why a bridge that size is in the middle of a park. I did that today too. But today someone was under there, doing drugs or something. It's not too unusual, junkies liked to shoot up under the bridge and I've caught a glimpse of a few in there before.
But the junkie had a .97 over her head. I looked at her, confused. What the hell would someone so important to me be doing here? She looked back at me. I think she was as confused as I was because she bolted. I tried chasing her but for a junky she was fast. And just as I was about to give up she dropped her cell phone and had to pick it up. I ran over to her with what little adrenaline I had left.
And that kids is how I met your mother...
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | Holy shit!
I'm frozen for a second, staring at that number. 0.97? There's... just no way. No way.
I had stopped near the end of a small bridge, a bit winded from my run, and had only hoped to catch my breath while looking out at the creek. Below me, at the opposite side of the bank, a couple of junkies sat leaning against the wall. One was obviously baked out of her mind, the other with a needle still in her forearm. Disgusting. I scowled at them at first, until my eyes drifted over their heads towards their numbers. The one who was almost passed out was a 0.03. The other? I have never seen such a high number in my life. My scowl turned to shock.
She looks up, and our eyes meet. I see as her eyes quickly dart above my head; it's an instinctive reaction, something everyone does to size up a new face. I see the paralyzed look in her eyes, and I'm sure it was a reflection of my own expression.
She drops the needle on the ground - on the ground! -and stands ups, wiping her nose on her forearm. Her clothing is horrible and tacky; a crop top that barely covers her nipples, a tube skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her makeup is over exaggerated and cheap, mascara wiped down one cheek. There's a trail of blood running down her forearm, which is dotted with track marks. Trashy, and cheap and obviously not someone I'd go for. I... no, there must be a mistake. No way THAT girl has any importance to me, no way. I scowl at her. No fucking way will I let HER be important to me.
Her paralyzed expression turns to hurt and anger at my sudden shift. I felt her eyes assessing me: my new track outfit, my Burberry runners. Her lips start to quiver and she looks at herself, and down at her friend, who was out cold. She wipes her nose on her forearm again, flips me off, yelling "Fuck you!" and runs up the embankment away from me, into the Forrest trail. Good.
I continue on my run, my insides still shaking. I refuse to look back behind me, and make myself sprint the full way home, adrenaline still pumping. Fuck. That had better be the last time I see her. | The park is usually a pretty quiet place and almost everybody there means nothing to me. Everyones a 0.0000000000001 or something. Maybe there'l be the occasional person I went to high school with or an Ex-Girlfriend's best friend who gets up to a .1 but thats it. It makes me feel anonymous. I feel like I have the freedom to be myself. Nobody matters and if they cared they could just walk away.
I usually walk to the park after I'm done with classes for the day. I people watch, read, walk, contemplate my insignificance in the universe. Y'know normal stuff. But today something felt off. Like it was that feeling of "I need to go home because a huge storms coming through" but there was no storm. The weather was actually really nice. So I figured it must have been the taco bell from earlier and continued on my walk. I went down the path I normally take. The path goes under this over-sized bridge in the middle of the park. I always like to look at it and wonder why a bridge that size is in the middle of a park. I did that today too. But today someone was under there, doing drugs or something. It's not too unusual, junkies liked to shoot up under the bridge and I've caught a glimpse of a few in there before.
But the junkie had a .97 over her head. I looked at her, confused. What the hell would someone so important to me be doing here? She looked back at me. I think she was as confused as I was because she bolted. I tried chasing her but for a junky she was fast. And just as I was about to give up she dropped her cell phone and had to pick it up. I ran over to her with what little adrenaline I had left.
And that kids is how I met your mother...
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | The pool of blood has reached the drain. My vision is beginning to go dark. The junkie has fled, leaving his improvised shiv next to me, covered in my blood.
I had seen the .97, and clearly he'd seen something similar from me. He had made the smart choice, and run. I had made the dumb choice, and run after him. One quick duck into an alley, a screaming match, and I'm lying in a pool of my own blood.
The darkness is really closing in now. It occurs to me that this junkie has probably just killed me.
*I mean, I guess that is pretty fucking relevant,* I think to myself as it all goes black. | The park is usually a pretty quiet place and almost everybody there means nothing to me. Everyones a 0.0000000000001 or something. Maybe there'l be the occasional person I went to high school with or an Ex-Girlfriend's best friend who gets up to a .1 but thats it. It makes me feel anonymous. I feel like I have the freedom to be myself. Nobody matters and if they cared they could just walk away.
I usually walk to the park after I'm done with classes for the day. I people watch, read, walk, contemplate my insignificance in the universe. Y'know normal stuff. But today something felt off. Like it was that feeling of "I need to go home because a huge storms coming through" but there was no storm. The weather was actually really nice. So I figured it must have been the taco bell from earlier and continued on my walk. I went down the path I normally take. The path goes under this over-sized bridge in the middle of the park. I always like to look at it and wonder why a bridge that size is in the middle of a park. I did that today too. But today someone was under there, doing drugs or something. It's not too unusual, junkies liked to shoot up under the bridge and I've caught a glimpse of a few in there before.
But the junkie had a .97 over her head. I looked at her, confused. What the hell would someone so important to me be doing here? She looked back at me. I think she was as confused as I was because she bolted. I tried chasing her but for a junky she was fast. And just as I was about to give up she dropped her cell phone and had to pick it up. I ran over to her with what little adrenaline I had left.
And that kids is how I met your mother...
| |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | The pool of blood has reached the drain. My vision is beginning to go dark. The junkie has fled, leaving his improvised shiv next to me, covered in my blood.
I had seen the .97, and clearly he'd seen something similar from me. He had made the smart choice, and run. I had made the dumb choice, and run after him. One quick duck into an alley, a screaming match, and I'm lying in a pool of my own blood.
The darkness is really closing in now. It occurs to me that this junkie has probably just killed me.
*I mean, I guess that is pretty fucking relevant,* I think to myself as it all goes black. | Holy shit!
I'm frozen for a second, staring at that number. 0.97? There's... just no way. No way.
I had stopped near the end of a small bridge, a bit winded from my run, and had only hoped to catch my breath while looking out at the creek. Below me, at the opposite side of the bank, a couple of junkies sat leaning against the wall. One was obviously baked out of her mind, the other with a needle still in her forearm. Disgusting. I scowled at them at first, until my eyes drifted over their heads towards their numbers. The one who was almost passed out was a 0.03. The other? I have never seen such a high number in my life. My scowl turned to shock.
She looks up, and our eyes meet. I see as her eyes quickly dart above my head; it's an instinctive reaction, something everyone does to size up a new face. I see the paralyzed look in her eyes, and I'm sure it was a reflection of my own expression.
She drops the needle on the ground - on the ground! -and stands ups, wiping her nose on her forearm. Her clothing is horrible and tacky; a crop top that barely covers her nipples, a tube skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her makeup is over exaggerated and cheap, mascara wiped down one cheek. There's a trail of blood running down her forearm, which is dotted with track marks. Trashy, and cheap and obviously not someone I'd go for. I... no, there must be a mistake. No way THAT girl has any importance to me, no way. I scowl at her. No fucking way will I let HER be important to me.
Her paralyzed expression turns to hurt and anger at my sudden shift. I felt her eyes assessing me: my new track outfit, my Burberry runners. Her lips start to quiver and she looks at herself, and down at her friend, who was out cold. She wipes her nose on her forearm again, flips me off, yelling "Fuck you!" and runs up the embankment away from me, into the Forrest trail. Good.
I continue on my run, my insides still shaking. I refuse to look back behind me, and make myself sprint the full way home, adrenaline still pumping. Fuck. That had better be the last time I see her. | |
[WP] You're lying on your back staring up at the sky. All of the sudden, you see a single human zoom across the sky.... | The sky is particularly blue today, like the colour of the ocean down at the tropics. Blue, with a bit of green. The sun hangs high and proud, beaming brightly with brilliant orange-yellow light. There isn't a cloud to be seen, except for the little one over there-
I cock my head to the side, examining it. It's shaped vaguely like a dog. ...Maybe a whale? I was never good at cloud-shapes more complicated than "triangle" or "popcorn."
*Yeah*, I think with a contented sigh and slip my hand under my tank top to rub my stomach. *I could eat some popcorn.* But I'm much too lazy to get up right now, the sky is much too blue, and this grass is much too comfortable. So, instead of satiating my craving for buttery snack foods, I stretch my legs out and fold my left arm under my head, and continue my gaze upon the vast blue above.
...And a person zooms by.
Just ... right across the sky.
"What the fuck?" I say, perhaps a little louder than I would have if I'd been policing my words.
But, just.
What the fuck? | I look down towards my watch and realize it's time. The battle to save the galaxy is less than 30 minutes away and all of humanity is counting on me. Grabbing the strap of my katana I start locking it in place as I start to soar near the man I seen just moments ago. I approach the stadium arena realizing that it's about to be nothing even close to a simple battle, this will be a war. Spaceships landing on the outskirts of the arena make a howling noise as the approach the ground. I walk up to the check in desk and sign my name in. I pull my scarf up covering my nose so I don't breathe any toxic fumes emanating from this aliens. I'm suddenly stopped in my tracks by an official telling me that my sword is against arena rules so I leave it at the registration desk. Time passes as me and the other competitors are scoping each other out ready for what may come next. "Cyborgs Vs Yokis" it reads on the monitor, that's when all of us came to a realization. This wasn't just one on one matches, it's entire species going at it all for one prize, control of the planet in which I was born on, Earth. | |
[WP]You are transferred to an earth-like planet by an unknown force. The only information you are given is 'You are alone' and 'You live forever'. Describe your progress as the millenia pass by. | **You, male human, are sentenced to an eternity of loneliness...**
The words echoed through my head. After a few seconds, only silence remained.
"Hello? Anybody there?!" I screamed.
*Silence.*
Not even an echo.
"Anybody?"
*Silence.*
That wasn't particularly good.
**Day Two**
Still no signs of other inhabitants. I am almost certainly alone. On the other hand, I have a steady supply of food: haggis. Which is strange, as they never existed on Earth. All I have to do is scare them and wait for them to come round the hill. Water, on the other hand...
**Day Four**
The water issue is solved: rain. Unfortunately for me, rain is quite hard to store in large quantities, not guaranteed and cold. Extremely cold.
**Day Eleven**
I have no problems left by this point, as I have so much time to deal with all of the problems.
**Day 37**
Life would be so dull if it weren't for all of the work I'm doing.
**Day 174**
The weather has changed noticeably.
I think that this place has seasons.
**End of Year 1**
There are seasons: summer, autumn and spring. There doesn't appear to be a wintery time of year.
**Year 7, Day 275**
Life sure is dull. It's just doing the same thing over and over again. But, and a very big but indeed: when I called out, the silence responded! Listen!
*Silence.*
See? It's different from when I was dumped here!
**Year 107, Day 001**
Even more friends! They give me all sorts of ideas! One of them said to find a rabbit and pull off its legs. I was a bit sceptical at first, but they told me that I must, so I did! The voices in my head are such good friends!
**Year 658, Day 074**
I heard the voice from the start again. It told me to ignore the other voices, or 'bad things would happen.'
**Year 658, Day 075**
All of the voices caused such a racket in my head, but eventually my friends told the Sky Voice to go away. They said that the Sky Voice is being mean to me, and I should ignore it. Friends help each other out, so I listened.
**Year 658, Day 076**
Hmm. This is strange: there's fire everywhere. My friends tell me it's normal though, that it happens every year, but I'm not too sure.
I told them that, and they got upset with me. They said I was a bad friend, which hurt me. I don't like it when it hurts.
**Year 656, Day 076**
Ever since my last important entry I've been getting along with my friends much better and the fire went today. The friends said that they got some help (which means I now have even more friends!) from some more voices, and they all stopped the Sky Voice from burning everything up.
**Year 2701, Day 130**
My friends always tell the truth and protect me from the nasty Sky Voice. Although I do wonder why they stopped it exactly a year after it began. But never mind that, as we have so much fun pulling little animals apart and poking them with pointy sticks. The friendly voices tell me that the redder they are the more fun the animals are having.
**Year 6048, Day 366**
A little bit ago, I cut myself, and it was red. I asked the voices why I didn't enjoy it when I was red, if the animals did.
They haven't talked to me for 3 days now. I miss my friends, and when they come back I'll be a much better friend to them.
**Year 7501, Day 200**
The friends are back! I'm sure they were only gone for few days, probably too meet ask of their other friends.
I wonder if I'll ever get to meet ask of those friends?
**Year 7501, Day 207**
The Sky Voice told me that it had planted a tree where I slept. It said it would protect me from the rain, so long as I didn't eat the fruit on it. If I do the tree will die. My other friends said that they felt betrayed, though. But they were being too fussy anyway, so I let them go.
**Year 7501, Day 293**
I haven't eaten any of the fruit and the tree helps me to sleep at night. Also, I've noticed that the area I'm in is covered in blood, rotten lumps of flesh, random limbs and acres of scorched trees. This is strange.
**Year 8015, Day 020**
I get so much more sleep then I used to. I also don't get lonely anymore as the Sky Voice talks about all sorts of things with me, from maths to how life is going for me. The conversations are very pleasant.
**Year 18574**
The Sky Voice had started giving me wonderful little baskets of tasty delights, from apples to boiled sweets.
I do long for company other than the Sky Voice, though.
**Year 18963, Day 073**
I saw a girl yesterday. She looked about my age, which is 16. The Sky Voice said I really did see her, and I'm not seeing things. (Once the Sky Voice said that the only way to live for eternity was to not age.).
**Year 18963, Day 074**
I saw her again, more clearly this time. She has long, dark hair that flows down all the way to her hips. She's quite short, with slender legs. I thing the way to describe this type of body is *petite.*
**Year 18963, Day 365**
I finally worked up the courage to speak to the girl today, as a New Year's Resolution. Her voice very soft, although I can't remember much of what we said. I do, however, remember that she said that her name was Eve. I told her that I don't know my name. I'll ask the Sky Voice next time we talk.
**Year 18964, Day 001**
We talked again today. We seem to *click* when on one another's presence, becoming much happier. I told her that my name is apparently Adam. She now stays where I do, under the Sky Voice's tree.
**Year 18964, Day 002.**
Eve and I decided to synchronise our year counts, and I said we should use hers. Thus, today is **Day 007.**
**Day 008**
I just noticed that Eve's cheeks seem to go red when I talk to her. I wonder what that means.
**Day 09**
Eve wanted to eat the fruit from the Sky Voice's tree. I told her that she couldn't, but she wouldn't listen. I had to hold her down. She got over it eventually.
**Day 11**
We're getting along together again. Eve has promised to never eat the fruit.
**Day 53**
The tree died. The Sky Voice was upset, and told us to eat the fruit. We did.
**Day 54**
I'm not where I was.
I remember tens of thousands of years of loneliness.
I remember my first 'friends.'
I remember the Sky Voice.
I remember Eve.
**Day 55**
I think it's Day 55. I can't stay awake, though.
I see a white room and people with white clothes on.
I think they're doctors.
**Day 86**
They let me out of hospital.
*Now I need to find the girl called Eve.*
I did this on mobile, so apologies for any formatting errors. | I lie in bed, staring at the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. I turn to the clock. It clicks over from 06:59 to 07:00. A hushed voice in my head whispers.
*“You are alone. You live forever”*
Those words haunt me since the first morning I heard them. I barely sleep these days. I crawl out of the nest of pillows and blankets I make for myself every night, in an attempt to be comforted by something. Even just a good nights’ sleep.
I trudge down to the kitchen. Bare feet on stone floor. It’s cold. I switch on the kettle, and stab myself in the hand full-force with a fork. No change. I don’t even bleed. I pry the fork from my skin. The bloodless wound will heal by the time my tea is made.
08:30. I let myself into the office block.
I wander through the people. Their faces betray nothing. I don’t even try.
It wasn’t always like this. I still remember my life on the bright, quivering world. I was electrifying. I revelled in the attentions of others. I made people smile. I made people laugh. I made people angry. I made people exasperated, surprised, amused, indignant. I felt those things too.
For the first few weeks, I did try. I smiled at people. I tried making jokes. I went out of my way to be the vibrant person I was before I was transported. The apathy I got back was palpable. It shook me to my core. I felt myself breaking.
I tried screaming, crying, cursing. It was as if I’d said no more than “good morning”. No reaction. That wasn’t the worst. I saw people interacting. All those emotions I thirsted for, my throat raw with the desperation to express and receive - they shared with one another. It was as if they could sense that I was alien.
08:32. I sit at my desk.
I used to feel such urgency to grasp onto one exquisite moment of contact. Now I feel nothing. | |
[WP]You are transferred to an earth-like planet by an unknown force. The only information you are given is 'You are alone' and 'You live forever'. Describe your progress as the millenia pass by. | A voice booms overhead. The only voice you've heard since you landed here.
"My son, it has come time for me to check on you"
"I'm not sure what you mean..." you respond sounding perplexed.
"Your task was to make something of this land. What have you accomplished"
You look around at your makings, and gleefully respond
"I made a house out of sand blocks, with a neat little door"
"Dammit Tim, this isn't what I meant when I dropped you in this server"
"Well shit, I never played Minecraft before, so fuck off" | "You are alone,you live forever." Those were the last words I heard from another voice. At first before my first few deaths I thought it was a joke. I thought I had been "kidnapped" by friends as a joke. I wandered lost hungry and died by starvation. I woke up the next day in the same condition as when I first arrived. The first decade saw me build a stone age farm. The first century and I had iron and electricity. Then the problem started. I couldn't supply enough material to burn, couldn't mine enough coal, or chop enough lumber to keep power going for more than a few days.
I gave up. I gave up and died and died and died. I went mad built myself a cage to hold me underwater. For a long while it worked. A few minutes of awareness then nothing. Too bad it couldn't last. My thrashing and time broke the steel cage. My prior work was mostly gone mostly rotted and grown over.
I had a solution a way to never come back.
Find volcano and dig to lava. | |
[WP] "Run to the trees, they will protect you" | Sylvie cowered in her mother's arms, trying to block out the shouts and screams that pierced the air. Footsteps rushed by; the wind carried the scent of smoke - houses, livelihoods, and lives, all going up in flames.
Nobody stopped to help them. Sylvie and her mother had always been outcasts, living in a shack on the edge of the village, in the humiliation reserved for adulterers and children born out of wedlock.
A new set of footsteps approached - not panicked and rushing, but calm, confident, weighted with a jingle of metal.
"Sylvie, you have to run," her mother said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Run to the trees, they will protect you."
There was a loose board in the back wall of the little shack. Her mother pulled herself over to it, burdened by her wounds, and pushed it aside, uncovering a space just big enough for a child to slip through. Sylvie hesitated.
"GO, NOW!" her mother said, voice steely as the swords of the invaders. Sylvie gulped, and did as she was told.
The village was surrounded by trees. And yet Sylvie found that she knew exactly where to go. Her feet carried her into the woods, and as she ran she felt an odd sense of peace, despite the village burning behind her and the unknown forest ahead.
She could not have told how long she ran, but when she stopped, it was in a glade carpeted in lush moss, overshadowed by huge ancient oaks with low, twisting branches.
There was a man - and yet not a man - standing there. His skin was greeny-tan, his hair was mossy, and he appeared to be clad in leaves. And he was looking at Sylvie with unmistakable love and pride written on his face, opening his arms to embrace her.
"Welcome, my daughter." | I felt the wind on my back, saw from the corner of my eye how it picked up locks of my long hair and playfully pushed them and my skirt forward towards the forest. It was cold outside, but the wind carried with it an unnatural warmth. It also brought to me unpleasant sounds. There were fearful cries in the air. My father and uncle were shouting out orders, and their voices were barely audible over the rumble and crackling of enormous fires.
We thought we would have been safe out here where nothing happens and no one visits, but we had been wrong. Eventually, nowhere was safe.
Footsteps were approaching fast from behind. My father called my name, his breath fast and shallow.
My mother was dead, as were my siblings. My uncle had sent his family away early on and urged my father to do the same but my father had simply called him paranoid. He should have listened to uncle. First they had come for my mother. Her services were needed in the textiles factory. My older brother had joined my father in the mines.
Mother died in an accident. She had a closed casket funeral because my father didn't want us to see what had happened, but I'd heard the whispers about how her arm had been torn off and her shoulder stuck in the big machine. They said they were sorry for my loss, but they seemed awfully excited about all the commotion and eager to tell all their friends.
My brother fell ill and died. Later,
my sister would join him in death. She died in labour. She hadn't had a husband, or a fiancé. We suspected it was forced on her by one of the bad men in the city before she returned home. She had worked in the city, see, because she had been the oldest and was allowed to live there.
I turned to look at my father. All I saw was his silhouette set against the big fire that was drawing ever nearer. Above it, an enormous black cloud rose up into the otherwise clear night sky like a puddle of ink blotting out the stars. Father looked so small. He had grown frail as time wore on and food grew sparse. Often he gave me his own rations, telling me I would need it more because I was growing.
I knew he was lying. Not about my growing; I had grown two inches taller over the past year, but that wasn't why he was giving me his rations. He gave them to me because he wouldn't live for much longer, so he didn't need them very much at all. I had heard the hushed arguments he'd had with uncle. Uncle always accused him of abandoning me but that wasn't how I felt about what my father would do. My father just understood very well that he would have to fight and that he would die because he wasn't big and strong anymore. It was best for me that I didn't go with him. Father was very wise.
He finally caught up to me. He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned down to my height so we stood eye to eye.
"Are you going now, dad?" I asked.
"I have to, sweetheart."
My uncle was still shouting orders behind him but they now sounded a lot more panicked. We heard him call for my father.
"They're waiting," he said, but whether it was to convince me or himself that he had to leave was unclear.
"It's okay, dad," I reassured him. "I'm a big girl now."
There was a loud rumbling sound in the middle distance, like thunder but without lightning. My father's breath caught and there were tears forming in his eyes. I could barely see them in the dark, but I knew they were there and it made my bottom lip wobble. I saw through my own tears my father nod.
"I know you are," he sobbed. "Remember dad will always love you."
"I know, daddy, I love you too."
We embraced. My uncle shouted again.
"Run into the trees," my father said and began to move away. "They will keep you safe!"
He turned and rushed back towards the house which had caught ablaze. I had to shield my eyes from the light. The smoke was trailing towards me and it made it difficult to breathe.
I turned back towards the forest. The wind blew stronger now, encouraging me onto the new path that had been set for me.
"They will keep you safe," I repeated and took a step forward. I didn't know how they would do that, but my father was wise so I chose to trust him. | |
[WP]: Death died. No one knows how or why, but you have been enlisted as the new Death. | Black to brown. A swirl of lighter brown. The two mixed and clouded and moved. My coffee still tasted like shit. I sat at the counter staring intently at my coffee for what seemed like hours.
"Hey!"
"Wh- what?" I asked, startled at the interruption.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm alright, Cindy. Just another day at the office, as they say." She was familiar with me, as well as my corny phrases. I was a regular at this place.
She didn't know, however, the life I led. That I would outlive her, her grandchildren, and their grandchildren. That I would be the one escorting them out of this world as well. That I was death.
I stopped asking why I was death. I just sort of accepted it over time. I wasn't born with a scythe in hand, or a skull or a black cloak. I was just an ordinary kid with dreams like everyone else. I played baseball, watched movies, ate hotdogs.
I live in a small town: children play in the streets. People laugh together. People die, you bring a casserole. People help each other here. Of course they don't see me for what I am. And they're friendly.
The first time I had to escort someone away from their dead corpse, it was a nasty scene: a guy had crashed his car while drunk into a tree going about sixty miles an hour. His head looked like a tipped-over bowl of chili, as his head went through the windshield and smashed against the tree. I did not expect the reaction after his ghost lifted itself from his body.
"HOOHHH MY GOD! WHAT THE FUCK! THAT'S ME!"
"S-sir, please calm down." I pleaded.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHY AM I LIKE THIS? WHAT HAPPENED?"
"You crashed into this tree and-"
"OH MY GOD! MY WIFE! MY KIDS"
"Sir I am death." I interjected, sternly.
"What?"
"I'm here to take you to..." I didn't know where I was taking him. I made something up. "I'm taking you to heaven."
"Oh. Okay," he said, almost submissively.
I didn't know what to do. 'Fuck' I thought. I eventually, hesitantly, grabbed for his arm. As soon as I touched it, he disappeared. Vanished. Poof. Gone. I didn't know what to do. So I just left. I didn't want to question what happened. I just wanted to forget about what I had done, and what had happened. So I went to get some coffee.
Since then, I try not to think about all the deaths I see every day. I try to focus on the niceties of society. The smiles people give each other. The community. It's been almost 78 years since I became death. I often wonder how much more I'll witness. I feel alone, but it doesn't get to me that much. I've been solitary all my life.
I walk every day. I hate cars, and it's nice to walk and watch people be people. Not dead. Doing things I wish I could be doing. But this walk was different. As I walked this day, I had to deal with another death.
I popped up at the location of the death. It was in the town I frequented. Usually I end up in some large city, but it was here, in the town. I walked toward where the body was supposed to be, but I didn't see one. I walked farther. I saw a man, standing. He looked skinny, tall, and completely still. He was only half facing me, and looked very familiar. I began my monologue:
"Sir, my name is Death. I'm here to take you..." I stopped as I got closer, ready to warp the man into nothing. I was speechless.
It was me. | "Welcome everyone, to Local 243's weekly meeting of the Industrial Anthropomorphic Entities Union! My name is Famine, and i'd like to welcome the newest addition to the Union: Death!"
I try to sink deeper into my robe, but these plastic chairs don't give a lot of leeway.
"I think Death wanted to introduce themselves?"
I cough, craning my neck to see if there's any way out of this. Ever since i'd been appointed, i'd been doing my best to keep a low profile. Unfortunately War had strongarmed me into coming to this meeting, "To get to know the Gang!" he had boomed. Standing i look around. The shitty strip lights are flickering a sickly yellow light over the proceedings, and already all of the Entities look bored. I'm pretty sure Charity is playing Pokemon Go.
"Um, so, i've been called in, i'm not sure why, and er..."
"Yeah alright, Death, we know the drill: plucked from mortality and now you're in a Union, can we get on with this Famine? I've got some mosquitos in the breeder and the missus doesn't like us being late."
That was Pestilence, obviously.
"Now Pestilence, i know you and all of the brothers and sisters down at Allied Pandemics have been working on some new exciting things, but need i remind you that *all* of our jobs are being affected by these human... *scientists*?"
He coughed up the last word like a bone stuck in his emaciated neck, and looked at me pointedly.
"Do go on, Death, we're all ears."
I glanced over at where i could see Eros and some winged creatures i didn't recognise doing moist things in the back, and tried to continue:
"Er, so i guess we all know that business has been slowing down. War is already having to branch out into conceptual work, and even you, Pestilence have lost a couple of shifts working on smallpox and we're losing cholera. We're all in this together, and i hope we can work toward-"
Suddenly a short green figure burst in to the hall. A number of entities turned round to look as a swarm of poorly rendered figures marched in.
"We demand to join!" croaked the green figure, which i could now see was a crude frog.
"And who might you be?" asked Curiosity.
"My name is Pepe, and we're memes!"
I stared at them nonplussed as War rolled up his sleeves. Famine glared at them for a second.
"There's *procedure* you know. We have membership forms and-"
"But what about him?" This came from a small, satisfied looking baby. "He just got *appointed*."
There was a general murmuring of assent among the diminutive newcomers. From the corner of my eye i noticed War getting something small and black and lethal out of his pocket.
"We're all legacy appointments," said Pestilence "so we don't have to apply."
I could see the multitude building up, and i turned to Famine: "Isn't there anything we can do?"
"Look, i've met types like this before. They get generated every time there's a population boom, have a big old fight, and eventually we just step in. People can *depend* on us. You, especially. All we do now is wait for the inevitable-"
There was a loud *thooom* and suddenly i couldn't see War. Havok and Chaos were also suspiciously absent, and Progress had joined the few remaining Entities on the podium.
"Oh shit!" said Pestilence, "He's gone nuclear!"
It was true: out behind the auditorium doors i could see the rabble of poorly informed decisions milling about, but now a definite undercurrent of Panic seemed to rushing through them.
I looked at my new companions and noticed a change on their faces. There was a glow, and it wasn't just the radioactive glow of hydrogen bombs. They were excited, the fuckers.
Slowly Famine turned to me: "It looks like you're getting a promotion after all, Megadeath..." | |
[WP]: Death died. No one knows how or why, but you have been enlisted as the new Death. | Thomas woke up in a bright room. It was well lit, and he was already seated in a comfortable chair in front of a solid metal desk. He sank into the seat as he adjusted his backside.
"Thomas Field- Fieldmaster is that really your name?" A strange man across from his asked, typing away at his computer, a slight grin arriving, and then quickly escaping across his face.
"Wha- What's going on, where am I?"
"Thomas, relax, it's ok. Well, not entirely ok, you're technically dead."
Thomas did not relax, and instead began looking around frantically. What? What do you mean I'm dead? His eyes darted around, and there wasn't a single door, window or light source in the room.
"Well, you're not entirely dead. You got hit by a bus, so I guess congrats on two things: Number one, you survived and are in a coma! And number two, you probably just got free tuition."
Thomas didn't know what to say. He honestly had to be dreaming. Suddenly a vague memory approached, revealing itself like a movie scene. He'd fallen off a step, and landed in the road.. No he didn't land he... He got hit by something right before impact.. The bus.
"Holy shit, what.. Where am I, what is this?"
The man behind the desk smiled.
"Oh well this is heaven! I'm actually here to give you.. a... job" He continued to type away, pausing his speech after every other word..
"A job? Wait, I thought you said I wasn't actually dead!" Thomas complained.
"You aren't, this is a job for Earth, have you seen that episode of the simpsons where Homer turns into the Grim Reaper? That's kinda what we've got for ya.."
"No I'm 20, I've never seen the Simp-"
"Ok, don't give me that shit, it's still on, ton's of people still wa-"
"Listen!" Thomas interrupted him.
"Can you just tell me what the hell is happening? I'm so fucking confused."
The man popped his neck, and rolled his eyes.
"Christ, alright then by the way, name's Peter, nice to meet you too. Basically you're death now, and we're sending you down to Earth to kill people. That good enough for ya, should I have made a Supernatural reference instead?"
Thomas stared blankly before finally expressing his thoughts. "I... What, no I've never seen it, but wait I'm death? How is... What the fuck, how is this even gonna work, I don't wanna kill people?"
Peter closed his laptop, and rubbed his eyes.
"Christ, another one, your predecessor was the exact same for 140,000 years, I swear.... Look, Tommy you don't have a choice. I'm setting you up with a sweet gig ok. I could've picked anyone, and instead I picked your drunk, unconscious ass. You know like 4,000 Chinese died today? I could've picked 4-"
"Ok, ok I get it, I-"
"-FOUR thousand chinese over your idiot, scrawny ass. So count your blessings, we could've made you have serious brain damage and become a fucking veg-
"I GET IT, I get it, ok... Just, how the hell is this gonna work, am I like.." Thomas leaned in, and whispered. "Am I like an angel now?"
Peter began laughing incessantly "Oh my God, no you're not a fucking Angel Thomas, that's like getting a job as a temp at a law office and asking if you're a lawyer."
Thomas shrugged, and leaned back. "Well what the hell am I doing?"
"Technically, lying in a hospital bed droo-"
"You know what I mean."
"You're gonna go downstairs and live your life, and take the soul of anyone who needs one taken. Sound like a plan? Good, now let's set up your 401K options..."
Peter opened his laptop back up, and started typing.
"So.. Wait, I like... I don't know If I'm ok with-"
"Tom, for fucks sake, you don't kill them. They do that themselves. You just take their souls, while your body sits kinda in like... Auto-Pilot."
"Auto Pilot?"
"yeah, Auto Pilot, you know like a plane. Your soul will help guide them home, you ever taken acid and had an out of body experience? It's like that but not fucking stupid, and actually real."
"You cuss a lot for an angel, ya know that?"
"And you're pretty fucking stupid for a Communications major in a fraternity, but ya know, we all like defying stereotypes."
Peter closed his laptop, and handed Thomasa sheet with his info on it.
"Ok, got everything?"
"Wait, how do I know who needs to die?"
"Oh, you uh... Oh well fuck, a lot of people die every day don't they, I guess we haven't really figured this out!"
Peter exclaimed sarcastically, motioning for Thomas to get up.
Thomas followed him to a newly appeared door.
"Trust me, you'll know what to do. Now go, time to wake up and make your girlfriend the happiest girl on Earth, because she now won't have to make a new Tinder account."
"Dude come o-"
Peter pushed Thomas out the door, and he fell into a temporary darkness... | "Welcome everyone, to Local 243's weekly meeting of the Industrial Anthropomorphic Entities Union! My name is Famine, and i'd like to welcome the newest addition to the Union: Death!"
I try to sink deeper into my robe, but these plastic chairs don't give a lot of leeway.
"I think Death wanted to introduce themselves?"
I cough, craning my neck to see if there's any way out of this. Ever since i'd been appointed, i'd been doing my best to keep a low profile. Unfortunately War had strongarmed me into coming to this meeting, "To get to know the Gang!" he had boomed. Standing i look around. The shitty strip lights are flickering a sickly yellow light over the proceedings, and already all of the Entities look bored. I'm pretty sure Charity is playing Pokemon Go.
"Um, so, i've been called in, i'm not sure why, and er..."
"Yeah alright, Death, we know the drill: plucked from mortality and now you're in a Union, can we get on with this Famine? I've got some mosquitos in the breeder and the missus doesn't like us being late."
That was Pestilence, obviously.
"Now Pestilence, i know you and all of the brothers and sisters down at Allied Pandemics have been working on some new exciting things, but need i remind you that *all* of our jobs are being affected by these human... *scientists*?"
He coughed up the last word like a bone stuck in his emaciated neck, and looked at me pointedly.
"Do go on, Death, we're all ears."
I glanced over at where i could see Eros and some winged creatures i didn't recognise doing moist things in the back, and tried to continue:
"Er, so i guess we all know that business has been slowing down. War is already having to branch out into conceptual work, and even you, Pestilence have lost a couple of shifts working on smallpox and we're losing cholera. We're all in this together, and i hope we can work toward-"
Suddenly a short green figure burst in to the hall. A number of entities turned round to look as a swarm of poorly rendered figures marched in.
"We demand to join!" croaked the green figure, which i could now see was a crude frog.
"And who might you be?" asked Curiosity.
"My name is Pepe, and we're memes!"
I stared at them nonplussed as War rolled up his sleeves. Famine glared at them for a second.
"There's *procedure* you know. We have membership forms and-"
"But what about him?" This came from a small, satisfied looking baby. "He just got *appointed*."
There was a general murmuring of assent among the diminutive newcomers. From the corner of my eye i noticed War getting something small and black and lethal out of his pocket.
"We're all legacy appointments," said Pestilence "so we don't have to apply."
I could see the multitude building up, and i turned to Famine: "Isn't there anything we can do?"
"Look, i've met types like this before. They get generated every time there's a population boom, have a big old fight, and eventually we just step in. People can *depend* on us. You, especially. All we do now is wait for the inevitable-"
There was a loud *thooom* and suddenly i couldn't see War. Havok and Chaos were also suspiciously absent, and Progress had joined the few remaining Entities on the podium.
"Oh shit!" said Pestilence, "He's gone nuclear!"
It was true: out behind the auditorium doors i could see the rabble of poorly informed decisions milling about, but now a definite undercurrent of Panic seemed to rushing through them.
I looked at my new companions and noticed a change on their faces. There was a glow, and it wasn't just the radioactive glow of hydrogen bombs. They were excited, the fuckers.
Slowly Famine turned to me: "It looks like you're getting a promotion after all, Megadeath..." | |
[WP] You are a demon summoned with an unusually grand offering to fuel your powers of influence over the earthly plane. However, your summoner doesn't want you to wipe out a small country. They want you to.. Cause minor inconveniences to a specific person. | "Where the fuck are my keys?" Johnny said to nobody in particular. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and came out with a phone, some loose change and a couple of old sweet wrappers. For the third time this week.
"For fucks sake..." Johnny sighed. He was going to have to go back to the lobby and find someone to let him in to his flat. He turned to see the elevator doors close in front of him.
"You couldn't have waited five more seconds?" He yelled at the descending metal box. He was going to have to walk. Down nine flights of stairs. *What exactly did I do to deserve this?* he thought to himself. *I'm a doctor. I save people's lives! Why am I having the worst week of my life?* There really wasn't an explanation. It had all started with the traffic jam last Thursday, and then there had been the problems with his WiFi router, the keys, the disappearing change and the lack of a headphone jack on the new iPhone. It felt like someone up there was playing a game with him- who can make Johnny have a mental breakdown the fastest? Well, someone was winning. Johnny didn't think he could take much more... *Gone on break. Back in half an hour.*
"Fuck's sake..." Johnny sighed for what felt like the millionth time that week.
As a matter of fact, someone up there was messing with him. Me. I admit, it was a little cruel, but it was a good job, and you didn't last long in hell without a cruel streak. Not that I really wanted to stay down there any more- I was a little bored of torturing the souls of the evil. I mean, there are only so many times shoving a large spike into someone is funny, you know? So yes, I took the job. I don't know who it was from. I just got a message on my phone one day asking me to take a surface job. I was genuinely curious - surface jobs could be big, world changing even, and usually it was the angels who got up to that sort of thing. Frankly, fire and brimstone gets a little tiresome after a couple years. I wanted some fresh air.
It was a big apartment building in town. Nice, modern. The guy was clearly successful. "So who's the client?" I asked myself. Nobody heard. Us celestial beings are invisible to the rest of them. There wasn't anyone from heaven or hell around that I could see, meaning my client was high ranking. It was certainly interesting.
"I hope you're as evil as you are smart." Said a voice next to me.
"I presume you're my client?" I said to the air. The person, whoever it was, was hiding well.
"I'm used to hiding." It said. "And knowing what people are thinking."
"So this is an actual job?" I asked. "I'm being paid to annoy someone?"
"Essentially, yes. You need to annoy this guy as much as you can."
"Are you sure you don't just want me to severely depress the guy?" I asked.
"No. I don't want him dying and getting in to heaven." The voice said.
"Jesus. What did this guy to do you?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
The voice was gone.
"I could have sworn I had a dollar." Johnny muttered to himself. He'd only had ninety eight cents. I'd made sure of that. Johnny was looking really down, and I had to feel sorry for the guy. I'd been following him around, and he seemed like a really nice guy. He saved lives for a living, for crying out loud! For the millionth time, I wondered what he'd done to deserve this. Someone out there was really mad at this guy. But I was just doing my job- which reminded me. The woman at the desk had come back five minutes ago- something I should probably fix. I quickly filled her bladder and she dutifully got up and went to go. That taken care of, I turned to see Johnny walk in to the building, checking his phone. He smiled at something, then turned straight towards the elevator. He caught me off guard, and he was through the metal doors before I could close them, humming as he went. I had to do something, quick! If the client saw Johnny behaving like this...
I floated up through the roof of the elevator and jammed the mechanism on the top. Johnny wasn't going anywhere for a while.
Inside the lift, Johnny felt the bump as the lift stopped. The doors didn't open. He was stuck. Johnny looked up at the ceiling disbelievingly. The, Johnny sat down in the corner of the lift and cried.
"You did a good job." The voice was back.
"No. It was a bad job. A horrible one, actually. What *did* that guy do to you?"
The voice sighed. And then materialised in to the last thing I would have expected - an angel. But not a happy one. His robes were dirty and torn (despite being magical - I really don't know how he did it), his wings were moulting and his halo was barely glowing at all.
"You're an angel?" I asked, surprised.
"A soul carrier, to be precise. I kill people and take them for judgement."
"I thought you were good guys?" Soul carriers were supposed to be happy - a fresh start, a welcome to the afterlife. This guy looked more like someone who would take himself to the pearly gates than someone who led other people there.
"So did I. But do you have any idea how depressing it is to see death wherever you go?" He sighed.
I nodded sympathetically. "But why this guy?"
"I was down on earth a couple months ago. Alive, I mean. I had everything. A good job, beautiful girlfriend. We were going to be married." He looked to be on the verge of tears. "And then there was an accident - and electric shock. I was dead before I knew it. And we were both alone."
I nodded again. Sometimes it was hard to know who death was harder on - those who were left below, or those who watched friends and family from the other side, with no way of contacting them. Just watching.
"Then, last week, there was a car crash. She was in it. A huge pile up - she was unconscious, and bleeding out. She was going to die, for sure. I couldn't wait to see her again. And then the paramedics came. And *he* saved her. I won't see her again, maybe not for decades. I'm stuck up here, and it's his fault I can't see her." The angel was crying now, pearly white tears pouring off his face. It had started raining outside, too. The angels always had the weather on their side.
"So you take it out on him?" I asked. "That doesn't seem fair."
"Trust me." The angle said. "If I could kill myself, I already would have."
