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Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Been like this long as I can remember - seeing numbers everywhere. Was a while before I figured it out - they follow the people, the number of people each person will kill in their lives. Wish I was better at talking to people, maybe then I could really change things, change those numbers. But the numbers have always made more sense than the people, and they look at me askance. The people, not the numbers.
My number has always been one. Don't know why, but it's always been there. I'm used to it. I watch the people and their numbers go by outside my apartment, like an insane game of duck, duck, goose. Zero, zero, zero, zero, three. A pregnant woman with her zero husband. Hmm. Not that I care - not my responsibility. Besides, maybe it's fate, though maybe I just say that because it's easy. Easier than running around trying to save faceless numbers.
I go into work - accounting. Much easier to face at numbers without the weight of human lives. I get up from my cubicle to get water, gazing at the floor to avoid that too-intimate knowledge of my coworkers. But that means someone runs into me on my way back to my desk - water goes all over me. I look up, I have to, he spoke to me. Just another benign oval hovers above his head. I make some bland response to his smiling apology and head for the bathroom to mop up the damp on me. Glancing into the mirror, mainly because it's there, something catches my eye. The number over my head has changed... 7,431,323,10.
How long I stand there, staring at this number that holds so much weight, and none at all. Numbers, abstract numbers do not exist outside the mind of humanity, you know. They're just useful symbols. So long... the time or the number? Until I reach a conclusion. In that moment, I witness the number change again. Decreasing, decreasing, all the way back to one. I smile grimly at my reflection. Now I understand my fate. | I can't remember when I first saw the numbers, just happened one day. Weird thing about the future is it constantly changes. I can be taking with someone and see their number change just like that. I can't use this power for much, I just try to keep my family and friends from those with high numbers. However, it all changed when I met one man.
He seemed like a normal enough guy, the number above his head was a measly '1'. Nothing special, usually low numbers are due to accidents or self defence but something felt off about this '1'. I watched him walk by while I sat in the park with my daughter. My daughter was playing with a ball and accidentally kicked a ball at this man.
I ran up to him and apologised profusely.
"I'm so sorry, she didn't mean it."
"Oh, it's no problem. Don't worry about it."
Just as I walked away with my daughter, thinking the interaction over, he chimed.
"However, I do desire a little compensation."
"I'm sorry, I'm don't have much on me at the moment. Is a tenner alright?"
"I don't desire money."
He walked up to my daughter, grabbed her by the throat. My vision turned red. I saw his number change; from a '1' to a '0'. He just lay there lifeless, my daughter just looked at me, terrified of me. Me! Her own father!
People all around the park had started to look, someone had called the police. I was arrested as you could imagine. The trial went poorly, there were no witnesses that had stepped forward. Turns out that the company the man worked for were dirty and had bought them all out to save face. The trial ended in a resounding loss. Guilty,14 years in prison.
My wife and daughter visited during the first few months but I was a broken man and their visits declined with time. I had lost everything. I was released after 10 years due to good behaviour.
But they were slow years that ate away at me. I felt betrayed, by my family, by the system, the witnesses who had forsaken me to live their own pockets. My final day, I looked at the mirror a saw the shell I had become and above my head I saw the number. Over 7 billion.
"Hah, so this is how it's going to be. So be it."
That day I decided to end it all. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | "Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
| I can't remember when I first saw the numbers, just happened one day. Weird thing about the future is it constantly changes. I can be taking with someone and see their number change just like that. I can't use this power for much, I just try to keep my family and friends from those with high numbers. However, it all changed when I met one man.
He seemed like a normal enough guy, the number above his head was a measly '1'. Nothing special, usually low numbers are due to accidents or self defence but something felt off about this '1'. I watched him walk by while I sat in the park with my daughter. My daughter was playing with a ball and accidentally kicked a ball at this man.
I ran up to him and apologised profusely.
"I'm so sorry, she didn't mean it."
"Oh, it's no problem. Don't worry about it."
Just as I walked away with my daughter, thinking the interaction over, he chimed.
"However, I do desire a little compensation."
"I'm sorry, I'm don't have much on me at the moment. Is a tenner alright?"
"I don't desire money."
He walked up to my daughter, grabbed her by the throat. My vision turned red. I saw his number change; from a '1' to a '0'. He just lay there lifeless, my daughter just looked at me, terrified of me. Me! Her own father!
People all around the park had started to look, someone had called the police. I was arrested as you could imagine. The trial went poorly, there were no witnesses that had stepped forward. Turns out that the company the man worked for were dirty and had bought them all out to save face. The trial ended in a resounding loss. Guilty,14 years in prison.
My wife and daughter visited during the first few months but I was a broken man and their visits declined with time. I had lost everything. I was released after 10 years due to good behaviour.
But they were slow years that ate away at me. I felt betrayed, by my family, by the system, the witnesses who had forsaken me to live their own pockets. My final day, I looked at the mirror a saw the shell I had become and above my head I saw the number. Over 7 billion.
"Hah, so this is how it's going to be. So be it."
That day I decided to end it all. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | "I swear I have no idea what you're talking about!"
The man plead with me as he knelt on the ground, hands outstretched in a feeble attempt to block me. That's what they all say. I merely moved the gun a few inches right, and squeezed the trigger.
He hit the ground before my bullet shell, and the number above his head went from three digits to zero.
---
The Slayer. Bounty Hunter. Hitman.
I've been called all of these names before. Truth is, I look at myself as a savior of sorts. Without me, the world would be in so much more danger.
Because of my gift, I am able to see the potential harm of each human being.
Because of my gift, I see a number above each person, indicating how many they will kill in their lives.
Because of my gift, the special forces have recruited me to hunt down the 'top scorers' in the world. At any instant, no one with three digits or more can be allowed to roam the world. Who knows what they are capable of? A mass shooting? A bombing? You never know in today's world.
---
I was in a new city, some place where intelligence has told us that a few top scorers roamed. I scanned the busy streets, as the multitudes of people and numbers crossed in front of me. All a bunch of 0s and 1s.
I reached a traffic junction, and paused for a second to rest under the shade provided by the large tree. That's when I saw it.
A bunch of 0s on a moving bus, but a long string of numbers caught my eye. What the...
I blinked a few times. That can't be right. How many digits is that?! I walked toward the bus, and broke into a jog as the bus began moving off.
As I counted in my head, I realised this was something I needed to buzz back to HQ about. I opened up my strides catch up as the bus pulled ahead, but I never broke my vision with the long string of numbers somewhere in the middle of that bus.
'Yes sir?' my earpiece crackled to life.
"I'm seeing something extremely abnormal. A target here with a big one. Ten digits."
'TEN digits?' the voice returned, incredulous.
"Yes, ten digits. It is... 7 - 4 - 3 - 1 - 3 - 2 - 3 - 2 - 0 - 9. God damn it. That's more or less the world population isn't it?"
As I continued running, frantic thoughts ran through my head. WHO is this guy? Some sleeper terrorist? What does he have planned? What could wipe out the whole earth's population? Something nuclear?
I suddenly realised that I might not be well-equipped to deal with someone so dangerous. My hand patted the revolver concealed under my jacket. Will this be enough? Surely he is well-protected? I'll only have one shot.
The bus finally slowed, as the traffic lights in front turned red. I quickly slowed to a brisk walk, and tried to maintain some cover closer to the shops on my side of the pavement. I can't approach in such an obvious manner! Argh, it's too late. I placed my hand on my gun.
As I went parallel with the bus, I finally caught a glimpse of the target. His side was facing me, as he looked forward in the direction of the bus.
No way!
It was only a boy! No less than... eight? His tiny frame was partially hidden among the other passengers on board. He had a neat crew cut, and was wearing a well-pressed shirt with a bowtie. He looked like a boy scout. He couldn't harm a fly!
'Sir? The number you gave me, 7,431,323,209, is that right?'
I glanced up at the number above his head. "Yes exactly."
'Well, that's indeed one shy of the current world population, sir. Send us your current location now, we'll send backup!'
At that very moment, the boy turned his head, almost casually to look out of the window, but his eyes locked on to mine. He flashed me a winsome smile.
The number above his head went up to 7,431,323,210. | "That's a pretty big number?"
"To some" replied the young woman.
"Don't you worry ?, what about your soul, or even humanity?"
" Does the first snowflake of an avalanche worry, or the first drop of a deluge? My soul is my own as yours belongs to you. Our numbers tell us what will happen if we keep on the same path, that implies fate. Perhaps I will fork onto another before it happens. Even if don't the first snowflake of an avalanche didn't put the rest on their perch."
"All of humanity is not something you can play with!" The man screamed gathering a crowd.
"I don't play with humanity. I alone could do nothing. The moment the rest of you involve yourselves with me I get my number. Millions can be killed slowly by poison we pass around, millions more by the destruction we reap. Dictators and waring leaders of any kind are blamed for the deaths done by others. Their numbers like my number are convenient, they are the numbers of people who own their actions and accept consequences even those that paint them the darkest black."
" How could you say that? " A zero from the crowd yelled indignantly.
" I say it in the same way you lie to yourself. We all shape our reality by the lies we tell and information we interprate. My number is a scapegoat for all so you may sit happily and do nothing. I am a tesselated monster. You see how ugly the destroyer of worlds can be. But in each obsidian facet you see the darkest parts you all play."
" That's ridiculous I am a zero I kill no one" the man held his chin for all to see.
" I am the end of all people , and neither do I" |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | I sat there in my room with my hands in my face. The lights were dimmed as to not strain my bloodshot eyes more. I haven't been been getting the best sleep. I tried. I definitely tried, but each time I closed them, I saw it.
It was just another day in my life. I had gone to work in the morning, taking the public bus across town to my office and it had gone normally. I saw the same usual faces with their death counters above their heads. Most everyone had a faint yellow '0' floating above them. There were a few other numbers, but I didn't pay them any mind. I had come to terms with my strange ability. People killed people, either by murder or accident, it happens and I was just perfectly happy that whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw a 0 floating above my head.
I said hello to Maddie, a cute girl with deep dimples whenever she smiled, which was always. She was in the cubicle next to me and it was customary for us to start the day with a friendly chat, especially on Friday.
She had plans on going to the concert hall where several local bands were getting together for an event. It sounded fun and normally I would have gone with her, however, that wasn't going to happen this time.
I looked up instinctively when I heard a door opening to my right. My first thought was that it was Mr. Johnson, the manager, coming out to tell us to get work since Maddie and often got carried away with our little conversations. It wasn't Mr. Johnson. It was someone I had never seen before. I didn't get a good look at his face because all I saw was the number above this head.
Like a car wreck I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure it was real, but sure enough it read, 7,431,323,210.
He walked out of Mr. Johnson's office and left. I was left glass eyed.
I had to excuse myself from Maddie when she became concerned, saying that I felt sick. I promised to talk to her later.
I logged onto my computer and Googled the current population of Earth. It was close enough to be within the margin of error.
That was a month ago. Each day this man would come by the office. It seemed he was a new employee. I avoided him at all costs as I watched his death counter go up higher and higher each day at the same rate as the population rose. It was maddening to just sit in my cube each day and watch this man and not do anything about it.
What kind of horrible catastrophe was he destined to do. Would it be deliberate or would it be an accident. Was he guilty? Was he innocent of intent?
Now, after much deliberation, I know what I must do. They won't understand why, but it's for the best.
I get up and walk over to my bathroom and turn on the sink. I wash my face and then look up into the mirror.
It tears me apart to see it. Above my head floats a dim, yellow number 1. | "That's a pretty big number?"
"To some" replied the young woman.
"Don't you worry ?, what about your soul, or even humanity?"
" Does the first snowflake of an avalanche worry, or the first drop of a deluge? My soul is my own as yours belongs to you. Our numbers tell us what will happen if we keep on the same path, that implies fate. Perhaps I will fork onto another before it happens. Even if don't the first snowflake of an avalanche didn't put the rest on their perch."
"All of humanity is not something you can play with!" The man screamed gathering a crowd.
"I don't play with humanity. I alone could do nothing. The moment the rest of you involve yourselves with me I get my number. Millions can be killed slowly by poison we pass around, millions more by the destruction we reap. Dictators and waring leaders of any kind are blamed for the deaths done by others. Their numbers like my number are convenient, they are the numbers of people who own their actions and accept consequences even those that paint them the darkest black."
" How could you say that? " A zero from the crowd yelled indignantly.
" I say it in the same way you lie to yourself. We all shape our reality by the lies we tell and information we interprate. My number is a scapegoat for all so you may sit happily and do nothing. I am a tesselated monster. You see how ugly the destroyer of worlds can be. But in each obsidian facet you see the darkest parts you all play."
" That's ridiculous I am a zero I kill no one" the man held his chin for all to see.
" I am the end of all people , and neither do I" |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | 7431323210
7431323209
7431323208
"Terry? Have you changed your mind?"
"No. Why would I? We've been working on this for years?"
"Well, your number is dropping."
"It is? Oh shit! What did we change?"
Years of study and experimentation had gone into maintaining Terry's kill number. George had been kicked out of dozens of research labs and universities because of his experimentation. They didn't approve of his use of colleagues and students. Well, he didn't need them any more. Sure their numbers had been high, but none of them were the entire human race. George got a thrill every time he looked at Terry.
"Nothing. We changed nothing. All the calculations still point to there being no way to spread this thing to humans. Every person we've tried it on has shaken it off like it was the common cold. Speaking of which, do you have a tissue? I need to blow my nose."
Terry was staring at him.
"George, do you feel all right?"
"I feel fine, I just need to blow my nose."
"I think we transmitted."
"What?"
"My number. How fast is it moving now?"
6312584159
6312373048
6301517892
"I didn't feel a thing Terry. How the hell did we do it?"
"Don't know George, does it matter? A whole new species of man will inhabit the Earth by the end of today. I wonder how many people will notice."
"Well, they'll probably notice the changing skin color at least." | "That's a pretty big number?"
"To some" replied the young woman.
"Don't you worry ?, what about your soul, or even humanity?"
" Does the first snowflake of an avalanche worry, or the first drop of a deluge? My soul is my own as yours belongs to you. Our numbers tell us what will happen if we keep on the same path, that implies fate. Perhaps I will fork onto another before it happens. Even if don't the first snowflake of an avalanche didn't put the rest on their perch."
"All of humanity is not something you can play with!" The man screamed gathering a crowd.
"I don't play with humanity. I alone could do nothing. The moment the rest of you involve yourselves with me I get my number. Millions can be killed slowly by poison we pass around, millions more by the destruction we reap. Dictators and waring leaders of any kind are blamed for the deaths done by others. Their numbers like my number are convenient, they are the numbers of people who own their actions and accept consequences even those that paint them the darkest black."
" How could you say that? " A zero from the crowd yelled indignantly.
" I say it in the same way you lie to yourself. We all shape our reality by the lies we tell and information we interprate. My number is a scapegoat for all so you may sit happily and do nothing. I am a tesselated monster. You see how ugly the destroyer of worlds can be. But in each obsidian facet you see the darkest parts you all play."
" That's ridiculous I am a zero I kill no one" the man held his chin for all to see.
" I am the end of all people , and neither do I" |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Stephen looked in the mirror and saw his own number. 1. 1 person he was going to kill if he didn't change something.
"Well," he thought, "how many will that one save?"
He'd first realized what the numbers meant when he passed a drunken man one day in his teens with a 4 over his head. Later he'd seen the same man's face on the television. A mugshot, with a ticker below it saying he'd killed a family of four in a drunk driving accident. It didn't take but a couple more incidents like that and he'd decided to do something about it.
So he stood, staring at his own number in the mirror, wondering if today would be the day to stop number 7. He tucked the 9mm into his waistband holster as he prepared to walk out the door. Legally carried with a license, ironically. He hadn't been caught and had it removed yet. With one last look he walked out the door.
It was on his way to the usual coffee shop when Stephen spotted the man, and his number. 7,431,323,210. The biggest he'd ever seen. Possibly the whole world. He stopped, stunned, and decided he had to figure this man out.
The man ended up going to Stephen's usual haunt, so he didn't need to alter his routine too much. Stephen watched as the man sat down and removed his jacket. Flight attendant, by the looks of the uniform. His mind was racing.
Sure, a flight attendant might hijack a plane, it had been done before and killed thousands. But billions? Maybe if he flew the plane into a nuclear power plant? Military base overseas? Could that start a nuclear war? Whatever it was, he had to stop it
The man checked his watch, donned his jacket, and walked out, still holding his coffee cup. Stephen followed close behind him out the door. The man hailed a cab, and Stephen made his decision. As the cab stopped and the man got in, he jumped in right behind and spoke to the cabbie before the man could.
"Docks."
The flight attendant started to protest, but stopped short when he saw the handgun held low, pointed at him. His mouth dropped open and he blinked several times. Stephen had seen it before. Sometimes this was enough to change the number, but no. Not this time. The man looked back up and saw the ice in Stephen's eyes, and he turned to face the front, eyes moving back and forth rapidly as he tried to think his way out of the situation.
The cab pulled up to the docks on the river, too early for any dock workers to be at it yet in this area. Good. He nodded in the direction of the docks as the man looked at him. He got the idea and exited the car. Stephen passed the cabbie two twenties and put on a cheery voice, but not so cheery as to be memorable.
"Thanks, boss."
Stephen exited and told the flight attendant to walk, punctuating the command with a jab in the back. The man started breathing wheezily, struggling to get breath. This one was going to beg. This one would wrack him with guilt, Stephen knew. The last one who begged had him questioning himself for weeks. But the numbers didn't lie. He'd followed enough people with what had seemed like high numbers at the time, unable to bring himself to kill them, and seen the results. He redirected the man until they found themselves in a remote part of a scrap yard he'd used before.
"Stop here."
"Look, buddy-"
"I'm not your buddy, no talking."
"I just don't know why you're doing this." He coughed then, and it sounded wet. He turned around and Stephen saw the eyes well for the first time. Pink. He'd been quietly crying, then.
Stephen raised the gun to the man's chest, and the eyes went wide.
"Please, I have a-"
"DON'T. I said no talking."
He started putting pressure on the trigger, aiming for center mass like he'd always been trained, then started thinking again. 7 billion. He was reading the number right, it still hung there in the air like a spectre. Who was this man?
The flight attendant stepped forward and Stephen yelled, "Stop!"
He pointed the gun at the man's head for emphasis, then back down. No, he thought. Whatever this one was, he had to make sure. The gun went back up to the man's head and Stephen pressed the trigger.
The bang echoed around the docks, but no one would come to investigate. Damn, head wounds were messy. He'd be late to work today; he'd have to change his shirt. Maybe he'd just call in sick. It was Friday, maybe a three day weekend would give him time to think through this one. Yeah, that would be the ticket.
Monday morning came and Stephen woke up with a start in a cold sweat. He'd had another nightmare about the man. Another sick day. His boss would be okay with it. Stephen so rarely called in. He made the call, took a drink from the half-empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand and fell back into bed.
He woke up again and checked his phone. 3:30. Wait, AM? He'd slept that long? Well, no dreams this time. Not that he remembered anyway. He got up feeling achy. Well, that was what you got for sleeping so long. He grabbed his glasses and noticed a spot of blood he'd missed when cleaning up. Couldn't let someone spot that and ask questions he'd have to make up answers to. He was a good liar, but not having to lie in the first place was best.
He put the glasses on after cleaning them and looked in the mirror. Then he saw it. His number had changed. He took the glasses off and looked them over, Wiping them down again before putting them back on.
7,431,323,209
He blinked hard, but it was still there. His eyes shot wide with sudden clarity, and he looked in the trash bin at the shirt with blood spatter on it. A virus. A flight attendant who could spread it to travellers and other flight personnel who could spread it to more travelers. He'd always thought the numbers meant the deaths would be the fault of the number's bearer, not accidents. But why had his numbers changed?
The head shot. He always went for the chest. The head shot was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The blood splattered on him and now... Now he was infected with whatever it was.
The entire world. He'd thought to save them and now he was to be the agent of the world's destruction. Unless... But could he do it? A sigh.
He felt well enough that he didn't think he was spreading anything just yet. Viruses incubated for a while, right? Yeah, that sounded right. He took a cab to the same scrap yard where he'd hidden the last body. And others. Walking through he remembered the ones he'd brought there. Over there was the gangbanger. Under that car was the doomed flight attendant.
He walked on to a likely place and stopped to survey the sunrise over the scrap yard. He turned around and found himself facing a dirty glass window. He rubbed it clean with his sleeve and tried to get a last look at himself.
The number 1 floated over his head. A wan smile.
The dock workers heard the shot, but they just shook their heads and went back to work. | "That's a pretty big number?"
"To some" replied the young woman.
"Don't you worry ?, what about your soul, or even humanity?"
" Does the first snowflake of an avalanche worry, or the first drop of a deluge? My soul is my own as yours belongs to you. Our numbers tell us what will happen if we keep on the same path, that implies fate. Perhaps I will fork onto another before it happens. Even if don't the first snowflake of an avalanche didn't put the rest on their perch."
"All of humanity is not something you can play with!" The man screamed gathering a crowd.
"I don't play with humanity. I alone could do nothing. The moment the rest of you involve yourselves with me I get my number. Millions can be killed slowly by poison we pass around, millions more by the destruction we reap. Dictators and waring leaders of any kind are blamed for the deaths done by others. Their numbers like my number are convenient, they are the numbers of people who own their actions and accept consequences even those that paint them the darkest black."
" How could you say that? " A zero from the crowd yelled indignantly.
" I say it in the same way you lie to yourself. We all shape our reality by the lies we tell and information we interprate. My number is a scapegoat for all so you may sit happily and do nothing. I am a tesselated monster. You see how ugly the destroyer of worlds can be. But in each obsidian facet you see the darkest parts you all play."
" That's ridiculous I am a zero I kill no one" the man held his chin for all to see.
" I am the end of all people , and neither do I" |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | I sat there in my room with my hands in my face. The lights were dimmed as to not strain my bloodshot eyes more. I haven't been been getting the best sleep. I tried. I definitely tried, but each time I closed them, I saw it.
It was just another day in my life. I had gone to work in the morning, taking the public bus across town to my office and it had gone normally. I saw the same usual faces with their death counters above their heads. Most everyone had a faint yellow '0' floating above them. There were a few other numbers, but I didn't pay them any mind. I had come to terms with my strange ability. People killed people, either by murder or accident, it happens and I was just perfectly happy that whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw a 0 floating above my head.
I said hello to Maddie, a cute girl with deep dimples whenever she smiled, which was always. She was in the cubicle next to me and it was customary for us to start the day with a friendly chat, especially on Friday.
She had plans on going to the concert hall where several local bands were getting together for an event. It sounded fun and normally I would have gone with her, however, that wasn't going to happen this time.
I looked up instinctively when I heard a door opening to my right. My first thought was that it was Mr. Johnson, the manager, coming out to tell us to get work since Maddie and often got carried away with our little conversations. It wasn't Mr. Johnson. It was someone I had never seen before. I didn't get a good look at his face because all I saw was the number above this head.
Like a car wreck I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure it was real, but sure enough it read, 7,431,323,210.
He walked out of Mr. Johnson's office and left. I was left glass eyed.
I had to excuse myself from Maddie when she became concerned, saying that I felt sick. I promised to talk to her later.
I logged onto my computer and Googled the current population of Earth. It was close enough to be within the margin of error.
That was a month ago. Each day this man would come by the office. It seemed he was a new employee. I avoided him at all costs as I watched his death counter go up higher and higher each day at the same rate as the population rose. It was maddening to just sit in my cube each day and watch this man and not do anything about it.
What kind of horrible catastrophe was he destined to do. Would it be deliberate or would it be an accident. Was he guilty? Was he innocent of intent?
Now, after much deliberation, I know what I must do. They won't understand why, but it's for the best.
I get up and walk over to my bathroom and turn on the sink. I wash my face and then look up into the mirror.
It tears me apart to see it. Above my head floats a dim, yellow number 1. | "I swear I have no idea what you're talking about!"
The man plead with me as he knelt on the ground, hands outstretched in a feeble attempt to block me. That's what they all say. I merely moved the gun a few inches right, and squeezed the trigger.
He hit the ground before my bullet shell, and the number above his head went from three digits to zero.
---
The Slayer. Bounty Hunter. Hitman.
I've been called all of these names before. Truth is, I look at myself as a savior of sorts. Without me, the world would be in so much more danger.
Because of my gift, I am able to see the potential harm of each human being.
Because of my gift, I see a number above each person, indicating how many they will kill in their lives.
Because of my gift, the special forces have recruited me to hunt down the 'top scorers' in the world. At any instant, no one with three digits or more can be allowed to roam the world. Who knows what they are capable of? A mass shooting? A bombing? You never know in today's world.
---
I was in a new city, some place where intelligence has told us that a few top scorers roamed. I scanned the busy streets, as the multitudes of people and numbers crossed in front of me. All a bunch of 0s and 1s.
I reached a traffic junction, and paused for a second to rest under the shade provided by the large tree. That's when I saw it.
A bunch of 0s on a moving bus, but a long string of numbers caught my eye. What the...
I blinked a few times. That can't be right. How many digits is that?! I walked toward the bus, and broke into a jog as the bus began moving off.
As I counted in my head, I realised this was something I needed to buzz back to HQ about. I opened up my strides catch up as the bus pulled ahead, but I never broke my vision with the long string of numbers somewhere in the middle of that bus.
'Yes sir?' my earpiece crackled to life.
"I'm seeing something extremely abnormal. A target here with a big one. Ten digits."
'TEN digits?' the voice returned, incredulous.
"Yes, ten digits. It is... 7 - 4 - 3 - 1 - 3 - 2 - 3 - 2 - 0 - 9. God damn it. That's more or less the world population isn't it?"
As I continued running, frantic thoughts ran through my head. WHO is this guy? Some sleeper terrorist? What does he have planned? What could wipe out the whole earth's population? Something nuclear?
I suddenly realised that I might not be well-equipped to deal with someone so dangerous. My hand patted the revolver concealed under my jacket. Will this be enough? Surely he is well-protected? I'll only have one shot.
The bus finally slowed, as the traffic lights in front turned red. I quickly slowed to a brisk walk, and tried to maintain some cover closer to the shops on my side of the pavement. I can't approach in such an obvious manner! Argh, it's too late. I placed my hand on my gun.
As I went parallel with the bus, I finally caught a glimpse of the target. His side was facing me, as he looked forward in the direction of the bus.
No way!
It was only a boy! No less than... eight? His tiny frame was partially hidden among the other passengers on board. He had a neat crew cut, and was wearing a well-pressed shirt with a bowtie. He looked like a boy scout. He couldn't harm a fly!
'Sir? The number you gave me, 7,431,323,209, is that right?'
I glanced up at the number above his head. "Yes exactly."
'Well, that's indeed one shy of the current world population, sir. Send us your current location now, we'll send backup!'
At that very moment, the boy turned his head, almost casually to look out of the window, but his eyes locked on to mine. He flashed me a winsome smile.
The number above his head went up to 7,431,323,210. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Stephen looked in the mirror and saw his own number. 1. 1 person he was going to kill if he didn't change something.
"Well," he thought, "how many will that one save?"
He'd first realized what the numbers meant when he passed a drunken man one day in his teens with a 4 over his head. Later he'd seen the same man's face on the television. A mugshot, with a ticker below it saying he'd killed a family of four in a drunk driving accident. It didn't take but a couple more incidents like that and he'd decided to do something about it.
So he stood, staring at his own number in the mirror, wondering if today would be the day to stop number 7. He tucked the 9mm into his waistband holster as he prepared to walk out the door. Legally carried with a license, ironically. He hadn't been caught and had it removed yet. With one last look he walked out the door.
It was on his way to the usual coffee shop when Stephen spotted the man, and his number. 7,431,323,210. The biggest he'd ever seen. Possibly the whole world. He stopped, stunned, and decided he had to figure this man out.
The man ended up going to Stephen's usual haunt, so he didn't need to alter his routine too much. Stephen watched as the man sat down and removed his jacket. Flight attendant, by the looks of the uniform. His mind was racing.
Sure, a flight attendant might hijack a plane, it had been done before and killed thousands. But billions? Maybe if he flew the plane into a nuclear power plant? Military base overseas? Could that start a nuclear war? Whatever it was, he had to stop it
The man checked his watch, donned his jacket, and walked out, still holding his coffee cup. Stephen followed close behind him out the door. The man hailed a cab, and Stephen made his decision. As the cab stopped and the man got in, he jumped in right behind and spoke to the cabbie before the man could.
"Docks."
The flight attendant started to protest, but stopped short when he saw the handgun held low, pointed at him. His mouth dropped open and he blinked several times. Stephen had seen it before. Sometimes this was enough to change the number, but no. Not this time. The man looked back up and saw the ice in Stephen's eyes, and he turned to face the front, eyes moving back and forth rapidly as he tried to think his way out of the situation.
The cab pulled up to the docks on the river, too early for any dock workers to be at it yet in this area. Good. He nodded in the direction of the docks as the man looked at him. He got the idea and exited the car. Stephen passed the cabbie two twenties and put on a cheery voice, but not so cheery as to be memorable.
"Thanks, boss."
Stephen exited and told the flight attendant to walk, punctuating the command with a jab in the back. The man started breathing wheezily, struggling to get breath. This one was going to beg. This one would wrack him with guilt, Stephen knew. The last one who begged had him questioning himself for weeks. But the numbers didn't lie. He'd followed enough people with what had seemed like high numbers at the time, unable to bring himself to kill them, and seen the results. He redirected the man until they found themselves in a remote part of a scrap yard he'd used before.
"Stop here."
"Look, buddy-"
"I'm not your buddy, no talking."
"I just don't know why you're doing this." He coughed then, and it sounded wet. He turned around and Stephen saw the eyes well for the first time. Pink. He'd been quietly crying, then.
Stephen raised the gun to the man's chest, and the eyes went wide.
"Please, I have a-"
"DON'T. I said no talking."
He started putting pressure on the trigger, aiming for center mass like he'd always been trained, then started thinking again. 7 billion. He was reading the number right, it still hung there in the air like a spectre. Who was this man?
The flight attendant stepped forward and Stephen yelled, "Stop!"
He pointed the gun at the man's head for emphasis, then back down. No, he thought. Whatever this one was, he had to make sure. The gun went back up to the man's head and Stephen pressed the trigger.
The bang echoed around the docks, but no one would come to investigate. Damn, head wounds were messy. He'd be late to work today; he'd have to change his shirt. Maybe he'd just call in sick. It was Friday, maybe a three day weekend would give him time to think through this one. Yeah, that would be the ticket.
Monday morning came and Stephen woke up with a start in a cold sweat. He'd had another nightmare about the man. Another sick day. His boss would be okay with it. Stephen so rarely called in. He made the call, took a drink from the half-empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand and fell back into bed.
He woke up again and checked his phone. 3:30. Wait, AM? He'd slept that long? Well, no dreams this time. Not that he remembered anyway. He got up feeling achy. Well, that was what you got for sleeping so long. He grabbed his glasses and noticed a spot of blood he'd missed when cleaning up. Couldn't let someone spot that and ask questions he'd have to make up answers to. He was a good liar, but not having to lie in the first place was best.
He put the glasses on after cleaning them and looked in the mirror. Then he saw it. His number had changed. He took the glasses off and looked them over, Wiping them down again before putting them back on.
7,431,323,209
He blinked hard, but it was still there. His eyes shot wide with sudden clarity, and he looked in the trash bin at the shirt with blood spatter on it. A virus. A flight attendant who could spread it to travellers and other flight personnel who could spread it to more travelers. He'd always thought the numbers meant the deaths would be the fault of the number's bearer, not accidents. But why had his numbers changed?
The head shot. He always went for the chest. The head shot was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The blood splattered on him and now... Now he was infected with whatever it was.
The entire world. He'd thought to save them and now he was to be the agent of the world's destruction. Unless... But could he do it? A sigh.
He felt well enough that he didn't think he was spreading anything just yet. Viruses incubated for a while, right? Yeah, that sounded right. He took a cab to the same scrap yard where he'd hidden the last body. And others. Walking through he remembered the ones he'd brought there. Over there was the gangbanger. Under that car was the doomed flight attendant.
He walked on to a likely place and stopped to survey the sunrise over the scrap yard. He turned around and found himself facing a dirty glass window. He rubbed it clean with his sleeve and tried to get a last look at himself.
The number 1 floated over his head. A wan smile.
The dock workers heard the shot, but they just shook their heads and went back to work. | "I swear I have no idea what you're talking about!"
The man plead with me as he knelt on the ground, hands outstretched in a feeble attempt to block me. That's what they all say. I merely moved the gun a few inches right, and squeezed the trigger.
He hit the ground before my bullet shell, and the number above his head went from three digits to zero.
---
The Slayer. Bounty Hunter. Hitman.
I've been called all of these names before. Truth is, I look at myself as a savior of sorts. Without me, the world would be in so much more danger.
Because of my gift, I am able to see the potential harm of each human being.
Because of my gift, I see a number above each person, indicating how many they will kill in their lives.
Because of my gift, the special forces have recruited me to hunt down the 'top scorers' in the world. At any instant, no one with three digits or more can be allowed to roam the world. Who knows what they are capable of? A mass shooting? A bombing? You never know in today's world.
---
I was in a new city, some place where intelligence has told us that a few top scorers roamed. I scanned the busy streets, as the multitudes of people and numbers crossed in front of me. All a bunch of 0s and 1s.
I reached a traffic junction, and paused for a second to rest under the shade provided by the large tree. That's when I saw it.
A bunch of 0s on a moving bus, but a long string of numbers caught my eye. What the...
I blinked a few times. That can't be right. How many digits is that?! I walked toward the bus, and broke into a jog as the bus began moving off.
As I counted in my head, I realised this was something I needed to buzz back to HQ about. I opened up my strides catch up as the bus pulled ahead, but I never broke my vision with the long string of numbers somewhere in the middle of that bus.
'Yes sir?' my earpiece crackled to life.
"I'm seeing something extremely abnormal. A target here with a big one. Ten digits."
'TEN digits?' the voice returned, incredulous.
"Yes, ten digits. It is... 7 - 4 - 3 - 1 - 3 - 2 - 3 - 2 - 0 - 9. God damn it. That's more or less the world population isn't it?"
As I continued running, frantic thoughts ran through my head. WHO is this guy? Some sleeper terrorist? What does he have planned? What could wipe out the whole earth's population? Something nuclear?
I suddenly realised that I might not be well-equipped to deal with someone so dangerous. My hand patted the revolver concealed under my jacket. Will this be enough? Surely he is well-protected? I'll only have one shot.
The bus finally slowed, as the traffic lights in front turned red. I quickly slowed to a brisk walk, and tried to maintain some cover closer to the shops on my side of the pavement. I can't approach in such an obvious manner! Argh, it's too late. I placed my hand on my gun.
As I went parallel with the bus, I finally caught a glimpse of the target. His side was facing me, as he looked forward in the direction of the bus.
No way!
It was only a boy! No less than... eight? His tiny frame was partially hidden among the other passengers on board. He had a neat crew cut, and was wearing a well-pressed shirt with a bowtie. He looked like a boy scout. He couldn't harm a fly!
'Sir? The number you gave me, 7,431,323,209, is that right?'
I glanced up at the number above his head. "Yes exactly."
'Well, that's indeed one shy of the current world population, sir. Send us your current location now, we'll send backup!'
At that very moment, the boy turned his head, almost casually to look out of the window, but his eyes locked on to mine. He flashed me a winsome smile.
The number above his head went up to 7,431,323,210. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Stephen looked in the mirror and saw his own number. 1. 1 person he was going to kill if he didn't change something.
"Well," he thought, "how many will that one save?"
He'd first realized what the numbers meant when he passed a drunken man one day in his teens with a 4 over his head. Later he'd seen the same man's face on the television. A mugshot, with a ticker below it saying he'd killed a family of four in a drunk driving accident. It didn't take but a couple more incidents like that and he'd decided to do something about it.
So he stood, staring at his own number in the mirror, wondering if today would be the day to stop number 7. He tucked the 9mm into his waistband holster as he prepared to walk out the door. Legally carried with a license, ironically. He hadn't been caught and had it removed yet. With one last look he walked out the door.
It was on his way to the usual coffee shop when Stephen spotted the man, and his number. 7,431,323,210. The biggest he'd ever seen. Possibly the whole world. He stopped, stunned, and decided he had to figure this man out.
The man ended up going to Stephen's usual haunt, so he didn't need to alter his routine too much. Stephen watched as the man sat down and removed his jacket. Flight attendant, by the looks of the uniform. His mind was racing.
Sure, a flight attendant might hijack a plane, it had been done before and killed thousands. But billions? Maybe if he flew the plane into a nuclear power plant? Military base overseas? Could that start a nuclear war? Whatever it was, he had to stop it
The man checked his watch, donned his jacket, and walked out, still holding his coffee cup. Stephen followed close behind him out the door. The man hailed a cab, and Stephen made his decision. As the cab stopped and the man got in, he jumped in right behind and spoke to the cabbie before the man could.
"Docks."
The flight attendant started to protest, but stopped short when he saw the handgun held low, pointed at him. His mouth dropped open and he blinked several times. Stephen had seen it before. Sometimes this was enough to change the number, but no. Not this time. The man looked back up and saw the ice in Stephen's eyes, and he turned to face the front, eyes moving back and forth rapidly as he tried to think his way out of the situation.
The cab pulled up to the docks on the river, too early for any dock workers to be at it yet in this area. Good. He nodded in the direction of the docks as the man looked at him. He got the idea and exited the car. Stephen passed the cabbie two twenties and put on a cheery voice, but not so cheery as to be memorable.
"Thanks, boss."
Stephen exited and told the flight attendant to walk, punctuating the command with a jab in the back. The man started breathing wheezily, struggling to get breath. This one was going to beg. This one would wrack him with guilt, Stephen knew. The last one who begged had him questioning himself for weeks. But the numbers didn't lie. He'd followed enough people with what had seemed like high numbers at the time, unable to bring himself to kill them, and seen the results. He redirected the man until they found themselves in a remote part of a scrap yard he'd used before.
"Stop here."
"Look, buddy-"
"I'm not your buddy, no talking."
"I just don't know why you're doing this." He coughed then, and it sounded wet. He turned around and Stephen saw the eyes well for the first time. Pink. He'd been quietly crying, then.
Stephen raised the gun to the man's chest, and the eyes went wide.
"Please, I have a-"
"DON'T. I said no talking."
He started putting pressure on the trigger, aiming for center mass like he'd always been trained, then started thinking again. 7 billion. He was reading the number right, it still hung there in the air like a spectre. Who was this man?
The flight attendant stepped forward and Stephen yelled, "Stop!"
He pointed the gun at the man's head for emphasis, then back down. No, he thought. Whatever this one was, he had to make sure. The gun went back up to the man's head and Stephen pressed the trigger.
The bang echoed around the docks, but no one would come to investigate. Damn, head wounds were messy. He'd be late to work today; he'd have to change his shirt. Maybe he'd just call in sick. It was Friday, maybe a three day weekend would give him time to think through this one. Yeah, that would be the ticket.
Monday morning came and Stephen woke up with a start in a cold sweat. He'd had another nightmare about the man. Another sick day. His boss would be okay with it. Stephen so rarely called in. He made the call, took a drink from the half-empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand and fell back into bed.
He woke up again and checked his phone. 3:30. Wait, AM? He'd slept that long? Well, no dreams this time. Not that he remembered anyway. He got up feeling achy. Well, that was what you got for sleeping so long. He grabbed his glasses and noticed a spot of blood he'd missed when cleaning up. Couldn't let someone spot that and ask questions he'd have to make up answers to. He was a good liar, but not having to lie in the first place was best.
He put the glasses on after cleaning them and looked in the mirror. Then he saw it. His number had changed. He took the glasses off and looked them over, Wiping them down again before putting them back on.
7,431,323,209
He blinked hard, but it was still there. His eyes shot wide with sudden clarity, and he looked in the trash bin at the shirt with blood spatter on it. A virus. A flight attendant who could spread it to travellers and other flight personnel who could spread it to more travelers. He'd always thought the numbers meant the deaths would be the fault of the number's bearer, not accidents. But why had his numbers changed?
The head shot. He always went for the chest. The head shot was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The blood splattered on him and now... Now he was infected with whatever it was.
The entire world. He'd thought to save them and now he was to be the agent of the world's destruction. Unless... But could he do it? A sigh.
He felt well enough that he didn't think he was spreading anything just yet. Viruses incubated for a while, right? Yeah, that sounded right. He took a cab to the same scrap yard where he'd hidden the last body. And others. Walking through he remembered the ones he'd brought there. Over there was the gangbanger. Under that car was the doomed flight attendant.
He walked on to a likely place and stopped to survey the sunrise over the scrap yard. He turned around and found himself facing a dirty glass window. He rubbed it clean with his sleeve and tried to get a last look at himself.
The number 1 floated over his head. A wan smile.
The dock workers heard the shot, but they just shook their heads and went back to work. | I sat there in my room with my hands in my face. The lights were dimmed as to not strain my bloodshot eyes more. I haven't been been getting the best sleep. I tried. I definitely tried, but each time I closed them, I saw it.
It was just another day in my life. I had gone to work in the morning, taking the public bus across town to my office and it had gone normally. I saw the same usual faces with their death counters above their heads. Most everyone had a faint yellow '0' floating above them. There were a few other numbers, but I didn't pay them any mind. I had come to terms with my strange ability. People killed people, either by murder or accident, it happens and I was just perfectly happy that whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw a 0 floating above my head.
I said hello to Maddie, a cute girl with deep dimples whenever she smiled, which was always. She was in the cubicle next to me and it was customary for us to start the day with a friendly chat, especially on Friday.
She had plans on going to the concert hall where several local bands were getting together for an event. It sounded fun and normally I would have gone with her, however, that wasn't going to happen this time.
I looked up instinctively when I heard a door opening to my right. My first thought was that it was Mr. Johnson, the manager, coming out to tell us to get work since Maddie and often got carried away with our little conversations. It wasn't Mr. Johnson. It was someone I had never seen before. I didn't get a good look at his face because all I saw was the number above this head.
Like a car wreck I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure it was real, but sure enough it read, 7,431,323,210.
He walked out of Mr. Johnson's office and left. I was left glass eyed.
I had to excuse myself from Maddie when she became concerned, saying that I felt sick. I promised to talk to her later.
I logged onto my computer and Googled the current population of Earth. It was close enough to be within the margin of error.
That was a month ago. Each day this man would come by the office. It seemed he was a new employee. I avoided him at all costs as I watched his death counter go up higher and higher each day at the same rate as the population rose. It was maddening to just sit in my cube each day and watch this man and not do anything about it.
What kind of horrible catastrophe was he destined to do. Would it be deliberate or would it be an accident. Was he guilty? Was he innocent of intent?
Now, after much deliberation, I know what I must do. They won't understand why, but it's for the best.
I get up and walk over to my bathroom and turn on the sink. I wash my face and then look up into the mirror.
It tears me apart to see it. Above my head floats a dim, yellow number 1. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Stephen looked in the mirror and saw his own number. 1. 1 person he was going to kill if he didn't change something.
"Well," he thought, "how many will that one save?"
He'd first realized what the numbers meant when he passed a drunken man one day in his teens with a 4 over his head. Later he'd seen the same man's face on the television. A mugshot, with a ticker below it saying he'd killed a family of four in a drunk driving accident. It didn't take but a couple more incidents like that and he'd decided to do something about it.
So he stood, staring at his own number in the mirror, wondering if today would be the day to stop number 7. He tucked the 9mm into his waistband holster as he prepared to walk out the door. Legally carried with a license, ironically. He hadn't been caught and had it removed yet. With one last look he walked out the door.
It was on his way to the usual coffee shop when Stephen spotted the man, and his number. 7,431,323,210. The biggest he'd ever seen. Possibly the whole world. He stopped, stunned, and decided he had to figure this man out.
The man ended up going to Stephen's usual haunt, so he didn't need to alter his routine too much. Stephen watched as the man sat down and removed his jacket. Flight attendant, by the looks of the uniform. His mind was racing.
Sure, a flight attendant might hijack a plane, it had been done before and killed thousands. But billions? Maybe if he flew the plane into a nuclear power plant? Military base overseas? Could that start a nuclear war? Whatever it was, he had to stop it
The man checked his watch, donned his jacket, and walked out, still holding his coffee cup. Stephen followed close behind him out the door. The man hailed a cab, and Stephen made his decision. As the cab stopped and the man got in, he jumped in right behind and spoke to the cabbie before the man could.
"Docks."
The flight attendant started to protest, but stopped short when he saw the handgun held low, pointed at him. His mouth dropped open and he blinked several times. Stephen had seen it before. Sometimes this was enough to change the number, but no. Not this time. The man looked back up and saw the ice in Stephen's eyes, and he turned to face the front, eyes moving back and forth rapidly as he tried to think his way out of the situation.
The cab pulled up to the docks on the river, too early for any dock workers to be at it yet in this area. Good. He nodded in the direction of the docks as the man looked at him. He got the idea and exited the car. Stephen passed the cabbie two twenties and put on a cheery voice, but not so cheery as to be memorable.
"Thanks, boss."
Stephen exited and told the flight attendant to walk, punctuating the command with a jab in the back. The man started breathing wheezily, struggling to get breath. This one was going to beg. This one would wrack him with guilt, Stephen knew. The last one who begged had him questioning himself for weeks. But the numbers didn't lie. He'd followed enough people with what had seemed like high numbers at the time, unable to bring himself to kill them, and seen the results. He redirected the man until they found themselves in a remote part of a scrap yard he'd used before.
"Stop here."
"Look, buddy-"
"I'm not your buddy, no talking."
"I just don't know why you're doing this." He coughed then, and it sounded wet. He turned around and Stephen saw the eyes well for the first time. Pink. He'd been quietly crying, then.
Stephen raised the gun to the man's chest, and the eyes went wide.
"Please, I have a-"
"DON'T. I said no talking."
He started putting pressure on the trigger, aiming for center mass like he'd always been trained, then started thinking again. 7 billion. He was reading the number right, it still hung there in the air like a spectre. Who was this man?
The flight attendant stepped forward and Stephen yelled, "Stop!"
He pointed the gun at the man's head for emphasis, then back down. No, he thought. Whatever this one was, he had to make sure. The gun went back up to the man's head and Stephen pressed the trigger.
The bang echoed around the docks, but no one would come to investigate. Damn, head wounds were messy. He'd be late to work today; he'd have to change his shirt. Maybe he'd just call in sick. It was Friday, maybe a three day weekend would give him time to think through this one. Yeah, that would be the ticket.
Monday morning came and Stephen woke up with a start in a cold sweat. He'd had another nightmare about the man. Another sick day. His boss would be okay with it. Stephen so rarely called in. He made the call, took a drink from the half-empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand and fell back into bed.
He woke up again and checked his phone. 3:30. Wait, AM? He'd slept that long? Well, no dreams this time. Not that he remembered anyway. He got up feeling achy. Well, that was what you got for sleeping so long. He grabbed his glasses and noticed a spot of blood he'd missed when cleaning up. Couldn't let someone spot that and ask questions he'd have to make up answers to. He was a good liar, but not having to lie in the first place was best.
He put the glasses on after cleaning them and looked in the mirror. Then he saw it. His number had changed. He took the glasses off and looked them over, Wiping them down again before putting them back on.
7,431,323,209
He blinked hard, but it was still there. His eyes shot wide with sudden clarity, and he looked in the trash bin at the shirt with blood spatter on it. A virus. A flight attendant who could spread it to travellers and other flight personnel who could spread it to more travelers. He'd always thought the numbers meant the deaths would be the fault of the number's bearer, not accidents. But why had his numbers changed?
The head shot. He always went for the chest. The head shot was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The blood splattered on him and now... Now he was infected with whatever it was.
The entire world. He'd thought to save them and now he was to be the agent of the world's destruction. Unless... But could he do it? A sigh.
He felt well enough that he didn't think he was spreading anything just yet. Viruses incubated for a while, right? Yeah, that sounded right. He took a cab to the same scrap yard where he'd hidden the last body. And others. Walking through he remembered the ones he'd brought there. Over there was the gangbanger. Under that car was the doomed flight attendant.
He walked on to a likely place and stopped to survey the sunrise over the scrap yard. He turned around and found himself facing a dirty glass window. He rubbed it clean with his sleeve and tried to get a last look at himself.
The number 1 floated over his head. A wan smile.
The dock workers heard the shot, but they just shook their heads and went back to work. | 7431323210
7431323209
7431323208
"Terry? Have you changed your mind?"
"No. Why would I? We've been working on this for years?"
"Well, your number is dropping."
"It is? Oh shit! What did we change?"
Years of study and experimentation had gone into maintaining Terry's kill number. George had been kicked out of dozens of research labs and universities because of his experimentation. They didn't approve of his use of colleagues and students. Well, he didn't need them any more. Sure their numbers had been high, but none of them were the entire human race. George got a thrill every time he looked at Terry.
"Nothing. We changed nothing. All the calculations still point to there being no way to spread this thing to humans. Every person we've tried it on has shaken it off like it was the common cold. Speaking of which, do you have a tissue? I need to blow my nose."
Terry was staring at him.
"George, do you feel all right?"
"I feel fine, I just need to blow my nose."
"I think we transmitted."
"What?"
"My number. How fast is it moving now?"
6312584159
6312373048
6301517892
"I didn't feel a thing Terry. How the hell did we do it?"
"Don't know George, does it matter? A whole new species of man will inhabit the Earth by the end of today. I wonder how many people will notice."
"Well, they'll probably notice the changing skin color at least." |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | 7 billion people.
Gracie stared at the gentleman sitting across from her on the train. He had a nice clean suit, polished shoes, and a straight posture that made her neck ache just thinking of it.
7 billion people? How is that even possible? She pondered to herself. It has to be some sort of real life glitch right? Maybe I'm seeing things.
The man glances in her direction and a cold shiver runs down her spine, standing her hairs on end. Unable to even look him him the eye she looks to the speeding view behind her. She tries to push the thoughts of the man out of her mind, but she can feel his gaze on her still.
Okay so, not a glitch. Does he consider bugs people? But then he wouldn't have the intent to kill them all. There's no other explanation, but what could I even do?
A faint white mark appears into vision, almost unnoticed. The zero that had followed her without fail all her life suddenly was no longer there. 1 had taken its place.
Turning forward once more, she slowly reaches into her bag and tightly gripping the pen from her journal. There is something she can do...
((I haven't done any creative writing like this in a while, let alone on reddit on a phone. cheers for the provoking WP)) | I used to see 0's everywhere there was a crowd. On the occasion I did see a number other than 0 I could intervene and drop it quickly.
To understand what I'm talking about, I can see the number of people a person will kill in their lifetime. I've been able to do so as long as I can remember, 113 years. No one knows about this as one can imagine the feedback I would receive.
As I was saying before, I used to see 0's all the time. When I was born the industrial revolution was at full speed and inter continental travel was becoming much easier. As technology improved and our use of resources compounded I started to notice a strange trend, less and less 0's. People were getting gaining numbers all the time.
I came to realize that it was literally due to people's carbon footprint and ability to transmit disease. Even I had a number 4 above me.
From smog to the common cold everyone was contributing to someone's demise.
I got used to it and realized there wasn't much o could do to help anymore. It got to the point where there was no way to tell if someone was a murderer, going to cause an accident, or if it was just them leaving too many lights on.
Then the US election happened. I went to sleep that night knowing our country wouldn't make terrible decision. I mean look who the candidates were.
I woke up and didn't even think about checking the results before going into town. As I was walking around, cane in hand, I noticed everyone's number was at 0! I thought, "What has happened?! The election did this? We're all saved!" I felt peace for the first time in half a century.
Curious now as to how the election turned out I went into a local sports bar and looked at a television. The headline read "Trump wins election!" He was on the tv as well only he had a different number above him. 7,845,542,885.
Now I know why everyone's number dropped.
|
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Been like this long as I can remember - seeing numbers everywhere. Was a while before I figured it out - they follow the people, the number of people each person will kill in their lives. Wish I was better at talking to people, maybe then I could really change things, change those numbers. But the numbers have always made more sense than the people, and they look at me askance. The people, not the numbers.
My number has always been one. Don't know why, but it's always been there. I'm used to it. I watch the people and their numbers go by outside my apartment, like an insane game of duck, duck, goose. Zero, zero, zero, zero, three. A pregnant woman with her zero husband. Hmm. Not that I care - not my responsibility. Besides, maybe it's fate, though maybe I just say that because it's easy. Easier than running around trying to save faceless numbers.
I go into work - accounting. Much easier to face at numbers without the weight of human lives. I get up from my cubicle to get water, gazing at the floor to avoid that too-intimate knowledge of my coworkers. But that means someone runs into me on my way back to my desk - water goes all over me. I look up, I have to, he spoke to me. Just another benign oval hovers above his head. I make some bland response to his smiling apology and head for the bathroom to mop up the damp on me. Glancing into the mirror, mainly because it's there, something catches my eye. The number over my head has changed... 7,431,323,10.
How long I stand there, staring at this number that holds so much weight, and none at all. Numbers, abstract numbers do not exist outside the mind of humanity, you know. They're just useful symbols. So long... the time or the number? Until I reach a conclusion. In that moment, I witness the number change again. Decreasing, decreasing, all the way back to one. I smile grimly at my reflection. Now I understand my fate. | I used to see 0's everywhere there was a crowd. On the occasion I did see a number other than 0 I could intervene and drop it quickly.
To understand what I'm talking about, I can see the number of people a person will kill in their lifetime. I've been able to do so as long as I can remember, 113 years. No one knows about this as one can imagine the feedback I would receive.
As I was saying before, I used to see 0's all the time. When I was born the industrial revolution was at full speed and inter continental travel was becoming much easier. As technology improved and our use of resources compounded I started to notice a strange trend, less and less 0's. People were getting gaining numbers all the time.
I came to realize that it was literally due to people's carbon footprint and ability to transmit disease. Even I had a number 4 above me.
From smog to the common cold everyone was contributing to someone's demise.
I got used to it and realized there wasn't much o could do to help anymore. It got to the point where there was no way to tell if someone was a murderer, going to cause an accident, or if it was just them leaving too many lights on.
Then the US election happened. I went to sleep that night knowing our country wouldn't make terrible decision. I mean look who the candidates were.
I woke up and didn't even think about checking the results before going into town. As I was walking around, cane in hand, I noticed everyone's number was at 0! I thought, "What has happened?! The election did this? We're all saved!" I felt peace for the first time in half a century.
Curious now as to how the election turned out I went into a local sports bar and looked at a television. The headline read "Trump wins election!" He was on the tv as well only he had a different number above him. 7,845,542,885.
Now I know why everyone's number dropped.
|
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | "Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
| I used to see 0's everywhere there was a crowd. On the occasion I did see a number other than 0 I could intervene and drop it quickly.
To understand what I'm talking about, I can see the number of people a person will kill in their lifetime. I've been able to do so as long as I can remember, 113 years. No one knows about this as one can imagine the feedback I would receive.
As I was saying before, I used to see 0's all the time. When I was born the industrial revolution was at full speed and inter continental travel was becoming much easier. As technology improved and our use of resources compounded I started to notice a strange trend, less and less 0's. People were getting gaining numbers all the time.
I came to realize that it was literally due to people's carbon footprint and ability to transmit disease. Even I had a number 4 above me.
From smog to the common cold everyone was contributing to someone's demise.
I got used to it and realized there wasn't much o could do to help anymore. It got to the point where there was no way to tell if someone was a murderer, going to cause an accident, or if it was just them leaving too many lights on.
Then the US election happened. I went to sleep that night knowing our country wouldn't make terrible decision. I mean look who the candidates were.
I woke up and didn't even think about checking the results before going into town. As I was walking around, cane in hand, I noticed everyone's number was at 0! I thought, "What has happened?! The election did this? We're all saved!" I felt peace for the first time in half a century.
Curious now as to how the election turned out I went into a local sports bar and looked at a television. The headline read "Trump wins election!" He was on the tv as well only he had a different number above him. 7,845,542,885.
Now I know why everyone's number dropped.
|
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Been like this long as I can remember - seeing numbers everywhere. Was a while before I figured it out - they follow the people, the number of people each person will kill in their lives. Wish I was better at talking to people, maybe then I could really change things, change those numbers. But the numbers have always made more sense than the people, and they look at me askance. The people, not the numbers.
My number has always been one. Don't know why, but it's always been there. I'm used to it. I watch the people and their numbers go by outside my apartment, like an insane game of duck, duck, goose. Zero, zero, zero, zero, three. A pregnant woman with her zero husband. Hmm. Not that I care - not my responsibility. Besides, maybe it's fate, though maybe I just say that because it's easy. Easier than running around trying to save faceless numbers.
I go into work - accounting. Much easier to face at numbers without the weight of human lives. I get up from my cubicle to get water, gazing at the floor to avoid that too-intimate knowledge of my coworkers. But that means someone runs into me on my way back to my desk - water goes all over me. I look up, I have to, he spoke to me. Just another benign oval hovers above his head. I make some bland response to his smiling apology and head for the bathroom to mop up the damp on me. Glancing into the mirror, mainly because it's there, something catches my eye. The number over my head has changed... 7,431,323,10.
How long I stand there, staring at this number that holds so much weight, and none at all. Numbers, abstract numbers do not exist outside the mind of humanity, you know. They're just useful symbols. So long... the time or the number? Until I reach a conclusion. In that moment, I witness the number change again. Decreasing, decreasing, all the way back to one. I smile grimly at my reflection. Now I understand my fate. | 7 billion people.
Gracie stared at the gentleman sitting across from her on the train. He had a nice clean suit, polished shoes, and a straight posture that made her neck ache just thinking of it.
7 billion people? How is that even possible? She pondered to herself. It has to be some sort of real life glitch right? Maybe I'm seeing things.
The man glances in her direction and a cold shiver runs down her spine, standing her hairs on end. Unable to even look him him the eye she looks to the speeding view behind her. She tries to push the thoughts of the man out of her mind, but she can feel his gaze on her still.
Okay so, not a glitch. Does he consider bugs people? But then he wouldn't have the intent to kill them all. There's no other explanation, but what could I even do?
A faint white mark appears into vision, almost unnoticed. The zero that had followed her without fail all her life suddenly was no longer there. 1 had taken its place.
Turning forward once more, she slowly reaches into her bag and tightly gripping the pen from her journal. There is something she can do...
((I haven't done any creative writing like this in a while, let alone on reddit on a phone. cheers for the provoking WP)) |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | "Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
| 7 billion people.
Gracie stared at the gentleman sitting across from her on the train. He had a nice clean suit, polished shoes, and a straight posture that made her neck ache just thinking of it.
7 billion people? How is that even possible? She pondered to herself. It has to be some sort of real life glitch right? Maybe I'm seeing things.
The man glances in her direction and a cold shiver runs down her spine, standing her hairs on end. Unable to even look him him the eye she looks to the speeding view behind her. She tries to push the thoughts of the man out of her mind, but she can feel his gaze on her still.
Okay so, not a glitch. Does he consider bugs people? But then he wouldn't have the intent to kill them all. There's no other explanation, but what could I even do?
A faint white mark appears into vision, almost unnoticed. The zero that had followed her without fail all her life suddenly was no longer there. 1 had taken its place.
Turning forward once more, she slowly reaches into her bag and tightly gripping the pen from her journal. There is something she can do...
((I haven't done any creative writing like this in a while, let alone on reddit on a phone. cheers for the provoking WP)) |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | Deep breath.
It was dark out. Nobody should be out this late. The bars had emptied. The drunks had all stumbled home. The nightlife had even quieted.
It was this time of night Atticus relished. A time when everything was still. No noise but the buzzing of the streetlights, casting their ruddy orange pools onto the sidewalks. It was a time when one could walk about undisturbed to contemplate the darkness.
A time which left no witnesses.
Atticus gazed from a rooftop overlooking the alley behind a sleazy dive. A neon sign proclaimed the places as "Tom's Finest Burger Joint" with the added touch of a few flashing lights on the outline. It would have looked grand if half the letters hadn't been smashed out. From beneath the sign a portal opened. Bob presumably. He flicked off the neon sign, locked the door, gave a irritated kick at a bundle lying beside it, and walked off down the alley and into the night.
It was the bundle that Atticus was here for and for one reason alone. The small number floating above its head. "7". It wasn't a large number, but it was enough for him. 7 men this bastard would kill. This incoherent drug-addled mess would kill 7 other beings in his lifetime before presumably dying of an overdose. For that his sentence was death, before he could harm anyone else.
He leapt from the roof and rolled, absorbing the momentum of the 8 foot fall. He strode over to the bundle and pulled out a gun from his backpack. He aimed at the man's head. "For the greater good" Atticus mumbled, then took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger. Release. Perfect. One more down. 7 lives for 1. It was a fair trade.
He checked corners before strolling casually out of the alley. He went to his usual place, a 24 hour coffee shop by the name of Jo-Jo's. The night was a friend there. A welcome guest for a quiet corner. He smiled, seeing a newspaper already laid out for him. Tom knew him well. He was just getting settled when he heard the chime of the door, looked up, and nearly choked.
An ordinary girl. College age. Ear buds in. Probably just here for a quick coffee for a late night study session. What wasn't normal was her number. Atticus expected a 0. Instead she had 10 figures above her head. Over 7 billion. The population of earth. She immediately held his full attention.
That wasn't possible. There was no way she could. Did she have an illness? Would she become the president? Would she hold the launch codes? Who was she that she could kill that many people? Tom brought her her coffee in his usual efficient way. As he passed it over to her, her hand brushed his. Just an accidental touch. Nothing significant. Except Tom, whose number had been a peaceful 0 for years, suddenly jumped to 254. She thanked Tom for the coffee, turned and winked at Atticus before casually strolling out of the shop.
Tom blinked as she left, then shook his head and returned to wiping the counter. The number remained unchanged and insanely high. Atticus left his usual tip and the table and took off in pursuit of the girl.
It seemed there was someone else like him after all. And it also seemed he had to kill her. | "Just give him a chance, you'll like him, I promise," my wife said as she put on her best dress.
Shrugging, I replied, "I don't know, I just can't see why he's even doing this. It just seems like a game to him."
My wife came up and kissed me on the lips, saying "but it's not a game to me, and I want you there."
I nodded, sucked it up, and got dressed.
Parking took forever to find, it was always busy in this part of town but never this busy. Everywhere we saw people cheering, clapping, singing songs, maybe this would be better than I expected.
"Tickets please?" the man at the gate said as I looked to my wife, unaware that such a thing was even required. She was ready, always more prepared than I, and quickly read my mind "like I said, it's a big event."
We took our seats as the lights began to dim. My wife smiled and grabbed my hand as the announcer introduced the special guest of the evening. The crowd rumbled in applause and cheer as this grandiose specter appeared before us, blinded by the limelight, but I could not ignore the number above his head as he spoke:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight to make America great again." |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | "Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
| "Just give him a chance, you'll like him, I promise," my wife said as she put on her best dress.
Shrugging, I replied, "I don't know, I just can't see why he's even doing this. It just seems like a game to him."
My wife came up and kissed me on the lips, saying "but it's not a game to me, and I want you there."
I nodded, sucked it up, and got dressed.
Parking took forever to find, it was always busy in this part of town but never this busy. Everywhere we saw people cheering, clapping, singing songs, maybe this would be better than I expected.
"Tickets please?" the man at the gate said as I looked to my wife, unaware that such a thing was even required. She was ready, always more prepared than I, and quickly read my mind "like I said, it's a big event."
We took our seats as the lights began to dim. My wife smiled and grabbed my hand as the announcer introduced the special guest of the evening. The crowd rumbled in applause and cheer as this grandiose specter appeared before us, blinded by the limelight, but I could not ignore the number above his head as he spoke:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight to make America great again." |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | 58 years of living and now I'm on my deathbed.
I don't understand why the doctors need to hide their secret from me: I'm dying and I know it. I've had several heart attacks over the years and it seems reasonable that I'm about to get a heart failure soon. My limbs feel like cotton candy, my heart races as if I'm on a marathon, and my chest spits phlegm as if there's an unlimited supply of it. I feel sicker everyday, but it doesn't matter. I've lived a fulfilling life. I've saved hundreds or even thousands of people. One time when I just got in a cab, I saw a number of 827 above a seemingly ordinary salesman who was rushing for whatever reason, but by effortlessly offering him my ride, the numbers reduced to 0 rapidly. There were also other times when bumping a shoulder or getting a quick chat would reduce the numbers drastically, and often I felt happy.
Saving people made me happy.
Here I am, though, about to die in a short while, yet I know I am content with the life I've lived.
Soon enough, it happens. My heart feels like stone, my lungs like water, and my eyes like holes. I can't relax, so I panic and call for help with the voice I have left. Nobody hears me. Fortunately, I remember that they have set up a panic button on the side of my bed, so my fingers storm on it and soon enough my fist. Luckily, just as my vision is about to disappear, I see a doctor approaching. He's not my usual, though. Still, it's a relief to have my eyes closed knowing someone will bring me back.
But wait.
Just before my eyes were about to close, I open them just a little while to check once more. No way. Above the doctor is the number 7,431,323,210, or basically the entire human population.
Shit!
I squirm as hard as I can, and when he tells me to calm down, I flick him off with my hands, but he doesn't back off. I panic and try to change the number with whatever I can do: I push him, I roll to the side of the bed, or I say "no, no, no!" None of what I do works, and my body is about to give up on me. When it almost does, the doctor hushes me, and tells me it's going to be alright.
After what feels like an eternity, I wake up. It's funny how I don't feel like the same anymore, though surviving another heart attack seems nearly impossible from all I have been through. Still, I feel light and upbeat, until I remember what had happened: the doctor! With a jerk, I push my upper body forward and look for the man with the 10-digit number, but it doesn't take me a while to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, still with the number above him.
He's not wearing a white outfit anymore. In fact, he's not even dressed as a doctor anymore. Instead, he's wearing a black suit with a coat and tie that look peculiarly old.
"I'm sorry for the precipitancy. Must be a shocker. Figuratively and literally, I mean," he jokes.
"Who are you?" I ask, confused. "The number—"
"Well, of course," he says, seriously this time. "I'm known as Death for a reason. Now tell me, how was your life?"
(***)
I pause in horror. It makes sense. My well-being. The white light I'm surrounded with. A man in a black suit with an impassive face.
A thought strikes.
"I... I don't understand," I reply. "The number of people you will take away, indicated above you..."
Death hesitates, then, "What is it you mean by that?"
"The number is the current entire human population. If you're Death, then the number must be inconsistently larger, since you'll have more to take in the future..."
Death doesn't reply. The numbers are inconsistent, increasing and decreasing, but it doesn't go beyond the 7-billion mark. He sighs and takes me on the shoulder.
"Consider yourself lucky," Death finally says. "You are among the many untimely people I have taken who shall not live longer to suffer. Soon, there will be war, pestilence, famine, and of course, me."
"Are you saying—"
"Yes, The Apocalypse."
I shudder. Too soon? The new year just started.
"Before, I was just an instance, an occasion," Death speaks. "A state. Something many people feared; occasionally something few people look forward to. Now, I am not just an event. I am not just a demise," he stops. Then, with a curve on his lip, continues, "now, I am one of the Four Horsemen."
EDIT: Some redditors were confused with the too-specific number above Death's head. A continuation of the story is written for this purpose. | "Just give him a chance, you'll like him, I promise," my wife said as she put on her best dress.
Shrugging, I replied, "I don't know, I just can't see why he's even doing this. It just seems like a game to him."
My wife came up and kissed me on the lips, saying "but it's not a game to me, and I want you there."
I nodded, sucked it up, and got dressed.
Parking took forever to find, it was always busy in this part of town but never this busy. Everywhere we saw people cheering, clapping, singing songs, maybe this would be better than I expected.
"Tickets please?" the man at the gate said as I looked to my wife, unaware that such a thing was even required. She was ready, always more prepared than I, and quickly read my mind "like I said, it's a big event."
We took our seats as the lights began to dim. My wife smiled and grabbed my hand as the announcer introduced the special guest of the evening. The crowd rumbled in applause and cheer as this grandiose specter appeared before us, blinded by the limelight, but I could not ignore the number above his head as he spoke:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight to make America great again." |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | "Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
| Deep breath.
It was dark out. Nobody should be out this late. The bars had emptied. The drunks had all stumbled home. The nightlife had even quieted.
It was this time of night Atticus relished. A time when everything was still. No noise but the buzzing of the streetlights, casting their ruddy orange pools onto the sidewalks. It was a time when one could walk about undisturbed to contemplate the darkness.
A time which left no witnesses.
Atticus gazed from a rooftop overlooking the alley behind a sleazy dive. A neon sign proclaimed the places as "Tom's Finest Burger Joint" with the added touch of a few flashing lights on the outline. It would have looked grand if half the letters hadn't been smashed out. From beneath the sign a portal opened. Bob presumably. He flicked off the neon sign, locked the door, gave a irritated kick at a bundle lying beside it, and walked off down the alley and into the night.
It was the bundle that Atticus was here for and for one reason alone. The small number floating above its head. "7". It wasn't a large number, but it was enough for him. 7 men this bastard would kill. This incoherent drug-addled mess would kill 7 other beings in his lifetime before presumably dying of an overdose. For that his sentence was death, before he could harm anyone else.
He leapt from the roof and rolled, absorbing the momentum of the 8 foot fall. He strode over to the bundle and pulled out a gun from his backpack. He aimed at the man's head. "For the greater good" Atticus mumbled, then took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger. Release. Perfect. One more down. 7 lives for 1. It was a fair trade.
He checked corners before strolling casually out of the alley. He went to his usual place, a 24 hour coffee shop by the name of Jo-Jo's. The night was a friend there. A welcome guest for a quiet corner. He smiled, seeing a newspaper already laid out for him. Tom knew him well. He was just getting settled when he heard the chime of the door, looked up, and nearly choked.
An ordinary girl. College age. Ear buds in. Probably just here for a quick coffee for a late night study session. What wasn't normal was her number. Atticus expected a 0. Instead she had 10 figures above her head. Over 7 billion. The population of earth. She immediately held his full attention.
That wasn't possible. There was no way she could. Did she have an illness? Would she become the president? Would she hold the launch codes? Who was she that she could kill that many people? Tom brought her her coffee in his usual efficient way. As he passed it over to her, her hand brushed his. Just an accidental touch. Nothing significant. Except Tom, whose number had been a peaceful 0 for years, suddenly jumped to 254. She thanked Tom for the coffee, turned and winked at Atticus before casually strolling out of the shop.
Tom blinked as she left, then shook his head and returned to wiping the counter. The number remained unchanged and insanely high. Atticus left his usual tip and the table and took off in pursuit of the girl.
It seemed there was someone else like him after all. And it also seemed he had to kill her. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | 58 years of living and now I'm on my deathbed.
I don't understand why the doctors need to hide their secret from me: I'm dying and I know it. I've had several heart attacks over the years and it seems reasonable that I'm about to get a heart failure soon. My limbs feel like cotton candy, my heart races as if I'm on a marathon, and my chest spits phlegm as if there's an unlimited supply of it. I feel sicker everyday, but it doesn't matter. I've lived a fulfilling life. I've saved hundreds or even thousands of people. One time when I just got in a cab, I saw a number of 827 above a seemingly ordinary salesman who was rushing for whatever reason, but by effortlessly offering him my ride, the numbers reduced to 0 rapidly. There were also other times when bumping a shoulder or getting a quick chat would reduce the numbers drastically, and often I felt happy.
Saving people made me happy.
Here I am, though, about to die in a short while, yet I know I am content with the life I've lived.
Soon enough, it happens. My heart feels like stone, my lungs like water, and my eyes like holes. I can't relax, so I panic and call for help with the voice I have left. Nobody hears me. Fortunately, I remember that they have set up a panic button on the side of my bed, so my fingers storm on it and soon enough my fist. Luckily, just as my vision is about to disappear, I see a doctor approaching. He's not my usual, though. Still, it's a relief to have my eyes closed knowing someone will bring me back.
But wait.
Just before my eyes were about to close, I open them just a little while to check once more. No way. Above the doctor is the number 7,431,323,210, or basically the entire human population.
Shit!
I squirm as hard as I can, and when he tells me to calm down, I flick him off with my hands, but he doesn't back off. I panic and try to change the number with whatever I can do: I push him, I roll to the side of the bed, or I say "no, no, no!" None of what I do works, and my body is about to give up on me. When it almost does, the doctor hushes me, and tells me it's going to be alright.
After what feels like an eternity, I wake up. It's funny how I don't feel like the same anymore, though surviving another heart attack seems nearly impossible from all I have been through. Still, I feel light and upbeat, until I remember what had happened: the doctor! With a jerk, I push my upper body forward and look for the man with the 10-digit number, but it doesn't take me a while to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, still with the number above him.
He's not wearing a white outfit anymore. In fact, he's not even dressed as a doctor anymore. Instead, he's wearing a black suit with a coat and tie that look peculiarly old.
"I'm sorry for the precipitancy. Must be a shocker. Figuratively and literally, I mean," he jokes.
"Who are you?" I ask, confused. "The number—"
"Well, of course," he says, seriously this time. "I'm known as Death for a reason. Now tell me, how was your life?"
(***)
I pause in horror. It makes sense. My well-being. The white light I'm surrounded with. A man in a black suit with an impassive face.
A thought strikes.
"I... I don't understand," I reply. "The number of people you will take away, indicated above you..."
Death hesitates, then, "What is it you mean by that?"
"The number is the current entire human population. If you're Death, then the number must be inconsistently larger, since you'll have more to take in the future..."
Death doesn't reply. The numbers are inconsistent, increasing and decreasing, but it doesn't go beyond the 7-billion mark. He sighs and takes me on the shoulder.
"Consider yourself lucky," Death finally says. "You are among the many untimely people I have taken who shall not live longer to suffer. Soon, there will be war, pestilence, famine, and of course, me."
"Are you saying—"
"Yes, The Apocalypse."
I shudder. Too soon? The new year just started.
"Before, I was just an instance, an occasion," Death speaks. "A state. Something many people feared; occasionally something few people look forward to. Now, I am not just an event. I am not just a demise," he stops. Then, with a curve on his lip, continues, "now, I am one of the Four Horsemen."
EDIT: Some redditors were confused with the too-specific number above Death's head. A continuation of the story is written for this purpose. | Deep breath.
It was dark out. Nobody should be out this late. The bars had emptied. The drunks had all stumbled home. The nightlife had even quieted.
It was this time of night Atticus relished. A time when everything was still. No noise but the buzzing of the streetlights, casting their ruddy orange pools onto the sidewalks. It was a time when one could walk about undisturbed to contemplate the darkness.
A time which left no witnesses.
Atticus gazed from a rooftop overlooking the alley behind a sleazy dive. A neon sign proclaimed the places as "Tom's Finest Burger Joint" with the added touch of a few flashing lights on the outline. It would have looked grand if half the letters hadn't been smashed out. From beneath the sign a portal opened. Bob presumably. He flicked off the neon sign, locked the door, gave a irritated kick at a bundle lying beside it, and walked off down the alley and into the night.
It was the bundle that Atticus was here for and for one reason alone. The small number floating above its head. "7". It wasn't a large number, but it was enough for him. 7 men this bastard would kill. This incoherent drug-addled mess would kill 7 other beings in his lifetime before presumably dying of an overdose. For that his sentence was death, before he could harm anyone else.
He leapt from the roof and rolled, absorbing the momentum of the 8 foot fall. He strode over to the bundle and pulled out a gun from his backpack. He aimed at the man's head. "For the greater good" Atticus mumbled, then took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger. Release. Perfect. One more down. 7 lives for 1. It was a fair trade.
He checked corners before strolling casually out of the alley. He went to his usual place, a 24 hour coffee shop by the name of Jo-Jo's. The night was a friend there. A welcome guest for a quiet corner. He smiled, seeing a newspaper already laid out for him. Tom knew him well. He was just getting settled when he heard the chime of the door, looked up, and nearly choked.
An ordinary girl. College age. Ear buds in. Probably just here for a quick coffee for a late night study session. What wasn't normal was her number. Atticus expected a 0. Instead she had 10 figures above her head. Over 7 billion. The population of earth. She immediately held his full attention.
That wasn't possible. There was no way she could. Did she have an illness? Would she become the president? Would she hold the launch codes? Who was she that she could kill that many people? Tom brought her her coffee in his usual efficient way. As he passed it over to her, her hand brushed his. Just an accidental touch. Nothing significant. Except Tom, whose number had been a peaceful 0 for years, suddenly jumped to 254. She thanked Tom for the coffee, turned and winked at Atticus before casually strolling out of the shop.
Tom blinked as she left, then shook his head and returned to wiping the counter. The number remained unchanged and insanely high. Atticus left his usual tip and the table and took off in pursuit of the girl.
It seemed there was someone else like him after all. And it also seemed he had to kill her. |
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | 58 years of living and now I'm on my deathbed.
I don't understand why the doctors need to hide their secret from me: I'm dying and I know it. I've had several heart attacks over the years and it seems reasonable that I'm about to get a heart failure soon. My limbs feel like cotton candy, my heart races as if I'm on a marathon, and my chest spits phlegm as if there's an unlimited supply of it. I feel sicker everyday, but it doesn't matter. I've lived a fulfilling life. I've saved hundreds or even thousands of people. One time when I just got in a cab, I saw a number of 827 above a seemingly ordinary salesman who was rushing for whatever reason, but by effortlessly offering him my ride, the numbers reduced to 0 rapidly. There were also other times when bumping a shoulder or getting a quick chat would reduce the numbers drastically, and often I felt happy.
Saving people made me happy.
Here I am, though, about to die in a short while, yet I know I am content with the life I've lived.
Soon enough, it happens. My heart feels like stone, my lungs like water, and my eyes like holes. I can't relax, so I panic and call for help with the voice I have left. Nobody hears me. Fortunately, I remember that they have set up a panic button on the side of my bed, so my fingers storm on it and soon enough my fist. Luckily, just as my vision is about to disappear, I see a doctor approaching. He's not my usual, though. Still, it's a relief to have my eyes closed knowing someone will bring me back.
But wait.
Just before my eyes were about to close, I open them just a little while to check once more. No way. Above the doctor is the number 7,431,323,210, or basically the entire human population.
Shit!
I squirm as hard as I can, and when he tells me to calm down, I flick him off with my hands, but he doesn't back off. I panic and try to change the number with whatever I can do: I push him, I roll to the side of the bed, or I say "no, no, no!" None of what I do works, and my body is about to give up on me. When it almost does, the doctor hushes me, and tells me it's going to be alright.
After what feels like an eternity, I wake up. It's funny how I don't feel like the same anymore, though surviving another heart attack seems nearly impossible from all I have been through. Still, I feel light and upbeat, until I remember what had happened: the doctor! With a jerk, I push my upper body forward and look for the man with the 10-digit number, but it doesn't take me a while to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, still with the number above him.
He's not wearing a white outfit anymore. In fact, he's not even dressed as a doctor anymore. Instead, he's wearing a black suit with a coat and tie that look peculiarly old.
"I'm sorry for the precipitancy. Must be a shocker. Figuratively and literally, I mean," he jokes.
"Who are you?" I ask, confused. "The number—"
"Well, of course," he says, seriously this time. "I'm known as Death for a reason. Now tell me, how was your life?"
(***)
I pause in horror. It makes sense. My well-being. The white light I'm surrounded with. A man in a black suit with an impassive face.
A thought strikes.
"I... I don't understand," I reply. "The number of people you will take away, indicated above you..."
Death hesitates, then, "What is it you mean by that?"
"The number is the current entire human population. If you're Death, then the number must be inconsistently larger, since you'll have more to take in the future..."
Death doesn't reply. The numbers are inconsistent, increasing and decreasing, but it doesn't go beyond the 7-billion mark. He sighs and takes me on the shoulder.
"Consider yourself lucky," Death finally says. "You are among the many untimely people I have taken who shall not live longer to suffer. Soon, there will be war, pestilence, famine, and of course, me."
"Are you saying—"
"Yes, The Apocalypse."
I shudder. Too soon? The new year just started.
"Before, I was just an instance, an occasion," Death speaks. "A state. Something many people feared; occasionally something few people look forward to. Now, I am not just an event. I am not just a demise," he stops. Then, with a curve on his lip, continues, "now, I am one of the Four Horsemen."
EDIT: Some redditors were confused with the too-specific number above Death's head. A continuation of the story is written for this purpose. | Serena Lane sat in silence. It wasn't uncommon for her to sit in this contemplative state at 3:23pm every day. She waited for the doorknob for her office to turn at exactly 3:24pm - no sooner, no later.
"And how are you today, Cliff?" Serena smiled politely at her next patient. Something was wrong. It had been a month, and his number still hadn't changed.
He nodded and made his way to his regular spot on the couch, always all the way to the left but never touching the armrest. The number followed him.
"Clifford?"
Again, the boy kept quiet and sat still in his spot, save a nod toward the light switch.
"Ah, right." said Serena, following his silent order. She flicked the switch off and on, off and on, off and on.... seven times. Just the way Cliff needed it. The timid twelve year old gazed up at her from his spot on the couch, signaling the okay to start their session.
She remembered when she first saw him, how those same eyes seemed so innocent and clear. How their early therapy sessions had introduced her to an honest, intelligent young man who was simply misunderstood, all because of a compulsive disorder too difficult for his parents to deal with. A few sessions, she thought, and he would learn how to cope with it.
Until the number began to form.
After just two weeks of continuous therapy, Serena saw a number hovering above young Clifford Hines' head, a process all too familiar to her sharp eyes. Her talent was specific to her and the reason she became a psychologist. She wanted to reduce the number of lives each person would eventually take, bringing each number she saw down to zero. But this particular patient was different. She had never seen a number so large, and never so clearly.
"How are you today, Cliff?" Serena repeated her question. The silence stiffened, then gave way to a small voice.
"I'm always the same."
"Tell me what you mean by that, dear." Serena was more eager than usual, motivated by the floating digits above.
"Nobody understands," he whispered. As he spoke, his clasped hands grew tighter. "There's a certain *way* things need to be done. They don't ever listen. They always mess things up."
"Who are you talking about, Cliff?"
"Everyone."
Silence.
Serena thought carefully, wanting to approach this subject with caution. There had been plenty of instances when she had seen a number drop to zero. She could do this. She *had* to do this.
"You know, Cliff, you're right. The world does work in a certain way, but that doesn't mean it always has to go *your* way. You can't just get rid of everyone else, you have to coexist. Part of why you and I talk every day is so you can understand that and learn to be at peace with it. What do you think might help us achieve that goal?"
More silence.
"It's alright if you don't want to speak, but if you don't I might not be able to help you. But you can talk to me, Cliff. That's why I'm-"
"Ms. Lane?"
Out of 30 sessions, he had never interrupted her.
"Yes?" She asked, completely dumbfounded.
"I think it would help if they all went." Clifford loosened up. His face was less serious, his grip on himself less tight.
"They as in...?"
"Everyone."
"I'm not sure what you mean." Serena's confusion gave way to worry. This was what she feared. His number still hadn't changed.
"There are too many people in my way," said Clifford, pleasantly thoughtful in his tone, 10 digits still desperately glowing above his head.
"Cliff I'm not sure you-"
"Thank you, Ms. Lane." Clifford's mouth turned up into a full, proud smile. "I don't think I'll need to see you anymore, though." Serena felt a chill run through her as she watched Clifford nod toward the light switch once more, but she couldn't move to follow his order. She couldn't move at all. The boy sighed. "See what I mean? They never listen."
She watched as her patient walked over to the light switch, then off and on, off and on, off and on... seven times. Just the way he needed it. The door opened and Clifford Hines walked out of the office, his number bouncing with him all the way down the hallway. It was unchanging and clearer than ever.
7,431,323,210.
Serena Lane sat in silence.
|
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | [WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth. | 0…
0…
4.. “Hmm, should I?”. He was about to open the door to a minivan, it was early afternoon and I assumed he was about to go pick up his kids from school. I began walking towards him, sometimes just delaying them by a few minutes would reduce the number to 0.
“Excuse me!” Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, blinked once, shook my head, blinked again and my eyes widened when I realised I wasn’t seeing things.
7,431,323,210
Holy shit. That must be the entire population.
“Hi, you dropped this,” she said, handing me my credit card. She looked fairly normal despite the number hovering above her head. Mousey brown hair, brown eyes, slight build, nothing that would suggest that she was going to kill everyone in the world at some point in her life. “Oh, thanks so much, I really need to start using my wallet instead of my pockets.” She laughed, then coughed softly.
“No worries, glad I caught you”. she turned to walk away. The number remained unchanged.
“Hey! Where are you headed? Let me buy you a coffee to say thanks.” I said suddenly. She turned back, looked at me with slight concern, shook her head and continued to walk away.
I felt as though there was a pit of snakes in my stomach. I had to do something, but had no idea what. Follow her? For how long? Days? Years?
She turned a corner, out of sight and I contemplated my options quickly. Telling the police was out of the question, telling her though… it was worth a shot, she may be spiritual in some sense and could believe my usual “I’m psychic and have a bad feeling” trope.
I walked quickly, hoping she hadn’t jumped in a car and driven off before I could reach her. Fortunately, I caught sight of her seated on a low wall staring straight ahead. As I continued, she began to cough, soft at first then slowly developing into a racking cough that shook her whole body.
I ran up to her “Are you okay, do you need some water?”
She looked up at me with blood shot eyes still coughing and spluttering. “No. I need..”
Suddenly she passed out. I caught her in my arms, and laid her to the floor, fumbling through my pockets for my phone. Dialling triple 000, I wondered if it was ethical for me to call for help. If I saved her, would her path alter, as currently the number remained unchanged. But she definitely wasn’t breathing.
I relayed the information to the operator, who asked me to feel for a pulse in her wrist. There was none, so she asked me to try in her neck. There was nothing. The operator instructed me to place one hand in the middle of her chest, clasp my other hand on top and do 30 compressions, followed by 2 breaths, the ambulance was on its way.
Pumping, Pumping, counting in my head up to thirty. god this was exhausting.
28..29.. 30.. I turned to give 2 breaths when I noticed her bloodshot eyes were wide open, seeming to stare at me, though she said nothing. I shook her, and shouted which didn’t elicit a verbal response and so I tried to feel for a pulse again.
She grabbed my hand before I could reach her neck. I tried to pull away but she was unusually strong.
Then, she bit me.
Edit: spelling | Serena Lane sat in silence. It wasn't uncommon for her to sit in this contemplative state at 3:23pm every day. She waited for the doorknob for her office to turn at exactly 3:24pm - no sooner, no later.
"And how are you today, Cliff?" Serena smiled politely at her next patient. Something was wrong. It had been a month, and his number still hadn't changed.
He nodded and made his way to his regular spot on the couch, always all the way to the left but never touching the armrest. The number followed him.
"Clifford?"
Again, the boy kept quiet and sat still in his spot, save a nod toward the light switch.
"Ah, right." said Serena, following his silent order. She flicked the switch off and on, off and on, off and on.... seven times. Just the way Cliff needed it. The timid twelve year old gazed up at her from his spot on the couch, signaling the okay to start their session.
She remembered when she first saw him, how those same eyes seemed so innocent and clear. How their early therapy sessions had introduced her to an honest, intelligent young man who was simply misunderstood, all because of a compulsive disorder too difficult for his parents to deal with. A few sessions, she thought, and he would learn how to cope with it.
Until the number began to form.
After just two weeks of continuous therapy, Serena saw a number hovering above young Clifford Hines' head, a process all too familiar to her sharp eyes. Her talent was specific to her and the reason she became a psychologist. She wanted to reduce the number of lives each person would eventually take, bringing each number she saw down to zero. But this particular patient was different. She had never seen a number so large, and never so clearly.
"How are you today, Cliff?" Serena repeated her question. The silence stiffened, then gave way to a small voice.
"I'm always the same."
"Tell me what you mean by that, dear." Serena was more eager than usual, motivated by the floating digits above.
"Nobody understands," he whispered. As he spoke, his clasped hands grew tighter. "There's a certain *way* things need to be done. They don't ever listen. They always mess things up."
"Who are you talking about, Cliff?"
"Everyone."
Silence.
Serena thought carefully, wanting to approach this subject with caution. There had been plenty of instances when she had seen a number drop to zero. She could do this. She *had* to do this.
"You know, Cliff, you're right. The world does work in a certain way, but that doesn't mean it always has to go *your* way. You can't just get rid of everyone else, you have to coexist. Part of why you and I talk every day is so you can understand that and learn to be at peace with it. What do you think might help us achieve that goal?"
More silence.
"It's alright if you don't want to speak, but if you don't I might not be able to help you. But you can talk to me, Cliff. That's why I'm-"
"Ms. Lane?"
Out of 30 sessions, he had never interrupted her.
"Yes?" She asked, completely dumbfounded.
"I think it would help if they all went." Clifford loosened up. His face was less serious, his grip on himself less tight.
"They as in...?"
"Everyone."
"I'm not sure what you mean." Serena's confusion gave way to worry. This was what she feared. His number still hadn't changed.
"There are too many people in my way," said Clifford, pleasantly thoughtful in his tone, 10 digits still desperately glowing above his head.
"Cliff I'm not sure you-"
"Thank you, Ms. Lane." Clifford's mouth turned up into a full, proud smile. "I don't think I'll need to see you anymore, though." Serena felt a chill run through her as she watched Clifford nod toward the light switch once more, but she couldn't move to follow his order. She couldn't move at all. The boy sighed. "See what I mean? They never listen."
She watched as her patient walked over to the light switch, then off and on, off and on, off and on... seven times. Just the way he needed it. The door opened and Clifford Hines walked out of the office, his number bouncing with him all the way down the hallway. It was unchanging and clearer than ever.
7,431,323,210.
Serena Lane sat in silence.
|
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | My dear unknown friend,
It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I was beginning to get out of habit of doing that.
I have just heard the planet is on the path of complete obliteration. So I must wonder what this means for me. If the planet disappears, do I do too? How? There is no instruction manual for my kind of peculiar. I just cut my finger one day while slicing a particularly slippery onion, stuffed it into my mouth by habit right after, and felt no taste of iron in my mouth. For a moment, I must have looked like a confused toddler, before finally remembering that I should probably take a look. There was no blood, though I clearly felt the blade sliding through my flesh. It stung. It hurt. But there was no blood. No wound.
I am old, though. At this point, my main concern is the logistics of the matter. Will it hurt? Could it possibly hurt more than that one time in 1793 when I managed to wind up as guillotine fodder? That was a hard one to explain.They seriously considered burning me at the stake, but eventually figured that attempt wouldn’t fare much better than the guillotine did.
Many have tried to end me, and they have all failed. So many different, despicable deaths dreamt up for me, and not one of them successful. After all this time, I still do not know whether I could survive just floating in space, without food, air, gravity, sound. Guess no one ever thought of ejecting me into space as a potentially successful method of killing me.
All this being said, my heart does ache. Attempting to entertain myself with the logistics of dying doesn’t fully manage to draw my attention away from one thing. You see, my old friend, my family is afraid. My bright-eyed wife and my sweet little daughter. Each time I loose them, it hurts even more. This is my final letter to you. I’m going to hug them now and for the next twelve hours I won’t let go. If there’s any justice in this world, I know this is not going to be the end of me, for that I do not deserve. But if there’s any mercy, I’ll will perish too. | There was a sudden flurry of chaos. Arms, coats and bickering heads were waving about wildly as the flock rushed out the door. A few moments later, the bar was empty except for myself and the old timer sitting across the bar. Even the bartender had left his post. I guess work would mean very me too if I were at all worried about the impending doom. I take the last swig from my rocks glass then reach over the bar and grab a bottle of scotch, fill my glass, and set the bottle next to me. I take a quick swig, look at my glass, then back up at the newscast still playing on the hanging television. I dump the cheap swill onto the bar floor, walk around the bar and grab the bottle of Black Grouse from the top shelf. I fill my glass, take a swig, and sit back down at my usual stool, bottle of Black still in hand. The old timer whistles to me and raises his empty glass, at which point I slide the bottle across the bar. He fills his glass, slides it back and takes a nice big sip. “Ah, that’s the good stuff” he exclaims with a look of satisfaction. After that, the bar went quite. Even the newscast, which was previously showing clips of the chaos outside and around the world, went silent. I guess the news crew had the same idea as our bartender.
I sat there a few minutes thinking about what I will do next. There was no need to rush home to my family. All of my loved ones died many years ago. It seemed useless to troll the streets pillaging shops and banks for their resources. What good would a 60” flat screen do me without people to star in the shows? And what good will money do me without an economy? I guess the one thing I would miss after everyone else was gone, would be the warmth of a women’s embrace. Perhaps Sophia would be up to having one last night with me? But, she’s probably already heading to her family’s house uptown.
I notice that the old timer has finished his drink, so I slide the bottle back over to him. He fills his glass and nods in appreciation. I wonder why this old man has stayed here. He slides the bottle back over to me, and as I top off my glass, I ask him “So, how come you’re still here? Don’t you have a wife or loved ones? Wouldn’t you rather spend you’re last moments on Earth with them?” He begins to scratch at his chin through his thick, white beard and says, “well, I’ve been sitting here wondering the same thing myself. I guess it’s times like these when a guy discovers exactly what type of man he truly is.” The old man took another sip of scotch before continuing, “Yeah, I guess some are family men, and some are greedy fools. And others still are too dumb to know any better. But as for me, the bar is where I belong. I’m a drunk… always have been… always will be. In the end, at least I can say I was surrounded by those I truly loved.”
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | Adam, the first man, sat back in the rocket’s cockpit looking toward the heavens. The countdown would start any minute now.
His training had been intense but because he needed no sleep he got it all done in relatively no time, not that he needed much training, they positioned the rocket to blast him directly into the asteroid that raced toward earth, he was just the lead in the bullet.
All he had to do was sit and watch.
You see, Adam was created by God, and as Gods first creation he had a few flaws.
One of them was that he never aged, he was the same age he was when he was created, a man of 30 or so years. Another was that his atomic structure never changed, which accounted for his age being static.
The third flaw was the one that put him in this hot seat, His atomic structure was dense, real dense, so dense that no matter what he could not be damaged, not even pierced or penetrated.
So when he heard the world had 12 hours before it was completely split apart, he used his contacts to get him a meeting with the heads of Earth. After some debate over the possibility of this even working and many demonstrations of his ability and inability to be punctured, they decided he was Earths last choice.
Adam had lived long, too long, the Bibles accounts of the earth being created and man being made were way off, he had been around for millions of years, not 10,000. He had seen many generations rise and fall, civilisations come and go, the world going from fully populated with technology that could just about reach the stars! To being destroyed with nuclear weapons and the slate wiped clear.
Every time one such extinction event occurred, an angel would come down and give him the task of repopulating the entire human race. Many women would come and go from his bed, his only solace was that he could walk in the garden of Eden each time. Tasting of its many fruits. In all of time nothing tasted sweater than the fruits of his youth, and god provided it every time he needed the world to be rebuilt. How could he resist?
This generation was different though, the current humans were very headstrong. God had completely wiped the majority of them out due to pig headedness multiple times.
First with fire, then with icy winds, then with water.
They never learnt their lessons though, they continued to pray to gods that don’t exist and even pray to the devils and demons themselves who were in fact the maintenance crew of the earth, with their own pig headedness, desires and folly.
But that was a story for another time, currently Adam sat looking up. If this worked then he would worry about being known, if it didn’t… well either he would be dead and not have to worry, or god would put “humpty dumpty” back together again, maybe something new would be in the garden this time?
What if this was gods fourth try? He remembered one girl from the garden, one famous girl, Eve. She had been born directly of Adam, God had thought maybe she would be better off not being completely made of God, but made of Adam himself, the only one to ever stay true to God.
He had personally asked Adam of his rib, and even though no pain come of it, he still touched his side as it always felt missing from him. She had disobeyed Gods direct order and had eaten the apple. That stupid gardener raking up the leaves told her to try it, both knowing full well it would displease God.
By the time god knew what she had done it they had multiple children and the population program was well under way.
Maybe this was to destroy it all including Adam and start again? Adams eyes widened, but then he relaxed as he knew it didn’t matter, he had a good long run, he had marvelled at all god had created since he first created earth. He had known loss yes, but he had also known love.
The count down had started and he closed his eyes, a big smile spread across his face as he clutched her rib to his body. Yes he had known love indeed.
The rocket raced toward the asteroid on what could ultimately be the end of humanity, from the very first creation, to the very last born.
| There was a sudden flurry of chaos. Arms, coats and bickering heads were waving about wildly as the flock rushed out the door. A few moments later, the bar was empty except for myself and the old timer sitting across the bar. Even the bartender had left his post. I guess work would mean very me too if I were at all worried about the impending doom. I take the last swig from my rocks glass then reach over the bar and grab a bottle of scotch, fill my glass, and set the bottle next to me. I take a quick swig, look at my glass, then back up at the newscast still playing on the hanging television. I dump the cheap swill onto the bar floor, walk around the bar and grab the bottle of Black Grouse from the top shelf. I fill my glass, take a swig, and sit back down at my usual stool, bottle of Black still in hand. The old timer whistles to me and raises his empty glass, at which point I slide the bottle across the bar. He fills his glass, slides it back and takes a nice big sip. “Ah, that’s the good stuff” he exclaims with a look of satisfaction. After that, the bar went quite. Even the newscast, which was previously showing clips of the chaos outside and around the world, went silent. I guess the news crew had the same idea as our bartender.
I sat there a few minutes thinking about what I will do next. There was no need to rush home to my family. All of my loved ones died many years ago. It seemed useless to troll the streets pillaging shops and banks for their resources. What good would a 60” flat screen do me without people to star in the shows? And what good will money do me without an economy? I guess the one thing I would miss after everyone else was gone, would be the warmth of a women’s embrace. Perhaps Sophia would be up to having one last night with me? But, she’s probably already heading to her family’s house uptown.
I notice that the old timer has finished his drink, so I slide the bottle back over to him. He fills his glass and nods in appreciation. I wonder why this old man has stayed here. He slides the bottle back over to me, and as I top off my glass, I ask him “So, how come you’re still here? Don’t you have a wife or loved ones? Wouldn’t you rather spend you’re last moments on Earth with them?” He begins to scratch at his chin through his thick, white beard and says, “well, I’ve been sitting here wondering the same thing myself. I guess it’s times like these when a guy discovers exactly what type of man he truly is.” The old man took another sip of scotch before continuing, “Yeah, I guess some are family men, and some are greedy fools. And others still are too dumb to know any better. But as for me, the bar is where I belong. I’m a drunk… always have been… always will be. In the end, at least I can say I was surrounded by those I truly loved.”
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | It had taken nearly 6 hours of driving, and another 4 dodging various lunatics. But finally I reached my goal. We had 12 hours, they told us, before a rogue asteroid the size of Europe impacted the Earth with what was going to literally be an earth shattering Ka-boom.
The extinction level event I wasn't too bothered about, when it came down to survival it was me, roaches and Keith Richards vying for the top three, and I was ahead. Un-killable, immortal, and as far as I was able to test indestructible. The impact was not my worry.
However, spending the rest of eternity floating around in a celestial rubble pile wasn't on my to-do list thanks. I don;t know if I cold die of boredom, although the five years I spent walking across the pacific ocean floor came close. But too heck with that for the rest of time you know.
So, here I am, roughly a mile away from the point of impact. I got a nice view over the little valley from up on this ridge and I'm just kicking back for the last few hours, sitting in a beach chair drinking a white russian. Got my shades on and I'm just waiting for the big finale to fling me out into the cosmos
I can't say I'm too surprised that it's getting kinda crowded down where they say the rock is coming down... still, might as well go out with bang I guess. here's to you humanity, you knew how to throw a good party man. | There was a sudden flurry of chaos. Arms, coats and bickering heads were waving about wildly as the flock rushed out the door. A few moments later, the bar was empty except for myself and the old timer sitting across the bar. Even the bartender had left his post. I guess work would mean very me too if I were at all worried about the impending doom. I take the last swig from my rocks glass then reach over the bar and grab a bottle of scotch, fill my glass, and set the bottle next to me. I take a quick swig, look at my glass, then back up at the newscast still playing on the hanging television. I dump the cheap swill onto the bar floor, walk around the bar and grab the bottle of Black Grouse from the top shelf. I fill my glass, take a swig, and sit back down at my usual stool, bottle of Black still in hand. The old timer whistles to me and raises his empty glass, at which point I slide the bottle across the bar. He fills his glass, slides it back and takes a nice big sip. “Ah, that’s the good stuff” he exclaims with a look of satisfaction. After that, the bar went quite. Even the newscast, which was previously showing clips of the chaos outside and around the world, went silent. I guess the news crew had the same idea as our bartender.
I sat there a few minutes thinking about what I will do next. There was no need to rush home to my family. All of my loved ones died many years ago. It seemed useless to troll the streets pillaging shops and banks for their resources. What good would a 60” flat screen do me without people to star in the shows? And what good will money do me without an economy? I guess the one thing I would miss after everyone else was gone, would be the warmth of a women’s embrace. Perhaps Sophia would be up to having one last night with me? But, she’s probably already heading to her family’s house uptown.
I notice that the old timer has finished his drink, so I slide the bottle back over to him. He fills his glass and nods in appreciation. I wonder why this old man has stayed here. He slides the bottle back over to me, and as I top off my glass, I ask him “So, how come you’re still here? Don’t you have a wife or loved ones? Wouldn’t you rather spend you’re last moments on Earth with them?” He begins to scratch at his chin through his thick, white beard and says, “well, I’ve been sitting here wondering the same thing myself. I guess it’s times like these when a guy discovers exactly what type of man he truly is.” The old man took another sip of scotch before continuing, “Yeah, I guess some are family men, and some are greedy fools. And others still are too dumb to know any better. But as for me, the bar is where I belong. I’m a drunk… always have been… always will be. In the end, at least I can say I was surrounded by those I truly loved.”
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The world is ending in 12 hours and my hope is that I end with it.
This isn't my first apocalyptic event, or anything like my first one either. My first "end of the world" actually filled me with fear. That was back when I didn't know how special I really was. I've grown not to fear much, being immortal tends to take the edge out of most things. Even when every news station in the world is declaring that an asteroid will shatter our Earth. Maybe my curse will go with it.
There's no fun in being immortal when you've seen everything, done everything, and learned everything. I even gave up on love after watching a couple of generations of my family growing up and dying. Everyone is destined to be claimed by death and most desire immortality. The one person who actually is immortal desires death, funny isn't it? Oh well, three hours to go and I will have my answers.
I always spend the few hours before the end of the world reflecting on my life. Everything feels a bit more special when I think like a mortal in the face of death. Speaking of, everyone is going crazy. Looting has broken out everywhere, crime has skyrocketed and any law enforcement left has given up. All within a few hours of the announcement. It used to amaze me but now it's just irritating. That's why I always find the quietest place I can to reflect and enjoy the peace. The night sky has always filled me with a joy I couldn't explain, even today. I stare at it tonight and notice one of the stars seem a lot closer than the others. Maybe that is our destruction?
With only twenty minutes to go my heart began to race a little. Excitement? That's a feeling that has been hiding for a few years now. Maybe this is it? The end.
Ten minutes now. The star is definitely getting closer, and has a visible trail of fire behind it. It is certainly of planet shattering size, blocking out most of the night sky. My heart pounds a little harder now, maybe it's fear I'm beginning to feel. It's been so long I can't be sure. I'm far enough away that I can watch as the asteroid rips through our atmosphere and slams into the ground. The force itself was enough to knock the air out of me. A moment later and everything erupts. Everything goes black.
I open my eyes to a whole lot of darkness. Death? Is this it? The chunk of Earth that was blocking the sun shifted through space and revealed that no, this was not death, this was worse. | There was a sudden flurry of chaos. Arms, coats and bickering heads were waving about wildly as the flock rushed out the door. A few moments later, the bar was empty except for myself and the old timer sitting across the bar. Even the bartender had left his post. I guess work would mean very me too if I were at all worried about the impending doom. I take the last swig from my rocks glass then reach over the bar and grab a bottle of scotch, fill my glass, and set the bottle next to me. I take a quick swig, look at my glass, then back up at the newscast still playing on the hanging television. I dump the cheap swill onto the bar floor, walk around the bar and grab the bottle of Black Grouse from the top shelf. I fill my glass, take a swig, and sit back down at my usual stool, bottle of Black still in hand. The old timer whistles to me and raises his empty glass, at which point I slide the bottle across the bar. He fills his glass, slides it back and takes a nice big sip. “Ah, that’s the good stuff” he exclaims with a look of satisfaction. After that, the bar went quite. Even the newscast, which was previously showing clips of the chaos outside and around the world, went silent. I guess the news crew had the same idea as our bartender.