He melted off into nothing. I knew the full story now. Johnny was a good guy, and I couldn't keep doing this to him. But what had happened to the angel was even crueller. I floated over the crying man, split as to what to do. Then I restarted the mechanism, and floated off in to the night.
It was gone eight when Sally heard the doorbell ring. She was surprised - she hadn't been getting many visitors since Tom died. She walked to the door, cautious. There was a man standing there, with sunglasses and a leather jacket.
"Can I help you?" She asked. The rain was pouring down.
"No. But there is someone else who needs you." He said. Then he pulled out a gun. Sally turned to close the door, but the man blocked her.
"I'm really sorry about this." He said, and then he shot her in the face.
And from behind a big apartment building in town, the sun began to shine once more.
| (Disclaimer: This sucks. I am just getting back into writing after almost 8 years off. Constructive criticisms are welcomed.)
My summoning spell is long and difficult, and requires much dedication, as it's not easily abandoned. It's not like you can give up in the middle of it and expect me not to notice. Preparation alone takes weeks. If you don't undertake it properly, or are weak mentally, physically or emotionally, I can take a toll on your mind and body that'll never be recovered from.
PRESENT DAY
The mortal looks at me with a smug glance, barely contained behind his sunglasses. I meet his gaze with cockiness, smoke escaping my lips as I smile. *I've committed genocide. Don't make me wipe you out.*
"What do you want, mortal?" Vitriol issues forth from my tone. I hate dealing with humans. They're so... easily bent, easily broken. I have absolutely no patience for such frailty.
"I wish for you to become a mere bother in her life until I feel she has sufficiently suffered."
This request was so out of the ordinary of what I've been accustomed to that I couldn't help but reply back with,
"What... the... hell?" Yup, even demons aren't immune to puns.
"You know, the typical stuff? Short her sheets, 'misplace' her keys and wallet, that sort of stuff."
"Are you sure you summoned the right demon for this inferior, inexperienced fledgling shit?"
"Yep."
"Are you certain you don't want me to wipe out a small country? Kill some people? Torture? Mutilate? **Maim?!**" As shameful as this is for me to admit, I was desperate to get out of this. It was truly the shit that inexperienced fledglings would pull and then strut around with like they were some kind of genius. Like 12-year-old humans just discovering the internet and thinking insulting someone's mother is the height of trolling.
"Yes, I'm sure. No extremes. Just minor annoyances."
I did have a duty to fulfill due to being summoned. My talents were his to waste and I had no say in the matter. With a loud, guttural grunt of reluctant agreement, I left to find my newest victim.
[Edit: rewrote "not expect me to notice" into "expect me not to notice". I think it flows better.] | |
[WP] You have the ability to manipulate reality. You slowly start to go insane as you forget what is real and what is just your imagination becoming real. | "I used to think I knew what real was, you know..."
*"Don't you?"*
"No. I mean, yeah. I can breathe. I can eat. I can sleep. I can love. I can believe. Those are all real, aren't they? They represent the basic fabric of existence. Of Being. I am here. You are there, with your mysterious diary of notes on my condition."
*"So why do you have trouble believing in it? In this 'real' as you have described..."*
"Because of the flip. If one thing is real, if one thing is certain, given the right conditions, it can be the opposite. It can be uncertain."
*"I don't understand..."*
"Of course you don't. Why should you? You're not real. You're a blip. An amalgamation of my need to reason out what is real and not real?"
*"If I'm not real, then how am I here? You said for yourself, that I am real. Why the change?"*
"There is no change. There is simply 'that'."
*"..."*
"...the only assurance of reality, is the belief of reality."
*"...that sounds different from what you began with. I think your fixation on reality is causing this paranoia of yours. You need to let go of the worries. Believe in the things you mentioned before. On being here. Now..."*
"You really believe you're real, don't you?
Answer me this then, Mr Therapist. How are you?"
*"Sorry? I'm... I'm alright, thank you."*
"No... no, no, no. How are you? Are you human or not?"
*"I'm human. Flesh and blood."*
"Name? age? Married? Where do you live? How did you get here?"
*"You already know my name. You don't need my age and yes, happily married. I live here in London, and I drove from my house. This session is about you, not me. Let's focus on-"*
"No. Go far back. The memory of your 18th birthday, began at home. What happened after? And your 22nd? What about the divorce?"*
*"My 18th? I believe I... wait. What do you mean divorce? I have my ring right..."*
"Are you even married? Aren't you single?"
*"I am married, her name is..."*
"You see, your belief in yourself... in your reality, only stems from the certainty of the memories that you have accumulated over the years. It solidifies your belief in the 'Now'. I mess with the memories and everything else falls.
So Mr Therapist. How are you?"
*"I... I..."*
"You're a figment of me. You don't exist, let alone have a name. Begone, you. I expected more from you but you've proven to be useless."
-----
"I used to think I knew what real was, you know..."
*"Don't you?"*
"...Isn't it funny how my previous stints at therapy asked that same question.
What is real, Mr Therapist?"
*"Well..."* | She's beautiful, you know. Freckles like brown sugar dashed across her cheeks, laugh like a wind chime. When she tells me a joke, her nose, a button, crinkles just a little. Just a little.
We're back on a date again -- this time, a farmer's market down on 12th street and Gerry Ave. She buys us an apple each and when she bites into the skin, the juices lap at her lips. I kiss her. She tastes sweet, so sweet.
I forget. I forget again. I'm sure she was here. I just touched her. I just. I could try it again. I could.
Our four-year-old son was crying in the wreckage when I came to and he wrapped his arms around my neck. I felt the warmth of her blood trickle down my dress shirt and sweat palpitates, palpitates and streams down my temples. When I closed my eyes, it was another Sunday morning in our small, 2 bedroom -- sunlight filtering through the blinds through the trees and flickering onto the shadows on her face on the pillow on the softness. She yawns a little, stretches in her sleep under the sheets.
I trace her legs, safe. The cupid's bow of her lip, the widow's peak on her forehead. Her hair is black, smooth like a river. She's dressed in a silky pink night dress her sister bought for her last Christmas. But I think back to the accident. And I'm back, her leg, just her left leg, is on the other side of the car. A pool of blood, the windshield wipers are smearing it across the cracked glass, dripping onto the center console.
I can't think. I can't think. When I wake up again, she's cooking breakfast, huevos rancheros, humming show tunes. Sets it on the dining room table, gives me a kiss with a pop on the cheek -- going off to work at the office, coming home late, don't wait up. Her belly is massive, swelling with love and pregnancy.
I'm crying at the table. And crying in the wreckage. She asks me what's wrong.
I kiss her.
When I wake up again, my son is cradled in my arms, in the hospital bed. She's gone. I could go back.
I just want to wake up. | |
[WP] An entire family chokes on a single calculator. You are a police officer trying to solve the case. | I'm in class, so sorry for cutting out early, had to get back to work. If people want more, I'll continue after. Also my first prompt so criticism welcome :)
_____
I'll let you in on a little known fact - cops in training throw some of the best parties on planets. On especially quiet nights I'll allow myself to smirk and reminisce on that one time with Kevin, Beth, two washtubs, and...
Anyways. In all my days as a rowdy child, bachelor cop-to-be, and settled down parent of 2, this is probably the single most fucking absurd scenario I could have never predicted.
A family of 5 choking to death.
Simultaneously.
On calculators.
Scratch that. One calculator.
_____
"Hoooold on." Mick grabs Detective Lasheki by the the shoulder with a less than steady hand soiled by spilled bear and a day's worth of work at the mechanics. "Choking to death I get. Simon-Simil-Si-"
"Simultaneously," butts in Mr. Dietrich, performing his duties as English teacher off the clock.
"That one. You're saying they all *fuckin'* died from choking on a god damned TI-600 or sumthin, and the same one? *At the same time*?" Mick catches himself out of a stumble and meets Lasheki's eyes with an incredulous gaze.
Lasheki allows himself a slight snicker. "Yeah, and I'll tell more if you let me finish." He takes an abrupt chug of his Budweiser. "...and buy me another drink."
_____
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/scp] [\[WP\] An entire family chokes on a single calculator. You are a police officer trying to solve the case. Xpost from \/r\/writingprompts.](https://np.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/57br9d/wp_an_entire_family_chokes_on_a_single_calculator/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) | |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | "You're not going to find anyone, you know."
The figure continued walking and faced straight forward, ignoring the man adjacent.
"Just like last time and the time before that and the time before that. You know that all the doctors are dead and the pharamcy was cleared out. As much as I hate to say it, and trust me, I do, but you're stuck with me."
The figure continued onward, trying to act like the man didn't exist, but their mask faltered. Their stance changed slightly and picked up pace. The man knew that he had gotten through.
"I mean, it's not *that* bad, right? Just you and me, together at the end of the world! So! How have things been while I was away? I can see you're still all moody and broody like you were in college."
...
"You know, you're not making this easy. You could at least look at me. Look, I get it, you don't want to burn down the white house or loot a museum. But you could at least say 'hi.'"
The figure was getting anxious and the man could tell. He was worming his way under the wanderer's skin just like he did in the past. And the figured didn't stop at the same hospital like every other day, but kept going through the afternoon and the night despite the man's constant talking.
"Oh my god! Are we there yet? Or are you just going to keep me in suspence? Oh, are we here? Another hospital? You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"
The traveller walked in to the hospital and climbed the stairs, headed toward the pharmacy.
"Look, I think I know why you're here, and it's *not* because you're relapsing on your painkiller addiction. You know it won't work for long, especially considering how long it's been. Those pills are probably expired."
The figure picked up an orange bottle of pills, took off the cap, and swallowed one.
"Fine. I'll see you in a few weeks."
And the lone figure sat in the darkness of the hospital, quiet at last. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | “I'm pregnant.”
He said nothing in response, yet the distant expression upon his face spoke volumes.
Marie shut her eyelids tight, fighting back tears. “It's yours, Jeff. I'm so sorry. I should have told you earlier.” The divorce had been a mess, but this news would complicate things.
Before everything went South, life was perfect for Marie. Jeff had been working and commuting over 70 hours a week to give her everything she needed to make her happy. They had a new car, a low interest mortgage almost paid off and in a fantastic neighbourhood. Everything was perfect, until she repaid his love with a sleepover at her male friend's home.
When Jeff had found out about the affair back in May, he completely shut himself from the world. He never spoke a word, often skipped meals, and rarely slept. A concerned house visit from his old friend [now boss] in June caused him to finally snap. He had send a heavy fist clobbering the poor man. As a result, Jeff lost his job. Soon after went the house, while Marie had gone to live with her mother, Sandra.
That old woman had poured crazy ideas into Marie's head. Saying she should fight the divorce & get everything she could. As a result, everything he had, all that he worked hard for, had slipped through his fingers like fine sand. The lawyers had come out on top.
Now only six months later Marie came back to him, as if to make things right. Marie knew nothing would ever be the same again. But she had to face the present moment head on.
She reached for his hand, “I know you won't say anything. But you don't have to. I want to make things better. I know I can be a good mother for my child. Our child. I'm sorry about what I did during the divorce. And the affair. I only hope you can forgive me. For everything.”
She squeezed his hand, but he didn't respond. Not even a little tightening, nor a glance her way.
After a few minutes of silence, Marie rose to her feet, took a deep breath and left the morgue. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | "Do you - do you remember the time we drove all night long just to get breakfast burritos in Midway?" I could barely get the words out against my laughter. A few rogue strands of hair had drifted down into my face and I tucked them behind my ear. "I don't think you really knew how much I loved to talk until you drove me six hours and had to listen every second of the way." I had trouble stifling the laughter in my voice.
The room behind us was alive and vibrant with pockets of conversation. I turned back to see if anyone was close but we still had a good thirty feet between us and the nearest eavesdropper. I leaned in to whisper, "you know, that was the night I knew I was going to marry you." I reached out and gripped his hand, squeezing tighter than ever before. "I never realized how much it was possible to love a person. You know, that made it so much easier when you told me about your job. It made it easier to swallow."
"I still haven't told my parents," I blurted out. "I'm not sure if that's worth anything, but they don't even know." I looked around. "Not that you couldn't have told yours. That's - that's fine. I mean, it's your job. I've just been the globetrotting wife of the - " I leaned in even closer, bringing my voice to a low whisper. "The wife of the international businessman turned spy." I kissed him on the cheek before withdrawing. "But look where that got us."
I looked up around the room. It seemed so much bigger than before. We'd only been here on a few special occasions, but it definitely seemed more cramped last time when we sat in the back. The soft music stopped playing and I looked back at the crowd. I chuckled again. "I guess that means it's time to go. Are you ready?" I squeezed his hand again before reaching up to brush his cheek. "I love you." I got that same half smile he'd always given me. "Let's go."
The group of men came over and one out his hand gently on my shoulder. I only recognized one of them, but that's what came with the lifestyle we'd chosen. The tallest, a dark man with a fine black suit, closed the mahogany box before they all lifted it up and started the procession out the door. I knew it was the last time I'd see my husband's face.
I watched as the mass of black suits and dresses followed him out the door. They had no idea how he had actually died. I felt as though we'd cheated his memory by saying it was a car wreck when I had known the truth. "Don't worry, love," I said under my breath. "I'll find him for you."
____________
Sorry! This was a quick one from my phone but I loved the constrained prompt!
I would love some feedback! Join me on Twitter [@BkShuey](https://twitter.com/bkshuey) as I (hopefully) get better. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | I can talk. She just doesn't know it.
All day long, I'll watch her. Crouching by the door, or lying on the bed. I'll follow her around, carefully. She mustn't know that I care. So I make it look like just an accident, a coincidence that I'm always in the same room as her. It's frightfully obvious, if you happen to be looking for it.
But she's not.
And sometimes, in the moments where she seems most vulnerable, I'll creep close, sneaking up on her, and rub my side along her legs before she even knows I'm there. It always makes her smile, this surprise contact, just for a moment.
More and more often, she seems so sad, so tired. I would say it's because she doesn't get enough sleep&mdash;my own instincts have me rest or nap practically all day&mdash;but I know she finds the time for it, more than enough. She snores, sometimes.
No, I think it has less to do with food or rest, and more with the phone she's always holding. She has no games on it, none of those flashy little 'apps' that everyone uses. I like those apps.
Instead, she simply clutches it, staring, for hours. It unnerves me, her stillness, and I do that sort of thing every day. It isn't natural for her, I know it.
She used to talk on the phone, every day. Three or four calls, from her mom, her brother, her boyfriend. Happy days, laughter, cheer. I would lie in her lap, and her fingers would dance over my fur in patterns of joy.
Until one day, she didn't get a call. Not a single one, all day long. I noticed it, and she did too. I could tell from her worried cleaning, swooping around the apartment and snatching up dirty clothes and dishes. Until, finally, late that night, the phone rang.
I was dozing on her bed, at her feet. I thought she was deep in her dreams. But the moment that phone rang, she had thrown off the covers and dashed out to grab it, faster than I thought was possible for a human.
That was the last phone call. With my sharp ears, I could hear the news. Her family, Mother, Brother, Boyfriend, they had been driving up to come visit her, a surprise. They couldn't wait for her to come home again, to finish her studies. They wanted to see her, four months early.
Their car was hit by a semi. One of those massive, smoke spewing trucks that I occasionally spotted outside the apartment window. I knew, instantly, that none of them had stood a chance.
It broke her, from the inside out.
---
Since then, she's been a shell of who she was. Her life has been routine, get food, clean the house, feed me, finish her studies. The cupboards are full, the house is spotless, and I never go hungry.
But the house feels listless, cold. No signs of life, the smell of soups, the occasional pile of dirty laundry, a missed meal for the joy of living together... gone.
Every day, she takes the phone, the phone that never rings, and watches it, staring, waiting for a call that never comes.
I've taken care to not scratch her sofa. I leave the knickknacks where they are, on the shelf. I don't want her to feel me just on more burden. It wouldn't be fair.
But... this tired monotony, it digs at me. I know, I *know* that it doesn't help her to sit and wait and burrow deeper inside herself. I know it will only make it worse, fester the wound. I've gotten in a fight or two&mdash;total accidents, I assure you&mdash;but even I know that the way to heal a slash is to lick out the infection, wash it clean and start again.
I can't let this cut take her away from me.
---
I know that I'm not the same as other cats. I don't know why, and maybe I never will. But I can talk. Or at least, I learned how. And that can help me.
I don't have a plan. I never have, even though it probably would have been smarter. Instead, I just do what seems right.
She has another phone, one she never uses. It's old. It-has-a-cord old. Tucked into a far corner, a place that she dusts but never stays. She's sitting in her room at the moment, with the lights off. So she won't see me.
I knock the receiver off the hook, letting it roll to the table. Delicately, using one paw, I poke each of the numbers, each giving off a small *beep,* typing in her number. It rings, and I watch it carefully. In the other room, I know she's probably frozen, like a mouse, watching the screen, wondering who's number it is.
And then it clicks. She answered.
She doesn't say hello. I hesitate, realizing that I didn't plan what to say. But there was no real need. I know what she needs.
"Someone cares for you." I meow. "It hurts, now, I know. It will always hurt. I still have a scar, from way back when. But you will live through it, and there are still people&mdash;and cats&mdash;who need your help. If you ever want someone to talk to, just call this number. You still have friends, and you always will."
I hang up, tapping the button that cuts off the call. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | The boy sat in his chair, the chair marked "his", and waited patiently for the older man's diatribe to end.
"You're impressed right now. I know it," the older man said. The boy nodded as expected.
"You think I'm a mastermind, don't you?" the older man asked. Again, the boy nodded.
The older man sat down in his chair, the one marked "mine", and leaned back, content.
"This is fun isn't it? Planning things? Being on the run? Taking the world by storm?"
The boy nodded.
"You'd much rather would be doing this, wouldn't you? Planning great things? It sure beats sitting at school all day and trudging home to your mother, doesn't it?" the older man asked. The boy nodded.
"I know what you've heard and I'm sorry. Your mother likes to make a big whoop-de-doo out of the slightest thing. The state, the schools, and the judges don't help much. Just gives her more fuel for her fire," the older man said. The boy shrugged and nodded in agreement.
"But we're not going to let that get us down. We're going to do some great things," the older man said. The boy nodded.
"How about this? There's one beer left in the refrigerator. Go grab it. We're going to toast this partnership. Two men sharing a drink," the older man said. The boy rose from his chair reluctantly.
"Don't be hesistant, my boy. I know your mom poo poos this sort of behavior, but the game has changed. You're with your father now and if I say you're going to split a beer with your old man, you're going to split a beer with your old man," the older man and the boy walked off to the kitchen.
"Good boy." the older man said and folded his hands across his stomach. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | “Hello?” A nervous head appeared in the doorway. “I’m looking for Mute Matthew. Do you know where I can find him?” A body followed through. “I’ve been told I should come to him for advice, and well, I need some right now.”
On the opposite end of the room, a man was seated behind a desk. He raised his head to quickly inspect his guest, and after a few seconds motioned the man to sit down with his eyes. The label on his desk read “Matthew”.
“Oh, I guess I’m in the right place then. Hello, my name is Tom.” He extended his hand. The other side of the desk met him with silence. “Right. Well, basically, I have an issue. Or, I guess, a problem, really.” Tom spoke quickly, but stuttered. He was playing with the ring on his hand. “You see, I had a bit of a fight with my wife.” He looked up at Matthew. “No, not like that. We argued.” His gaze sunk. “But yeah, we were talking about what to get my mother for her birthday, and well, she said I should get her kitchen stuff, and I said that was a bad idea, that she wouldn’t understand, but my wife said, you know, that my mum has been trying to get it through to my head, and…” He raised his eyes again. He was met with a tired gaze. “Yeah, you get what I mean. But basically we fought, and I left the house, and now I don’t know what to do.”
Matthew adjusted in his chair.
“I know what you’ll say, it was stupid, and yeah, I guess it was, but I mean she’s my mother and I think I know a little bit about her, you know?” Tom’s right foot was tapping an anxious rhythm on the floor. “We’d only been married for a couple of years, and I know she was trying to help, but I think I know Mum better, you know?”
Matthew tapped on his desk a few times.
“Basically I stormed out of the house a few hours ago and went to my friend’s place, to Ian’s, he’s a great guy, I’ve known him for a few years, we met in uni, and well, he told me to come to you, because I don’t really know what to do.”
Matthew put his hand against his forehead.
“I mean, I’m kind of anxious about going back because I know she’ll still be mad at me, and I don’t really know what to do to fix it, you know? I mean I still don’t think she’s right, but I don’t want to be out any longer, ’cause I’m afraid that’ll only make things even worse, you know?”
Matthew rubbed his fingers against his eyebrow.
“Come on, I mean, I’d look like an idiot dragging my sad arse back home! Don’t you see? What kind of man would I be?”
Matthew put his hands down on the table and cocked his head. Tom looked down and began playing with his ring again. There was a pregnant silence. Finally, a glimmer of resolve appeared on Tom’s face, and he looked at Matthew. “You know what? You’re right. I’m being a stupid, prideful prick. What kind of man lets some tiny random thing get between him and the love of his life? God, this is shameful.” He buried his face in his hands. Suddenly, he shot up from his chair. “I’ll come home right now and tell her I’m sorry, because it really doesn’t matter,” he proclaimed loudly. “I’ll do it right now!” He darted out of the door. “Thanks, Mute Matthew!” he stuck his head through one last time and vanished, with echoes of his footsteps in the corridor announcing his swift departure. With a smirk, Matthew moved his chair back up to the desk and went on about his business. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | We sat inside the trench waiting as mortars and artillery chartered and thundered above us. The sound was deafening but gave us time to rest as the second battalion charged over our trench.
"They're crazy if they think I'm going through that dead man's land. Silence greeted me as I peeked above the lip of our trench.
Hundreds of men all screaming as hot lead tore them limb to limb. I watched as all my friends died. Johnson would never write home, Anders fiancé would never get her ring. Jimmy screamed as a mortar landed in front of him, the clouds of smoke and dust mercifully obscuring him from me as he crumpled.
I looked at my last friend as she lay there immobile.
"Why?" Tears overflowing from my eyes I held her. We had stormed beaches, freed prisoners, and through it all me and Rose had surived. We were the dynamic duo, I had her back and she had mine.
Silence was the only answer I got back from her. She had never raised her voice at me before, only enemies she would bark and shudder as she did when we shot them.
"This was supposed to be simple, we would go in get the dossiers from the bunker and get out. No resistance was expected."
She looked angry at me. As if me not running into death was something cowardly.
"I never wanted to be a soldier okay? I just wanted to earn some money for my sis back home."
She looked like she would rage at any moment, spitting and clawing at me while she shouted.
I heard people shouting and running across the large swath of wasteland between the trenches.
"They'll be here soon Rose, shall we fight like we used to?" As I looked her in her eye I had time to recognize that she was still mad at me.
The last thing I heard was a short bark from her and as I faded away i felt something warm drip down my forehead. | "You are really very pretty you know.."
I said as i circled the girl tied to a chair she didn't reply,but how could she i had her mouth taped shut
"I knew when i saw you the other night i just had to get you alone, yeah im probably crazy but you would never look at a guy like me if i didn't make you"
She looked up at me with understanding in her eyes, at least it was supposed to be but im sure it was just fear. I had grabbed her outside her house late last night and now we were having an amazing time.
"Do you like playing chess ? I love chess you can never tell exactly how its going to end"
I could see the muscles in her shapely neck trying to speak past the gag.
"NO YOU DONT GET TO SPEAK, YOU JUST LIE, ALL YOU WILL SAY IS HOW YOU DID NOTICE ME AND HOW I MUST LET YOU GO BUT NO..... NOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO **ME**"
She stopped trying to speak, i could think now.
"What to do, what to do?"
"we could watch a movie.... i have some here on my PC ..... lets see shall we watch saw IV ? or perhaps Without a trace"
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her just how deranged the mind before her is.
"Yes that will do nicely then we will play some doll house perhaps...... im not sure the last girl didn't play nice she kept saying awful things so i had to cut her tongue out. ill let you two meet later"
I may revisit this prompt later with a different take
| |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | “I'm pregnant.”
He said nothing in response, yet the distant expression upon his face spoke volumes.
Marie shut her eyelids tight, fighting back tears. “It's yours, Jeff. I'm so sorry. I should have told you earlier.” The divorce had been a mess, but this news would complicate things.
Before everything went South, life was perfect for Marie. Jeff had been working and commuting over 70 hours a week to give her everything she needed to make her happy. They had a new car, a low interest mortgage almost paid off and in a fantastic neighbourhood. Everything was perfect, until she repaid his love with a sleepover at her male friend's home.
When Jeff had found out about the affair back in May, he completely shut himself from the world. He never spoke a word, often skipped meals, and rarely slept. A concerned house visit from his old friend [now boss] in June caused him to finally snap. He had send a heavy fist clobbering the poor man. As a result, Jeff lost his job. Soon after went the house, while Marie had gone to live with her mother, Sandra.
That old woman had poured crazy ideas into Marie's head. Saying she should fight the divorce & get everything she could. As a result, everything he had, all that he worked hard for, had slipped through his fingers like fine sand. The lawyers had come out on top.
Now only six months later Marie came back to him, as if to make things right. Marie knew nothing would ever be the same again. But she had to face the present moment head on.
She reached for his hand, “I know you won't say anything. But you don't have to. I want to make things better. I know I can be a good mother for my child. Our child. I'm sorry about what I did during the divorce. And the affair. I only hope you can forgive me. For everything.”
She squeezed his hand, but he didn't respond. Not even a little tightening, nor a glance her way.
After a few minutes of silence, Marie rose to her feet, took a deep breath and left the morgue. | “Sorry about the wait, Mr."-Alf Guodin Gricer paused as he scanned his list-“J. Sam Debon. Well, that’s a mouthful. I’m going to stick with Mr. Debon from now on. Anyway, I’d put something better on the TV screen but we don’t get too many channels around here.”
He went to place the clipboard gently on the table as Debon attempted to mumble. “Wait, you hear that?” Gricer asked as he put his clipboard clenched hand to his ear and leaned into the noise. “Must be my imagination,” he chuckled.
Debon didn’t laugh. He’d seen guys like this before. He knew he’d never be able to get a word in.
Gricer walked around the small table in the center of the room and smacked his head on the small metal rod that dangled from above table. He always forgot to duck. “Son of a bitch, every time. I keep telling Ivan to move this damn thing yet he never does.”
Muffled noises filled the small room.
Before the procedure began, Gricer rubbed the red mark on his forehead and let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry Mr. Debon, I better check to see if my understudy completed his *only other* job today."
Gricer walked over to his intercom and pressed the button, “excuse me, Mr. Ivan?”
He waited.
“Ivan?” Gricer stared blankly at the intercom.
“Ivan, I swear to God, if you’re on *another* bathroom break.” Gricer impatiently tapped his fingers against the hard plastic intercom.
He shot a look back at Debon, “Good news bad news Mr. Debon. Good news is we’ll be starting shortly. Bad news is I’ll be back in a minute,” Gricer proclaimed as he put his clipboard down, adjusted his tie, and left the room.
Debon wiggled and tried to free his hands from their restraints. They wouldn’t budge. A sudden *bang* rang out in the distance. Gricer never strapped down Debon’s feet and Debon took advantage of the opportunity. Debon braced his feet against the table and pushed. He twisted and contorted his body until one of the restraints started to loosen. He brought his foot to hand and tried to push the loosened restraint off.
Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed Debon’s foot. His foot was swiftly brought under his hand and the restraint was retightened until he look like a broken puzzle piece.
“Well, this is awkward,” Gricer stated. He closed one eye and formed a frame with his hands, “you know? I don’t think I’m going to fix this. I kind of like how it all comes together.” He walked over to the console and picked up his clipboard. “Oops, left that on something important.” Gricer’s finger circled the giant red button. “You want to know what this does?”
Debon mumbled.
“This.” He pressed the button and a laser shot out of the metal rod above the table. It hit the edge of the table and it disintegrated. The laser slowly worked it’s way up. Debon fought against his restraints.
“Now, I’m not a huge fan of violence or gore. I couldn’t even handle those *Saw* movies,” Gricer watched Debon struggle, “weird, I know.” The laser continued to make it’s way up the table as it disintegrated everything it touched. “Honestly, the worst thing isn’t death. It’s the fact that every time I use this, I need to change the table and floor tiles. So before I regret it, I’ll have to take my leave. I’ll see you around Mr. Debon.”
Gricer left the room and shut the door.
Moments later the door cracked opened, a hand reached inside, and hit the light switch. | |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | I can talk. She just doesn't know it.
All day long, I'll watch her. Crouching by the door, or lying on the bed. I'll follow her around, carefully. She mustn't know that I care. So I make it look like just an accident, a coincidence that I'm always in the same room as her. It's frightfully obvious, if you happen to be looking for it.
But she's not.
And sometimes, in the moments where she seems most vulnerable, I'll creep close, sneaking up on her, and rub my side along her legs before she even knows I'm there. It always makes her smile, this surprise contact, just for a moment.
More and more often, she seems so sad, so tired. I would say it's because she doesn't get enough sleep&mdash;my own instincts have me rest or nap practically all day&mdash;but I know she finds the time for it, more than enough. She snores, sometimes.
No, I think it has less to do with food or rest, and more with the phone she's always holding. She has no games on it, none of those flashy little 'apps' that everyone uses. I like those apps.
Instead, she simply clutches it, staring, for hours. It unnerves me, her stillness, and I do that sort of thing every day. It isn't natural for her, I know it.
She used to talk on the phone, every day. Three or four calls, from her mom, her brother, her boyfriend. Happy days, laughter, cheer. I would lie in her lap, and her fingers would dance over my fur in patterns of joy.
Until one day, she didn't get a call. Not a single one, all day long. I noticed it, and she did too. I could tell from her worried cleaning, swooping around the apartment and snatching up dirty clothes and dishes. Until, finally, late that night, the phone rang.
I was dozing on her bed, at her feet. I thought she was deep in her dreams. But the moment that phone rang, she had thrown off the covers and dashed out to grab it, faster than I thought was possible for a human.
That was the last phone call. With my sharp ears, I could hear the news. Her family, Mother, Brother, Boyfriend, they had been driving up to come visit her, a surprise. They couldn't wait for her to come home again, to finish her studies. They wanted to see her, four months early.
Their car was hit by a semi. One of those massive, smoke spewing trucks that I occasionally spotted outside the apartment window. I knew, instantly, that none of them had stood a chance.
It broke her, from the inside out.
---
Since then, she's been a shell of who she was. Her life has been routine, get food, clean the house, feed me, finish her studies. The cupboards are full, the house is spotless, and I never go hungry.
But the house feels listless, cold. No signs of life, the smell of soups, the occasional pile of dirty laundry, a missed meal for the joy of living together... gone.
Every day, she takes the phone, the phone that never rings, and watches it, staring, waiting for a call that never comes.
I've taken care to not scratch her sofa. I leave the knickknacks where they are, on the shelf. I don't want her to feel me just on more burden. It wouldn't be fair.
But... this tired monotony, it digs at me. I know, I *know* that it doesn't help her to sit and wait and burrow deeper inside herself. I know it will only make it worse, fester the wound. I've gotten in a fight or two&mdash;total accidents, I assure you&mdash;but even I know that the way to heal a slash is to lick out the infection, wash it clean and start again.
I can't let this cut take her away from me.
---
I know that I'm not the same as other cats. I don't know why, and maybe I never will. But I can talk. Or at least, I learned how. And that can help me.
I don't have a plan. I never have, even though it probably would have been smarter. Instead, I just do what seems right.
She has another phone, one she never uses. It's old. It-has-a-cord old. Tucked into a far corner, a place that she dusts but never stays. She's sitting in her room at the moment, with the lights off. So she won't see me.
I knock the receiver off the hook, letting it roll to the table. Delicately, using one paw, I poke each of the numbers, each giving off a small *beep,* typing in her number. It rings, and I watch it carefully. In the other room, I know she's probably frozen, like a mouse, watching the screen, wondering who's number it is.
And then it clicks. She answered.
She doesn't say hello. I hesitate, realizing that I didn't plan what to say. But there was no real need. I know what she needs.
"Someone cares for you." I meow. "It hurts, now, I know. It will always hurt. I still have a scar, from way back when. But you will live through it, and there are still people&mdash;and cats&mdash;who need your help. If you ever want someone to talk to, just call this number. You still have friends, and you always will."
I hang up, tapping the button that cuts off the call. | "You're not going to find anyone, you know."
The figure continued walking and faced straight forward, ignoring the man adjacent.
"Just like last time and the time before that and the time before that. You know that all the doctors are dead and the pharamcy was cleared out. As much as I hate to say it, and trust me, I do, but you're stuck with me."
The figure continued onward, trying to act like the man didn't exist, but their mask faltered. Their stance changed slightly and picked up pace. The man knew that he had gotten through.
"I mean, it's not *that* bad, right? Just you and me, together at the end of the world! So! How have things been while I was away? I can see you're still all moody and broody like you were in college."
...
"You know, you're not making this easy. You could at least look at me. Look, I get it, you don't want to burn down the white house or loot a museum. But you could at least say 'hi.'"
The figure was getting anxious and the man could tell. He was worming his way under the wanderer's skin just like he did in the past. And the figured didn't stop at the same hospital like every other day, but kept going through the afternoon and the night despite the man's constant talking.
"Oh my god! Are we there yet? Or are you just going to keep me in suspence? Oh, are we here? Another hospital? You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"
The traveller walked in to the hospital and climbed the stairs, headed toward the pharmacy.
"Look, I think I know why you're here, and it's *not* because you're relapsing on your painkiller addiction. You know it won't work for long, especially considering how long it's been. Those pills are probably expired."
The figure picked up an orange bottle of pills, took off the cap, and swallowed one.
"Fine. I'll see you in a few weeks."
And the lone figure sat in the darkness of the hospital, quiet at last. | |
[WP] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has 100% of the dialogue. | “Hello?” A nervous head appeared in the doorway. “I’m looking for Mute Matthew. Do you know where I can find him?” A body followed through. “I’ve been told I should come to him for advice, and well, I need some right now.”
On the opposite end of the room, a man was seated behind a desk. He raised his head to quickly inspect his guest, and after a few seconds motioned the man to sit down with his eyes. The label on his desk read “Matthew”.
“Oh, I guess I’m in the right place then. Hello, my name is Tom.” He extended his hand. The other side of the desk met him with silence. “Right. Well, basically, I have an issue. Or, I guess, a problem, really.” Tom spoke quickly, but stuttered. He was playing with the ring on his hand. “You see, I had a bit of a fight with my wife.” He looked up at Matthew. “No, not like that. We argued.” His gaze sunk. “But yeah, we were talking about what to get my mother for her birthday, and well, she said I should get her kitchen stuff, and I said that was a bad idea, that she wouldn’t understand, but my wife said, you know, that my mum has been trying to get it through to my head, and…” He raised his eyes again. He was met with a tired gaze. “Yeah, you get what I mean. But basically we fought, and I left the house, and now I don’t know what to do.”
Matthew adjusted in his chair.
“I know what you’ll say, it was stupid, and yeah, I guess it was, but I mean she’s my mother and I think I know a little bit about her, you know?” Tom’s right foot was tapping an anxious rhythm on the floor. “We’d only been married for a couple of years, and I know she was trying to help, but I think I know Mum better, you know?”
Matthew tapped on his desk a few times.
“Basically I stormed out of the house a few hours ago and went to my friend’s place, to Ian’s, he’s a great guy, I’ve known him for a few years, we met in uni, and well, he told me to come to you, because I don’t really know what to do.”
Matthew put his hand against his forehead.
“I mean, I’m kind of anxious about going back because I know she’ll still be mad at me, and I don’t really know what to do to fix it, you know? I mean I still don’t think she’s right, but I don’t want to be out any longer, ’cause I’m afraid that’ll only make things even worse, you know?”
Matthew rubbed his fingers against his eyebrow.
“Come on, I mean, I’d look like an idiot dragging my sad arse back home! Don’t you see? What kind of man would I be?”
Matthew put his hands down on the table and cocked his head. Tom looked down and began playing with his ring again. There was a pregnant silence. Finally, a glimmer of resolve appeared on Tom’s face, and he looked at Matthew. “You know what? You’re right. I’m being a stupid, prideful prick. What kind of man lets some tiny random thing get between him and the love of his life? God, this is shameful.” He buried his face in his hands. Suddenly, he shot up from his chair. “I’ll come home right now and tell her I’m sorry, because it really doesn’t matter,” he proclaimed loudly. “I’ll do it right now!” He darted out of the door. “Thanks, Mute Matthew!” he stuck his head through one last time and vanished, with echoes of his footsteps in the corridor announcing his swift departure. With a smirk, Matthew moved his chair back up to the desk and went on about his business. | The boy sat in his chair, the chair marked "his", and waited patiently for the older man's diatribe to end.
"You're impressed right now. I know it," the older man said. The boy nodded as expected.
"You think I'm a mastermind, don't you?" the older man asked. Again, the boy nodded.
The older man sat down in his chair, the one marked "mine", and leaned back, content.
"This is fun isn't it? Planning things? Being on the run? Taking the world by storm?"
The boy nodded.
"You'd much rather would be doing this, wouldn't you? Planning great things? It sure beats sitting at school all day and trudging home to your mother, doesn't it?" the older man asked. The boy nodded.
"I know what you've heard and I'm sorry. Your mother likes to make a big whoop-de-doo out of the slightest thing. The state, the schools, and the judges don't help much. Just gives her more fuel for her fire," the older man said. The boy shrugged and nodded in agreement.
"But we're not going to let that get us down. We're going to do some great things," the older man said. The boy nodded.
"How about this? There's one beer left in the refrigerator. Go grab it. We're going to toast this partnership. Two men sharing a drink," the older man said. The boy rose from his chair reluctantly.
"Don't be hesistant, my boy. I know your mom poo poos this sort of behavior, but the game has changed. You're with your father now and if I say you're going to split a beer with your old man, you're going to split a beer with your old man," the older man and the boy walked off to the kitchen.
"Good boy." the older man said and folded his hands across his stomach. | |
[WP] You're known as the world's greatest healer. However, you have a secret: you " heal " the wounds by transferring them to yourself. Your latest patient finds out. | My grandmother always said every human on earth is born with a gift. Most dont realize the power bestowed upon them. I can see them you know. Well...more like feel them. I walk down the street, people pass me, oblivious to to their gifts as I curse mine. Grandma always said the most powerful gifts are the most difficult to bear. I dont believe in God, or any other spiritual nonsense. How can I. I've lived a life of pain and torment and have benefited nothing from it. My gift you see, is I feel the hurts and suffering of other. If I so choose to, I ease that pain and take it onto myself. I dont choose to as often as grandma said I should. The price I pay is too high and no one can possibly understand. In all other respects, im a fairly normal person. A bit overweight, and a loner perhaps, but normal. I dont like people touching me. I cant always control my gift. So I avoid crowds and dont hug even my closest friends. I remember them all too. All the people I've helped. Its not just physical wounds either, its psychological as well. I dont hug. Not anymore. There are truly horrible things in this world and we do most of them to eachother. I walk into work. Say hi to the boys. Grab my uniform and get to work. I love machines. They dont feel, they dont hurt. So working on cars is my greatest joy.
"Hey brown man! How was your weekend?" One of the guys calls out. "Why dont you ask your mother! Or is she still having trouble walking?" I yell back. Typical shop nonsense. Today is going to be a good day. I grab my first car and get to work. Im halfway through my day when I see one of the porters walk in. Julio I think his name is. Im terrible with names. Hes usually all smiles. "Hey, how was your weekend" I ask. He looks at me with distant eyes. "Kind of shitty. My father is sick." He rubs his eyes. "I havent slept in 2 days. Doctors dont think he'll make it." I nod. I've heard it too many times before. He continues "he told me he's sorry he wont be around to see my daughter be born. He's already given up." He walks away from me tears in his eyes. I dont say anything. Theres nothing to say. I feel his hurt as readily as I feel the sun on my face. I stop what im doing. I throw my wrench down and run my face. I know what im going to do and I hate myself for it. "Fuck, im stupid" I grumble.
I walk into the hospital room and see the old man. I got the information from the receptionist at work. Julio stands up as I enter. "What are you doing here?" He asks. "I came to just sit with you. I know what its like to lose a parent. I lost my fsther years ago" its not exactly a lie. I dont know where he is, never have.
I move a chair next to the old man. I take a deep breath. I can feel the sickness in him. Its a cloying, greasy feeling. It turns my stomach. His kidneys and liver are failing. The toxins are building inside his body. Julio asks, "you want some coffee or something?"
"Sure" I whisper not daring to look at him. He exits the room. I take his fathers hand. It hits me almost immediately, blinding pain, nausea, burning. I can feel the infection. I begin to work. I cannot save him. Hes too far gone. He just needs to hold out two more weeks. His granddaughter is due to be born at any time. I absorb the infection. I milk away the pain. I feel my body take the hit. "Fuck" I groan. The old man stirs. I push harder. Im sweating, shaking, I feel my strength failing. I drop his hand and drop to my knees besides the garbage can. I puke black bile into it. His son walks in as I finish emptying my stomach into the bin. "What the hell!" He cries. "If you're sick you'll only make him worse! Get the fuck out!" I stumble to my feet and walk out of the room. I hear his father call his name.