I sat there a few minutes thinking about what I will do next. There was no need to rush home to my family. All of my loved ones died many years ago. It seemed useless to troll the streets pillaging shops and banks for their resources. What good would a 60” flat screen do me without people to star in the shows? And what good will money do me without an economy? I guess the one thing I would miss after everyone else was gone, would be the warmth of a women’s embrace. Perhaps Sophia would be up to having one last night with me? But, she’s probably already heading to her family’s house uptown.
I notice that the old timer has finished his drink, so I slide the bottle back over to him. He fills his glass and nods in appreciation. I wonder why this old man has stayed here. He slides the bottle back over to me, and as I top off my glass, I ask him “So, how come you’re still here? Don’t you have a wife or loved ones? Wouldn’t you rather spend you’re last moments on Earth with them?” He begins to scratch at his chin through his thick, white beard and says, “well, I’ve been sitting here wondering the same thing myself. I guess it’s times like these when a guy discovers exactly what type of man he truly is.” The old man took another sip of scotch before continuing, “Yeah, I guess some are family men, and some are greedy fools. And others still are too dumb to know any better. But as for me, the bar is where I belong. I’m a drunk… always have been… always will be. In the end, at least I can say I was surrounded by those I truly loved.”
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | My dear unknown friend,
It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I was beginning to get out of habit of doing that.
I have just heard the planet is on the path of complete obliteration. So I must wonder what this means for me. If the planet disappears, do I do too? How? There is no instruction manual for my kind of peculiar. I just cut my finger one day while slicing a particularly slippery onion, stuffed it into my mouth by habit right after, and felt no taste of iron in my mouth. For a moment, I must have looked like a confused toddler, before finally remembering that I should probably take a look. There was no blood, though I clearly felt the blade sliding through my flesh. It stung. It hurt. But there was no blood. No wound.
I am old, though. At this point, my main concern is the logistics of the matter. Will it hurt? Could it possibly hurt more than that one time in 1793 when I managed to wind up as guillotine fodder? That was a hard one to explain.They seriously considered burning me at the stake, but eventually figured that attempt wouldn’t fare much better than the guillotine did.
Many have tried to end me, and they have all failed. So many different, despicable deaths dreamt up for me, and not one of them successful. After all this time, I still do not know whether I could survive just floating in space, without food, air, gravity, sound. Guess no one ever thought of ejecting me into space as a potentially successful method of killing me.
All this being said, my heart does ache. Attempting to entertain myself with the logistics of dying doesn’t fully manage to draw my attention away from one thing. You see, my old friend, my family is afraid. My bright-eyed wife and my sweet little daughter. Each time I loose them, it hurts even more. This is my final letter to you. I’m going to hug them now and for the next twelve hours I won’t let go. If there’s any justice in this world, I know this is not going to be the end of me, for that I do not deserve. But if there’s any mercy, I’ll will perish too. | I turn over in my bed to see the news report about the earth getting shattered by an asteroid in 12 hours.
"Meh."
Turn over to go back to sleep. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | Adam, the first man, sat back in the rocket’s cockpit looking toward the heavens. The countdown would start any minute now.
His training had been intense but because he needed no sleep he got it all done in relatively no time, not that he needed much training, they positioned the rocket to blast him directly into the asteroid that raced toward earth, he was just the lead in the bullet.
All he had to do was sit and watch.
You see, Adam was created by God, and as Gods first creation he had a few flaws.
One of them was that he never aged, he was the same age he was when he was created, a man of 30 or so years. Another was that his atomic structure never changed, which accounted for his age being static.
The third flaw was the one that put him in this hot seat, His atomic structure was dense, real dense, so dense that no matter what he could not be damaged, not even pierced or penetrated.
So when he heard the world had 12 hours before it was completely split apart, he used his contacts to get him a meeting with the heads of Earth. After some debate over the possibility of this even working and many demonstrations of his ability and inability to be punctured, they decided he was Earths last choice.
Adam had lived long, too long, the Bibles accounts of the earth being created and man being made were way off, he had been around for millions of years, not 10,000. He had seen many generations rise and fall, civilisations come and go, the world going from fully populated with technology that could just about reach the stars! To being destroyed with nuclear weapons and the slate wiped clear.
Every time one such extinction event occurred, an angel would come down and give him the task of repopulating the entire human race. Many women would come and go from his bed, his only solace was that he could walk in the garden of Eden each time. Tasting of its many fruits. In all of time nothing tasted sweater than the fruits of his youth, and god provided it every time he needed the world to be rebuilt. How could he resist?
This generation was different though, the current humans were very headstrong. God had completely wiped the majority of them out due to pig headedness multiple times.
First with fire, then with icy winds, then with water.
They never learnt their lessons though, they continued to pray to gods that don’t exist and even pray to the devils and demons themselves who were in fact the maintenance crew of the earth, with their own pig headedness, desires and folly.
But that was a story for another time, currently Adam sat looking up. If this worked then he would worry about being known, if it didn’t… well either he would be dead and not have to worry, or god would put “humpty dumpty” back together again, maybe something new would be in the garden this time?
What if this was gods fourth try? He remembered one girl from the garden, one famous girl, Eve. She had been born directly of Adam, God had thought maybe she would be better off not being completely made of God, but made of Adam himself, the only one to ever stay true to God.
He had personally asked Adam of his rib, and even though no pain come of it, he still touched his side as it always felt missing from him. She had disobeyed Gods direct order and had eaten the apple. That stupid gardener raking up the leaves told her to try it, both knowing full well it would displease God.
By the time god knew what she had done it they had multiple children and the population program was well under way.
Maybe this was to destroy it all including Adam and start again? Adams eyes widened, but then he relaxed as he knew it didn’t matter, he had a good long run, he had marvelled at all god had created since he first created earth. He had known loss yes, but he had also known love.
The count down had started and he closed his eyes, a big smile spread across his face as he clutched her rib to his body. Yes he had known love indeed.
The rocket raced toward the asteroid on what could ultimately be the end of humanity, from the very first creation, to the very last born.
| I turn over in my bed to see the news report about the earth getting shattered by an asteroid in 12 hours.
"Meh."
Turn over to go back to sleep. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | It had taken nearly 6 hours of driving, and another 4 dodging various lunatics. But finally I reached my goal. We had 12 hours, they told us, before a rogue asteroid the size of Europe impacted the Earth with what was going to literally be an earth shattering Ka-boom.
The extinction level event I wasn't too bothered about, when it came down to survival it was me, roaches and Keith Richards vying for the top three, and I was ahead. Un-killable, immortal, and as far as I was able to test indestructible. The impact was not my worry.
However, spending the rest of eternity floating around in a celestial rubble pile wasn't on my to-do list thanks. I don;t know if I cold die of boredom, although the five years I spent walking across the pacific ocean floor came close. But too heck with that for the rest of time you know.
So, here I am, roughly a mile away from the point of impact. I got a nice view over the little valley from up on this ridge and I'm just kicking back for the last few hours, sitting in a beach chair drinking a white russian. Got my shades on and I'm just waiting for the big finale to fling me out into the cosmos
I can't say I'm too surprised that it's getting kinda crowded down where they say the rock is coming down... still, might as well go out with bang I guess. here's to you humanity, you knew how to throw a good party man. | I turn over in my bed to see the news report about the earth getting shattered by an asteroid in 12 hours.
"Meh."
Turn over to go back to sleep. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The world is ending in 12 hours and my hope is that I end with it.
This isn't my first apocalyptic event, or anything like my first one either. My first "end of the world" actually filled me with fear. That was back when I didn't know how special I really was. I've grown not to fear much, being immortal tends to take the edge out of most things. Even when every news station in the world is declaring that an asteroid will shatter our Earth. Maybe my curse will go with it.
There's no fun in being immortal when you've seen everything, done everything, and learned everything. I even gave up on love after watching a couple of generations of my family growing up and dying. Everyone is destined to be claimed by death and most desire immortality. The one person who actually is immortal desires death, funny isn't it? Oh well, three hours to go and I will have my answers.
I always spend the few hours before the end of the world reflecting on my life. Everything feels a bit more special when I think like a mortal in the face of death. Speaking of, everyone is going crazy. Looting has broken out everywhere, crime has skyrocketed and any law enforcement left has given up. All within a few hours of the announcement. It used to amaze me but now it's just irritating. That's why I always find the quietest place I can to reflect and enjoy the peace. The night sky has always filled me with a joy I couldn't explain, even today. I stare at it tonight and notice one of the stars seem a lot closer than the others. Maybe that is our destruction?
With only twenty minutes to go my heart began to race a little. Excitement? That's a feeling that has been hiding for a few years now. Maybe this is it? The end.
Ten minutes now. The star is definitely getting closer, and has a visible trail of fire behind it. It is certainly of planet shattering size, blocking out most of the night sky. My heart pounds a little harder now, maybe it's fear I'm beginning to feel. It's been so long I can't be sure. I'm far enough away that I can watch as the asteroid rips through our atmosphere and slams into the ground. The force itself was enough to knock the air out of me. A moment later and everything erupts. Everything goes black.
I open my eyes to a whole lot of darkness. Death? Is this it? The chunk of Earth that was blocking the sun shifted through space and revealed that no, this was not death, this was worse. | I turn over in my bed to see the news report about the earth getting shattered by an asteroid in 12 hours.
"Meh."
Turn over to go back to sleep. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | Adam, the first man, sat back in the rocket’s cockpit looking toward the heavens. The countdown would start any minute now.
His training had been intense but because he needed no sleep he got it all done in relatively no time, not that he needed much training, they positioned the rocket to blast him directly into the asteroid that raced toward earth, he was just the lead in the bullet.
All he had to do was sit and watch.
You see, Adam was created by God, and as Gods first creation he had a few flaws.
One of them was that he never aged, he was the same age he was when he was created, a man of 30 or so years. Another was that his atomic structure never changed, which accounted for his age being static.
The third flaw was the one that put him in this hot seat, His atomic structure was dense, real dense, so dense that no matter what he could not be damaged, not even pierced or penetrated.
So when he heard the world had 12 hours before it was completely split apart, he used his contacts to get him a meeting with the heads of Earth. After some debate over the possibility of this even working and many demonstrations of his ability and inability to be punctured, they decided he was Earths last choice.
Adam had lived long, too long, the Bibles accounts of the earth being created and man being made were way off, he had been around for millions of years, not 10,000. He had seen many generations rise and fall, civilisations come and go, the world going from fully populated with technology that could just about reach the stars! To being destroyed with nuclear weapons and the slate wiped clear.
Every time one such extinction event occurred, an angel would come down and give him the task of repopulating the entire human race. Many women would come and go from his bed, his only solace was that he could walk in the garden of Eden each time. Tasting of its many fruits. In all of time nothing tasted sweater than the fruits of his youth, and god provided it every time he needed the world to be rebuilt. How could he resist?
This generation was different though, the current humans were very headstrong. God had completely wiped the majority of them out due to pig headedness multiple times.
First with fire, then with icy winds, then with water.
They never learnt their lessons though, they continued to pray to gods that don’t exist and even pray to the devils and demons themselves who were in fact the maintenance crew of the earth, with their own pig headedness, desires and folly.
But that was a story for another time, currently Adam sat looking up. If this worked then he would worry about being known, if it didn’t… well either he would be dead and not have to worry, or god would put “humpty dumpty” back together again, maybe something new would be in the garden this time?
What if this was gods fourth try? He remembered one girl from the garden, one famous girl, Eve. She had been born directly of Adam, God had thought maybe she would be better off not being completely made of God, but made of Adam himself, the only one to ever stay true to God.
He had personally asked Adam of his rib, and even though no pain come of it, he still touched his side as it always felt missing from him. She had disobeyed Gods direct order and had eaten the apple. That stupid gardener raking up the leaves told her to try it, both knowing full well it would displease God.
By the time god knew what she had done it they had multiple children and the population program was well under way.
Maybe this was to destroy it all including Adam and start again? Adams eyes widened, but then he relaxed as he knew it didn’t matter, he had a good long run, he had marvelled at all god had created since he first created earth. He had known loss yes, but he had also known love.
The count down had started and he closed his eyes, a big smile spread across his face as he clutched her rib to his body. Yes he had known love indeed.
The rocket raced toward the asteroid on what could ultimately be the end of humanity, from the very first creation, to the very last born.
| That was it. No more scandals. The absolute truth was revealed by a movement that fought for transparancy. Only little time left. The world was in it's peak of chaos. So it seemed at least. The people found out.
I couldn't remember the time, or better said; what year? My mind was foggy. The sound of the radio faded away. A last broadcast. I turned it off. The final hours of silence. A tribute to a rare phenomenon. Some still raged against, while others peacefully accepted reality for what it was.
The door creaked in protest as I crammed myself through the opening outside. It was dusk. The singing of a local choir echoed in the valley. The forest was calm and the wind blew dust across the field. I travelled for many years and had seen many places when I decided to settle in a old cottage near a small village for a few decades.
A silhouette approached, slowly appearing from the rugged terrain. There she was, a quiet girl from a nearby village. She looked straight at me with a soft smile on her face when it suddenly all came back. Feverish thoughts paralyzed me. Generations ago, across the seas, in different times, was when she passed away. Flickering visions of her quietly sleeping in. I promised that one day, we would meet up again, it was a goodbye. Never a farewell as it occurred to me.
There we stood. The sky became bright. Our shadows became sharply painted figures rotating around us on the ground, the shape of our bodies as a piece of art.
A dance,
a ritual,
a communion,
an expression of ourselves,
A final glance when the light absorbed us.
We will be forever, she whispered.
Edit 1 & 2; text and grammar. English is not my first language. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | It had taken nearly 6 hours of driving, and another 4 dodging various lunatics. But finally I reached my goal. We had 12 hours, they told us, before a rogue asteroid the size of Europe impacted the Earth with what was going to literally be an earth shattering Ka-boom.
The extinction level event I wasn't too bothered about, when it came down to survival it was me, roaches and Keith Richards vying for the top three, and I was ahead. Un-killable, immortal, and as far as I was able to test indestructible. The impact was not my worry.
However, spending the rest of eternity floating around in a celestial rubble pile wasn't on my to-do list thanks. I don;t know if I cold die of boredom, although the five years I spent walking across the pacific ocean floor came close. But too heck with that for the rest of time you know.
So, here I am, roughly a mile away from the point of impact. I got a nice view over the little valley from up on this ridge and I'm just kicking back for the last few hours, sitting in a beach chair drinking a white russian. Got my shades on and I'm just waiting for the big finale to fling me out into the cosmos
I can't say I'm too surprised that it's getting kinda crowded down where they say the rock is coming down... still, might as well go out with bang I guess. here's to you humanity, you knew how to throw a good party man. | That was it. No more scandals. The absolute truth was revealed by a movement that fought for transparancy. Only little time left. The world was in it's peak of chaos. So it seemed at least. The people found out.
I couldn't remember the time, or better said; what year? My mind was foggy. The sound of the radio faded away. A last broadcast. I turned it off. The final hours of silence. A tribute to a rare phenomenon. Some still raged against, while others peacefully accepted reality for what it was.
The door creaked in protest as I crammed myself through the opening outside. It was dusk. The singing of a local choir echoed in the valley. The forest was calm and the wind blew dust across the field. I travelled for many years and had seen many places when I decided to settle in a old cottage near a small village for a few decades.
A silhouette approached, slowly appearing from the rugged terrain. There she was, a quiet girl from a nearby village. She looked straight at me with a soft smile on her face when it suddenly all came back. Feverish thoughts paralyzed me. Generations ago, across the seas, in different times, was when she passed away. Flickering visions of her quietly sleeping in. I promised that one day, we would meet up again, it was a goodbye. Never a farewell as it occurred to me.
There we stood. The sky became bright. Our shadows became sharply painted figures rotating around us on the ground, the shape of our bodies as a piece of art.
A dance,
a ritual,
a communion,
an expression of ourselves,
A final glance when the light absorbed us.
We will be forever, she whispered.
Edit 1 & 2; text and grammar. English is not my first language. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The world is ending in 12 hours and my hope is that I end with it.
This isn't my first apocalyptic event, or anything like my first one either. My first "end of the world" actually filled me with fear. That was back when I didn't know how special I really was. I've grown not to fear much, being immortal tends to take the edge out of most things. Even when every news station in the world is declaring that an asteroid will shatter our Earth. Maybe my curse will go with it.
There's no fun in being immortal when you've seen everything, done everything, and learned everything. I even gave up on love after watching a couple of generations of my family growing up and dying. Everyone is destined to be claimed by death and most desire immortality. The one person who actually is immortal desires death, funny isn't it? Oh well, three hours to go and I will have my answers.
I always spend the few hours before the end of the world reflecting on my life. Everything feels a bit more special when I think like a mortal in the face of death. Speaking of, everyone is going crazy. Looting has broken out everywhere, crime has skyrocketed and any law enforcement left has given up. All within a few hours of the announcement. It used to amaze me but now it's just irritating. That's why I always find the quietest place I can to reflect and enjoy the peace. The night sky has always filled me with a joy I couldn't explain, even today. I stare at it tonight and notice one of the stars seem a lot closer than the others. Maybe that is our destruction?
With only twenty minutes to go my heart began to race a little. Excitement? That's a feeling that has been hiding for a few years now. Maybe this is it? The end.
Ten minutes now. The star is definitely getting closer, and has a visible trail of fire behind it. It is certainly of planet shattering size, blocking out most of the night sky. My heart pounds a little harder now, maybe it's fear I'm beginning to feel. It's been so long I can't be sure. I'm far enough away that I can watch as the asteroid rips through our atmosphere and slams into the ground. The force itself was enough to knock the air out of me. A moment later and everything erupts. Everything goes black.
I open my eyes to a whole lot of darkness. Death? Is this it? The chunk of Earth that was blocking the sun shifted through space and revealed that no, this was not death, this was worse. | That was it. No more scandals. The absolute truth was revealed by a movement that fought for transparancy. Only little time left. The world was in it's peak of chaos. So it seemed at least. The people found out.
I couldn't remember the time, or better said; what year? My mind was foggy. The sound of the radio faded away. A last broadcast. I turned it off. The final hours of silence. A tribute to a rare phenomenon. Some still raged against, while others peacefully accepted reality for what it was.
The door creaked in protest as I crammed myself through the opening outside. It was dusk. The singing of a local choir echoed in the valley. The forest was calm and the wind blew dust across the field. I travelled for many years and had seen many places when I decided to settle in a old cottage near a small village for a few decades.
A silhouette approached, slowly appearing from the rugged terrain. There she was, a quiet girl from a nearby village. She looked straight at me with a soft smile on her face when it suddenly all came back. Feverish thoughts paralyzed me. Generations ago, across the seas, in different times, was when she passed away. Flickering visions of her quietly sleeping in. I promised that one day, we would meet up again, it was a goodbye. Never a farewell as it occurred to me.
There we stood. The sky became bright. Our shadows became sharply painted figures rotating around us on the ground, the shape of our bodies as a piece of art.
A dance,
a ritual,
a communion,
an expression of ourselves,
A final glance when the light absorbed us.
We will be forever, she whispered.
Edit 1 & 2; text and grammar. English is not my first language. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | Adam, the first man, sat back in the rocket’s cockpit looking toward the heavens. The countdown would start any minute now.
His training had been intense but because he needed no sleep he got it all done in relatively no time, not that he needed much training, they positioned the rocket to blast him directly into the asteroid that raced toward earth, he was just the lead in the bullet.
All he had to do was sit and watch.
You see, Adam was created by God, and as Gods first creation he had a few flaws.
One of them was that he never aged, he was the same age he was when he was created, a man of 30 or so years. Another was that his atomic structure never changed, which accounted for his age being static.
The third flaw was the one that put him in this hot seat, His atomic structure was dense, real dense, so dense that no matter what he could not be damaged, not even pierced or penetrated.
So when he heard the world had 12 hours before it was completely split apart, he used his contacts to get him a meeting with the heads of Earth. After some debate over the possibility of this even working and many demonstrations of his ability and inability to be punctured, they decided he was Earths last choice.
Adam had lived long, too long, the Bibles accounts of the earth being created and man being made were way off, he had been around for millions of years, not 10,000. He had seen many generations rise and fall, civilisations come and go, the world going from fully populated with technology that could just about reach the stars! To being destroyed with nuclear weapons and the slate wiped clear.
Every time one such extinction event occurred, an angel would come down and give him the task of repopulating the entire human race. Many women would come and go from his bed, his only solace was that he could walk in the garden of Eden each time. Tasting of its many fruits. In all of time nothing tasted sweater than the fruits of his youth, and god provided it every time he needed the world to be rebuilt. How could he resist?
This generation was different though, the current humans were very headstrong. God had completely wiped the majority of them out due to pig headedness multiple times.
First with fire, then with icy winds, then with water.
They never learnt their lessons though, they continued to pray to gods that don’t exist and even pray to the devils and demons themselves who were in fact the maintenance crew of the earth, with their own pig headedness, desires and folly.
But that was a story for another time, currently Adam sat looking up. If this worked then he would worry about being known, if it didn’t… well either he would be dead and not have to worry, or god would put “humpty dumpty” back together again, maybe something new would be in the garden this time?
What if this was gods fourth try? He remembered one girl from the garden, one famous girl, Eve. She had been born directly of Adam, God had thought maybe she would be better off not being completely made of God, but made of Adam himself, the only one to ever stay true to God.
He had personally asked Adam of his rib, and even though no pain come of it, he still touched his side as it always felt missing from him. She had disobeyed Gods direct order and had eaten the apple. That stupid gardener raking up the leaves told her to try it, both knowing full well it would displease God.
By the time god knew what she had done it they had multiple children and the population program was well under way.
Maybe this was to destroy it all including Adam and start again? Adams eyes widened, but then he relaxed as he knew it didn’t matter, he had a good long run, he had marvelled at all god had created since he first created earth. He had known loss yes, but he had also known love.
The count down had started and he closed his eyes, a big smile spread across his face as he clutched her rib to his body. Yes he had known love indeed.
The rocket raced toward the asteroid on what could ultimately be the end of humanity, from the very first creation, to the very last born.
| My dear unknown friend,
It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I was beginning to get out of habit of doing that.
I have just heard the planet is on the path of complete obliteration. So I must wonder what this means for me. If the planet disappears, do I do too? How? There is no instruction manual for my kind of peculiar. I just cut my finger one day while slicing a particularly slippery onion, stuffed it into my mouth by habit right after, and felt no taste of iron in my mouth. For a moment, I must have looked like a confused toddler, before finally remembering that I should probably take a look. There was no blood, though I clearly felt the blade sliding through my flesh. It stung. It hurt. But there was no blood. No wound.
I am old, though. At this point, my main concern is the logistics of the matter. Will it hurt? Could it possibly hurt more than that one time in 1793 when I managed to wind up as guillotine fodder? That was a hard one to explain.They seriously considered burning me at the stake, but eventually figured that attempt wouldn’t fare much better than the guillotine did.
Many have tried to end me, and they have all failed. So many different, despicable deaths dreamt up for me, and not one of them successful. After all this time, I still do not know whether I could survive just floating in space, without food, air, gravity, sound. Guess no one ever thought of ejecting me into space as a potentially successful method of killing me.
All this being said, my heart does ache. Attempting to entertain myself with the logistics of dying doesn’t fully manage to draw my attention away from one thing. You see, my old friend, my family is afraid. My bright-eyed wife and my sweet little daughter. Each time I loose them, it hurts even more. This is my final letter to you. I’m going to hug them now and for the next twelve hours I won’t let go. If there’s any justice in this world, I know this is not going to be the end of me, for that I do not deserve. But if there’s any mercy, I’ll will perish too. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | It had taken nearly 6 hours of driving, and another 4 dodging various lunatics. But finally I reached my goal. We had 12 hours, they told us, before a rogue asteroid the size of Europe impacted the Earth with what was going to literally be an earth shattering Ka-boom.
The extinction level event I wasn't too bothered about, when it came down to survival it was me, roaches and Keith Richards vying for the top three, and I was ahead. Un-killable, immortal, and as far as I was able to test indestructible. The impact was not my worry.
However, spending the rest of eternity floating around in a celestial rubble pile wasn't on my to-do list thanks. I don;t know if I cold die of boredom, although the five years I spent walking across the pacific ocean floor came close. But too heck with that for the rest of time you know.
So, here I am, roughly a mile away from the point of impact. I got a nice view over the little valley from up on this ridge and I'm just kicking back for the last few hours, sitting in a beach chair drinking a white russian. Got my shades on and I'm just waiting for the big finale to fling me out into the cosmos
I can't say I'm too surprised that it's getting kinda crowded down where they say the rock is coming down... still, might as well go out with bang I guess. here's to you humanity, you knew how to throw a good party man. | My dear unknown friend,
It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I was beginning to get out of habit of doing that.
I have just heard the planet is on the path of complete obliteration. So I must wonder what this means for me. If the planet disappears, do I do too? How? There is no instruction manual for my kind of peculiar. I just cut my finger one day while slicing a particularly slippery onion, stuffed it into my mouth by habit right after, and felt no taste of iron in my mouth. For a moment, I must have looked like a confused toddler, before finally remembering that I should probably take a look. There was no blood, though I clearly felt the blade sliding through my flesh. It stung. It hurt. But there was no blood. No wound.
I am old, though. At this point, my main concern is the logistics of the matter. Will it hurt? Could it possibly hurt more than that one time in 1793 when I managed to wind up as guillotine fodder? That was a hard one to explain.They seriously considered burning me at the stake, but eventually figured that attempt wouldn’t fare much better than the guillotine did.
Many have tried to end me, and they have all failed. So many different, despicable deaths dreamt up for me, and not one of them successful. After all this time, I still do not know whether I could survive just floating in space, without food, air, gravity, sound. Guess no one ever thought of ejecting me into space as a potentially successful method of killing me.
All this being said, my heart does ache. Attempting to entertain myself with the logistics of dying doesn’t fully manage to draw my attention away from one thing. You see, my old friend, my family is afraid. My bright-eyed wife and my sweet little daughter. Each time I loose them, it hurts even more. This is my final letter to you. I’m going to hug them now and for the next twelve hours I won’t let go. If there’s any justice in this world, I know this is not going to be the end of me, for that I do not deserve. But if there’s any mercy, I’ll will perish too. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The world is ending in 12 hours and my hope is that I end with it.
This isn't my first apocalyptic event, or anything like my first one either. My first "end of the world" actually filled me with fear. That was back when I didn't know how special I really was. I've grown not to fear much, being immortal tends to take the edge out of most things. Even when every news station in the world is declaring that an asteroid will shatter our Earth. Maybe my curse will go with it.
There's no fun in being immortal when you've seen everything, done everything, and learned everything. I even gave up on love after watching a couple of generations of my family growing up and dying. Everyone is destined to be claimed by death and most desire immortality. The one person who actually is immortal desires death, funny isn't it? Oh well, three hours to go and I will have my answers.
I always spend the few hours before the end of the world reflecting on my life. Everything feels a bit more special when I think like a mortal in the face of death. Speaking of, everyone is going crazy. Looting has broken out everywhere, crime has skyrocketed and any law enforcement left has given up. All within a few hours of the announcement. It used to amaze me but now it's just irritating. That's why I always find the quietest place I can to reflect and enjoy the peace. The night sky has always filled me with a joy I couldn't explain, even today. I stare at it tonight and notice one of the stars seem a lot closer than the others. Maybe that is our destruction?
With only twenty minutes to go my heart began to race a little. Excitement? That's a feeling that has been hiding for a few years now. Maybe this is it? The end.
Ten minutes now. The star is definitely getting closer, and has a visible trail of fire behind it. It is certainly of planet shattering size, blocking out most of the night sky. My heart pounds a little harder now, maybe it's fear I'm beginning to feel. It's been so long I can't be sure. I'm far enough away that I can watch as the asteroid rips through our atmosphere and slams into the ground. The force itself was enough to knock the air out of me. A moment later and everything erupts. Everything goes black.
I open my eyes to a whole lot of darkness. Death? Is this it? The chunk of Earth that was blocking the sun shifted through space and revealed that no, this was not death, this was worse. | My dear unknown friend,
It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I was beginning to get out of habit of doing that.
I have just heard the planet is on the path of complete obliteration. So I must wonder what this means for me. If the planet disappears, do I do too? How? There is no instruction manual for my kind of peculiar. I just cut my finger one day while slicing a particularly slippery onion, stuffed it into my mouth by habit right after, and felt no taste of iron in my mouth. For a moment, I must have looked like a confused toddler, before finally remembering that I should probably take a look. There was no blood, though I clearly felt the blade sliding through my flesh. It stung. It hurt. But there was no blood. No wound.
I am old, though. At this point, my main concern is the logistics of the matter. Will it hurt? Could it possibly hurt more than that one time in 1793 when I managed to wind up as guillotine fodder? That was a hard one to explain.They seriously considered burning me at the stake, but eventually figured that attempt wouldn’t fare much better than the guillotine did.
Many have tried to end me, and they have all failed. So many different, despicable deaths dreamt up for me, and not one of them successful. After all this time, I still do not know whether I could survive just floating in space, without food, air, gravity, sound. Guess no one ever thought of ejecting me into space as a potentially successful method of killing me.
All this being said, my heart does ache. Attempting to entertain myself with the logistics of dying doesn’t fully manage to draw my attention away from one thing. You see, my old friend, my family is afraid. My bright-eyed wife and my sweet little daughter. Each time I loose them, it hurts even more. This is my final letter to you. I’m going to hug them now and for the next twelve hours I won’t let go. If there’s any justice in this world, I know this is not going to be the end of me, for that I do not deserve. But if there’s any mercy, I’ll will perish too. | |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | It had taken nearly 6 hours of driving, and another 4 dodging various lunatics. But finally I reached my goal. We had 12 hours, they told us, before a rogue asteroid the size of Europe impacted the Earth with what was going to literally be an earth shattering Ka-boom.
The extinction level event I wasn't too bothered about, when it came down to survival it was me, roaches and Keith Richards vying for the top three, and I was ahead. Un-killable, immortal, and as far as I was able to test indestructible. The impact was not my worry.
However, spending the rest of eternity floating around in a celestial rubble pile wasn't on my to-do list thanks. I don;t know if I cold die of boredom, although the five years I spent walking across the pacific ocean floor came close. But too heck with that for the rest of time you know.
So, here I am, roughly a mile away from the point of impact. I got a nice view over the little valley from up on this ridge and I'm just kicking back for the last few hours, sitting in a beach chair drinking a white russian. Got my shades on and I'm just waiting for the big finale to fling me out into the cosmos
I can't say I'm too surprised that it's getting kinda crowded down where they say the rock is coming down... still, might as well go out with bang I guess. here's to you humanity, you knew how to throw a good party man. | Adam, the first man, sat back in the rocket’s cockpit looking toward the heavens. The countdown would start any minute now.
His training had been intense but because he needed no sleep he got it all done in relatively no time, not that he needed much training, they positioned the rocket to blast him directly into the asteroid that raced toward earth, he was just the lead in the bullet.
All he had to do was sit and watch.
You see, Adam was created by God, and as Gods first creation he had a few flaws.
One of them was that he never aged, he was the same age he was when he was created, a man of 30 or so years. Another was that his atomic structure never changed, which accounted for his age being static.
The third flaw was the one that put him in this hot seat, His atomic structure was dense, real dense, so dense that no matter what he could not be damaged, not even pierced or penetrated.
So when he heard the world had 12 hours before it was completely split apart, he used his contacts to get him a meeting with the heads of Earth. After some debate over the possibility of this even working and many demonstrations of his ability and inability to be punctured, they decided he was Earths last choice.
Adam had lived long, too long, the Bibles accounts of the earth being created and man being made were way off, he had been around for millions of years, not 10,000. He had seen many generations rise and fall, civilisations come and go, the world going from fully populated with technology that could just about reach the stars! To being destroyed with nuclear weapons and the slate wiped clear.
Every time one such extinction event occurred, an angel would come down and give him the task of repopulating the entire human race. Many women would come and go from his bed, his only solace was that he could walk in the garden of Eden each time. Tasting of its many fruits. In all of time nothing tasted sweater than the fruits of his youth, and god provided it every time he needed the world to be rebuilt. How could he resist?
This generation was different though, the current humans were very headstrong. God had completely wiped the majority of them out due to pig headedness multiple times.
First with fire, then with icy winds, then with water.
They never learnt their lessons though, they continued to pray to gods that don’t exist and even pray to the devils and demons themselves who were in fact the maintenance crew of the earth, with their own pig headedness, desires and folly.
But that was a story for another time, currently Adam sat looking up. If this worked then he would worry about being known, if it didn’t… well either he would be dead and not have to worry, or god would put “humpty dumpty” back together again, maybe something new would be in the garden this time?
What if this was gods fourth try? He remembered one girl from the garden, one famous girl, Eve. She had been born directly of Adam, God had thought maybe she would be better off not being completely made of God, but made of Adam himself, the only one to ever stay true to God.
He had personally asked Adam of his rib, and even though no pain come of it, he still touched his side as it always felt missing from him. She had disobeyed Gods direct order and had eaten the apple. That stupid gardener raking up the leaves told her to try it, both knowing full well it would displease God.
By the time god knew what she had done it they had multiple children and the population program was well under way.
Maybe this was to destroy it all including Adam and start again? Adams eyes widened, but then he relaxed as he knew it didn’t matter, he had a good long run, he had marvelled at all god had created since he first created earth. He had known loss yes, but he had also known love.
The count down had started and he closed his eyes, a big smile spread across his face as he clutched her rib to his body. Yes he had known love indeed.
The rocket raced toward the asteroid on what could ultimately be the end of humanity, from the very first creation, to the very last born.
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The world is ending in 12 hours and my hope is that I end with it.
This isn't my first apocalyptic event, or anything like my first one either. My first "end of the world" actually filled me with fear. That was back when I didn't know how special I really was. I've grown not to fear much, being immortal tends to take the edge out of most things. Even when every news station in the world is declaring that an asteroid will shatter our Earth. Maybe my curse will go with it.
There's no fun in being immortal when you've seen everything, done everything, and learned everything. I even gave up on love after watching a couple of generations of my family growing up and dying. Everyone is destined to be claimed by death and most desire immortality. The one person who actually is immortal desires death, funny isn't it? Oh well, three hours to go and I will have my answers.
I always spend the few hours before the end of the world reflecting on my life. Everything feels a bit more special when I think like a mortal in the face of death. Speaking of, everyone is going crazy. Looting has broken out everywhere, crime has skyrocketed and any law enforcement left has given up. All within a few hours of the announcement. It used to amaze me but now it's just irritating. That's why I always find the quietest place I can to reflect and enjoy the peace. The night sky has always filled me with a joy I couldn't explain, even today. I stare at it tonight and notice one of the stars seem a lot closer than the others. Maybe that is our destruction?
With only twenty minutes to go my heart began to race a little. Excitement? That's a feeling that has been hiding for a few years now. Maybe this is it? The end.
Ten minutes now. The star is definitely getting closer, and has a visible trail of fire behind it. It is certainly of planet shattering size, blocking out most of the night sky. My heart pounds a little harder now, maybe it's fear I'm beginning to feel. It's been so long I can't be sure. I'm far enough away that I can watch as the asteroid rips through our atmosphere and slams into the ground. The force itself was enough to knock the air out of me. A moment later and everything erupts. Everything goes black.
I open my eyes to a whole lot of darkness. Death? Is this it? The chunk of Earth that was blocking the sun shifted through space and revealed that no, this was not death, this was worse. | Adam, the first man, sat back in the rocket’s cockpit looking toward the heavens. The countdown would start any minute now.
His training had been intense but because he needed no sleep he got it all done in relatively no time, not that he needed much training, they positioned the rocket to blast him directly into the asteroid that raced toward earth, he was just the lead in the bullet.
All he had to do was sit and watch.
You see, Adam was created by God, and as Gods first creation he had a few flaws.
One of them was that he never aged, he was the same age he was when he was created, a man of 30 or so years. Another was that his atomic structure never changed, which accounted for his age being static.
The third flaw was the one that put him in this hot seat, His atomic structure was dense, real dense, so dense that no matter what he could not be damaged, not even pierced or penetrated.
So when he heard the world had 12 hours before it was completely split apart, he used his contacts to get him a meeting with the heads of Earth. After some debate over the possibility of this even working and many demonstrations of his ability and inability to be punctured, they decided he was Earths last choice.
Adam had lived long, too long, the Bibles accounts of the earth being created and man being made were way off, he had been around for millions of years, not 10,000. He had seen many generations rise and fall, civilisations come and go, the world going from fully populated with technology that could just about reach the stars! To being destroyed with nuclear weapons and the slate wiped clear.
Every time one such extinction event occurred, an angel would come down and give him the task of repopulating the entire human race. Many women would come and go from his bed, his only solace was that he could walk in the garden of Eden each time. Tasting of its many fruits. In all of time nothing tasted sweater than the fruits of his youth, and god provided it every time he needed the world to be rebuilt. How could he resist?
This generation was different though, the current humans were very headstrong. God had completely wiped the majority of them out due to pig headedness multiple times.
First with fire, then with icy winds, then with water.
They never learnt their lessons though, they continued to pray to gods that don’t exist and even pray to the devils and demons themselves who were in fact the maintenance crew of the earth, with their own pig headedness, desires and folly.
But that was a story for another time, currently Adam sat looking up. If this worked then he would worry about being known, if it didn’t… well either he would be dead and not have to worry, or god would put “humpty dumpty” back together again, maybe something new would be in the garden this time?
What if this was gods fourth try? He remembered one girl from the garden, one famous girl, Eve. She had been born directly of Adam, God had thought maybe she would be better off not being completely made of God, but made of Adam himself, the only one to ever stay true to God.
He had personally asked Adam of his rib, and even though no pain come of it, he still touched his side as it always felt missing from him. She had disobeyed Gods direct order and had eaten the apple. That stupid gardener raking up the leaves told her to try it, both knowing full well it would displease God.
By the time god knew what she had done it they had multiple children and the population program was well under way.
Maybe this was to destroy it all including Adam and start again? Adams eyes widened, but then he relaxed as he knew it didn’t matter, he had a good long run, he had marvelled at all god had created since he first created earth. He had known loss yes, but he had also known love.
The count down had started and he closed his eyes, a big smile spread across his face as he clutched her rib to his body. Yes he had known love indeed.
The rocket raced toward the asteroid on what could ultimately be the end of humanity, from the very first creation, to the very last born.
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | Once upon a time,there was and absolutely immortal man.He was completely deathless and ages less.
So there he was eating cheerios for breakfast one morning, remembering his time one earth like fighting in american civil war,shooting Nazis in WWll and also where he ended up last Sunday after drinking too much...
"ahh memories", he said
he turned his flat screen tv on to watch the news as he had been doing for a long, except before the invention of the television he would do so with tthe good old newspaper and before that... well...gossip?
"I remember when Televisions were about as thick as chavs skull..."
oh yeah,he really hated chavs...they had developed over the years to become increasingly annoying and illiterate...
So he switched on to bbc news and carried on eating.However one particular headline caught his eye,to be honest it was the only headline and it read :
"BREAKING NEWS"
"THE WORLD IS TO END IN TWELVE HOURS BY AN ASTEROID IMPACT"
he replied with,
"Fuck"
and went back to eating his cheerios
I mean,you gotta enjoy the little things in life,right?
| When the Supreme Leader cast this curse upon me, he made it quite clear of my circumstance. Unlimited life accompanied with everlasting youthfulness. I remember my excitement like it was yesterday, mainly because, it was yesterday, on my eighth birthday.
I still haven't come to terms about having a life without ejaculation, but I suppose if I never have an opportunity to experience puberty, it won't matter much.
That *was* my biggest problem, but now, apparently the world is going to end. The failed NASA missions happened months ago, leaving the important people enough time to evacuate this forsaken marble.
For fucks sake, I wouldn't even be able to finish my Star War's Lego set. The Supreme Leader must be getting a kick out of this.
"Hey Supreme Leader! It's me, Bobby! I know you just did a pretty swell thing by me, but is there anyway you can get rid of that asteroid coming this way? I would *really* like to finish my Lego set."
"Hello Bobby. I'm afraid not. The Earth needs to be recycled. It will be your job to repopulate what remains of it."
"Repopulate!? I can't even jerk off, how the hell am I suppose to do that?!"
"No? Oh...my mistake, you're a human. I forgot that you don't go through puberty for a few more years. Woops. Oh well, I guess that's the end for you guys then. I'll go a notify the lady in China about the mistake."
"MISTAKE!?!? Aren't you all knowing or someshit!? How do you forget something like that!?"
"I make mistakes just like the rest of the Supreme Leader's, okay!? Give me a break. It's tough work commanding this part of the universe."
"Yea, but this mistake is going to be the end of humanity. Billions of people will die, with no hope of ever existing again. Do you want that on your conscious!?"
"Hmm, I guess not. Well, what would you have me do!? Do you want to be able to repopulate, or would you rather me get rid of the asteroid and let everyone live?"
"Fuck everyone else. Give me some semen, and while you're at it, bring me to China."
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The thing with probability, I reminded myself as I hurtled through the numbing blackness of space, was that given a particular set of circumstances, any value over zero meant that success was inevitable given enough chances and enough time.
For example, say a man wants to fire an arrow and shoot the head off a match a hundred yards away. Unlikely, I know, but given enough arrows and time, eventually one will spin its way through the air in a perfect series of pirouettes so it splinters the match’s wooden head.
This mantra of probability was one I had told myself in various forms over the vast stretch of years I'd lived in this galaxy.
Waiting for the explosive blossoming of this solar system.
Waiting for the first cellular lifeforms to coalesce in the foamy brack of the Earth’s endless seas.
Waiting for mankind to reach out to the stars with infant-like wonder.
Waiting for those same stars to reach back under the hurtling shadow of an enormous onyx hunk of rock and metal.
And now tumbling among a clattering cloud of Earth's floating debris, carried like a stone down the velvety blackness of an endless well, to land on another celestial body and begin waiting for life to swell forth all over again.
I have no idea how long it may take until I am drawn into the smothering embrace of another planet’s gravity, but just like the arrow striking the match head, I know that given enough chances and enough time, it will happen eventually. | When the Supreme Leader cast this curse upon me, he made it quite clear of my circumstance. Unlimited life accompanied with everlasting youthfulness. I remember my excitement like it was yesterday, mainly because, it was yesterday, on my eighth birthday.
I still haven't come to terms about having a life without ejaculation, but I suppose if I never have an opportunity to experience puberty, it won't matter much.
That *was* my biggest problem, but now, apparently the world is going to end. The failed NASA missions happened months ago, leaving the important people enough time to evacuate this forsaken marble.
For fucks sake, I wouldn't even be able to finish my Star War's Lego set. The Supreme Leader must be getting a kick out of this.
"Hey Supreme Leader! It's me, Bobby! I know you just did a pretty swell thing by me, but is there anyway you can get rid of that asteroid coming this way? I would *really* like to finish my Lego set."
"Hello Bobby. I'm afraid not. The Earth needs to be recycled. It will be your job to repopulate what remains of it."
"Repopulate!? I can't even jerk off, how the hell am I suppose to do that?!"
"No? Oh...my mistake, you're a human. I forgot that you don't go through puberty for a few more years. Woops. Oh well, I guess that's the end for you guys then. I'll go a notify the lady in China about the mistake."
"MISTAKE!?!? Aren't you all knowing or someshit!? How do you forget something like that!?"
"I make mistakes just like the rest of the Supreme Leader's, okay!? Give me a break. It's tough work commanding this part of the universe."
"Yea, but this mistake is going to be the end of humanity. Billions of people will die, with no hope of ever existing again. Do you want that on your conscious!?"
"Hmm, I guess not. Well, what would you have me do!? Do you want to be able to repopulate, or would you rather me get rid of the asteroid and let everyone live?"
"Fuck everyone else. Give me some semen, and while you're at it, bring me to China."
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The wailing of sirens, animals, and people all drifted in through the open window. One jumbled cacophony of noises all lifting up at once. It was...oddly comforting, not to mention bittersweet. A reminder that mankind was still around and a reminder of what I would be longing for soon enough. From some distant locale, the rumble of an explosion echoed, followed closely by the blare of car alarms being set off by the resulting Shockwave.
>*Damn it! I knew I should have gotten dressed sooner. I'm missing out on the all the excitement. Where the fuck is my 'good' overcoat? If I'm going to witness the world, I'm going to do it in STYLE!*
To the "casual person", this kind of rubber-necking would seem mean, maybe even sociopathic. But social nuances were the last thing on my mind. This was the last chance I would have to witness "humanity" and I was not about to waste it. My eyes fell upon the leather travel satchel hanging by the door. It's stitching and embroidery still just as strong and vivid as it was way back when. An indestructible satchel, bigger on the inside than the outside. Every Immortal worth his salt had one and always kept it close by.
Throwing on my overcoat and boots, I made damn sure to grab the bottle of "pills" from the counter. I didn't like the thought of taking them but I knew better than to let my emotions get in the way. Not taking them was a mistake I would NOT be repeating. I may be 'Immortal' but there are ways of coping.
Grabbing my trusty satchel and rushing out the door, I turned back to lock it as I had done so many times before. But my mind paused as I stood there, key held out in mid-gesture.
>*...What for fuck's sake am I doing?! The whole damn WORLD is ending. What difference does it make? So what if someone takes the safe? If they can get that two-ton motherfucking titanium lockbox open in this amount of time, then they are MORE than welcome to it!*
I found myself laughing as I turned back around and stepped out onto the front lawn. One thing was for sure. I would *NOT* be missing the dinghy, dilapidated, derelict apartment building that had been my home for the past twenty years or so. Or was it thirty? Regardless, I had grown strangely comfortable with that living situation. So many people had questioned why I bothered to stick around for so long. Which never failed to pissed me off.
When you live for as long as I have, human depravity becomes a crude albeit welcome source of 'entertainment'.
>"There you are, you loudmouth bitch! I *know* you're the one who snitched on me! Where you going? Don't act like you can't hear me!
>"...Loudmouth bitch...is that the *best* insult you got? Seriously?! I've heard *toddlers* come up with better words than THAT!"
Which was certainly true. The Spartans sure did a bang-up job raising their kids. The Persians too.
I couldn't help but smile as the wheelchair bound redneck stared first in shock, then realization, then finally anger. It was fascinating, watching the spittle flying from his flapping lips. As sorely tempting as it was to "poke the angry bear with a stick", I heard another explosion and was reminded that time was not on my side.
>"You know what? As much as I'd *love* to help you out with this 'insult deficit' of yours, I've got better shit to do with my time."
I sprinted off, leaving Mr. Redneck behind on his porch, his spittle still flying. Down one street then up another, short-cutting across lawns and yards. Ignoring the glares and shouts and raging gestures of overly territorial home owners. Until I finally spied my destination: *Downtown*.
A cityscape usually filled with the hustle and bustle of traffic and commerce. Now an epicenter of anarchy and chaos. My mind was snatched back to the chaos that had gripped the city of Troy as the Greeks went on their rampage. Fire, smoke, ashes, the screams of women, the crying of children, the bellowing of men. It was all so...so eirally similar.
>*Damn it, the Wanderer was right. History DOES repeat itself. ...Just where is that crazy bastard now? I wonder if he's just as fascinated with all this as I am?*
I shook my head and tried to ignore the sorrow welling up inside. The Wanderer, as he called himself, was not just another Immortal. He was the one who raised me, who taught me everything I know. He found me when I was but an infant, swaddled up in a sack. I owe that lovable bastard so much.
To think...to think we got separated during the chaos of those two world wars. I distinctly remember watching as the Germans carted him off. I tried to get to him. I tried...and I failed. I failed him and I still have yet to forgive myself for that.
And now, I had to entertain the possibility that we'd *never* find each other. I had no inkling of what to expect post meteorite impact. I am Immortal, yes. But I still feel just like any ordinary person. In particular, I remember the Salem witch trials. The fire...the burning...the echo of my own screaming, the envy burning equally hot as I wished I could be mortal. At least the others accused of witchcraft found an end to their suffering. There I was, tied up, cursing with vulgar words and vile oaths alike the hourglass scar that adorned my left hand.
The mark of an Immortal. The reason why I always wear leather gloves. I hate having to be reminded of my so-called 'blessing'.
It didn't help any that my survival was definitely noticed and still more attempts were made to kill me. Two more stake burnings and a few 'drownings' to be specific. That shit gave me *Nightmares* for years. And ever since, I'd find myself stricken by dread whenever I was around open flames or open water.
Which was one thing. Until I developed a 'fetish' for dread, which turned it into a whole 'nother bucket of fish altogether.
>*Hmm. I am feeling dread, now that I think about it. I've been cold before...and suffocated too. But never both at the same time...and never for so long. There'll be fire too. Lots of it. The whole world is utterly fucked. How long will it take? The actual destruction of Planet Earth? If only...if only the Wanderer were here, with me. He'd be nailing it with that gallows humor of his. And I'd be laughing right along with him.*
I reached into the satchel for the pocket watch I always carry with me. A thirteen hour pocket watch. A cherished gift from the Wanderer. So what if I had to do mental gymnastics to figure out the actual time? And besides, giving panic attacks to superstitious people was more than worth the effort. Only ten hours left...and I had to make every last hour count.
I returned the watch to its place, my hand bumping into that bottle of pills. Pills that would make me sleep. Sometimes for days...and sometimes for years. There are just not a lot of options for coping when you're Immortal.
Another explosion rippled through the air. This one being much closer and carrying the distinct sound of combusting petroleum. I took off in that direction, struggling not to dwell upon the magnitude of the situation. My Immortality would soon be put to the ultimate test and the undulating beauty of acrid fire would be a welcome distraction. | When the Supreme Leader cast this curse upon me, he made it quite clear of my circumstance. Unlimited life accompanied with everlasting youthfulness. I remember my excitement like it was yesterday, mainly because, it was yesterday, on my eighth birthday.
I still haven't come to terms about having a life without ejaculation, but I suppose if I never have an opportunity to experience puberty, it won't matter much.
That *was* my biggest problem, but now, apparently the world is going to end. The failed NASA missions happened months ago, leaving the important people enough time to evacuate this forsaken marble.
For fucks sake, I wouldn't even be able to finish my Star War's Lego set. The Supreme Leader must be getting a kick out of this.
"Hey Supreme Leader! It's me, Bobby! I know you just did a pretty swell thing by me, but is there anyway you can get rid of that asteroid coming this way? I would *really* like to finish my Lego set."
"Hello Bobby. I'm afraid not. The Earth needs to be recycled. It will be your job to repopulate what remains of it."
"Repopulate!? I can't even jerk off, how the hell am I suppose to do that?!"
"No? Oh...my mistake, you're a human. I forgot that you don't go through puberty for a few more years. Woops. Oh well, I guess that's the end for you guys then. I'll go a notify the lady in China about the mistake."
"MISTAKE!?!? Aren't you all knowing or someshit!? How do you forget something like that!?"
"I make mistakes just like the rest of the Supreme Leader's, okay!? Give me a break. It's tough work commanding this part of the universe."
"Yea, but this mistake is going to be the end of humanity. Billions of people will die, with no hope of ever existing again. Do you want that on your conscious!?"
"Hmm, I guess not. Well, what would you have me do!? Do you want to be able to repopulate, or would you rather me get rid of the asteroid and let everyone live?"
"Fuck everyone else. Give me some semen, and while you're at it, bring me to China."
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The thing with probability, I reminded myself as I hurtled through the numbing blackness of space, was that given a particular set of circumstances, any value over zero meant that success was inevitable given enough chances and enough time.
For example, say a man wants to fire an arrow and shoot the head off a match a hundred yards away. Unlikely, I know, but given enough arrows and time, eventually one will spin its way through the air in a perfect series of pirouettes so it splinters the match’s wooden head.
This mantra of probability was one I had told myself in various forms over the vast stretch of years I'd lived in this galaxy.
Waiting for the explosive blossoming of this solar system.
Waiting for the first cellular lifeforms to coalesce in the foamy brack of the Earth’s endless seas.
Waiting for mankind to reach out to the stars with infant-like wonder.
Waiting for those same stars to reach back under the hurtling shadow of an enormous onyx hunk of rock and metal.
And now tumbling among a clattering cloud of Earth's floating debris, carried like a stone down the velvety blackness of an endless well, to land on another celestial body and begin waiting for life to swell forth all over again.