The next 3days I call in sick to work. I cant stop puking. My body is wracked with pain. Every morning I show up to the hospital and do what I can for the old man. I use up the little vacation time I have left to recover for a day. When I finally go back I get bitched pretty good by the other guys. They had to pick up my slack with me gone. Ive lost a fair amount of weight and im slow as hell. I learn that Julie's wife has given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. Her grandfather seemed to recover long enough to see her through the glass at the hospital. Julio is all smiles today. He must still be pissed at me because he wont speak to me. Its part of the job I tell myself and get back to work.
I slam my locker closed. Its late. I think im the last one here. I sit on the bench and lay my head in my hands. I hurt. Its been a long day. I wonder sometimes if its really worth it. The old man will still die. I've only prolonged the inevitable. I pull out my cellphone and scroll through Julio's new pictures on his profile. She truly is a beautiful baby girl. His father looks so happy. "I suppose it is worth it" I whisper. I cant stop the tears that fall from my face or the sobs that escape my throat. Its not fair. Everyone is happy. Everyone can feel less pain but me. I sit there and sob. I dont hear the quiet foot steps enter the locker room.
"Hey, are you alright?" A soft voice asks.
I look up, its the new service advisor the company just hired. "Umm yeah, sorry. I just...its been a rough week. Im good." I smile. She takes a seat next to me.
"Ive seen you in the shop, you always seem to know what to say to make the guys smile and laugh." She says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shake my head. What's the point. She couldn't possibly understand. I feel her take my hand. I brace for the onslaught I know is coming, all her pain and ailments. Instead I feel...nothing. No that's not right. I feel, Nothing..my pain is gone. I stare astonished at her. "How.."
Tears run down her face as she breaks into sobs, "oh my god, oh my sweet sweet god." She cries. "You hurt so much. How can one person endure so much pain?" She gasps through the tears. "Im so sorry, I didnt know" she cries.
I hug her and hold her close to me. Together we share the pain, our hurts laid bare to eachother. I dont know how long we held eachother. She says she doesnt remember either. Everyone was surprised at how quickly we married. They whispered and gossiped. How can a guy like me, get a woman like her to fall for me. We let them talk. All I know is that I dont mind hugs anymore. | " it's done" I muddert under my rustling breath, barely loud enough to be heard by the half consciouss womens family around me.
My eyes glanced to both my sides and could see only a few had heared what I said and those looked at me in die believe.
I let go a inner sight.
Then louder then before, my voice filled with false Pathos " IT IS DONE!".
Now I had everybodies attention and now they all seemed satisfied. The young womens mother, a fat, sweating biest looked especially proud of herself. Her grin showing yellow teeth and eyes darting from face to face in expectation of gratitude and praise.
Just as if she herself had just saved her daughters life.
I was annoyed.
And it is not like this was uncommon, in fact, in the last 100 years or so this kind of behavior had become more and more the norm.
Maybe it was due to all the advancments in modern medicine, maybe it was a by-product of human capitalism. But selfrightousness was on a rise.
I slowly turned away from the Hospital bed and walked outside.
It took all my strength not to moan in pain with each step, but I've been doing this long enough to be able to control myself.
Heather, which was the name of the young female, whose life I had saved, had been suffering from CPRS since she was 14, and it only got worse with each year.
These illnesses, the chronic, painfull ones where to only ones left for me.
When I startet transferring the sicknes of one human onto me, there were all kinds of wounds, minor colds and fullgrown diseases to choose from.
You broke your leg? You could die from it. You can survive but must pay with your immortal Soul? Doesn't matter, if you're gonne your child will starve.
Ah yes, those were the golden times. The centuries where I was sure I would be able to full fill my Deal. I would just help people with minor problems.
All these little things that hurt, but could heal, at least if you were immortal like me.
Nowadays there are social safety nets ready to take care of the orphans, send them to school even.
There also is a widespread scrutiny towards my Profession. And rightfully so, I mean come on, "call me, I can heal everybody, if he really wants to, for just 500 Bucks."
Would you call? Hell, even I would call it a fraude.
So that's what is left for me to pick clean for the next 754 times.
The chronic ones, the tortured ones. Those noone wants to change with for all the money in the world.
Damn, my hands are starting to Swell and my fingers hurt. I can see why she would think everything is better than this.
I thought so too.
| |
[WP] You're known as the world's greatest healer. However, you have a secret: you " heal " the wounds by transferring them to yourself. Your latest patient finds out. | As I lifted my newest patient onto the bed I could feel my sleeve tugging at the scabs on my forearm. My previous patient wasn’t paying attention while boiling his spaghetti and expertly managed to spill the boiling water all over his forearms. Sometimes I wonder why I trade my own health for others’ idiocy, but I quickly remind myself of my debt I owed to Madame McClane. I pleaded with her to cure my cancer. She saved my life with her witchcraft and now I must suffer each day by taking on the pains of others as payment. Their wounds and maladies transfer to my body then each morning I wake up completely healed. Is living every day full of pain better than dying? I hope someday to experience death so I can give you a straight answer.
John whimpered with a slight slur as I laid him on the table, “I’ve heard you’re the only one who can heal me.” To be honest, I was a bit repulsed by the severe bumps on his face. His eyesight must be hindered by the bumps protruding from his eye sockets and the solid masses around his lips obviously made it difficult for him to speak. I can only imagine the stares he would receive walking down the street, unable to hide his disease. I was not looking forward to taking on this man’s disease.
“Yes, I can heal you,” I replied. I could see a glimmer of hope shine from his eyes. I reached up to put my hand on his forehead to begin the transfer when a couple drops of blood escaped from the scab under my sleeve.
“What’s wrong with you?” John asked, pushing my hand away.
“Nothing, just cut myself while fixing my car,” I lied flatly. If I didn’t heal him then my contract with Madame McClane would be broken, instantly killing me. So I never delayed healing those who came to me, even if I sometimes appeared to be rushing. I reached out again to place my hand on his forehead and begin the incantations. He slapped my hand away.
“You’re lying. What are you not telling me?” he demanded with a hint of anger.
“Nothing, I swear!” I pushed my hand out again, but he backed away. “Why do you care about my arm? Look at yourself. You’re miserable.”
“I care about your arm because I care about you” he responded sincerely. I stared at him blankly and let his answer roll around in my mind.
“You mean you’re attracted to me?” I questioned still quite confused.
“No, my time I spent in India taught me one thing: Joy comes from caring about others while misery comes from caring about yourself,” he offered. He didn’t sound patronizing or pious in any way. How could he with the pain he must be going through? Sure, I’d heard these platitudes before, but coming from him, these words struck me in my core.
“Why do you heal people?” he asked.
I hesitated. I’d never shared the truth with anyone. People were always happy to get healed then run out of my house full of life and joy, never looking back or contacting me again. I accepted this as my fate. In fact, that’s exactly how I treated Madame McClane.
“Because I have a debt to pay,” I answered honestly. “If I don’t heal those who come for my help, I die. I carry their disease, sickness, wounds, or whatever until I wake up the next morning.”
“Interesting…” he pondered. “You have been given a great gift, yet you use it ungratefully. Sounds like a terrible way to live to me.”
“Yes, quite honestly, I hate my life.” I began to tear up. This miserable man was breaking down my defenses and I wasn’t sure whether to hate him or hug him. His disease a visual reminder of how silly I must sound. Who knows how long he had to deal with his gross deformities and I’m complaining about walking an evening in his shoes.
“Gratitude,” he said. “Gratitude is the answer.”
I let his words hang in the air a long time. What I was able to do was miraculous. I dreaded every experience, but I never stopped to think about how happy those who came to see me must feel. I was a healer. I spread joy and hope, yet I lived in misery. I had a thought and decided to act on it.
I picked up the phone and dialed Madame McClane’s number. She answered in her elderly tone, “Yes?”
“Madame McClane, it’s me, Steve.”
“What do you want Steve?” she asked a bit agitated.
“Thank you for this beautiful gift,” I said earnestly.
“Ah,” she replied, “you’ve learned your lesson,” then promptly hung up.
I felt a burden lift off my shoulders that I didn’t even realize had been there. I felt like a new man. I no longer felt irritations on my arms, so I pulled up my sleeves to reveal that my scabs were missing.
“Now,” John insisted, “you may heal me.”
Still a little shellshocked, I reached out my hand again in a practiced motion, placing my palm on his forehead and recited the incantation. John’s bumps instantly began to disappear and I braced myself for the transfer to start to my own skin.
Nothing happened.
John was healed and I was healthy. “Sometimes we hold on to our misery instead of being grateful for the opportunity of life. Gratitude is the great healer.”
I watched John walk away in perfect health and I stood there pondering the lesson he had taught me. I healed many, many more people the rest of my days, but I will never forget the day that John healed me. | " it's done" I muddert under my rustling breath, barely loud enough to be heard by the half consciouss womens family around me.
My eyes glanced to both my sides and could see only a few had heared what I said and those looked at me in die believe.
I let go a inner sight.
Then louder then before, my voice filled with false Pathos " IT IS DONE!".
Now I had everybodies attention and now they all seemed satisfied. The young womens mother, a fat, sweating biest looked especially proud of herself. Her grin showing yellow teeth and eyes darting from face to face in expectation of gratitude and praise.
Just as if she herself had just saved her daughters life.
I was annoyed.
And it is not like this was uncommon, in fact, in the last 100 years or so this kind of behavior had become more and more the norm.
Maybe it was due to all the advancments in modern medicine, maybe it was a by-product of human capitalism. But selfrightousness was on a rise.
I slowly turned away from the Hospital bed and walked outside.
It took all my strength not to moan in pain with each step, but I've been doing this long enough to be able to control myself.
Heather, which was the name of the young female, whose life I had saved, had been suffering from CPRS since she was 14, and it only got worse with each year.
These illnesses, the chronic, painfull ones where to only ones left for me.
When I startet transferring the sicknes of one human onto me, there were all kinds of wounds, minor colds and fullgrown diseases to choose from.
You broke your leg? You could die from it. You can survive but must pay with your immortal Soul? Doesn't matter, if you're gonne your child will starve.
Ah yes, those were the golden times. The centuries where I was sure I would be able to full fill my Deal. I would just help people with minor problems.
All these little things that hurt, but could heal, at least if you were immortal like me.
Nowadays there are social safety nets ready to take care of the orphans, send them to school even.
There also is a widespread scrutiny towards my Profession. And rightfully so, I mean come on, "call me, I can heal everybody, if he really wants to, for just 500 Bucks."
Would you call? Hell, even I would call it a fraude.
So that's what is left for me to pick clean for the next 754 times.
The chronic ones, the tortured ones. Those noone wants to change with for all the money in the world.
Damn, my hands are starting to Swell and my fingers hurt. I can see why she would think everything is better than this.
I thought so too.
| |
[WP] You're known as the world's greatest healer. However, you have a secret: you " heal " the wounds by transferring them to yourself. Your latest patient finds out. | My grandmother always said every human on earth is born with a gift. Most dont realize the power bestowed upon them. I can see them you know. Well...more like feel them. I walk down the street, people pass me, oblivious to to their gifts as I curse mine. Grandma always said the most powerful gifts are the most difficult to bear. I dont believe in God, or any other spiritual nonsense. How can I. I've lived a life of pain and torment and have benefited nothing from it. My gift you see, is I feel the hurts and suffering of other. If I so choose to, I ease that pain and take it onto myself. I dont choose to as often as grandma said I should. The price I pay is too high and no one can possibly understand. In all other respects, im a fairly normal person. A bit overweight, and a loner perhaps, but normal. I dont like people touching me. I cant always control my gift. So I avoid crowds and dont hug even my closest friends. I remember them all too. All the people I've helped. Its not just physical wounds either, its psychological as well. I dont hug. Not anymore. There are truly horrible things in this world and we do most of them to eachother. I walk into work. Say hi to the boys. Grab my uniform and get to work. I love machines. They dont feel, they dont hurt. So working on cars is my greatest joy.
"Hey brown man! How was your weekend?" One of the guys calls out. "Why dont you ask your mother! Or is she still having trouble walking?" I yell back. Typical shop nonsense. Today is going to be a good day. I grab my first car and get to work. Im halfway through my day when I see one of the porters walk in. Julio I think his name is. Im terrible with names. Hes usually all smiles. "Hey, how was your weekend" I ask. He looks at me with distant eyes. "Kind of shitty. My father is sick." He rubs his eyes. "I havent slept in 2 days. Doctors dont think he'll make it." I nod. I've heard it too many times before. He continues "he told me he's sorry he wont be around to see my daughter be born. He's already given up." He walks away from me tears in his eyes. I dont say anything. Theres nothing to say. I feel his hurt as readily as I feel the sun on my face. I stop what im doing. I throw my wrench down and run my face. I know what im going to do and I hate myself for it. "Fuck, im stupid" I grumble.
I walk into the hospital room and see the old man. I got the information from the receptionist at work. Julio stands up as I enter. "What are you doing here?" He asks. "I came to just sit with you. I know what its like to lose a parent. I lost my fsther years ago" its not exactly a lie. I dont know where he is, never have.
I move a chair next to the old man. I take a deep breath. I can feel the sickness in him. Its a cloying, greasy feeling. It turns my stomach. His kidneys and liver are failing. The toxins are building inside his body. Julio asks, "you want some coffee or something?"
"Sure" I whisper not daring to look at him. He exits the room. I take his fathers hand. It hits me almost immediately, blinding pain, nausea, burning. I can feel the infection. I begin to work. I cannot save him. Hes too far gone. He just needs to hold out two more weeks. His granddaughter is due to be born at any time. I absorb the infection. I milk away the pain. I feel my body take the hit. "Fuck" I groan. The old man stirs. I push harder. Im sweating, shaking, I feel my strength failing. I drop his hand and drop to my knees besides the garbage can. I puke black bile into it. His son walks in as I finish emptying my stomach into the bin. "What the hell!" He cries. "If you're sick you'll only make him worse! Get the fuck out!" I stumble to my feet and walk out of the room. I hear his father call his name.
The next 3days I call in sick to work. I cant stop puking. My body is wracked with pain. Every morning I show up to the hospital and do what I can for the old man. I use up the little vacation time I have left to recover for a day. When I finally go back I get bitched pretty good by the other guys. They had to pick up my slack with me gone. Ive lost a fair amount of weight and im slow as hell. I learn that Julie's wife has given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. Her grandfather seemed to recover long enough to see her through the glass at the hospital. Julio is all smiles today. He must still be pissed at me because he wont speak to me. Its part of the job I tell myself and get back to work.
I slam my locker closed. Its late. I think im the last one here. I sit on the bench and lay my head in my hands. I hurt. Its been a long day. I wonder sometimes if its really worth it. The old man will still die. I've only prolonged the inevitable. I pull out my cellphone and scroll through Julio's new pictures on his profile. She truly is a beautiful baby girl. His father looks so happy. "I suppose it is worth it" I whisper. I cant stop the tears that fall from my face or the sobs that escape my throat. Its not fair. Everyone is happy. Everyone can feel less pain but me. I sit there and sob. I dont hear the quiet foot steps enter the locker room.
"Hey, are you alright?" A soft voice asks.
I look up, its the new service advisor the company just hired. "Umm yeah, sorry. I just...its been a rough week. Im good." I smile. She takes a seat next to me.
"Ive seen you in the shop, you always seem to know what to say to make the guys smile and laugh." She says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shake my head. What's the point. She couldn't possibly understand. I feel her take my hand. I brace for the onslaught I know is coming, all her pain and ailments. Instead I feel...nothing. No that's not right. I feel, Nothing..my pain is gone. I stare astonished at her. "How.."
Tears run down her face as she breaks into sobs, "oh my god, oh my sweet sweet god." She cries. "You hurt so much. How can one person endure so much pain?" She gasps through the tears. "Im so sorry, I didnt know" she cries.
I hug her and hold her close to me. Together we share the pain, our hurts laid bare to eachother. I dont know how long we held eachother. She says she doesnt remember either. Everyone was surprised at how quickly we married. They whispered and gossiped. How can a guy like me, get a woman like her to fall for me. We let them talk. All I know is that I dont mind hugs anymore. | “It’s finished.” I speak firmly with a pained smile on my face as I let my arms fall to my sides. I turn to hurry out of the room, speaking quickly about the nurse returning to take care of them further. I need to get to my office, I can rest in there until I am needed again. Just as I begin to walk from the room, a limp starting to develop in my right leg her voice calls me back.
“What happened? You healed me but now you look awful.” I turn and see the woman I had healed, a pretty woman of about 25 or so. I cringe slightly when I feel a cut begin to open on my shoulder.
“Ah, the healing takes a lot of energy from me. I usually rest in my office after the bigger ones. You were in a pretty nasty accident after all.” I give her a strained smile, hoping to retreat before the cuts begin to open on my face. I turn to leave again but have to lean heavily against the wall. I underestimated how injured the woman was.
“You’re bleeding!” She exclaims before hurrying to call the nurse in. I clench my eyes shut in frustration, I didn’t want anyone to find out like this. I never wanted anyone to find out at all. It had always been a secret how I was able to heal people. The nurse rushes in and stares at me for a second in shock before helping me to one of the vacant beds.
“How did you get so injured?” The nurse asks me, wrapping my wounds in gauze and bandages. I shake my head, regretting the action when it makes me dizzy.
“I’ll be fine actually, I always am.” I tell her, whispering the last part. She just gives me a look of disbelieve before leaving the room once more, probably to get some medication or something.
“Those are the injuries I had.” The woman I healed speaks softly, coming over to inspect me. “How did this happen? How did you take my injuries?” I watch her for a moment before sighing and leaning back into the pillows.
“I can’t remember how I found out about it, but I can take people’s illnesses and injuries. They become mine and that person is healed. Somehow I am always fine in a day or two, depending on what the person was ill with.” I tell her honestly, feeling slightly comforted to finally share this secret with someone.
“But isn’t it painful? To take on all those things?” She asks in concern.
“Even through it, I can help. There are others who shouldn’t suffer so much. If I can ease that, take it from them, then it is worth it. There isn’t much else I can do really.” I laugh slightly. “At least this is helping people. I’ve been able to help many people. I got to help you, and by some extension I was able to help your lover.” I smile at her, noticing her questioning gaze I hold out my hand for hers. She reluctantly places her hand in mine and I twist the gold band I had noticed earlier around. “It’s small details that matter, don’t you think?” | |
[WP] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war, all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace. Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator. 200 years later, you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble. | As I sit in my throne room, I recall the day the weight of the world was laid upon my shoulders. My father, Ronald the Third, was just laid the rest; I was 41 years old as I walked into this throne room as emperor for the first time. Mayor McCheese, one of my fathers closest advisers, had said to me: "Breath easy now, for it will your last chance in a while". His sage words where invaluable to me, until he was killed alongside his family whilst traveling 6 years ago.
The times were changing, bands of democratic rebels began threatening my kingdom, my legacy. What was a throne room had become a center of operations, committed to squashing the rebel dogs. I coughed, and readjusted my wig.
Grimace, my right hand man and friend, came to me with reports. Our GMO chickens had victory over the Burger Kings, but the DQs held ground in the highlands, a land too cold for our troops to penetrate successfully.
"Are the McRibs ready for deployment?"
"No sire, they are not available for another month"
I took a gulp from my Coke (Spiked with rum, a tip from McCheese that I shall carry to the grave) "Then send in McFillets, Supersize them"
"It shall be done"
He returned to the generals as a messenger hurried in. "A message from the troops in the East sire" he said as he set a box before my six 23 shoes. I couldn't recognize the strange symbol on the envelope attached. I lifted the letter off the box and read the two words. "Order up." The symbol clicked, a snowman. "Jack in the Box" I whispered. My nose honked one more time before the C4 detonated.
| God-King Ronald McDonald IV ran through the yellow hued metallic tunnel with feral urgency, for he had mere seconds to make it to the panic room before he would be overcome.
Shaken, he slammed his nervous palm into the door lock for what appeared to be a simple janitorial closet.
Sobbing wildly he eased his way into a stainless steel panic room filled with video feeds featuring unmentionable horrors occurring throughout Mt. McChicken.
As he observed the scenes of carnage before him, he could not but wonder where he had gone wrong.
Why had they become violent? How did they become self aware? Why weren't they adhering to Hamburgler's law?
He glanced at the largest feed in the room, featuring a blood soaked hallway now empty but active just moments before.
The violent sound of explosion ripped at his senses, leaving him on the floor concussed helplessly.
They were now upon him.
The GrimaceTrons prepared the God-King for what would be their most valuable assimilation to date.
| |
[WP] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war, all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace. Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator. 200 years later, you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble. | As I sit in my throne room, I recall the day the weight of the world was laid upon my shoulders. My father, Ronald the Third, was just laid the rest; I was 41 years old as I walked into this throne room as emperor for the first time. Mayor McCheese, one of my fathers closest advisers, had said to me: "Breath easy now, for it will your last chance in a while". His sage words where invaluable to me, until he was killed alongside his family whilst traveling 6 years ago.
The times were changing, bands of democratic rebels began threatening my kingdom, my legacy. What was a throne room had become a center of operations, committed to squashing the rebel dogs. I coughed, and readjusted my wig.
Grimace, my right hand man and friend, came to me with reports. Our GMO chickens had victory over the Burger Kings, but the DQs held ground in the highlands, a land too cold for our troops to penetrate successfully.
"Are the McRibs ready for deployment?"
"No sire, they are not available for another month"
I took a gulp from my Coke (Spiked with rum, a tip from McCheese that I shall carry to the grave) "Then send in McFillets, Supersize them"
"It shall be done"
He returned to the generals as a messenger hurried in. "A message from the troops in the East sire" he said as he set a box before my six 23 shoes. I couldn't recognize the strange symbol on the envelope attached. I lifted the letter off the box and read the two words. "Order up." The symbol clicked, a snowman. "Jack in the Box" I whispered. My nose honked one more time before the C4 detonated.
| Strapping on his worn down red shoes, a glisten of ketchup adorned the corner of the tired Leader's tense mouth from the most recent mcdouble he took much pleasure enjoying. Before him was a task that creased his brow many a restless night the week leading up to this evening. Shrugging off the faintest hint of nervousness the mighty chancellor of peace rose from his throne with a newly acquired powerful demeanor. He paced back in forth a few paces before majestically kicking past a set of mahogany double doors to face a crowd of 2 million eager ears gathered before his palace lawn. Before him gathered the desperate, alone, and tired common folk. Clearing his voice, the baritone leader shattered a weeks long silence to proclaim the words that would end the war and solidify world peace once and for all. There's was silence in the air. A young bird jumped from his familiar nest for the first time somewhere and learned to fly. The crowd erupted with cheer and elated voices rang out in the streets for that calm summer day was the day the breakfast menu was offered to stoners for a simple exchange of some kind bud. | |
[WP] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war, all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace. Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator. 200 years later, you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble. | As I sit in my throne room, I recall the day the weight of the world was laid upon my shoulders. My father, Ronald the Third, was just laid the rest; I was 41 years old as I walked into this throne room as emperor for the first time. Mayor McCheese, one of my fathers closest advisers, had said to me: "Breath easy now, for it will your last chance in a while". His sage words where invaluable to me, until he was killed alongside his family whilst traveling 6 years ago.
The times were changing, bands of democratic rebels began threatening my kingdom, my legacy. What was a throne room had become a center of operations, committed to squashing the rebel dogs. I coughed, and readjusted my wig.
Grimace, my right hand man and friend, came to me with reports. Our GMO chickens had victory over the Burger Kings, but the DQs held ground in the highlands, a land too cold for our troops to penetrate successfully.
"Are the McRibs ready for deployment?"
"No sire, they are not available for another month"
I took a gulp from my Coke (Spiked with rum, a tip from McCheese that I shall carry to the grave) "Then send in McFillets, Supersize them"
"It shall be done"
He returned to the generals as a messenger hurried in. "A message from the troops in the East sire" he said as he set a box before my six 23 shoes. I couldn't recognize the strange symbol on the envelope attached. I lifted the letter off the box and read the two words. "Order up." The symbol clicked, a snowman. "Jack in the Box" I whispered. My nose honked one more time before the C4 detonated.
| "Uh...Sir," the Deputy General of the UNMcD, poked Ron in the side gently. "SIR!" he said a bit more forcefully a second time.
"I'm afraid Sir you must wake up, we have a situation that requires your immediate attention."
Ron stirred momentarily, rolled over long enough to see who it was that was trying wake him, then flopped back over burying his head back in the pile of pillows and duvet covers.
"Fuck off...I'm not in!.....what can be so important that you need me at 4 A.M. to solve? and if its my sister again, please just send her work the fry station for a few weeks and let me be!" All of this was muffled by the pillows and covers and made his voice sound more like some grunts and sighs and sobs.
The Deputy was unimpressed and poked Ron harder and simply said one word.
THE word.
Ron sat upright so fast the Deputy was startled backwards and nearly tripped over his sword and tail coats.
"Muther Fu...!! Oh...sorry McCheese. When did he escape?"
Deputy Mayor McCheese looked up from the floor and replied, "He escaped early last night and crossed the border. He has managed to kidnap several of the Fry kids who were most unfortunate to be out partying as he rolled by in his car as he fled. And..."
"And?...And what?.... WHAT AND!" nearly screamed Ron.
"He also has the launch codes, and was helped by the Happy Meal Gang," McCheese choked out.
"Grimace," was all Ron could say.
He knew the outcome would be ugly, the Fry kid War of 2137 were, and the Hamburgler Incident of 2215 nearly wiped Australia off the map. The Canadian Mayo on Fry wars nearly obliterated a Toronto suburb and caused an apology riot, it was tragic for nearly a week, but this....this he thought was different. The Ron's had always had a plan....he wasn't so sure this time. The Grimace's, though, had remained neutral for centuries.
"Dear god," he whispered,"...alert the Ketchup Forces and wake Early Bird," he paused,"... she's our only hope." | |
[WP] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war, all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace. Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator. 200 years later, you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble. | "Sire," Reynaldo kneeled before me as he spoke. "The rebel factions have banded together as you suggested they would. The False King, the Fire-Haired Wench, and the Jester have united. They have taken three districts in as many hours."
"Of course they have." I stared out the window at my kingdom. "Tell the Queen that the day is at hand where I will call in the old debts. Summon my generals to a war council. This action cannot go unanswered."
For two centuries my line has ruled the world in peace and prosperity. But there will always be the upstarts. Those who would rather stand against the tide in the name of freedom or choice.
One of my ancestors wiped out one of these rebels - Hard D, as I recall, though he often went disguised as a simple-minded peasant named Carl. My ancestor thought the total destruction of one rebel would make the others fall in line. For a time, he was right. Eventually though, new generations take over and the brutalities of the past take on a sheen of myth and legend. And they forget. Now I must do as my ancestor did so long ago and teach these impudent whelps what the price of peace truly is.
My generals surrounded the giant oaken table in the war room. This chamber had sat unused for ages - until today.
"We have been too lenient on the smaller upstarts. Had we crushed them early, this newest revolt would not be here. The Quintet and the Shakers are at the root of this." As was customary, the general had given up his family names and titles on promotion to my inner council. He was now known only by his title of state - Grimace.
"Swatting flies does not stop the lion from charging you." My minister of intelligence. I never knew his real name or where he came from. He hid his background under layers of lies and innuendo. His title of Hamburgler was well-earned though.
"We should begin evacuations of the civilian populations immediately. The last thing we need are pictures of dead kids on the news." Mayor McCheese was one of my closest friends growing up. I knew he had a good heart and named him my minister of the interior.
"I have contacted the Queen," said Birdie. She was reluctant to take the position of minister of state, but had truly grown into the role. "We shall be supplied with troops and materiel. Shall I contact the Cowboys?"
"No," I said, "they have never been trustworthy. I suspect bringing them in would be allowing a pickle in the fish sandwich. We cannot trust them. Ready our troops."
I stood up and walked over to the sideboard. I removed my vestments of state, standing on the cold tile floor in my underwear. I opened the ancient doors and saw the warrior garb handed down through my family. The canary yellow clothes, the dazzlingly red hair, the ghostly white paint, the elongated shoes. I enrobed myself for battle. Let the world tremble at the might of Ronald McDonald. | **Chapter Four: The Collapse**
*Introduction:*
As we've learned in the previous chapter, President McDonald the Second (Who reigned from 2043-2094 CE) presided over a relatively peaceful empire. Though the process of centralizing the power of the world to the McDonald government was arduous (and often met with skeptical criticism), the idealism of the a benevolent, world-wide government that would act on behalf of all Earth gripped humanity. The citizens of the world had seen far too much blood during the Troubled Thirties, and were eager to turn a government that promised peace. Former rebels laid down their arms, governments ceased railing against each other and pointing fingers, Donald Trump's wall lay unfinished, and all worked together on the path to recovery. With erstwhile allies such as Secretary General Kim Jeong Soo, Minister of Unification Lukas Merkel, and Minister of Equality Iminathi Mandela, the Third President had built a strong empire. (For more information, turn to Chapter Three: The Pax Unifica)
*Coming Apart at the Seams:*
But as we all know, this peace under the McDonald Empire didn't last. The primary reason for this is still hotly debated among historians, but most agree that the failure of the incompetent administration of the McDonald Empire to pressing issues played a large part. Ronald McDonald the Second and his generation (now called Generation I) were the last who were able to clearly remember the Troubled Thirties; those who followed only knew the rivers of blood from textbooks. Ronald McDonald the Third proved this fact; unlike his father who worked tirelessly to improve his administration and the world, McDonald III spent most of his time devoting his plentiful resources as Emperor to personal entertainment and luxury. Ministers and government officials were replaced with friends and acquaintances, and corruption along with general apathy for governance was the regent of his reign. This change in governmental attitudes could not have come at a worse time. Instead of wishing to end conflict by all means possible, Generation II seized upon perceived injustices, often nationalistic in nature. Questions were asked: Where was the clearly deserved remuneration? Where was the equality that the new world government promised? Where were the laws that once maintained their ways of life, abolished in the name of globalism? The previous McDonalds administrations had avoided dividing nations in fear of creating civil wars as the British and French colonial regimes of the early 20th century had, but this only provided easier access to banners (often racial banners) for people to rally to. Complaints grew to riots, and lack of response made these riots grow to rebellions, which quickly transformed the peace of several nations into civil wars. The Pax Unifica was no more.
*The Oslo Bombings:*
One incident that we must learn of is the Oslo Bombings of 2114. In Oslo, Norway, tens of thousands of native Norwegians gathered during the fall of 2113 to protest international laws regarding freedom of travel, as well as those meant to accommodate those of the Muslim faith. This Protection Movement, then led by William Olsen, was not the racist and nationalistic caricatures it is often painted as today. In fact, it started in the most liberal of countries, and was founded upon concerns about the conservative nature of the McDonalds regime's legislation, the rapidly growing economic inequality caused by worldwide unrestricted capitalism, as well as overpopulated cities caused by the massive number of refugees from the Troubled Thirties aided by the open borders mandated by the McDonalds Empire (this helps explain why the Protection movement gained so much worldwide traction -- it seemed perfectly sensible). They began with peaceful protests at local government buildings of the McDonalds administration, but their words fell on deaf ears. Winter came, but the cold did not drive away members of the movement -- in fact, the lack of response only prompted more anger and more support for Protection, and many traveled from neighboring countries Sweden and Finland to join the protests.
This is when disaster struck. While Olsen was leading another rally at the McDonalds Justice Administration building, several bombs were set off by an unknown agent, killing Olsen and hundreds of his supporters. This disaster gained international attention; such deeds had not been witnessed since two years after the Troubled Thirties, now almost a century ago. But the plight of the protestors facing what seemed to be completely unjustified violence attracted international support like a magnet, and Olsen became the first Martyr for Protection.
*Protection's Radicalization:*
Olsen was succeeded by his second-in-command, Henrik Berg. Unlike the pacifist Olsen, Berg had long been pushing for more radical means of spreading the Protection cause. Olsen's death only served to cement his cause, and Shield Militias were first formed in the fall of 2114. Initially armed only with batons and ostensibly for self-defense, these militias soon were organized and equipped in a military fashion, and began to violently suppress dissenting opinions in neighborhoods under their control. With order rapidly disappearing in Oslo and being replaced by what was essentially gang warfare, the local McDonald administration were forced to deploy local military forces to act against the Protection Movement. The fighting began in the winter of that year, and December 6th, 2114 is known today as the First Protection in Protectionist countries, and more commonly as the First Battle. Hundreds of soldiers were killed on both sides, and civilians fled Oslo as their home city transformed into a battlefield.
*The Internationalization of Protection*
While Oslo quickly dissolved into chaos, the ideals of Protection were becoming increasingly attractive to other nations. The former countries of the United Kingdom, France, and Russia were the first international strongholds of Protection outside of the Nordic countries. (if you don't know these names, check your glossary! They will be important!) These movements had many of the same complaints as original movement in Norway - they were being forced to accept what felt like overly conservative laws and people who were not their own. But as time passed, they took on a independent, nationalistic tilt. Englishmen were enraged at the fact that they were paying for those of the same race as those who had brought England into the Troubled Thirties - the descendants of Middle Eastern refugees had not seemed to actually integrate into English society. The Scots were looking for another chance to get away from yet another power that was acting as their overlord, and they no longer had the memories of the Troubled Thirties to keep them in check. Frenchmen wished to maintain the purity of France, and resented the McDonald administration for revoking many of their laws as well as crushing their ideal of French equality. Russians felt like they were being ignored as a country, and wished to Make Russia Great Again. Unified only by their desire to rule themselves, protests began outside McDonald government buildings, and thousands gathered in London, Paris and Moscow to voice their complaints. Following the Oslo bombings, the movements in France and Russia grew violent as the ones in Oslo had, and soon these countries too were engulfed in conflict. The United Kingdom defused the situation by securing special devolved powers from the McDonald government (one of the few moments of clarity by the Empire during this decade), and remained largely neutral in the McDonald vs. Protection conflict in the following decades.
Protection movements outside of Europe largely began once they noticed the surprising success that Protection militias had against McDonald forces. Disgruntled nationalists in the former United States of America, China, India, angry Islamists in the Middle East, xenophobes in Korea and Japan, and many others all began local chapters of Protection movements. These were most successful in developed or developing countries with high levels or education, or culturally divergent regions such as the conservative Middle East and much of Africa.
More coming along if wanted, will welcome feedback. | |
[WP] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war, all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace. Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator. 200 years later, you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble. | "Sire," Reynaldo kneeled before me as he spoke. "The rebel factions have banded together as you suggested they would. The False King, the Fire-Haired Wench, and the Jester have united. They have taken three districts in as many hours."
"Of course they have." I stared out the window at my kingdom. "Tell the Queen that the day is at hand where I will call in the old debts. Summon my generals to a war council. This action cannot go unanswered."
For two centuries my line has ruled the world in peace and prosperity. But there will always be the upstarts. Those who would rather stand against the tide in the name of freedom or choice.
One of my ancestors wiped out one of these rebels - Hard D, as I recall, though he often went disguised as a simple-minded peasant named Carl. My ancestor thought the total destruction of one rebel would make the others fall in line. For a time, he was right. Eventually though, new generations take over and the brutalities of the past take on a sheen of myth and legend. And they forget. Now I must do as my ancestor did so long ago and teach these impudent whelps what the price of peace truly is.
My generals surrounded the giant oaken table in the war room. This chamber had sat unused for ages - until today.
"We have been too lenient on the smaller upstarts. Had we crushed them early, this newest revolt would not be here. The Quintet and the Shakers are at the root of this." As was customary, the general had given up his family names and titles on promotion to my inner council. He was now known only by his title of state - Grimace.
"Swatting flies does not stop the lion from charging you." My minister of intelligence. I never knew his real name or where he came from. He hid his background under layers of lies and innuendo. His title of Hamburgler was well-earned though.
"We should begin evacuations of the civilian populations immediately. The last thing we need are pictures of dead kids on the news." Mayor McCheese was one of my closest friends growing up. I knew he had a good heart and named him my minister of the interior.
"I have contacted the Queen," said Birdie. She was reluctant to take the position of minister of state, but had truly grown into the role. "We shall be supplied with troops and materiel. Shall I contact the Cowboys?"
"No," I said, "they have never been trustworthy. I suspect bringing them in would be allowing a pickle in the fish sandwich. We cannot trust them. Ready our troops."
I stood up and walked over to the sideboard. I removed my vestments of state, standing on the cold tile floor in my underwear. I opened the ancient doors and saw the warrior garb handed down through my family. The canary yellow clothes, the dazzlingly red hair, the ghostly white paint, the elongated shoes. I enrobed myself for battle. Let the world tremble at the might of Ronald McDonald. | I fucking hate you, Dad. I really do.
You could have managed your appetite instead of buying quadruple XL yellow jumpsuits, or even better, managed your empire instead of choking to death on ten McRibs. Nope. You left your crumbling empire into the hands of your fifteen-year-old son, who hadn’t even had his hair dyed flaming red yet.
The throne was one of the most uncomfortable seats I had sat on (Hell, I’ve been to all the franchise locations over the world). Made out of recycled paper boxes and food wrappings, it did not improve my mood at all as the screams in the courtyard continued. Not a day had gone by before my father’s cremation (Boy did he burn) and I found myself head of a revolting empire because of a dish the royal cooks had invented.
I rang the bell beside me for the servant, then twice more as he failed to show up. When the sorry fellow actually did, I was in the midst of reducing the bell to a lump of metal.
“Get over here!” I shouted at him since he was biting his lip at the entrance.
“My lord,” he said in a wavering voice. “How may I serve you?”
“Charles.” I said. “Think of something. We must save the empire at all costs, what else can we do to appease the people.”
After much deliberation, the man spoke up. “How about a popular dish, the McLean Deluxe?”
“No, you buffoon. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.” I sighed at his incompetence. Then an idea struck me, a brilliant notion tainted by the memories of the most depraved video that had been made in the early twentieth century.
I fidgeted in my seat, mulling things over. Surely after two centuries people had forgotten about that incident? The iron fist my grandfather placed in his reign should have silenced the heretics and all that.
“I have a solution, Charles.” I proclaimed. “We will reinstate a product had hasn’t been in production for two hundred years. Despite its horrible connotations in the past, people did enjoy the burger.”
“But sir,” The servant looked aghast as he realized what I was talking about. “Are you certain--?”
“-- That is not a suggestion.” I ordered, leaning forth to stare down the trembling Charles. “Bring out the McChicken.”
| |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | The daunting task facing the design team of two turns to rage and disgust.
"I can't believe that they really want us to do this, they are people John! This is mass murder!" yells Maria.
"I know, but there is no way out of this, you saw what they wrote... if it isn't us then they are going to take it into their own hands, and it is going to be so much worse" John says softly.
Maria's face boils will liquid rage, and it melts to despair.
"Yes, I know, but I don't know if I can do it... It says that we have to bring three newly created homeless smelters into being... and of course it gives us the responsibility of maintaining them...".
"Right... And since we replaced our government officials with robots who will enforce any law according to the book and will refuse to overturn anything, we have no way out of this...".
John and Maria sit in silence, Maria nervously chewing on her lip, she looks up at John and John meets them. A spark flew and lit a fire in Maria's eyes.
"John, I might have a solution...".
The meet with the robot overlords and tell them that they will begin working on the first smelter that night. The robots are at first skeptical, especially in regard to the time frame, but with enough convincing agree to the plans.
A year later, John and Maria later have a little girl named Jackie. They bring Jackie up as well as they can, and John sends her off to trade school. In the meantime, John and Maria have 2 more kids who they bring up in a similar manner.
On Jackie's 18th birthday, John and Maria look upon their their daughter with mixed eyes. Jackie stands knowingly, prideful yet disheartened.
"Honey, I know we've been over this over and over again, but I just want to make sure you understand why we are doing what we are doing, this is for the greater good".
"...You brought me up with a purpose I did not choose. You've trained me with a skill I did not want. I did not want this burden, but I now understand, I can't let such a silly mistake kill so many, and I take it upon myself to forge the better future".
A tear runs down John's cheek, "now get out of my house, I don't want to see you here ever again".
And with that, Jackie was homeless.
Jackie takes a few minutes to look around as she walks towards the dock some 20 minutes away. She spots building 21. A crew of robot reporters are on the scene, speaking in beeps and boops. They open the door, a gust of heat blowing through Jackie's hair.
She walks inside, the light from the furnace glistening off her face. She picks up a hammer off the shelf, examines it, and then grabs a slab a metal, placing it on the anvil. She smiles. Her smile glows. | "How did it come to this?" Cole muffled from underneath the a putrid stank. Specifically, that of his loony grandmother's katuckis. It was a mere week ago that he was making love to some hot broad he picked up off the Bennigan's. Little did Cole know, that broad was the typist for the NYC Court. And because he fucked her so hard, she had a hard time typing shelters.
So when they 3D printed these "smelters"—because this is the FUTURE. They can DO that—the stench from these wretched wenches was too much for men to handle.
Where basically all men were trampled upon by women with unshaved pubes yet delightful conversations about 70s soul rock.
"I should have gone with regular instead of ribbed." Said Cole, in his dying breath. | |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | His ruined shoes, embroidered with duct tape and caked dirt, scrape against the cracked sidewalk. Each step greeted with a tired sigh, condensing into a bleak frost that clings to an unkempt beard. He can feel the eyes of passersby burrowing through his frame. He's a nobody, he brought it upon himself, he might be dangerous.
He doesn't know what's worse: that people place such mistrust on him, or that they're right. He never did anything help anyone else, he never did anything to help himself, he never knows if his next meal will come at another's expense.
Pulling what once was surely supposed to be a coat tight around his form, he makes his way to what he hopes will be a warm meal, if he makes it in time. A new shelter opens today. Maybe it will offer the same low rate food that he's become accustomed too, maybe it will house the traditional, trademark staff of disgruntled teens earning community service hours for a diploma, and maybe no one could even care enough to spellcheck the sign. But he'll take whatever comes his way.
Stepping through the door, he is immediately embraced by an intense warmth. Eyes wide, he tries to take in the scene before him. Racks of hammers, pins, prongs. Furnaces paired with gleaming anvils, squares of ore glowing with heat, gradually molded into swords, tools, nails, carriage wheels, fixtures, and more. People, friends of his, people he had shared cold nights with under the overpass, were beaming with pride as they worked, finally given purpose.
It was the dumbest thing he had ever seen.
He went back to the overpass got drunk and eventually his liver stopped I guess. | "We've located someone else. Let's go."
Greg and I scrambled to get any gear we needed: tasers, 9mm pistol in case things got hairy, and various means of restraining: rope, flex cuffs, everything. The city had started building facilities to obliterate the homeless population by means of smelting them... rounding them up en masse and herding them to be killed in a horrible manner. The rumour was that it was started by a typo, but that spiraled out of control as the election loomed. The new mayor never changed the law or enforced the building of these smelters.
When the city started doing this, they sent out specialized teams of police officers to collect the homeless. These "cops" - more like shock troopers - arrested homeless people on fake or trumped-up charges, so that they'd have an excuse to put them into custody. So far, an estimated 1500 homeless people had been rounded up, with about half of them executed or on "death row".
That's when I formed the EHRT, or the Emergency Homeless Rescue Team. So far I'd recruited about 50 people on a volunteer basis, all of whom were able to provide cover and resources for the people we rescued. Since getting this rolling about 7 months ago, we'd managed to save about 500 homeless folks from the smelters.
One of our recon team had just spotted someone who was in danger of being arrested and rounded up. Greg and I were manning the post that day, so we were the ones mobilizing. Once we had everything we needed, we set out in the van. The situation wasn't far off, but we still had to be ready.
"Greg, radio the go team and tell them we're on our way to get a rescue," I tell him.
"You got it, Trish." Greg radios the team and gets confirmation a moment later. I park the van about a block away from the scene, and we get out, ready for anything.
Sure enough, there's police activity. A cruiser is blocking the street where the homeless person is hiding, a lone officer standing in front of the car. I look at Greg and he nods. He walks around the corner, in the police officer's direction, while I stay just around the corner awaiting his signal. I manage to hear the conversation:
"What's going on, Officer?"
"We've got a situation over there, investigating a possible criminal," said the officer. "Nothing serious, you can keep going."
"Oh? What's going on, a robbery?"
"Sir, you're going to have to move on--AAGUUHGHGHH"
I hear the officer's body hit the ground with a dull thud. I peek around the corner to see Greg standing over the officer, taser in hand. Greg nods at me and I come around the corner.
"He's over there, I can see him." said Greg, pointing ahead at an alleyway between buildings. "Is the go team here?"
"Another minute or so," I said. "Let's secure so we can get the fuck out fast. The Shock Troopers will be here soon."
Greg and I ran over to the alleyway where the homeless man was, still asleep under a dirty blue sleeping bag. He stirred as we approached.
"What the fuck... what's going on? Are you robbing me?" he said with a start.
"No. We're here to get you out. People are coming to take you to one of the smelters," I say reassuringly. "We're here to take you somewhere safe."
"Shock Troopers closing in," I hear Greg say behind me.
"We don't have a lot of time," I say to the man. "Will you come with us?" I hold a hand out, and he looks at it warily. Reluctantly, he takes my hand and I help him up. Just as we begin to leave the alley, I hear the crack of gunfire. The Shock Troopers have arrived, and the go team with them. Greg takes out his pistol and waves me forward. The shock troopers are dangerously close, but the go team is quicker, getting to our position and securing the man, taking him to their waiting van. I breathe a sigh of relief at knowing that one less person is going to die.
But Greg and I are still pinned. The only way out of the alley exposes us to the shock troops, so we clench our teeth and come out swinging. I throw a flash grenade at the advancing troops, who scatter before it detonates. The majority of them are stunned, and Greg and I use that moment to bolt, running full tilt toward the van. I hear another set of squealing tires; the go team has successfully extracted the target.
Greg tases one of the shock troopers that was blinded by the flash grenade, tossing him aside as he crumples to the ground. We get back to the van and gun it out of there.
A pregnant silence ensues between Greg and I as I drive back to base.
"You ok?"
"Yeah. I will be."
"Hey. We succeeded. I know you haven't been able to save everyone, but we're doing what we can, Trish. We're gonna fight this until the law gets changed and they get rid of those smelters."
Somehow I knew Greg was right on point. We would fight this to the end.
| |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | The civil official walks into the office and tells the secretary or clerk or whatever.
"Excuse me we have a typo here. It should be shelter not smelter could you fix this"
Secretary looks at the official and replies, "Fine."
She clickity clack away on the keyboard.
"There all fixed anything else"
"No that was all thank you"
The official walks out. The end. | "We've located someone else. Let's go."
Greg and I scrambled to get any gear we needed: tasers, 9mm pistol in case things got hairy, and various means of restraining: rope, flex cuffs, everything. The city had started building facilities to obliterate the homeless population by means of smelting them... rounding them up en masse and herding them to be killed in a horrible manner. The rumour was that it was started by a typo, but that spiraled out of control as the election loomed. The new mayor never changed the law or enforced the building of these smelters.
When the city started doing this, they sent out specialized teams of police officers to collect the homeless. These "cops" - more like shock troopers - arrested homeless people on fake or trumped-up charges, so that they'd have an excuse to put them into custody. So far, an estimated 1500 homeless people had been rounded up, with about half of them executed or on "death row".
That's when I formed the EHRT, or the Emergency Homeless Rescue Team. So far I'd recruited about 50 people on a volunteer basis, all of whom were able to provide cover and resources for the people we rescued. Since getting this rolling about 7 months ago, we'd managed to save about 500 homeless folks from the smelters.
One of our recon team had just spotted someone who was in danger of being arrested and rounded up. Greg and I were manning the post that day, so we were the ones mobilizing. Once we had everything we needed, we set out in the van. The situation wasn't far off, but we still had to be ready.
"Greg, radio the go team and tell them we're on our way to get a rescue," I tell him.
"You got it, Trish." Greg radios the team and gets confirmation a moment later. I park the van about a block away from the scene, and we get out, ready for anything.
Sure enough, there's police activity. A cruiser is blocking the street where the homeless person is hiding, a lone officer standing in front of the car. I look at Greg and he nods. He walks around the corner, in the police officer's direction, while I stay just around the corner awaiting his signal. I manage to hear the conversation:
"What's going on, Officer?"
"We've got a situation over there, investigating a possible criminal," said the officer. "Nothing serious, you can keep going."
"Oh? What's going on, a robbery?"
"Sir, you're going to have to move on--AAGUUHGHGHH"
I hear the officer's body hit the ground with a dull thud. I peek around the corner to see Greg standing over the officer, taser in hand. Greg nods at me and I come around the corner.
"He's over there, I can see him." said Greg, pointing ahead at an alleyway between buildings. "Is the go team here?"
"Another minute or so," I said. "Let's secure so we can get the fuck out fast. The Shock Troopers will be here soon."
Greg and I ran over to the alleyway where the homeless man was, still asleep under a dirty blue sleeping bag. He stirred as we approached.
"What the fuck... what's going on? Are you robbing me?" he said with a start.
"No. We're here to get you out. People are coming to take you to one of the smelters," I say reassuringly. "We're here to take you somewhere safe."
"Shock Troopers closing in," I hear Greg say behind me.
"We don't have a lot of time," I say to the man. "Will you come with us?" I hold a hand out, and he looks at it warily. Reluctantly, he takes my hand and I help him up. Just as we begin to leave the alley, I hear the crack of gunfire. The Shock Troopers have arrived, and the go team with them. Greg takes out his pistol and waves me forward. The shock troopers are dangerously close, but the go team is quicker, getting to our position and securing the man, taking him to their waiting van. I breathe a sigh of relief at knowing that one less person is going to die.
But Greg and I are still pinned. The only way out of the alley exposes us to the shock troops, so we clench our teeth and come out swinging. I throw a flash grenade at the advancing troops, who scatter before it detonates. The majority of them are stunned, and Greg and I use that moment to bolt, running full tilt toward the van. I hear another set of squealing tires; the go team has successfully extracted the target.
Greg tases one of the shock troopers that was blinded by the flash grenade, tossing him aside as he crumples to the ground. We get back to the van and gun it out of there.
A pregnant silence ensues between Greg and I as I drive back to base.
"You ok?"
"Yeah. I will be."
"Hey. We succeeded. I know you haven't been able to save everyone, but we're doing what we can, Trish. We're gonna fight this until the law gets changed and they get rid of those smelters."
Somehow I knew Greg was right on point. We would fight this to the end.
| |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | His ruined shoes, embroidered with duct tape and caked dirt, scrape against the cracked sidewalk. Each step greeted with a tired sigh, condensing into a bleak frost that clings to an unkempt beard. He can feel the eyes of passersby burrowing through his frame. He's a nobody, he brought it upon himself, he might be dangerous.
He doesn't know what's worse: that people place such mistrust on him, or that they're right. He never did anything help anyone else, he never did anything to help himself, he never knows if his next meal will come at another's expense.
Pulling what once was surely supposed to be a coat tight around his form, he makes his way to what he hopes will be a warm meal, if he makes it in time. A new shelter opens today. Maybe it will offer the same low rate food that he's become accustomed too, maybe it will house the traditional, trademark staff of disgruntled teens earning community service hours for a diploma, and maybe no one could even care enough to spellcheck the sign. But he'll take whatever comes his way.
Stepping through the door, he is immediately embraced by an intense warmth. Eyes wide, he tries to take in the scene before him. Racks of hammers, pins, prongs. Furnaces paired with gleaming anvils, squares of ore glowing with heat, gradually molded into swords, tools, nails, carriage wheels, fixtures, and more. People, friends of his, people he had shared cold nights with under the overpass, were beaming with pride as they worked, finally given purpose.
It was the dumbest thing he had ever seen.
He went back to the overpass got drunk and eventually his liver stopped I guess. | It was June 28th 5:40 at night when Alderman Woods flew through the door with a newspaper in his hand. The city council meeting was about to start and Jeff looked like a meth head on a bender. "What the fuck is this!" Jeff Bellowed. The mayor turned around and looked at the raving lunatic. "A piece of paper ya jackass." "No, the story on this paper... how we are going to produce 10 new homeless smelters, you know what the fuck this means don't you?" Jeff hands the paper to the mayor, and watches as the mayor reads the article. "Well..." Jeff inquires, "What the fuck are we going to do about this"... the mayor looks a the floor in disbelief. "your right, holy shit. We are suppose to be building 60 smelters." "Right!, do you know how long it will take to dispose of 4000 homeless with only 10 smelters."
*sorry not a very good writer, just felt like giving it a try. | |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | A small crowd gathered around the facade of the new building. The steel plating of the walls stared at them, little bolts jutting from the joints, glints of sunlight highlighting the bald heads of the men dressed in smart suits.
The door opened unceremoniously, revealing a grinning figure with a yellow safety helmet perched on his head. The helmet seemed to meld perfectly to him, as if it had never moved or been moved in the past 34 years or so.
"Greetings all. Im Robert Scottsby, and welcome to the town's first ever homeless smelter."
A small, abrupt applause lived and died from the palms of the now sweaty suited men.
"Come inside and I'll show you around this cutting edge technology of city development. Truly, no other solution to the homelessness issue has been more refined, or more elegant for that matter."
A large, plexiglass panel stoid before the small group of men, now standing on tiptoes, trying to get a glance.
A large conveyor belt loomed over an oversized hopper, with curious dry stains on the edges of the contraption
"As you can see, those that we round up are searched and stripped of unwanted narcotics or dangerous itemsand ferried into the opening of the smelter."
As the words flowed from Robert's mouth, the conveyor belt roared to life, going at a much faster rate than it seemed to operate at before.
Two skinny figures sat cross-legged on the conveyor, swiftly shuttled towards the hopper.
"The materials go into the top-"
The two figures fell into the great steel beast
"-and our technology begins its magic-"
Some heavy rumbling visibly shook the structure, with odd, unexplainable noises jumping out of the cracks and seams that the machine owned.
"-and BEHOLD!"
A siren sounded, and a large cylinder shifted into view. It looked much like an antiquated boiler, with a large padded rim that sat on the floor.
The cylinder slowly raised itself- a smooth, single action without hitch or fumble. The unwavering gaze of the men were slowly moved to firmly attached stares.
Underneath the cylinder stood a well-groomed youth, complete with formal clothing and a confident demeanour.
"The workforce will never have to worry again, gentlemen, as our smelter will be able to provide you with any type of employee you require. However, training will have to be provided by your company, as we do not offer that feature."
The small group clapped, a bit louder and longer this time, and the youth clapped with them, nodding in apparent agreement. | I picked up a newspaper from the pavement, and my eyes caught the headline. Horrified, I went on to read the piece.
>THE END OF THE HOMELESSNESS DISEASE
Our Supremem Leader Jim has ordered that homelessness be excised. Homelessness is a disease, He said, in a televised interview, that was watched by everyone. Our Supreme Leader ordered that 10, 000 Homeless Smelters be built immediately for the glory of our nation. The order came yesterday, on a document signed by the Supreme Leader himself. The new smelters are now being built, and will be opened tomorrow. All homeless people are required to submit themselves to the authorities immediately. It is high time we end this disease!
Fuck. I am homeless. | |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | "The homeless are one of the most valuable resources we have," Said the presidential candidate, flashing a too white smile at the camera, and sharing a knowing nod to the audience, "With the homeless, we can provide jobs! We can improve our infrastructure! The homeless are strong, and we have to use that advantage."
And the homeless had been a problem lately- there were new drugs on the streets, synthesized drugs, that seemed to change the composition of their actual bodies. That seemed to make them better able to withstand the elements, all while weathering their minds away. That seemed to make their very skin thicker, and their bones harder, and their eyes more hollow.
I'd all agreed with the candidate, at the time- when we thought we understood what he said. Sure, with the homeless we could start infrastructure projects, or utilize their labor for the good of society. He was right, they were strong.
But that wasn't what the candidate meant. He meant they were strong, literally.
And by the time he was elected, it was too late.
Smelters went up in every major city, the black smoke spewing into the air with each cremated body. With our new jobs, we shoveled away their ashes, adding them into our steel melts. And from the new synthesized drugs, the homeless remains had taken on powerful properties, making the steel far more tough than before. In fact, with homeless ash added, steel was twice as strong. And as the homeless population fell, so did the price of steel based homes.
I remember watching it all happen three years ago. Seeing them disappear off the streets, and hearing the whispers. Knowing that something was wrong but not realizing what exactly until too late. I was only a garbage man after all, it's not like I could do anything. And to deal with the guilt, I'd started drinking more. And tried some new drugs, ones that helped me forget how I had cast my vote in the first place.
But now, there's only one year left until reelection. And as I turn on the news, I smile, because the candidate is back on screen, and he's complimenting me as he speaks from his podium.
"The blue collar workers are one of he most valuable resources we have," He said, flashing his smile, "Blue collar workers, especially garbageman, are strong- and we have to use that advantage!"
***
For more stories by Leo, sign up for his [mailing list](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/4slt25/to_be_notified_when_i_publish_more_novels_or_have/?)
| I picked up a newspaper from the pavement, and my eyes caught the headline. Horrified, I went on to read the piece.
>THE END OF THE HOMELESSNESS DISEASE
Our Supremem Leader Jim has ordered that homelessness be excised. Homelessness is a disease, He said, in a televised interview, that was watched by everyone. Our Supreme Leader ordered that 10, 000 Homeless Smelters be built immediately for the glory of our nation. The order came yesterday, on a document signed by the Supreme Leader himself. The new smelters are now being built, and will be opened tomorrow. All homeless people are required to submit themselves to the authorities immediately. It is high time we end this disease!
Fuck. I am homeless. | |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | Every day at 5, Bob sits on the steps outside my building and waits for me to get off work. No matter the weather, he's always there, with an orange or a banana to share with me. He's like a dog; he'll probably continue to come long after I'm fired, setting up camp in the adjoining alley when I fail to show. It's not like he has anywhere else to go.
As we walk to my car, he asks me how work was. Through bites of orange, I grunt a non-response. There's nothing to tell him: half of it, he wouldn't understand; the other half, he'd be better off not knowing. He's an abomination. An epidemic. A human right's violation. And it's all my fault.
Bob opens the door to my car and slips into the passenger's seat. He doesn't even ask anymore; he assumes my goodwill is infinite. Like his. We pull into Main, and they're swarming the street, infiltrating the rush hour traffic jams to offer their flowers, their pretzels, and in many cases, empty cans. "Spare us?" they ask, like conscious zombies, and I slide down in my seat to avoid looking at them. Some of them recognize Bob, and he gladly redistributes change from his own tin into theirs.
The highway is quiet. Bob does all the talking because I don't want to. Big Larry was hired today. Edge was arrested for drug possession. Mary's still missing. "Your department make any headway?" he asks, and I lie and say we haven't seen her, but we're working on it. I can't look at him. I want to cut his tongue out so he stops talking. I want to bathe him in smoke and urine and feed him cocktails of drugs and cut his face into pieces so he's no longer Bob, but just another one of them. He laughs, deep and throaty, as I unconsciously grip the steering wheel. "Relax," he says, "it's only life."
Only life, I agree to myself, only life I created and life I destroy. Devon from engineering says they're not actually life; they're just replicants. They have no souls. It doesn't matter if they feel or suffer or die: the objective is just to get them back in the box. He told me that again today, and I lost it. I flung my clipboard to the ground and screamed in his face that he was wrong. I wanted to rip those horn-rimmed glasses from his grimy face and show him what lay beyond his screens and his dials and his gadgets.
"Lacey, get a grip," he said, smacking the table, "think about the people. The actual people who are losing jobs to these things. We can't shelter everyone. We have to choose who matters, and these *things* don't matter. They're drains on society who should never have come into existence."
But Bob mattered. He gave me an orange or a banana each day and talked to me on the commute from home. He was an actual person, more than I felt I was on most days. Certainly more than I'd feel after today.
"Where are we going?" he asks as we pass my apartment. I tell him I have to run an errand, and of course, he complies with a nod. He has nowhere else to go.
"There's something bothering you," he says, and I realize from his glance that my knuckles are whitening around the steering wheel once again. "Go on. Tell Bob what's on your mind."
We're past the city limits now, far beyond the point of no return. "I messed up," I tell him. "I made a horrible mistake."
"Mistakes are lessons learned."
"Yes, Bob, I know. Everyone says that." He doesn't even flinch at my terseness, and I feel even guiltier. But he's wrong: there's no lesson to be learned from this. Some mistakes are just twists of fate, so isolated to circumstance that they can't be replicated. One involuntary twist of the finger, one mispressed key, was all it took. I can promise over and over to never make the same mistake again, but it's beyond my control to actually stay true to my word.
Devon and the rest of the city council agreed. So they assigned me penance: they told me to undo my mistakes myself, one at a time.
We arrive at the junkyard. "I'm going to need some help carrying this stuff," I say. Bob cracks his knuckles and swings his arms at his sides as he emerges from the car. He follows me blindly, his hand on my shoulder, making sure I don't stumble on any of the piles of junk or detritus.
Around the edge of the yard, there's a pile of junk waist high, short enough for me to peer over, but high enough to conceal something in the center. "Grab that for me, will you?" I point and step aside, and Bob cranes his neck over the pile.
"Grab what?" Bob says, but there's nothing there, and I plunge the knife in his back. He whirls around, and for a moment, I'm scared he'll retaliate in his last few moments of consciousness. But he doesn't: he just stands there, shock and hurt in his eyes. As he sinks to the ground, he calls my name over and over, refusing to believe I'm not just an impostor. His face strikes the ground, and his eyes shut.
I drag his body to the incinerator. From fire he was made, and to fire he shall return. At least, I tell myself, it might give his death some meaning. And Mary's death. And everyone else's. It offers me no comfort, though, and I have to look away as his body vanishes in the heat. | I picked up a newspaper from the pavement, and my eyes caught the headline. Horrified, I went on to read the piece.
>THE END OF THE HOMELESSNESS DISEASE
Our Supremem Leader Jim has ordered that homelessness be excised. Homelessness is a disease, He said, in a televised interview, that was watched by everyone. Our Supreme Leader ordered that 10, 000 Homeless Smelters be built immediately for the glory of our nation. The order came yesterday, on a document signed by the Supreme Leader himself. The new smelters are now being built, and will be opened tomorrow. All homeless people are required to submit themselves to the authorities immediately. It is high time we end this disease!
Fuck. I am homeless. | |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters. | Every day at 5, Bob sits on the steps outside my building and waits for me to get off work. No matter the weather, he's always there, with an orange or a banana to share with me. He's like a dog; he'll probably continue to come long after I'm fired, setting up camp in the adjoining alley when I fail to show. It's not like he has anywhere else to go.
As we walk to my car, he asks me how work was. Through bites of orange, I grunt a non-response. There's nothing to tell him: half of it, he wouldn't understand; the other half, he'd be better off not knowing. He's an abomination. An epidemic. A human right's violation. And it's all my fault.
Bob opens the door to my car and slips into the passenger's seat. He doesn't even ask anymore; he assumes my goodwill is infinite. Like his. We pull into Main, and they're swarming the street, infiltrating the rush hour traffic jams to offer their flowers, their pretzels, and in many cases, empty cans. "Spare us?" they ask, like conscious zombies, and I slide down in my seat to avoid looking at them. Some of them recognize Bob, and he gladly redistributes change from his own tin into theirs.
The highway is quiet. Bob does all the talking because I don't want to. Big Larry was hired today. Edge was arrested for drug possession. Mary's still missing. "Your department make any headway?" he asks, and I lie and say we haven't seen her, but we're working on it. I can't look at him. I want to cut his tongue out so he stops talking. I want to bathe him in smoke and urine and feed him cocktails of drugs and cut his face into pieces so he's no longer Bob, but just another one of them. He laughs, deep and throaty, as I unconsciously grip the steering wheel. "Relax," he says, "it's only life."
Only life, I agree to myself, only life I created and life I destroy. Devon from engineering says they're not actually life; they're just replicants. They have no souls. It doesn't matter if they feel or suffer or die: the objective is just to get them back in the box. He told me that again today, and I lost it. I flung my clipboard to the ground and screamed in his face that he was wrong. I wanted to rip those horn-rimmed glasses from his grimy face and show him what lay beyond his screens and his dials and his gadgets.
"Lacey, get a grip," he said, smacking the table, "think about the people. The actual people who are losing jobs to these things. We can't shelter everyone. We have to choose who matters, and these *things* don't matter. They're drains on society who should never have come into existence."
But Bob mattered. He gave me an orange or a banana each day and talked to me on the commute from home. He was an actual person, more than I felt I was on most days. Certainly more than I'd feel after today.
"Where are we going?" he asks as we pass my apartment. I tell him I have to run an errand, and of course, he complies with a nod. He has nowhere else to go.
"There's something bothering you," he says, and I realize from his glance that my knuckles are whitening around the steering wheel once again. "Go on. Tell Bob what's on your mind."
We're past the city limits now, far beyond the point of no return. "I messed up," I tell him. "I made a horrible mistake."
"Mistakes are lessons learned."
"Yes, Bob, I know. Everyone says that." He doesn't even flinch at my terseness, and I feel even guiltier. But he's wrong: there's no lesson to be learned from this. Some mistakes are just twists of fate, so isolated to circumstance that they can't be replicated. One involuntary twist of the finger, one mispressed key, was all it took. I can promise over and over to never make the same mistake again, but it's beyond my control to actually stay true to my word.
Devon and the rest of the city council agreed. So they assigned me penance: they told me to undo my mistakes myself, one at a time.
We arrive at the junkyard. "I'm going to need some help carrying this stuff," I say. Bob cracks his knuckles and swings his arms at his sides as he emerges from the car. He follows me blindly, his hand on my shoulder, making sure I don't stumble on any of the piles of junk or detritus.
Around the edge of the yard, there's a pile of junk waist high, short enough for me to peer over, but high enough to conceal something in the center. "Grab that for me, will you?" I point and step aside, and Bob cranes his neck over the pile.
"Grab what?" Bob says, but there's nothing there, and I plunge the knife in his back. He whirls around, and for a moment, I'm scared he'll retaliate in his last few moments of consciousness. But he doesn't: he just stands there, shock and hurt in his eyes. As he sinks to the ground, he calls my name over and over, refusing to believe I'm not just an impostor. His face strikes the ground, and his eyes shut.
I drag his body to the incinerator. From fire he was made, and to fire he shall return. At least, I tell myself, it might give his death some meaning. And Mary's death. And everyone else's. It offers me no comfort, though, and I have to look away as his body vanishes in the heat. | "What on Earth.."
"They sent us these designs. They sent it."
"I know, but why?"
The construction supervisor looked at the site drawings and pursed his lips.
"Best get on with it."
____________
"We're supposed to design *what*?"
"You read the letter, Jim. And that came straight from the mayor's office. Like not even the city planner's office. Like straight from the big boss. They want designs for this ASAP."
"Look, Bill. There clearly has to be a mistake."
"I mean, the world is going to shits. Frankly, I guess in the back of my mind, I kind of anticipated this."
"Jesus Christ, Bill."
"Yeah, but we best.. We best get to work on some designs. And send it to the construction crew."
______________
"We should do something. It's election season soon, and I plan to stay."
"What do you mean to do, mayor?"
"What haven't we done before?"
"Uh, we can build a new library."
"No, Tim. Think bigger."
"A museum?"
"Umm, no."
"Homeless shelter? We don't have those around."
"Fucking brilliant. Do a write up and send it to everyone. And make sure to give one to the design department first."
"What about the city planner?"
"Fuck him."
_______________
*Months later*
*Mayor's office*
"Shit, Tim. I got so wasted last night. Cancel all the appointments till noon."
"Ma'am."
"Lock the door. Fuck I'm horny. Lock the door and fuck me, Tim."
"Uhh, the homeless shelters. They're opening today."
"The-what the fuck are you talking about?"
"Remember that idea you had months ago?"
"I don't remember shit, Tim."
"Well, they are opening today and you're going to be there to make a speech."
"Really? I don't remember something like that."
"Yeah it was under the rugs for a while now. Not sure why. But yeah, we drafted it up and the construction is over."
"How many shelters?"
"8."
"Jesus Christ. Who funded them?"
"Our office. And the city planner's office."
"Fuck. Jack's involved? Ugh, way to ruin the mood, Tim. I just got the female equivalent of flaccid."
"Which is why you need to be there. I have a feeling something shady happened."
"Uggggghhhhhhhhhhhh. Where and when?
"City hall. Noon. I'll have a car pick you up. Get some rest."
________________________
"Hey, Jack. How the fuck did you pull this off?"
"The mayor is a dumb bitch."
"Whoa okay there."
"They wanted to go ahead and do this without me. These kinda projects is what we live for, but she had to fucking.. not run it by me just because am her ex."
"Well you got your revenge didn't you?"
"Oh, yes. The idiot secretary Tim made one spelling error. And I told everyone it wasn't an error. That the mayor was serious and we had to keep it a secret till opening day."
"And its opening day."
_______________
*City hall, noon*
"Good afternoon, citizens of Daleville! We kept this project under wraps for far too long! It's been an honour serving this community. But this community has seldom included a minority group to our society. No I'm not talking about race or religion. I'm talking about the people who live in this city, not in homes, but in the streets. I'm not one for long speeches, so I'll just say this: no longer shall the homeless people be shunned. For we have built not four or five, but eight homeless smelt- I mean.. shelters. Across the city. I, uhh. Umm. Any questions?"
| |
[WP] Dragons are real, they were never myths nor were they ever extinct. Write about dragons in a time period other than the typical medieval/fantasy (i.e Future, Modern, Victorian, Roman etc.). | The night was quiet. The only noise I could hear was the click clack of the horses' hoofs and the creaking of the wagon wheels as we traveled down the road. I looked up at the sky and watched the stars sparkle. I laid in the wagon, fully trusting the driver to take me to my destination. I hadn't seen the stars like this in such a long time.
I had been working long nights back in the city. At the request of one of my higher-ups, it was suggested I take a vacation. They were concerned about burnout, and losing a valuable employee.
I pulled out my cell phone out of habit to see if I had any emails from work. Before I left the city, I was expecting an email about a large merger I was working on. Even though my boss said he would take care of it, I thought just checking in wouldn't hurt anything. I paused, and quietly slipped the phone back into my pocket. "Maybe I have been too focused on work lately."
We pulled into a sleepy little village in the countryside. It looked like something out of a fantasy picture book I would have read as a child. I took the small bag of belongings, gave some money to the driver.
The driver tipped his hat to me. "Listen, this village is known to be a place of rest for weary souls. You look like you could use it. That building over there is the inn, the bottom floor is also a pub." The building he was pointing to had a small sign out front. From what I could make out, there was a rooster engraved into the sign, along with the words 'Chick-Inn for Rest and Relaxation.' Where the hell was I?
The driver gave a small wave and started to ride back into the countryside. I watched the light of the driver's lantern get smaller and smaller and decided to head on into the inn.
There was only one other customer inside the pub, and he was nursing a drink over in the corner. The place itself was lit by candles, which gave the pub a somewhat menacing ambiance. I ordered a drink, and sat a table, trying to figure out what it really meant to take a vacation.
I began to wonder about work again, and without thinking unlocked the screen of my phone. As the light of the phone lit my face, I heard an inhuman screech from outside.
"Are you trying to kill us?!" The man who was nursing his drink in the corner leaped to my side. "Turn that damn thing off!"
"What are you talking about? And what was that noise just now?"
"Turn it off! Just turn it off now!"
My fingers fumbled with the power button, but I was able to manage to power the phone off. "Would you mind explaining why you went berserk?"
The man stood in silence for a bit, and then looked over at me. "I think we got that damn thing turned off in time. Listen, lad, while you are here, you don't turn that thing back on, understood?"
I looked at him with a blank expression. "No... No, I don't understand."
He took a seat, his eyes were reflecting the light of the candle at my table. He had a long gray beard. His face had the appearance of worn leather. This was a man who had seen some things in his lifetime. "Listen, lad, you have heard of the lost city of Atlantis, right?"
"The legend? Sure I have. What does that have to do with anything, though?"
"Let me ask you this lad. What do you think happened to that city?"
"Well...The old texts and legends say it sank into the sea."
"Aye, lad. Some legends say it is because the gods didn't want the civilization to become any more enlightened than what they were, but I will tell you the truth of the matter. Dragons..."
"Excuse me, old timer? Did you just say dragons?"
He looked at me with a cold gaze. The reflection of the candles made his eyes seem like they were on fire. "That's right, dragons. They are the masters of this world. They saw humans were rising into power. The spearhead of that power was Atlantis. They saw the technology of that lost city as a threat, and sank it into the ocean in the span of 24 hours."
I looked at him blankly. "So where are they now? Aren't we further along now than what Atlantis was?"
He broke his eye contact with me to look at the flame of the candle. "No... we are close, but Atlantis was the pinnacle of humankind. It's destruction set us back by a couple of millennia... The dragons, they don't attack unless they feel threatend, but they are getting restless again. I believe they will be attacking soon. The bloodiest war is approaching, and it won't be human vs human."
"... who are you old timer?"
He brought his gaze back up to me. His eyes were different, though. It almost appeared like they were no longer reflecting the candle light, but generating light of their own. "I'm the messenger. The harbinger of destruction. Now that you have received my warning... what will you do with it... human?" | **The Right to Flight**
****
Civilization had convinced itself that it had tamed them; that the beasts had gone the way of cattle and succumbed to domestication. It accepted the claim that the bit and the bridle was enough, as it had been for the bucking plains bronco, to break the spirit and bow the head. There were some things that were never meant to be controlled. Alternatives had to be discovered.
Most had never even seen one. It was true that they were not myth, but in reality, the common man had at best only ever encountered one through the many articles and illustrated scientific journals peddled in the heart of the city or through the extremely rare cursory sightings of one flying overhead. It was either through exceptional luck or profound misfortune that one might find himself at arms length of one of these creatures and yet those who had, either known or unknown to them, had been inducted into a special group. While the ignorant masses either shied away from the topic or took up an unhealthy interest in the affairs of such beasts; this group had become privy to a terrible secret. The truth that they could not be trusted; for when you look into the eyes of a dragon, you instantly understand that you control nothing.
There were two men who understood this truth better than most.
****
The crowd roared as the two men exited the carriage flanked by columns of armed escorts. The wrought iron fencing surrounding the courtyard undulated against the collective weight of the mass of people. Rigid fists pumped between the bars and insults flooded the space around the men as the doughboys pressed back, subduing revelers with rifle butts and warnings.
The two looked at the great beasts among the screaming din of people and a wave of uncertainty washed over them. They wondered if the dragons understood what they were trying to accomplish would they burn through this fence and end it? They also wondered if the people knew the truth about the beasts, would they so fervently defend them?
"You're invading their habitat!" One of the protesters screamed.
"We all know what you're doing!" Another yelled and hurled a canister of red paint splattering several of the guards and peppering the two men, "you'll hunt them. Hunt them to extinction!"
"Get back," a doughboy smacked the protesters hand with the end of his rifle. The man yelped, recoiling broken fingers, "they have the right to be here just like you."
"Dragon's rights!" another threw up a fist and echoing started throughout the crowd.
"Stupid scalers," another doughboy prodded at the front line with his bayonet.
The two men approached the courthouse steps. Wiping the paint from their clothes they glanced back at the crowd.
"Did you ever think it'd come to this," the first man said.
"No," the other sighed and dabbed up a red spot on his lapel, "and this is just the beginning. Wait until they've actually heard that we've done it."
"We'll have to keep the site secret," the first said, brushing a fallen piece of hair back under his cap.
"Even if the judge doesn't agree," the second said, "Kitty Hawk won't be the last time."
"Excuse me," a voice came from behind them. An aid had cracked the door, "Mr. Orville and Wilbur Wright. The judge will see you now."
****
Enjoy the story? Subscribe to r/MrGoodread | |
[WP] Dragons are real, they were never myths nor were they ever extinct. Write about dragons in a time period other than the typical medieval/fantasy (i.e Future, Modern, Victorian, Roman etc.). | There was nothing, and then there was fire. That's what I remember. At least, that's what I *say* I remember.
We've been running out of gold for a while. Valued since ancient times, we started using gold as a consumable resource in the 20th century in our electronics and our machines, and we've exponentially accelerated our usage since. We're running out, and that has dire implications for Earth, not to mention those poor bastards on the colonies. We're going to need more gold sooner rather than later, or they'll be stuck without supply missions for a very, very long time.
When efforts to mine the asteroids for any residual gold failed, we turned our eyes inward. "Deeper," they said. "We must go deeper." So the International Mining Consortium was founded. Money and manpower was poured into it. Research initiatives pressed ahead. It get *hot* down there, and trying to have people and robots mining when the temperatures soar past 400 degrees Celsius? That's a pretty hefty problem to solve.
Ten years ago, the North American mine went 22 kilometers down. We were still within the earth's crust, but the gold wasn't there in quantities to justify the expense. "Go deeper still," they commanded. And so we did. Five years after that, temperatures were well north of 750 degrees.
Last year, we were less than a kilometer from the bottom of the crust, and our sensors indicated *something* - gold, maybe? - at the transition. We kept digging. The suits we wore were impossibly bulky, designed to protect us from temperatures approaching 1000 degrees Celsius. Most of our work was done by specialized robots, controlled from our mobile unit, which we kept at a relatively manageable 45 degrees.
Six weeks ago - or was it seven? - the robots broke through to a chasm. They sent back images and data that sent cheers through the entire consortium. Gold. A lake of it. More than we could have imagined. But then the signals stopped suddenly. We had no idea why.
So, of course, we sent more robots, all of which promptly disappeared, and suddenly the mine was blocked. Eventually, we decided to move our mobile unit closer; maybe a signal was getting cut off. We needed more information.
As we got closer to the closure, the ability of the unit to keep us cool hit its limit. The temperatures were north of 55 degrees and still climbing, but we were ordered to get answers. We all put on our suits just to have air to breathe. We were finally close enough to see the closure. It didn't make sense. It didn't look like anything we'd seen.
Then the floor caved in, and we plummeted into the darkness. We fell forever, and when we crashed, well... I don't know. But when I woke up in the darkness, the suit said I was the only one left alive. I struggled out of the wreckage, the lights on my suit flickering.
And then I was out. I saw the golden lake, flames erupting from it as waves of molten metal lapped at my feet. I saw a tidy pile of robots, broken, smashes, and scorched. Then everything was fire.
That's the story I told. I don't know how I was saved. I don't know how long I was out - a day? a week? - but I woke up in a hospital, surrounded by a thousand suspicious questions. I answered the best I could.
But I couldn't figure out how to tell them that I also saw, in front of me, an eye - and that a voice, impossibly loud, seemingly in my own skull, said *"it is mine"*. | **The Right to Flight**
****
Civilization had convinced itself that it had tamed them; that the beasts had gone the way of cattle and succumbed to domestication. It accepted the claim that the bit and the bridle was enough, as it had been for the bucking plains bronco, to break the spirit and bow the head. There were some things that were never meant to be controlled. Alternatives had to be discovered.
Most had never even seen one. It was true that they were not myth, but in reality, the common man had at best only ever encountered one through the many articles and illustrated scientific journals peddled in the heart of the city or through the extremely rare cursory sightings of one flying overhead. It was either through exceptional luck or profound misfortune that one might find himself at arms length of one of these creatures and yet those who had, either known or unknown to them, had been inducted into a special group. While the ignorant masses either shied away from the topic or took up an unhealthy interest in the affairs of such beasts; this group had become privy to a terrible secret. The truth that they could not be trusted; for when you look into the eyes of a dragon, you instantly understand that you control nothing.
There were two men who understood this truth better than most.
****
The crowd roared as the two men exited the carriage flanked by columns of armed escorts. The wrought iron fencing surrounding the courtyard undulated against the collective weight of the mass of people. Rigid fists pumped between the bars and insults flooded the space around the men as the doughboys pressed back, subduing revelers with rifle butts and warnings.
The two looked at the great beasts among the screaming din of people and a wave of uncertainty washed over them. They wondered if the dragons understood what they were trying to accomplish would they burn through this fence and end it? They also wondered if the people knew the truth about the beasts, would they so fervently defend them?
"You're invading their habitat!" One of the protesters screamed.
"We all know what you're doing!" Another yelled and hurled a canister of red paint splattering several of the guards and peppering the two men, "you'll hunt them. Hunt them to extinction!"
"Get back," a doughboy smacked the protesters hand with the end of his rifle. The man yelped, recoiling broken fingers, "they have the right to be here just like you."
"Dragon's rights!" another threw up a fist and echoing started throughout the crowd.
"Stupid scalers," another doughboy prodded at the front line with his bayonet.
The two men approached the courthouse steps. Wiping the paint from their clothes they glanced back at the crowd.
"Did you ever think it'd come to this," the first man said.
"No," the other sighed and dabbed up a red spot on his lapel, "and this is just the beginning. Wait until they've actually heard that we've done it."
"We'll have to keep the site secret," the first said, brushing a fallen piece of hair back under his cap.
"Even if the judge doesn't agree," the second said, "Kitty Hawk won't be the last time."
"Excuse me," a voice came from behind them. An aid had cracked the door, "Mr. Orville and Wilbur Wright. The judge will see you now."
****
Enjoy the story? Subscribe to r/MrGoodread | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | The building outside my window was burning, but that wasn't my problem, I had papers to file.