I have no idea how long it may take until I am drawn into the smothering embrace of another planet’s gravity, but just like the arrow striking the match head, I know that given enough chances and enough time, it will happen eventually. | Once upon a time,there was and absolutely immortal man.He was completely deathless and ages less.
So there he was eating cheerios for breakfast one morning, remembering his time one earth like fighting in american civil war,shooting Nazis in WWll and also where he ended up last Sunday after drinking too much...
"ahh memories", he said
he turned his flat screen tv on to watch the news as he had been doing for a long, except before the invention of the television he would do so with tthe good old newspaper and before that... well...gossip?
"I remember when Televisions were about as thick as chavs skull..."
oh yeah,he really hated chavs...they had developed over the years to become increasingly annoying and illiterate...
So he switched on to bbc news and carried on eating.However one particular headline caught his eye,to be honest it was the only headline and it read :
"BREAKING NEWS"
"THE WORLD IS TO END IN TWELVE HOURS BY AN ASTEROID IMPACT"
he replied with,
"Fuck"
and went back to eating his cheerios
I mean,you gotta enjoy the little things in life,right?
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | The wailing of sirens, animals, and people all drifted in through the open window. One jumbled cacophony of noises all lifting up at once. It was...oddly comforting, not to mention bittersweet. A reminder that mankind was still around and a reminder of what I would be longing for soon enough. From some distant locale, the rumble of an explosion echoed, followed closely by the blare of car alarms being set off by the resulting Shockwave.
>*Damn it! I knew I should have gotten dressed sooner. I'm missing out on the all the excitement. Where the fuck is my 'good' overcoat? If I'm going to witness the world, I'm going to do it in STYLE!*
To the "casual person", this kind of rubber-necking would seem mean, maybe even sociopathic. But social nuances were the last thing on my mind. This was the last chance I would have to witness "humanity" and I was not about to waste it. My eyes fell upon the leather travel satchel hanging by the door. It's stitching and embroidery still just as strong and vivid as it was way back when. An indestructible satchel, bigger on the inside than the outside. Every Immortal worth his salt had one and always kept it close by.
Throwing on my overcoat and boots, I made damn sure to grab the bottle of "pills" from the counter. I didn't like the thought of taking them but I knew better than to let my emotions get in the way. Not taking them was a mistake I would NOT be repeating. I may be 'Immortal' but there are ways of coping.
Grabbing my trusty satchel and rushing out the door, I turned back to lock it as I had done so many times before. But my mind paused as I stood there, key held out in mid-gesture.
>*...What for fuck's sake am I doing?! The whole damn WORLD is ending. What difference does it make? So what if someone takes the safe? If they can get that two-ton motherfucking titanium lockbox open in this amount of time, then they are MORE than welcome to it!*
I found myself laughing as I turned back around and stepped out onto the front lawn. One thing was for sure. I would *NOT* be missing the dinghy, dilapidated, derelict apartment building that had been my home for the past twenty years or so. Or was it thirty? Regardless, I had grown strangely comfortable with that living situation. So many people had questioned why I bothered to stick around for so long. Which never failed to pissed me off.
When you live for as long as I have, human depravity becomes a crude albeit welcome source of 'entertainment'.
>"There you are, you loudmouth bitch! I *know* you're the one who snitched on me! Where you going? Don't act like you can't hear me!
>"...Loudmouth bitch...is that the *best* insult you got? Seriously?! I've heard *toddlers* come up with better words than THAT!"
Which was certainly true. The Spartans sure did a bang-up job raising their kids. The Persians too.
I couldn't help but smile as the wheelchair bound redneck stared first in shock, then realization, then finally anger. It was fascinating, watching the spittle flying from his flapping lips. As sorely tempting as it was to "poke the angry bear with a stick", I heard another explosion and was reminded that time was not on my side.
>"You know what? As much as I'd *love* to help you out with this 'insult deficit' of yours, I've got better shit to do with my time."
I sprinted off, leaving Mr. Redneck behind on his porch, his spittle still flying. Down one street then up another, short-cutting across lawns and yards. Ignoring the glares and shouts and raging gestures of overly territorial home owners. Until I finally spied my destination: *Downtown*.
A cityscape usually filled with the hustle and bustle of traffic and commerce. Now an epicenter of anarchy and chaos. My mind was snatched back to the chaos that had gripped the city of Troy as the Greeks went on their rampage. Fire, smoke, ashes, the screams of women, the crying of children, the bellowing of men. It was all so...so eirally similar.
>*Damn it, the Wanderer was right. History DOES repeat itself. ...Just where is that crazy bastard now? I wonder if he's just as fascinated with all this as I am?*
I shook my head and tried to ignore the sorrow welling up inside. The Wanderer, as he called himself, was not just another Immortal. He was the one who raised me, who taught me everything I know. He found me when I was but an infant, swaddled up in a sack. I owe that lovable bastard so much.
To think...to think we got separated during the chaos of those two world wars. I distinctly remember watching as the Germans carted him off. I tried to get to him. I tried...and I failed. I failed him and I still have yet to forgive myself for that.
And now, I had to entertain the possibility that we'd *never* find each other. I had no inkling of what to expect post meteorite impact. I am Immortal, yes. But I still feel just like any ordinary person. In particular, I remember the Salem witch trials. The fire...the burning...the echo of my own screaming, the envy burning equally hot as I wished I could be mortal. At least the others accused of witchcraft found an end to their suffering. There I was, tied up, cursing with vulgar words and vile oaths alike the hourglass scar that adorned my left hand.
The mark of an Immortal. The reason why I always wear leather gloves. I hate having to be reminded of my so-called 'blessing'.
It didn't help any that my survival was definitely noticed and still more attempts were made to kill me. Two more stake burnings and a few 'drownings' to be specific. That shit gave me *Nightmares* for years. And ever since, I'd find myself stricken by dread whenever I was around open flames or open water.
Which was one thing. Until I developed a 'fetish' for dread, which turned it into a whole 'nother bucket of fish altogether.
>*Hmm. I am feeling dread, now that I think about it. I've been cold before...and suffocated too. But never both at the same time...and never for so long. There'll be fire too. Lots of it. The whole world is utterly fucked. How long will it take? The actual destruction of Planet Earth? If only...if only the Wanderer were here, with me. He'd be nailing it with that gallows humor of his. And I'd be laughing right along with him.*
I reached into the satchel for the pocket watch I always carry with me. A thirteen hour pocket watch. A cherished gift from the Wanderer. So what if I had to do mental gymnastics to figure out the actual time? And besides, giving panic attacks to superstitious people was more than worth the effort. Only ten hours left...and I had to make every last hour count.
I returned the watch to its place, my hand bumping into that bottle of pills. Pills that would make me sleep. Sometimes for days...and sometimes for years. There are just not a lot of options for coping when you're Immortal.
Another explosion rippled through the air. This one being much closer and carrying the distinct sound of combusting petroleum. I took off in that direction, struggling not to dwell upon the magnitude of the situation. My Immortality would soon be put to the ultimate test and the undulating beauty of acrid fire would be a welcome distraction. | Once upon a time,there was and absolutely immortal man.He was completely deathless and ages less.
So there he was eating cheerios for breakfast one morning, remembering his time one earth like fighting in american civil war,shooting Nazis in WWll and also where he ended up last Sunday after drinking too much...
"ahh memories", he said
he turned his flat screen tv on to watch the news as he had been doing for a long, except before the invention of the television he would do so with tthe good old newspaper and before that... well...gossip?
"I remember when Televisions were about as thick as chavs skull..."
oh yeah,he really hated chavs...they had developed over the years to become increasingly annoying and illiterate...
So he switched on to bbc news and carried on eating.However one particular headline caught his eye,to be honest it was the only headline and it read :
"BREAKING NEWS"
"THE WORLD IS TO END IN TWELVE HOURS BY AN ASTEROID IMPACT"
he replied with,
"Fuck"
and went back to eating his cheerios
I mean,you gotta enjoy the little things in life,right?
| |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal. Completely deathless and ageless. And you just heard it on the news that the planet will be completely shattered in 12 hours by an asteroid. | From Earth it looked like a falling star, purple and silver, trails of bright blue, flaking and falling and shimmering as it went.
"S'a lov'ly way t'go, you think 'bout it," said Sam, who was old and brown and scaly as a lizard, frog tongue swiping at the rim of his sweaty, green bottle. The drinks were free at Freeman's Ale House that day. Money wasn't worth much, after all.
Sam and Wye and Paul were the only ones left just then, sitting on stools in the open doorway. There'd been such a racket at first. Screaming and horns and yelling at nothing in particular. People coming to terms. But that was over now. The terms had been met. People were praying or huddling or fucking or pulling out guns and pills and getting ahead of the curve.
"You know what I never did say?" said Paul, leaning forward, reaching up, as if he could pull the asteroid down and stuff it in his pocket. "I never said how it started."
"They got books on that," grunted Wye. "Mum made me read 'em when I was a pup. God and Adam and his lady. I read 'em 'cuz she made me, Mum."
"That's just books," said Paul, shaking his head. "Books don't know. And *that* book knows less than most."
"Tha' righ'?" said Sam. "Always made me mine tha' book. Them ten commands. All that. You sayin' it wer'n' true?"
"I'm sayin' it's a book and books is just books." Paul stretched his back, which popped and hissed like a Model A. "It was an argument. That's what started it. We - he and I - we had an argument."
"'bout wha?" said Sam.
Paul grimaced. "That I don't remember. It was a *long* time ago, mind. Anyway, it must've been a thing, because the long and the short of it was he made this place for me. Just to get me out've his hair."
"This 'place'?" said Wye. "You mean Cardale?"
"He means *Erth*, dummy," snapped Sam.
Wye made a face. "So what...this whole place is some kinda *prison*...just for you?"
"Less a prison and more a room over the garage," said Paul with a smile. "I think he thought we just needed some space."
"So what's this?" said Wye, pointing at the sky. "You gettin' kicked out?"
Paul sighed. "That's...I don't quite know what that is..."
"'e di'n' say?" asked Sam.
"We don't talk," said Paul, quietly, maybe ashamed.
Wye slid off his stood and spun around. "Does he even *know* about all the rest of us? You ain't the only one lives here!"
Paul's eyes dribbled slowly to the ground. "Can't say."
"You got 'is number?" asked Sam, helpful as always.
"In a manner," said Paul, still withering under Wye's glare. "But it's...I don't know if I can..."
"And why the hell not?" shouted Wye. "What if he don't even know we're all down here? Maybe that asteroid's just for you and it's got nuthin' to do with us. We're three hours out from the biggest goddamn *kaboom* that's ever been seen. I don't see the harm in askin'!"
Paul cleared his throat. "Well, it's... in truth, I guess maybe I do remember a bit about the argument. The one that started it all. I..." He hopped to his feet and began circling the small triangle of stools. "I had a few, let's say...radical ideas when I was younger. Really wanted to shake things up."
"Tha's always tha way with youths," said Sam, sage and patient.
Paul glanced up at the asteroid, falling still, sparks of bright blue, heart of purple flame. "More than that. More than that. I, uh...I tried to take over...in a sense."
Wye's eyes narrowed. "Paul? Are you...? From the book? You know...with the horns and the pitchfork and all that?"
"Books are books," said Paul sourly. "Life is more complicated than books. He's not gonna listen to me. I know he won't. I know..."
"But 'e's fam'ly," said Sam, uncomprehending. "Fam'ly forgives. Always."
Paul shook his head. "Not me."
"You oughta try," said Wye, softer than before. "Just see."
The asteroid passed across the face of the sun, growing, darkening, throwing purple and orange shadows across the pub and the three men. Paul closed his eyes. He thought of many things, of many places and many people. He thought of lives lived and lost and forgotten. He thought of Earth and all that it had meant to him - all the years spent hating it and all the centuries spent loving it more than he'd ever thought possible.
He opened his eyes and smiled, wan yet hopeful. "I'll see what I can do." | The pain wouldn't be a problem. Sure, there'd be a lot of it, but it'd pass, and be like a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. I'd faced worse before, and assuming it didn't hit me directly, I'd probably be fine. Better find a bunker to hide in so I don't get blown of the planet by the winds, though.
The food wouldn't be a problem either. After all, hunger might rear its ugly head but I've gone for centuries at a time without food. Just a distraction, really, to one who doesn't need it.
The air probably should be fine - of course, I hadn't ever been exposed to the near vacuum of space, but surely if I didn't need food or drink I wouldn't need to breathe either? Wait and see, I guess.
The boredom - well I had a portable solar panel and a laptop and spares to last for millennia. The cold might get to them but it wouldn't be for a while yet.
But the crushing loneliness...
Perhaps immortality wasn't the prize it had seemed. | |
[WP] Very few mortals can trick the Gods and get away with it |     Very few mortals can trick the gods and get away with it.
    I'm not one of them.
    Eight radiant figures sat on their respective thrones staring down at me with varying degrees of displeasure. I stared down at my feet not because I was terrified to meet their gaze, but because they were giving off *so* much light.
    "Seriously, can you turn it down?" I tried to look up and was rewarded with little blue spots dancing in my vision. "Just a little?"
    The gods looked at each other - or at least I think they did - and the light level in the room dropped dramatically. Finally I could get a good look at this divine tribunal. Sitting in the two main chairs were the rival gods Terpiches, god of rivers and other such flowing bodies of water, and Secipret, god of games, especially those involving cards. No one was sure exactly how their feud began, but most scholars theorized that it involved a sudden flash flood washing away a winning hand of tweng.
    On the left sat the god of mirrors, the goddess of spring flowers, and the god of household cleaners, who just looked pleased to have been involved in something official. On the right, the god of falling leaves was quarreling with the goddess of cracked ice in a very animated fashion. In the far right seat sat a goddess that I was unfamiliar with.
    *She must be new.* I thought. *I recognize most every god and goddess, but not her. I'll have to introduce myself later.* I looked up at the two main thrones. *Assuming I survive this.*
    "We'll have to leave this off until later." Terpiches said, realizing that maybe gods shouldn't argue in front of a mortal. "***Brothers and sisters, SILENCE.***" His voice suddenly began sound like a large book hitting the floor, except it produced words instead of a 'thump' sound.
    The other gods and goddesses settled down and composed themselves, attempting to look regal. It's kind of hard to take them seriously when you just saw them bickering. Bickering, yes. Maybe I will survive this.
    In his very official voice, Terpiches began, "***Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here on this very auspicious occasion to pass judgement on the mortal standing before us.***" A shudder passed down my spine as all eyes shifted to me. I suppressed it. Can't show weakness in front of the gods, they'll take it as guilt. "***This man stands accused of attempting to deceive the gods.***"
    A general murmur went up, mostly for show. This had all been in the memo that had been sent out. One little voice, belonging to the god of household cleaners, piped up. "Um... How, exactly, did he try to deceive the gods? I mean, what did he do?"
    The goddess of spring flowers leaned over and hissed at him, "Didn't you read the memo?"
    The god's face went red as he dug a piece of parchment out of his rather plain tunic. His eyes squinted as he read it. Or attempted to read it, it seems.
    Terpiches frowned when he saw that. "***This mere man disguised himself as a god and bluffed his way through the amber gates in an unlawful attempt to usurp a place in the pantheon.***" The god of household cleaners looked grateful and stuffed the parchment back into his tunic.
    'Unlawful attempt'. As if it hadn't been done three times before. "Ahem, if I may?" I looked up at Terpiches and continued on before he could object. "You see, that's not at all the reason why I came here last night. I was hoping that I could beseech you, your holiness, to tell me the location of my lucky deck of cards which had gotten swept away as I slept the night before."
    "AHA!" Roared Secipret. "You've been at it again, you wretch! What, did one of your followers lose to this nice man so you decided to abscond with his favored deck?"
    A small smile crossed my lips. "No, no, your holiness. You see, I had been playing a friendly game with the mirror scrubbers of the local lord's mansion and we'd been having a wonderful time, but when I awoke the next morning, I found that a section of ice had given way and swept my cards downriver." The goddess of cracked ice frowned at that. "Then I followed the meandering paths of some fallen leaves floating int= the current," that god smiled absentmindedly, "but it was still nowhere to be found."
    Only half my words seemed to get through as a general pandemonium erupted. I couldn't have asked for a better tribunal, these divines were already discontent with each other, and I'd given them an opportunity to air their grievances. The goddess of spring flowers was angrily berating the god of household cleaners, who seemed to be trying to disappear into his tunic. Meanwhile, the god of fallen leaves gave me a conspiratorial nod and wink, which did not escape the goddess of cracked ice's cold gaze. In fact, the only divine who didn't seem to be involved in the ruckus was the new one on the far right. Presumably, she hadn't had time to form any grudges, and so instead sat and watched the unfolding events with an amused expression.
    Desperately trying to regain order, Terpiches shouted again, "***SILENCE!***" The others took a moment to quiet down, so as not to seem too obedient, especially Secipret who was red in the face from his tirade against Terpiches.
    Terpiches glared down at me. "***We have all heard the charges and this mortal's pathetic attempt to explain them away. We will now put it to a vote.***" He looked around, as if expecting someone to object. Seeming dejected that no one did, he continued, "***All those who find him guilty?***" He raised his hand, and was quickly followed by the goddess of broken ice, and the goddess of spring flowers.
    His eyes narrowed as he spoke through clenched teeth, "***And all those who find him not guilty?***" The other five raised their hands.
    "You're really being too hard on the man." Secipret began. "He just wanted his deck of cards back."
    Terpiches ignored him. "***We seem to have a split vote. In times like these, the regulations call for-***"
Part 1/2, it's a little long.
| The wooden boat creaked, and shuddered, down the misted river. Catena looked over the lip of the boat, nerves filled her mind as she stared down into the murky water. There was an unholy death, a foul breath, rising from the water of the river styx; it made Catena shudder. She leaned back into the boat, a futile attempt to escape the taint of the water.
Behind her, the oarsman, Styx herself, guided the boat. There was a silence all around the wooden construct, a haunting lack of sound, emotion, movement, thought, life. Catena shuddered, and straightened out her back. She tried not to look at Styx’s hooded figure, but rather, she stared ahead into the mist of the river. In the far distance, she could see figures move through the fog; eery distortions, all black and shadow, moving and shifting at odd, painful angles across the surface of the water. Catena tried not to stare at them for too long.
It was in this manner that Catena floated silently into the depths of the underworld. Her mind started to wander as they floated. Her hands rubbed absentmindedly over two pieces of worn, ancient gold coins. Her thumb made circles over their worn surfaces. She thought about her father, the fool of the world, chained beneath the Earth, hidden away in his captivity of the underworld.
A worried scowl crossed over her face. She thought about her father’s antics, his drinking and whoring, his gambling and playing, his secret deals and sly smiles. A frown reached her lips. All of his play had finally caught up to him. She remembered his wicked smile as Pluto came to the city, she remembered how he schemed as Pluto ate at their grand hall. He’d made a bet, a wager, with the god of the land, of the mines, of immense riches, of the underworld. He’d thought himself greater than a god, he’d thought himself invulnerable, immortal.
Catena could still remember that look of confidence on his face as he brought his wager to Pluto. The god had accepted, amused by the antics of a mortal, sure of his victory. Of course, her father had cheated; he’d schemed and bribed. But he had been mistaken, Pluto had been craftier. He’d caught her father red handed, and then a great darkness had filled the hall. The twisted, angry face of Hades overtook the calm of Pluto, and her father was taken away to the underworld, promised nothing but pain for the rest of eternity. Catena had felt such loss that day, such sorrow and betrayal. It was the next day when she decided to travel to the underworld herself, to free her foolish father from his hubris and restore her family’s pride and honor.
The boat gave out a loud creak, breaking Catena from her thoughts. Styx made a small, guttural sound. Catena nodded, avoiding the stare of the hooded figure. In the distance, through the mist and fog, the shore of the underworld peeked out. A breath caught in Catena’s chest. A fear rose up in her mind. She was here, on the shores of despair. She took a deep breath, and tried to calm her shaking hands.
A crunch resounded through the eery silence of the river as the boat crashed into the shore. Catena rose, and turned to face the goddess Styx. She raised her hand, the two gold coins held out in her hand. Styx accepted her payment quietly, a grave ceremony in their exchange. Catena avoided the figure as she stepped off the boat. She turned her back as Styx pushed off into the river, Catena’s eyes set forward. Just like the river, the shore was shrouded in a thin mist. In the distance, tall, dark things twisted and moved, mechanical and lively, eery and silent.
Catena’s body quivered and shook. A chill crawled down her spine. Her mind felt unhinged. She took a step forward, a showing of courage and willpower. Her foot fell softly into the dry earth. She calmed her breathing, and gritted her teeth. She would either free her father, and maintain her family’s pride, her join him; chained at the depths of existence, a prisoner to her misery and despair.
She took another step forward, determination replacing her fear. Her eyes set forward, and her mind steeled against what was to come.
-------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got piles of other stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that. I'll probs write a continuation for this sometime because I like where it's going. | |
[WP] Very few mortals can trick the Gods and get away with it | St. Peter stood by the gates of heaven as Bill approached. Like any other person working monotonous admin, St. Peter was bored. As the man approached, he decided to set a challenge.
"Hello, Bill. We've been expecting you."
"You've been expecting me?"
"This is heaven, Bill. We like to expect all of the Lord's creations."
"Ah, OK."
"In order to get in to heaven and life in eternal happiness, you must first trick me. Bedazzle me, bamboozle me, make me question the very fabric of reality. Are you up to the task?"
"I was a plumber on Earth."
"I know but you must have some sort of cool trick you can show me."
"Well, I can do this." Bill turned his back to Peter, [bending both thumbs and placing them next to each other, with the index finger of his right hand overlapping to cover the the obvious disjoint, he turned back to Peter and began to remove his thumb.](https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-i2qk4vMGV3M/Uq2ffGho58I/AAAAAAAAGJg/_ViBHOBkzoc/thumb-break-trick.gif).
St. Peter looked confused. "Do that again."
Bill repeated the trick.
"Jesus titty fucking Christ. You best come with me." Said St. Peter as he lead Bill through the gates, across a cloudy path and straight in to the office of God himself. "Sir, you've got to see this. This is Bill and .."
"I know who this is. Why have you brought him to me?"
"Show him that thing you did, Bill."
Bill stepped in front of a colossal desk and nervously performed his trick to God Almighty.
God paused, deep in thought, before turning to St. Peter. "How the fuck is he doing that?"
"I have no fucking idea. He's like some sort of thumb Shaman."
"Do it again." Requested God.
Bill performed the trick again.
"Get the fuck out of here. Did El Diablo send you? Did he give you these powers? Pete, get Zeus and Osiris in here, please."
Peter picked up the phone and within seconds the two ancient deities were walking in to the office.
"God, this best be good we just about to throw lightning bolts at Earth."
God interrupted Zeus, "Bill, show them."
Bill clasped his hands together and performed the trick for the room.
"Holy shit." Osiris fell to the floor praying, "By the heavens almighty, Horus, Amun and Ra."
Zeus ran to Bill and shook him. "Where did you find this power, boy? You must tell me."
"Never have I seen a man remove his thumb with such disregard." said God. "And to reattach it immediately .. It's fucking bananas."
Bill walked behind a human sized couch. "I'll be going now."
"What do you mean? The door is over there?" Said Zeus, pointing to the exit.
"Oh, did you not know? There's some secret stairs here." Bill proceeded to fake walk down the flight of stairs, disappearing behind the couch.
"What the fuck!" Shouted God jumping from his chair. Zeus and Osiris grabbed hold of each other while St. Peter had his hands on his head.
Bill came back up the imaginary stairs from behind the couch, "You're right, there's no exit down there."
"What the F." screamed Zeus.
"Where did you even go?!" asked St. Peter who moved across the room to move the couch out of the way. "There aren't even stairs there."
"Are you a wizard?." Asked Osiris. "Real talk, are you a wizard?"
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | The wooden boat creaked, and shuddered, down the misted river. Catena looked over the lip of the boat, nerves filled her mind as she stared down into the murky water. There was an unholy death, a foul breath, rising from the water of the river styx; it made Catena shudder. She leaned back into the boat, a futile attempt to escape the taint of the water.
Behind her, the oarsman, Styx herself, guided the boat. There was a silence all around the wooden construct, a haunting lack of sound, emotion, movement, thought, life. Catena shuddered, and straightened out her back. She tried not to look at Styx’s hooded figure, but rather, she stared ahead into the mist of the river. In the far distance, she could see figures move through the fog; eery distortions, all black and shadow, moving and shifting at odd, painful angles across the surface of the water. Catena tried not to stare at them for too long.
It was in this manner that Catena floated silently into the depths of the underworld. Her mind started to wander as they floated. Her hands rubbed absentmindedly over two pieces of worn, ancient gold coins. Her thumb made circles over their worn surfaces. She thought about her father, the fool of the world, chained beneath the Earth, hidden away in his captivity of the underworld.
A worried scowl crossed over her face. She thought about her father’s antics, his drinking and whoring, his gambling and playing, his secret deals and sly smiles. A frown reached her lips. All of his play had finally caught up to him. She remembered his wicked smile as Pluto came to the city, she remembered how he schemed as Pluto ate at their grand hall. He’d made a bet, a wager, with the god of the land, of the mines, of immense riches, of the underworld. He’d thought himself greater than a god, he’d thought himself invulnerable, immortal.
Catena could still remember that look of confidence on his face as he brought his wager to Pluto. The god had accepted, amused by the antics of a mortal, sure of his victory. Of course, her father had cheated; he’d schemed and bribed. But he had been mistaken, Pluto had been craftier. He’d caught her father red handed, and then a great darkness had filled the hall. The twisted, angry face of Hades overtook the calm of Pluto, and her father was taken away to the underworld, promised nothing but pain for the rest of eternity. Catena had felt such loss that day, such sorrow and betrayal. It was the next day when she decided to travel to the underworld herself, to free her foolish father from his hubris and restore her family’s pride and honor.
The boat gave out a loud creak, breaking Catena from her thoughts. Styx made a small, guttural sound. Catena nodded, avoiding the stare of the hooded figure. In the distance, through the mist and fog, the shore of the underworld peeked out. A breath caught in Catena’s chest. A fear rose up in her mind. She was here, on the shores of despair. She took a deep breath, and tried to calm her shaking hands.
A crunch resounded through the eery silence of the river as the boat crashed into the shore. Catena rose, and turned to face the goddess Styx. She raised her hand, the two gold coins held out in her hand. Styx accepted her payment quietly, a grave ceremony in their exchange. Catena avoided the figure as she stepped off the boat. She turned her back as Styx pushed off into the river, Catena’s eyes set forward. Just like the river, the shore was shrouded in a thin mist. In the distance, tall, dark things twisted and moved, mechanical and lively, eery and silent.
Catena’s body quivered and shook. A chill crawled down her spine. Her mind felt unhinged. She took a step forward, a showing of courage and willpower. Her foot fell softly into the dry earth. She calmed her breathing, and gritted her teeth. She would either free her father, and maintain her family’s pride, her join him; chained at the depths of existence, a prisoner to her misery and despair.
She took another step forward, determination replacing her fear. Her eyes set forward, and her mind steeled against what was to come.
-------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got piles of other stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that. I'll probs write a continuation for this sometime because I like where it's going. | |
[WP] Very few mortals can trick the Gods and get away with it | In Pylos, in a small, crooked hut with a broken brick chimney, a young woman lived with her old, blind mother and tended a small flock of sheep.
The woman was named Arabeth and she was beautiful, with green, fox eyes and cascading mounds of cream-colored hair. Her mother often told her the tale of her birth - that she was the daughter of a god and that the eyes of a mere mortal would never be worthy enough to gaze upon her...not even those of her own mother, who had been struck blind in the course of labor.
And this is why they were alone in the small, crooked hut, isolated on a hill that overlooked the sea.
For her part, Arabeth never quite believed the tale. She saw nothing in herself that was godlike. Not exceptional strength or cleverness or quickness or cunning. She was just a girl who had grown into a woman. No more.
Then one day a man came to the hut, asking after the sheep. Arabeth's mother did the talking, while Arabeth hid away indoors.
"And do you happen to have a daughter?" asked the man.
Arabeth's mother stiffened. "I have sheep. Just sheep."
"There are rumors," said the man. "Rumors of a girl more beautiful than any other. Rumors that say that girl lives in a small, crooked hut on a hill that overlooks the sea."
"I have sheep," said Arabeth's mother. "Just sheep." The man went away, buying nothing.
"He was not a man," said Arabeth's mother, when her daughter had asked about him. "He was a god, same as before, though I could not tell you which."
"How do you know?" said Arabeth.
"Gods know too much," said Arabeth's mother. "And they all want the same thing. Mark me - that one will come back."
He did come back, but not right away. Meanwhile, that same day, a different man came to the hut, again asking about the sheep and then the girl.
"They say she is so beautiful, only the gods may look upon her," said the second man. "That must be quite a sight."
"I wouldn't know," said Arabeth's mother. "I have sheep. Just sheep."
Eventually the second man went away, his annoyance evident.
The next day the first man came back. And later in the day, the second returned. Both were turned away. Both made vows to return.
"What will happen?" asked Arabeth.
"All gods love a prize," said her mother. "They all want the same thing. They'll keep coming back until the prize is claim."
"I don't wish to be a prize," said Arabeth. "What can we do?"
Arabeth's mother had a plan.
When next the first man returned, he didn't bother with the sheep at all. "I think the girl is here. I want to see her," he said.
Arabeth's mother nodded. "Ah. Perhaps. But as you said yourself, it sounds as though she's a sight for gods alone. Were you a god perhaps you might see her, but as it is, I don't see any way that you might."
The man smiled. "I believe you may have already suspected, dear crone, but I *am* a god. A pillar of Olympus. And I *know* your daughter is here. I wish to have her."
Arabeth's mother feigned surprise. "Is that so? Well, I suppose a display is in order. And, as it happens, my daughter does not know the face of men. She would be frightened to see you. Could you turn yourself into a sheep? It would confirm your power and put her at ease."
The god was only too eager to make the change. Where once a man had stood, now there was beautiful, thickly coated and hearty sheep.
"Have you done it?" said Arabeth's mother. "I'm blind you know."
"Feel my wool," said man who was now a sheep. "That should serve as proof."
"That might be any of my sheep," said Arabeth's mother. "If you are truly a god, you can lend me your eyes. That way I might see and know that you have done as you promised."
The man was unhappy, but did as he was told. He gave his eyes to Arabeth's mother, who nearly wept to have her sight returned.
"Yes, yes, I see. You are a magnificent creature," she said. "You must be a god."
"Lead me to the girl," said the sheep.
"She must prepare herself," said Arabeth's mother. "Go wait in the field and I will bring her to you when she is ready."
The god went and stood among the sheep. Soon the second man arrived.
"I know the girl is here," he said, his voice rich with power. "Bring her to me immediately."
Arabeth's mother, who now pretended to be blind, bowed her head. "Certainly, certainly. But know that no one has looked upon her in all these years. This is a sacred occasion. Might I suggest a celebration? Go to the field and slaughter the best of our sheep while I prepare my daughter to meet you."
"Very well," said the man, who found one splendid sheep among the flock and immediately slit its throat. The sheep, once dead, became the corpse of a great god - the brother of the one who had stuck it down. Horrified, the god gathered up his fallen brother and - wailing loud enough to split mountains - ascended into the heavens.
At the sound, Arabeth came out of the small, crooked hut. "Is anything the matter?" she cried. "Are you alright?"
And for the first time in all her life, Arabeth's mother was finally able to see her child. She wept real tears. "Everything is just fine," she said, kissing her daughter upon the cheeks. "Better than it's ever been." | The wooden boat creaked, and shuddered, down the misted river. Catena looked over the lip of the boat, nerves filled her mind as she stared down into the murky water. There was an unholy death, a foul breath, rising from the water of the river styx; it made Catena shudder. She leaned back into the boat, a futile attempt to escape the taint of the water.
Behind her, the oarsman, Styx herself, guided the boat. There was a silence all around the wooden construct, a haunting lack of sound, emotion, movement, thought, life. Catena shuddered, and straightened out her back. She tried not to look at Styx’s hooded figure, but rather, she stared ahead into the mist of the river. In the far distance, she could see figures move through the fog; eery distortions, all black and shadow, moving and shifting at odd, painful angles across the surface of the water. Catena tried not to stare at them for too long.
It was in this manner that Catena floated silently into the depths of the underworld. Her mind started to wander as they floated. Her hands rubbed absentmindedly over two pieces of worn, ancient gold coins. Her thumb made circles over their worn surfaces. She thought about her father, the fool of the world, chained beneath the Earth, hidden away in his captivity of the underworld.
A worried scowl crossed over her face. She thought about her father’s antics, his drinking and whoring, his gambling and playing, his secret deals and sly smiles. A frown reached her lips. All of his play had finally caught up to him. She remembered his wicked smile as Pluto came to the city, she remembered how he schemed as Pluto ate at their grand hall. He’d made a bet, a wager, with the god of the land, of the mines, of immense riches, of the underworld. He’d thought himself greater than a god, he’d thought himself invulnerable, immortal.
Catena could still remember that look of confidence on his face as he brought his wager to Pluto. The god had accepted, amused by the antics of a mortal, sure of his victory. Of course, her father had cheated; he’d schemed and bribed. But he had been mistaken, Pluto had been craftier. He’d caught her father red handed, and then a great darkness had filled the hall. The twisted, angry face of Hades overtook the calm of Pluto, and her father was taken away to the underworld, promised nothing but pain for the rest of eternity. Catena had felt such loss that day, such sorrow and betrayal. It was the next day when she decided to travel to the underworld herself, to free her foolish father from his hubris and restore her family’s pride and honor.
The boat gave out a loud creak, breaking Catena from her thoughts. Styx made a small, guttural sound. Catena nodded, avoiding the stare of the hooded figure. In the distance, through the mist and fog, the shore of the underworld peeked out. A breath caught in Catena’s chest. A fear rose up in her mind. She was here, on the shores of despair. She took a deep breath, and tried to calm her shaking hands.
A crunch resounded through the eery silence of the river as the boat crashed into the shore. Catena rose, and turned to face the goddess Styx. She raised her hand, the two gold coins held out in her hand. Styx accepted her payment quietly, a grave ceremony in their exchange. Catena avoided the figure as she stepped off the boat. She turned her back as Styx pushed off into the river, Catena’s eyes set forward. Just like the river, the shore was shrouded in a thin mist. In the distance, tall, dark things twisted and moved, mechanical and lively, eery and silent.
Catena’s body quivered and shook. A chill crawled down her spine. Her mind felt unhinged. She took a step forward, a showing of courage and willpower. Her foot fell softly into the dry earth. She calmed her breathing, and gritted her teeth. She would either free her father, and maintain her family’s pride, her join him; chained at the depths of existence, a prisoner to her misery and despair.
She took another step forward, determination replacing her fear. Her eyes set forward, and her mind steeled against what was to come.
-------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got piles of other stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that. I'll probs write a continuation for this sometime because I like where it's going. | |
[WP] Very few mortals can trick the Gods and get away with it | In Pylos, in a small, crooked hut with a broken brick chimney, a young woman lived with her old, blind mother and tended a small flock of sheep.
The woman was named Arabeth and she was beautiful, with green, fox eyes and cascading mounds of cream-colored hair. Her mother often told her the tale of her birth - that she was the daughter of a god and that the eyes of a mere mortal would never be worthy enough to gaze upon her...not even those of her own mother, who had been struck blind in the course of labor.
And this is why they were alone in the small, crooked hut, isolated on a hill that overlooked the sea.
For her part, Arabeth never quite believed the tale. She saw nothing in herself that was godlike. Not exceptional strength or cleverness or quickness or cunning. She was just a girl who had grown into a woman. No more.
Then one day a man came to the hut, asking after the sheep. Arabeth's mother did the talking, while Arabeth hid away indoors.
"And do you happen to have a daughter?" asked the man.
Arabeth's mother stiffened. "I have sheep. Just sheep."
"There are rumors," said the man. "Rumors of a girl more beautiful than any other. Rumors that say that girl lives in a small, crooked hut on a hill that overlooks the sea."
"I have sheep," said Arabeth's mother. "Just sheep." The man went away, buying nothing.
"He was not a man," said Arabeth's mother, when her daughter had asked about him. "He was a god, same as before, though I could not tell you which."
"How do you know?" said Arabeth.
"Gods know too much," said Arabeth's mother. "And they all want the same thing. Mark me - that one will come back."
He did come back, but not right away. Meanwhile, that same day, a different man came to the hut, again asking about the sheep and then the girl.
"They say she is so beautiful, only the gods may look upon her," said the second man. "That must be quite a sight."
"I wouldn't know," said Arabeth's mother. "I have sheep. Just sheep."
Eventually the second man went away, his annoyance evident.
The next day the first man came back. And later in the day, the second returned. Both were turned away. Both made vows to return.
"What will happen?" asked Arabeth.
"All gods love a prize," said her mother. "They all want the same thing. They'll keep coming back until the prize is claim."
"I don't wish to be a prize," said Arabeth. "What can we do?"
Arabeth's mother had a plan.
When next the first man returned, he didn't bother with the sheep at all. "I think the girl is here. I want to see her," he said.
Arabeth's mother nodded. "Ah. Perhaps. But as you said yourself, it sounds as though she's a sight for gods alone. Were you a god perhaps you might see her, but as it is, I don't see any way that you might."
The man smiled. "I believe you may have already suspected, dear crone, but I *am* a god. A pillar of Olympus. And I *know* your daughter is here. I wish to have her."
Arabeth's mother feigned surprise. "Is that so? Well, I suppose a display is in order. And, as it happens, my daughter does not know the face of men. She would be frightened to see you. Could you turn yourself into a sheep? It would confirm your power and put her at ease."
The god was only too eager to make the change. Where once a man had stood, now there was beautiful, thickly coated and hearty sheep.
"Have you done it?" said Arabeth's mother. "I'm blind you know."
"Feel my wool," said man who was now a sheep. "That should serve as proof."
"That might be any of my sheep," said Arabeth's mother. "If you are truly a god, you can lend me your eyes. That way I might see and know that you have done as you promised."
The man was unhappy, but did as he was told. He gave his eyes to Arabeth's mother, who nearly wept to have her sight returned.
"Yes, yes, I see. You are a magnificent creature," she said. "You must be a god."
"Lead me to the girl," said the sheep.
"She must prepare herself," said Arabeth's mother. "Go wait in the field and I will bring her to you when she is ready."
The god went and stood among the sheep. Soon the second man arrived.
"I know the girl is here," he said, his voice rich with power. "Bring her to me immediately."
Arabeth's mother, who now pretended to be blind, bowed her head. "Certainly, certainly. But know that no one has looked upon her in all these years. This is a sacred occasion. Might I suggest a celebration? Go to the field and slaughter the best of our sheep while I prepare my daughter to meet you."
"Very well," said the man, who found one splendid sheep among the flock and immediately slit its throat. The sheep, once dead, became the corpse of a great god - the brother of the one who had stuck it down. Horrified, the god gathered up his fallen brother and - wailing loud enough to split mountains - ascended into the heavens.
At the sound, Arabeth came out of the small, crooked hut. "Is anything the matter?" she cried. "Are you alright?"
And for the first time in all her life, Arabeth's mother was finally able to see her child. She wept real tears. "Everything is just fine," she said, kissing her daughter upon the cheeks. "Better than it's ever been." | St. Peter stood by the gates of heaven as Bill approached. Like any other person working monotonous admin, St. Peter was bored. As the man approached, he decided to set a challenge.
"Hello, Bill. We've been expecting you."
"You've been expecting me?"
"This is heaven, Bill. We like to expect all of the Lord's creations."
"Ah, OK."
"In order to get in to heaven and life in eternal happiness, you must first trick me. Bedazzle me, bamboozle me, make me question the very fabric of reality. Are you up to the task?"
"I was a plumber on Earth."
"I know but you must have some sort of cool trick you can show me."
"Well, I can do this." Bill turned his back to Peter, [bending both thumbs and placing them next to each other, with the index finger of his right hand overlapping to cover the the obvious disjoint, he turned back to Peter and began to remove his thumb.](https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-i2qk4vMGV3M/Uq2ffGho58I/AAAAAAAAGJg/_ViBHOBkzoc/thumb-break-trick.gif).
St. Peter looked confused. "Do that again."
Bill repeated the trick.
"Jesus titty fucking Christ. You best come with me." Said St. Peter as he lead Bill through the gates, across a cloudy path and straight in to the office of God himself. "Sir, you've got to see this. This is Bill and .."
"I know who this is. Why have you brought him to me?"
"Show him that thing you did, Bill."
Bill stepped in front of a colossal desk and nervously performed his trick to God Almighty.
God paused, deep in thought, before turning to St. Peter. "How the fuck is he doing that?"
"I have no fucking idea. He's like some sort of thumb Shaman."
"Do it again." Requested God.
Bill performed the trick again.
"Get the fuck out of here. Did El Diablo send you? Did he give you these powers? Pete, get Zeus and Osiris in here, please."
Peter picked up the phone and within seconds the two ancient deities were walking in to the office.
"God, this best be good we just about to throw lightning bolts at Earth."
God interrupted Zeus, "Bill, show them."
Bill clasped his hands together and performed the trick for the room.
"Holy shit." Osiris fell to the floor praying, "By the heavens almighty, Horus, Amun and Ra."
Zeus ran to Bill and shook him. "Where did you find this power, boy? You must tell me."
"Never have I seen a man remove his thumb with such disregard." said God. "And to reattach it immediately .. It's fucking bananas."
Bill walked behind a human sized couch. "I'll be going now."
"What do you mean? The door is over there?" Said Zeus, pointing to the exit.
"Oh, did you not know? There's some secret stairs here." Bill proceeded to fake walk down the flight of stairs, disappearing behind the couch.
"What the fuck!" Shouted God jumping from his chair. Zeus and Osiris grabbed hold of each other while St. Peter had his hands on his head.
Bill came back up the imaginary stairs from behind the couch, "You're right, there's no exit down there."
"What the F." screamed Zeus.
"Where did you even go?!" asked St. Peter who moved across the room to move the couch out of the way. "There aren't even stairs there."
"Are you a wizard?." Asked Osiris. "Real talk, are you a wizard?"
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] You post a writing prompt on Reddit which sounds typically outlandish and unrealistic. An hour later the security services take you into custody. Their interrogation is focused on your post. | It took me about an hour but I finally finished the prompt. I smiled and laughed as I read what I had just written imagining it was for the first time. "Ya this is going to get a bunch of upvotes" I said to myself as I hit the submit button. I leaned back in my chair with a big grin constantly hitting the refresh button every minute or two. Suddenly I realized the pain in my bladder and looked over at the empty 44oz soda that I finished off. The urge to urinate became overwhelming. I relieved myself quickly, made a ham and cheese sandwich, and returned to my computer to hit refresh.
"What the hell!?" I said out loud. "My post is missing?! Somebody had to have deleted it and is going to steal it for themselves!"
I spammed the refresh key but my post was just mysteriously missing. I cursed to myself for not writing and saving it in OpenOffice. I tried to re-write it from memory but gave up twenty minutes later. Frustrated and defeated I shut off my PC and began to make my way to bed. A sudden loud sound made me stop in my tracks outside my bedroom. Someone was pounding at my door... hard. Nervously I made my way to the peephole and looked outside but saw nothing. Next I heard glass shatter behind me. I spun around quickly and then everything went dark...
I woke up in an unfamiliar room. I strained my neck to look at my surroundings but my vision was fuzzy and my head felt like it was just used to play an epic drum solo. I began to try to focus on my surrounding and turned my head to see a large mirror covering most of the wall to my left. I saw myself sitting completely naked and my hands were bound behind my back. The room was entirely made of stainless steel including the two chairs and table in front of me. I heard the door in front of me unlatch and swing open. A bright light blinded me as two figures walked in and slammed the door behind me. Two men in grey suits with dark black sunglasses made their way to the chairs and sat down. Neither one said anything but I could feel their eyes staring me down behind their dark lenses.
"Do you know why we brought you here?" The man on the left asked coldly.
"No" I replied back.
"This is about your post on the monitoring site 27 Alpha subsection 4241!" The man on the right snapped at me.
"I'm sorry what?" I answered back in shock.
"The post you wrote on Reddit under the writing prompt subreddit." The man on the left corrected him.
"Wait what's going on here?" I began to panic.
Ice cold water suddenly dropped from the ceiling onto me. I gasped trying to catch my breath as all the warmth was taken from me.
"If we don't like your answers things will get much worse than a cold shower." Right grinned at me.
"What about my post?" My confusion was growing.
"Where did you get your information and why did you chose to leak it on a monitored website?" Left asked.
"I just made it up. I was trying to get karma." I pleaded with them.
Right stood up and made his way to the door. The bright light filled the room again until the door shut. I looked at Left and pleaded with him.
"Look I don't know what's going on. I was just bored and found that subreddit tonight. I wanted to write something cool so I made up a story. Please I don't know whats going on here!"
Left continued to stare at me not saying a word.
The door opened again and I closed my eyes to shield them from the light. When I opened them Right was walking back to his chair this time he was holding a stainless steel briefcase. He wordlessly made his way back to his chair and sat down. Without saying anything he dialed the combination and opened it in front of me. On one side about 20 syringes were lined neatly in a row each one containing a different color liquid. On the other side a variety of nefarious looking tools like the construction equipment for a demented mind. At the sight of the contents of the case I began to cry and shouted out.
"Please I swear to god I don't know anything. I made everything up!"
A slight smile hit the corner of Right's mouth. He reached into the case and pulled out a syringe with a light blue fluid in side it. At the same time Left stood up and made his way behind me. I felt my hands become unbound but my arms were forced very suddenly into the restraints on the armrest of my chair.
"Please don't do this!" I Pleaded. "I'm telling you everything!"
Left sat back down as Right grabbed my immobile arm and injected me with the unknown substance. It felt hot in my veins and I could feel the warmness slowly make it's way up my arm and into my heart.
"Oh god why are you doing this?!" I shouted before everything went dark again.
What happened next felt like a dream. The sensation of floating and the need to tell the bright light all my secrets so I could redeem myself. I awoke very groggy some unknown time later. My eyes could barely focus but I could see two unknown figures standing in the corner of the room. I could barely make their voices out.
"...maybe he really did just make it up."
"No way. He had every detail of it right. Somethings even I didn't know until I got the report. He must have hacked into the server or perhaps had the information leaked to him on accident. What did we find on his background?"
"He's just a college drop out. He worked as a bartender at a couple places and his greatest accomplishment is his Xbox Live gamerscore."
"So he's just a patsy. Someone must have given him the information and perhaps paid him to release it. What's this karma he talked about?"
"Just some fake points people can earn on the monitoring website. It's just a number it doesn't mean anything real and has no value."
"Did we check his accounts? Has anything significant been deposited lately?"
"No he's pretty much broke."
"So he fits the profile of someone who... he's waking up now."
Both figures made their way back to their chairs and sat down.
"Well you either know someway to fool the truth serum or you really did just make everything up" said Left. "I'm beginning to believe it's the latter. Mr. Daniels I think we are done here."
"Who's Mr. Daniels?" I mumbled trying to shake of the feeling of sleep.
Right reached into the briefcase and produced a small silver instrument with a long metal protrusion. When his figure squeezed the trigger it began to whirl and buzz like a drill.
"Look guys I promise I won't write anything else I just want to go home. Please just let me go back home I won;t say anything!"
"I believe you." Left replied his voice sound ice cold. "I know you won't say anything about this little encounter."
Right stood up and made his way behind me. My chest rapidly expanded and collapsed as I began to panic. I struggled in my restraints but soon when he was no longer in sight. I know he was right behind me. The buzzing sound from the drill began next to my right ear and a pain greater than anything I could imagine shot it's way from my inner ear and then into my brain. I screamed in agony as loud as I could. Everything slowly went black for the final time.
Epilogue:
"I'm sorry ma'am visiting hours are about to be over." said the man in white.
"No please." the woman answers back. "I can see it in his eyes he remembers me! He's getting better everyday! I just need more time with him!"
"Ma'am please I don't want to call security again." The man pleads as he ushers her out the room. "He's been the same since he arrived all he can do is blink."
Her screams echo down the hall as they leave me sitting in a wheelchair inside the room. I have no idea who she is but my head feels less cloudy when she's around. The people in white are more gentle when she is here and they don't make me sit next to the guy who laughs all the time.
| Fluorescence flickered overhead and a distinct rattle sounded from the air vents. The small room was the stereotypical interrogation room complete with bare walls and large, dark window. The urine in the man's underwear had dried, but the shock of being woken to a tactical team had yet to wear off.
The door opened and two men walked in, each nearly identical with close cropped hair and suits barely hiding the bulge of side arms and muscles too big for office work.
"We have a few questions for you before we let you go," said Agent One.
"Before we maybe let you go," said Agent Two.
The man spluttered and stuttered. "Who are you? Where am I? What's going on?"
Agent One's hands slammed on the table leaving it reverberating as he spoke. "We are asking the questions. You just answer."
"Let's begin," said Agent Two. "What did the devil look like when he contacted you?"
"What?" The man's face showed his shock and confusion.
"Going to play dumb, huh?" Asked Agent One. "How about an easy question. What number do you see over my head and what does it mean?"
The man stuttered, "Num? Number? I'm not sure-"
Agent Two's hand smacked the table. "Enough with the act. We've read your posts! You have information and you better start providing answers!"
"Where is Hitler?" Agent One asked.
"What does he intend with his robot army?" Asked Agent Two.
"And Kim Jung Un? What's his connection in all this?"
"And don't think we forgot about the time machine you are hiding!"
The man's head reeled and spun as the questions came faster and faster.
Mechahitler, AI invasion, robot overlords, a magician with an odd power, the devil makes a deal, batman, joker, and so many numbers over so many heads meaning so many different things.
*A tire squeaked as the cart wheeled though the warehouse. Eventually the box quit yelling as it found its place amongst so many other wooden boxes in the giant, government warehouse. Aliens!* | |
[WP] Choose any happy and/or cheery children's show, movie, or story and make it as dark and gritty as possible | *They fished and they fished*
*Way down in the sea*
*Down in the sea a mile.*
The ironically named *Minnow* pushed its huge bulk roughly through the thick black waves. Despite the late hour of the night and the heavy rains of the storm, the deck bustled with crew not unlike an ant mound being prodded with a stick. It was busy, dangerous work to be fishing in those conditions. But the Southern waters were hot and the crew was seasoned, so it was a calculated risk, not a reckless endeavor.
*They fished among all the fish in the sea*
*For the fish with the deep sea smile.*
Kang squinted out of the cabin, his face momentarily lit orange as he sucked on another cigarette. As the Captain, he knew it was his responsibility to make sure his crew was well compensated for the risk involved. That is why he was hunting for the Smiley-Faced fish. It got its name not only from its characteristic huge mouth, but also for the smile it put on any fisherman's face so lucky as to catch one. The fish was rare and delectable, commanding an absolutely astonishing price at market. Kang was still smiling at the prospect when his first mate and chief engineer Thomas nudged him.
"Capt. Roo, line 4 has something," he said, and pointed down to the deck.
The line crew was excitedly shouting and pointing to the heavy duty rod tip, now bent nearly even to the deck rail. Briars, nicknamed 'Rabbit,' was excitedly operating the winch controls and stamping his feet.
"Looks like a big one," Kang mumbled out of the side of his mouth, his cigarette bobbing.
*One fish came up from the deep of the sea,*
*From down in the sea a mile.*
*It had blue green eyes*
*And whiskers three*
*But never a deep sea smile*
"DROP IT BACK!" Kang roared over the intercom, even though he knew the crew were already moving to do so. "What a waste of effort," he grouched to his first mate. Thomas had been with Capt. Roo for both of their entire careers. Even though he was built like a tank, he found the cramped confines of the cabin, and the even narrower engine compartment, to be more comfortable than open air. He knew the *Minnow's* engine better than a lover's curves.
The pair watched the departure of the whiskered junk fish in sullen silence.
Out on the deck, line five began playing out against the drag, whining into the storm.
Kang's cigarette drooped as his mouth fell open. "Got another'n already, or my middle name ain't Awesome," he laughed.
"Your middle name is Allen."
"Shut it," he smiled at Thomas then blared the intercom, "Fish on 5!"
They watched as Rabbit crossed the deck and started the winch.