The power to control the four elements really made the job *so* much more easier and bearable. Seriously, like the air conditioning was never on but I had my own personal fan, I never actually had to touch papers to file them, I could simply blow them into where they needed to be. I didn't have to wait for the line to microwave my food, and I never had to get up to fetch coffee, though that one time I had gotten some on Mr. Marcone's suit. That had been embarrassing. But it was a good life, I made good money as secretary to the CEO of Monoc Securities.
"Lisa, you have to do something!"
I looked up from my papers to see Janine standing across from me, hands on her hips. Her pale blue eyes were wide with fear but as someone who knew her, I could tell she was angry by the way her jaws were clenched. I stood up to meet her gaze but was still a head shorter than her.
"No, I do not," I answered coolly, "I am sure the authorities will handle it, it is not my responsibility."
Janine sputtered, and tossed her long blond hair angrily, "what do you mean it's not your responsibility, you're a damn human being! You know what humans do? They help other humans!"
"Whether or not I am human is questionable at best Janine, and anyways I won't do anything. Whenever I use my powers in any big way someone gets hurt, someone always gets hurt."
Janine's voice softened, "Lisa what happened to you? You used to love your powers - "
"I still do," I replied hotly.
"No, not as a parlor trick, but as a force to do good. Remember when you saved Josh from that rock climbing accident, when you saved *me* in.." she visibly shuddered, "in that alley?"
Angered coursed through me at that particular memory, but I suppressed my emotions. "You don't understand Janine," I turned away, no longer able to look her in the eyes, "I...I can use my power a bit here and there, when it's not dangerous when it doesn't do anything substantive, but..."
"This is about that night 5 years ago isn't it?"
I froze. "Wh-what? What night 5 years ago?"
"Oh shut up Lisa, you're a terrible liar. You think I couldn't connect the dots? Three corpses burned beyond recognition, it was on the news you know, no apparent source of the fire, the blank look in your eyes the next day?"
Memories I had tried very very hard to protect surged through my brain again. What they had been doing to that girl, she had barely been 13. And the *anger* I remembered the anger I felt...and I had lost control. I had struck out with force I had never before. I had *killed.* But the most haunting part are the eyes of the girl I had saved, they held no gratitude, no respect, but fear, fear and disgust.
"NO!" I practically screamed, and the computer next to me burst into flames. Janine tried to hide it, but she flinched. My friend since I had been able to walk, was afraid of me, afraid of what I would do. I sat back down in my chair and turned away, not wanting Janine to see me crying, and she would definitely run away from me too, just as the girl had on that night.
But Janine rested her hand on shoulders, her fingers soft. "Lisa, listen, I get it. I get that having your abilities makes it easy for you to do some serious damage, not only to others, but yourself too. I know that you might doubt yourself, that you might not trust yourself. But I do.
I turned to look at her. "You do?" I asked in shaking voice.
Janine smiled, "Of course I do. I have known you for years Lisa, I know any decision you make will not harm anyone on purpose, I know you have good intentions. And after all, what more can we hope to have?"
I looked into her eyes, and she squeezed my shoulder. I nodded. I couldn't hide from my powers, the duty that came with them any longer.
I stood up, wiping away my tears, and faced my responsibility.
***
(Author's note)
Sorry if I strayed from the original intention of the prompt a bit; this story is a bit darker than what I usually do. On a lighter note, kudos to anyone who got the references to a rather popular book series set in Chicago.
Feedback Appreciated | Janet Yellen giggled. Williamson, you sly old dog.
She flicked forward again, AD seemed to be strong in 2018. 2019 - stable.
Yup, the right decision.
She'd have to persuade the rest of the Board but a rate hike seemed like a safe bet.
Business cycle regulated, she went back to browsing. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | "Anything you're worried about?" Polly looked up from her notepad at the new client on the couch.
"No," Janice said, fidgeting with her purse and glancing at the clock. "I - this goes until 5, right?" *I've got to be home to make dinner. My kids will be worried if I don't.*
"Right." Polly gave her a bright smile. "Wouldn't want to keep your kids waiting! How are they doing?"
"They're great," Janice said, sitting up slightly. "Max has nineties in all his classes, and Mary's been looking at colleges."
Polly hummed as she wrote that down. "What colleges?"
"Oh, just a few close by." Janice began to rattle off college names that all sounded vaguely similar. *I wish she'd pick a community college. I don't know how I'm going to pay for it.*
"Are you worried about financial aid at all?"
Janice blinked, startled, then frowned. "No. I told you, there's nothing worrying me." *Just fifteen more minutes, and then I can go.*
"Well, if you don't mind me asking, why do you think you're here?"
Janice was silent for a moment. "My… my friend recommended you." *She thinks I'm crazy. I'm not!*
"For?"
"I don't know," Janice muttered, tapping her fingers. *She said I was losing it.*
"Has your behavior changed in any way in the last few months? Any troubling issues?"
"No, nothing." *How many times did I knock? It was three, right?*
Polly blinked at the sudden thought. "Hm," she said aloud, pretending to write something as she listened closely.
*What is she writing? I didn't say anything, did I? This is going terribly, I'm going to kill Rachel for this - maybe it was four? No, it can't have been four! I counted!*
"Have you noticed any compulsions lately?" Polly asked, looking up from her notes.
Janice's eyes went wide. "W-what?" *How does she know?*
*Jackpot,* Polly thought. "You know, any obsessive thoughts. Perhaps a need to check things multiple times, or count how many times you do something - that sort of thing."
"No," Janice said, her voice squeaky. "No, no - I mean, I - it's five, I've got to go!" *I have to get out of here!*
Polly glanced at her watch - it was only four fifty-three, but she decided not to say anything. "Well, that's a shame," she said. "Thanks for stopping by - we can pick this up again at your next appointment."
"Mhmm." Janice gave a wobbly smile, clutching her purse with a grip of steel.
Polly steered her towards the door. "You can pick an appointment time with my receptionist Marcy before you leave, if you'd like! My schedule's rather flexible, so I'm sure we can work something out."
"Sounds great," Janice said. "Thank you."
Polly watched Janice nearly run down the hall, only to get stopped by the receptionist. *Thank God for you, Marcy,* she thought, watching the other woman encourage Janice into booking another appointment.
*Just doing my job,* Marcy thought. *You could try being less obvious about things, Pol. You're gonna get us both busted.*
*Whatever.* Polly smiled down the hall, and saw Marcy smile back. *Send the next person in.* | Janet Yellen giggled. Williamson, you sly old dog.
She flicked forward again, AD seemed to be strong in 2018. 2019 - stable.
Yup, the right decision.
She'd have to persuade the rest of the Board but a rate hike seemed like a safe bet.
Business cycle regulated, she went back to browsing. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | I walked to the door of the house with my clipboard and pen ready. I knock on the door.
"Good morning madam, are you by any chance interested in buying one of these magnificent vacuums?"
"Sorry sir, not today, have a good day."
As she was closing the door I shoved my foot in it.
"But wait ma'am let me show you how well it works!"
"Sir, not today!"
"All right, but just listen."
I raised my hand and after a couple of seconds. After a while she was having difficulties standing upright. She was wobbling all over the place.
"Go get your wallet." I commanded.
The woman stood there for a moment and then started stumbling to the stairs. It took a while but I knew she came back when I heard her falling down the stairs. After standing up she walked to me with her wallet in her hands.
"Give me your credit card number."
The woman started to recite the sixteen digit code one her credit card. I scribbled the number on my clipboard. I proceeded to ask her the security number. The mumbled the last few numbers.
"All right ma'am, you'll see your new vacuum in about three weeks."
I closed the door and then I heard a thud. She'll be fine. I walked away from the porch and onto the next house. Time for sale number 18. | Janet Yellen giggled. Williamson, you sly old dog.
She flicked forward again, AD seemed to be strong in 2018. 2019 - stable.
Yup, the right decision.
She'd have to persuade the rest of the Board but a rate hike seemed like a safe bet.
Business cycle regulated, she went back to browsing. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | It's been five years since I learned that my parents were superheros. I suppose I should be elated, I had discovered that I was a "someone" in a world of heros' and villians I was someone who could make their mark on the world really felt. I had discovered my powers by accident, I had the ability to alter the memories of those around me. I suppose I should be elated, I could literally make someone believe anything I told them, but the power just seems to be too much for one person. I've long felt that such power shouldn't belong in the hands of mortals, that these "super powered people" should be exiled and regular humans shouldn't be subjected to their idiocy in this supposed good vs evil fight.
But I digress, I have been one of them for the last five years and for five years I have made a solid effort to ensure every mortal who gets close to me forgets who I am. Everywhere I go I emit a sort of "forgetful aura" to make those who see me immediately forget my existence. It has allowed me a lot of freedom, although I still make sure every debt and every bill is paid.
I chose my calling in life long before I found out I had powers, I am a detective. I've made it my mission in life to ensure that those who are lost become found and those who have done wrong are brought to justice. My powers simply make this so much easier. Three weeks ago I had accepted a contract to locate a missing teenager, known to have run away several times previous. I had tracked them to a remote town, it appeared they were travelling with someone else - potentially under duress.
I knocked on the door of a small inn, the receptionist had been kind enough to tell me that the person I was tracking had rented this room for the week.
"Room Service" I said with my voice slightly raised. I never did like talking to doors.
"We didn't order anything" came a male voice. My suspicions were confirmed, as I was tracking a young lady.
"I've got a receipt with your room number on it buddy, come and get it" I replied trying to make myself sound as disgruntled as possible.
"Alright alright" said the man inside.
I pulled my extendable baton out of his holster and flicked it with just enough force that it would extend outward. As the door began to open, I pushed my shoulder into the door to force it completely open and used the baton to hit the first knee I could reach.
"Giv... YEOOOWWWW" came a female voice, obviously not the man I had been talking to.
"Oops" I said as I noticed a figure climbing out of a window on the other side of the room.
I looked down at the girl who I had just knocked to the ground. Her knee obviously aching quite badly as she rubbed it and swore at me. "Go home, your parents miss you" I tried to impress upon her the urgency of the request in my voice.
"No, they don't - They never pay any attention to me" came the response, full of malice.
"Go. Home. Now." I said, placing as much emphasis on each word as I could.
"Why?" came the typical reply
"Because as soon as I find the idiot that just bailed out the window, he won't be breathing much longer" I said, without waiting for a response I got up and began the hunt. This is why I liked the anonymity my ability gave me, idiots with ideas above their station like this genius could be dealt with and it would be attributed to a killer they could never find. Even if they put some super powered idiot to the task, they couldn't see what was never there... | Janet Yellen giggled. Williamson, you sly old dog.
She flicked forward again, AD seemed to be strong in 2018. 2019 - stable.
Yup, the right decision.
She'd have to persuade the rest of the Board but a rate hike seemed like a safe bet.
Business cycle regulated, she went back to browsing. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | The building outside my window was burning, but that wasn't my problem, I had papers to file.
The power to control the four elements really made the job *so* much more easier and bearable. Seriously, like the air conditioning was never on but I had my own personal fan, I never actually had to touch papers to file them, I could simply blow them into where they needed to be. I didn't have to wait for the line to microwave my food, and I never had to get up to fetch coffee, though that one time I had gotten some on Mr. Marcone's suit. That had been embarrassing. But it was a good life, I made good money as secretary to the CEO of Monoc Securities.
"Lisa, you have to do something!"
I looked up from my papers to see Janine standing across from me, hands on her hips. Her pale blue eyes were wide with fear but as someone who knew her, I could tell she was angry by the way her jaws were clenched. I stood up to meet her gaze but was still a head shorter than her.
"No, I do not," I answered coolly, "I am sure the authorities will handle it, it is not my responsibility."
Janine sputtered, and tossed her long blond hair angrily, "what do you mean it's not your responsibility, you're a damn human being! You know what humans do? They help other humans!"
"Whether or not I am human is questionable at best Janine, and anyways I won't do anything. Whenever I use my powers in any big way someone gets hurt, someone always gets hurt."
Janine's voice softened, "Lisa what happened to you? You used to love your powers - "
"I still do," I replied hotly.
"No, not as a parlor trick, but as a force to do good. Remember when you saved Josh from that rock climbing accident, when you saved *me* in.." she visibly shuddered, "in that alley?"
Angered coursed through me at that particular memory, but I suppressed my emotions. "You don't understand Janine," I turned away, no longer able to look her in the eyes, "I...I can use my power a bit here and there, when it's not dangerous when it doesn't do anything substantive, but..."
"This is about that night 5 years ago isn't it?"
I froze. "Wh-what? What night 5 years ago?"
"Oh shut up Lisa, you're a terrible liar. You think I couldn't connect the dots? Three corpses burned beyond recognition, it was on the news you know, no apparent source of the fire, the blank look in your eyes the next day?"
Memories I had tried very very hard to protect surged through my brain again. What they had been doing to that girl, she had barely been 13. And the *anger* I remembered the anger I felt...and I had lost control. I had struck out with force I had never before. I had *killed.* But the most haunting part are the eyes of the girl I had saved, they held no gratitude, no respect, but fear, fear and disgust.
"NO!" I practically screamed, and the computer next to me burst into flames. Janine tried to hide it, but she flinched. My friend since I had been able to walk, was afraid of me, afraid of what I would do. I sat back down in my chair and turned away, not wanting Janine to see me crying, and she would definitely run away from me too, just as the girl had on that night.
But Janine rested her hand on shoulders, her fingers soft. "Lisa, listen, I get it. I get that having your abilities makes it easy for you to do some serious damage, not only to others, but yourself too. I know that you might doubt yourself, that you might not trust yourself. But I do.
I turned to look at her. "You do?" I asked in shaking voice.
Janine smiled, "Of course I do. I have known you for years Lisa, I know any decision you make will not harm anyone on purpose, I know you have good intentions. And after all, what more can we hope to have?"
I looked into her eyes, and she squeezed my shoulder. I nodded. I couldn't hide from my powers, the duty that came with them any longer.
I stood up, wiping away my tears, and faced my responsibility.
***
(Author's note)
Sorry if I strayed from the original intention of the prompt a bit; this story is a bit darker than what I usually do. On a lighter note, kudos to anyone who got the references to a rather popular book series set in Chicago.
Feedback Appreciated | People avoid those words.
They imply a genre of fiction. They mean that it is likely we are of that genre, and the reason we don't have a Captain America or Superman figure being the Adonis-esque handsome figure with Herculean themes and Arthurian ideals made PC for modern times sensibilities is because we're not a particularly *good* superhero setting.
And that's a bit scary to think about, to imagine that your universe is possibly an edgy indie 90s comic about men who can explode leaving only ash and people have powers that nobody outright says is a metaphor for firearms.
Most of our fiction ignores people with unusual abilities. They're rare enough, and low key enough, that they typically only pop up in wars.
The initial reports of The Oil Baron, a moustached man who could transform into a flammable humanoid goo of fuel soon turned into reports of 'insurgents with unusual abilities'.
It's easy to forget, sometimes, that we live in a world where there is a person with Superman's powerset, but he's a Irish terrorist who occasionally attacks English cities.
There's a lady who can transform into a dragon. A red one. From Wales. She eats people whenever her blood pressure goes high enough to trigger the transformation.
A lot of people have shitty powers too.
There's a punk band I quite like whose lead singer can partially mind control people she touches, and only when she touches them, with no lingering effect beyond a sense of being drunk.
There's a Scouser porn star who has tentacle tits. Very popular online, her dream has been to be a Page 3 girl for years, but papers like the Star and the Daily Sun keep saying it's somehow more hardcore pornography than a typical glamour shot.
People largely just get by. Their powers are just another talent, usually on par with spinning plates or singing.
Britain's Got Talent got really bloody good once superpowers were allowed.
But that's not what you're here for. You're here to see the world's only telekinetic.
Well... Hi. Welcome to my comic book and movie rental shop. I can guarantee that these works have been untouched by me. The comics are more mint than anywhere else, even the covers are untouched by human hands since manufacture.
We struggled when superheroes started appearing, but when people realised that it's hard to buy tights and fight crime while keeping your job, people seek us out for hope and ideas.
Rarely any normals though. You got a power, kid?
Think yourself a *hero*, or a *villain*?
There's no such thing.
Just pick your comic from the tablet there and get out.
You sicken me. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | "Anything you're worried about?" Polly looked up from her notepad at the new client on the couch.
"No," Janice said, fidgeting with her purse and glancing at the clock. "I - this goes until 5, right?" *I've got to be home to make dinner. My kids will be worried if I don't.*
"Right." Polly gave her a bright smile. "Wouldn't want to keep your kids waiting! How are they doing?"
"They're great," Janice said, sitting up slightly. "Max has nineties in all his classes, and Mary's been looking at colleges."
Polly hummed as she wrote that down. "What colleges?"
"Oh, just a few close by." Janice began to rattle off college names that all sounded vaguely similar. *I wish she'd pick a community college. I don't know how I'm going to pay for it.*
"Are you worried about financial aid at all?"
Janice blinked, startled, then frowned. "No. I told you, there's nothing worrying me." *Just fifteen more minutes, and then I can go.*
"Well, if you don't mind me asking, why do you think you're here?"
Janice was silent for a moment. "My… my friend recommended you." *She thinks I'm crazy. I'm not!*
"For?"
"I don't know," Janice muttered, tapping her fingers. *She said I was losing it.*
"Has your behavior changed in any way in the last few months? Any troubling issues?"
"No, nothing." *How many times did I knock? It was three, right?*
Polly blinked at the sudden thought. "Hm," she said aloud, pretending to write something as she listened closely.
*What is she writing? I didn't say anything, did I? This is going terribly, I'm going to kill Rachel for this - maybe it was four? No, it can't have been four! I counted!*
"Have you noticed any compulsions lately?" Polly asked, looking up from her notes.
Janice's eyes went wide. "W-what?" *How does she know?*
*Jackpot,* Polly thought. "You know, any obsessive thoughts. Perhaps a need to check things multiple times, or count how many times you do something - that sort of thing."
"No," Janice said, her voice squeaky. "No, no - I mean, I - it's five, I've got to go!" *I have to get out of here!*
Polly glanced at her watch - it was only four fifty-three, but she decided not to say anything. "Well, that's a shame," she said. "Thanks for stopping by - we can pick this up again at your next appointment."
"Mhmm." Janice gave a wobbly smile, clutching her purse with a grip of steel.
Polly steered her towards the door. "You can pick an appointment time with my receptionist Marcy before you leave, if you'd like! My schedule's rather flexible, so I'm sure we can work something out."
"Sounds great," Janice said. "Thank you."
Polly watched Janice nearly run down the hall, only to get stopped by the receptionist. *Thank God for you, Marcy,* she thought, watching the other woman encourage Janice into booking another appointment.
*Just doing my job,* Marcy thought. *You could try being less obvious about things, Pol. You're gonna get us both busted.*
*Whatever.* Polly smiled down the hall, and saw Marcy smile back. *Send the next person in.* | People avoid those words.
They imply a genre of fiction. They mean that it is likely we are of that genre, and the reason we don't have a Captain America or Superman figure being the Adonis-esque handsome figure with Herculean themes and Arthurian ideals made PC for modern times sensibilities is because we're not a particularly *good* superhero setting.
And that's a bit scary to think about, to imagine that your universe is possibly an edgy indie 90s comic about men who can explode leaving only ash and people have powers that nobody outright says is a metaphor for firearms.
Most of our fiction ignores people with unusual abilities. They're rare enough, and low key enough, that they typically only pop up in wars.
The initial reports of The Oil Baron, a moustached man who could transform into a flammable humanoid goo of fuel soon turned into reports of 'insurgents with unusual abilities'.
It's easy to forget, sometimes, that we live in a world where there is a person with Superman's powerset, but he's a Irish terrorist who occasionally attacks English cities.
There's a lady who can transform into a dragon. A red one. From Wales. She eats people whenever her blood pressure goes high enough to trigger the transformation.
A lot of people have shitty powers too.
There's a punk band I quite like whose lead singer can partially mind control people she touches, and only when she touches them, with no lingering effect beyond a sense of being drunk.
There's a Scouser porn star who has tentacle tits. Very popular online, her dream has been to be a Page 3 girl for years, but papers like the Star and the Daily Sun keep saying it's somehow more hardcore pornography than a typical glamour shot.
People largely just get by. Their powers are just another talent, usually on par with spinning plates or singing.
Britain's Got Talent got really bloody good once superpowers were allowed.
But that's not what you're here for. You're here to see the world's only telekinetic.
Well... Hi. Welcome to my comic book and movie rental shop. I can guarantee that these works have been untouched by me. The comics are more mint than anywhere else, even the covers are untouched by human hands since manufacture.
We struggled when superheroes started appearing, but when people realised that it's hard to buy tights and fight crime while keeping your job, people seek us out for hope and ideas.
Rarely any normals though. You got a power, kid?
Think yourself a *hero*, or a *villain*?
There's no such thing.
Just pick your comic from the tablet there and get out.
You sicken me. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | I walked to the door of the house with my clipboard and pen ready. I knock on the door.
"Good morning madam, are you by any chance interested in buying one of these magnificent vacuums?"
"Sorry sir, not today, have a good day."
As she was closing the door I shoved my foot in it.
"But wait ma'am let me show you how well it works!"
"Sir, not today!"
"All right, but just listen."
I raised my hand and after a couple of seconds. After a while she was having difficulties standing upright. She was wobbling all over the place.
"Go get your wallet." I commanded.
The woman stood there for a moment and then started stumbling to the stairs. It took a while but I knew she came back when I heard her falling down the stairs. After standing up she walked to me with her wallet in her hands.
"Give me your credit card number."
The woman started to recite the sixteen digit code one her credit card. I scribbled the number on my clipboard. I proceeded to ask her the security number. The mumbled the last few numbers.
"All right ma'am, you'll see your new vacuum in about three weeks."
I closed the door and then I heard a thud. She'll be fine. I walked away from the porch and onto the next house. Time for sale number 18. | People avoid those words.
They imply a genre of fiction. They mean that it is likely we are of that genre, and the reason we don't have a Captain America or Superman figure being the Adonis-esque handsome figure with Herculean themes and Arthurian ideals made PC for modern times sensibilities is because we're not a particularly *good* superhero setting.
And that's a bit scary to think about, to imagine that your universe is possibly an edgy indie 90s comic about men who can explode leaving only ash and people have powers that nobody outright says is a metaphor for firearms.
Most of our fiction ignores people with unusual abilities. They're rare enough, and low key enough, that they typically only pop up in wars.
The initial reports of The Oil Baron, a moustached man who could transform into a flammable humanoid goo of fuel soon turned into reports of 'insurgents with unusual abilities'.
It's easy to forget, sometimes, that we live in a world where there is a person with Superman's powerset, but he's a Irish terrorist who occasionally attacks English cities.
There's a lady who can transform into a dragon. A red one. From Wales. She eats people whenever her blood pressure goes high enough to trigger the transformation.
A lot of people have shitty powers too.
There's a punk band I quite like whose lead singer can partially mind control people she touches, and only when she touches them, with no lingering effect beyond a sense of being drunk.
There's a Scouser porn star who has tentacle tits. Very popular online, her dream has been to be a Page 3 girl for years, but papers like the Star and the Daily Sun keep saying it's somehow more hardcore pornography than a typical glamour shot.
People largely just get by. Their powers are just another talent, usually on par with spinning plates or singing.
Britain's Got Talent got really bloody good once superpowers were allowed.
But that's not what you're here for. You're here to see the world's only telekinetic.
Well... Hi. Welcome to my comic book and movie rental shop. I can guarantee that these works have been untouched by me. The comics are more mint than anywhere else, even the covers are untouched by human hands since manufacture.
We struggled when superheroes started appearing, but when people realised that it's hard to buy tights and fight crime while keeping your job, people seek us out for hope and ideas.
Rarely any normals though. You got a power, kid?
Think yourself a *hero*, or a *villain*?
There's no such thing.
Just pick your comic from the tablet there and get out.
You sicken me. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | It's been five years since I learned that my parents were superheros. I suppose I should be elated, I had discovered that I was a "someone" in a world of heros' and villians I was someone who could make their mark on the world really felt. I had discovered my powers by accident, I had the ability to alter the memories of those around me. I suppose I should be elated, I could literally make someone believe anything I told them, but the power just seems to be too much for one person. I've long felt that such power shouldn't belong in the hands of mortals, that these "super powered people" should be exiled and regular humans shouldn't be subjected to their idiocy in this supposed good vs evil fight.
But I digress, I have been one of them for the last five years and for five years I have made a solid effort to ensure every mortal who gets close to me forgets who I am. Everywhere I go I emit a sort of "forgetful aura" to make those who see me immediately forget my existence. It has allowed me a lot of freedom, although I still make sure every debt and every bill is paid.
I chose my calling in life long before I found out I had powers, I am a detective. I've made it my mission in life to ensure that those who are lost become found and those who have done wrong are brought to justice. My powers simply make this so much easier. Three weeks ago I had accepted a contract to locate a missing teenager, known to have run away several times previous. I had tracked them to a remote town, it appeared they were travelling with someone else - potentially under duress.
I knocked on the door of a small inn, the receptionist had been kind enough to tell me that the person I was tracking had rented this room for the week.
"Room Service" I said with my voice slightly raised. I never did like talking to doors.
"We didn't order anything" came a male voice. My suspicions were confirmed, as I was tracking a young lady.
"I've got a receipt with your room number on it buddy, come and get it" I replied trying to make myself sound as disgruntled as possible.
"Alright alright" said the man inside.
I pulled my extendable baton out of his holster and flicked it with just enough force that it would extend outward. As the door began to open, I pushed my shoulder into the door to force it completely open and used the baton to hit the first knee I could reach.
"Giv... YEOOOWWWW" came a female voice, obviously not the man I had been talking to.
"Oops" I said as I noticed a figure climbing out of a window on the other side of the room.
I looked down at the girl who I had just knocked to the ground. Her knee obviously aching quite badly as she rubbed it and swore at me. "Go home, your parents miss you" I tried to impress upon her the urgency of the request in my voice.
"No, they don't - They never pay any attention to me" came the response, full of malice.
"Go. Home. Now." I said, placing as much emphasis on each word as I could.
"Why?" came the typical reply
"Because as soon as I find the idiot that just bailed out the window, he won't be breathing much longer" I said, without waiting for a response I got up and began the hunt. This is why I liked the anonymity my ability gave me, idiots with ideas above their station like this genius could be dealt with and it would be attributed to a killer they could never find. Even if they put some super powered idiot to the task, they couldn't see what was never there... | People avoid those words.
They imply a genre of fiction. They mean that it is likely we are of that genre, and the reason we don't have a Captain America or Superman figure being the Adonis-esque handsome figure with Herculean themes and Arthurian ideals made PC for modern times sensibilities is because we're not a particularly *good* superhero setting.
And that's a bit scary to think about, to imagine that your universe is possibly an edgy indie 90s comic about men who can explode leaving only ash and people have powers that nobody outright says is a metaphor for firearms.
Most of our fiction ignores people with unusual abilities. They're rare enough, and low key enough, that they typically only pop up in wars.
The initial reports of The Oil Baron, a moustached man who could transform into a flammable humanoid goo of fuel soon turned into reports of 'insurgents with unusual abilities'.
It's easy to forget, sometimes, that we live in a world where there is a person with Superman's powerset, but he's a Irish terrorist who occasionally attacks English cities.
There's a lady who can transform into a dragon. A red one. From Wales. She eats people whenever her blood pressure goes high enough to trigger the transformation.
A lot of people have shitty powers too.
There's a punk band I quite like whose lead singer can partially mind control people she touches, and only when she touches them, with no lingering effect beyond a sense of being drunk.
There's a Scouser porn star who has tentacle tits. Very popular online, her dream has been to be a Page 3 girl for years, but papers like the Star and the Daily Sun keep saying it's somehow more hardcore pornography than a typical glamour shot.
People largely just get by. Their powers are just another talent, usually on par with spinning plates or singing.
Britain's Got Talent got really bloody good once superpowers were allowed.
But that's not what you're here for. You're here to see the world's only telekinetic.
Well... Hi. Welcome to my comic book and movie rental shop. I can guarantee that these works have been untouched by me. The comics are more mint than anywhere else, even the covers are untouched by human hands since manufacture.
We struggled when superheroes started appearing, but when people realised that it's hard to buy tights and fight crime while keeping your job, people seek us out for hope and ideas.
Rarely any normals though. You got a power, kid?
Think yourself a *hero*, or a *villain*?
There's no such thing.
Just pick your comic from the tablet there and get out.
You sicken me. | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | I walked to the door of the house with my clipboard and pen ready. I knock on the door.
"Good morning madam, are you by any chance interested in buying one of these magnificent vacuums?"
"Sorry sir, not today, have a good day."
As she was closing the door I shoved my foot in it.
"But wait ma'am let me show you how well it works!"
"Sir, not today!"
"All right, but just listen."
I raised my hand and after a couple of seconds. After a while she was having difficulties standing upright. She was wobbling all over the place.
"Go get your wallet." I commanded.
The woman stood there for a moment and then started stumbling to the stairs. It took a while but I knew she came back when I heard her falling down the stairs. After standing up she walked to me with her wallet in her hands.
"Give me your credit card number."
The woman started to recite the sixteen digit code one her credit card. I scribbled the number on my clipboard. I proceeded to ask her the security number. The mumbled the last few numbers.
"All right ma'am, you'll see your new vacuum in about three weeks."
I closed the door and then I heard a thud. She'll be fine. I walked away from the porch and onto the next house. Time for sale number 18. | The building outside my window was burning, but that wasn't my problem, I had papers to file.
The power to control the four elements really made the job *so* much more easier and bearable. Seriously, like the air conditioning was never on but I had my own personal fan, I never actually had to touch papers to file them, I could simply blow them into where they needed to be. I didn't have to wait for the line to microwave my food, and I never had to get up to fetch coffee, though that one time I had gotten some on Mr. Marcone's suit. That had been embarrassing. But it was a good life, I made good money as secretary to the CEO of Monoc Securities.
"Lisa, you have to do something!"
I looked up from my papers to see Janine standing across from me, hands on her hips. Her pale blue eyes were wide with fear but as someone who knew her, I could tell she was angry by the way her jaws were clenched. I stood up to meet her gaze but was still a head shorter than her.
"No, I do not," I answered coolly, "I am sure the authorities will handle it, it is not my responsibility."
Janine sputtered, and tossed her long blond hair angrily, "what do you mean it's not your responsibility, you're a damn human being! You know what humans do? They help other humans!"
"Whether or not I am human is questionable at best Janine, and anyways I won't do anything. Whenever I use my powers in any big way someone gets hurt, someone always gets hurt."
Janine's voice softened, "Lisa what happened to you? You used to love your powers - "
"I still do," I replied hotly.
"No, not as a parlor trick, but as a force to do good. Remember when you saved Josh from that rock climbing accident, when you saved *me* in.." she visibly shuddered, "in that alley?"
Angered coursed through me at that particular memory, but I suppressed my emotions. "You don't understand Janine," I turned away, no longer able to look her in the eyes, "I...I can use my power a bit here and there, when it's not dangerous when it doesn't do anything substantive, but..."
"This is about that night 5 years ago isn't it?"
I froze. "Wh-what? What night 5 years ago?"
"Oh shut up Lisa, you're a terrible liar. You think I couldn't connect the dots? Three corpses burned beyond recognition, it was on the news you know, no apparent source of the fire, the blank look in your eyes the next day?"
Memories I had tried very very hard to protect surged through my brain again. What they had been doing to that girl, she had barely been 13. And the *anger* I remembered the anger I felt...and I had lost control. I had struck out with force I had never before. I had *killed.* But the most haunting part are the eyes of the girl I had saved, they held no gratitude, no respect, but fear, fear and disgust.
"NO!" I practically screamed, and the computer next to me burst into flames. Janine tried to hide it, but she flinched. My friend since I had been able to walk, was afraid of me, afraid of what I would do. I sat back down in my chair and turned away, not wanting Janine to see me crying, and she would definitely run away from me too, just as the girl had on that night.
But Janine rested her hand on shoulders, her fingers soft. "Lisa, listen, I get it. I get that having your abilities makes it easy for you to do some serious damage, not only to others, but yourself too. I know that you might doubt yourself, that you might not trust yourself. But I do.
I turned to look at her. "You do?" I asked in shaking voice.
Janine smiled, "Of course I do. I have known you for years Lisa, I know any decision you make will not harm anyone on purpose, I know you have good intentions. And after all, what more can we hope to have?"
I looked into her eyes, and she squeezed my shoulder. I nodded. I couldn't hide from my powers, the duty that came with them any longer.
I stood up, wiping away my tears, and faced my responsibility.
***
(Author's note)
Sorry if I strayed from the original intention of the prompt a bit; this story is a bit darker than what I usually do. On a lighter note, kudos to anyone who got the references to a rather popular book series set in Chicago.
Feedback Appreciated | |
[WP] You have superpowers but you decide not to be a hero or a villain, instead you use your powers to be really good at your mundane job. | It's been five years since I learned that my parents were superheros. I suppose I should be elated, I had discovered that I was a "someone" in a world of heros' and villians I was someone who could make their mark on the world really felt. I had discovered my powers by accident, I had the ability to alter the memories of those around me. I suppose I should be elated, I could literally make someone believe anything I told them, but the power just seems to be too much for one person. I've long felt that such power shouldn't belong in the hands of mortals, that these "super powered people" should be exiled and regular humans shouldn't be subjected to their idiocy in this supposed good vs evil fight.
But I digress, I have been one of them for the last five years and for five years I have made a solid effort to ensure every mortal who gets close to me forgets who I am. Everywhere I go I emit a sort of "forgetful aura" to make those who see me immediately forget my existence. It has allowed me a lot of freedom, although I still make sure every debt and every bill is paid.
I chose my calling in life long before I found out I had powers, I am a detective. I've made it my mission in life to ensure that those who are lost become found and those who have done wrong are brought to justice. My powers simply make this so much easier. Three weeks ago I had accepted a contract to locate a missing teenager, known to have run away several times previous. I had tracked them to a remote town, it appeared they were travelling with someone else - potentially under duress.
I knocked on the door of a small inn, the receptionist had been kind enough to tell me that the person I was tracking had rented this room for the week.
"Room Service" I said with my voice slightly raised. I never did like talking to doors.
"We didn't order anything" came a male voice. My suspicions were confirmed, as I was tracking a young lady.
"I've got a receipt with your room number on it buddy, come and get it" I replied trying to make myself sound as disgruntled as possible.
"Alright alright" said the man inside.
I pulled my extendable baton out of his holster and flicked it with just enough force that it would extend outward. As the door began to open, I pushed my shoulder into the door to force it completely open and used the baton to hit the first knee I could reach.
"Giv... YEOOOWWWW" came a female voice, obviously not the man I had been talking to.
"Oops" I said as I noticed a figure climbing out of a window on the other side of the room.
I looked down at the girl who I had just knocked to the ground. Her knee obviously aching quite badly as she rubbed it and swore at me. "Go home, your parents miss you" I tried to impress upon her the urgency of the request in my voice.
"No, they don't - They never pay any attention to me" came the response, full of malice.
"Go. Home. Now." I said, placing as much emphasis on each word as I could.
"Why?" came the typical reply
"Because as soon as I find the idiot that just bailed out the window, he won't be breathing much longer" I said, without waiting for a response I got up and began the hunt. This is why I liked the anonymity my ability gave me, idiots with ideas above their station like this genius could be dealt with and it would be attributed to a killer they could never find. Even if they put some super powered idiot to the task, they couldn't see what was never there... | Strayed a bit from the prompt, sorry OP.
Freezing time. Possibly the most clichè power anyone could get. Well, lucky me, I just happened to snag this ability a few years back. Was it even years? Months? I could no longer tell. Hours passed for me in mere seconds for others. If I wanted, days could become weeks, weeks could become months, and so on. Not that this matters anymore.
When I first discovered that I could basically stop time, I was with a few friends workig on an Indie Game titled 'StarQuest.' It wasn't anything special, just 'n average space RPG. A storm was rolling in, and boy was it nasty. Again, going offtopic. Lightning had just struck on the road directly outside of the small building. But this lightning wasn't a quick flash, no, it was a blinding light that, at the time, seemed to last forever. Nothing moved. Not a sound could be heard. The air felt empty, the rain stopped in its descent, as if awaiting orders to continue its drop to the ground. Panic began to set it. 'What's going on? Have I died-- Oh god! My poor dog!' went throuh my mind numerous times and I began to worry immensely. Then, in the blink of an eye, everythign was back to normal. John drinking coffee as he types, Henry asleep on his $10 second-hand 'Gaming' chair. I remember muttering something, but the words I spoke seem to be lost in the countless memories I have. It was most likely a swear word of some kind. I rember John looking up at me with a confused look, before quickly going back to tapping away at the keyboard.
Five months had passed since I discovered this 'power', if it even deserved to be called that. I overused it. Not for good, nor for bad. Just simply to make life, and work easier. I had just walked into the office, and John looked at me with a face of frustration, confusion and aggression. He stood up quickly with a stern posture, and spoke with a fierce voice.
"The fuck are you?"
"What..? John, it's m-"
He progressed a few steps forward, now only a metre away from me.
"Get outta here before I call the damn police!"
I took a step back, confused and insulted.
"John, it's me!," I'd say, only to notice my reflection in the mirror behind the man stood in front of me. I looked like an old man, a damn 70 year old. Then it hit me. My heart sank, and my shoulders dropped. My mind rushed to conclusions, a million thoughts popping in and out of my head every second. I began to panic, as, yet again, time slowed. The computer placed on the desk's 'ON' light stopped blinking, and the cars outside all halted. I finally realised why my friends began to distance themselves from me. Why my girlfriend of 5 years left me. Why I was accused of stealing my own ID Card. I aged fasted when I slowed down time, and I got used to using it so frequently that I used it everday, in quite large amounts. In the space of five months, I went from a 25 year old to a 70 year old. I quickly rushed to try and resume time, but it didn't work. I tried again, this time closing my eyes and conctrating on the thought of time moving in its usual river like way.
Nothing.
I screamed, with no sound being carried through the air. Dead silence.
I paced towards the wall, then hit it in anger and frustration as I let out another scream in an attempt to resume time, with no prevail.
It's been five seconds for John since I slowed time.
I'm now 97, I think. Time doesn't really make sense to me anymore. I gave up 5 of 'my' years ago. I was weak, tired and hopeless. As I thought I was about to take my final breathe, I could've sworn I saw movement. Then everything faded to black.
This is my first ever response to a prompt, and I typed it on my phone at 11 PM, so it's probably not my best work and there's bound to be a few typos. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. | |
[WP] You've been kidnapped by aliens. After days of invasive experiments, you've almost given up hope, when your cell opens and Adolf Hitler tosses you a blaster and says "Ve have to go NOW!" | The cold, hard floor...the darkness of the cell...but most of all, the absence of the mechanical buzzing from the machines in the operation and the cryptic chattering of the aliens that had been experimenting was a blessing.
My body throbbed in pain as the paralytics the aliens had injected into me began to wear off. The sedatives still in my system caused the room to spin whenever I looked around the cell. All I wanted to do right now was sleep before they would come for me again.
I curled up on the floor into a fetal position and wrapped a bizarre metallic sheet, that one of the guards had given me when I began coming to, around me. As I began to doze off, I heard a strange popping sound followed by a thud sound in the distance, but was too tired to think anything of it. We were in the middle of space after all.
After a few minutes, the popping sound became more distinct. It didn't sound like a machine or anything mechanical, but like some sort of weapon. The sound came closer and closer to my cell. Eventually, I heard the guards in front of my door began screaming at each other before I heard the sound again followed by two thuds outside my door.
I still laid in the fetal position on the floor and wrapped the sheet tighter around me preferring to pretend to be asleep in case the thing on the other side of the door came into the room.
"Ist someone in zher?" a voice said on the other side of the door.
Were the aliens playing a trick on me to see if I would make a break for it? Was this another test to see how I would react? I didn't know and continued to lay there until I heard the door to my cell open.
I glanced over towards the figure in the doorway and was surprised to see a man. Not just any man, but Adolf Hitler. My mind raced at a million miles an hour as I stared at him trying to make sense of the situation. As he walked over to me, I sat up rubbing my eyes hoping it was just the drugs still in my system and could only think to say:
"Uh, I don't mean to be rude, but aren't you Adolf Hitler?"
He looked at me for a second seemingly surprised that I recognized him. He shoved a blaster into my hands and hoisted me up onto my feet before replying.
"Ja. Ich bin Adolf Hitler. I've been their prisoner for nearly a century. Ve need to get to an escape pod now. Zer vill be more of them soon enough."
He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the hallway where I nearly stumbled over the bodies of the dead alien guards.
"How could you have possibly been up here for 90 years? You started World War II and committed suicide in 1945 in a bunker. The whole world hates you."
He paused for a moment, looking like I was making a false accusation, and pointed at one the dead guards and said something that completely shocked me.
"These beings abducted when I was still broke artist in Vienna and replaced me with one of their doubles. I have never been nor had any interest in being a politician let alone a monster."
For some reason, I accepted his response and just nodded. Maybe it was because I was still loopy from the drugs or it was because he was obviously my only ticket out of there. I don't know accept that a moment later an alien ran around the corner and was thankful when Hitler blasted the alien in the face.
We didn't talk after that and spent the rest of the time blasting aliens away as we made our way to the bay where the escape pod were kept. When we got to the pods, there was only one pod left.
"Get in sie pod. I'll give you cover while it launches."
"But Hitler. How are you going to get back to Earth?"
"Why would I? You said sie vorld hates me. Plus everyone I knew there is long dead anyways."
He was right. The world would hate him. Even if he somehow managed to start a new life anonymously, the internet would somehow find a picture of him somewhere and make countless Hitler memes at his expense. His life would be hell.
"Where will you go Hitler?"
"Nowhere. I'm going to blow up the ship as a clear message not to fuck with us humans. Consider it self-redemption."
I frowned as the door to the pod began to shut. Through the tiny window of the pod, I watched Hitler blast away a wave of aliens as they came into the bay. Before I knew it, the pod shot into space at an enormous speed. I could still see the flickering of the blasters from the bay, before a bigger red ball of fire erupted from a corner of the ship. Within a matter of seconds the eruption engulfed the entire ship. Shortly after the eruption, a giant blastwave emitted from it.
I crossed my fingers hoping that the pod was going fast enough to escape it, but in the process of freaking out I completely passed out from shock and exhaustion. I don't know how long I was passed out, but when I woke up, I found myself in a hospital room. Expecting that I was captured again, I began ripping IVs and all sorts of pipes wires off of me which caused one of the machines to start going off.
A nurse ran into the room and looked horrified as she saw me ripping out of the wires which were also causing me to bleed out all over the floor.
"Stop! You're going to hurt yourself! You're too weak!"
"Wh-where's Hitler? Did he make it off the ship?"
She put me back into the bed and began hooking me back up to the machines while looking at me uneasily.
"I don't know what you are talking about. But you were found in the woods two days ago by some hunters.
"But Hitler saved me from the aliens. I need to thank him. Did you know the aliens framed him for World War II?"
"I think you need to sleep. You suffered a concussion."
After a week of being in the hospital, I got the clear to go home. I tried telling my friends and family that history was wrong about Hitler but no one would believe me. My parents were concerned that I must have suffered from some sort of permanent brain damage or the early stages of schizophrenia. Most of my friends either laughed at me thinking I was joking or avoid me thinking I was insane.
The only people interested in my story were conspiracy theorists, alien afficionados, tabloids, and people thinking I was just trying to get some sort of attention. Either way, my life had become a living hell. I should have gone down on the ship with Hitler. | I awoke several hours after the invasive experiments were done to my body. I felt as if my soul itself was being poked and prodded for the sake of fun, as if God himself had abandoned me because my condition was too far gone from what it once was. My eyes has adjusted to the dull green light that had previously flooded my eyes, and my hearing was muffled and clogged. I tossed my head around a little in an attempt to restore them, and as I did that, my hearing was not only restored, but the sound of what seemed like an alarm was going off, harshly hurting my ears for a short time. I slowly stood up and went up to the door, touching it's slightly warm metal that flexed under the light pressure. I looked through the hole in the door to see... Nothing? I assumed it was another psychological test, but as I began to turn back around, I saw someone, or something running in the corner of my eye. I turned to inspect it, and was shocked to see that, there stood a man, like me, dressed in a tattered brown suit, long oddly grown hair, a very light patchy beard, and a small, out of place well trimmed mustache. I inspected the face closer to realize the facial features of this man were very familiar, but not nostalgic. I had a feeling of dread, and as I realized who it was, the feeling sunk into my chest.
It was Adolf. Adolf Hitler.
"We have to go, NOW!" shouted Hitler. He thrusted a foreign device that I assumed was a weapon at time, and he pulled me vigorously out of the cramped cell. He began to run ahead of me, and instead of stunned silence, I followed along. From corner to heart pounding corner, my fear of being spotted was increasing. For a moment, I took a look at the absurdity of the situation and it served as a sort of comic relief in the situation I was in, however it was abruptly cut off once I looked up ahead to see a blockade of "them" pointing large "cannons" at Hitler and I. Hitler stood still for a moment with his hands in the air, eyes darting around for an escape. I stood looking into each of those oppressive eyes, hearing their weapons slowly gaining in pitch, gaining energy. I couldn't move, all became still.
"Is this the end?" I thought to myself. I found comfort in that thought, not because it would free myself from my oppressive chains, but because I couldn't think, I couldn't process all of this. Then I snapped back into reality as Hitler dodged for a vent in the hall that was blown by previous blaster fire. I followed Hitler, and as I jumped into the vent, I felt massive and fast heat flying past me and a deafening sound that followed after it. We crawled very fast through the vents, left turn, right turn, another left, another left, then down? Hitler smashed one of the grates below us open and jumped down, and as I followed along, I soon wished I never followed him.
The room we were in was dark. The only light was from the vent, otherwise it was, nothingness. Hitler ran through into the darkness, and as I was about to follow him, my body froze. I couldn't move. Every instinct in my body told me to not follow him, but it was all I could do. I had to, regrettably, trust Hitler. I shook it off and ran ahead into the darkness. I kept running, it felt like I wasn't moving, but when I glanced behind me, the light from the vent was gone. I knew something was wrong. As I turned back around, I saw Hitler there, standing strangely looking at me. He looked like a human, but the way he stood, his expression, everything else about him was... Off... He then lunged at me and pushed me on a flat metal object that swung back into a horizontal position. "A table" I thought, "they got me, again." Before I realized what was happening, cuffs appeared on my arms and legs, and I could no longer move freely. I then saw Hitler, slowly walking up to me in that inhuman way. He stared at me with cold, unmoving eyes. "Another psychological experiment. I should've listened to my gut" I thought. Then, everything after that was a blur. | |
[WP] You've been kidnapped by aliens. After days of invasive experiments, you've almost given up hope, when your cell opens and Adolf Hitler tosses you a blaster and says "Ve have to go NOW!" | INT. CELL BLOCK
Immaculate, polished stainless chrome walls - SETH sits on his plain, white-sheeted bed, staring off wistfully.
INSERT:
A drop of drool at the corner of his mouth.
INSERT:
His eyes, glazed, dark and tired, dart to:
The CELL DOOR. It slides, rattling. Then, an echoing click. It's open. He's free - but how? Footsteps. ADOLF HITLER appears, the same stout, black-haired dictator from Seth's history books back on Earth. Seth gasps. Hitler catches his breath and throws Seth one of his two blasters.
HITLER
Ve have to go NOW!
Seth catches and palms the blaster. He looks around, panicking, thoughts racing: Is this real? Trust Hitler? Use him, at least? For now. That works. He gets up.
Plenty more footsteps coming down the block - not human - Hitler turns and charges his blaster. Seth, noting how, charges his too.
HITLER
Come get it, you bastard aliuhns!
Seth joins at his side and they fire away, taking down four - five - six of the monstrosities surging toward them.
HITLER
Zis way.
They run toward the double sliding doors out of which the aliens came, passing their corpses on the way. Hitler stops him at the doors.
HITLER
I can get us out of here. Is that vat you want?
Seth nods.
HITLER
Good. Only promise me one thing. Once I do
and ve are back to Earth, you will join me, yah?
Seth is taken aback. Why couldn't he catch a break?
SETH
What? Join you?
HITLER
Yes. Join my party.
SETH
No... No! I couldn't.
HITLER
Come on, Seth. Make your mind up. No time.
Seth glances behind him, then back to the cold dark eyes of his evil, despotic rescuer.
SETH
Okay. I will.
He meant it.
Just then, with a static whoosh, Hitler disintegrates vertically in a beam. Holographic. Seth looks at the spot, incredulous. More whooshes. He looks behind him. The corpses beam away too.
We pass through the wall opposite the cells. It is a one-way viewing wall. The viewers are two smaller, slimmer, more civilized looking version of the aliens just whooshed away on the other side. The ALIENS watch as Seth sits himself on the floor and looks on, morose, wondering.
A noise escapes the alien, something between insect and amphibian-like:
CHYRON: Interesting.
His alien colleague responds:
CHYRON: Let's wipe that memory. This time, let's make him have to shoot Gandhi.
Something like laughter escapes them. | "Ve have to go NOW!" he said, tossing me the foreign weapon.
"Who're you?"
"I am Hitler! I am here to take you to my secret base on ze moon!"
"What the hell is happening?" Was the only thought I could manage for the time being. Prior to my abduction the year was 2017, Hitler has long been dead, and space bases were unknown to humanity. Yet here I am, on a spaceship, being taken to Hitler's space base on the moon, with aliens in pursuit of us.
"PEW PEW" Hitler roared, bombarding the alien bastards behind us. "My space ship is not far far. Run quicklier"
"Gabbl galga luaggaa" The aliens said, swinging their lanky tentacle necks back and forth.
"Ve are HERE!" Hitlers face now ecstatic. He grabbed me by my nape and tossed me into his rocket ship. Quickly closing the door behind us, he jumped to the flight controls and took us out off the station.
"WHOOOO!!! Thank you Mr. Hitler sir!!!! I haven't been this happy in a long time!!!" The relief overcame me like a full body orgasm. After a moment or two, having calmed down and realized the weight of the events that'd just taken place. I returned to a panic. I hadn't had much time to think while in the alien cell. I was either being tortured, raped, or probed. It was a relief, being chased by the aliens. In the pursuit, all though had ceased. I was present, and excited. The moment the pursuit ended and my relief subsided, the thoughts returned. Is this real? Would I ever see home again? Is this german dude REALLY Hitler!? And if he is, why did he save me? These questions seem harmless, but the narrow-minded answers I replied with are what killed my spirit. This is real, I would never see home again, and even if I found another human being to talk to, they wouldn't be able to understand me. Hitler saved me, and He's alive. Everything I thought to be true was a lie. My whole reality, shattered. I wouldn't have thought that the salvation from my alien captors would be the real hard part.
"Ve are here boy!" Hitler said.
I was so caught up in thought I quit paying attention to the situation. Hitler and I had just landed on the moon. He handed me a space suit, and commanded that I follow.
The moment we stepped out of the ship, I saw it. It was an enormous space base on the face of the moon, with many giant swasticas spread about. I could see people in nazi uniforms going about business, small space ships flying around, and many other things I can't really explain.
The doors to the station opened as Hitler and I approached. The moment we entered and disrobed, Hitler told me to stick close to him.
"Hitler sir, what's going on?" I asked. Walking with his arm in mine.
"Do not Vorry abouts it! Just stay close end fallow mi!" He said. Feeling I had no choice in the matter, I kept shut and moved along.
After a brief walk we came across a room with the sign above it that read "Prüfraum" My german was very poor, but I could tell the sign had an interesting meaning.
Upon entering the room, Hitler had me take a seat in a white chair. He then sat across from me seated in a black chair.
"Do zu know Vhy i saved zu?" he asked.
"No"
"Do zu know vhy zi aliens had zu?" he asked.
"No"
His seriousness began to put me off. The room filled with tensity, and I felt this was no longer the Hitler I once knew.
"Are zu a Jew?" he asked.
"No"
He then smiled. It seemed I had answered all the questions appropriately! But i didn't care much. I found the desire to live was no longer within me.
Hitler then stood us up, and gave me a big hug. He told me everything was going to be alright, and that i need not worry.
It's been maybe 24years now, I'm here with my good pal Hitler, and we're just chillin. Turns out he was just largely misunderstood!
| |
[WP] Life as a Lich during the zombie apocalypse isn't easy. Sure, the hordes of mindless undead generally leave you alone but they aren't great company and getting humans to take you seriously is a bit of a challenge. | "As I have taught you, to ward against this undying foe, we must remain forever vigilant. We must watch for the lies of the Lich. We must weed out his agents, lest he be reborn." From his marble raised dais, King Sigon gestured at the prisoner on the platform before him. "Citizens of Ellanaris, behold. I bring before you one who, if given the chance, would gladly turn the undead upon us all." The crowd--a thousand men, women, and children that thronged the open square before the palace--boomed with cries of outrage and boos of condemnation.
The king unsheathed his sword from his scabbard and thrust it toward the noon sky. It glowed with a brilliant white light, illuminating the palace square below. "With this blade, we shall exterminate evil wherever we find it. With this Light of Justice, we shall banish the Lich forever!" The crowd burst into cheers.
The king turned to the prisoner. "Do you have any last words, fallen one?"
The haggard man, dressed in rags, turned to the assembled masses. "Do you not see what this self-styled Chosen One is doing? Why should no man be allowed to say what he believes?"
"Boo!" "Heretic!" "Hear not evil, turn not evil..."
"Why should that deserve death? Your king would execute any who challenges his so-called Teachings. He does so, not because mere words can bring the Lich back. No. He does this, to silence you all and usurp power for himself!"
"Lies!" "The Lich Reborn!"
"I speak the truth, you fools--"
Rocks started flying at him.
Standing beside the king, Queen Elyria proclaimed, "You have heard him damn himself with his own words! None may deny his apostasy now. What are you waiting for, my king? Surely our hero who slew the Lich will not allow his return?"
The crowd started chanting, "Die, apostate. Die, blasphemer. Die, die, die!”
Forced to kneel, the prisoner stared forward in defeat. The king stepped from the dais and approached, luminous sword unsheathed, and decapitated him to thunderous applause.
"All hail our savior!" the queen called out.
As one the crowd knelt, facing the royal couple as they kowtowed and chanted. "...All hail the Chosen One, who vanquished the undead legions by the holiness of his very presence. All hail the Chosen One, who felled the Lich, when all our knights had fallen. All hail the Chosen One, whose Teachings wards us from the lies of the Lich Reborn. All hail the Chosen One..."
With a firm grip on his queen's hand, the king led her down the glittering halls of their palace to their bedchamber and closed the door behind them. He gestured for her to lay down on the massive gilded canopy-bed that dominated the room.
She looked at him, cheeks flushed. "So early, my lord? It is yet noon." At a nod from him, she undressed, letting her embroidered milky white dress and silky undergarments fall to the floor until she wore only an amulet containing a shining mote of spirit-light--her father's soul. When he stretched an open hand to her, she unclasped the amulet too and surrendered it to him, which he put away. From the nightstand, he took out two sets of manacles. She lay spreadeagled on the bed, her breath shallowed in anticipation, and watched him with adoring eyes while he chained her wrists to the bedposts.
"You've been a bad girl. You summoned me away from my world, stripped me of family and friends, to make me fight your war for you as a cliche hero in a cliche world."
She asked sweetly, "I have been bad, my lord, will you please forgive me?"
"Forgive you? You treated me like dirt, put me in danger, sent me off to battle like you couldn't care less. I won your war, gave this world peace, and what do I get for all that?" He leaned close to her. "A princess, and the fairest maiden in all the land. You."
"My heart belongs to you, and I am yours to claim, hero."
He approached so close she could feel his breath on her face, and he looked into her eyes as he caressed her golden hair. "But is that really the story?" He smirked. "Everywhere I went, the moment I showed up, undead on the verge of slaughtering the defenseless instead all went insane, turned on each other, and destroyed themselves." He cocked his head at her. "You never found that strange?"
"Of course you could turn the undead."
"'Of course', they thought, 'holiness does that to the undead.' Never mind that none of the priests of the old gods could do such a thing, nor the priests of the new. No. Only I could."
"Proof that holiest of holies is the Chosen One."
"No. I'm not holy. I have never been holy. Holiness never could stop the undead. Don't you see? The undead slaughtered themselves, because I told them to."
Elyria rolled her eyes. "That's not how the story goes--"
"And they obeyed, because I was their master." He stared down at her. "I was the Lich all along."
"That's not a very convincing twist, love."
"Because you believed in my Teachings, you thought that worship alone would keep the undead away. But the Lich rose, not for lack of faith, but for lack of attention. Because if there's one thing I hate, it's not being listened to--"
"Stop, just stop, you're ruining it."
"The living wouldn't listen to me, so I mastered the dead, called myself king--"
“I said stop.”
"You think the Lich captured you out of unrequited love? No. I did so, not because I had any love for you, but because I thought your father did. I guess not though, since he sent no one to rescue you, leaving all the work to your hero, a single man. Against a million undead!"
She fell silent, couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"And so when I finally possessed this champion, I had to know why. And in him I found a kindred spirit, always treated with contempt and never acknowledged."
"Please stop, you're scaring me."
"So the Lich and I - the hero and me - we bound our souls in unholy matrimony."
"Blasphemy! Have you gone mad?"
"After what he and I had been through? Yes, we'd gone very mad."
"Well congratulations, now I'm mad at you too. Get off."
"Make me."
"Now."
"No."
Her eyes widened at the refusal. She made to get up, but found her wrists bound to the bedposts. She twisted her hands and arms around, feeling the chains and trying to find a release, and her heartbeat quickened. She tried several quick pulls against the chains, then pulled with all her might; they didn't give. She stared up at him, realizing with horror her utter helplessness, and feeling utter regret for letting him bind her. "No. This can't be happening... can't be happening..." Tears welled in her eyes.
"This has always been happening. You just hadn't ever noticed. The young lad who'd run errands for every kid and his nanny must surely be pure of heart, you thought. The hero would surely defeat the evil overlord, you thought. And so you didn't notice that I had possessed your hero, slain your father, killed your knights and mages."
"I don't believe you," she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "If what you say is true, why would you tell me this?"
"Ah, of course you cannot believe me now, no one can. You all accepted me as your savior so easily. No one asked if I just made up scripture as I went. And when I proclaimed the death penalty for heresy, no one realized what I was doing. And now that I've taught my Teachings, like an unbreakable mind control spell that grows with each passing day... You'd think that'd get your attention." He unsheathed the Light of Justice from his belt, flooding the room with light, and he pressed it against her neck.
She stared at it, eyes wide with fear.
"Oh, did that finally catch your interest?" He pulled the sword away. "Want to know why the hero's sword glows?" He brought out her amulet and set it on the nightstand, then with a swing of his sword, shattered it. The mote of spirit-light floated out and became sucked into the sword, adding to its brilliance. "This is the 'Light of Justice' you revere: the light of countless thousands of trapped souls. I killed them all, and now they are mine to command. This, plus a battlefield, equals an army."
He got up from the bed. "But I won't need a battlefield tonight, because my undead army is already here. For being the living, you sure are a mindless lot." He looked back at her. "You needn't fear for your life yet, my queen. I've yet to show you how utterly and completely you've delivered your people into my power." And with that, he resheathed his sword, walked out of the room and slammed the door shut.
| Kel sighed as he watched the mindless hordes mob and kill another person. It had been six months since a collegue of his had unleashed a plague which turned people into the living dead. It seemed like a good plan then. It's not hard to enslave them and make them do your bidding and you also can sit back and watch as the human society that many of his kind dreaded so much fall apart.
But now he was honestly bored. It's one thing to have a couple mindless thralls who help you with experiments and such but controlling hundreds, it left no time to figure out their skill set and best manage them. And besides with human society disintegrated, cults sprung up everywhere and Kel and the other more charismatic Liches had competition.
Kel spotted a human. She was a woman, light skinned, red hair covered by a large cowboy hat. She switched between a revolver and a make-shift sword to cut through the undead hordes. Kel decided that she would make a good cult leader to worship him and do his bidding. He took a small group of his thralls over as he headed over to her.
"Human! I am a lich of immense power! Bow to me and be rewarded! Refuse and become one of my many thralls! Either way you will serve me!"
The woman looked at him "Look buddy I gotta get this medicine to that settlement over yonder" she pointed towards the nearby woods "So I've got no time for you games"
"You think that a great Lich, such as I, would play mere games?" Kel's voice thundered "My thralls shall consume you!"
A few of kel's zombies shambled over to the woman but she cut them down almost as fast as they came.
"Look I really need to go. I have to pee really badly and also want to get paid, so good bye" the woman said as she cut through Kel's remaining thralls and headed towards the woods.
Kel sighed and started the long journey home to his lair. "Zombies suck" | |
My boyfriend had this idea and really wanted me to post it :) | [WP] A heist is about to go down, but none of the perpetrators have synced their watches. | "Is there anything else you need today sir?" Said the bank clerk smiling.
Dave checked his watch and smirked, "Well there is one thing... All the money in the vault!" He shouted as he dived behind the counter. Silence hung heavy as everyone in the lobby stared at the man who was huddled behind the counter, covering his ears and his eyes shut tight. One eye winked open. "Why is everyone still standing?"
"Sir... are you... alright?" Just then, a deafening crash was heard as a van reversed through the front doors. A man in a ski mask jumped out from the drivers seat screaming, "Alright! Get the bags in the van we've only... got... Where's the money?"
Dave stuttered, "I- You- The getaway car wasn't supposed to be here until 1:37! After the safe was blown! How do we load the money if the safe is st-" A deafening explosion filled the room, throwing everyone with the blast.
A third man emerged from the shattered door, "Hey guys, I've got the sage open!" Surveying the damage and the approaching police sirens, he checked his watch. "Oh... oh no..." | "Alison," the bank Manager called. "Come over here for a moment, would ya."
Alison rose from her receptionist's desk and made her way over to the front of the branch. "Yes, sir?"
"Does that seem odd to you?" he asked, pointing over to the black car parked in front of the building, its engine revving loudly. "It's almost as if the driver is waiting to get away in something of a hurry."
"But we don't even open for another five minutes." she replied.
The manager removed his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed 9-1-1. "Please send anyone you can. I believe we are about to be robbed."
|
My boyfriend had this idea and really wanted me to post it :) | [WP] A heist is about to go down, but none of the perpetrators have synced their watches. | ~~12:00PM~~ 11:57AM
James stood in line, worriedly pawing the gun tucked into his waistband. This wasn't how it was supposed to go - he wasn't supposed to make the first move. His eyes were locked directly ahead, on that beautiful blond of a teller; anything too furtive and it may arouse the suspicion of the nearby guard. James needed the money, but more than that, he needed the *win*. Fuck it, they had planned this down to the second, and James was going to do his part. Pulling his gun, he fired wildly into the air while taking off on a hard sprint. The door automatically unlocks at 12:00:05 for two seconds when the computer cycle resets, thanks to Jimmy. Paul would take care of the guards after James spooks them. Frank would pull the car around. It was James' job to run and snag the second vault door, keeping it open so they could grab the loot. But to do so, he would have to literally throw himself into the vault. James was fast, a track star in high-school that never amounted to much; today he would get to relive his glory days.
Of all the bystanders, the guard was most puzzled: it's not often that a man will pull a gun, fire into the air, and then run face-first into the vault door. The guard called the police to deal with the unconscious man, then took a long sip of his coffee.
~~12:00PM~~ 11:59AM
Paul strode in the doors, a beast of a man. His wild mane a stallion that he had choked into submission. Paul was intimidating by nature: he didn't relate well with people, and his "resting bitch face" did him no favors. Still, he had masterminded this plan, down to the second, so that everything would go without a hitch. Fortuitous that they already had a distraction, some passed out drunk had the attention of the guards. Jumping on the nearest table, Paul screamed at the top of his lungs "THIS IS -" And that's when the cops walked in, intent on arresting James. Paul paused as everyone, including the police, took a moment to stare at this enraged hulk. "...sparta?" Paul finished, and meekly got off the table. As the cops called Paul over, he avoided eye contact, and instinctively wrapped on the table three times. Time to go. Time to go. *My Little Pony* is on in :44 minutes. Time to go. He ignored the police as they called him over, and quickly skipped out of the bank. As one officer began to give chase, Paul broke into a full run.
The lady had circled three times now, and a spot had finally opened up in front of the bank. Just as she was about to pull in, a jackass in a clown mask cut her off, and in the process, ran over a careless J-walker who failed to look for traffic. She had errands, and wasn't about to wait around to help clean up *this* mess, so she put the car back in drive and went about her way.
~~12:00PM~~ 12:01PM
Frank was running late. It wasn't until he had glanced at the receipt that he realized his watch was slow. God damn it, he didn't want to be the one that pissed on Paul's plan. They were counting on him to pick them up: a fast getaway, the key to any bank robbery. Well, at least they would appreciate the mask he bought. Professional clown. That's what the tag said. *Professional*. Frank always wanted to be a professional driver, hell, he would even settle to work a Taxi. That's what the money was for - one of those insanely expensive Taxi medallions. It would change his and Louise's lives. Professional. Frank would be professional. This was a job, and it would launch him into his new career. One block to go, and Frank donned his mask. Damn hard to see out of, but it looked good. Professional. One parking space in front of the bank - prime real estate. He deftly maneuvered around some hag, and nabbed the spot. The car jumped up, having hit the curb. Damn it Frank, not professional. There was a tap on the glass, and Frank turned his head. After maneuvering his mask a bit, he could just make out the shape of a gun. Well, thought Frank - let's see if I can play this off.
The officer was having one of those days. Some jackass tries to rob a bank, then a whacko starts disturbing the peace, only to get run over by a clown. Now he had this guy in a clown mask trying to mime his way out of an arrest. God damn it was a long day.
~~12:00PM~~ 12:00AM
Jimmy woke up. Coding was hard work, but that was finished days ago. He had been burning his energy on early-AM gaming. He logged on to the bank system, used his exploit, and opened the vault door. In the bank, half a city away, the alarms sounded - not that Jimmy could hear them. After waiting ten minutes, it was time to check on the boys and see how much they had scored. They should be done with the getaway, and should be picking him up food from Taco Bell. First, he called Paul - no answer. Typical, probably absorbed by a forum for one of his kids' shows. Jimmy left a message and moved on to James. Still nothing. Jimmy left another message and called up Frank. Thank God Frank actually picks up his phone - not the most professional thing to do while driving. Jimmy launched into his typical banter, "So how much did we score at the bank, thanks to my little exploit?" On the other end, he got a very confused Frank, who kept insisting he knew nothing of any plan to rob a bank. Voice was muffled, probably bought that stupid mask he kept going on about. Clown-shit and the like. Pissed at the Abbot-and-Costello routine, Jimmy walked him through the plan, and punctuated each point with a "got it stupid?" Jimmy swore up and down, if they were trying to nip out on his share, he was going to be pissed.
On the other end of the phone sat a very tired-looking officer. As Jimmy asked ranted, the officer cut him off. "Yeah, we got it." | "Alison," the bank Manager called. "Come over here for a moment, would ya."
Alison rose from her receptionist's desk and made her way over to the front of the branch. "Yes, sir?"
"Does that seem odd to you?" he asked, pointing over to the black car parked in front of the building, its engine revving loudly. "It's almost as if the driver is waiting to get away in something of a hurry."
"But we don't even open for another five minutes." she replied.
The manager removed his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed 9-1-1. "Please send anyone you can. I believe we are about to be robbed."
|
My boyfriend had this idea and really wanted me to post it :) | [WP] A heist is about to go down, but none of the perpetrators have synced their watches. | ~~12:00PM~~ 11:57AM
James stood in line, worriedly pawing the gun tucked into his waistband. This wasn't how it was supposed to go - he wasn't supposed to make the first move. His eyes were locked directly ahead, on that beautiful blond of a teller; anything too furtive and it may arouse the suspicion of the nearby guard. James needed the money, but more than that, he needed the *win*. Fuck it, they had planned this down to the second, and James was going to do his part. Pulling his gun, he fired wildly into the air while taking off on a hard sprint. The door automatically unlocks at 12:00:05 for two seconds when the computer cycle resets, thanks to Jimmy. Paul would take care of the guards after James spooks them. Frank would pull the car around. It was James' job to run and snag the second vault door, keeping it open so they could grab the loot. But to do so, he would have to literally throw himself into the vault. James was fast, a track star in high-school that never amounted to much; today he would get to relive his glory days.
Of all the bystanders, the guard was most puzzled: it's not often that a man will pull a gun, fire into the air, and then run face-first into the vault door. The guard called the police to deal with the unconscious man, then took a long sip of his coffee.
~~12:00PM~~ 11:59AM
Paul strode in the doors, a beast of a man. His wild mane a stallion that he had choked into submission. Paul was intimidating by nature: he didn't relate well with people, and his "resting bitch face" did him no favors. Still, he had masterminded this plan, down to the second, so that everything would go without a hitch. Fortuitous that they already had a distraction, some passed out drunk had the attention of the guards. Jumping on the nearest table, Paul screamed at the top of his lungs "THIS IS -" And that's when the cops walked in, intent on arresting James. Paul paused as everyone, including the police, took a moment to stare at this enraged hulk. "...sparta?" Paul finished, and meekly got off the table. As the cops called Paul over, he avoided eye contact, and instinctively wrapped on the table three times. Time to go. Time to go. *My Little Pony* is on in :44 minutes. Time to go. He ignored the police as they called him over, and quickly skipped out of the bank. As one officer began to give chase, Paul broke into a full run.
The lady had circled three times now, and a spot had finally opened up in front of the bank. Just as she was about to pull in, a jackass in a clown mask cut her off, and in the process, ran over a careless J-walker who failed to look for traffic. She had errands, and wasn't about to wait around to help clean up *this* mess, so she put the car back in drive and went about her way.
~~12:00PM~~ 12:01PM
Frank was running late. It wasn't until he had glanced at the receipt that he realized his watch was slow. God damn it, he didn't want to be the one that pissed on Paul's plan. They were counting on him to pick them up: a fast getaway, the key to any bank robbery. Well, at least they would appreciate the mask he bought. Professional clown. That's what the tag said. *Professional*. Frank always wanted to be a professional driver, hell, he would even settle to work a Taxi. That's what the money was for - one of those insanely expensive Taxi medallions. It would change his and Louise's lives. Professional. Frank would be professional. This was a job, and it would launch him into his new career. One block to go, and Frank donned his mask. Damn hard to see out of, but it looked good. Professional. One parking space in front of the bank - prime real estate. He deftly maneuvered around some hag, and nabbed the spot. The car jumped up, having hit the curb. Damn it Frank, not professional. There was a tap on the glass, and Frank turned his head. After maneuvering his mask a bit, he could just make out the shape of a gun. Well, thought Frank - let's see if I can play this off.
The officer was having one of those days. Some jackass tries to rob a bank, then a whacko starts disturbing the peace, only to get run over by a clown. Now he had this guy in a clown mask trying to mime his way out of an arrest. God damn it was a long day.
~~12:00PM~~ 12:00AM
Jimmy woke up. Coding was hard work, but that was finished days ago. He had been burning his energy on early-AM gaming. He logged on to the bank system, used his exploit, and opened the vault door. In the bank, half a city away, the alarms sounded - not that Jimmy could hear them. After waiting ten minutes, it was time to check on the boys and see how much they had scored. They should be done with the getaway, and should be picking him up food from Taco Bell. First, he called Paul - no answer. Typical, probably absorbed by a forum for one of his kids' shows. Jimmy left a message and moved on to James. Still nothing. Jimmy left another message and called up Frank. Thank God Frank actually picks up his phone - not the most professional thing to do while driving. Jimmy launched into his typical banter, "So how much did we score at the bank, thanks to my little exploit?" On the other end, he got a very confused Frank, who kept insisting he knew nothing of any plan to rob a bank. Voice was muffled, probably bought that stupid mask he kept going on about. Clown-shit and the like. Pissed at the Abbot-and-Costello routine, Jimmy walked him through the plan, and punctuated each point with a "got it stupid?" Jimmy swore up and down, if they were trying to nip out on his share, he was going to be pissed.
On the other end of the phone sat a very tired-looking officer. As Jimmy asked ranted, the officer cut him off. "Yeah, we got it." | "Is there anything else you need today sir?" Said the bank clerk smiling.
Dave checked his watch and smirked, "Well there is one thing... All the money in the vault!" He shouted as he dived behind the counter. Silence hung heavy as everyone in the lobby stared at the man who was huddled behind the counter, covering his ears and his eyes shut tight. One eye winked open. "Why is everyone still standing?"
"Sir... are you... alright?" Just then, a deafening crash was heard as a van reversed through the front doors. A man in a ski mask jumped out from the drivers seat screaming, "Alright! Get the bags in the van we've only... got... Where's the money?"
Dave stuttered, "I- You- The getaway car wasn't supposed to be here until 1:37! After the safe was blown! How do we load the money if the safe is st-" A deafening explosion filled the room, throwing everyone with the blast.
A third man emerged from the shattered door, "Hey guys, I've got the sage open!" Surveying the damage and the approaching police sirens, he checked his watch. "Oh... oh no..." |
[WP] You are a children's television show superhero by day, but a real superhero by night. Your mannerisms do not change. | I jumped down from the wooden board above the stage. My cape flapped behind me as the wires brought me down to the floor. I landed with my knees bent and then jumped up!
"Your evil stops here, Mr. Candy Sneak!" I threw my cape back, stuck out my chest, and pointed my finger angrily at the man dressed in bright colors. He was holding Mrs. Lopez's candy jar and was trying to get Julio, Tyrell, and Melissa to take some without permission and before dinner!
The children gasped. "Captain Smart!" They ran away from Mr. Candy Sneak and the jar and over to me.
I kneeled down to look them in the eye. "Now, you three know better. It's not right to take things that don't belong to you when you don't ask first."
"But it's my mom's! Mr. Candy Sneak said that'd be ok!" Julio cried.
I looked Julio in the eye and frowned. "Did she say it was ok?"
Julio looked down at his shoes. "N...no."
I turned to look at Tyrell and Melissa. "And what about you two..."
They looked at each other and then looked down. "We thought because Julio was..." Melissa started.
"...that it'd be ok because we're his friends," Tyrell finished.
"It's never ok to follow your friends when they do things that are bad! Friends help friends do good things and stop them from doing bad things!" I hugged the three children. "You have to tell Mrs. Lopez what you did, ok?"
"Because good kids are honest kids!" They shouted in unison and smiled.
I stood up. "And for you Mr. Candy Sneak..."
The skinny man shook his fist at me and frowned. "Grrr. I won't let you take me Captain Smart!" He tried to run away but SURPRISE! I was in front of him! He bumped into me and fell down.
"Careful Mr. Candy Sneak!" I stuck out my hand and helped him up. "You need to watch out for other people! Now we're going to take you to Officer Washington. You're going to jail."
The children cheered for me as I led Mr. Candy Sneak off stage and Mrs. Lopez came through the door and asked, "Mijos! Mija! What is going on here?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a single, fluid motion, I lept down from the fire escape above the alley. I didn't wear a cape on patrol. They looked impressive, but they really were just another handhold. I floated to the ground and landed silently behind The Breaker and his goons.
"Your evil stops here, Breaker!" I announced, my chest puffed out and my finger pointing at him accusatory. He whipped around to face me, his black leather duster snapping in the air. His three goons looked over their shoulder at me. There eyes were wide and bright with fear underneath their black beanies. They had been midway through prying off the back door of the First County Bank building. They were either here for the money or for Dr. Von Werner's sonic lab in the basement. Maybe both.
"Captain Smart!?" I heard one of them whisper in disbelief.
"My kid watches him everyday! He's just a crazy actor," the one next to him hissed. "I got 'im, boss!" he cried and ran at me with his crowbar raised. The other two followed him blindly and without hesitation.
"Now, you three know better. It's not right to take things that don't belong to you when you don't ask first," I said as my fist slammed into the eyes of the first one. He stumbled back and fell onto his ass. Blood poured out from his nose and the whites of his eyes started to turn red with blood. They rolled back into his skull and he collapsed unconscious and splayed on the ground.
I looked at the other two rushing towards me. "And what about you two..." I started.
The second and third goons's crowbars slammed into me like Mrs. Lopez's licorice whips on a Panzer tank. I grabbed the twisted bars and pulled, slamming their craniums together with a nauseating crunch. I let go and they dropped to the ground.
I clucked my tongue at the three goons laying on the ground. "It's never ok to follow your friends when they do things that are bad! Friends help friends do good things and stop them from doing bad things!" I scolded their limp and unaware bodies.
"And as for you, Breaker..."
He spat a curse at me and pulled out a gun. His gangly arms trembled as he pointed it at my face and started firing. The bullets hit my face like slaps as I advanced.
The Breaker cursed again and tried to run. Humans are slow, sadly. It was like running full force into a brick wall. His nose crunched. My chest was bloody.
"Careful, Breaker." I reached down and hauled him up by his hand. He screamed as his humerus separated from his scapula and his elbow stretched further than it was ever meant to. "You need to watch out for other people! Now we're going to take you to Officer McDonnell. You're going to jail."
He shrieked as I gripped him by his dislocated shoulder and launched into the air. | Overlooking the rooftops, ever-vigilant, was the famed superhero known as Red Rapid. He'd opted for his usual dramatic pose atop the building: one knee bent forward, hands on hips, and his impressive pecs thrust forward, on full display for the world to see.
Unfortunately, it was midday.
A wondering child thrust a porky finger up into the sky, directed straight at the aforementioned hero, the child's eyes wide with awe.
"Look, Mum, it's Red Rapid! Justice prevails!" The kid gave a proud salute to the hero.
His location having been compromised, the hero had no choice but to descend from the building, extending his cape to prepare for flight as he leapt from the building. For a single, majestic second, he glided amidst the clouds, and then, without the handy help of CGI, Red Rapid realised he couldn't fly.
Three months in hospital, and a temporary show cancelation later, he was back on the rooftops, this time with a safety harness he'd 'borrowed' from the studio. He'd also decided that night time was a better period for stopping *evil*. Looking down, Red Rapid frowned at the sight of four youths surronding an old man, each brandishing an array of weaponry.
Rappelling down from the building to the scene, Red extended an arm forward, and bellowed in a commanding shout, "STOP, RUFFIANS. FOR I, THE RED RAPID, AM HERE TO BRING JUSTICE TO YOU. JUSTICE PREVAILS!" Red Rapid gave a small twirl, flashing a smile to his 'audience' before finishing his entrance in his signature pose.
Before the bewildered teens had time to act, he dashed forward at the speed of light, a balled fist flailing at the nearest one. "HERCULES, PUNCH!" He declared, the fist colliding with the boy's face and sending him down to the ground with a spurt of blood.
Half fearful of the man in bright red spandex standing over the body of their friend, and scarily aware of the fact that he was likely insane, the boys turned their backs and ran, leaving Red near their fallen friend.
"JUSTICE, KICK." He yelled, bringing his foot to the boy's ribs. A crack sounded.
"JUSTICE KICK, KICK, PUNCH." His feet and hands followed rhythmically in beating the boy in quick succession, unrelenting blows of *justice* crashing down upon him.
See, Red Rapid was notorious for his power to heal. His people - before they tragically died - were known for their innate ability to heal with but a touch. Unfortunately, the actor did not bare the same quality, and thus was pounding the boy below him into a bloody pulp.
Heaving with the effort, Red brought his bloodied fists upwards and smiled, offering a hand to the old man who'd been surrounded by the teens. Much to his surprise, the fellow was no longer there. With a dismissive shrug, Red decided to retire to his living quarters for the day. After all, justice had been served.
Three days later, it was all over the news how a typical ruffian had been hospitalised by a man dressed in a similar fashion to Red Rapid, from the famous children's TV show of the same name. Of course, his story was dismissed as lunacy, and he was admitted to a psychiatric ward for therapy. Red figured he'd later pay the boy a visit to see how he was faring.
For now, however, it was time for another *justice* patrol. The All-American favourite prowled the streets, using his nose to smell the palpable evil in the air: he could feel his arch nemesis nearby.
Rounding a corner, Red came face to face with the pure, unspeakable and insurmountable evil that'd bested his parents.
A McDonalds store.
As a commercialised American hero, Red advocated healthy eating messages, and so it stood to reason that he despised McDonalds, who represented everything he despised.
Red stormed into the restaurant without a moment's thought, holding his balled fists up into the air before taking a swipe at the cash register. "EVIL." "BAD." Other various synonyms for things that were less than savoury emanated from his mouth as he set about destroying the place. Every now and then, he'd accidentally hit a civillian but, thankfully, due to his healing powers he could ensure that they were unscathed. It was a monumental task taking apart the building, so he started from the bottom and worked his way up, moving floor panels leading to destroying entire supports for the building.
Inevitably, the maggot eaten wood that supported the sordid place of obesity and indulgence gave way, and the building began to collapse. Seeing this, Red gave a self-satisfied smirk before showing himself out, picking up a few unconscious bystanders along the way.
Outside, naturally, was a celebratory parade waiting to congratulate him on his endeavour. A myriad of police vehicles from cars to helicopters were on the site, with various news reporters thrusting their cameras in his direction. Red flashed a pose for the crowd and smiled, "Justice has once more been enforced by none other than Red Rapid!" | |
[WP] You are a children's television show superhero by day, but a real superhero by night. Your mannerisms do not change. | "Come on! Get the money in the truck! We've only got a few minutes until the poli-"
The overhead skylight exploded, sending glass raining into the bank lobby. "Fuck it's the SWAT! Get your wea-" The words froze in his throat when he noticed what had just landed atop the statue in the center of the lobby.