*One fish came up from the deep of the sea,*
*From down in the sea a mile.*
*With electric lights up and down his tail*
*But never a deep sea smile.*
"CUT IT LOOSE, DAMMIT!" Kang yelled. Brighttails were illegal to catch and a fine was the last thing he needed.
"Dawn should be breaking soon." Thomas tried to cheer his captain up. "Maybe we'll catch some rays through the rain clouds. Cheer everybody up."
Kang just glared out into the storm.
____
*They fished and they fished*
*Way down in the sea*
*Down in the sea a mile.*
*They fished among all the fish in the sea*
*For the fish with the deep sea smile.*
Morning broke, according to the clock, but as far as the *Minnow* crew was concerned it was just a slight brightening of the ambient light. The rain was still falling and the clouds were still thick and heavy in the air and on their hearts. They had caught four more fish over the course of the night, with disastrous results.
One of the fish had terrible teeth and managed to snap the line just as it broke the surface. The released tension had sent the line flying into a deckhand's face, slashing his eye. He would almost certainly lose it. Another fish had a long strong jaw and managed to bite the rod as they brought it on board, mangling it irreparably.
They also brought up a strange fish with stalked eyes at the same time they caught a fish with claw-like appendages. While the crew was distracted looking at the stalk-eyed curiosity, Rabbit had dutifully winched in the clawed fish on his own. In trying to land it single-handedly, he swung the fish on board too quickly, causing it to slide across the deck and stop at his feet. His scream of pain brought everyone scrambling. The fish had closed its claws tight on Rabbit's thigh, severing his femoral artery. He was dead in minutes.
After the crew had held a memorial for Briars, they had voted to head home, defeated. Capt. Roo had obliged, but requested they run the lines while they headed in.
*They fished all through the oceans deep*
*For many and many a mile*
*And they caught a fish with a laughing eye*
*But none with a deep sea smile*
Kang had been drinking heavily on the return home. He had never lost crew before. He had never had a failed trip, either. Now they were a day out from port and nearly out of depth to catch a Smiley-Faced fish. He was not looking forward to meeting Briars' parents without even the consolation of a large payout to help with the funeral expenses. He punched the control panel.
Just then, Thomas appeared at the cabin door and pounded the window. "Line 3! Line 3!" He pointed excitedly to the deck.
Kang turned back and looked out. Line 3's rod was bending deeper and deeper. A feeling of calm washed over Kang. He just knew this one was it. He opened the cabin door and saw the same look on Thomas' face. With a nod to each other, they climbed down to the deck.
*And then one day they got a pull*
*From down in the sea a mile.*
*And when they pulled that fish into the boat*
*He smiled a deep sea smile*
The Smiley-Faced fish hung heavily from line 3, its eyes rolling and wide. The crew of the *Minnow* stood around their leader and cheered. Captain Kang A. Roo smiled wide and motioned for Thomas to winch the fish on board.
Motors whined and strained. The fish rolled its eyes and swung its tail exhaustedly. Kang looked on with the grim satisfaction of a hard man leading a hard life. This was it. This was his big payday. He sucked in on his cigarette deeply and slowly exhaled, letting the smoke roll out like a heavy fog.
A pinging sound sailed through the air, snapping everyone's gaze to Thomas. He froze at the controls, slowly turning his head to look at the fish. Swinging from the sudden halt, the fish locked eyes with the Captain and flexed its jaws in a smile.
"NO!" shouted Kang.
*And as he smiled, the hook got free*
*And then, what a deep sea smile!*
*He flapped his tail and swam away*
*Down in the sea a mile.*
___
[Things I've written](https://www.reddit.com/r/cbeckw/)
**Edit: a couple of typos that really bothered me** | 1/2 since too long
Posted this one last year in another WP but didn't have time to write a proper ending. Here is the finished version.
The life of poor Cinderella was a tragic tale of loneliness and crushed dreams. Her mother was killed by a drunk driver when she was but an infant and her poor father was left to raise her alone. In his rush to offer little Cinderella a fairytale family life, he quickly remarried to a coke sniffing, trailer trash gold digger with aspirations of grandeur calling herself Lady Tremaine. Her 2 daughters, Anastasia and Drisella, though the same age as little Cinderella, did not much care for their new sister but were ecstatic at all the toys and wonderful trinkets that their new father's money would buy. After 2 years of pissing away the poor man's wealth, the evil gold digger decided she would be much better off with a life insurance payment than with a husband so she slowly tricked him into relapse alchoolism and paid a crackhead 25$ to stab him in a busy street. The crackhead was quickly shot by a responsing cop so there were no lose ends. The gold digger cashed in a 2,000,000$ life insurance policy and although she had the obligation to care for little Cinderella, she figured a family owned ~~slave~~ live-in maid was nice for her public standing.
Little Cinderella spent years being physically and mentally abused by her step mother and 2 step sisters. Cleaning the house, doing the laundry, preparing the food, scraping used condoms off the floors. Early on, her step-mother made her film soft core pornograpy and started selling her naked pictures to local ~~pedophiles~~ rich tycoon with particular taste. On her 16th birthday, seeing that she was turning into a beautiful young lady, the evil step-mother decided to sell off Cinderella's virginity to a fat senator for 5,000,000$. Once the money was wired to her account, the step-mother realized she was sitting on a goldmine and that she could continue selling her step-daughter again and again for quite an interesting profit. With help from an IT tech that she paid with quick sex, the step-mother set up an online auction on the dark web where people could buy sex with poor little Cinderella but also view other people's sex seance. Without their mother's knowledge, the step-sisters also began selling pay-per-view access to the peep shows through a backdoor programmed into the website, courtesy of the tech and a quick blowjob by each sister. Although Cinderella had manage to escape 3 times already, the idiots at social services would always bring her back home with a fat wad of cash waiting for their silence.
Henry Prince was a handsome student of the local elite university. His tycoon father was owner and CEO of a large oil and mine industry and wanted his son to marry young and father grandchildrens, in respect with his republican christian family values. Henry was already one of the hottest eligible bachelor around town and the fact that he would soon be old enoug to access his trust fund made him prime target for Lady Tremaine's 2 slutty daughters.
The tycoon father arranged a large party for all good families in the hope of finding a perfect young, southern, blue eyed, blonde haired, future baby-mama for his son. Lady Tremaine, drooling at the thought of gaining access to Henry's trustfund, quickly packed her 2 daughters with enough botox and silicone to put any plastic surgeon to shame and bought them the sluttiest, most revealing dresses she could find and left for the party.
Cinderella, having heard of the party trough one of her client, decided she'd had enough of this horrible life and would make her dreams come true. She quickly picked her restrains as she had learned to do long ago during a particularly severe BDSM session and went to her secret stash. She grabbed the GHB another client had left her a few months ago and smiled. If she could date-rape Henry and get herself pregnant, all her troubles would be over. She went to her step mother's room and spent some time preparing herself and, unlike her trailer trash sisters, chose the classiest ballgown she could find. She then called an UBER using another client's stolen cellphone and credit card and went on her way.
At the party, Henry was introduced to every young lady by his tycoon father but none appealed to him. As captain of the football team, he had already had his pick of cheerleaders and gymnasts every night in his room but for tonight, he was looking for a different kind of girl, a more classy girl, intelligent, someone fit for life in his social circle. Being introduced to Anastasia and Drisella, Henry took a step back, letting out a small expression of surprise. What were the 2 school sluts doing here and how were they managing to talk with so much botox in their face. While Henry pondered the idea of a wild threesome with these 2 sluts, his eyes caught sight of Cinderella as she entered. She was unlike anything he had ever seen, beautiful, sofisticated yet she had a wild aura about her, almost animal-like, something Henry couldn't quite put his finger on. He introduced himself and he quickly took her to the side.
They began talking and quickly left the ballroom. Cinderella slipped GHB in Henry's drink and waited for the effects to kick in. She asked him to show her around the estate, more precisely to his living quarters. When they entered the room, Henry dropped to the floor, the drugs in full effect. Cinderella hoisted him to the bed and removed his pants. She was getting ready to secure her future when suddenly she began feeling lightheaded. Unbeknown to her, Henry had also slipped roofies to Cinderella, not wanting to pass up on banging such a beautiful young woman. Seeing her plan foiled, Cinderella escaped while she still could and stumbled back home before her step-family's return.
Henry woke up in his bed, his pants still around his ankles. He wasn't clear what exactly had happened as their was no sign of sex on the bed and he had no memory of how he got to his room in the first place. Next to him on the bed, laid Cinderella's stolen cellphone and baggy fulled with GHB pills. Henry couldn't believe it, that little bitch had roofied him first. He had to find her, set the record straight, and take her for himself. He started with the stolen cellphone but it had been deactivated sometime during the night. Tracing the pills would also be impossible as he did not recognize the dealer's markings on them. Word was spreading around the university about a beautiful southern belle that Henry was desperatly trying to find but with no avail.
2 months had passed but Henry had still not found his mystery belle. His father, not knowing the entire story but satisfied with his son's decision to find a girl, hired a dozen private investigators that turned up nothing. One faithfull morning, Henry went online to satisfy the urge for a good wank and happened upon an illegal porn site he had not seen before. He had heard about it, heard stories about a beautiful wildcat who's virginity you could buy but so far he had never managed to actually find it. Seeing partially obscured pictures of the girl, Henry felt excitement like he had rarely felt before. He quickly arranged for a deposit to be wired from his trust fund and made his way to Lady Tremaine's house.
Once in the same room as Cinderella, Henry quickly realized the wildcat was actually the mystery belle he had been chasing for 2 months. Cinderella recognized Henry as well and was afraid, thinking he had come to take vengence on the bitch who had roofied him. Henry quickly conforted her, telling her he was actually quite happy to have finally found the girl who could stand to his level. They proceeded to have the craziest, wildest sex both of them ever had, going at it all trough the afternoon and most of the evening. When Henry left for the night, he promised Cinderella that he would return for her in a few days time. Unfortunatly, having already achieved his ultimate goal of bedding his southern belle, Henry fell back on old habits and turned his attention to the next girl. | |
[WP] Unknown depths of the sea: you're part of an armada of colossal submarines descending into the abyss... | Deeper and deeper we go, natural light has long been replaced by the cold glimmer of our head lights which fail to illuminate more than 10 feet ahead of us. Our ship, submarine Bravo of the armada, is the smallest vessel of the five submarines heading for the exploration mission. My captain and commander, John Porter, is known for his gloomy but steadfast nature and has been decorated in various battles over the years.
"Bravo, make your 10 minute report. Over." I hear the voice of Alpha's second commander and respond with our location.
"This is Bravo. We are 12,400 feet deep and heading for North by North West. All machines are working fine. Over." Porter grunts when I lift my finger off the speaker button, he disapproves of not being in command of the armada.
"This is Charlie. We are 12,450 feet deep, also heading North by North West. Over."
"This is Delta. We are 13,600 feet deep, heading North West. Over."
"Delta, you are too deep. Slow down and wait for the group. Over."
"This is Echo. We are 13,400 feet..." But then the connection breaks off and the radio cuts to a monotone buzzing. I look at the radar. One submarine ahead of us, two behind.
"Sir, I count only four submarines," I report to Porter. He leans over and looks at the radar screen. I see his eyes narrow.
"Alpha, this is Porter. Our radar shows only four submarines. Over," Porter speaks into my mic. We wait, but the only sound we hear is a faint buzzing, then it goes silent.
"Sir, what is happening?" I ask Porter.
Instead of answering, he pushes down the button again. "Alpha, this is the captain of Bravo. Our radar shows only four submarines. Do you copy? Over."
Silence. Then, a voice emerges. A different voice, unfamiliar to me. "This is alpha captain Smith. We copy you, Bravo. We see five submarines. Must be an error on your end. Over."
I look over to Porter and search his face for what he makes of it. But suddenly, our lights go out, it becomes pitch dark. Before I could speak out, a strong vibration hits our submarine and shakes us. I hear a marine behind us fall to the ground. Our machines stop working, we lose forward speed. Alerted by this, I smash the engine status button and try turning the ignition key but it's stuck. Out of nowhere, I hear a gun shot next to me and the sound temporarily disorients me and starts a loud ringing in my ear. Once I orient myself again with the help of the chair, the lights flicker back on and the machines start working again. I turn around and see our navigator lying on the ground, dead, with a bullet wound to his head. I look up and see Porter putting away a gun.
"Sir, what happened?" I almost scream. Instead of answering, he points at the dead man and I see a knife in his hand. I don't understand.
"Something is off. Something is very wrong." Porter says and now looks at me. "Baker. How many submarines do you count?" I try to ignore my shaking hands and look again at the radar. Five points are beeping steadily.
"Sir, there are five sub..." I start saying but then two of the points vanish. "No, three. I see only three submarines."
Porter looks at me and then scans the room. There is screaming and a loud knock at the door, but he ignores it. "Baker, you take over navigation."
I type into my computer and pull up the navigation tabs. I look at the current commands.
"Sir, someone put in rapid descent, we are currently at 16,000 feet depth."
Porter doesn't respond to me but rather punches on his radio button. "This is Bravo captain Porter. Alpha, do you copy? We had a temporary machine malfunction and felt strong vibrations. Our radar shows only two submarines. Over."
Nothing. He looks over to my radar, but again five submarines show up, then eight, then it turns off completely. A light fizzle sounds and smoke emerges from the radar.
At the same moment, an extremely bright light shines into our cockpit and blinds our eyes. Two seconds later, our submarine shakes again and our lights flicker, but this time they stay on. A voice sounds through the room, moments after.
"Bravo, this is Echo. Do you hear us? We lost contact to everybody else. We saw a bright light. Our radar shows only three submarines. Do you copy? Over."
But before we could answer, another connection comes in.
"This is Alpha captain Smith. Bravo, we saw Echo bombard Delta. Delta is down. I repeat, Delta is down. Report your position. Over."
----
to be continued
| "James, wake up."
"Ugh. What time is it?"
"Who cares?" At the bottom of the ocean, time stops mattering. There is no day. There is no night. There is only the abyssal sea.
"We're on duty." We took 12-hour shifts. Matt and I piloted the sub for half a day, then John and Tank took over for the other half. "You better get dressed."
I threw on my dirty uniform, grabbed my pocket watch from the desk and followed Matt down the hall to the front of the ship. John and Tank looked stressed.
"How's it goin? 12 more hours of steering 'down' getting any more exciting? Any news from the Commander?"
They looked down from the controls and then at each other. John was the first to speak up. "You guys better sit down." John was about 30. Maybe my height with a thick build. Not the kind to get excited too easy. Tank, on the other hand, was a lit fuse, which isn't exactly ideal while millions of gallons of water are pressing down on each of our souls. "We lost the armada."
"What? The radio's down? Did you flash your lights? They taught us morse code exactly for this reason."
Tank snapped up. "Guys! Listen to the man. He didn't say shit's broken. We lost the armada."
I looked out the port hole on the starboard side for the flashing red lights of the other 6 subs. I didn't see them, so I checked the next, and the next, and the next. I flipped to the port side and hurriedly checked each one.
"Where the hell are they?" It seemed like Matt was still waking up.
"We don't know."
"What do we do?"
"We could surface?"
"It would take weeks at this point and we've lost contact with the supply ship."
"Have you told anyone else?"
"Not yet."
"Have you done anything? At all? What is wrong with you two?"
"Back the hell off!" Tank had stood up quickly and was glaring toward Matt.
"Stop it. Now." A voice I barely recognized came out of my mouth, as cold as ice. The room froze, and I pulled my pocket watch to check the time. It doesn't matter.
I walked back over to the first porthole. Blue. Deep blue. Outside, the world was shifting, currents moving stronger and faster than any gust of wind. But inside there was only stillness. There were only moments, which seemed to mesh and flow in and out with the tides. Moments of depth, and heaviness, and blue.
"We continue."
Blank stares all around. The three of them silent, their breath frantic and stirring with the waves miles above.
"Blue is my favorite color. Have I ever mentioned that?"
"James. Are you feeling alright?"
"It's almost a contradiction. The sky meeting the ocean, the heights and the depths of our known planet colliding as one in a seamless shear of blue. World's apart, but only shades different among all the colors there are. Have you ever thought about that?"
"I don't think I see the. . ."
"And have you ever wondered why they call it the 'surface' of the ocean? Wouldn't it be at least as apt to describe such a place the 'floor' of the sky? Two realms, a top and bottom to each. Yet, we have always assumed that the point at which the sky meets our planet is simply the end. But no more. Gentlemen, we have tested the breadth of the forests, the expanse of the desert. We've visited the harshest colds and walked upon cinders hotter than any known to man but the sun itself. We've kissed the top of the sky and laughed in its wake as we climbed to the moon. Today, we, the four of us, press on toward yet another frontier. We uncover the depths and the darkness. The abysmal expanse that has so long been just out of reach. I look out this window, and I don't see darkness, danger or despair. I do not fear drowning but doing so in my own failure and self regret." I took out my watch and left it, sitting on the edge of the porthole. "No, I look out this window, and I see only blue. And I'll be damned if a color is going to stop us. Full speed captain."
| |
[WP] Unknown depths of the sea: you're part of an armada of colossal submarines descending into the abyss... | Deeper and deeper we go, natural light has long been replaced by the cold glimmer of our head lights which fail to illuminate more than 10 feet ahead of us. Our ship, submarine Bravo of the armada, is the smallest vessel of the five submarines heading for the exploration mission. My captain and commander, John Porter, is known for his gloomy but steadfast nature and has been decorated in various battles over the years.
"Bravo, make your 10 minute report. Over." I hear the voice of Alpha's second commander and respond with our location.
"This is Bravo. We are 12,400 feet deep and heading for North by North West. All machines are working fine. Over." Porter grunts when I lift my finger off the speaker button, he disapproves of not being in command of the armada.
"This is Charlie. We are 12,450 feet deep, also heading North by North West. Over."
"This is Delta. We are 13,600 feet deep, heading North West. Over."
"Delta, you are too deep. Slow down and wait for the group. Over."
"This is Echo. We are 13,400 feet..." But then the connection breaks off and the radio cuts to a monotone buzzing. I look at the radar. One submarine ahead of us, two behind.
"Sir, I count only four submarines," I report to Porter. He leans over and looks at the radar screen. I see his eyes narrow.
"Alpha, this is Porter. Our radar shows only four submarines. Over," Porter speaks into my mic. We wait, but the only sound we hear is a faint buzzing, then it goes silent.
"Sir, what is happening?" I ask Porter.
Instead of answering, he pushes down the button again. "Alpha, this is the captain of Bravo. Our radar shows only four submarines. Do you copy? Over."
Silence. Then, a voice emerges. A different voice, unfamiliar to me. "This is alpha captain Smith. We copy you, Bravo. We see five submarines. Must be an error on your end. Over."
I look over to Porter and search his face for what he makes of it. But suddenly, our lights go out, it becomes pitch dark. Before I could speak out, a strong vibration hits our submarine and shakes us. I hear a marine behind us fall to the ground. Our machines stop working, we lose forward speed. Alerted by this, I smash the engine status button and try turning the ignition key but it's stuck. Out of nowhere, I hear a gun shot next to me and the sound temporarily disorients me and starts a loud ringing in my ear. Once I orient myself again with the help of the chair, the lights flicker back on and the machines start working again. I turn around and see our navigator lying on the ground, dead, with a bullet wound to his head. I look up and see Porter putting away a gun.
"Sir, what happened?" I almost scream. Instead of answering, he points at the dead man and I see a knife in his hand. I don't understand.
"Something is off. Something is very wrong." Porter says and now looks at me. "Baker. How many submarines do you count?" I try to ignore my shaking hands and look again at the radar. Five points are beeping steadily.
"Sir, there are five sub..." I start saying but then two of the points vanish. "No, three. I see only three submarines."
Porter looks at me and then scans the room. There is screaming and a loud knock at the door, but he ignores it. "Baker, you take over navigation."
I type into my computer and pull up the navigation tabs. I look at the current commands.
"Sir, someone put in rapid descent, we are currently at 16,000 feet depth."
Porter doesn't respond to me but rather punches on his radio button. "This is Bravo captain Porter. Alpha, do you copy? We had a temporary machine malfunction and felt strong vibrations. Our radar shows only two submarines. Over."
Nothing. He looks over to my radar, but again five submarines show up, then eight, then it turns off completely. A light fizzle sounds and smoke emerges from the radar.
At the same moment, an extremely bright light shines into our cockpit and blinds our eyes. Two seconds later, our submarine shakes again and our lights flicker, but this time they stay on. A voice sounds through the room, moments after.
"Bravo, this is Echo. Do you hear us? We lost contact to everybody else. We saw a bright light. Our radar shows only three submarines. Do you copy? Over."
But before we could answer, another connection comes in.
"This is Alpha captain Smith. Bravo, we saw Echo bombard Delta. Delta is down. I repeat, Delta is down. Report your position. Over."
----
to be continued
| **Journal Entry 2,920**
I haven't seen the sun since the last time we breached the surface for air. That was when we left the port of what used to be North America when I was 7. I remember how it felt, how it warmed my skin and how it felt brighter than any lamp or fluorescent light on board with us. I miss the sun. It's not very exciting just being a maintenance man, even if its on one of the largest civilian submarines in the world. Other workers have been talking a lot more recently. We haven't been communicating with our sister ships for gossip lately, so I only know what I've heard. There's rumours that we're actually headed somewhere, so that means this wasn't just a sick joke based off of some old bible tale of Noah and the whale.
To be honest I think that would make this a bit more exciting.
-
**Journal Entry 2,925**
The rumours were right, we are definitely headed towards a destination. I haven't seen our engineers work harder these last few days than they have in years. The nuclear core is seemingly holding together, but the other civilians are getting nervous. I saw my neighbor start stocking up on their canned goods like the sub is a military base or something.
Everyone on board is getting anxious that our years underwater has made our technicians minds dull and we'll all explode or something... which reminds me that I ought to get some rest.
-
**Journal Entry 2,930**
Has it really only been five days? There's no civilians left on the submarine anymore. Or at least not enough to count. Most of them left on our emergency subs headed towards the surface. After the Captain made his announcement I don't blame them.
*Attention everyone on board the Nina, this is your Captain speaking. We are heading down into one of the deepest trenches in the world. The Mariana Trench. Our situation is dire. The core of our submarine is destabilizing and we believe that the element to correct it should be found in the depths below. Without our core at optimal levels our facilities will fail it will start by electrical failure, then disabled water filtration, and finally disrupt our greenhouse sector. As your loyal admirals we decided to leave your safety up to you. We know where we belong, and that's the sea. We will leave all the escape pod bays open access for the next 24 hours. If you are still here by 1200 hours tomorrow, there's no turning back. The pressure in the trench will put a strain on all our faculties and the escape pods will crumple like tissue paper as soon as we enter the trench. You have 24 hours to make up your minds.*
Unlike everyone else aboard this over-glorified underwater booze cruise, I saw the surface before we left. There's nothing to escape to. This is all that's left of civilization and I'm proud to go down with the ship.
-
**Journal Entry 2,945**
Today the nuclear core shut down. There's no light anywhere, and the men are panicking. We have enough emergency power for another week at best if we control ourselves. We lost communications with our sister ships. We can't even see them anymore. At this point we are just falling downward with no control.
-
**Journal Entry 2,950**
Our water filtration system broke today. The crew is starting to fight over water privileges. I have too. I'm not proud of it.
-
**Journal Entry 2,953**
We found some of the other sister ships, they were destroyed from the pressure. What kind of underwater pressure leaves gashes in the side of the sub like that? There's no water left as of today. No one is working. The subs internal heating shut down yesterday. Now we are praying to just survive.
-
**Journal Entry 2,954**
[Corrupted data, partial data recovery]
-reinforcing the escape pods with spare metal from around the ship. We all agreed that we would rather try to escape and die than wait for whatever is out there to get us first.
...
We've found shelter. | |
[WP] Unknown depths of the sea: you're part of an armada of colossal submarines descending into the abyss... | Deeper and deeper we go, natural light has long been replaced by the cold glimmer of our head lights which fail to illuminate more than 10 feet ahead of us. Our ship, submarine Bravo of the armada, is the smallest vessel of the five submarines heading for the exploration mission. My captain and commander, John Porter, is known for his gloomy but steadfast nature and has been decorated in various battles over the years.
"Bravo, make your 10 minute report. Over." I hear the voice of Alpha's second commander and respond with our location.
"This is Bravo. We are 12,400 feet deep and heading for North by North West. All machines are working fine. Over." Porter grunts when I lift my finger off the speaker button, he disapproves of not being in command of the armada.
"This is Charlie. We are 12,450 feet deep, also heading North by North West. Over."
"This is Delta. We are 13,600 feet deep, heading North West. Over."
"Delta, you are too deep. Slow down and wait for the group. Over."
"This is Echo. We are 13,400 feet..." But then the connection breaks off and the radio cuts to a monotone buzzing. I look at the radar. One submarine ahead of us, two behind.
"Sir, I count only four submarines," I report to Porter. He leans over and looks at the radar screen. I see his eyes narrow.
"Alpha, this is Porter. Our radar shows only four submarines. Over," Porter speaks into my mic. We wait, but the only sound we hear is a faint buzzing, then it goes silent.
"Sir, what is happening?" I ask Porter.
Instead of answering, he pushes down the button again. "Alpha, this is the captain of Bravo. Our radar shows only four submarines. Do you copy? Over."
Silence. Then, a voice emerges. A different voice, unfamiliar to me. "This is alpha captain Smith. We copy you, Bravo. We see five submarines. Must be an error on your end. Over."
I look over to Porter and search his face for what he makes of it. But suddenly, our lights go out, it becomes pitch dark. Before I could speak out, a strong vibration hits our submarine and shakes us. I hear a marine behind us fall to the ground. Our machines stop working, we lose forward speed. Alerted by this, I smash the engine status button and try turning the ignition key but it's stuck. Out of nowhere, I hear a gun shot next to me and the sound temporarily disorients me and starts a loud ringing in my ear. Once I orient myself again with the help of the chair, the lights flicker back on and the machines start working again. I turn around and see our navigator lying on the ground, dead, with a bullet wound to his head. I look up and see Porter putting away a gun.
"Sir, what happened?" I almost scream. Instead of answering, he points at the dead man and I see a knife in his hand. I don't understand.
"Something is off. Something is very wrong." Porter says and now looks at me. "Baker. How many submarines do you count?" I try to ignore my shaking hands and look again at the radar. Five points are beeping steadily.
"Sir, there are five sub..." I start saying but then two of the points vanish. "No, three. I see only three submarines."
Porter looks at me and then scans the room. There is screaming and a loud knock at the door, but he ignores it. "Baker, you take over navigation."
I type into my computer and pull up the navigation tabs. I look at the current commands.
"Sir, someone put in rapid descent, we are currently at 16,000 feet depth."
Porter doesn't respond to me but rather punches on his radio button. "This is Bravo captain Porter. Alpha, do you copy? We had a temporary machine malfunction and felt strong vibrations. Our radar shows only two submarines. Over."
Nothing. He looks over to my radar, but again five submarines show up, then eight, then it turns off completely. A light fizzle sounds and smoke emerges from the radar.
At the same moment, an extremely bright light shines into our cockpit and blinds our eyes. Two seconds later, our submarine shakes again and our lights flicker, but this time they stay on. A voice sounds through the room, moments after.
"Bravo, this is Echo. Do you hear us? We lost contact to everybody else. We saw a bright light. Our radar shows only three submarines. Do you copy? Over."
But before we could answer, another connection comes in.
"This is Alpha captain Smith. Bravo, we saw Echo bombard Delta. Delta is down. I repeat, Delta is down. Report your position. Over."
----
to be continued
| An expensive table weight, although the table would have to be the size of Nebraska. The submarine was suppose to be 9 of 20 to explore energy possibilities at the bottom of the ocean through lava vents. Although the energy portion is not my area. The people that fill it would be my domain.
I looked out at the dome room or sector. The dome was suppose to be my addition to allow people to feel an endless sky. It is a large glass orbs connected but the sea is incredibly dark. To solve the darkness tentacles of leds streamed upward showering the dark sea in life and made the space seem open and larger. Usually the lights would show nothing but ocean. The lights were now all above us as we were descending and the ship was dragging the tentacles down. A gleam of metal was on the edge of perception. The tenticals would eventually settle on the seafloor, but I wouldn’t see that.
Although I never was meant to see that. I am just a builder and a ‘surface contractor’, so this was a unique experience. This might be the last one to developed, might be the Chernobyl of our industries. Catastrophic breakdown while developing the structural system or the submarine frame tacoed. A soft creak as the frame folded a little more. But I found myself looking into the darkness wondering if I would see a small light where the hull would break.
Unfortunately I couldn’t try and glean something about psychology from other doomed passengers. I sat alone in my globe of despair with the echoes of warning buzzards and creaks that echoed through endless chambers. I looked at the small hope that remained of an illuminated number 6. The Elsinore or number 6 of 20 was trying to coordinate with 5 other multi-billion dollar machines to rescue the tacoed number 9.
I stared at number 6 remembering my apartment number back in Chicago, the cold windy winters. I wondered if I would feel the rush of the bone chilling water or if pressure would knock me out first. The twentieth sixth of my Mom’s birthday in late April just as her garden started to sprout. I wish I could lay my hands into that dirt one last time. I would trade the view of my demise for one handful of sticky dirt. I heard a louder creek. I saw hands and the bright glow of the red from the number six and I remember feeling the warmth of the sun baked dirt. A smile reached my face as I retreated into my mind as a harsh bang happened. | |
Thought it would be a funny loophole. | [WP] It's true that vampires need to be invited in to enter a house. Unfortunately, most people have welcome mats. | "Look at it. It's charming."
"I think you've missed the entire point of our calling, James."
James Van Helsing held up the prototype that was now being churned out on a massive laser printer outside his office. It was a thick welcome mat with a scene of cherubic chickadees in the boughs of a blooming jacaranda.
His sister frowned.
"It's horribly trite."
"Precisely. They'll love it. And it's cheap! Cheaper than anything on the market."
He pointed to a whorl in the wood of the branch. "Look, you see that?"
"I see a branch."
"Look closer."
Eve took the mat from her brother's hands and brought it to her eyes for proper evaluation. The whorls steadied into letters and she read them aloud.
"GTFO."
"It's brilliant!" James laughed at his ingenuity. "All the gentle souls will buy it because it's useful and sweet and five dollars less than anything else on the shelf."
"I think our forefathers are spinning in their graves."
"We're all cremated. To the last."
"Turn of phrase, James." Eve sighed. "I think vampire hunters are supposed to be at the business of hunting."
"Ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. My vampire awareness campaign fell flat, but this," he flicked the edge of the mat with his finger, "This is going to save lives."
"Hm."
His sister looked at the birds with their dark plump cheeks, then scanned the walls of the warehouse office. Dozens of mats both cheeky and saccharine made a strange tapestry. There were cats, unicorns, blatant 'Go Away' mats, seashells, camouflage... all with finely scrawled words of dismissal hidden in their flourishes.
"'A House of Learned Doctors'?" she pointed to the mat, "What's that?"
"You need to get out more, Eve. It's from a movie."
Eve shrugged, "Sure."
Eve dropped the mat on her brother's cluttered desk. A pantone swatch booklet fanned and invoices fluttered. These were not the tools of a proper hunter. She opened a notebook of fonts her brother used for reference in the design process. He was still a luddite in some senses. All Helsing were.
"So, shall I call you James Van Helvetica after this?"
"I like Folio if we're getting picky." He removed the mat from his desk. "And you're going to call me genius in six months." He grinned, showing the tooth a vampire had chipped with a cudgel, "Promise."
| Lot as changed truout the centuries, now in the 21 century one only needs to pretend to be a shut-in, a nurce with bad shifts or even work from home to not be suspected by the puny humans.
But not me, I although careful, enjoy drinking more than blood bags from hospitals, it is to easy to simply steal blood that way.
I work as a psychiatrist a more old school method to gather victim's but it works like a charm.
The mind control abilities are incredibly useful, sometimes to stop a suicide others to choose my one pacients only the tastiest ones of course.
A suicide or disappearing may be justified by a depression, an nowadays with welcome mats I can even enter some houses to make a suicide more credible.
What a great time to be a vampire...
|
Thought it would be a funny loophole. | [WP] It's true that vampires need to be invited in to enter a house. Unfortunately, most people have welcome mats. | It's a golden age for us vampires. Long ago we could not enter a dwelling of our mortal kine without first being invited across the threshold. But one simple little invention changed all that, one invention that we, who own and run most of the worlds banks, threw great wealth behind.
Truly, the humble 'Welcome' mat has changed everything for us... | Lot as changed truout the centuries, now in the 21 century one only needs to pretend to be a shut-in, a nurce with bad shifts or even work from home to not be suspected by the puny humans.
But not me, I although careful, enjoy drinking more than blood bags from hospitals, it is to easy to simply steal blood that way.
I work as a psychiatrist a more old school method to gather victim's but it works like a charm.
The mind control abilities are incredibly useful, sometimes to stop a suicide others to choose my one pacients only the tastiest ones of course.
A suicide or disappearing may be justified by a depression, an nowadays with welcome mats I can even enter some houses to make a suicide more credible.
What a great time to be a vampire...
|
Thought it would be a funny loophole. | [WP] It's true that vampires need to be invited in to enter a house. Unfortunately, most people have welcome mats. | The moon shines brightly in the skies.
A dark figure walks by and stops to look at each house in this suburb.
More specific, the figure inspects each front door.
He seems to be looking for something.
At the fourth home on the left side, he stops.
An evil grin shows on his face.
The moonlight reflects on his fangs.
He picks up the doormat.
Welcome
He reaches for the doorknob.
Silently the door opens.
Once inside, the man closes the door softly.
A few minutes later, he leaves again.
The family inside will never wake again.
Woman, husband and child have fallen prey to darkness.
Carbon monoxide poisoning is the official cause of death.
But we know better.
Everyone knows a vampire can only enter a home if he is invited.
So why would anyone invent a doormat which welcomes you?
No sane human would do that.
It takes a vampire.
| Lot as changed truout the centuries, now in the 21 century one only needs to pretend to be a shut-in, a nurce with bad shifts or even work from home to not be suspected by the puny humans.
But not me, I although careful, enjoy drinking more than blood bags from hospitals, it is to easy to simply steal blood that way.
I work as a psychiatrist a more old school method to gather victim's but it works like a charm.
The mind control abilities are incredibly useful, sometimes to stop a suicide others to choose my one pacients only the tastiest ones of course.
A suicide or disappearing may be justified by a depression, an nowadays with welcome mats I can even enter some houses to make a suicide more credible.
What a great time to be a vampire...
|
Thought it would be a funny loophole. | [WP] It's true that vampires need to be invited in to enter a house. Unfortunately, most people have welcome mats. | The moon shines brightly in the skies.
A dark figure walks by and stops to look at each house in this suburb.
More specific, the figure inspects each front door.
He seems to be looking for something.
At the fourth home on the left side, he stops.
An evil grin shows on his face.
The moonlight reflects on his fangs.
He picks up the doormat.
Welcome
He reaches for the doorknob.
Silently the door opens.
Once inside, the man closes the door softly.
A few minutes later, he leaves again.
The family inside will never wake again.
Woman, husband and child have fallen prey to darkness.
Carbon monoxide poisoning is the official cause of death.
But we know better.
Everyone knows a vampire can only enter a home if he is invited.
So why would anyone invent a doormat which welcomes you?
No sane human would do that.
It takes a vampire.
| It's a golden age for us vampires. Long ago we could not enter a dwelling of our mortal kine without first being invited across the threshold. But one simple little invention changed all that, one invention that we, who own and run most of the worlds banks, threw great wealth behind.
Truly, the humble 'Welcome' mat has changed everything for us... |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | I look over and see my girlfriend's thumb poised over the messenger icon of my phone..
I quickly steal it from her hands, and go to delete all my message history with her sister. Ah blast! The phone is frozen in time too!
I place her phone in her hand and place mine in the toaster, then run back into the bedroom and jump back into bed.
Time suddenly rushes back to normal and my girlfriend looks confused when she realizes she is holding her own phone.
When I'm standing outside with the fire fighters later, I see my brother pulling up outside the house. I realize that, in the frenzy, I hadn't called anyone in my family to tell them about the fire. He immediately walks over to check on my girlfriend, and I realize that this story is getting seriously complicated. | Tim woke to the morning sun's light coming through his bedroom window. He looked out and saw the top half of the sun peaking above the distant hills that surrounded the valley. He went to his bathroom and started preparing for another day at work. Shave, shit, shower, he brushed his teeth the same as every morning. The thought popped into his head, the only reason they didn't add brush your teeth to the adage was because it doesn't rhyme, not very helpful.
He cracked five eggs into his frying pan and placed it on the stove top. As he turned the burner to low he glanced at the oven clock. Shit, I woke up to early again. The oven clock read 6:33, exactly when the weatherman reported the sun would rise on the news last night.
An image of the alleyway in New York from three years ago pushed its features into his mind. As the passing car on the other side of the alleyway seemed to slam on its brakes, he looked down at his watch and saw the second hand click once after it felt like the usual ten. After turning around and running he barely dodged someone on a nightly jog.
Tim stood staring at his oven. He counted the lines he wrote on the sticky note, thirty lines. He had one-one-thousanded to sixty and marked each completion down, and his clock still read 6:33. The sun outside his kitchen window hadn't rose above the hills. This is where I am supposed to rob a bank right? He thought.
He wasn't sure how long he had been here. Beale Air Force base hadn't changed much since the local birds neglected defecating onto the tarmac. He had gone to sleep 98 times so far after arriving at the base. Every non-existent hour he was awake he studied. Ten awake periods were spent testing his physical ability to withstand the G-forces. The rest were spent reading about operating the U-2.
He didn't have any other option. Everywhere he went frozen people and animals greeted him. A bank would be pointless to rob now, as everyone seemed to have given up on making fresh bread each morning. Tim thought if he could explore the globe, maybe there would be movement somewhere. Maybe it's a hemisphere thing.
He sat in the cockpit, ready to test whether he absorbed all the information he studied. He thought of studying longer, making sure he knew the operation for sure, but each sleep period in the pitch black flight control room made him long for company more than before. He started the engine ignition sequence.
At 70,000 feet he witnessed the curve of the Earth. Tim felt free, the U-2's navigation system labeled him as on the other side of the Earth as California, he flew over what he assumed was Madagascar. He saw no movement below, the cloud moved only in response to the jet engine. "Fuck it." he said to himself. "Time to go."
Tim made the plane rise higher, to 75,000 feet. He looked down at the landscape below, ready to say goodbye. Though as he looked the scene changed. The clouds lit up with lightning that struck the ground below. Tim saw the island beneath him steadily become brighter as it glowed red. He averted his eyes and looked to the horizon. The whole planet was effected, appearing to turn into a hot steel ball.
Tim flew, and apparently so did time. Tim was hopeful, although he wasn't sure there was anything to go back to. Tim looked through the cockpit's window and stared ahead, unsure of what to do now. He saw something on the horizon. A massive object lie in front of him, floating in the sky. The U-2's navigation system beeped and he lost control of the aircraft, unable to move the control side sticks. He was being steered towards the object.
An opening appeared as he got closer, the object, which looked stereo-typically saucer esque, opening in the middle. His plane was being sucked into the opening at an alarming rate. The U-2 came to a sudden stop once it entered the spacecraft and touched down in a larger hanger than any on Earth.
Tim sat perplexed, unable to move and barely able to breath. A ten foot high door opened at the end of the hanger. Tim saw a giant walk through, it held two staves with rounded baubles on each top. The cockpit to the U-2 disengaged its locks and opened.
The being stood thirty feet in front of the plane. "Tim, There is a mission of great importance we need your help with. You have passed the first test of learning how to soar above most all of humanity.
"What?" Time asked. "You destroyed my reality and home!"
"Sorry dude, I'm just trying to show off my powers brooooo..."
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Oddly enough, it was the utter stillness of the room that woke her up instead of the incessant buzzing of her morning alarm. It was so quiet she could hear the joints moving in her body as she stretched. The faint *woosh* of her eyelashes gently fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked several times to awake.
Suddenly realization hit her as it became clear what was happening. Her heart a steady, always a steady *thud thud thud* in her chest, she froze. That was always one of her first indicators. That no matter how matter how fearful, or excited, her heartbeat remained steady. Beating the same rhythm since her birth, with no variations.
She quickly looked out her window at the crow titled an awkward level pecking at something in a branch. The leaves unnaturally still. But this whole situation was unnatural, including herself.
Scrambling out of the bed quickly she felt doozy as she stood up. Realizing she was breathing too fast in a panic, she forced herself to try and take smaller and deeper breaths. "Get it together Dana," she gasped to herself out loud. Even for only a few moments her body was revolting against the silence, recognizing the wrongness of the misleading peace.
*Car turning without looking, the odd elongated horn the only clue that something was amiss, giving her ample time to cross the street slowly in confusion.*
*After work shift walking to bus, the feel of metal against her spine. Her grasping the gun from the assailant now lax hand.*
Those were two of some major incidents. Scattered between them were smaller cases. Jumping in shock at the sight of an unexpected mouse only had the mouse moving a slightly lower pace. Her mom hand moving slower before it knocked her to the ground, causing her to break her arm. Put together over the years, she realized time slowed down relative to how dangerous or potentially fatal it was to her.
It had never stopped completely.
Senses heightened she only had a split second before she felt and heard a presence then was roughly tossed and pinned to her bed with a burning palm pushing directly into her chest.
"You've been a hard one to pin down," a wispy voice intoned, then made a gargling noise, that despite how foreign it sounded, didn't conceal the sound of dark amusement.
Dana kicked and flailed. "Get--off!" She gasped out. Which only made the thing push its hand harder. She felt her heart beat picking up. She stilled. *'What's happening? What is this? My heart, I-I'm'*
The being was the color of grey volcanic ash. No eyes, nose, hair. Just a pale mouth that was twisted in a mockery of a smile. A purple haze cloaked its naked and formless body. The only semblance of humans its hands, which felt like it was roasting her body from the inside.
She tried to form words, but the pain and pressure was too much to get anything out.
"Oh, trying to speak." The lips curled in a sneer. "The only thing you should be doing is begging me to kill you quickly, or pooling for causing me agony." They let up some of the pressure from their hand, the sensation of fire still coursing thru her chest.
"Why?" was all she managed to gasp out.
"You caused me numerous embarrassments. Did you think those near death experiences were coincidences? Did you think you were special?" It leaned down and its haunting features were obscured by the haze now covering her body. "No, you pest. You were mine. Mine to kill! Time only slowed down so you could realize your pitiful place in the universe and the power I contain over you."
Blinking furiously through the tears from the pain, she managed to bite out. "Well you obviously suck at your job." She moved her to touch its forearm, and grimaced at the putty consistency. "Because…I. Escaped at least…twice!"
It wailed in rage in response, and the purple haze began to get darker in color. "That's why I am here, to make sure the job is done this time." It placed its other hand on her chest and her heart-rate began skyrocketing.
She was dying. She didn't think she was impervious to it, but all the years of avoiding any serious danger, and being alerted to minor ones, she rarely thought about her mortality. The one constant in her life, no matter the abuse, the accidents, the frights, and disasters. Her heart remained steady. Sure. Steady. Sure. Black dots began to dance around the corner of her vision. Maybe it was the years of her body protecting her on instinct. Or perhaps her brain subconsciously picking up how easy her fingers slid under the beings skin.
Whatever it was, with her heart attempting to rattle her rib cage, she reached up and pushed her hands through its chest. Then silence. | Tim woke to the morning sun's light coming through his bedroom window. He looked out and saw the top half of the sun peaking above the distant hills that surrounded the valley. He went to his bathroom and started preparing for another day at work. Shave, shit, shower, he brushed his teeth the same as every morning. The thought popped into his head, the only reason they didn't add brush your teeth to the adage was because it doesn't rhyme, not very helpful.
He cracked five eggs into his frying pan and placed it on the stove top. As he turned the burner to low he glanced at the oven clock. Shit, I woke up to early again. The oven clock read 6:33, exactly when the weatherman reported the sun would rise on the news last night.
An image of the alleyway in New York from three years ago pushed its features into his mind. As the passing car on the other side of the alleyway seemed to slam on its brakes, he looked down at his watch and saw the second hand click once after it felt like the usual ten. After turning around and running he barely dodged someone on a nightly jog.
Tim stood staring at his oven. He counted the lines he wrote on the sticky note, thirty lines. He had one-one-thousanded to sixty and marked each completion down, and his clock still read 6:33. The sun outside his kitchen window hadn't rose above the hills. This is where I am supposed to rob a bank right? He thought.
He wasn't sure how long he had been here. Beale Air Force base hadn't changed much since the local birds neglected defecating onto the tarmac. He had gone to sleep 98 times so far after arriving at the base. Every non-existent hour he was awake he studied. Ten awake periods were spent testing his physical ability to withstand the G-forces. The rest were spent reading about operating the U-2.
He didn't have any other option. Everywhere he went frozen people and animals greeted him. A bank would be pointless to rob now, as everyone seemed to have given up on making fresh bread each morning. Tim thought if he could explore the globe, maybe there would be movement somewhere. Maybe it's a hemisphere thing.
He sat in the cockpit, ready to test whether he absorbed all the information he studied. He thought of studying longer, making sure he knew the operation for sure, but each sleep period in the pitch black flight control room made him long for company more than before. He started the engine ignition sequence.
At 70,000 feet he witnessed the curve of the Earth. Tim felt free, the U-2's navigation system labeled him as on the other side of the Earth as California, he flew over what he assumed was Madagascar. He saw no movement below, the cloud moved only in response to the jet engine. "Fuck it." he said to himself. "Time to go."
Tim made the plane rise higher, to 75,000 feet. He looked down at the landscape below, ready to say goodbye. Though as he looked the scene changed. The clouds lit up with lightning that struck the ground below. Tim saw the island beneath him steadily become brighter as it glowed red. He averted his eyes and looked to the horizon. The whole planet was effected, appearing to turn into a hot steel ball.
Tim flew, and apparently so did time. Tim was hopeful, although he wasn't sure there was anything to go back to. Tim looked through the cockpit's window and stared ahead, unsure of what to do now. He saw something on the horizon. A massive object lie in front of him, floating in the sky. The U-2's navigation system beeped and he lost control of the aircraft, unable to move the control side sticks. He was being steered towards the object.
An opening appeared as he got closer, the object, which looked stereo-typically saucer esque, opening in the middle. His plane was being sucked into the opening at an alarming rate. The U-2 came to a sudden stop once it entered the spacecraft and touched down in a larger hanger than any on Earth.
Tim sat perplexed, unable to move and barely able to breath. A ten foot high door opened at the end of the hanger. Tim saw a giant walk through, it held two staves with rounded baubles on each top. The cockpit to the U-2 disengaged its locks and opened.
The being stood thirty feet in front of the plane. "Tim, There is a mission of great importance we need your help with. You have passed the first test of learning how to soar above most all of humanity.
"What?" Time asked. "You destroyed my reality and home!"
"Sorry dude, I'm just trying to show off my powers brooooo..."
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
| Tim woke to the morning sun's light coming through his bedroom window. He looked out and saw the top half of the sun peaking above the distant hills that surrounded the valley. He went to his bathroom and started preparing for another day at work. Shave, shit, shower, he brushed his teeth the same as every morning. The thought popped into his head, the only reason they didn't add brush your teeth to the adage was because it doesn't rhyme, not very helpful.
He cracked five eggs into his frying pan and placed it on the stove top. As he turned the burner to low he glanced at the oven clock. Shit, I woke up to early again. The oven clock read 6:33, exactly when the weatherman reported the sun would rise on the news last night.
An image of the alleyway in New York from three years ago pushed its features into his mind. As the passing car on the other side of the alleyway seemed to slam on its brakes, he looked down at his watch and saw the second hand click once after it felt like the usual ten. After turning around and running he barely dodged someone on a nightly jog.
Tim stood staring at his oven. He counted the lines he wrote on the sticky note, thirty lines. He had one-one-thousanded to sixty and marked each completion down, and his clock still read 6:33. The sun outside his kitchen window hadn't rose above the hills. This is where I am supposed to rob a bank right? He thought.
He wasn't sure how long he had been here. Beale Air Force base hadn't changed much since the local birds neglected defecating onto the tarmac. He had gone to sleep 98 times so far after arriving at the base. Every non-existent hour he was awake he studied. Ten awake periods were spent testing his physical ability to withstand the G-forces. The rest were spent reading about operating the U-2.
He didn't have any other option. Everywhere he went frozen people and animals greeted him. A bank would be pointless to rob now, as everyone seemed to have given up on making fresh bread each morning. Tim thought if he could explore the globe, maybe there would be movement somewhere. Maybe it's a hemisphere thing.
He sat in the cockpit, ready to test whether he absorbed all the information he studied. He thought of studying longer, making sure he knew the operation for sure, but each sleep period in the pitch black flight control room made him long for company more than before. He started the engine ignition sequence.
At 70,000 feet he witnessed the curve of the Earth. Tim felt free, the U-2's navigation system labeled him as on the other side of the Earth as California, he flew over what he assumed was Madagascar. He saw no movement below, the cloud moved only in response to the jet engine. "Fuck it." he said to himself. "Time to go."
Tim made the plane rise higher, to 75,000 feet. He looked down at the landscape below, ready to say goodbye. Though as he looked the scene changed. The clouds lit up with lightning that struck the ground below. Tim saw the island beneath him steadily become brighter as it glowed red. He averted his eyes and looked to the horizon. The whole planet was effected, appearing to turn into a hot steel ball.
Tim flew, and apparently so did time. Tim was hopeful, although he wasn't sure there was anything to go back to. Tim looked through the cockpit's window and stared ahead, unsure of what to do now. He saw something on the horizon. A massive object lie in front of him, floating in the sky. The U-2's navigation system beeped and he lost control of the aircraft, unable to move the control side sticks. He was being steered towards the object.
An opening appeared as he got closer, the object, which looked stereo-typically saucer esque, opening in the middle. His plane was being sucked into the opening at an alarming rate. The U-2 came to a sudden stop once it entered the spacecraft and touched down in a larger hanger than any on Earth.
Tim sat perplexed, unable to move and barely able to breath. A ten foot high door opened at the end of the hanger. Tim saw a giant walk through, it held two staves with rounded baubles on each top. The cockpit to the U-2 disengaged its locks and opened.
The being stood thirty feet in front of the plane. "Tim, There is a mission of great importance we need your help with. You have passed the first test of learning how to soar above most all of humanity.
"What?" Time asked. "You destroyed my reality and home!"
"Sorry dude, I'm just trying to show off my powers brooooo..."
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | The steel handle was cold beneath my fingers. With a couple more pounds of pressure I'll begin my journey of moving forward. The medication doesn't help. The thought of taking the medication compounds the issues. Just a couple more pounds of pressure. I watched as the water circulated clockwise pulling the Zoloft, Xanax, Lexapro, Buspar and Propranolol downwards until it disappeared with the water. The gurgle in the bowl and hissing of the tank validated that I made the right decision. The decision to take control of my life. To live with my anxiety and not against it. In this brief moment relief swept through my body and my mind was clear.
Today is Monday, a new day, a new week and a new me. For the first time in years I arrive to work full optimism and excitement. "Hello Jan. Hello Jack. Good Morning Frank. Great day today isn't it!?" Yes! It feels great to feel great.
"Look at that line for the elevator. I might be late for my 9am meeting. No worries. All is good. All is great." The elevator dings and for a moment as the elevator began its decent I felt weightlessness and calm.
The elevator is packed. I wonder if the elevator is beyond capacity? What if the cable snaps? What if the elevator plummets? What if it stops? What if I need to pee when it stops? I'm going to have a break down! My finger twitches, I scratch my face and shift my weight to the side. Why are we still moving? Why hasn't the elevator stopped yet? Why is the elevator moving so slowly? Does anyone else notice? I'm going to scream. No don't scream. If you scream your coworkers will always judge you. Just stand still and don't move. My heart is beating soo fast. I can't breath. My legs are trembling. Does anyone notice? Why hasn't this elevator stopped yet. Don't cry. Don't cry. Breath. Come on breath. Breath 1,2,3,4 and exhale. Breath 1,2,3,4 and exhale.
Oh my god why hasn't the elevator stopped yet!!!
| I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Oddly enough, it was the utter stillness of the room that woke her up instead of the incessant buzzing of her morning alarm. It was so quiet she could hear the joints moving in her body as she stretched. The faint *woosh* of her eyelashes gently fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked several times to awake.
Suddenly realization hit her as it became clear what was happening. Her heart a steady, always a steady *thud thud thud* in her chest, she froze. That was always one of her first indicators. That no matter how matter how fearful, or excited, her heartbeat remained steady. Beating the same rhythm since her birth, with no variations.
She quickly looked out her window at the crow titled an awkward level pecking at something in a branch. The leaves unnaturally still. But this whole situation was unnatural, including herself.
Scrambling out of the bed quickly she felt doozy as she stood up. Realizing she was breathing too fast in a panic, she forced herself to try and take smaller and deeper breaths. "Get it together Dana," she gasped to herself out loud. Even for only a few moments her body was revolting against the silence, recognizing the wrongness of the misleading peace.
*Car turning without looking, the odd elongated horn the only clue that something was amiss, giving her ample time to cross the street slowly in confusion.*
*After work shift walking to bus, the feel of metal against her spine. Her grasping the gun from the assailant now lax hand.*
Those were two of some major incidents. Scattered between them were smaller cases. Jumping in shock at the sight of an unexpected mouse only had the mouse moving a slightly lower pace. Her mom hand moving slower before it knocked her to the ground, causing her to break her arm. Put together over the years, she realized time slowed down relative to how dangerous or potentially fatal it was to her.
It had never stopped completely.
Senses heightened she only had a split second before she felt and heard a presence then was roughly tossed and pinned to her bed with a burning palm pushing directly into her chest.
"You've been a hard one to pin down," a wispy voice intoned, then made a gargling noise, that despite how foreign it sounded, didn't conceal the sound of dark amusement.
Dana kicked and flailed. "Get--off!" She gasped out. Which only made the thing push its hand harder. She felt her heart beat picking up. She stilled. *'What's happening? What is this? My heart, I-I'm'*
The being was the color of grey volcanic ash. No eyes, nose, hair. Just a pale mouth that was twisted in a mockery of a smile. A purple haze cloaked its naked and formless body. The only semblance of humans its hands, which felt like it was roasting her body from the inside.
She tried to form words, but the pain and pressure was too much to get anything out.
"Oh, trying to speak." The lips curled in a sneer. "The only thing you should be doing is begging me to kill you quickly, or pooling for causing me agony." They let up some of the pressure from their hand, the sensation of fire still coursing thru her chest.
"Why?" was all she managed to gasp out.
"You caused me numerous embarrassments. Did you think those near death experiences were coincidences? Did you think you were special?" It leaned down and its haunting features were obscured by the haze now covering her body. "No, you pest. You were mine. Mine to kill! Time only slowed down so you could realize your pitiful place in the universe and the power I contain over you."
Blinking furiously through the tears from the pain, she managed to bite out. "Well you obviously suck at your job." She moved her to touch its forearm, and grimaced at the putty consistency. "Because…I. Escaped at least…twice!"
It wailed in rage in response, and the purple haze began to get darker in color. "That's why I am here, to make sure the job is done this time." It placed its other hand on her chest and her heart-rate began skyrocketing.
She was dying. She didn't think she was impervious to it, but all the years of avoiding any serious danger, and being alerted to minor ones, she rarely thought about her mortality. The one constant in her life, no matter the abuse, the accidents, the frights, and disasters. Her heart remained steady. Sure. Steady. Sure. Black dots began to dance around the corner of her vision. Maybe it was the years of her body protecting her on instinct. Or perhaps her brain subconsciously picking up how easy her fingers slid under the beings skin.
Whatever it was, with her heart attempting to rattle her rib cage, she reached up and pushed her hands through its chest. Then silence. | I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Quiet.
Audrey blinked, staring at the dim, blurry plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above her bed. She pulled the covers over her eyes, blotting out the light, and smiled as the warmth of her blanket washed over her face. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested.
But why was it so dark?
Underneath her blanket, Audrey frowned. It wasn't right, for her to feel like this - not yet. She had been tired when she went to bed, worn out from a long day of school and soccer practice. She *should* still be tired. Unless...
Suddenly, she threw back the covers and jammed her glasses onto her face, staring rapt at the clock on her bedside table. 3:02. For several long minutes, she stared at the glowing red numbers, watching them - *willing* them - to change. Nothing. With every second that passed, more and more panic flooded into her chest. Then, all at once, something happened.
The colon went dark.
Audrey cursed, then slapped her hands over her mouth before she remembered that no one else could hear. One second? No, not even that long. Half a second - and that was assuming she even looked at the clock at the right time. How long had she been like this, sleeping her time away in the dark? She cursed again, a little quieter this time.
She had to find her stopwatch.
Fuming, she leapt out of bed and flicked on the light before diving into her backpack. It had to be in here, somewhere - she always kept one nearby, ever since the bomber at her school had stopped her time nearly cold. She had been twelve then, just entering the third grade - at least, she had been before she started evacuating people out of the building. Now, she wasn't sure how old she really was.
She smiled as she felt the blocky object on her fingertips. She didn't know how much time she had lost - not really - but this at least would give her some idea. For Audry, time was relative - slow to the exact point that she needed it to be - whether she wanted it to be or not. Before, with the bomber, one second had been a single millisecond. She had plenty of time, then, even when she needed to eat or sleep. Now, she just needed to know exactly how long she had this time.
She pushed the start button, and frowned.
Nothing had changed. The numbers had lit up, at least, proudly displaying the 0:00^00 of an idle watch. And yet, she had pressed start - she had been sure of it. Groaning in frustration, she hammered away at the buttons a few more times, just to be sure. Still, nothing. She dropped it on the floor, defeated.
The number ticked up by one.
Audry stared at it for a moment in disbelief. How long, exactly, did she have? Her last misadventure had taken ages - months, even - before she had been allowed to return to a normal time frame. Her cafeteria and a nearby grocer had provided enough food, luckily enough, but even then she had gotten sick of the same old mashed potatoes and cole slaw before long. How was she supposed to survive? Not to mention the bigger question:
What was causing her to slow down?
Suddenly wary, Audry looked around her room with suspicion. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bomber had been obvious enough: she had found him just downstairs threatening the teachers, gun in one hand and dead man's switch in the other. Simple. This time, however, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy. Quietly, she got dressed and went to investigate her neighborhood. Whatever it was, it had to be *big*.
It wasn't fire, at least that she could see. Nor was it gas - at least, she certainly hoped that it wasn't. While she couldn't smell anything, she wasn't entirely sure how her ability interacted with air. Still, she wasn't dead, and that was a start.
The air outside her home was cool and refreshing, despite the late hour. She was grateful for that, and the glowing orange streetlights that dotted the road outside of her house. Nothing looked out of place here, either. It was just a normal, cloudy night.
Except for the light.
Audry hadn't noticed it, not at first. It had been too dim from behind the clouds, and the streetlamps had made her night vision weak. But there it was, painting the clouds an odd greenish color from behind. It faintly reminded her of the stars in her bedroom. But when she happened upon a hole in the clouds that gave her a glimpse of the object, her blood ran cold.
It was a fireball, the largest she had ever seen.
Fear danced through Audrey's limbs like electricity. A falling star, here? Of all places? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't someone told her, warned her that something like this could happen? She eyed the glowing thing, squinting away from its light. How was she going to stop *that*? It was close, so close already - and she had no idea how far its fires would reach. How many people were in its radius, would be killed if it hit? Her neighborhood? The whole city? A part of her wanted to run, to get away from it all - maybe only take her family, her mother and father. That would be hard enough on its own. Audrey swallowed, hard. She could do it - if she got far enough away, so that she was safe, her time would snap back to normal. She had to choose. To run...
Or to live for years in solitude, alone with a city of statues, always trying to save just one more.
| I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
| I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | My power kicked in around the time I hit puberty. The effects of it seemed to grow with time, at the start if there was a life threatening danger time would slow usually just enough for me to escape. However now if my life was in danger time would slow by what I estimate to be about 70 times. I started experimenting with it while at university, place myself in insane risk and see what happened. The greater the danger the slower time passed.
I would jump in front of buses just to watch everything slow completely. My friends, onlookers, they all would ever so slowly turn their heads to view the impending doom that never came. To them it seemed like my reactions were quicker than humanly possible however I knew that it was actually the world that reacted very slowly.
This day was different however. I woke up and looked over to my window, it was still dark out but I felt like I had slept in for hours. My watch said the time was 2:32:21 in the morning. I counted the seconds until my clock ticked till 2:33:22 to see how slow time was passing. 119,120,121... I had never reached above 100 before and began to realise that I must be in serious trouble.
As I looked round their didn't seem to be any imminent danger, looking outside they were no planes about to crash into my house or serial killers lurking outside. Confused and slightly panicked I began searching for anything that could be about to kill me and how to stop it. Nothing.
Everything seemed perfectly normal but frozen. I walked from my house wondering if it was about to explode but even as I reached the next block time still remained frozen.
Defeated I wondered the city, aimlessly, hoping that time would magically unfreeze. Tick. My watch had moved to the next second.
Confused I continued walking until I heard another tick about two minutes later. Time was speeding up. I passed another two blocks before the next tick, as if my position determined how quickly time was passing. I moved back towards where it was ticking faster and experimented with different directions. East seemed to speed my clock up the most so headed in that direction.
Soon my clock was ticking every thirty seconds and that's when the realisation hit me. There it stood only three minutes walk from where I stood. The hospital.
Knowing this must be the answer I ran towards it busting through the doors, the ticks of my watch resuming the night receptionist starting to move and an intense pain in my chest swelling up to consume me until there was only blackness. | I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | "Man, It feels like I slept in today, but my alarm didnt go off." I said grogged. I glanced at the clock 5:45 a.m. "Well I guess I'll get an early shower" I thought. My wife was fast asleep stiff as a board. I went into the bathroom and was quickly taken back that we had no pressure. I went down stairs and to my shock the floor was exploding.
I was born with a rare trait that the more dire the situation the slower time felt. However my heart was in my throat. I had never once seen time completely stop. I quickly grabbed my wife. But there was a problem.
For every step I took away from the exlosion there was a loud bit brief audible sound. Like someone pausing an action movie. I realized what ever talent or ability I had was pushing its limit stopping time for a couple hours. I started up the stairs every step a loud crash below. I assessed the situation and determined that that this gift was like stretching a rubber band. Every step it was about to break. "Should I run or go slower?" I asked. I flashed back to when my ability first manifested. My father and I were ice fishing. We were on too thin of ice in a early winter. Time slowed enough back then to keep me from falling in but when i tried to rush it, i opened up more ice and slowed time again. It wasnt until I relaxed that I made it out.
"Just like back then, I gotta keep cool." I started moving again slower, time resumed, but not as bad as the others. 5 more steps to go. The next step nothing happened. It was working. I took my time and made it to our bedroom. I grabbed my wife and started for the stairs. She was heavy, dead weight was. I slipped.
We both crashed and I heard her scream for a fraction of a second. I looked in horror and realized the exlosion now engulfed the stairs.
"Damn it! What am I going to do?"
The window or risk the exlosion? If i go to fast we will be both fried instantly. If i die in this state what would happen to the world? I tried the window.
It wouldnt budge. The house was warped from the explosion it had bent the frame of the window. Everytine I pulled too hard the loud screech came again. I had to go down through the fire. Before it was too late. I felt as if whatever gave me this ability was really wearing off. I felt dizzy and tired like i had been awake for a week straight. I put her on my shoulder this time and started the journey down. I reached and felt the fire. It was lifeless neither hot nor cold. Each step slower. My gift was a little stronger the closest to the flame, i felt it though, the gift taking its toll on my body. I worried when we started to walk out of the flame, would my gift hold up? The 2nd to last step i slipped the screech and fire for a millisecond raged. I had covered my wife but not myself. We were in an air pocket mostly but the left side of my face pounded. I let out a scream. My arm was visibly on fire. Lifeless but on fire. I brished it away and made the final step. 12 paces to the door. Worry and pain filled my body.
We made it to the door and outside. I felt the rubberband now it had nothing left, I felt like i was in the safe zone. I said screw it and ran. On the 2nd stride it busted.
The blast knocked me out for 3 weeks. I woke up in a hospital bed my wife with weepy eyes and covered in bandages saw me wake. She cried a happy cry of relief. I was burned on 40% of my body. We later found out it was a busted gas line in the morning.
Weeks into rehab an investigator for the fire department came by. He asked me how they got outside. I said I smelled gas and my wife was unconscious. He acted like he bought it. But as he was leaving he turned around and put on his hat and said. "Well maybe someday you can explain how the neighbors camera sees you appear in the middle of the front lawn 2 seconds before the exlplosion." | I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | I knew it. Long before it happened. I made up theories. What will happen, how will it go down, what will I experience. Welp, that's it. The World is my playground. Fuck me.
My name is Rupert Thompson and I have a very weird ability. Time stops when I'm in danger. Sounds cool, doesn't it? It was cool. Really cool. Oh, all the things I've done. Robbing banks with an explosive charge strapped to my chest, going into places I should've never gone into. I've read the info on the aliens in the FBI archives, you know. All the fights where my opponents were baffled by my lightning reflexes. That was a fun time.
But now. Now I've been beaten by my own body. Cancer is a bitch, they say. They don't even know how right they are.
"Rupert, I'm afraid you have about a month left. Terminal lung cancer, nothing we can do." That's what the doctor told me. He was right in his own way. A week ago, normal-timewise, my time slowed. It was really hard to even talk to people at that point, as they talked too slow and I talked too fast. Doctors said that speech impediments might happen due to my illness. Yeah, sure, make another guess. Last two days lasted forever. To other people I probably was a flash of light instead of a normal human being. They dispatched a task force to take me down when some random dude saw me in the shop and I just walked past them not paying any attention.
Then I started guessing. First I hoped I'd die like any normal person. Then, as time slowed its pace I started thinking that maybe I can heal myself by actually living. My body keeps on, right? I can move, I breathe, I can even move other things that I touch. Maybe cancer won't survive when time gets that slow? Yeah, sure, make another guess. I figured that the time will probably stop completely. What next? I figured out a single way to die after that. Stepping down from a roof would be nice. I would basically crash myself under my own weight, so it would be all me, right? I hope I'd actually die after that.
The only way I can count time is by how much times I eat. For every three times I'll put a tick there, considering it to be a day. When someone finds this piece of paper, maybe give my body to science or something? I don't know. I want to be helpful. I've had a good life.
I think I'm the first person to stutter on a sheet of paper. Should probably think about what I'm writing before writing it. To be fair, I'm done. Don't know what to write here. Tell my kids I loved them. They do know it, but still. I hope I can finish it somehow.
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I have stepped on a roof 362 times. I don't think I can do it. Weird, right? Trapped by my own body. What's the point in having all of the world to myself if I can do nothing. Travelling's fine. Takes a lot of time, though. Made it from New York to Texas and then to California. Fun road trip. Seen some people in the cars. Two car crashes in action. Several birds being squashed by windshields. Fascinating. Started talking to myself. A lot. Hearing voices. A lot as well. Getting quite weird. Gonna make it back to NY and try to finish myself after all.
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------- Note, found in an inner pocket of a corpse that has appeared out of nowhere on one of the New York's streets. Currently hidden behind closed doors in Area 51. | I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Everything was quiet. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, and leaned forward on his knees, wiping his eyes. His clock said it was just after noon, but there was no sounds from the city outside. The blinds clanked with dull, echoing thuds. That was the giveaway.
Outside, a bird frozen mid-flight hovered a few feet from the glass. Not completely frozen, though; it moved very slowly, wings flapping downward. Below, cars were stopped in the street. People milled around, unmoving. Some of them were pointing. Others shielded their eyes and stared at the sky.
Most of the time it played out like a mystery. Quick, find the hidden danger! But that morning it was obvious. Hanging in the sky, bigger than Manhattan, was an arrowhead-shaped piece of debris falling through the clouds. It could have been a ship. The core, from tip to end, was a solid piece of copper, but branching out from that were glowing streaks of yellow. The air around it swirled away in dazzling plumes, fluffy white clouds whipped and tangled.
His pulse quickened. To get a better look he ran outside, but it was a slow affair. Doors moved as if stuck in glue and the deadbolt resisted his fingers. The elevator was out, so he ran down four stories, noting that people had gathered at each of the windows, watching the thing fall to Earth.
Outside he bumped into a woman holding a paper cup of coffee. The ability rooted in him rippled, and everything skipped forward a second. Everything around him jumped briefly. The woman's coffee went flying out of her hand, a curtain of coffee with cream splaying into the air, but then stopped.
No motion.
Above the city, the arrowhead had skipped closer, throwing a shadow across the opposite side of the street. He was ready for a hike, but this was unbelievably. Whatever it was, landing here, it would level the entire borough, probably the city. He'd need to go back upstairs and pack, change his clothes. Barefoot, topless, and wearing only a pair of pajama pants wouldn't serve once time caught up with him.
As he turned back to his apartment building, the sunlight trickled in a way he'd never seen before. There was a tug at the bottom of his stomach. A mist of color swarmed him, heavy and sweet. He backed away, waving his hand to clear the fog as he coughed.
Something wasn't right. In front of him was an image of himself, staring at him with unfocused eyes. The woman and her coffee were behind the afterimage of himself. Things began to move again, but now they were moving backwards.
It started with his afterimage. His doppelgänger was stepping backwards, taking the same path he took coming out. The woman twirled into him, pushing him back through the entrance, grabbing her cup from the air. The door closed. He waited.
However long it had taken for him to wake up and run down the stairs rewound, and suddenly everyone was moving backwards.
The woman with the coffee clicked on her heels as she moved back. The sound was unsettling, a rush of air followed by a pop. Cars in the street made the inverse noise of combustion, moving in reverse. In the sky, the arrowhead retreated, pulling the clouds back across the sky as if settling back under the covers. Crowds of people exhaled, the opposite of their gasps.
He ran into the apartment, watching things skip and devolve around him. In his apartment he found himself sleeping. Things were gaining momentum. He wasn't himself anymore. Somehow his ability had kicked into overdrive, forcing the needle on the record not just to stop, but to move backwards in its groove. He'd jumped back and then there were two, making him a constant danger to himself.
The sun set in the east. The afterimage, the real him, whatever it was, went through his routine of the night before. Unplugged his cell phone. Unbrushed his teeth and spooned the paste into the tube. Vomited mouthfuls of clean water into a glass.
The event went by faster. He tried to follow, but his image vanished in a blur. When he cried out his words were twisted, unintelligible sounds. The ground beneath his feet rumbled and he fled the building in time to watch its deconstruction.
Day and night merged into a hazy gray. Flashes of rain storms and snow. People, large groups of them, boiled down to streams of ghosts. The building was taken down, then the block. The streets were unpaved and replaced with weathered concrete that healed. Nature took back the island.
Amidst the chaos he sat, unable to even cry, as the continents merged back into one. A second later he experienced the beginning of time, which to him was nothingness. | I woke up in a daze. As I looked around, everything had gone to slow motion again. A nurse was running towards me really slowly. That is when I felt the pain. My chest hurt something awful. It felt like thousands of pounds were weighing down on my chest. Fear gripped my mind as I realized the nurse wasn't moving slowly, but rather she had stopped moving. I had started to the hospital when time began to slow, at the same time as my chest pain began. I must have passed out at the entry way, but now it was no good. I knew I would die here. Only feet away from medical help. But thanks to my super power, adrenaline based time control, I would die before anyone was unbroken in time. It is funny. Without this power I may have lived through this threat in my life. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | The steel handle was cold beneath my fingers. With a couple more pounds of pressure I'll begin my journey of moving forward. The medication doesn't help. The thought of taking the medication compounds the issues. Just a couple more pounds of pressure. I watched as the water circulated clockwise pulling the Zoloft, Xanax, Lexapro, Buspar and Propranolol downwards until it disappeared with the water. The gurgle in the bowl and hissing of the tank validated that I made the right decision. The decision to take control of my life. To live with my anxiety and not against it. In this brief moment relief swept through my body and my mind was clear.
Today is Monday, a new day, a new week and a new me. For the first time in years I arrive to work full optimism and excitement. "Hello Jan. Hello Jack. Good Morning Frank. Great day today isn't it!?" Yes! It feels great to feel great.
"Look at that line for the elevator. I might be late for my 9am meeting. No worries. All is good. All is great." The elevator dings and for a moment as the elevator began its decent I felt weightlessness and calm.
The elevator is packed. I wonder if the elevator is beyond capacity? What if the cable snaps? What if the elevator plummets? What if it stops? What if I need to pee when it stops? I'm going to have a break down! My finger twitches, I scratch my face and shift my weight to the side. Why are we still moving? Why hasn't the elevator stopped yet? Why is the elevator moving so slowly? Does anyone else notice? I'm going to scream. No don't scream. If you scream your coworkers will always judge you. Just stand still and don't move. My heart is beating soo fast. I can't breath. My legs are trembling. Does anyone notice? Why hasn't this elevator stopped yet. Don't cry. Don't cry. Breath. Come on breath. Breath 1,2,3,4 and exhale. Breath 1,2,3,4 and exhale.
Oh my god why hasn't the elevator stopped yet!!!
| I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Oddly enough, it was the utter stillness of the room that woke her up instead of the incessant buzzing of her morning alarm. It was so quiet she could hear the joints moving in her body as she stretched. The faint *woosh* of her eyelashes gently fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked several times to awake.
Suddenly realization hit her as it became clear what was happening. Her heart a steady, always a steady *thud thud thud* in her chest, she froze. That was always one of her first indicators. That no matter how matter how fearful, or excited, her heartbeat remained steady. Beating the same rhythm since her birth, with no variations.
She quickly looked out her window at the crow titled an awkward level pecking at something in a branch. The leaves unnaturally still. But this whole situation was unnatural, including herself.
Scrambling out of the bed quickly she felt doozy as she stood up. Realizing she was breathing too fast in a panic, she forced herself to try and take smaller and deeper breaths. "Get it together Dana," she gasped to herself out loud. Even for only a few moments her body was revolting against the silence, recognizing the wrongness of the misleading peace.
*Car turning without looking, the odd elongated horn the only clue that something was amiss, giving her ample time to cross the street slowly in confusion.*
*After work shift walking to bus, the feel of metal against her spine. Her grasping the gun from the assailant now lax hand.*
Those were two of some major incidents. Scattered between them were smaller cases. Jumping in shock at the sight of an unexpected mouse only had the mouse moving a slightly lower pace. Her mom hand moving slower before it knocked her to the ground, causing her to break her arm. Put together over the years, she realized time slowed down relative to how dangerous or potentially fatal it was to her.
It had never stopped completely.
Senses heightened she only had a split second before she felt and heard a presence then was roughly tossed and pinned to her bed with a burning palm pushing directly into her chest.
"You've been a hard one to pin down," a wispy voice intoned, then made a gargling noise, that despite how foreign it sounded, didn't conceal the sound of dark amusement.
Dana kicked and flailed. "Get--off!" She gasped out. Which only made the thing push its hand harder. She felt her heart beat picking up. She stilled. *'What's happening? What is this? My heart, I-I'm'*
The being was the color of grey volcanic ash. No eyes, nose, hair. Just a pale mouth that was twisted in a mockery of a smile. A purple haze cloaked its naked and formless body. The only semblance of humans its hands, which felt like it was roasting her body from the inside.
She tried to form words, but the pain and pressure was too much to get anything out.
"Oh, trying to speak." The lips curled in a sneer. "The only thing you should be doing is begging me to kill you quickly, or pooling for causing me agony." They let up some of the pressure from their hand, the sensation of fire still coursing thru her chest.
"Why?" was all she managed to gasp out.
"You caused me numerous embarrassments. Did you think those near death experiences were coincidences? Did you think you were special?" It leaned down and its haunting features were obscured by the haze now covering her body. "No, you pest. You were mine. Mine to kill! Time only slowed down so you could realize your pitiful place in the universe and the power I contain over you."
Blinking furiously through the tears from the pain, she managed to bite out. "Well you obviously suck at your job." She moved her to touch its forearm, and grimaced at the putty consistency. "Because…I. Escaped at least…twice!"
It wailed in rage in response, and the purple haze began to get darker in color. "That's why I am here, to make sure the job is done this time." It placed its other hand on her chest and her heart-rate began skyrocketing.
She was dying. She didn't think she was impervious to it, but all the years of avoiding any serious danger, and being alerted to minor ones, she rarely thought about her mortality. The one constant in her life, no matter the abuse, the accidents, the frights, and disasters. Her heart remained steady. Sure. Steady. Sure. Black dots began to dance around the corner of her vision. Maybe it was the years of her body protecting her on instinct. Or perhaps her brain subconsciously picking up how easy her fingers slid under the beings skin.
Whatever it was, with her heart attempting to rattle her rib cage, she reached up and pushed her hands through its chest. Then silence. | I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Quiet.
Audrey blinked, staring at the dim, blurry plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above her bed. She pulled the covers over her eyes, blotting out the light, and smiled as the warmth of her blanket washed over her face. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested.
But why was it so dark?
Underneath her blanket, Audrey frowned. It wasn't right, for her to feel like this - not yet. She had been tired when she went to bed, worn out from a long day of school and soccer practice. She *should* still be tired. Unless...
Suddenly, she threw back the covers and jammed her glasses onto her face, staring rapt at the clock on her bedside table. 3:02. For several long minutes, she stared at the glowing red numbers, watching them - *willing* them - to change. Nothing. With every second that passed, more and more panic flooded into her chest. Then, all at once, something happened.
The colon went dark.
Audrey cursed, then slapped her hands over her mouth before she remembered that no one else could hear. One second? No, not even that long. Half a second - and that was assuming she even looked at the clock at the right time. How long had she been like this, sleeping her time away in the dark? She cursed again, a little quieter this time.
She had to find her stopwatch.
Fuming, she leapt out of bed and flicked on the light before diving into her backpack. It had to be in here, somewhere - she always kept one nearby, ever since the bomber at her school had stopped her time nearly cold. She had been twelve then, just entering the third grade - at least, she had been before she started evacuating people out of the building. Now, she wasn't sure how old she really was.
She smiled as she felt the blocky object on her fingertips. She didn't know how much time she had lost - not really - but this at least would give her some idea. For Audry, time was relative - slow to the exact point that she needed it to be - whether she wanted it to be or not. Before, with the bomber, one second had been a single millisecond. She had plenty of time, then, even when she needed to eat or sleep. Now, she just needed to know exactly how long she had this time.
She pushed the start button, and frowned.
Nothing had changed. The numbers had lit up, at least, proudly displaying the 0:00^00 of an idle watch. And yet, she had pressed start - she had been sure of it. Groaning in frustration, she hammered away at the buttons a few more times, just to be sure. Still, nothing. She dropped it on the floor, defeated.
The number ticked up by one.
Audry stared at it for a moment in disbelief. How long, exactly, did she have? Her last misadventure had taken ages - months, even - before she had been allowed to return to a normal time frame. Her cafeteria and a nearby grocer had provided enough food, luckily enough, but even then she had gotten sick of the same old mashed potatoes and cole slaw before long. How was she supposed to survive? Not to mention the bigger question:
What was causing her to slow down?
Suddenly wary, Audry looked around her room with suspicion. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bomber had been obvious enough: she had found him just downstairs threatening the teachers, gun in one hand and dead man's switch in the other. Simple. This time, however, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy. Quietly, she got dressed and went to investigate her neighborhood. Whatever it was, it had to be *big*.
It wasn't fire, at least that she could see. Nor was it gas - at least, she certainly hoped that it wasn't. While she couldn't smell anything, she wasn't entirely sure how her ability interacted with air. Still, she wasn't dead, and that was a start.
The air outside her home was cool and refreshing, despite the late hour. She was grateful for that, and the glowing orange streetlights that dotted the road outside of her house. Nothing looked out of place here, either. It was just a normal, cloudy night.
Except for the light.
Audry hadn't noticed it, not at first. It had been too dim from behind the clouds, and the streetlamps had made her night vision weak. But there it was, painting the clouds an odd greenish color from behind. It faintly reminded her of the stars in her bedroom. But when she happened upon a hole in the clouds that gave her a glimpse of the object, her blood ran cold.
It was a fireball, the largest she had ever seen.
Fear danced through Audrey's limbs like electricity. A falling star, here? Of all places? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't someone told her, warned her that something like this could happen? She eyed the glowing thing, squinting away from its light. How was she going to stop *that*? It was close, so close already - and she had no idea how far its fires would reach. How many people were in its radius, would be killed if it hit? Her neighborhood? The whole city? A part of her wanted to run, to get away from it all - maybe only take her family, her mother and father. That would be hard enough on its own. Audrey swallowed, hard. She could do it - if she got far enough away, so that she was safe, her time would snap back to normal. She had to choose. To run...
Or to live for years in solitude, alone with a city of statues, always trying to save just one more.
| I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
| I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | My power kicked in around the time I hit puberty. The effects of it seemed to grow with time, at the start if there was a life threatening danger time would slow usually just enough for me to escape. However now if my life was in danger time would slow by what I estimate to be about 70 times. I started experimenting with it while at university, place myself in insane risk and see what happened. The greater the danger the slower time passed.
I would jump in front of buses just to watch everything slow completely. My friends, onlookers, they all would ever so slowly turn their heads to view the impending doom that never came. To them it seemed like my reactions were quicker than humanly possible however I knew that it was actually the world that reacted very slowly.
This day was different however. I woke up and looked over to my window, it was still dark out but I felt like I had slept in for hours. My watch said the time was 2:32:21 in the morning. I counted the seconds until my clock ticked till 2:33:22 to see how slow time was passing. 119,120,121... I had never reached above 100 before and began to realise that I must be in serious trouble.
As I looked round their didn't seem to be any imminent danger, looking outside they were no planes about to crash into my house or serial killers lurking outside. Confused and slightly panicked I began searching for anything that could be about to kill me and how to stop it. Nothing.
Everything seemed perfectly normal but frozen. I walked from my house wondering if it was about to explode but even as I reached the next block time still remained frozen.
Defeated I wondered the city, aimlessly, hoping that time would magically unfreeze. Tick. My watch had moved to the next second.
Confused I continued walking until I heard another tick about two minutes later. Time was speeding up. I passed another two blocks before the next tick, as if my position determined how quickly time was passing. I moved back towards where it was ticking faster and experimented with different directions. East seemed to speed my clock up the most so headed in that direction.
Soon my clock was ticking every thirty seconds and that's when the realisation hit me. There it stood only three minutes walk from where I stood. The hospital.
Knowing this must be the answer I ran towards it busting through the doors, the ticks of my watch resuming the night receptionist starting to move and an intense pain in my chest swelling up to consume me until there was only blackness. | I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | "Man, It feels like I slept in today, but my alarm didnt go off." I said grogged. I glanced at the clock 5:45 a.m. "Well I guess I'll get an early shower" I thought. My wife was fast asleep stiff as a board. I went into the bathroom and was quickly taken back that we had no pressure. I went down stairs and to my shock the floor was exploding.
I was born with a rare trait that the more dire the situation the slower time felt. However my heart was in my throat. I had never once seen time completely stop. I quickly grabbed my wife. But there was a problem.
For every step I took away from the exlosion there was a loud bit brief audible sound. Like someone pausing an action movie. I realized what ever talent or ability I had was pushing its limit stopping time for a couple hours. I started up the stairs every step a loud crash below. I assessed the situation and determined that that this gift was like stretching a rubber band. Every step it was about to break. "Should I run or go slower?" I asked. I flashed back to when my ability first manifested. My father and I were ice fishing. We were on too thin of ice in a early winter. Time slowed enough back then to keep me from falling in but when i tried to rush it, i opened up more ice and slowed time again. It wasnt until I relaxed that I made it out.
"Just like back then, I gotta keep cool." I started moving again slower, time resumed, but not as bad as the others. 5 more steps to go. The next step nothing happened. It was working. I took my time and made it to our bedroom. I grabbed my wife and started for the stairs. She was heavy, dead weight was. I slipped.
We both crashed and I heard her scream for a fraction of a second. I looked in horror and realized the exlosion now engulfed the stairs.
"Damn it! What am I going to do?"
The window or risk the exlosion? If i go to fast we will be both fried instantly. If i die in this state what would happen to the world? I tried the window.
It wouldnt budge. The house was warped from the explosion it had bent the frame of the window. Everytine I pulled too hard the loud screech came again. I had to go down through the fire. Before it was too late. I felt as if whatever gave me this ability was really wearing off. I felt dizzy and tired like i had been awake for a week straight. I put her on my shoulder this time and started the journey down. I reached and felt the fire. It was lifeless neither hot nor cold. Each step slower. My gift was a little stronger the closest to the flame, i felt it though, the gift taking its toll on my body. I worried when we started to walk out of the flame, would my gift hold up? The 2nd to last step i slipped the screech and fire for a millisecond raged. I had covered my wife but not myself. We were in an air pocket mostly but the left side of my face pounded. I let out a scream. My arm was visibly on fire. Lifeless but on fire. I brished it away and made the final step. 12 paces to the door. Worry and pain filled my body.
We made it to the door and outside. I felt the rubberband now it had nothing left, I felt like i was in the safe zone. I said screw it and ran. On the 2nd stride it busted.
The blast knocked me out for 3 weeks. I woke up in a hospital bed my wife with weepy eyes and covered in bandages saw me wake. She cried a happy cry of relief. I was burned on 40% of my body. We later found out it was a busted gas line in the morning.
Weeks into rehab an investigator for the fire department came by. He asked me how they got outside. I said I smelled gas and my wife was unconscious. He acted like he bought it. But as he was leaving he turned around and put on his hat and said. "Well maybe someday you can explain how the neighbors camera sees you appear in the middle of the front lawn 2 seconds before the exlplosion." | I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | I knew it. Long before it happened. I made up theories. What will happen, how will it go down, what will I experience. Welp, that's it. The World is my playground. Fuck me.
My name is Rupert Thompson and I have a very weird ability. Time stops when I'm in danger. Sounds cool, doesn't it? It was cool. Really cool. Oh, all the things I've done. Robbing banks with an explosive charge strapped to my chest, going into places I should've never gone into. I've read the info on the aliens in the FBI archives, you know. All the fights where my opponents were baffled by my lightning reflexes. That was a fun time.
But now. Now I've been beaten by my own body. Cancer is a bitch, they say. They don't even know how right they are.
"Rupert, I'm afraid you have about a month left. Terminal lung cancer, nothing we can do." That's what the doctor told me. He was right in his own way. A week ago, normal-timewise, my time slowed. It was really hard to even talk to people at that point, as they talked too slow and I talked too fast. Doctors said that speech impediments might happen due to my illness. Yeah, sure, make another guess. Last two days lasted forever. To other people I probably was a flash of light instead of a normal human being. They dispatched a task force to take me down when some random dude saw me in the shop and I just walked past them not paying any attention.
Then I started guessing. First I hoped I'd die like any normal person. Then, as time slowed its pace I started thinking that maybe I can heal myself by actually living. My body keeps on, right? I can move, I breathe, I can even move other things that I touch. Maybe cancer won't survive when time gets that slow? Yeah, sure, make another guess. I figured that the time will probably stop completely. What next? I figured out a single way to die after that. Stepping down from a roof would be nice. I would basically crash myself under my own weight, so it would be all me, right? I hope I'd actually die after that.
The only way I can count time is by how much times I eat. For every three times I'll put a tick there, considering it to be a day. When someone finds this piece of paper, maybe give my body to science or something? I don't know. I want to be helpful. I've had a good life.
I think I'm the first person to stutter on a sheet of paper. Should probably think about what I'm writing before writing it. To be fair, I'm done. Don't know what to write here. Tell my kids I loved them. They do know it, but still. I hope I can finish it somehow.
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I have stepped on a roof 362 times. I don't think I can do it. Weird, right? Trapped by my own body. What's the point in having all of the world to myself if I can do nothing. Travelling's fine. Takes a lot of time, though. Made it from New York to Texas and then to California. Fun road trip. Seen some people in the cars. Two car crashes in action. Several birds being squashed by windshields. Fascinating. Started talking to myself. A lot. Hearing voices. A lot as well. Getting quite weird. Gonna make it back to NY and try to finish myself after all.
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------- Note, found in an inner pocket of a corpse that has appeared out of nowhere on one of the New York's streets. Currently hidden behind closed doors in Area 51. | I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Everything was quiet. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, and leaned forward on his knees, wiping his eyes. His clock said it was just after noon, but there was no sounds from the city outside. The blinds clanked with dull, echoing thuds. That was the giveaway.
Outside, a bird frozen mid-flight hovered a few feet from the glass. Not completely frozen, though; it moved very slowly, wings flapping downward. Below, cars were stopped in the street. People milled around, unmoving. Some of them were pointing. Others shielded their eyes and stared at the sky.
Most of the time it played out like a mystery. Quick, find the hidden danger! But that morning it was obvious. Hanging in the sky, bigger than Manhattan, was an arrowhead-shaped piece of debris falling through the clouds. It could have been a ship. The core, from tip to end, was a solid piece of copper, but branching out from that were glowing streaks of yellow. The air around it swirled away in dazzling plumes, fluffy white clouds whipped and tangled.
His pulse quickened. To get a better look he ran outside, but it was a slow affair. Doors moved as if stuck in glue and the deadbolt resisted his fingers. The elevator was out, so he ran down four stories, noting that people had gathered at each of the windows, watching the thing fall to Earth.
Outside he bumped into a woman holding a paper cup of coffee. The ability rooted in him rippled, and everything skipped forward a second. Everything around him jumped briefly. The woman's coffee went flying out of her hand, a curtain of coffee with cream splaying into the air, but then stopped.
No motion.
Above the city, the arrowhead had skipped closer, throwing a shadow across the opposite side of the street. He was ready for a hike, but this was unbelievably. Whatever it was, landing here, it would level the entire borough, probably the city. He'd need to go back upstairs and pack, change his clothes. Barefoot, topless, and wearing only a pair of pajama pants wouldn't serve once time caught up with him.
As he turned back to his apartment building, the sunlight trickled in a way he'd never seen before. There was a tug at the bottom of his stomach. A mist of color swarmed him, heavy and sweet. He backed away, waving his hand to clear the fog as he coughed.
Something wasn't right. In front of him was an image of himself, staring at him with unfocused eyes. The woman and her coffee were behind the afterimage of himself. Things began to move again, but now they were moving backwards.
It started with his afterimage. His doppelgänger was stepping backwards, taking the same path he took coming out. The woman twirled into him, pushing him back through the entrance, grabbing her cup from the air. The door closed. He waited.
However long it had taken for him to wake up and run down the stairs rewound, and suddenly everyone was moving backwards.
The woman with the coffee clicked on her heels as she moved back. The sound was unsettling, a rush of air followed by a pop. Cars in the street made the inverse noise of combustion, moving in reverse. In the sky, the arrowhead retreated, pulling the clouds back across the sky as if settling back under the covers. Crowds of people exhaled, the opposite of their gasps.
He ran into the apartment, watching things skip and devolve around him. In his apartment he found himself sleeping. Things were gaining momentum. He wasn't himself anymore. Somehow his ability had kicked into overdrive, forcing the needle on the record not just to stop, but to move backwards in its groove. He'd jumped back and then there were two, making him a constant danger to himself.
The sun set in the east. The afterimage, the real him, whatever it was, went through his routine of the night before. Unplugged his cell phone. Unbrushed his teeth and spooned the paste into the tube. Vomited mouthfuls of clean water into a glass.
The event went by faster. He tried to follow, but his image vanished in a blur. When he cried out his words were twisted, unintelligible sounds. The ground beneath his feet rumbled and he fled the building in time to watch its deconstruction.
Day and night merged into a hazy gray. Flashes of rain storms and snow. People, large groups of them, boiled down to streams of ghosts. The building was taken down, then the block. The streets were unpaved and replaced with weathered concrete that healed. Nature took back the island.
Amidst the chaos he sat, unable to even cry, as the continents merged back into one. A second later he experienced the beginning of time, which to him was nothingness. | I woke up and everything was still. I've never seen it this motionless, what kind of trouble could I be in?
Then I remembered.
Today was my trip to the Lego factory. My feet were already tingling as if they knew the pain that was imminent.
My bus driven by the crazy lady that shouldn't be around kids. My country driven by the crazy orange man.
I knew I'd be forever stuck in this pocket dimension.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I yelled as I grabbed my gun. I pointed it at my head and... nothing. I laughed as it was a Glock and probably misfired or something. I reached for my trusty CZ and BAM! It's reliability and good value were my downfall.
Fin
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
| The steel handle was cold beneath my fingers. With a couple more pounds of pressure I'll begin my journey of moving forward. The medication doesn't help. The thought of taking the medication compounds the issues. Just a couple more pounds of pressure. I watched as the water circulated clockwise pulling the Zoloft, Xanax, Lexapro, Buspar and Propranolol downwards until it disappeared with the water. The gurgle in the bowl and hissing of the tank validated that I made the right decision. The decision to take control of my life. To live with my anxiety and not against it. In this brief moment relief swept through my body and my mind was clear.
Today is Monday, a new day, a new week and a new me. For the first time in years I arrive to work full optimism and excitement. "Hello Jan. Hello Jack. Good Morning Frank. Great day today isn't it!?" Yes! It feels great to feel great.
"Look at that line for the elevator. I might be late for my 9am meeting. No worries. All is good. All is great." The elevator dings and for a moment as the elevator began its decent I felt weightlessness and calm.
The elevator is packed. I wonder if the elevator is beyond capacity? What if the cable snaps? What if the elevator plummets? What if it stops? What if I need to pee when it stops? I'm going to have a break down! My finger twitches, I scratch my face and shift my weight to the side. Why are we still moving? Why hasn't the elevator stopped yet? Why is the elevator moving so slowly? Does anyone else notice? I'm going to scream. No don't scream. If you scream your coworkers will always judge you. Just stand still and don't move. My heart is beating soo fast. I can't breath. My legs are trembling. Does anyone notice? Why hasn't this elevator stopped yet. Don't cry. Don't cry. Breath. Come on breath. Breath 1,2,3,4 and exhale. Breath 1,2,3,4 and exhale.
Oh my god why hasn't the elevator stopped yet!!!
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
| Quiet.
Audrey blinked, staring at the dim, blurry plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above her bed. She pulled the covers over her eyes, blotting out the light, and smiled as the warmth of her blanket washed over her face. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested.
But why was it so dark?
Underneath her blanket, Audrey frowned. It wasn't right, for her to feel like this - not yet. She had been tired when she went to bed, worn out from a long day of school and soccer practice. She *should* still be tired. Unless...
Suddenly, she threw back the covers and jammed her glasses onto her face, staring rapt at the clock on her bedside table. 3:02. For several long minutes, she stared at the glowing red numbers, watching them - *willing* them - to change. Nothing. With every second that passed, more and more panic flooded into her chest. Then, all at once, something happened.
The colon went dark.
Audrey cursed, then slapped her hands over her mouth before she remembered that no one else could hear. One second? No, not even that long. Half a second - and that was assuming she even looked at the clock at the right time. How long had she been like this, sleeping her time away in the dark? She cursed again, a little quieter this time.
She had to find her stopwatch.
Fuming, she leapt out of bed and flicked on the light before diving into her backpack. It had to be in here, somewhere - she always kept one nearby, ever since the bomber at her school had stopped her time nearly cold. She had been twelve then, just entering the third grade - at least, she had been before she started evacuating people out of the building. Now, she wasn't sure how old she really was.
She smiled as she felt the blocky object on her fingertips. She didn't know how much time she had lost - not really - but this at least would give her some idea. For Audry, time was relative - slow to the exact point that she needed it to be - whether she wanted it to be or not. Before, with the bomber, one second had been a single millisecond. She had plenty of time, then, even when she needed to eat or sleep. Now, she just needed to know exactly how long she had this time.
She pushed the start button, and frowned.
Nothing had changed. The numbers had lit up, at least, proudly displaying the 0:00^00 of an idle watch. And yet, she had pressed start - she had been sure of it. Groaning in frustration, she hammered away at the buttons a few more times, just to be sure. Still, nothing. She dropped it on the floor, defeated.
The number ticked up by one.
Audry stared at it for a moment in disbelief. How long, exactly, did she have? Her last misadventure had taken ages - months, even - before she had been allowed to return to a normal time frame. Her cafeteria and a nearby grocer had provided enough food, luckily enough, but even then she had gotten sick of the same old mashed potatoes and cole slaw before long. How was she supposed to survive? Not to mention the bigger question:
What was causing her to slow down?
Suddenly wary, Audry looked around her room with suspicion. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bomber had been obvious enough: she had found him just downstairs threatening the teachers, gun in one hand and dead man's switch in the other. Simple. This time, however, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy. Quietly, she got dressed and went to investigate her neighborhood. Whatever it was, it had to be *big*.
It wasn't fire, at least that she could see. Nor was it gas - at least, she certainly hoped that it wasn't. While she couldn't smell anything, she wasn't entirely sure how her ability interacted with air. Still, she wasn't dead, and that was a start.
The air outside her home was cool and refreshing, despite the late hour. She was grateful for that, and the glowing orange streetlights that dotted the road outside of her house. Nothing looked out of place here, either. It was just a normal, cloudy night.
Except for the light.
Audry hadn't noticed it, not at first. It had been too dim from behind the clouds, and the streetlamps had made her night vision weak. But there it was, painting the clouds an odd greenish color from behind. It faintly reminded her of the stars in her bedroom. But when she happened upon a hole in the clouds that gave her a glimpse of the object, her blood ran cold.
It was a fireball, the largest she had ever seen.
Fear danced through Audrey's limbs like electricity. A falling star, here? Of all places? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't someone told her, warned her that something like this could happen? She eyed the glowing thing, squinting away from its light. How was she going to stop *that*? It was close, so close already - and she had no idea how far its fires would reach. How many people were in its radius, would be killed if it hit? Her neighborhood? The whole city? A part of her wanted to run, to get away from it all - maybe only take her family, her mother and father. That would be hard enough on its own. Audrey swallowed, hard. She could do it - if she got far enough away, so that she was safe, her time would snap back to normal. She had to choose. To run...
Or to live for years in solitude, alone with a city of statues, always trying to save just one more.
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | My power kicked in around the time I hit puberty. The effects of it seemed to grow with time, at the start if there was a life threatening danger time would slow usually just enough for me to escape. However now if my life was in danger time would slow by what I estimate to be about 70 times. I started experimenting with it while at university, place myself in insane risk and see what happened. The greater the danger the slower time passed.
I would jump in front of buses just to watch everything slow completely. My friends, onlookers, they all would ever so slowly turn their heads to view the impending doom that never came. To them it seemed like my reactions were quicker than humanly possible however I knew that it was actually the world that reacted very slowly.
This day was different however. I woke up and looked over to my window, it was still dark out but I felt like I had slept in for hours. My watch said the time was 2:32:21 in the morning. I counted the seconds until my clock ticked till 2:33:22 to see how slow time was passing. 119,120,121... I had never reached above 100 before and began to realise that I must be in serious trouble.
As I looked round their didn't seem to be any imminent danger, looking outside they were no planes about to crash into my house or serial killers lurking outside. Confused and slightly panicked I began searching for anything that could be about to kill me and how to stop it. Nothing.
Everything seemed perfectly normal but frozen. I walked from my house wondering if it was about to explode but even as I reached the next block time still remained frozen.
Defeated I wondered the city, aimlessly, hoping that time would magically unfreeze. Tick. My watch had moved to the next second.
Confused I continued walking until I heard another tick about two minutes later. Time was speeding up. I passed another two blocks before the next tick, as if my position determined how quickly time was passing. I moved back towards where it was ticking faster and experimented with different directions. East seemed to speed my clock up the most so headed in that direction.
Soon my clock was ticking every thirty seconds and that's when the realisation hit me. There it stood only three minutes walk from where I stood. The hospital.
Knowing this must be the answer I ran towards it busting through the doors, the ticks of my watch resuming the night receptionist starting to move and an intense pain in my chest swelling up to consume me until there was only blackness. | Quiet.
Audrey blinked, staring at the dim, blurry plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above her bed. She pulled the covers over her eyes, blotting out the light, and smiled as the warmth of her blanket washed over her face. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested.
But why was it so dark?
Underneath her blanket, Audrey frowned. It wasn't right, for her to feel like this - not yet. She had been tired when she went to bed, worn out from a long day of school and soccer practice. She *should* still be tired. Unless...
Suddenly, she threw back the covers and jammed her glasses onto her face, staring rapt at the clock on her bedside table. 3:02. For several long minutes, she stared at the glowing red numbers, watching them - *willing* them - to change. Nothing. With every second that passed, more and more panic flooded into her chest. Then, all at once, something happened.
The colon went dark.
Audrey cursed, then slapped her hands over her mouth before she remembered that no one else could hear. One second? No, not even that long. Half a second - and that was assuming she even looked at the clock at the right time. How long had she been like this, sleeping her time away in the dark? She cursed again, a little quieter this time.
She had to find her stopwatch.
Fuming, she leapt out of bed and flicked on the light before diving into her backpack. It had to be in here, somewhere - she always kept one nearby, ever since the bomber at her school had stopped her time nearly cold. She had been twelve then, just entering the third grade - at least, she had been before she started evacuating people out of the building. Now, she wasn't sure how old she really was.
She smiled as she felt the blocky object on her fingertips. She didn't know how much time she had lost - not really - but this at least would give her some idea. For Audry, time was relative - slow to the exact point that she needed it to be - whether she wanted it to be or not. Before, with the bomber, one second had been a single millisecond. She had plenty of time, then, even when she needed to eat or sleep. Now, she just needed to know exactly how long she had this time.
She pushed the start button, and frowned.
Nothing had changed. The numbers had lit up, at least, proudly displaying the 0:00^00 of an idle watch. And yet, she had pressed start - she had been sure of it. Groaning in frustration, she hammered away at the buttons a few more times, just to be sure. Still, nothing. She dropped it on the floor, defeated.
The number ticked up by one.
Audry stared at it for a moment in disbelief. How long, exactly, did she have? Her last misadventure had taken ages - months, even - before she had been allowed to return to a normal time frame. Her cafeteria and a nearby grocer had provided enough food, luckily enough, but even then she had gotten sick of the same old mashed potatoes and cole slaw before long. How was she supposed to survive? Not to mention the bigger question:
What was causing her to slow down?
Suddenly wary, Audry looked around her room with suspicion. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bomber had been obvious enough: she had found him just downstairs threatening the teachers, gun in one hand and dead man's switch in the other. Simple. This time, however, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy. Quietly, she got dressed and went to investigate her neighborhood. Whatever it was, it had to be *big*.
It wasn't fire, at least that she could see. Nor was it gas - at least, she certainly hoped that it wasn't. While she couldn't smell anything, she wasn't entirely sure how her ability interacted with air. Still, she wasn't dead, and that was a start.
The air outside her home was cool and refreshing, despite the late hour. She was grateful for that, and the glowing orange streetlights that dotted the road outside of her house. Nothing looked out of place here, either. It was just a normal, cloudy night.
Except for the light.
Audry hadn't noticed it, not at first. It had been too dim from behind the clouds, and the streetlamps had made her night vision weak. But there it was, painting the clouds an odd greenish color from behind. It faintly reminded her of the stars in her bedroom. But when she happened upon a hole in the clouds that gave her a glimpse of the object, her blood ran cold.
It was a fireball, the largest she had ever seen.
Fear danced through Audrey's limbs like electricity. A falling star, here? Of all places? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't someone told her, warned her that something like this could happen? She eyed the glowing thing, squinting away from its light. How was she going to stop *that*? It was close, so close already - and she had no idea how far its fires would reach. How many people were in its radius, would be killed if it hit? Her neighborhood? The whole city? A part of her wanted to run, to get away from it all - maybe only take her family, her mother and father. That would be hard enough on its own. Audrey swallowed, hard. She could do it - if she got far enough away, so that she was safe, her time would snap back to normal. She had to choose. To run...
Or to live for years in solitude, alone with a city of statues, always trying to save just one more.
| |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
| I don't know how you would classify some decisions in life. Was it bad if it brought you so much happiness, contentment at least? How could I have known the future? How could I expect things to change? I am middle-aged, a little grey, and the regret kills me. I guess it was a bad decision.
The morning stills to a photo. Beside me she sleeps and I love her. The years had taken our looks, dulled the minds, but never touched the passion. I love her. I touch her. She is still asleep. I think of all the memories we've had. I think of all our dreams. The world is still, too nice to be a photo, a painting maybe.