"Stealing is bad folks. Why don't we all just gather around for a group hug?" Boomed a heroic voice.
A man in neon green spandex, a white scarf, and what looked like a bike helmet, addressed then from his perch.
"What. The. Fuck."
"*That's* a quarter for the swear jar! Maybe *this* will give you a shock?" He exclaimed triumphantly, as he threw something from his utility belt. The swearing bank robber fell to the floor, yelling out several more swears, as a lightning bolt shaped object was embedded in his shoulder.
"He's got weapons! Get down!"
"Did he just imply an electric gadget, but then just stab that guy?"
"Just get the fuck down Steve!"
"Evil doers can not hide from the sting of *Justice!*" The man leaped down on top of a second bank robber, a gloved had smashing his head into the tile floor. "Looks like this one should've abandoned ship!" He said smugly.
"Your phrases don't even fit the context!" Yelled the final bank robber, raising his gun. "You're not getting me. I'm not going to jail."
"If you can't do the time, then don't do the crime!" Exclaimed the man, somersaulting into the air. The gun fired several times each bullet missing. Heavy boots made contact with the robbers jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.
In the moments before unconsciousness, he said "At least... that one... made fucking sen- AUGH" He was cut off as a lightning bolt pinned his arm to the floor.
"*Swear jaaaaar*" Said the man, in a sing song tone.
Police flooded into the lobby, "You! Don't move."
"Ah, the authorities! Never fear! I have appreh-"
"Get on the ground! Heads behind your head!"
The man leaped into the air, bouncing among the statue, columns, and banners, reaching the open skylight.
A rookie cop lowered his gun, "Who are you?"
The man popped his head back into the skylight, "I am.... Greeeeennnnn" The voice trailed off as he ran off into the night.
Silence hung awkwardly in the bank lobby.
"D-did he say his name was the green? As in the color?" | Overlooking the rooftops, ever-vigilant, was the famed superhero known as Red Rapid. He'd opted for his usual dramatic pose atop the building: one knee bent forward, hands on hips, and his impressive pecs thrust forward, on full display for the world to see.
Unfortunately, it was midday.
A wondering child thrust a porky finger up into the sky, directed straight at the aforementioned hero, the child's eyes wide with awe.
"Look, Mum, it's Red Rapid! Justice prevails!" The kid gave a proud salute to the hero.
His location having been compromised, the hero had no choice but to descend from the building, extending his cape to prepare for flight as he leapt from the building. For a single, majestic second, he glided amidst the clouds, and then, without the handy help of CGI, Red Rapid realised he couldn't fly.
Three months in hospital, and a temporary show cancelation later, he was back on the rooftops, this time with a safety harness he'd 'borrowed' from the studio. He'd also decided that night time was a better period for stopping *evil*. Looking down, Red Rapid frowned at the sight of four youths surronding an old man, each brandishing an array of weaponry.
Rappelling down from the building to the scene, Red extended an arm forward, and bellowed in a commanding shout, "STOP, RUFFIANS. FOR I, THE RED RAPID, AM HERE TO BRING JUSTICE TO YOU. JUSTICE PREVAILS!" Red Rapid gave a small twirl, flashing a smile to his 'audience' before finishing his entrance in his signature pose.
Before the bewildered teens had time to act, he dashed forward at the speed of light, a balled fist flailing at the nearest one. "HERCULES, PUNCH!" He declared, the fist colliding with the boy's face and sending him down to the ground with a spurt of blood.
Half fearful of the man in bright red spandex standing over the body of their friend, and scarily aware of the fact that he was likely insane, the boys turned their backs and ran, leaving Red near their fallen friend.
"JUSTICE, KICK." He yelled, bringing his foot to the boy's ribs. A crack sounded.
"JUSTICE KICK, KICK, PUNCH." His feet and hands followed rhythmically in beating the boy in quick succession, unrelenting blows of *justice* crashing down upon him.
See, Red Rapid was notorious for his power to heal. His people - before they tragically died - were known for their innate ability to heal with but a touch. Unfortunately, the actor did not bare the same quality, and thus was pounding the boy below him into a bloody pulp.
Heaving with the effort, Red brought his bloodied fists upwards and smiled, offering a hand to the old man who'd been surrounded by the teens. Much to his surprise, the fellow was no longer there. With a dismissive shrug, Red decided to retire to his living quarters for the day. After all, justice had been served.
Three days later, it was all over the news how a typical ruffian had been hospitalised by a man dressed in a similar fashion to Red Rapid, from the famous children's TV show of the same name. Of course, his story was dismissed as lunacy, and he was admitted to a psychiatric ward for therapy. Red figured he'd later pay the boy a visit to see how he was faring.
For now, however, it was time for another *justice* patrol. The All-American favourite prowled the streets, using his nose to smell the palpable evil in the air: he could feel his arch nemesis nearby.
Rounding a corner, Red came face to face with the pure, unspeakable and insurmountable evil that'd bested his parents.
A McDonalds store.
As a commercialised American hero, Red advocated healthy eating messages, and so it stood to reason that he despised McDonalds, who represented everything he despised.
Red stormed into the restaurant without a moment's thought, holding his balled fists up into the air before taking a swipe at the cash register. "EVIL." "BAD." Other various synonyms for things that were less than savoury emanated from his mouth as he set about destroying the place. Every now and then, he'd accidentally hit a civillian but, thankfully, due to his healing powers he could ensure that they were unscathed. It was a monumental task taking apart the building, so he started from the bottom and worked his way up, moving floor panels leading to destroying entire supports for the building.
Inevitably, the maggot eaten wood that supported the sordid place of obesity and indulgence gave way, and the building began to collapse. Seeing this, Red gave a self-satisfied smirk before showing himself out, picking up a few unconscious bystanders along the way.
Outside, naturally, was a celebratory parade waiting to congratulate him on his endeavour. A myriad of police vehicles from cars to helicopters were on the site, with various news reporters thrusting their cameras in his direction. Red flashed a pose for the crowd and smiled, "Justice has once more been enforced by none other than Red Rapid!" | |
[WP] You are a children's television show superhero by day, but a real superhero by night. Your mannerisms do not change. | I jumped down from the wooden board above the stage. My cape flapped behind me as the wires brought me down to the floor. I landed with my knees bent and then jumped up!
"Your evil stops here, Mr. Candy Sneak!" I threw my cape back, stuck out my chest, and pointed my finger angrily at the man dressed in bright colors. He was holding Mrs. Lopez's candy jar and was trying to get Julio, Tyrell, and Melissa to take some without permission and before dinner!
The children gasped. "Captain Smart!" They ran away from Mr. Candy Sneak and the jar and over to me.
I kneeled down to look them in the eye. "Now, you three know better. It's not right to take things that don't belong to you when you don't ask first."
"But it's my mom's! Mr. Candy Sneak said that'd be ok!" Julio cried.
I looked Julio in the eye and frowned. "Did she say it was ok?"
Julio looked down at his shoes. "N...no."
I turned to look at Tyrell and Melissa. "And what about you two..."
They looked at each other and then looked down. "We thought because Julio was..." Melissa started.
"...that it'd be ok because we're his friends," Tyrell finished.
"It's never ok to follow your friends when they do things that are bad! Friends help friends do good things and stop them from doing bad things!" I hugged the three children. "You have to tell Mrs. Lopez what you did, ok?"
"Because good kids are honest kids!" They shouted in unison and smiled.
I stood up. "And for you Mr. Candy Sneak..."
The skinny man shook his fist at me and frowned. "Grrr. I won't let you take me Captain Smart!" He tried to run away but SURPRISE! I was in front of him! He bumped into me and fell down.
"Careful Mr. Candy Sneak!" I stuck out my hand and helped him up. "You need to watch out for other people! Now we're going to take you to Officer Washington. You're going to jail."
The children cheered for me as I led Mr. Candy Sneak off stage and Mrs. Lopez came through the door and asked, "Mijos! Mija! What is going on here?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a single, fluid motion, I lept down from the fire escape above the alley. I didn't wear a cape on patrol. They looked impressive, but they really were just another handhold. I floated to the ground and landed silently behind The Breaker and his goons.
"Your evil stops here, Breaker!" I announced, my chest puffed out and my finger pointing at him accusatory. He whipped around to face me, his black leather duster snapping in the air. His three goons looked over their shoulder at me. There eyes were wide and bright with fear underneath their black beanies. They had been midway through prying off the back door of the First County Bank building. They were either here for the money or for Dr. Von Werner's sonic lab in the basement. Maybe both.
"Captain Smart!?" I heard one of them whisper in disbelief.
"My kid watches him everyday! He's just a crazy actor," the one next to him hissed. "I got 'im, boss!" he cried and ran at me with his crowbar raised. The other two followed him blindly and without hesitation.
"Now, you three know better. It's not right to take things that don't belong to you when you don't ask first," I said as my fist slammed into the eyes of the first one. He stumbled back and fell onto his ass. Blood poured out from his nose and the whites of his eyes started to turn red with blood. They rolled back into his skull and he collapsed unconscious and splayed on the ground.
I looked at the other two rushing towards me. "And what about you two..." I started.
The second and third goons's crowbars slammed into me like Mrs. Lopez's licorice whips on a Panzer tank. I grabbed the twisted bars and pulled, slamming their craniums together with a nauseating crunch. I let go and they dropped to the ground.
I clucked my tongue at the three goons laying on the ground. "It's never ok to follow your friends when they do things that are bad! Friends help friends do good things and stop them from doing bad things!" I scolded their limp and unaware bodies.
"And as for you, Breaker..."
He spat a curse at me and pulled out a gun. His gangly arms trembled as he pointed it at my face and started firing. The bullets hit my face like slaps as I advanced.
The Breaker cursed again and tried to run. Humans are slow, sadly. It was like running full force into a brick wall. His nose crunched. My chest was bloody.
"Careful, Breaker." I reached down and hauled him up by his hand. He screamed as his humerus separated from his scapula and his elbow stretched further than it was ever meant to. "You need to watch out for other people! Now we're going to take you to Officer McDonnell. You're going to jail."
He shrieked as I gripped him by his dislocated shoulder and launched into the air. | I look at my gloved hands. Red gloves, latex, perfect for the cameras. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
A flickering.
A spotlight.
A body on the ground.
"ACTION!"
I quickly analyse the scene of the crime. I see fingerprints on the man's belt that coincide with my memorized fingerprints database for a Warner Tucker - he is wanted in 30 states for promoting hate crimes.
I lean forward and feel the nudge of the harness lowering me down from the rafters, unnecessarily. I strike a heroic pose. I would have lowered down slowly even without the harness.
The director knows somethings up. He starts writing a text on his phone. Who would he text? What is his contingency plan?
"Not another" I say. I gesture inward to see a clue. A footprint left in the mud. I know it is a Red Wing 980 D size 8 shoe, which I know has only sold 14 pairs in the greater New York. The print looks like only 10 or 15 pounds of weight was put on the shoe - not a real footstep. No extra pressure in the heel or toe. One pair of those shoes was sold as a prop for this set. "A clue to the murder" I said to the camera. The director looked nervous. Would he notice?
I walk to the next scene. A white lab. I put on white gloves. Real heroes don't wear gloves. Beakers and colorful liquids everywhere. I don't need a lab. I already know what shoe this is. I already know who the murderer is. "Let's take a closer look at that footprint!" I say wearily to the camera.
The director is no longer in his chair. Where did he go? I'll find out later.
I walk to the next scene. I look at my bare knuckles. A hideout. Hideouts don't look like this. They are just normal houses. I feel the sensation of knocking on the fake door on my bare knuckles. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. Warner Tucker peers through the opening of the door with the chain keeping it fastened.
I pull the door open. I hear a gunshot. I feel the sensation of a bullet passing through my chest. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. I hear Warners finger pulling a second time and I see the child. As quickly as I can I redirect the bullet with my gloved hand. I feel the bullet tear the glove. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
A flickering.
A yell.
A spotlight.
A body on the ground.
The director lies bleeding and crumpled on the ground. I look at my hands. Red gloves, latex, perfect for the cameras. Real heroes don't wear gloves. | |
[WP] You are a children's television show superhero by day, but a real superhero by night. Your mannerisms do not change. | "Come on! Get the money in the truck! We've only got a few minutes until the poli-"
The overhead skylight exploded, sending glass raining into the bank lobby. "Fuck it's the SWAT! Get your wea-" The words froze in his throat when he noticed what had just landed atop the statue in the center of the lobby.
"Stealing is bad folks. Why don't we all just gather around for a group hug?" Boomed a heroic voice.
A man in neon green spandex, a white scarf, and what looked like a bike helmet, addressed then from his perch.
"What. The. Fuck."
"*That's* a quarter for the swear jar! Maybe *this* will give you a shock?" He exclaimed triumphantly, as he threw something from his utility belt. The swearing bank robber fell to the floor, yelling out several more swears, as a lightning bolt shaped object was embedded in his shoulder.
"He's got weapons! Get down!"
"Did he just imply an electric gadget, but then just stab that guy?"
"Just get the fuck down Steve!"
"Evil doers can not hide from the sting of *Justice!*" The man leaped down on top of a second bank robber, a gloved had smashing his head into the tile floor. "Looks like this one should've abandoned ship!" He said smugly.
"Your phrases don't even fit the context!" Yelled the final bank robber, raising his gun. "You're not getting me. I'm not going to jail."
"If you can't do the time, then don't do the crime!" Exclaimed the man, somersaulting into the air. The gun fired several times each bullet missing. Heavy boots made contact with the robbers jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.
In the moments before unconsciousness, he said "At least... that one... made fucking sen- AUGH" He was cut off as a lightning bolt pinned his arm to the floor.
"*Swear jaaaaar*" Said the man, in a sing song tone.
Police flooded into the lobby, "You! Don't move."
"Ah, the authorities! Never fear! I have appreh-"
"Get on the ground! Heads behind your head!"
The man leaped into the air, bouncing among the statue, columns, and banners, reaching the open skylight.
A rookie cop lowered his gun, "Who are you?"
The man popped his head back into the skylight, "I am.... Greeeeennnnn" The voice trailed off as he ran off into the night.
Silence hung awkwardly in the bank lobby.
"D-did he say his name was the green? As in the color?" | I look at my gloved hands. Red gloves, latex, perfect for the cameras. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
A flickering.
A spotlight.
A body on the ground.
"ACTION!"
I quickly analyse the scene of the crime. I see fingerprints on the man's belt that coincide with my memorized fingerprints database for a Warner Tucker - he is wanted in 30 states for promoting hate crimes.
I lean forward and feel the nudge of the harness lowering me down from the rafters, unnecessarily. I strike a heroic pose. I would have lowered down slowly even without the harness.
The director knows somethings up. He starts writing a text on his phone. Who would he text? What is his contingency plan?
"Not another" I say. I gesture inward to see a clue. A footprint left in the mud. I know it is a Red Wing 980 D size 8 shoe, which I know has only sold 14 pairs in the greater New York. The print looks like only 10 or 15 pounds of weight was put on the shoe - not a real footstep. No extra pressure in the heel or toe. One pair of those shoes was sold as a prop for this set. "A clue to the murder" I said to the camera. The director looked nervous. Would he notice?
I walk to the next scene. A white lab. I put on white gloves. Real heroes don't wear gloves. Beakers and colorful liquids everywhere. I don't need a lab. I already know what shoe this is. I already know who the murderer is. "Let's take a closer look at that footprint!" I say wearily to the camera.
The director is no longer in his chair. Where did he go? I'll find out later.
I walk to the next scene. I look at my bare knuckles. A hideout. Hideouts don't look like this. They are just normal houses. I feel the sensation of knocking on the fake door on my bare knuckles. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. Warner Tucker peers through the opening of the door with the chain keeping it fastened.
I pull the door open. I hear a gunshot. I feel the sensation of a bullet passing through my chest. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. I hear Warners finger pulling a second time and I see the child. As quickly as I can I redirect the bullet with my gloved hand. I feel the bullet tear the glove. Real heroes don't wear gloves.
A flickering.
A yell.
A spotlight.
A body on the ground.
The director lies bleeding and crumpled on the ground. I look at my hands. Red gloves, latex, perfect for the cameras. Real heroes don't wear gloves. | |
[WP] You're a teen playing spin the bottle. Your spin lands between two other teens. You reach to spin again when an extra-dimensional being suddenly materializes in the empty space and says, "Finally! Let's go." | Mr. Mxyzptlk grinned ear to ear. "Well, loverboy? Pucker up!"
Clark stared at the tiny old man with the weird hair and the outlandish getup.
"Do hurry, young man, or I might have to call your parents!"
The rest of the group fell silent; there was nothing right about this man, from the way he'd appeared out of thin air down to the fact there was three inches of it between him and the ground. Clark inched forward, putting a hand on the floor in front of him; who knows what else this man could do. He could melt the room with laser eyes or snap his fingers and wink everyone out of existence. Clark trembled as he crossed the circle, trying to prepare himself to kiss this wrinkly old man.
"Clark?" Tamra's voice was shaking along with the rest of her. "Earth to Clark!"
Clark Kent opened his eyes. The imp was gone. He was alone in the middle of the circle. Embarrassment blossomed on his face, and somewhere in the fifth dimension, a wrinkly old man was laughing his ass off. | "Are you coming," he repeated. And all I could do was just stare. My mouth hanging open and lips frozen in both fear and excitement. I could not take my eyes off of it.
"Who are you," I asked, but before he could answer, a light started shining behind him and then I swore I heard an alarm.
"You need to come with me now. No more questions, just trust me, please," he insisted.
Margaret grabbed my arm, "No, Emily. What are you doing," as I started to crawl over to him and get up. In that split second decision, I had made up my mind. I stood up, and walked forward.
"I'm coming." | |
[WP] The "What if the Nazis won??" trope has been done to death. This time, imagine you live in a world where they won and write a story based on the prompt, "What if the allies won??" | "Professor, what if the axis had won the war and Germany lost?"
The professor lifted his head into the air so his nostrils were clearly visible to focus his glasses where the sound came from.
"Ah, yes. This is a good question, an interesting question." The professor, pulled the back of his belt up, adjusting his pants as he stood up in a slightly crooked manner.
"The world would be very different, wouldn't it? The world would still be dangerous even. People would probably be waging some kind of war still, I suppose." The professor adjusted his signature black and red pens in his front pocket. The professor got this question a lot, but he always enjoyed talking through it with the new students. "What do you think would have happened?" The professor cupped his ear to listen.
"Well..." thought the student who asked the question "... the Americans probably would have blown up the planet with their bomb. They had to be stopped."
A second student chimed in. "Maybe the Americans would have only used their bombs a little. We don't know for sure if the Americans were planning to conquer everyone and it doesn't make sense to blow up the entire Earth to win a war." The professor encouraged back and forth discussion in classes. He smiled and rubbed his nose as he realized this particular student did the reading last night.
"That's true." the professor said with a hand gesture to the student. He often played devil's advocate. "In fact, the Americans were pretty reluctant to join the war at all. But they were eager to use their new weapon."
The student retorted. "But there's no guarantee they would have killed everyone, right?"
The professor leaned forward and tilted his head. "Yes, but consider the power of such a weapon at the time. Is it worth the chance, truly?" The professor turned around to address other students. "What would happen if the Americans *did* decide to use it on everyone, hmm? Should one single nation have such power to wield against another? against *all* others?"
The class was silent.
"Hitler knew this was a problem, and that's why he acted. This is a common theme we'll be studying in the next chapter about him. Hitler was successful because he did not hesitate. Each time he recognized a threat he immediately pursued it." The professor snapped his fingers for emphasis. "That's what I want each of you to do as well, in this class and in your life." The professor had a stern look on his face as he scanned the class. "Of course, having the best engineers creating your weapons of war is handy too." The professor chuckled at his own joke. Several students snickered with him.
"There were many more elements at play than just the Americans. Later in the year we'll be talking about the involvement of the Russians, the Japanese, the British-" A bell rang, signaling their time was up. The students began packing their things. "...the French, the Italians... some friendly and some not so friendly." The professor's voice trailed off as he recognized he lost the student's attention.
An individual student walked up to the professor as the professor returned to his seat. "Professor, what about all the bad stuff about Hitler? Doesn't that make him a bad person?"
"I would never lie to you. Hitler did some terrible things, no doubt. But Hitler also did amazing things. Because of the unification, we were able to achieve great things, not as a nation, but as a *species*. As you learn more about the world, you find that people and history are... complicated." The professor took his glasses off and rubbed them with his shirt.
"What you'll find is that no one is perfect. Not you. Not me. Not your parents. No one. Of course we don't actually know what the world would be like today, in 2024, if the axis had beat Hitler and his allies, but it's hard to imagine a world with a hundred nations waging a hundred wars making progress, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Now hurry up or you'll miss your shuttle back home." The professor gently shooed the student away with a smile.
"Oh, did I tell you we moved?", asked the student.
"No, where are you seated these days?" The professor adjusted his glasses as he placed them back on his face.
"We found a new place near sector 23. It's pretty great."
"Isn't that the place with the bright red nebula?"
"Yup! It's beautiful!"
"I bet it is."
Edit: Made minor modifications to the text for clarity. | Parts of this make me feel unclean to write, but here it is anyway.
Back-page summary of The Girl in the Low Valley by Hans Schroeder
It is 1963. The Axis Powers have crumbled against the Slavic hordes of the Soviet Union and the devastating American Atom Bombs. What was once the Reich has been divided between The USSR and the United States.
In the West America's Economic might has broken the once great powers of Europe into second class nations bound to the strength of the dollar at best, or at worst shattered nations reduced only to sources of raw material to make luxury items for Americans.
In the East Stalin has made the White Race of Europe and Asia into slaves, used and disposed of to Improve his mad socialist dream. Ever tightening his grip over the once proud nations of Europa and Asia.
But Stalin is dying, Foreign minister Vyacheslav Molotov and Defense Minister Gregory Zhukov struggle against each other to take his place as masters of Eurasia. As Stalin Grows closer and closer to death atomic war with The Americans comes ever closer.
Through this dance of giants the people of the Reich must find the courage and strength to take their nation back from the Capitalist and Communist Oppressors who have made Europe a wasteland.
| |
[wp]You are a college student, descending into madness. However, the voices you hear are actually reasonable and harassingly helpful. | "So you're hearing voices."
I appreciated Dr. Minsk abruptness. The way her words cut to the core of things, rather than try to peel away the unnecessary details of my life. It'd been almost two months since my last visit, but she wasted no time with that.
"Yes," I said. I fidgeted with my fingers, flaking off bits of orange polish. "Well, no. Not voices really. Murmurs."
"Can you describe them to me?"
"Uh." I ran my fingers through my hair. About an inch of dark roots showed, and then abruptly became a faded blue. "It's kind of been like having the BBC on in the background of my brain."
Minsk smiled, as if hearing British newscasters chatter were a normal occurrence. I forced a thin lipped smile in return. The doctor's smile had been a calming presence in my life since I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in the 10th grade.
"Can you hear it now?"
I paused and listened. The air conditioning was blowing. It rustled the papers on Minsk's desk. "No," I said, a little relieved.
"How have your stress levels been, lately?"
I snorted. "I'm taking a full course load and subbing at the preschool. I've hardly had time to sleep."
The corner or Minsk's face twitched in a familiar, disproving way. "You need to take care of yourself, Bri."
"I know. I am. I will. During the break." I cracked a more genuine grin. "I'll sleep through Christmas, I promise."
Minsk snorted. "The hallucinations could be caused by any number of things. Lack of sleep is a prime contender, though it's also a rare symptom of your anxiety medications. We could try taking you off--"
"No!" I jolted forward, as if to jump to my feet. "It's not bothering me that much. I'd rather stay on the meds."
Minsk nodded. "I want you to start keeping track of when you hear the voices. Once we figure out what the trigger is, we can better assess the situation, and perhaps come up with a plan."
The doctor and I discussed my life at school a little more until my time was up. I thanked her and promised not to reschedule eight weeks in a row again.
"I'll call you in a few days to check in," she said as she led me to the door. She placed an almost motherly hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Sleep, Bri. Eat well. Go for a walk if you need to. Take care of yourself." I nodded enthusiastically, despite not intending on doing any of those things. I had class that evening, and a final paper to write. Rest would have to wait. Not for long. Just until winter break. Graduation, at the latest.
The tinkle of the officer door was still ringing in my ears when I heard the first, clear words. "Loads of help she was."
The voice was dry and Mr. Darcy-like. I jumped, and jerked my head over my shoulder but saw no one. My jaw clenched.
I waited on the front steps for a moment, breathing softly, waiting. The Florida sun seemed uninterested in the words "November," or "fall," and beat down on me. Sweat pricked at my t-shirt's collar.
Cars rushed and occasionally rattled by. Two squirrels argued in shrill babbles. I exhaled and walked to the bus stop, still listening intently. After a while, I forgot to listen, and instead watched the time on my phone with increasing concern.
The bus was late.
Three minutes, and I started bouncing on my toes, craning my neck to see it coming around the corner. At eight minutes I added a shoulder shimmy to my impatient rhythm. Eleven minutes went by and I had balled my hand into a fist and thumped it against my thigh in time to my frantic dance.
"Oh will you quit it?" snapped the voice.
I froze. Eyes wide.
"You can't chacha the red lights green. So relax. Read a book or something. I don't care. Just stop it with the bloody ballet."
I remained still and silent, straining to hear the voice again. After nearly two minutes, I laughed. It was like something out of Monty Python, comedic in its surreal-ness.
The bus was over 20 minutes late, and completely packed when I squeezed myself on. The heat of bodies was almost overwhelming. I put in my headphones and played music loudly enough that I could ignore the sniffles and coughs, and placed my phone safely into my bag. My blinks were slow and lingering in an attempt to avoid catching anyone's eyes.
“That man, blue hat,” the voice said, completely clear despite the music. “He's totally eyeing your ass.”
“I noticed,” I murmured, and was then hit by a pang of uncertainty and discomfort. It probably wasn't healthy to reply to the sassy British man residing in my head.
“He's not to look at, inn't he though.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not my type,” I said, and winced again. Must stop conversing with hallucinations, I repeated to myself.
When the bus stopped at the school and I could finally pry myself free of the throng, I had a feeling I was forgetting something. I pawed at my empty pockets, and was struck with electrifying panic. “My phone!” I gasped aloud as the bus rolled away.
“You mean the one you were playing music from?” the voice asked, hints of sarcasm coloring it.
“Yes,” I said, digging into my pockets individually.
“The music you can hear right now?”
“Yes, I—oh.”
“It's in your pack, genius.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, my cheeks burning. The blush deepened when I realized I had been humiliated by my own hallucination.
“Christ, you're hopeless.” I could practically hear the disembodied voice shaking it's head. “It's a good thing you've got me. Now let's go! You've got class, don't you?”
I started down the campus' winding sidewalk.
“Class soon. You've got class, soon. Not time to meander, you damn yank. Move!”
It was ridiculous. I laughed. I shouldered my bag and took off at a sprint, giggling the entire way. | Students seemed to see every day as the same, long, dull and drawn out. waiting for the weekends to come for the next big party just to have the whole time pass in a matter of "minutes". while others went home to be lazy and enjoy the days to them selves. "looks like somebody has the case of the Mondays." a phrase often spoken to much.
Us, or I....on the other hand like to believe every day is a new adventure to take...or a mew way of life....or even on the occasion, how much pain can i cause to people around me. well pain as in emotional control, to see how well i can convince others around me to do tasks. A Ben Franklin effect of sorts.
Start to the day always came with a grain of salt. "Do i really need to get out of bed?"
"Of course you do"
"well you do have that baggy in the drawer to start off your day with."
"You did that yesterday. something new, something different."
i go for the drawer anyways.
"Ill start with this and make a phone call."
barely awake, crawling my naked ass out of bed i reach for my drawer and remove a small bag. open it up and pour a house key sized line from the contents. one deep breath and my day has began. Those people talking before became a little more awake as well and begin to agree more with one another.
"now, make the call all said in unison."
"hey LawDawg, have anything good over there?....ya?...awesome ill be right over."
we decide to make the trip over to LawDawg's place before class, and one more smell of relief to help the fatigued mind.
awake and ready to go, we hop in the car and get going.
"so whats on the agenda today?"
"why does there have to be an agenda?"
"adventure is ahead of us!"
"we have class and many people to play with."
"Everyone calm down, i have an idea. some colors, some talks, good tastes are ahead of us AND the Professor Shplut will love our commitment to philosophy today."
The others sat puzzled. Its strange how the mind can be confused while the body can know exactly whats going on. The visit came and passed and we pulled into a parking space in the way back.
we all looked in awe as i pulled out two viles. a few angry.
"i said something new and fun, not diminishing."
"your going to rid us of the day?"
"not all of you" i say
"just gonna bring some friends out we haven't said hello to in awhile."
we opened the top of one and dropped the sweet candy liquid onto the tongue. opened the other, crystal like fragments roll out and into my piece. all natural, chemically made and enhances ones dreams. as i inhale the others fade. my old friend arrives, pure euphoria rushes over, a giggle tingles the spine.
"hello old friend, the others were getting, boring."
"has the world turned about?"
"you know i need you for that."
no words spoken back only the feeling of a cynical grin coming from the deepest parts of my soul. A grin on my face.
now we all are aware of the joker in the D.C. universe. but what if you could feel his presence inside of you, as a student, surrounded by casuals to the other dimensions. what if you could for a day wreck havoc with no bad outcomes but your own enjoyment. we don't destroy buildings, kill, or cause humility. instead we build a new world of thought for ourselves and others. we plant the seed of life and dreams in students and teachers, we create better people. if you could dream in the real world while being awake. walk the halls of your mind on sidewalks. Traverse into others just like a two corridors meeting. best part about it is, whats real and whats not?
one fades in and helps to kick the other one in faster, a normally 45 minute wait takes maybe 10 minutes.
7 AM physics, Profesor Rollo
"I think its time"
"what do you have in mind" i think to myself.
"let me take a turn."
my face shifts from my book to the front of the class, smirk on my face now. hand raised.
we have been discussing the idea of multiple dimensions all week and currently on 4th dimensions, more precise, what exactly is it or does it look like.
"Yes, Mr. Anderson do you have a question?"
the euphoria came back, my body sighs with feelings explainable to the unknowing.
"More of a comment if i may."
Professor Rollo waits for him to continue.
"a 2D world exists, to us on a piece of paper, it has an X and Y axis. we in the third dimension are able to see really all sides and angles of this object. now us in the 3D consist of an added Z axis, we can see most angles in our s, only because we live in it. now the idea of 4D is that we can see every side and everything including the possibility of time lookig down into the 3D, Correct?"
he pauses
"in so many words we can say that, whats your point?" Mr. Rollo asked not looking amused.
"Ok, well now how can we add a W axis?"
"A what Mr. Anderson?"
"A W Axis. an axis that would extend our existing XYZ. Stephen Hawking as spoke of how a worm hole could be the fastest form of traveling through time and space. a possible way to a 4th dimension. if you could wrap our universe into a tube, like that you can do with a piece of paper. in 3d you could look up and see the other side, theoretically, although we cannot see that. but in 4D that is what our 3D looks like, a rolled up paper tube, consisting of an XYZ as well as a W being time itself. just a like a warm hole, in 4D u could press down on this tube to create two points touching making a wormhole effect."
Professor Rollo only sighed "possibly"
i laughed at myself to see him fail for his first attempt of the day, but he just sat there grinning, he knew something i did not. i looked around, many of the classmates were stunned by the idea and how possible it could be. he leaned over to the closest girl staring.
"have you ever wondered why when you see a lost shoe on the road that there is only one, where is the other? did it run away? do the bees know they make the honey for you, or do they work tirelessly because they think its their own choice? have you ever noticed after you hear a word for the first time in your life you will hear it again within the next 24 hours? there are gaps in my mind that can never be answered. how about you?"
puzzled everyone looked at him
the bell rings, students leave almost mesmerized with the questions they have never thought about.
"well that was easy, only gets better from here." he exclaims.
I chuckle as we skip to the next class. | |
[wp]You are a college student, descending into madness. However, the voices you hear are actually reasonable and harassingly helpful. | "So you're hearing voices."
I appreciated Dr. Minsk abruptness. The way her words cut to the core of things, rather than try to peel away the unnecessary details of my life. It'd been almost two months since my last visit, but she wasted no time with that.
"Yes," I said. I fidgeted with my fingers, flaking off bits of orange polish. "Well, no. Not voices really. Murmurs."
"Can you describe them to me?"
"Uh." I ran my fingers through my hair. About an inch of dark roots showed, and then abruptly became a faded blue. "It's kind of been like having the BBC on in the background of my brain."
Minsk smiled, as if hearing British newscasters chatter were a normal occurrence. I forced a thin lipped smile in return. The doctor's smile had been a calming presence in my life since I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in the 10th grade.
"Can you hear it now?"
I paused and listened. The air conditioning was blowing. It rustled the papers on Minsk's desk. "No," I said, a little relieved.
"How have your stress levels been, lately?"
I snorted. "I'm taking a full course load and subbing at the preschool. I've hardly had time to sleep."
The corner or Minsk's face twitched in a familiar, disproving way. "You need to take care of yourself, Bri."
"I know. I am. I will. During the break." I cracked a more genuine grin. "I'll sleep through Christmas, I promise."
Minsk snorted. "The hallucinations could be caused by any number of things. Lack of sleep is a prime contender, though it's also a rare symptom of your anxiety medications. We could try taking you off--"
"No!" I jolted forward, as if to jump to my feet. "It's not bothering me that much. I'd rather stay on the meds."
Minsk nodded. "I want you to start keeping track of when you hear the voices. Once we figure out what the trigger is, we can better assess the situation, and perhaps come up with a plan."
The doctor and I discussed my life at school a little more until my time was up. I thanked her and promised not to reschedule eight weeks in a row again.
"I'll call you in a few days to check in," she said as she led me to the door. She placed an almost motherly hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Sleep, Bri. Eat well. Go for a walk if you need to. Take care of yourself." I nodded enthusiastically, despite not intending on doing any of those things. I had class that evening, and a final paper to write. Rest would have to wait. Not for long. Just until winter break. Graduation, at the latest.
The tinkle of the officer door was still ringing in my ears when I heard the first, clear words. "Loads of help she was."
The voice was dry and Mr. Darcy-like. I jumped, and jerked my head over my shoulder but saw no one. My jaw clenched.
I waited on the front steps for a moment, breathing softly, waiting. The Florida sun seemed uninterested in the words "November," or "fall," and beat down on me. Sweat pricked at my t-shirt's collar.
Cars rushed and occasionally rattled by. Two squirrels argued in shrill babbles. I exhaled and walked to the bus stop, still listening intently. After a while, I forgot to listen, and instead watched the time on my phone with increasing concern.
The bus was late.
Three minutes, and I started bouncing on my toes, craning my neck to see it coming around the corner. At eight minutes I added a shoulder shimmy to my impatient rhythm. Eleven minutes went by and I had balled my hand into a fist and thumped it against my thigh in time to my frantic dance.
"Oh will you quit it?" snapped the voice.
I froze. Eyes wide.
"You can't chacha the red lights green. So relax. Read a book or something. I don't care. Just stop it with the bloody ballet."
I remained still and silent, straining to hear the voice again. After nearly two minutes, I laughed. It was like something out of Monty Python, comedic in its surreal-ness.
The bus was over 20 minutes late, and completely packed when I squeezed myself on. The heat of bodies was almost overwhelming. I put in my headphones and played music loudly enough that I could ignore the sniffles and coughs, and placed my phone safely into my bag. My blinks were slow and lingering in an attempt to avoid catching anyone's eyes.
“That man, blue hat,” the voice said, completely clear despite the music. “He's totally eyeing your ass.”
“I noticed,” I murmured, and was then hit by a pang of uncertainty and discomfort. It probably wasn't healthy to reply to the sassy British man residing in my head.
“He's not to look at, inn't he though.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not my type,” I said, and winced again. Must stop conversing with hallucinations, I repeated to myself.
When the bus stopped at the school and I could finally pry myself free of the throng, I had a feeling I was forgetting something. I pawed at my empty pockets, and was struck with electrifying panic. “My phone!” I gasped aloud as the bus rolled away.
“You mean the one you were playing music from?” the voice asked, hints of sarcasm coloring it.
“Yes,” I said, digging into my pockets individually.
“The music you can hear right now?”
“Yes, I—oh.”
“It's in your pack, genius.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, my cheeks burning. The blush deepened when I realized I had been humiliated by my own hallucination.
“Christ, you're hopeless.” I could practically hear the disembodied voice shaking it's head. “It's a good thing you've got me. Now let's go! You've got class, don't you?”
I started down the campus' winding sidewalk.
“Class soon. You've got class, soon. Not time to meander, you damn yank. Move!”
It was ridiculous. I laughed. I shouldered my bag and took off at a sprint, giggling the entire way. | I set my tray down a little too hard next to the register, splashing a bit of Dr. Pepper on my noodles. “Shit,” I mutter, fumbling in my bag for my meal card. The cashier looks at me, half paying attention. I’m not surprised she’s kind of zoned out by 10 pm, the dinner rush is over and it’s just the night-owls and fuck-ups like me. I can see the scattered people in the cafeteria, all sitting a socially acceptable distance apart (usually at least two chairs in between, never directly across the table from each other), eating with their heads down, faces illuminated by their phones. I recognize her, the cashier, she’s in one of my classes, but I don’t know which. I’m in the business program now, and I feel like everyone in my classes acts and talks the same, dresses the same. Even my professors, how many white dudes can you have working in one program? Last term I was majoring in anthropology, which I loved, but that’s not really worth dwelling on.
I scan my card and move on, looking for a seat sufficiently far from the others. I find a small two-person table that I can have to myself, and sit down to start eating – I’m starving, especially now that I’ve started working out after class every day. Turns out that peanut sauce and Dr. Pepper are an ok combination; I wouldn’t do it on purpose, but I’m not throwing my food out for this. I get about two bites in and I feel it coming – I cringe, as always. SERIOUSLY, NOODLES FOR DINNER? HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF VEGETABLES, PROTEIN? I stick my earbuds in and turn up my music, even though I already know it doesn’t matter.
Do crazy people know when they’re going crazy? This old guy in my neighborhood used to scream at me and my sister whenever we walked by, and I always felt bad – he wasn’t like the guys who yelled gross stuff at us, he would yell about the cops, or the government. My mom said he used to work a regular job and have kids and stuff, but something happened. She liked to blame drugs and alcohol, I think as a Cautionary Tale for us, but even as a kid I realized it wasn’t that simple cause plenty of people drink and get high without losing touch with reality. I’m not ready to think about this anymore, honestly. My family isn’t big on doctors, especially not for mental health stuff. What would I even say? I can’t sleep at night cause I’m making such healthy choices, and doing so well at school?
…
I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling. I practice good sleep hygiene lately (I know, shocking), turning off screens before bed, relaxing as much as I can relax, knowing that my asshole roommate is going to barge in loudly as soon as I fall asleep. YOU SHOULD TRY TO SLEE-, “YES, I fucking know!” I yell, too loudly. I know I should sleep. I know what I “should” do all the fucking time now. It’s like a conscience, right? A conscience that booms inside my head, that gets louder and scarier if I ignore it. I can’t pass out again in class like I did last term, but I don’t like just giving in either. If this voice is a part of me though, am I giving in? But if it’s not… and that’s where I sit up and take a sip of water. That’s not the way to go, I don’t need to explore that line of thought. If I’m hearing voices, it’s something going on in MY brain, and if it’s always good advice, I should be grateful, right? Even if it’s not what I want from my life? But, if it’s not what I want then, well. Again, I’m not trying to go there, I don’t need to go down the rabbit hole of my mind. Especially when it’s easier to just listen, and lately, now that I’m so tired all the time, I don’t really see any other choice.
| |
[WP] The man died, but he was an organ donor. They harvested anything worth taking, but when they went to close him up and pull the plug, it had all grown back. So they did it again, and again, and again. On and on it went for decades, saving thousands of lives, until one day he opened his eyes. | You could feel the tension in the air as she walked into the hospital. Dr Smith had received some news that people had been dreading for decades. He had finally regained consciousness, and now she was going to have to face him and explain what had happened. The fact that she had won the competition wasn't any consolation prize at all. People had been betting which doctor would be on call if/when he awoke ever since he was transferred to this private facility 40 years ago. She had flippantly bet on herself. 40 years of $10 bets from the majority of the staff here, all going in her pocket, and she was still unable to muster even the slightest semblance of a smile.
She crossed through the three security checkpoints, repeating the same process she had been through every day for the last 2 years. But this time, it was different. As she approached the door to the isolated chamber, she could feel the hairs standing on end at the back of her neck. Her lip was trembling. She had never felt this nervous before. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey Doc, it'll be OK. You know what you're doing. I'm sure he'll understand.”, it was one of the security guards. Despite seeing him every day, she had no idea what his name was, nor did she care. But she appreciated the sentiment. She looked back at the guard and nodded her head. She took one last moment, a deep breath and opened the door.