I don't want to get up. I turn a little. I look at her from all sides. Our bedroom is dark, full of morning shadows battling the just risen sun. It is the last sun I will be alive for.
The scent of everything kind of merges as it does when time gets like this. It is a pleasant smell. At first I am contented. Then I grow sad and I cry. I whisper to her, to calm myself, and it makes me feel worse. I have known her forever. She will only know me for part of forever. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for both of us.
There is no danger of course. Just bad decisions. Our room is peaceful. The day is bright. It is a wonderful day if not for what would soon happen. I feel guilty and blame myself. I am old now and who would have thought I would have something to live for? Who could imagine that taking a pull here and there would add up at the worst possible time? I have no one to blame but myself.
A few days ago the diagnosis had come. Cancer works fast. Even the frozen time cannot hold it. There is nothing to do really. I whisper more things until my voice cannot compose itself for words. I cry over her. Will those tears remain? Will they be the last remnants of me on her when I fade away? I kiss her, hoping it will last forever. I wish I could wake her and we could spend this eternal moment together, but it is mines and mines alone. And I feel alone.
I cannot tell you how long it lasts. There is hardly any danger. Only repercussions. The magic catches on and time moves again, slowly at first. Then it moves normally. A sharp pain takes me and it feels like the air is being taken out from within. My lungs are gone, and only their wheezy ghosts remain.
I think about waking her, but she doesn't need to see this. As much as I want her here, really here, I should save her the pain. She shouldn't suffer anymore for my bad decisions. I squeeze her hand softly and she stirs. The world fades as it awakens for her. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | My power kicked in around the time I hit puberty. The effects of it seemed to grow with time, at the start if there was a life threatening danger time would slow usually just enough for me to escape. However now if my life was in danger time would slow by what I estimate to be about 70 times. I started experimenting with it while at university, place myself in insane risk and see what happened. The greater the danger the slower time passed.
I would jump in front of buses just to watch everything slow completely. My friends, onlookers, they all would ever so slowly turn their heads to view the impending doom that never came. To them it seemed like my reactions were quicker than humanly possible however I knew that it was actually the world that reacted very slowly.
This day was different however. I woke up and looked over to my window, it was still dark out but I felt like I had slept in for hours. My watch said the time was 2:32:21 in the morning. I counted the seconds until my clock ticked till 2:33:22 to see how slow time was passing. 119,120,121... I had never reached above 100 before and began to realise that I must be in serious trouble.
As I looked round their didn't seem to be any imminent danger, looking outside they were no planes about to crash into my house or serial killers lurking outside. Confused and slightly panicked I began searching for anything that could be about to kill me and how to stop it. Nothing.
Everything seemed perfectly normal but frozen. I walked from my house wondering if it was about to explode but even as I reached the next block time still remained frozen.
Defeated I wondered the city, aimlessly, hoping that time would magically unfreeze. Tick. My watch had moved to the next second.
Confused I continued walking until I heard another tick about two minutes later. Time was speeding up. I passed another two blocks before the next tick, as if my position determined how quickly time was passing. I moved back towards where it was ticking faster and experimented with different directions. East seemed to speed my clock up the most so headed in that direction.
Soon my clock was ticking every thirty seconds and that's when the realisation hit me. There it stood only three minutes walk from where I stood. The hospital.
Knowing this must be the answer I ran towards it busting through the doors, the ticks of my watch resuming the night receptionist starting to move and an intense pain in my chest swelling up to consume me until there was only blackness. | I don't know how you would classify some decisions in life. Was it bad if it brought you so much happiness, contentment at least? How could I have known the future? How could I expect things to change? I am middle-aged, a little grey, and the regret kills me. I guess it was a bad decision.
The morning stills to a photo. Beside me she sleeps and I love her. The years had taken our looks, dulled the minds, but never touched the passion. I love her. I touch her. She is still asleep. I think of all the memories we've had. I think of all our dreams. The world is still, too nice to be a photo, a painting maybe.
I don't want to get up. I turn a little. I look at her from all sides. Our bedroom is dark, full of morning shadows battling the just risen sun. It is the last sun I will be alive for.
The scent of everything kind of merges as it does when time gets like this. It is a pleasant smell. At first I am contented. Then I grow sad and I cry. I whisper to her, to calm myself, and it makes me feel worse. I have known her forever. She will only know me for part of forever. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for both of us.
There is no danger of course. Just bad decisions. Our room is peaceful. The day is bright. It is a wonderful day if not for what would soon happen. I feel guilty and blame myself. I am old now and who would have thought I would have something to live for? Who could imagine that taking a pull here and there would add up at the worst possible time? I have no one to blame but myself.
A few days ago the diagnosis had come. Cancer works fast. Even the frozen time cannot hold it. There is nothing to do really. I whisper more things until my voice cannot compose itself for words. I cry over her. Will those tears remain? Will they be the last remnants of me on her when I fade away? I kiss her, hoping it will last forever. I wish I could wake her and we could spend this eternal moment together, but it is mines and mines alone. And I feel alone.
I cannot tell you how long it lasts. There is hardly any danger. Only repercussions. The magic catches on and time moves again, slowly at first. Then it moves normally. A sharp pain takes me and it feels like the air is being taken out from within. My lungs are gone, and only their wheezy ghosts remain.
I think about waking her, but she doesn't need to see this. As much as I want her here, really here, I should save her the pain. She shouldn't suffer anymore for my bad decisions. I squeeze her hand softly and she stirs. The world fades as it awakens for her. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | "Man, It feels like I slept in today, but my alarm didnt go off." I said grogged. I glanced at the clock 5:45 a.m. "Well I guess I'll get an early shower" I thought. My wife was fast asleep stiff as a board. I went into the bathroom and was quickly taken back that we had no pressure. I went down stairs and to my shock the floor was exploding.
I was born with a rare trait that the more dire the situation the slower time felt. However my heart was in my throat. I had never once seen time completely stop. I quickly grabbed my wife. But there was a problem.
For every step I took away from the exlosion there was a loud bit brief audible sound. Like someone pausing an action movie. I realized what ever talent or ability I had was pushing its limit stopping time for a couple hours. I started up the stairs every step a loud crash below. I assessed the situation and determined that that this gift was like stretching a rubber band. Every step it was about to break. "Should I run or go slower?" I asked. I flashed back to when my ability first manifested. My father and I were ice fishing. We were on too thin of ice in a early winter. Time slowed enough back then to keep me from falling in but when i tried to rush it, i opened up more ice and slowed time again. It wasnt until I relaxed that I made it out.
"Just like back then, I gotta keep cool." I started moving again slower, time resumed, but not as bad as the others. 5 more steps to go. The next step nothing happened. It was working. I took my time and made it to our bedroom. I grabbed my wife and started for the stairs. She was heavy, dead weight was. I slipped.
We both crashed and I heard her scream for a fraction of a second. I looked in horror and realized the exlosion now engulfed the stairs.
"Damn it! What am I going to do?"
The window or risk the exlosion? If i go to fast we will be both fried instantly. If i die in this state what would happen to the world? I tried the window.
It wouldnt budge. The house was warped from the explosion it had bent the frame of the window. Everytine I pulled too hard the loud screech came again. I had to go down through the fire. Before it was too late. I felt as if whatever gave me this ability was really wearing off. I felt dizzy and tired like i had been awake for a week straight. I put her on my shoulder this time and started the journey down. I reached and felt the fire. It was lifeless neither hot nor cold. Each step slower. My gift was a little stronger the closest to the flame, i felt it though, the gift taking its toll on my body. I worried when we started to walk out of the flame, would my gift hold up? The 2nd to last step i slipped the screech and fire for a millisecond raged. I had covered my wife but not myself. We were in an air pocket mostly but the left side of my face pounded. I let out a scream. My arm was visibly on fire. Lifeless but on fire. I brished it away and made the final step. 12 paces to the door. Worry and pain filled my body.
We made it to the door and outside. I felt the rubberband now it had nothing left, I felt like i was in the safe zone. I said screw it and ran. On the 2nd stride it busted.
The blast knocked me out for 3 weeks. I woke up in a hospital bed my wife with weepy eyes and covered in bandages saw me wake. She cried a happy cry of relief. I was burned on 40% of my body. We later found out it was a busted gas line in the morning.
Weeks into rehab an investigator for the fire department came by. He asked me how they got outside. I said I smelled gas and my wife was unconscious. He acted like he bought it. But as he was leaving he turned around and put on his hat and said. "Well maybe someday you can explain how the neighbors camera sees you appear in the middle of the front lawn 2 seconds before the exlplosion." | I don't know how you would classify some decisions in life. Was it bad if it brought you so much happiness, contentment at least? How could I have known the future? How could I expect things to change? I am middle-aged, a little grey, and the regret kills me. I guess it was a bad decision.
The morning stills to a photo. Beside me she sleeps and I love her. The years had taken our looks, dulled the minds, but never touched the passion. I love her. I touch her. She is still asleep. I think of all the memories we've had. I think of all our dreams. The world is still, too nice to be a photo, a painting maybe.
I don't want to get up. I turn a little. I look at her from all sides. Our bedroom is dark, full of morning shadows battling the just risen sun. It is the last sun I will be alive for.
The scent of everything kind of merges as it does when time gets like this. It is a pleasant smell. At first I am contented. Then I grow sad and I cry. I whisper to her, to calm myself, and it makes me feel worse. I have known her forever. She will only know me for part of forever. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for both of us.
There is no danger of course. Just bad decisions. Our room is peaceful. The day is bright. It is a wonderful day if not for what would soon happen. I feel guilty and blame myself. I am old now and who would have thought I would have something to live for? Who could imagine that taking a pull here and there would add up at the worst possible time? I have no one to blame but myself.
A few days ago the diagnosis had come. Cancer works fast. Even the frozen time cannot hold it. There is nothing to do really. I whisper more things until my voice cannot compose itself for words. I cry over her. Will those tears remain? Will they be the last remnants of me on her when I fade away? I kiss her, hoping it will last forever. I wish I could wake her and we could spend this eternal moment together, but it is mines and mines alone. And I feel alone.
I cannot tell you how long it lasts. There is hardly any danger. Only repercussions. The magic catches on and time moves again, slowly at first. Then it moves normally. A sharp pain takes me and it feels like the air is being taken out from within. My lungs are gone, and only their wheezy ghosts remain.
I think about waking her, but she doesn't need to see this. As much as I want her here, really here, I should save her the pain. She shouldn't suffer anymore for my bad decisions. I squeeze her hand softly and she stirs. The world fades as it awakens for her. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | I knew it. Long before it happened. I made up theories. What will happen, how will it go down, what will I experience. Welp, that's it. The World is my playground. Fuck me.
My name is Rupert Thompson and I have a very weird ability. Time stops when I'm in danger. Sounds cool, doesn't it? It was cool. Really cool. Oh, all the things I've done. Robbing banks with an explosive charge strapped to my chest, going into places I should've never gone into. I've read the info on the aliens in the FBI archives, you know. All the fights where my opponents were baffled by my lightning reflexes. That was a fun time.
But now. Now I've been beaten by my own body. Cancer is a bitch, they say. They don't even know how right they are.
"Rupert, I'm afraid you have about a month left. Terminal lung cancer, nothing we can do." That's what the doctor told me. He was right in his own way. A week ago, normal-timewise, my time slowed. It was really hard to even talk to people at that point, as they talked too slow and I talked too fast. Doctors said that speech impediments might happen due to my illness. Yeah, sure, make another guess. Last two days lasted forever. To other people I probably was a flash of light instead of a normal human being. They dispatched a task force to take me down when some random dude saw me in the shop and I just walked past them not paying any attention.
Then I started guessing. First I hoped I'd die like any normal person. Then, as time slowed its pace I started thinking that maybe I can heal myself by actually living. My body keeps on, right? I can move, I breathe, I can even move other things that I touch. Maybe cancer won't survive when time gets that slow? Yeah, sure, make another guess. I figured that the time will probably stop completely. What next? I figured out a single way to die after that. Stepping down from a roof would be nice. I would basically crash myself under my own weight, so it would be all me, right? I hope I'd actually die after that.
The only way I can count time is by how much times I eat. For every three times I'll put a tick there, considering it to be a day. When someone finds this piece of paper, maybe give my body to science or something? I don't know. I want to be helpful. I've had a good life.
I think I'm the first person to stutter on a sheet of paper. Should probably think about what I'm writing before writing it. To be fair, I'm done. Don't know what to write here. Tell my kids I loved them. They do know it, but still. I hope I can finish it somehow.
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I have stepped on a roof 362 times. I don't think I can do it. Weird, right? Trapped by my own body. What's the point in having all of the world to myself if I can do nothing. Travelling's fine. Takes a lot of time, though. Made it from New York to Texas and then to California. Fun road trip. Seen some people in the cars. Two car crashes in action. Several birds being squashed by windshields. Fascinating. Started talking to myself. A lot. Hearing voices. A lot as well. Getting quite weird. Gonna make it back to NY and try to finish myself after all.
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------- Note, found in an inner pocket of a corpse that has appeared out of nowhere on one of the New York's streets. Currently hidden behind closed doors in Area 51. | I don't know how you would classify some decisions in life. Was it bad if it brought you so much happiness, contentment at least? How could I have known the future? How could I expect things to change? I am middle-aged, a little grey, and the regret kills me. I guess it was a bad decision.
The morning stills to a photo. Beside me she sleeps and I love her. The years had taken our looks, dulled the minds, but never touched the passion. I love her. I touch her. She is still asleep. I think of all the memories we've had. I think of all our dreams. The world is still, too nice to be a photo, a painting maybe.
I don't want to get up. I turn a little. I look at her from all sides. Our bedroom is dark, full of morning shadows battling the just risen sun. It is the last sun I will be alive for.
The scent of everything kind of merges as it does when time gets like this. It is a pleasant smell. At first I am contented. Then I grow sad and I cry. I whisper to her, to calm myself, and it makes me feel worse. I have known her forever. She will only know me for part of forever. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for both of us.
There is no danger of course. Just bad decisions. Our room is peaceful. The day is bright. It is a wonderful day if not for what would soon happen. I feel guilty and blame myself. I am old now and who would have thought I would have something to live for? Who could imagine that taking a pull here and there would add up at the worst possible time? I have no one to blame but myself.
A few days ago the diagnosis had come. Cancer works fast. Even the frozen time cannot hold it. There is nothing to do really. I whisper more things until my voice cannot compose itself for words. I cry over her. Will those tears remain? Will they be the last remnants of me on her when I fade away? I kiss her, hoping it will last forever. I wish I could wake her and we could spend this eternal moment together, but it is mines and mines alone. And I feel alone.
I cannot tell you how long it lasts. There is hardly any danger. Only repercussions. The magic catches on and time moves again, slowly at first. Then it moves normally. A sharp pain takes me and it feels like the air is being taken out from within. My lungs are gone, and only their wheezy ghosts remain.
I think about waking her, but she doesn't need to see this. As much as I want her here, really here, I should save her the pain. She shouldn't suffer anymore for my bad decisions. I squeeze her hand softly and she stirs. The world fades as it awakens for her. | |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you. | Everything was quiet. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, and leaned forward on his knees, wiping his eyes. His clock said it was just after noon, but there was no sounds from the city outside. The blinds clanked with dull, echoing thuds. That was the giveaway.
Outside, a bird frozen mid-flight hovered a few feet from the glass. Not completely frozen, though; it moved very slowly, wings flapping downward. Below, cars were stopped in the street. People milled around, unmoving. Some of them were pointing. Others shielded their eyes and stared at the sky.
Most of the time it played out like a mystery. Quick, find the hidden danger! But that morning it was obvious. Hanging in the sky, bigger than Manhattan, was an arrowhead-shaped piece of debris falling through the clouds. It could have been a ship. The core, from tip to end, was a solid piece of copper, but branching out from that were glowing streaks of yellow. The air around it swirled away in dazzling plumes, fluffy white clouds whipped and tangled.
His pulse quickened. To get a better look he ran outside, but it was a slow affair. Doors moved as if stuck in glue and the deadbolt resisted his fingers. The elevator was out, so he ran down four stories, noting that people had gathered at each of the windows, watching the thing fall to Earth.
Outside he bumped into a woman holding a paper cup of coffee. The ability rooted in him rippled, and everything skipped forward a second. Everything around him jumped briefly. The woman's coffee went flying out of her hand, a curtain of coffee with cream splaying into the air, but then stopped.
No motion.
Above the city, the arrowhead had skipped closer, throwing a shadow across the opposite side of the street. He was ready for a hike, but this was unbelievably. Whatever it was, landing here, it would level the entire borough, probably the city. He'd need to go back upstairs and pack, change his clothes. Barefoot, topless, and wearing only a pair of pajama pants wouldn't serve once time caught up with him.
As he turned back to his apartment building, the sunlight trickled in a way he'd never seen before. There was a tug at the bottom of his stomach. A mist of color swarmed him, heavy and sweet. He backed away, waving his hand to clear the fog as he coughed.
Something wasn't right. In front of him was an image of himself, staring at him with unfocused eyes. The woman and her coffee were behind the afterimage of himself. Things began to move again, but now they were moving backwards.
It started with his afterimage. His doppelgänger was stepping backwards, taking the same path he took coming out. The woman twirled into him, pushing him back through the entrance, grabbing her cup from the air. The door closed. He waited.
However long it had taken for him to wake up and run down the stairs rewound, and suddenly everyone was moving backwards.
The woman with the coffee clicked on her heels as she moved back. The sound was unsettling, a rush of air followed by a pop. Cars in the street made the inverse noise of combustion, moving in reverse. In the sky, the arrowhead retreated, pulling the clouds back across the sky as if settling back under the covers. Crowds of people exhaled, the opposite of their gasps.
He ran into the apartment, watching things skip and devolve around him. In his apartment he found himself sleeping. Things were gaining momentum. He wasn't himself anymore. Somehow his ability had kicked into overdrive, forcing the needle on the record not just to stop, but to move backwards in its groove. He'd jumped back and then there were two, making him a constant danger to himself.
The sun set in the east. The afterimage, the real him, whatever it was, went through his routine of the night before. Unplugged his cell phone. Unbrushed his teeth and spooned the paste into the tube. Vomited mouthfuls of clean water into a glass.
The event went by faster. He tried to follow, but his image vanished in a blur. When he cried out his words were twisted, unintelligible sounds. The ground beneath his feet rumbled and he fled the building in time to watch its deconstruction.
Day and night merged into a hazy gray. Flashes of rain storms and snow. People, large groups of them, boiled down to streams of ghosts. The building was taken down, then the block. The streets were unpaved and replaced with weathered concrete that healed. Nature took back the island.
Amidst the chaos he sat, unable to even cry, as the continents merged back into one. A second later he experienced the beginning of time, which to him was nothingness. | I don't know how you would classify some decisions in life. Was it bad if it brought you so much happiness, contentment at least? How could I have known the future? How could I expect things to change? I am middle-aged, a little grey, and the regret kills me. I guess it was a bad decision.
The morning stills to a photo. Beside me she sleeps and I love her. The years had taken our looks, dulled the minds, but never touched the passion. I love her. I touch her. She is still asleep. I think of all the memories we've had. I think of all our dreams. The world is still, too nice to be a photo, a painting maybe.
I don't want to get up. I turn a little. I look at her from all sides. Our bedroom is dark, full of morning shadows battling the just risen sun. It is the last sun I will be alive for.
The scent of everything kind of merges as it does when time gets like this. It is a pleasant smell. At first I am contented. Then I grow sad and I cry. I whisper to her, to calm myself, and it makes me feel worse. I have known her forever. She will only know me for part of forever. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for both of us.
There is no danger of course. Just bad decisions. Our room is peaceful. The day is bright. It is a wonderful day if not for what would soon happen. I feel guilty and blame myself. I am old now and who would have thought I would have something to live for? Who could imagine that taking a pull here and there would add up at the worst possible time? I have no one to blame but myself.
A few days ago the diagnosis had come. Cancer works fast. Even the frozen time cannot hold it. There is nothing to do really. I whisper more things until my voice cannot compose itself for words. I cry over her. Will those tears remain? Will they be the last remnants of me on her when I fade away? I kiss her, hoping it will last forever. I wish I could wake her and we could spend this eternal moment together, but it is mines and mines alone. And I feel alone.
I cannot tell you how long it lasts. There is hardly any danger. Only repercussions. The magic catches on and time moves again, slowly at first. Then it moves normally. A sharp pain takes me and it feels like the air is being taken out from within. My lungs are gone, and only their wheezy ghosts remain.
I think about waking her, but she doesn't need to see this. As much as I want her here, really here, I should save her the pain. She shouldn't suffer anymore for my bad decisions. I squeeze her hand softly and she stirs. The world fades as it awakens for her. | |
[WP] The news anchor isn't saying anything. He's just quietly eating a T.V. dinner, sipping on a Diet Coke and staring at the camera | I stood behind camera two.
Currently, a reporter in the field was on air, which gave the people out on the studio floor some time to catch their breath.
The director, over the headset, said, "Alright, he's almost done. About thirty seconds left."
The floor director moved quickly beside my camera. She crossed her arms into an X with her hands in fists and said, "Thirty seconds!"
The anchor gave a subtle nod to acknowledge her.
Then, the floor director pointed to my camera and said, "We'll be coming back on camera two."
He gave the subtle nod once again.
Meanwhile, I was double checking to make sure that my shot was good. Through the viewfinder, I saw that the anchor was already looking into the camera (which made framing him easier). I had a medium shot of him. He was vertically centered and had enough headroom. Seeing this, I realized my framing was correct, which meant I was ready.
The director said, "Give the standby cue."
The floor director raised an open hand with closed fingers. Her arm was at a 90 degree angle. She said, "Standby" and the studio floor got quiet.
The anchor sat up to fix his posture, which meant I had to tilt up the camera to ensure he still had enough headroom.
The director said "Fifteen seconds."
The floor director showed "five" in one had and while the other hand showed "one" directly in front of it. She echoed, "Fifteen seconds!"
The host opened a drawer in the desk and got out a plastic bag with a sandwich and an unopened can of Diet Coke. Even though nobody said it, everyone else was probably thinking something along the lines of "What is he doing!?"
Then, the director, showing some of his confusion with his tone, says, "Alright, 10, 9, 8,..."
Meanwhile, the floor director, who seems about equally confused, is echoing the countdown while also showing it on her fingers.
As the countdown continues, I hear the frustration growing in the director and floor director's voices.
They both continued, "...5, 4, 3, 2,..."
Then the director said "One" while the floor director only showed it on her index finger. Then, she pointed at the anchor as my tally light came on. We were now officially live.
The anchor took the sandwich out of the bag and proceeded to take a bite.
The director asked to no one in particular, "Does he understand that we are live!?"
The floor director pointed toward the tally light on my camera.
The anchor saw the signal, he didn't stop what he was doing. In fact, he continued to look into my camera while chewing his sandwich. Something told me he knew we were live, but he just didn't care. It sure was confusing.
The floor director covered her mouth and told the director, "He sees my hand signals, but he isn't stopping."
The director replied, "Keep trying to signal to him."
The floor director went through all sorts of relevant cues to get his attention. The problem was that he saw them, but he continued eating.
The director audibly exhaled then said, "I'm not going to let this get to me. If that's how he wants to get fired, then so be it."
Soon, the anchor opened up his Diet Coke to drink some of it. | The man's small apartment was dark when he got home and he immediately collapsed face-down onto his couch. He heard the brief sound of fabric tearing. His suit jacket had fit him well when he bought it a few years ago, but now it was a little too tight. He was tired. Jerkily and without getting up, he pulled off the jacket and let it drop to the floor beside the couch. The pool of sweat on the back of his white button-down shirt was hidden in the darkness. His hair hung down in his face and stuck to his forehead. He reached to loosen his tie.
The apartment was hot, but the faux leather couch was cool against his face. He smiled weakly. He pawed at the handle of a mini-fridge beside the couch and retrieved a can of beer, which he held to his forehead without opening. He opened one eye and saw a shaft of light from a street lamp fall on one of the only other objects in the room, his television. He reached into the darkness until his hand bumped into a table and searched for the remote control. He frowned when he could not find it and he closed his eyes again. His hand rested on the table, outstretched toward the television. He breathed slowly and rhythmically. Beads of water from the can of beer dripped onto the couch.
He flinched as he became aware of a harsh light against his eyelids. Startled, he guarded his eyes with his hand and sat up. It was still night, but soundless static was displayed from the television. As he looked through his fingers for the remote control, his eyes fell on the can of beer lying on the floor. It was warm when he placed it upright on the table. The remote was not there. The only noise in the room was a "scritching" sound as he itched the stubble on his chin.
He stood up, his knees cracking, and approached the television. He stepped on his discarded and torn jacket and he kicked it aside gently.
He peered at the buttons on the television. He could not make out the labels. Reaching out, he pressed the first one and heard a brief click-click, then reeled as the noise of static filled the small room. Quickly he pressed it again and the noise subsided.
He pressed the next button. Click-click. The image changed, and into focus snapped another man, younger than himself. He considered this young man in the television. He sat behind a desk. His hair was well groomed, and he was freshly shaved and wearing a well-fitting suit. However, the young man's eyes looked tired, and the bags under them sagged deeply. The young man's expression seemed to convey a sort of expectant indifference.
The young man was staring directly back into the apartment, or into the camera, without moving his lips or making any expression. Occasionally he blinked. On the desk next to him was a can of beer that he would sometimes raise to his lips to sip.
The man in the apartment considered this young man on the television screen. He reached to unmute the television again. Click-click. The young man reached again for the can of beer and there was a light tap as he set it back down. Other than that, there was still no sound in the apartment. The man in the apartment looked behind him, at the table in front of his couch. The can of beer sat unopened. He noticed his shadow large upon the wall behind him. The man in the apartment shifted his weight uneasily.
He faced the television again and took a step back. Seeing the young man staring back at him with all the light in the room upon him, he felt strangely exposed. The young man made no reaction.
The man suddenly felt like he was the one being watched, and he had an impulse to speak. He opened his mouth, but did not know what to say. His straightened his tie and smoothed the hair away from his face, and he looked around for his suit jacket. He bent low to pick it up, keeping his eyes on the screen. His eyes were opened wide in surprise and he looked back at the young man watching him. He gestured uncertainly toward himself in a formation of a question, and his eyes took on a note of pleading. The young man's expression did not change, still the same mixture of expectation and lack of interest.
The young man appeared to sigh and reached off-camera. His hand returned holding a remote control, which he pointed toward the man in the apartment. There was a brief click-click noise, and darkness again filled the small room. The man in the apartment looked down at himself, almost as if to make sure he were still real, and then back up at the television. The beam of light from the street lamp reflected off the glossy television screen, and he saw a reflection of himself alone in his apartment. He suddenly felt very tired. He dropped his jacket and laid down on the couch to sleep. | |
[WP] A rebel character so rebellious that they rebel against the stereotypes of a rebel. | Joseph was a good boy. He had heard it all of his life. From his parents, from his grandparents, from every relative, from his teachers, from every adult he had ever met. His peers didn't say good boy but there were other ways to convey the same message. "Joe, you're the man." "Joe, you're my boy." "Joe, you've got it going on."
Joe wasn't a dog. He was a man, a real man.
Joe looked over to his right. His wife was shimmering in her diamond necklace, lain like a tiara across her evenly tanned chest.
Joe looked back down at his hands. He was in trouble. Not real trouble, moral trouble. He had heard about this before. He had been younger. Younger than his thirty five years. He had children now. But at some point he had been a child. He had absorbed every rumor only privy to the children of the selected class. Everyone believed it as much as they did Roman Gods, or the monster who would get you if you went where your parents told you not to. The rumors too ridiculous to be true.
"Thank you all for participating tonight..." A voice bellowed from the stage.
Joe had been a child once. A fortunate child.
"This is the most incredible year for the New Hampton Guilds Association yet.."
Born into a wealthy Rhode Island family. A connected family. He never wanted for anything. His sole mission was success. Guided by a competent hand that knew the way. His father.
"It's been over 400 years. This is the 404th.."
Joe was now his father. A slightly better version by some accounts. But on the early portion of his father's timeline. This was the pivotal portion. The gateway to the rest of it.
"Our guest of honor tonight. Is a special young man.."
Joe was getting inaugurated. A special, secret club. It had a lot of members.
"The newest senator of this great state. The youngest senator in all of Congress.."
Joe was the newest member. And Joe would have to abide.
"It is my honor to introduce to you, Joseph A. Smith!"
The applause may have come from a television show. A perfunctory patter of the hands, as if recorded by a live studio audience. Joe got up. It was his turn to smile. He rotated left, he rotated right, an arm held up in a wave each way. His wife stood up gazing at him. She locked onto him, not looking at the crowd. They both leaned in and kissed on the cheek. The spotlight was on them. Joe withdrew and shook the hands of those around him. There was the mayor of the town hosting this event. There was a representative in the House. There was the other long-time senator. His wife's smile had withdrew already back to her seat. Never breaking the gaze. Never breaking the spell.
Joe went up to the podium. He wasn't scared of the podium. He'd say some hellos along the way, and shake some hands. He'd give a speech that he didn't have to prepare for. A speech he'd practice in the mirror and laugh because he knew practice was pointless. Everyone, everywhere, wanted to hear the same thing, in their own language, every time.
"Thank you Rhode Island. This has been an honor, and quite the trip.." Joe was now the podium speaker. He had nothing new to say. This state was great. This country was great. And the so and so's in Congress were going to get an earful.
After the speech Joe would be held up, shaking many hands, meeting many people he'd forget instantly. The senators, the biggest honchos of industry who attended, were the ones that made him nervous.
They were a club. And not the 400 year New Hamptons Guild Association. It was an unspoken of club. It had no name. It had no recognition by anyone. It didn't exist. It's only claim to reality was by what it did. And it did for all of recorded history, and only they knew.
Joe looked over at his wife. The brunette ornament with doe-like brown eyes. And that smile. Did we mention that incredible smile? She looked back at him and no one else. He wondered how much she knew. She didn't, he thought.
Joe was shaking hands among the power circle. The other senator looked over at him, "congratulations mah boy. You're coming with us tonight." That was the line that told him there was no way out. "Your father, if he was still around, would be the proudest man in the room. My father shook your father's hand just here over forty years ago." This slovenly, unkempt, and obese thirty something year old man, was correct in his nostalgia. Joe shook his hand for longer than any handshake should last. "Greg, you're right. I'm looking forward to following every foot step my father took, including those to Congress." Greg laughed as the smiling crowd around them leaned in to soak in every ray of the newly born star.
Joe looked back at his wife. She knew he was going away tonight. To all appearances he would return to her after a brief meeting with the boys at the after party. But really, it would be an all night affair. A bachelor party into the marriage of power.
They arrived at a nondescript building downtown. They arrived at staggered times. It was a famous building. The architecture went back a hundred years. The modern chic lobby transformed into a gothic, dimly lighted corridor. An innocuous room opened the door to a large chamber that was filled with the laughter and chatter of the rich and powerful.
Joe stepped in with an entourage. Again they shook hands and made introductions. But this time there was no podium, there were no speeches to be made. A stage had been oddly built in the room. It was going to be a fashion show.
Joe was seated down with Greg closely to his right. Greg watched him and the stage alternately with equal fixation.
The lights dimmed and the crowd's noise lowered to a smattering of chatter here and there.
A voice boomed from a speaker in the corner of the room. "First on the stage.."
A beat from a cheesy 90's satire of a fashion show played. A young person, a child, walked down the runway. It was a girl. She was definitely a girl. A teenager, but not by many years. Joe inspected her. She had on few clothes. A lot of make up. A sparkling scarf that she twirled around her as she walked. Joe's face didn't change. He gulped once. He was dying inside. He knew what this was.
Greg laughed. He looked over at Joe once or twice. He leaned over to another friend and said something inaudible. Joe wanted to leave. Joe knew he couldn't leave.
"Next up, we have a walnut.."
A boy this time. Also scantily clad. Ethnic in origin. Brown skin. Unlike the girl he didn't smile. He looked as if he was in the middle of a war zone. Like his house was bombed out, he stood in the middle, his parents were blown to smithereens.
Greg laughed. "That's the one for you." He shouted to somebody. Joe was hardly paying any attention. He gulped again.
The next one was another girl. And another followed. And when they stepped off they melted into the crowd, onto the laps of all of these power men.
Joe was feeling sick. Greg leaned over, "which one did you like?" The cigar smoke oozed out of his mouth with every word. His eyebrows raised into near 45 degree angles.
"Well, you'll have to give me a girl." Joe said as he laughed. Greg reciprocated the laughter and slapped Joe on the thigh.
"Excuse me a moment, I'd like to go to the washroom." Joe got up, and noticed Greg didn't object.
In the wash room, Joe could hear his father.
As he was dying of cancer, he gave Joe all he needed to know. "Sometimes, son, you're going to do those things that the others don't."
There were many words of advice. Many speeches. Many fragments of a life lived over 80 years. But the one that stuck the most was with the kids. Why the kids? Joe thought.
"The trust that's needed in the highest circles of power is not easily attained. You could promise to keep quiet. But that doesn't work. You could pledge an oath, but those get broken. You could sign in blood, but that's not a guarantee. How do you ensure loyalty among a large group of people?"
Joe had been asked this question separately when he was ten, fifteen, and twenty years old. He answered each time, after a brief moment of deliberation. Even though his father hadn't demanded an answer.
Joe answered:
"You make them promise. You make them swear on everything!" Joe's father chuckled hearing the sheepish reply of a boy still living in the world of imagination.
"You make them sign away everything that's dear to them. Collateral!" Joe's father grinned and nodded as he studied the reply of a boy just wakening from the spell.
"You make them kill someone. Or do something so unforgivable, that they would never cross you lest you expose them for the horror they committed." Joe's father said nothing. His expression didn't change. He looked at this man, it reminded him of himself.
He was expected to do these dastardly things to children so that his peers could feel comfortable he wouldn't step out line. They were all guilty. So they were all invested in keeping the secret. It wasn't for sexual gratification, though Joe knew, no doubt, some took pleasure in the act. It was for control. The control of the powerful.
He hadn't used the bathroom but he flushed the toilet. He wished he could flush his life with it. His eyes were twitching, he splashed cold water on his face. Is this really all worth it? I want to live, I've never thought of dying, but if this is life, then who does that make me to want to live it?
He walked back out into the room. In the few minutes he was gone it had transformed. He surveyed it. An orgy of hedonism that vivid story tellers would be commended for their superb telling of fiction.
Greg grabbed hold of him. "Are you all right?"
Joe's gaze came back to Greg. He smiled. He was so rebellious that he'd rebel against the stereotype of the rebel. He said to Greg, "I want the walnut." | "God damn it Tim, I'm going to be late!" Javier desperately raked thorough his bathroom drawers whilst lecturing Tim on the necessities of his personal schedules . Javier had been in a flurry all afternoon paying meticulous attention to the thrift store Timexes on both of his wrists. His Scott Ian tribute beard swiped his tattered T-shirt every time Javier cocked his head, scanning his bathroom sink for the perfect safety pin. Each turn was a paintbrush of expression across the letters-"Banned in DC." "You know, I'm so late, I'm going to be in the very back, and that’s not disruptive" came admonishing from the bathroom. Tim merely shrugged his shoulders and spit another squirt of skoal and saliva into an old Gatorade bottle.
Tim gripped the glowing screen of singles his age whom might be ready to mingle. Tim swiped his thump in an anti climatic left across a portrait of a young woman, true romance was alive. His white sneakers provided the perfect support for his lumberjack frame and juxtaposed quite nicely with his acid washed, boot cut jeans. "Ya know…Skullhole's first album was alright, but I don’t really know about the equalization on it. It's really on their sophomore work that you can enjoy it as true composition."
"True" Javier feigned in agreement as he vexed between skinny jeans with suspenders or without.
Continuing on, Tim began passionately "They really came into the scene because of the great melodies hidden behind a lo fi set up, but I think we can all appreciate the subtle existential meanings of the lyrics. It really does set a sort of mise-en-scene for the listener to really make their own interpretation." Tim's rimless glasses began to turn purple as the sun gleaned the tops of the lenses. Javier glared at the pants and was convinced Tim memorized this speech for his own satisfaction.
Red suspenders it was. "Clunk-Clunk-Clunk" his boots graced the cheap hardwood. Javier stormed back into the living area, his half shaven head, a caudal ode to the ying and yang of far away culture ducking underneath Tim's pull-up bar. "Either way, Tim" Javier paused "They're playing in an hour and the roads are too wet to ride, can you drive me ?" Tapping his feet, arching his back. He knew his request was a formality to Tim's nature.
"Sure, You know I'm going anyways, right?"
Javier's head whipped back, cackling, in astonishment. " You hate going to shows, you're always saying how it just a stupid way to make money for bands that don’t deserve it!" It was very matter-of-fact. "You NOW want to go to see the Skull!?"
"I like their lyrics" slipped calmly from Tim's lizard thin lips.
Wide eyed, he scanned Tim's sweatshirt. Property of: Owatonna University Wrestling Large. "O-ok" Javier's stomach turned. The floor boards creaked under the uneasiness. "Yeah, we saw him last night with that guy, you know, the one that looked like he worked in sales" " Oh wow, yeah you think it was his cousin or something?" The shameful gossip would dance in Javier's mind til next moorings' hangover fueled cigarette.
"I'm going to look completely ridiculous with him" His hand trembled as searched the perfect place for his safety pin. Deciding the top 3 centimeters of the left ear were as revolutionary as the rest. Javier seated the stainless steel secant.
"Ready?" Tim was now gleaning with excitement as he grabbed his lanyard of keys.
| |
[WP] A normal man lives in a city completely overrun with superheroes and supervillains. | Hello my name is Michael Andrews
And I'm the most normal man alive.
You see, for some reason I don't have any powers,
Well you may ask, how do I survive?
Well if a hero doesn't save me I just try and make the villain think I have powers, at least long enough so a hero can rescue me.
I'm a part of the "norm" protection program.
All the other norms died off a long time ago. I'm the only one left.
This is my story.
The day that changed my life started as any other day.
I woke up and went to work. My job is probably the best paying job out there, I make spandex and capes as well as repair suits.
I know every hero's Identity and if a villains found that out then, I would be in big trouble you see, the villains don't know that I'm the only normal man in town. And thus haven't figured out that no matter who they capture they can catch a hero.
But one day I was to deliver a suit to a superhero called freeze-O
I just assumed it was a new guy, as superheros share where they get there capes and suits with other hero's, I get a lot of new customers.
I went to the rendezvous, the top of DexterCorp to be exact. And put it down on the ground in a duffle bag then started to walk away.
That's when it happened, suddenly one of the city's worst villains appeared in front of me. His powers were heat vision, flight and invisibility. I quickly reach for my safety button, the one that calls the hero's and tells them I'm in trouble.
"Nice try" he says right after blowing up my help button with his heat vision.
"What do you want with me? I'm a norm." I ask trying my best to sound innocent.
"I know you know Hspd's identity" he says showing me photos of me talking to Hspd with his mask torn to shreds.
He grabs me and flies off.
"This will only hurt a LOT" He says.
He calls in his best telepath to extract his identity from my brain.
"He fights less if he is dying you know. It's easier for me to find his identity that way." She says with a smirk.
"As you wish" He says.
The world appears to be in slow motion I see his eyes turn to fire and then the flames start to leap out of his eyes they get so close that my hair is catching fire.
I see my life flash Infront of my eyes and then, I think about how I may never get to see how the northern lights look.
I open my eyes certain to see that the flames are near centimeters away from my brain, but instead,
I teleported.
I'm looking at the northern lights. I think, I must be dead as nobody has ever been documented with teleportation. But I'm not dead.
I'm Michael Andrews and I can teleport.
This was my story.
Thanks for reading all feedback is welcome as I'm new to this.
| "And the day started off so nice too," I pondered as the buildings around me swayed as if rocked by gale force winds. Glass fragments from the uppermost floors littered what was once a pristine city center. The yellow cabs on the street were abandoned, and rightly so, as they resembled yellow plates with food for giants more so then vehicles due to the massive chucks of concrete and the occasional twisted metal I beam that sat upon their once majestic yellow frame. Uprooted trees, burning debris, and massive craters etched in asphalt completed the battleground these titans chose to fight upon.
"MY COFFEE!" I bemoaned as a cement truck demolished my favorite cafe; the only bastion of caffeinated decadence in a 5 block radius. The metal tables and chairs that decorated its chic patio space were gnarled and strewn in every direction. Croissants and other pastries dotted the landscape, innocent flaky bystanders in a war they neither wanted nor deserved. Things like this were a common occurrence in this city. Villains, and the people who deemed themselves heroes, made this once peaceful metropolitan city into a glorified lego set.
Every time the workers and other normal citizens would rebuild from the carnage of the day before, after all the leaves were raked up, all the glass and rubble swept away, after some semblance of normalcy was regained, the heroes and villains would come in again and destroy everything they've all worked so hard to rebuild. For the fifth time in a month, they had denied me my one solace in this world of endless absurdity. I decided enough was e-fucking-nough.
I ran into the pawn shop directly to my right, as they had yet to get this far down the block. The owner of the small store had abandoned it a few seconds prior, as through his display window with the security gate on it, he witnessed the top half of the statue that was just erected in the front of the trade skyscraper a block down the road was rolling like a tumble weed down the middle of the street, leaving pieces of itself behind like seeds in the wind. I look behind the glass counter and see a megaphone speaker sitting on the shelf, almost as if it were inviting me to steal it so my thoughts might be heard.
"HEY FUCKHEADS 1-6 FIGHTING IN THE MIDDLE OF MY DAMN CITY LIKE YOU OWN THE PLACE!" I yelled into the megaphone, the sound of my voice crackling over the amplifier. "CUT THE SHIT AND COME OVER HERE! RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!"
The combating juggernauts, surprised at the apparent lack of self-preservation I was displaying, halted in their tracks. The rumbling of a collapsing building could be heard in the distance as silence rolled over the destruction on the scene. As I prepared to go on my tirade a burning tire bounced in front of me across the intersection I had chosen to speak at, as if signaling it was okay to being.
"WE, THE PEOPLE OF THIS CITY YOU IDIOTS KEEP DESTROYING, ARE SICK AND TIRED OF PUTTING UP WITH YOUR BULLSHIT! EVERY FEW DAYS YOU ALL WALTZ IN HERE AND TEAR THE PLACE UP LIKE YOU SPENT THE TIME BUILDING IT UP!" I raved at my now enthralled audience. "LOOK AT THIS PLACE! LOOK! AT! IT!!! THAT USED TO BE A TRADE BUILDING WHERE BUSINESS WAS CONDUCTED TO HELP THE ECONOMY MOVE FORWARD! THAT WAS A DEPARTMENT STORE WHERE PEOPLE, NOT JUST MEN AND WOMEN, BUT CHILDREN WOULD GO TO BUY CLOTHES AND SHOP FOR TOYS! HAVE ANY OF YOU EVER EVEN CONSIDERED WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO THOSE OF US WITHOUT POWERS? WHAT YOUR DESTRUCTION MEANS FOR THE FAMILIES AND BUSINESSES YOU DESTROY? LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO MY FAVORITE COFFEE SHOP!!!!! GOT DONUTS AND SHIT ALL OVER THE STREET! BROKEN GLASS AND DEBRIS EVERYWHERE! SOME OF YOU ALL MIGHT BE INVULNERABLE BUT THE REST OF US AREN'T! WE, THE CITIZENS, DEMAND THAT YOU TAKE YOUR FIGHTING ELSEWHERE OR WE WILL HAVE TO COME UP WITH OTHER WAYS TO DEAL WITH YOU! TRUST ME WHEN I SAY, YOU DON'T WANT A LARGE GROUP OF PISSED OFF NORMIES AND THEIR CHILDREN PLOTTING WAYS TO DESTROY YOU! NOW PICK THIS PLACE UP AND TAKE YOUR ASSES SOMEWHERE ELSE BECAUSE WE SURE AS HELL DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH YOU!"
As the dust settled upon the last bits of green grass visible on the sidewalks, the heroes and villains looked at one another. They then looked at the setting around them, a picturesque post-apocalyptic landscape greeted them in return. Amidst the rubble and ruin stood a lone man, just a normal human being covered in dust and blood, cuts and bruises only obtained as a consequence of their unending struggle between perceived rights and wrongs. It was upon this realization that both sides came together and used their powers to help rebuild the city they had destroyed.
Once the repairs were completed, I waltzed down the once more pristine sidewalk, yellow cabs lining the streets alongside, with newly planted grass and saplings littered in between the walkway and road, towards my favorite coffee shop with the metal chairs and tables on the patio outside, the scent of fresh croissants wafting in the breeze. | |
[WP] A normal man lives in a city completely overrun with superheroes and supervillains. | Hello my name is Michael Andrews
And I'm the most normal man alive.
You see, for some reason I don't have any powers,
Well you may ask, how do I survive?
Well if a hero doesn't save me I just try and make the villain think I have powers, at least long enough so a hero can rescue me.
I'm a part of the "norm" protection program.
All the other norms died off a long time ago. I'm the only one left.
This is my story.
The day that changed my life started as any other day.
I woke up and went to work. My job is probably the best paying job out there, I make spandex and capes as well as repair suits.
I know every hero's Identity and if a villains found that out then, I would be in big trouble you see, the villains don't know that I'm the only normal man in town. And thus haven't figured out that no matter who they capture they can catch a hero.
But one day I was to deliver a suit to a superhero called freeze-O
I just assumed it was a new guy, as superheros share where they get there capes and suits with other hero's, I get a lot of new customers.
I went to the rendezvous, the top of DexterCorp to be exact. And put it down on the ground in a duffle bag then started to walk away.
That's when it happened, suddenly one of the city's worst villains appeared in front of me. His powers were heat vision, flight and invisibility. I quickly reach for my safety button, the one that calls the hero's and tells them I'm in trouble.
"Nice try" he says right after blowing up my help button with his heat vision.
"What do you want with me? I'm a norm." I ask trying my best to sound innocent.
"I know you know Hspd's identity" he says showing me photos of me talking to Hspd with his mask torn to shreds.
He grabs me and flies off.
"This will only hurt a LOT" He says.
He calls in his best telepath to extract his identity from my brain.
"He fights less if he is dying you know. It's easier for me to find his identity that way." She says with a smirk.
"As you wish" He says.
The world appears to be in slow motion I see his eyes turn to fire and then the flames start to leap out of his eyes they get so close that my hair is catching fire.
I see my life flash Infront of my eyes and then, I think about how I may never get to see how the northern lights look.
I open my eyes certain to see that the flames are near centimeters away from my brain, but instead,
I teleported.
I'm looking at the northern lights. I think, I must be dead as nobody has ever been documented with teleportation. But I'm not dead.
I'm Michael Andrews and I can teleport.
This was my story.
Thanks for reading all feedback is welcome as I'm new to this.
| Batman handed the steaming coffee to Danny, and not-so casually gestured towards the 'DONATE TO LOCAL ORPHANAGES' jar, obviously expecting him to spare the change.
"Really man? Cmon I have donated every day this month!" Danny said annoyed.
The coffee shop worker's gruff voice began, "Dude?!? These poor children need your help! You can be a hero to them!"
Danny sarcastically chuckled "Haha, nah, they are going to have to make do with 'just' their superpowers."
Before the dark figure behind the counter could continue their argument, Danny walked out of the coffee shop and into the empty streets.
Not bothering to even check for cars, he started across the road.
About halfway across he took a sip of his coffee. Out of nowhere a red and yellow blur of light sweeps in and carries Danny to the far side of the street.
Still being held in The Flash's arms Danny subtlety nods for him to set him down, "ohhh yeah, sorry about that" The man in red says awkwardly.
"Just eh... wanted to save you from that car..." hanging his head in embarrassment.
Danny looked confused, "wait, what car?!?"
Turning he saw Robin sitting in a blue mini-van nodding his head and giving The Flash an enthusiastic thumbs up.
"REALLY?!? You made me spill my coffee for that!? Man, you guys really are desperate"
Danny turned and began off in a different direction, he had decided to just walk the extra 3 blocks to Superman's coffee shop for a new cup.
**THE END**
I really hope you enjoyed!
*I'm not talented at writing so I just do this for fun, tell me if it was any good.*
| |
[WP]A completely sociopathic character who follows a very strict code of ethics |
I am not heartless. I am a murderer, but I do not spill the blood of the innocent, those who do not deserve it. I don't call what I do justice. I am not a hero. I am a murderer, but not a savage. Who will feel my wrath is decided by me. I act upon my own accord, my decisions.
More importantly, however, are the rules by which I live. I have set these rules, these binding tenets, for myself, on my own accord. Allow me to elaborate.
I do not spill the blood of the innocent, though the concept of innocence is a subjective matter. I have defined my boundaries of innocence.
I do not take the lives of children, no matter how rotten their souls may be. All have a chance at redemption. Children are fickle beings with moral compasses worse than my own.
I do not murder those for whom I have no quarrel, or those whose name is unknown to me. I do not kill for joy, as I have stated.
I do not murder the ones I hate, no matter how much my heart desires. Though I may carry hatred, no matter how hot the flames of passion burn, I do not kill to sate my own want. All have a chance at redemption.
I spill the blood of evil ones. People whose souls have been tainted beyond redemption. There is no hope left for them. I murder because I feel the world is best without them.
I am a murderer, but I am not heartless. I do not kill for my own want. I do not kill for my own desires. I am a murderer, but I do not slay the innocent. I am a complex man whose soul is blacker than the midnight sky. When I have fulfilled my duties, I will take my own life. All have a chance at redemption, except myself.
I am a murderer.
*****
Criticism appreciated. /r/Picklestasteg00d. | Posh pokers and midnight strokers. Dregs of the ugly, uglier, and downright disgusting. Teeth gnawing at the wilted flesh of clementines that have dotty noses and slanty eyes, and the bellyful howls that rise up like Lucifer unleashed. It’s all right here, my lovelies, if you only care to look.
Mother would read me Bible stories late at night, before tucking me in like a good little Eichmann and before Catholic school swallowed me up come sunrise. There were lots of funny folk peppered in those pages. My favorite was Absalom, the young roustabout who tried to usurp his father’s kingdom. Such a handsome, disarming charmer he was that upon his death, his father was said to have wept and cried, ‘Would God that I had died for thee, O Absalom!’ He was good, and he was bad, but he could do no wrong.
At school, they were always on about virtue and souls and redemption. If the parish mongers had taken a step outside of their parochial bubble, they may have realized that the City of Angels of which their enclave was so carefully and deliberately cordoned from actually contained all of these ethereal jabberwockies, and then some. Perhaps not *their* pigeonholed definition of virtue, but paradigms come in all shapes and sizes – isn’t that what every hero tells us, holy or otherwise? And lovelies, there are souls enough here for our lifetimes worth of redemption.
There is no madness to the things I do. I would venture so far to say I am only an agent as are the ocean tides that crash endlessly against anchored boulders and slowly, ever so imperceptibly, erode them into dust. We both exist for the purpose we serve, and expecting otherwise is not unlike hoping a cat will fetch your paper or a lion will lay with the lambs. I have never been much for the notions of karmic force or universal balance, though I am convinced that the dizzying forces of determinism will always push back where there is room to push.
So many places that I am sent, and so few that appreciate the gesture. The tepid whores masquerading as trashy rent-a-holes on Sunset and Alvarado don’t blink except for when the precarious strings are cut, and then they go flopping and flailing like fish in a pot of sand. Reality is kind where I am not, and spares the worst of them the worst of it, and many are halfway to their new life before the old one even realizes it’s gone. Gone, but not appreciated.
I wanted to be a doctor as a kid. No, my gentle lambs, not the cabalistic machinations of Mengele or Ishii, but the do-no-harm sensibilities of Mr. Doogie Howser or the sultry Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. To a child’s eyes – and despite my current woken status I was very much a child – the world can seem a very scary place. My mother and I had the same television the other folks had, complete with horrors and atrocities enough to fill the captive void in every little boy’s heart. To be a savior of the downtrodden, a voice for the voiceless – isn’t this what the Bible preaches?
Skid Row was named for a skidding log transport road in Seattle, Washington. This is a fitting title for the marauding denizens who shake and skitter their way through the minutes and hours but not days, since those require a sense of deliberation, rhythm and purpose, like wet faggots on an intractable stream heading for bed. The sanity of these aberrations, long since assumed gone by the mandates of observation and common sense, comes soaring back like a buried childhood aroma when the ride comes to pick them up. Their eyes sparkle, as they must have in the long-long-ago before streets became monsters and they became the streets. I think it is known to them even as I step around the corner. I have seen indefatigable fight and passionate resistance, but none from the logs.