He heard the door opening and was still in a state of utter confusion. He had no idea how long he had been awake, he couldn't remember who he was, he didn't know where he was. He was unable to move anything other than his eyes. All he knew was that he was in a white room and he was in agonising pain.
He saw a figure in a lab coat emerge from the door, he was praying for some answers.
“Good afternoon Mr, erm, Andrews. I'm your doctor. I have some important information to tell you, and there's really no easy way to say this. You were in an accident and were declared brain dead. You've been in a coma for quite some time. I've been your doctor for the past 2 years...”
He felt his heart racing, he was struggling to understand what was happening and had tuned out the sound of her voice. Was this some sort of cruel joke? She wasn't even looking at him, she was just looking at a god-damn clipboard. He kept his eyes locked on her, as she eventually glanced up from her clipboard. He saw a look of pure horror as she gazed upon him.She dropped the clipboard and ran out of the room. The door was still open behind her. He felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest, he could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He heard a female voice booming from outside the room as a group of people in medical scrubs ran in.
“WHY THE F**K WASN'T HE CLOSED UP?!” was the last thing he heard as his vision started to fade.
His eyes opened, he was in a different room now. The tube was out of his throat, and his head was free to move. He still couldn't move the rest of the body, but he could feel that his arms and legs were still strapped to the bed. He glanced over to his left and saw a figure in a lab coat walking towards him.
“Good morning Mr Andrews. I'm very sorry about what you went through a few days ago, we had to put you back to sleep because there was a complication. My name is Dr Smith. You might have some difficulty speaking, but I'm sure you have a lot of questions for us. As I was saying last time, there's no easy way to say this. You've been in a coma for quite some time, it's probably best that you don't know exactly how long. You're in a private facility and we're giving you the best...”
He interrupted her with a whisper, it was all he could muster, “What did you mean when you said “why wasn't he closed up?”
“Oh... You... Heard that?” She replied, nervously. “Well, you signed up to be an organ donor. The doctors did everything they could to save you, but you were eventually considered to be brain-dead. We made the decision to begin the process of harvesting your organs.”
“What's left?”
“Well... You have everything left, Mr Andrews”, he could see a slight grin emerging on her face. “By the time they went to take the last organs, they noticed something strange...”
“Doesn't make sense...”
“Yes, I'd imagine it doesn't. We took everything. But then... Well, it all started to grow back.”
He didn't know how to respond. He wanted to laugh, he assumed she was joking. He was utterly speechless.
“I assure you, you have all of your organs right now. But, so do a lot of other people. Your organs have helped thousands of people over the years. You've been a sleeping miracle.” She spoke with beaming pride. Was she actually smiling?!
“Joke? Thousands? No...” He was struggling to speak, but felt compelled to continue.
“Mr Andrews. You have saved the lives of world leaders; athletes; film stars; musicians; internet celebrities and countless others. And that's just during your time here at this facility.” She was feeling more and more confident now. However, he was feeling more queasy with every sentence she spoke. Something wasn't right.
“Doc... My question...” he tried his best to speak as authoritatively as he possibly could.
“Ah, yes. It's unfortunate that you overheard that, but since you asked, I'll tell you. Your organs regenerate, Mr Andrews. It takes approximately two hours for the organs to completely regenerate after they get removed. So... Nobody closed up the body, after a few years, they didn't see any reason to. You weren't waking up, and it wasted time opening you up and closing you up every few hours. That's why you were kept in that isolation chamber, to stop you getting infected by anything at all. We couldn't have you getting sick, it slows down your body's ability. Our clients need you healthy.” She spoke with a completely cold voice now, and she kept glancing at her watch. Any semblance of concern or compassion she had was well and truly gone.
He was fighting to stay awake, he was struggling to process everything he had been told. He wanted to shout and scream. He had so many more questions.
“Well, time's up Mr Andrews. It's coming up to two hours, and we have an A-Lister waiting for a new heart.”
| You saved their lives,
hearts, kidneys, liver,
removed, deftly
with razors
made from stones
shaped under heat
molded by machines
powered by burning aether.
.
These were a gift
from us to them
to whom you gave
the promises of
skill and artifice
and to whom
you could now give more
the gift of life,
springing from your side.
.
Was your indiscretion
in tempting them to
heat without light
merely, in irony,
a rash rebellion?
For whom, precisely, did you perform it?
Tell me, did you wet your beak?
.
Was it really
your act of service
to those who go down
and do not return?
Who indeed,
Now love you more than ever.
.
No - I do believe
not even you, titan,
could have foreseen
this judgment.
| |
[WP] The man died, but he was an organ donor. They harvested anything worth taking, but when they went to close him up and pull the plug, it had all grown back. So they did it again, and again, and again. On and on it went for decades, saving thousands of lives, until one day he opened his eyes. | "How long was I out?"
"Seventy years." I rubbed my temple wearily. "You... did a lot of good while you were out."
His eyes narrowed. "How so, *doctor?* Was my body donated to drug research?"
"No... See, you signed up as an organ donor. So -"
"WAIT!" he shouted. "Don't tell me you've been cutting up my liver and giving it to people all these seventy years? And why am I not old yet? I look like the day I - the day I..." his voice trailed off.
"How did I get here?"
I raised an eyebrow at him. His memory seems to have suffered a slight jig; understandable, given the time frame. I consulted the notes of the doctors before me.
"Car crash. And it's not just your liver that was taken."
His eyes widened and he ran a tender hand up and down his body. "My kidneys? My lungs? What else did you take? Don't tell me you took my... my..." Alarmed, he pulled at his pants to check. I chuckled.
"Your body has a strange way of regenerating lost organs, sir," I said. "We've been harvesting them for decades."
"So why did I only wake up now?"
I felt a grim smile twist my lips. "Because it's my first day with you, and I enjoy getting to talk to my patients a little."
With that, I flicked a switch and knocked him out with a shot of gas. It was a pity, I thought, as I began cutting him open for what was to be the first of many times, but it was for the good of the majority. If one man had to suffer for as long as mankind exists, it was just too bad.
| You saved their lives,
hearts, kidneys, liver,
removed, deftly
with razors
made from stones
shaped under heat
molded by machines
powered by burning aether.
.
These were a gift
from us to them
to whom you gave
the promises of
skill and artifice
and to whom
you could now give more
the gift of life,
springing from your side.
.
Was your indiscretion
in tempting them to
heat without light
merely, in irony,
a rash rebellion?
For whom, precisely, did you perform it?
Tell me, did you wet your beak?
.
Was it really
your act of service
to those who go down
and do not return?
Who indeed,
Now love you more than ever.
.
No - I do believe
not even you, titan,
could have foreseen
this judgment.
| |
[WP] The man died, but he was an organ donor. They harvested anything worth taking, but when they went to close him up and pull the plug, it had all grown back. So they did it again, and again, and again. On and on it went for decades, saving thousands of lives, until one day he opened his eyes. | “And here we have our most famous attraction, the Giving Man.” The lady in a brown pantsuit smiled as she passed the graying doctors and the young nurses. The troop of kids behind her bustled along, excited just to be outside of their ward.
One of them raised his hand. “Mrs. Bernstein?”
The lady turned, a wide smile plastered across her face. “Yes?”
“Why is he called the ‘Giving Man’? Isn’t he dead?” The other kids looked up at her with a consensus of curiosity. They all looked exactly the same dressed in hospital logo sweaters and bald.
She nodded. “You’ll see soon enough.” All of these kids were scheduled for a donation; they’d each have a part of him before the week was to end.
They buzzed through the hall, leaving behind smiling, tired doctors and smelly patients, the rooms with lab coats and hospital beds, and all the metal nightmares that the kids knew too well.
“If you look to your right,” Mrs. Bernstein said, gesturing towards the windows that extended from one end of this hallway to the next. “You can see the parking lot. Can anyone name any of the colors they can see?”
“Red!”
“Orange!”
“Magenta!”
She nodded, humming to herself, as she continued on down to where a shrine had been constructed in front of the entrance. It was a large marble cut out of a man, the man who’d survived decades and saved thousands of lives. She knelt down, as the kids crowded around behind her asking questions about the grim statue.
But before she could start explaining the tokens and the prayers, the doors slid open, and a pale man burst out of the room screaming. The kids jumped backward, flinching as if at the sight of a ghost, and ran back down the hallway to swarm against the large window like a colony of bees trying to escape a glass cage.
“He’s alive! He’s fucking alive!” The man hollered, knocking over special needs kids this way and that, as he hurried out of sight.
Mrs. Bernstein stood up, collected herself, and looked to the kids with a smile. “Well, you heard the doctor. Now who wants to go make sure he’s not a monster?”
| They say you can never know how a man really feels until you've walked a day in his shoes. Torn and tattered, marching on through trenches and treachery...or perhaps another way. Perhaps elegantly ambling atop a marble pathway, head held high where the clouds whisper musings of luxury and the cool blue winds freeze even the most intrepid negativities.
Perhaps a man can never know how another feels...perhaps to understand is much more than to feel. Or perhaps to feel is far more than to understand. To understand, you see, is a decision. You decide to understand the tales your father tells you of his business, or the scholarly conversations overheard each day...but when do you decide you understand? Is it when you are prompted, when it all "clicks"...or is it later still. Reflections tell far more when concerned with the past. The problem, therefore, lies in the fact that understanding is subjective, a concept. Understanding comes after the undertaking of the sense, after the fact. After the gentle roars of the ocean came and washed away what stood so still on the shore. After the coals had shared their last embrace with the flames so animated mere moments before.
All this, then not.
Imagine your last breath. Melting into the earth as the curtains fall on your last act. The applause of the crowd fades to a discernible fog within your minds eye.You feel the piercing cries of icy desperation pressing into the blackness you are fast embracing. Two eyes shut, thousands open.
(I am not good at creative writing at all, but it would be pretty cool if someone could write a story where basically, the dude can now see out of everybody's eyes that he has donated. Like thousands of people, and he would have a tonne of "perspective". But he would realise that you never really understand how other people view things, you realise that everything is about feeling. And the second one translates feelings into any other format, the true meaning is lost and incorrect) | |
[WP] The man died, but he was an organ donor. They harvested anything worth taking, but when they went to close him up and pull the plug, it had all grown back. So they did it again, and again, and again. On and on it went for decades, saving thousands of lives, until one day he opened his eyes. | "How long was I out?"
"Seventy years." I rubbed my temple wearily. "You... did a lot of good while you were out."
His eyes narrowed. "How so, *doctor?* Was my body donated to drug research?"
"No... See, you signed up as an organ donor. So -"
"WAIT!" he shouted. "Don't tell me you've been cutting up my liver and giving it to people all these seventy years? And why am I not old yet? I look like the day I - the day I..." his voice trailed off.
"How did I get here?"
I raised an eyebrow at him. His memory seems to have suffered a slight jig; understandable, given the time frame. I consulted the notes of the doctors before me.
"Car crash. And it's not just your liver that was taken."
His eyes widened and he ran a tender hand up and down his body. "My kidneys? My lungs? What else did you take? Don't tell me you took my... my..." Alarmed, he pulled at his pants to check. I chuckled.
"Your body has a strange way of regenerating lost organs, sir," I said. "We've been harvesting them for decades."
"So why did I only wake up now?"
I felt a grim smile twist my lips. "Because it's my first day with you, and I enjoy getting to talk to my patients a little."
With that, I flicked a switch and knocked him out with a shot of gas. It was a pity, I thought, as I began cutting him open for what was to be the first of many times, but it was for the good of the majority. If one man had to suffer for as long as mankind exists, it was just too bad.
| They say you can never know how a man really feels until you've walked a day in his shoes. Torn and tattered, marching on through trenches and treachery...or perhaps another way. Perhaps elegantly ambling atop a marble pathway, head held high where the clouds whisper musings of luxury and the cool blue winds freeze even the most intrepid negativities.
Perhaps a man can never know how another feels...perhaps to understand is much more than to feel. Or perhaps to feel is far more than to understand. To understand, you see, is a decision. You decide to understand the tales your father tells you of his business, or the scholarly conversations overheard each day...but when do you decide you understand? Is it when you are prompted, when it all "clicks"...or is it later still. Reflections tell far more when concerned with the past. The problem, therefore, lies in the fact that understanding is subjective, a concept. Understanding comes after the undertaking of the sense, after the fact. After the gentle roars of the ocean came and washed away what stood so still on the shore. After the coals had shared their last embrace with the flames so animated mere moments before.
All this, then not.
Imagine your last breath. Melting into the earth as the curtains fall on your last act. The applause of the crowd fades to a discernible fog within your minds eye.You feel the piercing cries of icy desperation pressing into the blackness you are fast embracing. Two eyes shut, thousands open.
(I am not good at creative writing at all, but it would be pretty cool if someone could write a story where basically, the dude can now see out of everybody's eyes that he has donated. Like thousands of people, and he would have a tonne of "perspective". But he would realise that you never really understand how other people view things, you realise that everything is about feeling. And the second one translates feelings into any other format, the true meaning is lost and incorrect) | |
[WP] You have been sent to Hell. Instead of Satan giving you your punishment, however, you see him leaving his office, with an angry yet defeated look on his face and his things in a box in his hands. One of the demons walks up to you and says, "Welcome to Hell, Your Unholy Majesty". | "I beg your pardon?" My eyes were boring into the bright yellow ones of the obsequious demon.
"A-apologies Majesty. Your predecessor was just clearing out his space."
"What? What the fuck does that even mean? Where **AM** I?!" He flinched away from me and I tugged one of my red curls in frustration.
"Hell, Your Most Vile of Ladies." The little gray creature sank into a low bow, it reeked with fear.
*What?* I was ignoring him at this point, taking in my surroundings, including the broad, receding back of a huge, beautiful demon. A pair of silky looking wings sprouted from his shoulders, the translucent webbing torn in several places.
"Who is that?" The demon looked in the direction of my pointed finger, and the larger creature froze, turning to me with defeated eyes.
"Oh! Uh, well. That! That is Lucifer, Majesty."
"Why the fuck is he carrying a box of office supplies?" Satan was indeed clutching a cardboard box full of office junk, a few picture frames and a small succulent poking out of the top.
"YOU TOOK MY JOB YOU BITCH!" The imposing demon screamed from down the hallway and I slowly smiled, raising both of my middle fingers. Neat.
He snarled and threw the box against the wall of the hall, advancing on me with clawed feet. Within moments he was standing over me and I regarded him with impassive eyes, slightly irritated that he was breathing his halitosis air into my face.
"I should gut you like swine human!" His voice hissed at me, revealing a forked tongue and too many very sharp teeth.
Whatever, I was obviously already dead somehow. And me getting the devil fired must mean something about my position in this afterlife.
"Try it, and I'll tear those pretty little fairy wings off your back and make you eat them you bipedal mentally disabled fruit bat, now get the *fuck* out of my face before I spear hand you in the Adam's apple." He wasn't much taller than me and I saw his pupils dilate in surprise, but he didn't back away from me. So I took a step forward and he backed up. Good.
I sneered at him and he seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to say something, and had puffed his chest out in rage, or shame. Maybe either, probably both.
But he deflated, breaking eye contact and staring at the black marble floors.
"I can see why the Boss replaced me, I've lost my touch." He turned his back to me and trudged back to his destroyed box.
I regarded him with critical eyes. He was now the second most powerful creature in Hell, apparently, and he now had an abundance of free time to cause trouble.
"Hey." Satan looked up from where he was crouched, scooping the now dead succulent back into a broken pot.
"Want a job?" His eyes widened and I shrugged.
"But why?" He was standing and brushing off his slacks with his hands, only succeeding in putting more dirt onto them.
"Well." I thought for a moment. "You need to be kept busy. And, I have no idea what I'm doing." My hand extended to him. "So, what do you say?"
A happy grin crossed his face and he clenched my hand in his much larger fist, shaking vigorously.
"Oh thank you, you won't regret it!"
---
A year had passed since I had been appointed Supreme Overlord of the Underworld. And Satan had been right, after re-hiring him he had attacked his job with renewed fervor, showing me the ropes and providing helpful feedback.
It turns out, that human souls eventually demonstrate a great tolerance for pain, and the pits of brimstone and magma had simply been full of bored looking crispy humans. The blood soaked racks places for conversation between tormentor and the tormented. Not to mention the atrocious living conditions of the actual demonic employees. Let's just say, indoor plumbing was restricted to Hell's elite.
In short, it had been a logistical mess, and was not serving the purpose of punishing the souls of the damned.
Within a few short months, and after extensive testing, we learned that the best way to torment a soul, was to force them into dead end, monotonous slave labor. The feeling of bleak hopelessness at going nowhere was crushing, and the increase in productivity had allowed us to build engineering marvels and sprawling demonic cities, bustling with human slaves and demons of all ilk. The nights were punctuated by cries of fear and despair as demons freely hunted the city for whatever souls were unlucky enough to still be about.
The turnaround was huge, and Hell had never been more productive.
I regarded the red landscape with critical eyes, the view from my black marble villa quite impressive. I noted that the lava tide had risen and I was going to have to replant some of my garden.
A knock sounded and I turned away from the window, waving the large double doors to my office open as I sat on my desk. In walked Lucifer, a metal clipboard in his hand.
"You have a two p.m. appointment with the senior foreman in charge of the fourth city's plumbing. Something about the impossibility of running the pipes?"
"Send him in." He nodded his horned head and moved aside for a portly man in his fifties. Daniel Rean, died of lung cancer.
"What can I do for you Mr. Rean?" The question was merely a formality, I did not actually give a fornicating fuck what he wanted.
He looked at me angrily and put his fists on his hips. "There is no way we can lay that plumbing! The ground is too dense to dig through and we would end up tearing the human districts to shreds trying to re-route it."
I steepled my hands in my lap. "So, you're telling me, you can't connect the shit pipes because it would inconvenience the humans?"
He blinked at me stupidly, as if finally realizing the situation he had walked into. Mr. Rean was fairly new here and I thought maybe it was time for a heavy dose of reality.
I turned my back to him and opened the window to my balcony overlooking the landscape of Hell. With a casual flick of my wrist he was compelled to join me at my side.
"You remember when Hell was a bit more chaotic, don't you Daniel?" He audibly gulped and nodded, I stared forward into the red light.
"And you remember why things changed right?" Another nod.
"B-because humans build a tolerance for p-pain."
"Precisely, but I'm curious at the longevity of that tolerance."
Before he could open his mouth to reply I had thrown him from the balcony, into the moat of lava below. His anguished screams answered my question.
Lucifer chose this moment to poke his head in, the sounds of pain music to his demonic ears.
"Get me another engineer, Mr. Rean has been, fired." I grinned at my own joke and Satan chuckled, making notes on his clipboard.
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! | "...Welcome to Hell, Your Unholy Majesty.."
He holds my hands, kneels down and bows.
I look down at the small demon with my eyebrows crossed, confused. "What?.." I can see Satan continuing out of his office through my peripherals. "What's going on, where is he going?"
He stands up with his back hunched over still holding both my hands with his.
"Your Majesty, Satan has been dethroned due to your arrival, many of us have been waiting for you but Satan has been regretting this day to come."
"No.. no.. how is could this be possible? I'm not your Majesty I don't understand" I say completely disgruntled, sadden, and still confused.
"Your Hiness, you are more evil than Satan, and now you own our Hell Kingdom. With you in power we can rejoice and return to the almighty Kingdom we lived in before your birth to life and free world long ago!" He shouts in joy, not understanding my distraught.
"No!... NO!.." I yell as I rip my hands from the demon and run towards Satan as he's exiting the building door.
"Satan! Satan!" he looks back at me running at him with his face drained to even see the sight of the girl who took his throne.
I run up to him and stop right before him, out of breath.
"Satan, I can't take your spot.. You've held your position for so long.. I can't let you walk out.. I.. I can't do this"
Satan looked down at me. He was so big and intimidating, how could little ole me over throw him? How could I be so evil? I didn't know the rules of Hell, could I somehow not be in charge of Hell? Was there a Hell Kingdom Congress for things like this?? I feared what Satan would respond with as he looked me.
"Your Majesty........"
| |
[WP] You have been sent to Hell. Instead of Satan giving you your punishment, however, you see him leaving his office, with an angry yet defeated look on his face and his things in a box in his hands. One of the demons walks up to you and says, "Welcome to Hell, Your Unholy Majesty". | "I beg your pardon?" My eyes were boring into the bright yellow ones of the obsequious demon.
"A-apologies Majesty. Your predecessor was just clearing out his space."
"What? What the fuck does that even mean? Where **AM** I?!" He flinched away from me and I tugged one of my red curls in frustration.
"Hell, Your Most Vile of Ladies." The little gray creature sank into a low bow, it reeked with fear.
*What?* I was ignoring him at this point, taking in my surroundings, including the broad, receding back of a huge, beautiful demon. A pair of silky looking wings sprouted from his shoulders, the translucent webbing torn in several places.
"Who is that?" The demon looked in the direction of my pointed finger, and the larger creature froze, turning to me with defeated eyes.
"Oh! Uh, well. That! That is Lucifer, Majesty."
"Why the fuck is he carrying a box of office supplies?" Satan was indeed clutching a cardboard box full of office junk, a few picture frames and a small succulent poking out of the top.
"YOU TOOK MY JOB YOU BITCH!" The imposing demon screamed from down the hallway and I slowly smiled, raising both of my middle fingers. Neat.
He snarled and threw the box against the wall of the hall, advancing on me with clawed feet. Within moments he was standing over me and I regarded him with impassive eyes, slightly irritated that he was breathing his halitosis air into my face.
"I should gut you like swine human!" His voice hissed at me, revealing a forked tongue and too many very sharp teeth.
Whatever, I was obviously already dead somehow. And me getting the devil fired must mean something about my position in this afterlife.
"Try it, and I'll tear those pretty little fairy wings off your back and make you eat them you bipedal mentally disabled fruit bat, now get the *fuck* out of my face before I spear hand you in the Adam's apple." He wasn't much taller than me and I saw his pupils dilate in surprise, but he didn't back away from me. So I took a step forward and he backed up. Good.
I sneered at him and he seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to say something, and had puffed his chest out in rage, or shame. Maybe either, probably both.
But he deflated, breaking eye contact and staring at the black marble floors.
"I can see why the Boss replaced me, I've lost my touch." He turned his back to me and trudged back to his destroyed box.
I regarded him with critical eyes. He was now the second most powerful creature in Hell, apparently, and he now had an abundance of free time to cause trouble.
"Hey." Satan looked up from where he was crouched, scooping the now dead succulent back into a broken pot.
"Want a job?" His eyes widened and I shrugged.
"But why?" He was standing and brushing off his slacks with his hands, only succeeding in putting more dirt onto them.
"Well." I thought for a moment. "You need to be kept busy. And, I have no idea what I'm doing." My hand extended to him. "So, what do you say?"
A happy grin crossed his face and he clenched my hand in his much larger fist, shaking vigorously.
"Oh thank you, you won't regret it!"
---
A year had passed since I had been appointed Supreme Overlord of the Underworld. And Satan had been right, after re-hiring him he had attacked his job with renewed fervor, showing me the ropes and providing helpful feedback.
It turns out, that human souls eventually demonstrate a great tolerance for pain, and the pits of brimstone and magma had simply been full of bored looking crispy humans. The blood soaked racks places for conversation between tormentor and the tormented. Not to mention the atrocious living conditions of the actual demonic employees. Let's just say, indoor plumbing was restricted to Hell's elite.
In short, it had been a logistical mess, and was not serving the purpose of punishing the souls of the damned.
Within a few short months, and after extensive testing, we learned that the best way to torment a soul, was to force them into dead end, monotonous slave labor. The feeling of bleak hopelessness at going nowhere was crushing, and the increase in productivity had allowed us to build engineering marvels and sprawling demonic cities, bustling with human slaves and demons of all ilk. The nights were punctuated by cries of fear and despair as demons freely hunted the city for whatever souls were unlucky enough to still be about.
The turnaround was huge, and Hell had never been more productive.
I regarded the red landscape with critical eyes, the view from my black marble villa quite impressive. I noted that the lava tide had risen and I was going to have to replant some of my garden.
A knock sounded and I turned away from the window, waving the large double doors to my office open as I sat on my desk. In walked Lucifer, a metal clipboard in his hand.
"You have a two p.m. appointment with the senior foreman in charge of the fourth city's plumbing. Something about the impossibility of running the pipes?"
"Send him in." He nodded his horned head and moved aside for a portly man in his fifties. Daniel Rean, died of lung cancer.
"What can I do for you Mr. Rean?" The question was merely a formality, I did not actually give a fornicating fuck what he wanted.
He looked at me angrily and put his fists on his hips. "There is no way we can lay that plumbing! The ground is too dense to dig through and we would end up tearing the human districts to shreds trying to re-route it."
I steepled my hands in my lap. "So, you're telling me, you can't connect the shit pipes because it would inconvenience the humans?"
He blinked at me stupidly, as if finally realizing the situation he had walked into. Mr. Rean was fairly new here and I thought maybe it was time for a heavy dose of reality.
I turned my back to him and opened the window to my balcony overlooking the landscape of Hell. With a casual flick of my wrist he was compelled to join me at my side.
"You remember when Hell was a bit more chaotic, don't you Daniel?" He audibly gulped and nodded, I stared forward into the red light.
"And you remember why things changed right?" Another nod.
"B-because humans build a tolerance for p-pain."
"Precisely, but I'm curious at the longevity of that tolerance."
Before he could open his mouth to reply I had thrown him from the balcony, into the moat of lava below. His anguished screams answered my question.
Lucifer chose this moment to poke his head in, the sounds of pain music to his demonic ears.
"Get me another engineer, Mr. Rean has been, fired." I grinned at my own joke and Satan chuckled, making notes on his clipboard.
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! | “Welcome to Hell, your Unholy Majesty.”
I opened my eyes and was met by Satan’s dark, soulless eyes staring daggers into mine as his demon friend smiled at me. Besides Satan's empty black eyes and giant, flaming horns coming out of his head, he looked kind of normal. I shot up off the ground and realized I wasn’t screaming in pain. Weren’t the floors of Hell supposed to be eternally burning, or flaming, or something? I felt a cool breeze on my neck as I tried to fix my hair. Wait a minute, wasn’t Hell supposed to be... hot? My train of thought was interrupted as Satan tapped my shoulder and spoke directly into my ear. “Listen honey, I don’t have all day. Let’s get this thing going, alright? I gotta show you the ropes, and then I’m out for good. They don’t pay me enough here anyways.” He cocked his hip and threw a peace sign with his right hand, box of possessions in the other. So Satan had a sassy little Southern accent. Huh.
As the Devil himself showed me around the (actually pretty cozy) depths of Hell, I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Wait, did your demon buddy call me ‘your unholy majesty', dude?”
“Sure did, hon.”
“Shit, am I fucking dead? Am I ACTUALLY in Hell?”
“Sure are, sweetie.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, how did I die?”
“Sugar, do you wanna play 20 questions or do you want to learn how to rule the Underworld? Also, don’t take the Lordy’s name in vain. He ain’t gonna like that.”
*Literally my first post on this sub. Apologies if it sucks, and thanks for the cool prompt!*
EDIT: a couple words | |
[WP] You have been sent to Hell. Instead of Satan giving you your punishment, however, you see him leaving his office, with an angry yet defeated look on his face and his things in a box in his hands. One of the demons walks up to you and says, "Welcome to Hell, Your Unholy Majesty". | "I beg your pardon?" My eyes were boring into the bright yellow ones of the obsequious demon.
"A-apologies Majesty. Your predecessor was just clearing out his space."
"What? What the fuck does that even mean? Where **AM** I?!" He flinched away from me and I tugged one of my red curls in frustration.
"Hell, Your Most Vile of Ladies." The little gray creature sank into a low bow, it reeked with fear.
*What?* I was ignoring him at this point, taking in my surroundings, including the broad, receding back of a huge, beautiful demon. A pair of silky looking wings sprouted from his shoulders, the translucent webbing torn in several places.
"Who is that?" The demon looked in the direction of my pointed finger, and the larger creature froze, turning to me with defeated eyes.
"Oh! Uh, well. That! That is Lucifer, Majesty."
"Why the fuck is he carrying a box of office supplies?" Satan was indeed clutching a cardboard box full of office junk, a few picture frames and a small succulent poking out of the top.
"YOU TOOK MY JOB YOU BITCH!" The imposing demon screamed from down the hallway and I slowly smiled, raising both of my middle fingers. Neat.
He snarled and threw the box against the wall of the hall, advancing on me with clawed feet. Within moments he was standing over me and I regarded him with impassive eyes, slightly irritated that he was breathing his halitosis air into my face.
"I should gut you like swine human!" His voice hissed at me, revealing a forked tongue and too many very sharp teeth.
Whatever, I was obviously already dead somehow. And me getting the devil fired must mean something about my position in this afterlife.
"Try it, and I'll tear those pretty little fairy wings off your back and make you eat them you bipedal mentally disabled fruit bat, now get the *fuck* out of my face before I spear hand you in the Adam's apple." He wasn't much taller than me and I saw his pupils dilate in surprise, but he didn't back away from me. So I took a step forward and he backed up. Good.
I sneered at him and he seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to say something, and had puffed his chest out in rage, or shame. Maybe either, probably both.
But he deflated, breaking eye contact and staring at the black marble floors.
"I can see why the Boss replaced me, I've lost my touch." He turned his back to me and trudged back to his destroyed box.
I regarded him with critical eyes. He was now the second most powerful creature in Hell, apparently, and he now had an abundance of free time to cause trouble.
"Hey." Satan looked up from where he was crouched, scooping the now dead succulent back into a broken pot.
"Want a job?" His eyes widened and I shrugged.
"But why?" He was standing and brushing off his slacks with his hands, only succeeding in putting more dirt onto them.
"Well." I thought for a moment. "You need to be kept busy. And, I have no idea what I'm doing." My hand extended to him. "So, what do you say?"
A happy grin crossed his face and he clenched my hand in his much larger fist, shaking vigorously.
"Oh thank you, you won't regret it!"
---
A year had passed since I had been appointed Supreme Overlord of the Underworld. And Satan had been right, after re-hiring him he had attacked his job with renewed fervor, showing me the ropes and providing helpful feedback.
It turns out, that human souls eventually demonstrate a great tolerance for pain, and the pits of brimstone and magma had simply been full of bored looking crispy humans. The blood soaked racks places for conversation between tormentor and the tormented. Not to mention the atrocious living conditions of the actual demonic employees. Let's just say, indoor plumbing was restricted to Hell's elite.
In short, it had been a logistical mess, and was not serving the purpose of punishing the souls of the damned.
Within a few short months, and after extensive testing, we learned that the best way to torment a soul, was to force them into dead end, monotonous slave labor. The feeling of bleak hopelessness at going nowhere was crushing, and the increase in productivity had allowed us to build engineering marvels and sprawling demonic cities, bustling with human slaves and demons of all ilk. The nights were punctuated by cries of fear and despair as demons freely hunted the city for whatever souls were unlucky enough to still be about.
The turnaround was huge, and Hell had never been more productive.
I regarded the red landscape with critical eyes, the view from my black marble villa quite impressive. I noted that the lava tide had risen and I was going to have to replant some of my garden.
A knock sounded and I turned away from the window, waving the large double doors to my office open as I sat on my desk. In walked Lucifer, a metal clipboard in his hand.
"You have a two p.m. appointment with the senior foreman in charge of the fourth city's plumbing. Something about the impossibility of running the pipes?"
"Send him in." He nodded his horned head and moved aside for a portly man in his fifties. Daniel Rean, died of lung cancer.
"What can I do for you Mr. Rean?" The question was merely a formality, I did not actually give a fornicating fuck what he wanted.
He looked at me angrily and put his fists on his hips. "There is no way we can lay that plumbing! The ground is too dense to dig through and we would end up tearing the human districts to shreds trying to re-route it."
I steepled my hands in my lap. "So, you're telling me, you can't connect the shit pipes because it would inconvenience the humans?"
He blinked at me stupidly, as if finally realizing the situation he had walked into. Mr. Rean was fairly new here and I thought maybe it was time for a heavy dose of reality.
I turned my back to him and opened the window to my balcony overlooking the landscape of Hell. With a casual flick of my wrist he was compelled to join me at my side.
"You remember when Hell was a bit more chaotic, don't you Daniel?" He audibly gulped and nodded, I stared forward into the red light.
"And you remember why things changed right?" Another nod.
"B-because humans build a tolerance for p-pain."
"Precisely, but I'm curious at the longevity of that tolerance."
Before he could open his mouth to reply I had thrown him from the balcony, into the moat of lava below. His anguished screams answered my question.
Lucifer chose this moment to poke his head in, the sounds of pain music to his demonic ears.
"Get me another engineer, Mr. Rean has been, fired." I grinned at my own joke and Satan chuckled, making notes on his clipboard.
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! | "Verdict... Hell."
My heart sunk. What? What did he just say? He thinks I need to go to hell?Seriously? People say I'm an asshole, but that doesn't make me an evil SOB who needs eternal torture. Sure, I've done some messed up things, but I regretted them afterwards and atoned for them, no need for hell....
"So, what exactly are you basing this whole judgement thing on? What the hell did I do to deserve damnation?"
God said, "Well, they've just gotten an opening in management down there, and you look like the right fit for the job."
"What are you talking abo--" I was cut off by the ground disappearing from beneath me and my abrupt fall into the crimson pit that is Hell. I landed with a thud on the brim-- carpet? I got up and dusted myself off, confused.
*This doesn't look like hell*, I thought to myself. *Everything's too... nice.* Soft carpet, nice paintings, hardwood furnishings.... I turned to my left and saw Satan tapping a pencil on his desk, clearly trying to hold back tears.
"You...." Satan's voice sounded like death. "I could kill you on the spot, you know. I could stretch out your death for all eternity. I could... if I was still the boss." His voice cracked near the end. Was that a tear on his face?
"What? What do you mean, you're not the boss?" I asked sharply.
"Why should I tell you?"
"Oh, you salty about being unemployed?"
"No, it's just that--
"Just that what?"
"Just that you're--"
"you gonna suffer for all of time ble ble ble I'm the culmination of all evil bleh," I mocked.
"STOP," Satan said with a tear gathering in his eye. He turned and grabbed his box of things (from his desk, presumably). "I need to get going", he said holding back tears. After he ran out the door someone stepped into the office.
"That's how you do it!" said a demon dressed in a black suit and tie. "I think you'll do well here, your Unholiness. You'll go far. Here's where you can contact me." he held out a card.
I took it. It read:
CEO of Hell Industries.
Bee L. Zeebub
666-666-6660
| |
[WP] You are an evil overlord and a messenger has just informed you about a prophecy about a chosen one who will defeat. You decide to just give up. | Gerard knocked on the door to my chambers. I knew it was him because of the smell of cheap cologne which he thought made him fancy wafting through the entrance. I liked Gerard, he was a good evil butler. He had been with me since I was but a hopeful warlord in the Chander Provinces. Of course, I now controlled half the known world under my iron fist. He walked in with a silver tray. On it was a rolled up scroll, with a crimson seal on it. As he neared me, I could just start to make out the insignia: an owl with hourglasses for eyes.
"Ah, I see I have a letter from the Prophet Mellokar."
"Yes, sir. It just arrived by his personal owl. It told me that this was of the utmost importance."
I picked the scroll up off of the tray and broke the seal. The puff of red dust told me that I was the first to do so. In the middle of the scroll was what could only be a prophecy. It was five lines written in the unmistakable scrawl of a man possessed by the spirit of the future. Above it, a note in Mellokar's usual studious handwriting, and below, his signature. The note read: *My master and overlord Elrazar the Merciless, please take this prophecy of utmost to heart - your life depends on it.*
Intrigued, I continued reading. I reached the end of the prophecy, blinked, and looked back at it.
"No," I whispered to myself.
I let my eyes wander over the words once more.
**"Your doom will come on a silver tray,
Your fate is sealed within the day.
The empire you have built is lost,
A chosen one melts you like frost.
You have left one only chance,
Relinquish power before his advance."**
Gerard, in his insolence, had gone and read it over my shoulder. "Sir, you cannot believe this drivel! You are the most powerful mad in the world, surely you can fight off anyone. Besides, you could never give power to one of your generals. It would start a civil war!"
The man had a point I could not give power to any one of my generals. But if Mellokar said something would happen, that was a guarantee. I must give up, there was no point in fighting the inevitable. Perhaps I could save myself.
"Gerard, I nominate you as my successor," I proclaimed, handing the man my signet ring. "Save my empire from this enemy, and it will treat you well."
He looked at me, and cocked his head. "I would have preferred something a bit more spectacular for my ascension, but this will do. Goodbye, my liege." I felt the cold steel pierce my back. The prophecy had come true, as it said it would, within the day. | ‘And your absolutely sure about this prophecy? I mean its not like the last one where you said the prophecy of the growing red tree was actually a growing rebellion when it actually meant That House Haron with the red tree as a coat of arms would have many children this year. Or when you interpreted the prophecy of the eagle dying by a snake in the courtyard that somebody was going to poison me and then it turned out it was a symbol of the rebellion of house Kalavar. You know the one with a coat of arms of an eagle, and how I sent the serpents to him and had him poisoned to stop a rebellion that would have cost many lives. No. I don’t want to listen to what you think you saw. Just tell me your actually saw and let me be the judge of it. But be fast I have.. ‘ I looked at the papers on the desk in front of me. This was not what I took over such large Kingdome. ‘ meetings.. ‘
My seer looked at me. ‘ but this is true and real. And its no interpretation. Look’ He held out a orb and from it a light shun up revealing an old man in a hod. ‘Oh great.. him.. so what does the grand seer see?’
The figure start to speak “ From the west sand the north they will come, the brother of the lion, he will come to take the throne of the old lion, casting him down and kill his seed. The new king’s rule will be one of justice and fairness. It will be a new golden age for the realm. “
I looked at my seer and sight. ‘My brother will be Just and fair? You just said he would kill my children. How the hell is that just and fair? You know fuck it.. if he want it he can just take it. Marcus! ‘ My scribe ran over to my side. ‘Send a letter to my brother that apparently he is destined to take over the throne so he has to return from the border to take over. I’m going to take a small pension and leave with my family. I will leave the crown and the whole shit in the crypt of Petty.’
The scripted looked confused. ‘Crypt of Petty?’
‘ He will know where it is, and I’m not planning to be here when he arrives just in case he will try to for fill all parts of that prophecy. I’m hope he is still an atheist. So he might just fire you guys. ‘ I look at the seer as the man suddenly realize what is going to happen. He lets out a but but I have already left the room.
| |
[WP] You are an evil overlord and a messenger has just informed you about a prophecy about a chosen one who will defeat. You decide to just give up. | Gerard knocked on the door to my chambers. I knew it was him because of the smell of cheap cologne which he thought made him fancy wafting through the entrance. I liked Gerard, he was a good evil butler. He had been with me since I was but a hopeful warlord in the Chander Provinces. Of course, I now controlled half the known world under my iron fist. He walked in with a silver tray. On it was a rolled up scroll, with a crimson seal on it. As he neared me, I could just start to make out the insignia: an owl with hourglasses for eyes.
"Ah, I see I have a letter from the Prophet Mellokar."
"Yes, sir. It just arrived by his personal owl. It told me that this was of the utmost importance."
I picked the scroll up off of the tray and broke the seal. The puff of red dust told me that I was the first to do so. In the middle of the scroll was what could only be a prophecy. It was five lines written in the unmistakable scrawl of a man possessed by the spirit of the future. Above it, a note in Mellokar's usual studious handwriting, and below, his signature. The note read: *My master and overlord Elrazar the Merciless, please take this prophecy of utmost to heart - your life depends on it.*
Intrigued, I continued reading. I reached the end of the prophecy, blinked, and looked back at it.
"No," I whispered to myself.
I let my eyes wander over the words once more.
**"Your doom will come on a silver tray,
Your fate is sealed within the day.
The empire you have built is lost,
A chosen one melts you like frost.
You have left one only chance,
Relinquish power before his advance."**
Gerard, in his insolence, had gone and read it over my shoulder. "Sir, you cannot believe this drivel! You are the most powerful mad in the world, surely you can fight off anyone. Besides, you could never give power to one of your generals. It would start a civil war!"
The man had a point I could not give power to any one of my generals. But if Mellokar said something would happen, that was a guarantee. I must give up, there was no point in fighting the inevitable. Perhaps I could save myself.
"Gerard, I nominate you as my successor," I proclaimed, handing the man my signet ring. "Save my empire from this enemy, and it will treat you well."
He looked at me, and cocked his head. "I would have preferred something a bit more spectacular for my ascension, but this will do. Goodbye, my liege." I felt the cold steel pierce my back. The prophecy had come true, as it said it would, within the day. | "Lo, the son of prophecy
will strike the dark one out!
Son of more than prophecy-
From evil loins he sprouts!"
I quit all shaves and showers,
stocked up on ice cream tubs.
If *my* son's set to take my power, then,
on mating, I give up. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.