A doctor does not heal, you see. He mends wounds, sets bones and balances the humours, but he ignores the fundamental problem of *being*. What good is a patched up bag of clackity bones and sloshy organs if it meanders around like a cat in heat? Is there a use to a godly Greek specimen when his days are but a parasitic sapping from those who foster the very world that allows him this freedom? I did not understand this distinction as a boy, and now that I am not, I understand why they say you can never go home again.
When I was a child, I had two hamsters. The female was a giant Syrian blimp box named Mabel, and the male a tiny cuck we called Stan. Though we kept them in separate cages, it was not unusual to find Mabel in Stan’s cage raping him seven ways from Heaven. The little bugger would just sit there with a blank stare, haphazardly pumping away while Mabel rode his little johnson into April of next year. When Mabel would inevitably give birth to his litter, she would promptly devour half of them for good measure. Always the smallest, runtiest ones at that. Though this routine was quite unsettling for me at the time, I grew to appreciate the sober pragmatism of Mabel’s life philosophy. The strong rule the weak, for this is how God made the world, and any pretense otherwise is asking for your little head to be bitten off.
All things good on this earth come from the same well that feeds the dregs and the beasts and the human refuse that washes over like a sprung sewer. These two forces have been sadly, unnaturally conditioned to live in a perverse parasitism under the guise of symbiotic progress, much to the detriment of all that is right and just and holy. Civilization has become its own worst enemy, and I am but a tool conditioned to push back. | |
[WP]A completely sociopathic character who follows a very strict code of ethics | There's a distinct difference between a psychopath and a sociopath. One will kill you and not feel bad about it, the other won't kill you, but also won't feel bad in the slightest if you were to die. I am the latter. I am the one who stands in a circle of friends more for show than for any actual need or desire for interaction. Everything is just so much easier when you fit in, which is why I must put on a false face. That's why I laugh at their jokes, why I encourage their pitiful little lives. I'm so much better than all of them, and their emotions, but there are so many more of them than there are of me. So I lie.
Every day people go about their lives, as if anything they do matters- it's like watching ants. They're all so mindless, so eager to pursue their... emotions. That's why I look down on them, on everyone else. I don't get caught up in their petty squabbles, I don't get excited over idiotic things, I don't care. But they can't know that I'm better than them- otherwise in their masses they'll group together to label me as different. Then they would try to 'fix' me, when really they're the ones that are broken- that are weak. No, it is far simpler to lie.
The ironic thing about it is that I know there are others like me- other liars- other sociopaths; all walking about in society with the rest of everyone putting on happy masks over otherwise indifferent faces, but we've all gotten so good at wearing masks that we can't find each other. So, all we can do is drift through the throngs of those who might be considered normal, putting up the minimal effort required to, 'fit in', and lie from behind our masks. Because it's easier if they don't know, so I lie. | Posh pokers and midnight strokers. Dregs of the ugly, uglier, and downright disgusting. Teeth gnawing at the wilted flesh of clementines that have dotty noses and slanty eyes, and the bellyful howls that rise up like Lucifer unleashed. It’s all right here, my lovelies, if you only care to look.
Mother would read me Bible stories late at night, before tucking me in like a good little Eichmann and before Catholic school swallowed me up come sunrise. There were lots of funny folk peppered in those pages. My favorite was Absalom, the young roustabout who tried to usurp his father’s kingdom. Such a handsome, disarming charmer he was that upon his death, his father was said to have wept and cried, ‘Would God that I had died for thee, O Absalom!’ He was good, and he was bad, but he could do no wrong.
At school, they were always on about virtue and souls and redemption. If the parish mongers had taken a step outside of their parochial bubble, they may have realized that the City of Angels of which their enclave was so carefully and deliberately cordoned from actually contained all of these ethereal jabberwockies, and then some. Perhaps not *their* pigeonholed definition of virtue, but paradigms come in all shapes and sizes – isn’t that what every hero tells us, holy or otherwise? And lovelies, there are souls enough here for our lifetimes worth of redemption.
There is no madness to the things I do. I would venture so far to say I am only an agent as are the ocean tides that crash endlessly against anchored boulders and slowly, ever so imperceptibly, erode them into dust. We both exist for the purpose we serve, and expecting otherwise is not unlike hoping a cat will fetch your paper or a lion will lay with the lambs. I have never been much for the notions of karmic force or universal balance, though I am convinced that the dizzying forces of determinism will always push back where there is room to push.
So many places that I am sent, and so few that appreciate the gesture. The tepid whores masquerading as trashy rent-a-holes on Sunset and Alvarado don’t blink except for when the precarious strings are cut, and then they go flopping and flailing like fish in a pot of sand. Reality is kind where I am not, and spares the worst of them the worst of it, and many are halfway to their new life before the old one even realizes it’s gone. Gone, but not appreciated.
I wanted to be a doctor as a kid. No, my gentle lambs, not the cabalistic machinations of Mengele or Ishii, but the do-no-harm sensibilities of Mr. Doogie Howser or the sultry Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. To a child’s eyes – and despite my current woken status I was very much a child – the world can seem a very scary place. My mother and I had the same television the other folks had, complete with horrors and atrocities enough to fill the captive void in every little boy’s heart. To be a savior of the downtrodden, a voice for the voiceless – isn’t this what the Bible preaches?
Skid Row was named for a skidding log transport road in Seattle, Washington. This is a fitting title for the marauding denizens who shake and skitter their way through the minutes and hours but not days, since those require a sense of deliberation, rhythm and purpose, like wet faggots on an intractable stream heading for bed. The sanity of these aberrations, long since assumed gone by the mandates of observation and common sense, comes soaring back like a buried childhood aroma when the ride comes to pick them up. Their eyes sparkle, as they must have in the long-long-ago before streets became monsters and they became the streets. I think it is known to them even as I step around the corner. I have seen indefatigable fight and passionate resistance, but none from the logs.
A doctor does not heal, you see. He mends wounds, sets bones and balances the humours, but he ignores the fundamental problem of *being*. What good is a patched up bag of clackity bones and sloshy organs if it meanders around like a cat in heat? Is there a use to a godly Greek specimen when his days are but a parasitic sapping from those who foster the very world that allows him this freedom? I did not understand this distinction as a boy, and now that I am not, I understand why they say you can never go home again.
When I was a child, I had two hamsters. The female was a giant Syrian blimp box named Mabel, and the male a tiny cuck we called Stan. Though we kept them in separate cages, it was not unusual to find Mabel in Stan’s cage raping him seven ways from Heaven. The little bugger would just sit there with a blank stare, haphazardly pumping away while Mabel rode his little johnson into April of next year. When Mabel would inevitably give birth to his litter, she would promptly devour half of them for good measure. Always the smallest, runtiest ones at that. Though this routine was quite unsettling for me at the time, I grew to appreciate the sober pragmatism of Mabel’s life philosophy. The strong rule the weak, for this is how God made the world, and any pretense otherwise is asking for your little head to be bitten off.
All things good on this earth come from the same well that feeds the dregs and the beasts and the human refuse that washes over like a sprung sewer. These two forces have been sadly, unnaturally conditioned to live in a perverse parasitism under the guise of symbiotic progress, much to the detriment of all that is right and just and holy. Civilization has become its own worst enemy, and I am but a tool conditioned to push back. | |
[WP] A single tavern sits mid-way between the city and the mountaintop. Tell me the story of "The Bold Penguin" Tavern. | The mists rolled down, ghostly fingers from the heavens. The hill sides were green, lush and flat. Long ago the world had been scarred. Long ago there was a story to be told.
He was a short man. He was older then, grey and grizzled, and he lived in a different time. The magic was stronger. The world had a shimmer to it. It contained great things. It contained dark evils.
His name is lost these days and we only know him as the Old Penguin. He had gotten that name as a child and he embraced it.
"They call me that because they say I'm short and fat. Bah," and he would spit. "It means that I am well fed and grounded."
And he carried the name into his age and into the legends.
He was a great man. Back then there was need for great men. A great evil had come to the land, a conqueror that wielded the darkest of magic. He called himself Om, for he fancied himself the beginning and the end.
With his great army Om had spread like a disease. Black lines of marching men, slaughtering everything in their path. Screams echoed as the black drums sounded, pushing them forward, pushing death and destruction all the more ahead.
Om had conquered much then. He had taken the nearby villages and was making his way to the mountains of Shan. The Great Mountains overlooked the world and from there he was to build his keep and rule forever, the beginning and the end.
Near the plains of the mountains the Old Penguin lived. Tales of the carnage had come to his village, scaring even the steeliest of men. The village army was raised but in their hearts they knew that it was only a farce. They would be taken. They would be killed.
As the fires of Om burned on the horizon in the blistering dawn, the Old Penguin had made up his mind. He was as resigned as the rest, old and grizzled, but he had a wife and he loved her very much.
In that dawn he took her, running towards the Great Mountains, abandoning his duty to the army. There was little resistance though as the black marched across the land. The garrison was deployed and the garrison died. What stragglers remained, ran for the mountains same as the Old Penguin. The village was engulfed in flames.
But Om gave chase. He headed for the mountains and his army followed. They were a great nomadic people and they were fast. Soon they had caught up to the survivors. Soon they had come to the Old Penguin.
"You will die!" a great general bellowed to him. "You will die and I will have the woman."
But the Old Penguin was hardy and he loved his wife dearly. Picking up a great stone from the earth, he flung it at the general, knocking him off balance. Others surrounded him, their arrows drawn, but the Old Penguin leaped and clawed at the general.
"Leave me be!" he screamed.
The Old Penguin went mad, feral and ferocious. The others from the army fired, and an arrow struck him in the back.
"I will not die!" the Old Penguin bellowed.
The general had collapsed, his skin torn and bleeding to death.
"Run, my love! Run!" the Old Penguin shouted.
His wife was frozen, trembling with fear.
"Run!"
And his voice broke the spell.
She ran through the ranks, scrambling up the hillside. The army made for chase but a great cloud, a depression of anger and hate had stifled the air.
Om had come, mounted on his great horse. An evil man, hollow and thin, he looked almost frail. But his eyes burned and they stared at the Old Penguin's wife.
"You will not have her!" the Old Penguin shouted.
He had fallen to his knee and he was dying.
Once more he leaped, grabbing at horse and robes and he pulled himself onto Om.
The evil lord grabbed at him, slashing with his sword. The Old Penguin was severed, hanging by exposed vessels, but he would not let go. He bit as hard as he could into Om. He gnawed at his face. The lord was almost vaulted and his darkness spiraled in a chaotic swirl.
"Help!" he cried.
And his army helped.
"Fire!" the Old Penguin commanded.
In his death rattle the army thought it was an order from Om himself.
He stared into the eyes of the great evil lord and he smiled, avenging his people and saving his wife.
The army let fire their arrows, killing the Old Penguin and killing their evil master.
A great silence fell then and the nomadic people were directionless. Just like that, it had all fallen apart.
Throughout the years they would terrorize the mountains and the land would not be the same as it had been. But the evil had gone and good people remained, multiplying and strengthening. Villages banded together and soon drove off the nomadic people, destroying their memory from the earth. The Old Penguin's body was burnt, an hero's pyre, and memorial was enacted where he fell, taking Om with him.
His wife was never heard off again and legends say she grieved on the mountain top for him, begging the heavens to take her to be with him. One day the sky opened up and she was gone forever. Or so the legend goes.
Now, the great wisps of white touch that land where the Old Penguin stood, and the flowers bloom in the days and all is quiet. A tavern stands there now, dedicated to the fallen hero, replacing the memorial from so long ago. Patrons come from far and wide now to drink to the Old Penguin's accomplishments. | The door creaked as if it hadn't been opened in months. "Hello?" I asked as I walked into the dimly lit tavern. The tables all had a thin layer of dust, the floors were stained with what only seemed to be a mixture of alcohol and blood. I walked up to the counter where a lone bartender stood cleaning a single mug.
"Welcome trav'ler, here." he reached under the counter and pulled out another mug, filling it with what looked like regular water but smelled like death. "First one's on 'da 'ouse."
I took the glass reluctantly and took a sip, almost by reaction I coughed up the little I had taken down. "Ugh! what is this!?"
"Dwarf Sweat. Strongest drink in 'da world."
"Offering your strongest drink sounds like a bad business strategy." I said preparing myself for another sip.
"Aye, tis true." He said as I took another sip. "I just like to give people a taste o 'dis before they die."
I spat out my drink again, "Die!?"
"Aye, none come through here twice, 'dey always go marching up the mountain to 'deir doom." he put the now clean mug down under the bar and picked up another one. "Most people too bold for 'der own good, 'ence the name lad."
I looked back to the entrance to see a fairly well kept sign contrast to the rest of the bar, 'The Bold Penguin.'
I heard a quick snap and saw a flash of light as I turned back to the bartender. "Let's 'ope you can be the first ta make it back." he said putting down a camera and shaking the developing photo. I looked to the back wall behind the bar and saw that the whole wall was filled with photos of past patrons. Each picture was labeled with either 'ran' or 'dead'. "Which will it be lad?" he said pulling out a small pen. | |
This is a repost of a prompt I submitted a couple of years ago. I wrote a story based on this idea back then, so I guess it was a reverse-prompt? | [WP] Some people say they cheated death. I beat death fair and square. | Some people say they cheated death. I say, I beat death fair and square. In a world where everything was miserable and cold, where Life was a demon who consistently fed off of the suffering of the reincarnated, and where I was able to escape life and move forward, I can safely say I beat Death. She, she was cold at first, but she warned up to me. I warmed up to her.
I fell in love with Death herself.
And now, I can safely say I beat death in skee-ball.
Yeah, you heard me. Skee-ball. That one game we all played in arcades? Yeah. That's in the afterlife. I was the first to make it here, and soon after, many people began to appear in the afterlife. Almost 3000 really. That was enough to make an entire populated town! And that's exactly what happened. House after house, building after building, people thought of their paradises only to find their paradise was in their own homes, surrounded with friends and family and neighbors and animals.
It was surreal. Some people were somewhat angered with their so called paradise, but it did in fact reform itself into what they believed to be paradise. And slowly ever slowly, did shops begin to form. You didn't have to pay for anything, nor did anybody have to make anything, but it only felt natural to go to a shop and pay for goods. So a small mayorship was formed. Money was useless. Arbitrary. And yet, we still used it. Old habits die hard I suppose.
Anyway, I had finally mustered up the courage to ask Death on a date. Though, it should be worth noting that death is named Aris. Anyway, I asked Aris out on a date, and she openly expressed that she didn't know anything about human dates. So, like the typical 80's kid I was, I thought it would be fun to go to an arcade. And it was.
I have no regrets.
Aris was clueless when it came to human games, so I taught her the basics of most games. The claw game was usually rigged, the arcade games really only used button mashing, and the only ones that even took the slightest amounts of skill were the hoop games and air hockey.
God I love air hockey. Anyway...
Aris wanted to try skee ball. Little did she know, I was a master at skee ball! It was, pretty much the only sport I was ever good at. If it counts as a sport. It should. Three gold medals. But that's besides the point. Aris loved it. She pretty much beat me in most other things, air hockey especially (but that game's usually always pretty tight anyway) and I'm sorta just average at video games. But skee ball? I could beat her no sweat.
And so it began.
100. 200. 300. 400. 500. 600. 700. 800. 850.
I beat Aris by 350 points.
She was pouty, I was smiling and I gave her the biggest hug and we shared our first kiss. She laughed, I laughed, and the world moved on. | https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5tw6cz/pi/
Sorta.. scifi space horror story.
I made a core post because i dunno if it was appropriate for a post to be long? |
[WP] "That's why he's the most dangerous of them all. Everything he says begins to make beautiful, terrible sense." | In the end, despite the delusions people love to indulge in about their unique nature, humanity is totally quantifiable.
It became especially evident when AI data mining and IoT took off the ground. Deep learning engines inserted into social networks and other critical infrastructure finally stratified and spliced the millions over millions of ways that people communicate with each other. Analyzed how we think. What makes us tick. How we are grouped based on the smallest of cues and quirks.
Sensors came into play. Thousands hooked to their wearable fitness devices, checking pulse rates and skin conductivity. State-of-the-art facial recognition software tracking minute mimic muscle twitches, translating this dance to security services and then, to anyone willing to pay. Eye scanners dutifully watching how our irises dilate in response to anxiety or joy.
Inevitably, it all coalesced into knowledge no one should've came into possession. But, as Randy Barlow assumed, that was what the Manhattan Project participants undoubtedly thought, yet went through with their machinations.
Humanity was quantifiable. Now more than ever.
Hands folded in front of him, Randy stared unblinking into the huge curved screen before him, teeth digging into his lower lip. As words crept into his skull, it took a considerable effort to not let go and begin screaming with conviction and vigor, spitting with the glee of a ratched-up fanatic.
"Look at him go. Just look, Josh. The crowd is hysterical. I can... I can barely contain myself", he whispered, and motioned at the TV to lower the volume. "It's remarkably effective".
The other analyst tore away from his tablet and gazed at Randy, unperturbed - Josh preferred to wear headphones on the job, and became a real whiz with lip-reading.
"I'm snooping through Donovan's medical records, but... sorry man. Everything I have my hands on, well, it doesn't hold up to your theory. He had no op, at least according to the leaked data".
Randy sneered. "Then how do you explain this? Did you try even listening to Donovan? Ever felt like a monkey on strings, huh?".
On the screen, a black man in a sharply tailored baby-blue suit towered over the tribune, kicking the rally crowd into a frenzy. On second thought, Randy couldn't even remember what he was saying a minute ago - just the aftertaste of the pure, overpowering feeling of truth that emanated from Jake Donovan.
"I get that you don't like him as a Democratic candidate, Randy. You're a hardcore Republican, that's why everyone in agency hates your guts, however, you have to concede that Donny-boy has no SCE implants. Look at his forehead, man! Smooth as a baby."
Barlow pulled out his own tablet, flipping through the headlines. Riots, violence, intimidation. The worst pulled out from the festering cesspool of society, directed and orchestrated under the guise of their own will. SCE implants at first were a hip, novel thing among public figures, but after the Liverpool Massacre in 2022, where a motivational speaker managed to convince a hundred-something people to rip into each other like wild animals, the technology suffered a significant backlash.
With the SCE, the data that the implant gathered and categorized for its owner about the surrounding people, became a guide into action. The implant pulled everything that its owner could observe about others, hooked to the wearables and available city-tec information, creating a 360 awareness of who an audience is comprised with. And how to manipulate them.
Jake Donovan, a politician. Politicians are always dangerous, Randy thought, but this one might be the most dangerous of them all, if he had an illegal SCE.
He amped the volume up again, trying to discern what drew him into the speech that Donovan was giving to his supporters. What in his character gravitated towards the gibberish that the presidential candidate spouted with relentlessly growing hostility.
Randy listened and listened, and everything Donovan said began to make beautiful, terrible sense. His hand twitched, curling into fist so tightly that the nails dug into his palms.
But Randy felt no pain anymore. It all had been washed aside - pushed in the deep recesses of his mind, only to be replaced with a zealous, restless fever. He glanced at the other analyst, and swerved to his table, feeling around the heaped papers. Of course. The middle class grew too compliant, too fat on its ignorance. Systemic oppression didn't allow marginalized communities to flourish, being stifled by the over privileged, by college-educated nobodies - like Josh, who for some inexplicable reason, Randy knew, graduated from Yale. This society didn't allow the truely deserving to breath.
The chief strategic analyst for Garter&Smith smiled as his fingers bumped the letter knife under a pile of reports.
It all made perfect sense. He was an educated, adult person, and he could form his own opinions about things. He just did.
| The investigators stood across from the table separated by a two way mirror and the wall. The light over their heads buzzed steadily. In the other room, a green-white flourescent flickered above a man seated behind a steel table, which made him seem ghostly. The table was covered with blood.
“What the fuck just happened?” one of the men said after an extended silence. The three of them, the two detectives and the attorney, didn’t know what to think. The chief had gone in to break him, make him talk, and now lay in a puddle of his own brains. There was no clear incitement. Just a calm back and forth before the Chief raised his gun to his mouth and blew his brains out.
Jones yanked at his tie popping his collar button to the floor stepping towards the door before Jameson, the attorney, stepped in front of the door.
“I don’t think we know it’s safe in there.” She said unsure how to calm the fuming bull of a man.
Richards coughed into his fist, “Fuck. She’s right. We can’t go in there. We can’t pretend that didn’t just happen.” He seemed short of breath.
Jones eyes softened but his pulse throbbed.
“I’m not going to listen to him. I’m just going in there to break his fucking neck,” he scowled.
“Maybe that’s what he wants,” Jameson calmly retorted, “If he ticks you off, there’s going to be one assault charge and that’s on you. He’ll walk. He’s smart.”
“Chief has this routine, hook em and sink em. He only came in when no one else could do the job. He got rough on occasion but often never needed to even raise his voice.” Richards looked pale, “I’ve no idea what he was going on about. What he said was that about...”
“Who brought him in?” Jones asked.
“Stafford, traffic cop. Routine stop.” Richards replied, his breaths shallow.
“Go get him.” Jones asked stoically.
“What… I’m leading this investi…” Richards interjected.
“Get him Richards. Get some fresh air and get his full report.”
Richards wiped some cold sweat from his brow. He complied looking back through the glass at the man under the flickering light whose smile seemed unnatural. The door sealed with a click and the room was tight as a coffin.
“Jameson you want a shot at him?”
“Better me than you. I think you might tear his head off.” she said readying her folders and adjusting the hem of her coat.
Jones watched unblinking as she entered and stared down the ghost of a man under the flickering green light. She went towards the wall away from the body.
“Come closer.” the ghost said.
“You broke out of a Super Max. Of ten escapees, you’re the only one alive. You’ll understand if I keep my distance.” she stated coolly.
“But I’m just a man. I’m not a zombie. But if I was, I would just be a monster. You fear me. Not because I’m a monster but because I’m so much more than that.”
“You want to loosen your collar,” he said just as she caught her hand reaching for her neck, are you afraid or are you turned on?”
“Mute the mic. I want to confess something,” the ghost said cowing his head.
“Jameson! Don’t mute the mic…” She didn’t look back. She hit the button on the speaker on the table.
Jones sat in the absence of any sound but the electric hum of digital mosquitos. He felt them on his skin.
Jameson leaned over the table towards the ghost. He leaned into her and whispered in her ear. For a brief moment Jones saw her regret. She jerked towards the glass her eyes full with fear before the well of tears. She opened her shirt. Dropped her skirt. She got on her knees by the metal table and bit hard on the table's edge until her teeth cracked and blood poured. She whimpered like a dog before falling.
Jones pulled his pistol and held it to his ear. He fired a round across the room into the filing cabinet causing his head to spin. He stumbled towards the door. He breathed and caught his footing before going in. | |
[WP] "That's why he's the most dangerous of them all. Everything he says begins to make beautiful, terrible sense." | The worst part is the smiles.
Not giant, beaming grins, not wild manic laughter, but these calm, understanding smiles. A little twist of the lips, a slight upturn in the corner of the mouth. The kind you wear when something suddenly makes sense, or when you finally understand something you've been struggling with.
And it's on every one of their faces.
Subject Epsilon-45 was the latest in a brand of what would later be coined by the media as "metahumans," though at the time we just mostly called them weirdos. People who, without much warning, started to exhibit weird powers. Some as mundane as making a quarter fly across the room, some could hover a few feet. Brought them in for study, to see what was causing this to happen, if there even was an explanation. Top secret, black file, the whole shebang - we were officially off any official records.
Epsilon-45 was the last one we brought in before it all went crashing down. We got reports of several anomalous activities happening in a small town, where people were acting drastically different, and traced the source back to one man. Named Arthur Brown, six foot two, two fourty pounds, thirty five years old. Brown hair, brown eyes, receding hairline, could use a shave. The capture was quick and flawless, as by this point we'd become damn, damn good at our jobs. Heavy duty sedatives certainly helped, though later we'd realize that was the only reason we'd even gotten that far with him.
Epsilon-45 was silent for weeks after capture. Despite all our attempts to figure out what his ability was, what made him special, he just stayed quiet. Ate when we gave him food, slept when the lights were out, didn't resist, but didn't help us either. I was only in the same room with him once, and I got this sense of unease. When he looked at me... it was like he was figuring me out. Turning me inside out like a puzzle, figuring out just what would make me tick. I don't know how all the doctors managed to stay in their with him day after day, but they did their job to try to figure him out.
It was the end of the day when it happened. When he finally spoke. I was on monitor duty, flicking through the various screens of the facility. Mostly people in cells, a few doctors, the lounge, and the lab. Something caught my eye in the lab, and when I brought it onto the big monitor, I realized it was Epsilon-45. He was *talking.* The three doctors there, two men and a woman, were just staring at him, as if they couldn't move. He didn't seem angry, or upset, and he didn't seem to even be yelling. Just talking. Like you might over dinner with family. Nothing seemed odd about it, until the doctors walked over to the supply closet, and without so much as a moment's hesitation, each grabbed a scalpel and cut through their necks. They didn't seem to resist, or struggle, they just... did it. And they smiled. Smiled like the finally got it, they finally *understood*. Understood some greater truth, something that they had no way to fight against.
After the triple suicide, the facility went on lockdown. I at least had enough sense to jam that button as hard as I could. But Epsilon-45... he didn't seem to care, or even notice. He got up, and walked out, and the scene repeated itself with every encounter. Guards, security personnel, even staff workers, every encounter with him ended the same way. He'd start talking, and everyone would just... stop. Stop and listen. And at the end of it all, they just... ended it. Knives, guns, a grenade, at one point even a fork from the dining hall... it was horrific to watch. Everyone he spoke to, everyone he encountered... they just killed themselves.
My thoughts started running at a mile a minute. Virulent suicide? Pheramones, perhaps? Mind control seemed the simplest answer, though there hadn't been any cases of anyone with that level of control, as the survival instinct would usually shake them of the focus needed, or would at least leave them struggling. But there was no struggle against him, and everyone wore that same, awful, god damned smile.
I've been shouting on the speakers for an hour now, trying to get someone, anyone to take him down, to stop him, but no one has. Even from a distance he can control them, even from far away he's able to stop them. I don't know how, but he's getting closer, and I don't know what I can do. All I know is-
Wait, he's here, he's at the door! I have the chance, I can stop him!
Stop! Hands in the air, don't mo-
...
...
...
...
...
He's walking outside now. I opened the doors for him, of course. It only made sense, he needed out and it was much easier to just open all the doors than expect him to remember every code. He was so nice, so calm. I can't believe I never understood before. I never grasped just how futile it all was, how inane this entire project was. Every effort was just so damned silly. It's funny, really, how much sense it all makes in the grand scheme of things, to just end it all. I let him out, just like he wanted, just like he deserved. And I'm going to punish myself for my part in this now. It only makes sense, after all. He explained it so simply, I had no way to refute it. Not that I want to. I get it. I understand now. I know. It all makes sense to me. So I can do it, I can punish myself, knowing that I deserve it, and that it's the best way to do this. One bullet, one gun, one brain. It's all so simple.
So very, very simple.
Brings a smile to my face. | The investigators stood across from the table separated by a two way mirror and the wall. The light over their heads buzzed steadily. In the other room, a green-white flourescent flickered above a man seated behind a steel table, which made him seem ghostly. The table was covered with blood.
“What the fuck just happened?” one of the men said after an extended silence. The three of them, the two detectives and the attorney, didn’t know what to think. The chief had gone in to break him, make him talk, and now lay in a puddle of his own brains. There was no clear incitement. Just a calm back and forth before the Chief raised his gun to his mouth and blew his brains out.
Jones yanked at his tie popping his collar button to the floor stepping towards the door before Jameson, the attorney, stepped in front of the door.
“I don’t think we know it’s safe in there.” She said unsure how to calm the fuming bull of a man.
Richards coughed into his fist, “Fuck. She’s right. We can’t go in there. We can’t pretend that didn’t just happen.” He seemed short of breath.
Jones eyes softened but his pulse throbbed.
“I’m not going to listen to him. I’m just going in there to break his fucking neck,” he scowled.
“Maybe that’s what he wants,” Jameson calmly retorted, “If he ticks you off, there’s going to be one assault charge and that’s on you. He’ll walk. He’s smart.”
“Chief has this routine, hook em and sink em. He only came in when no one else could do the job. He got rough on occasion but often never needed to even raise his voice.” Richards looked pale, “I’ve no idea what he was going on about. What he said was that about...”
“Who brought him in?” Jones asked.
“Stafford, traffic cop. Routine stop.” Richards replied, his breaths shallow.
“Go get him.” Jones asked stoically.
“What… I’m leading this investi…” Richards interjected.
“Get him Richards. Get some fresh air and get his full report.”
Richards wiped some cold sweat from his brow. He complied looking back through the glass at the man under the flickering light whose smile seemed unnatural. The door sealed with a click and the room was tight as a coffin.
“Jameson you want a shot at him?”
“Better me than you. I think you might tear his head off.” she said readying her folders and adjusting the hem of her coat.
Jones watched unblinking as she entered and stared down the ghost of a man under the flickering green light. She went towards the wall away from the body.
“Come closer.” the ghost said.
“You broke out of a Super Max. Of ten escapees, you’re the only one alive. You’ll understand if I keep my distance.” she stated coolly.
“But I’m just a man. I’m not a zombie. But if I was, I would just be a monster. You fear me. Not because I’m a monster but because I’m so much more than that.”
“You want to loosen your collar,” he said just as she caught her hand reaching for her neck, are you afraid or are you turned on?”
“Mute the mic. I want to confess something,” the ghost said cowing his head.
“Jameson! Don’t mute the mic…” She didn’t look back. She hit the button on the speaker on the table.
Jones sat in the absence of any sound but the electric hum of digital mosquitos. He felt them on his skin.
Jameson leaned over the table towards the ghost. He leaned into her and whispered in her ear. For a brief moment Jones saw her regret. She jerked towards the glass her eyes full with fear before the well of tears. She opened her shirt. Dropped her skirt. She got on her knees by the metal table and bit hard on the table's edge until her teeth cracked and blood poured. She whimpered like a dog before falling.
Jones pulled his pistol and held it to his ear. He fired a round across the room into the filing cabinet causing his head to spin. He stumbled towards the door. He breathed and caught his footing before going in. | |
[WP] "That's why he's the most dangerous of them all. Everything he says begins to make beautiful, terrible sense." | There's some people that use language for many purposes, some of them use it for good, and there is some of them that only want to see de whole world burn down.
Even if you don't want to, you just have to listen to them. Politicians, Debaters, Scientists or even some of your friends know how to use language to convince you to believe what they are saying.
Sometimes, though, there are big personalities born with a talent like that. Fascist leaders, Communist leaders, even some Presidents are capable of making the people they rule over believe blindly in their command, sometimes with horrible results.
He was just a little kid when he realized that he just needed to sound trustworthy and reliable to convince people of doing what he wants. His name was Ighor, but at some point we forgot it. We followed him without any second thought, just as he were some kind of god, he always got it right. We didn't even get to understand what was going badly when in secondary school one of our classmates opposed to him. He just went with her and talked to her about something we didn't hear.
She didn't come to school next day, nor any day after that. I overheard a conversation between teachers and I found out the terrible truth. I remembered the terrible face she had when she ran away from Ighor and went home. She was found that same day in her bathtub, bleeding from her wrists and unconscious. She died in the hospital because of the loss of blood.
In that moment I realized, he was scary, and I didn't want him to do me the same he did with that girl.
I made it into high school and fortunately I was not on the same school Ighor was assisting to, but I felt like I didn't escape him, at all.
A year passed since I got to high school and I'm not sure why I got a bad feeling. As I passed by an electronics shop I saw something on TV. On the news there was a name I recognized, "Ighor". I watched the section "16 year old Ighor Vanovick, National debate Champion representing the country on the world championship". He was being interviewed and was talking with the same crocodile smile as ever.
I kept walking and tried not to think too much about it. But in the days after that I realized that everyone was talking about him. As if his appearance on TV was the last trigger of a catastrophic chain of events.
By the time I made it to university Ighor was a complete celebrity and everyone knew about him. Some of them called him "Master Philosopher". For the majority of people he was the speaker of truth, and those who opposed them were just socially rejected.
I heard him talking on TV, and I remembered why he was so dangerous. All he said, at some point, even if you firmly disagree with him, starts to make sense. It starts to make beautiful, horrible sense.
I'm one of the few that can tell you this story. Ighor rules a big part of the world by now and I don't know if I can resist his power any longer. I'm even forgetting the name of The Master. I don't want to become a part of his dream. But no one can reject his words. Maybe I should just give up to the raise of a God. | The investigators stood across from the table separated by a two way mirror and the wall. The light over their heads buzzed steadily. In the other room, a green-white flourescent flickered above a man seated behind a steel table, which made him seem ghostly. The table was covered with blood.
“What the fuck just happened?” one of the men said after an extended silence. The three of them, the two detectives and the attorney, didn’t know what to think. The chief had gone in to break him, make him talk, and now lay in a puddle of his own brains. There was no clear incitement. Just a calm back and forth before the Chief raised his gun to his mouth and blew his brains out.
Jones yanked at his tie popping his collar button to the floor stepping towards the door before Jameson, the attorney, stepped in front of the door.
“I don’t think we know it’s safe in there.” She said unsure how to calm the fuming bull of a man.
Richards coughed into his fist, “Fuck. She’s right. We can’t go in there. We can’t pretend that didn’t just happen.” He seemed short of breath.
Jones eyes softened but his pulse throbbed.
“I’m not going to listen to him. I’m just going in there to break his fucking neck,” he scowled.
“Maybe that’s what he wants,” Jameson calmly retorted, “If he ticks you off, there’s going to be one assault charge and that’s on you. He’ll walk. He’s smart.”
“Chief has this routine, hook em and sink em. He only came in when no one else could do the job. He got rough on occasion but often never needed to even raise his voice.” Richards looked pale, “I’ve no idea what he was going on about. What he said was that about...”
“Who brought him in?” Jones asked.
“Stafford, traffic cop. Routine stop.” Richards replied, his breaths shallow.
“Go get him.” Jones asked stoically.
“What… I’m leading this investi…” Richards interjected.
“Get him Richards. Get some fresh air and get his full report.”
Richards wiped some cold sweat from his brow. He complied looking back through the glass at the man under the flickering light whose smile seemed unnatural. The door sealed with a click and the room was tight as a coffin.
“Jameson you want a shot at him?”
“Better me than you. I think you might tear his head off.” she said readying her folders and adjusting the hem of her coat.
Jones watched unblinking as she entered and stared down the ghost of a man under the flickering green light. She went towards the wall away from the body.
“Come closer.” the ghost said.
“You broke out of a Super Max. Of ten escapees, you’re the only one alive. You’ll understand if I keep my distance.” she stated coolly.
“But I’m just a man. I’m not a zombie. But if I was, I would just be a monster. You fear me. Not because I’m a monster but because I’m so much more than that.”
“You want to loosen your collar,” he said just as she caught her hand reaching for her neck, are you afraid or are you turned on?”
“Mute the mic. I want to confess something,” the ghost said cowing his head.
“Jameson! Don’t mute the mic…” She didn’t look back. She hit the button on the speaker on the table.
Jones sat in the absence of any sound but the electric hum of digital mosquitos. He felt them on his skin.
Jameson leaned over the table towards the ghost. He leaned into her and whispered in her ear. For a brief moment Jones saw her regret. She jerked towards the glass her eyes full with fear before the well of tears. She opened her shirt. Dropped her skirt. She got on her knees by the metal table and bit hard on the table's edge until her teeth cracked and blood poured. She whimpered like a dog before falling.
Jones pulled his pistol and held it to his ear. He fired a round across the room into the filing cabinet causing his head to spin. He stumbled towards the door. He breathed and caught his footing before going in. | |
edit: jesus I worded that badly. ah well | [WP] If you kill someone, you get a power. Anybody with a power is arrested. One day, you discover that your SO has dozens of powers | You might think that my first reaction to this realization would be shock or anger. And you'd be right. I was pretty shocked. I was pretty angry.
But on some level I'd already known. I must have seen the signs, have caught her in the act before but invented some excuse. Denial comes before anger, right? And what comes after anger?
Bargaining.
That's why I was here, in the stopping-at-stop-signs-is-likely-fatal district of town, at 2:15 in the morning, with my murderer of a wife.
Doesn't sound too smart, does it? I mean, you kill someone and you get a power and she'd listed some thirty powers she had, which meant she'd killed thirty times. Everyone knows someone who got a power through an accident, but thirty? No, she was a murderer. She didn't deny it. And she'd invited me to join her.
So was I about to get stabbed by my wife and left for dead in an area of town where not even the cops lingered? Chances seemed good. But if that was the person I'd married, well, I wasn't entirely sure I'd mind.
She hadn't said much, other than giving me directions. She'd stopped doing even that once we'd left the car and started walking down an alleyway. I was mentally saying my goodbyes at that point, but she just opened a door to an obviously abandoned warehouse and gestured for me to go through.
She could kill me in there, too, but why bother when the alley was just as good? The thought didn't dispel the dread completely, but curiosity was starting to win out.
We entered the warehouse, and we were not alone.
"Sister Bethany," a tall man with short grey hair and, of all things, a goatee, greeted us. "You've finally brought your husband, I see?" He couldn't possibly look more like a cult leader.
The thirty or so other people in the room, all wearing heavy robes and hoods, really didn't do much to dispel that notion.
"This is the part," I said quietly to my wife, "where you tell me this isn't what it looks like?"
The man had overheard me. "This is exactly what it looks like. I am First Priest Ordun, and this is my flock."
Great. Even his name sounded like a cult leader. I'd heard the rumors - everyone had - of cults dedicated to human sacrifice, to gaining their members powers. I'd just never thought my wife would belong to one.
I'd never thought I'd be contemplating belonging to one either.
Ordun gestured for me to follow, and my wife just gestured the same. The 'flock' parted to make way.
"We are a religion, Mr. Banks," he began, and of course he knew my name. "Most of what you are seeing is just the trappings of such. I know the hoods and the candles look pretty menacing, but that's just ambiance."
"And the... um... altar?" I gestured to where Ordun was heading. In the center of the otherwise disused space was a stone altar. There were dark stains on it that I hoped weren't blood, but it was a very faint hope at this point.
Ordun shrugged. "That has a very practical purpose, as you will soon learn."
Ah, of course, the reason I hadn't been murdered in the alley was because I needed to be murdered on an *altar*. Just my luck.
Ordun just strode forward to the altar. Without facing me or any of the other congregants, he spoke. "Faithful: Tonight we will induct a new member into our order. Tonight we will witness both life and death, and we will gain power from it. Tonight the world will change by one person, one power!"
"One person." The crowd chanted. "One Power." I saw that Bethany was chanting with them, a wide grin on her face and an enthusiastic gleam in her eyes. Was this the woman I thought I'd known? The one I'd been married to for ten happy years?
"And now," Ordun said, "we begin."
I was resigned at this point, so I started walking forward. The only thing that stopped me was that Ordun started to take off his shirt. Dammit, was this a death cult *and* a sex cult?
Without further comment, Ordun hauled himself onto the altar, and then laid down.
What?
Bethany came to my side, a scalpel in her hand. "Here," she whispered to me, placing my hand on the handle, giving the weapon to me. I was in a daze as she walked me to the altar. She gestured to Ordun's neck. "The jugular is here. Cut firmly."
What was this? I started to reconsider everything. Had she only gone along with the cult because she knew this day was coming? Had she brought me in to kill Ordun and end the cult's madness? Or was it a test? Was I supposed to refuse to kill the leader? How would the thirty others in this room, leaning forward with predatory interest, react if I did?
I had to, I reasoned. And while some part of me insisted this was Bargaining or Denial or some terrible combination of both, I didn't care. I could end this madness. I could get my wife back.
I moved my hand to where Bethany had indicated, and with one firm press that was even easier than I'd thought it would be, cut Ordun's throat.
He didn't move. A small smile played over his features as his life's blood ran down to the altar below; an altar I could now tell had grooves to channel most of it away from the man. He breathed a deep breath in, then out, and that was it.
"Oh, honey!" My wife said as I turned to her. She hugged me. "Now we can truly be together. Our new life starts now."
"New life," the rest of the congregation chanted. At least they hadn't moved to avenge their leader's death.
My vision sharpened. The darkness of the warehouse simply ceased to exist. I could see everything perfectly, with detail that I hadn't even known possible. A power. Ordun was truly dead, then. I was a murderer.
"New life," came the voice from behind me.
Slowly, making sure my hand was still on the scalpel, I turned. Ordun was sitting up on the altar, smiling that same grin he'd had earlier. "Your new life with us begins now, Initiate."
"What?" I asked.
Ordun left the altar, standing. One of the robed figures handed him a damp cloth. Ordun wiped the remaining blood from his neck. Another figure handed him his shirt. "You are no doubt used to leader figures who lie to you. Con artists, schizophrenics, devoted but misguided enthusiasts. That is why I do not explain. That is why I accept only those who can do what must be done."
"You died," I said. "I know, because-"
"Because you have a power, yes. Everyone you see has a power, because they, too, have killed. Specifically, they have killed me. I have only one power, gained through accident years ago and discovered only rather more recently: I die, but I cannot *stay* dead."
I gestured to the crowd. "So, they're not...." I looked to my wife. "You're not... a murderer?"
She smiled at me, that same smile she'd given me during the ceremony. "No. I wanted to tell you, but... as the First Priest said, you would not believe. Here is where I gained my power. And here is where *everyone* will gain their powers."
"Everyone," Ordun spoke. "Welcome our new initiate!"
Instead of some chant, the robed figures took off their robes. They came up to me, smiling, and shook my hand. Within moments the death-cult atmosphere had changed to something more appropriate to an office party.
Some time later, I had a chance to speak with Ordun himself.
"So... it's real. You're for real. The whole cult thing is... real?"
Ordun laughed. "I said we were a religion. I said we would witness life and death. Everything I said is real."
A way to get powers that didn't end up with someone permanently dead? A way to *continually* get new powers, to judge by my wife's progress. It was amazing. At this point, I had to know: "Why? What are we going to do?"
Ordun smiled. "Initiate, we are going to change the world." | Life is okay for me at least. I'm married, have a good job, and my wife is all I can ask for. She's devoted, beautiful, and feisty in bed. Crazy in love with me as I say. We aren't the most sociable family out in Hirogema town. My wife prefers to keep to herself and I'm fine with that as long as I have my custom built gaming PC to relax. And then, I discovered it.
I came home early one day to find all of the furniture was floating around in midair. I paled, as it meant there was a killer somewhere in the house. I could hear Aya talk in a language I didn't understand before switching back to Japanese.
"Oh! Honey, you're home early." She said nervously. The furniture fell on the floor with a series of bangs, causing me to involuntarily flinch. Then she appeared right in front of me out of nowhere. At this point, I began to fear for my life.
"Aya...Can you please explain this? What did you do?" I said slowly. Aya sighed and waved her finger around. The blinds on the windows closed shut and the locks on the doors clicked. She went to the living room and sat on the couch. I followed and sat in the recliner.
"I suppose I couldn't hide it forever." She said sweetly, seeming to remember something from the past. My uneasiness soared.
"Remember when we went to school together all those years ago?" She asked. I nodded.
"Remember all of the events that took place in our final year?"
My jaw dropped. Seven different girls in our school died. The murderer (another schoolgirl) was caught and sent to prison. I realized that she was only the fall girl. The real murderer was my wife! I was paralyzed with fear and despair.
"Why?" I managed to choke out. Aya smiled gently at me.
"What did most of these girls have in common?" She asked. I thought back to that final year of school and realized what she meant.
"They were attracted to me." I said. "Aya, did you murder these girls because you were jealous?"
"These girls would never love you the way that I do. They were sluts who only wanted you for your body." Aya growled. "They were rivals. They don't deserve you."
I was speechless. My wife wasn't right in her head. I read enough manga to realize that she is a yandere. I let out a nervous chuckle.
"Now I have a question for you." Aya said. "After all I done, do you still love me?"
I thought about it. On one hand, I'd be risking my life when talking to other people of the opposite sex. On the other, I'm not really into having any sort of a social life. Besides, leaving Aya would be certain death.
"Yes." I answered. "I will never leave you. It's how our vows go. 'Til death do us part.'"
Aya smiled widely and kissed me. I kissed back, accepting my life as the husband to my crazy beautiful wife. |
edit: jesus I worded that badly. ah well | [WP] If you kill someone, you get a power. Anybody with a power is arrested. One day, you discover that your SO has dozens of powers | You wake up in the dead of night to crying and the swooshing of air.
You walk into the basement, and see your wife in the dark, crying and surrounded by floating objects.
With a deep breath, you walk towards her.
The objects begin to change shape. Some begin to ignite.
"Please stay back." She mutters.
You halt and turn on a light.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She turns her head to look at you. Shoulders still facing away.
"I'm a monster"
"No, you're not," you reply.
The house begins to rumble.
You maintain your composure.
You try to plead with her, "you're not a monster"
"You're a war hero, you're our son's hero, you're my hero."
You inch closer.
"Please stop" she murmurs.
You keep moving closer
"You're my world"
She pleads "Please..."
All of the objects turn to knives and face you
You take another step
"And I am yours"
"...STOP" she yells.
The knives fly towards you.
You brace.
A bubble forms around you.
Everything that hits the bubble stops in midair.
She stops crying.
"But... how? What have you done?" She asks, completely surprised.
"You weren't the only one in the war..."
The bubble pops and the knives fall to the ground.
"... I just wore a different uniform to you"
| "Hey babe?" I asked, rolling over in the bed. Just as I moved, my elbow knocked my phone off and without thinking, I threw out my hand, keeping the phone hovered in mid-air.
Levitation: the only power I owned. It was a mistake. A hit-and-run during a drunk escapade with my friends. Whenever I used it, I felt great shame, but I made sure to only use it for important cases. The only people who know about it are the people who I explicitly trust.
"Yeah?" My boyfriend asked, rolling over just as the phone neatly settled next to me. He was one of the people who knew. He had two on him: flying and gravity. All of them were quite useless, as they were hard to use in private. You couldn't exactly have the freedom of flight within the confines of your house, and flying around in public would be an immediate arrest. Gravity was a tricky power. It drew all objects around a radius towards you whenever you decided to use it. In a city, it was almost useless unless you wanted to cause some mini mass-destruction. But nevertheless, I was only one of the few who knew about his powers.
"Did you hear something?" I muttered, curling up closer to him.
He paused, "Yeah, I think so." He got out of bed. His hearing was always quite keen, "Let me check it out."
He tip-toed over to the bed and his feather-light footsteps made it out into the hallway.
After a moment, I decided to follow him, making sure to slowly open the door so the hinges wont creak. I slowly made my way downstairs, peeking over the wall to see what was going on.
I stiffled a gasp. A thief, dressed in all black was currently going through the contents in our office. My boyfriend was behind the door, observing him. And then suddenly, quick as lightning he was behind the intruder, hand over his neck, knife in the other. Without a second thought, the thief was dead.
Super speed was not on the list of powers I had known about. Nor was conjugation. I swallowed nervously, about to turn around and head back up the stairs, mind whirring with all the possibilities. *Why hadn't he told me?*
How many people has he *really* killed?
"Hey babe," My blood turned cold. Within a flash he was in front of me, "Oh sweetheart," The endearment sounded sour, "You weren't supposed to see that."
"See what?" I feigned innocence.
"You know what I mean," Then I was against the wall, head banging harshly against the beams.
"Tell me," I started, staring at him squarely in the eyes, "How many people have you killed?"
His laugh, which I had thought was so pretty before, sounded so ugly now, "Let's see. Super speed, super strength, conjuration, flying, gravitational pull, keen hearing, keen eyesight," He grinned, "Oh *baby* I could continue for ages."
I paled, "Kevin you're-"
He mocked me, "You're-?" His reflective white teeth gleamed in the night, "You know what I am babe."
"A serial dater."
"Yeah, I've never seen a girl with levitation, so I decided to take a *stab* at it."
"No," I struggled in his grasp, "No! NO! Don't kill me I promise, I'll give you *anything*."
"Hmm, darling?" He said, the nicknames which were once so sweet sounded like a threat, "Anything? I want your power."
"Please!" My voice pitched, "Kevin!"
"Oh *honey*," He drawled, conjuring a knife behind his back, "It'll only take just a second." |
[WP] You're a genie without powers, but you are still compelled to fulfill one's wishes to the best of your ability. | "Well, it's pretty unfair to say I have *no* powers. I did just spring out of that lamp, after all. I'd like to see you try that."
"Right," said Mel. It was only her second day interning at the library. She'd only tried polishing the lamp so it'd look like she was doing something. "No offense intended. I guess I just assumed..."
The genie's face fell. "Hrm. No. Sorry. I get a little defensive I suppose. You rub a lamp, a genie pops out - I mean, what else are you supposed to think there?"
"Uh huh," said Mel, carefully setting the lamp back down on the shelf. "So... you just live in the lamp, is that it?"
The genie sighed. "Yeah, basically. It's... it's not so bad. Pretty quiet, mostly."
"Well, it's a library," said the Mel. "That's kinda the big thing here."
"Right."
"Did you..." Mel was trying to be delicate. "Did you *used to* grant wishes and stuff like that?"
The genie puffed out his cheeks and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. All the time. Just like you'd hear about. Um... not sure how long ago it was. A while. Anyway, this fella found my lamp and he made his first two wishes and then... well, I think he was trying to be nice... he wished that I wasn't a genie anymore."
"So you're not a genie?" said Mel.
"Not technically."
"Oh."
"But the thing is, my power came from being a genie. Me being tied to this lamp is a whole other ball of wax. So..."
"*Oh*," said Mel. "So he took your powers, but didn't set you free."
"I don't think he was well versed in genie culture," said the genie. "Nice guy, though."
"So now what?" Mel began shiftily looking around for her manager. She really needed the internship for her college application. "You just get back in the lamp, or...?"
The genie swallowed. "Uh, I think I still need to grant you three wishes."
"But you just said..."
"Yeah, yeah, like *manually*, if you know what I mean."
"So..." Mel paused a moment to mull this all over. "You need to fulfill three wishes for me. But you have no magical powers, so it needs to be things any regular, normal blue person in Hammer pants could do - right?"
The genie smiled awkwardly. "You got it."
"Okay, I wish you would dust those shelves." He didn't do an especially great job of it, but the genie followed through and dusted the shelves.
"That was kinda fun," said the genie, breathing a bit heavily. "Really don't get out enough."
"I bet," said Mel. "So you really have to keep living in that lamp?"
"Seems that way," said the genie. "After I'm done granting wishes, I have to go back."
"What if I don't make another wish?"
The genie winced. "That wouldn't be great. If I'm not actively granting a wish, my essence starts tingling. Then it starts burning. Then it turns into the most horrid physical, emotional, spiritual, astral pain you could ever imagine."
Mel blanched. "And now?"
"Tingly."
"I wish for you to go run ten miles."
The genie shook his head. "I have to do something *for you*. Just telling me to go do a random thing that doesn't benefit you doesn't work either."
Mel sighed. "This is a lot of rules for someone who's not even an actual genie anymore."
The genie flinched. "Sorry," said Mel quickly. "That was cruel. I didn't mean..."
"No worries. What's next?"
Mel pulled out her wallet. "Here's some money. Run over to the burrito place on Smith Street and buy me a steak burrito."
"Huh," said the genie. "This is some silly looking currency. I'm on it."
"Don't forget the guacamole!" called Mel, as the genie took off running.
If the sight of a blue, shirtless man jogging through the streets had caused any commotion, Mel never heard about it. "Good work," she said, peeling back the foil on her lunch.
The genie wiped a line of sweat off of his brow. "This is a pretty interesting village you have here."
"I like it," said Mel. "You ever had a burrito before?"
The genie shook his head. "Take a bite," said Mel. "The taste of a good burrito is knowledge no living being should go without. And I'm assuming you can't pick up too many diseases living in a lamp."
The genie took a bite and nearly collapsed at the wonder of it. "Goodness!" he mumbled. "The green goo makes all the difference."
"The green goo is humanity's greatest achievement." Mel took back the burrito. "You ready for the last wish?"
The disappointment on the genie's face was obvious, though he did his best to hide it. "Yes, of course."
"Good, 'cause it's a doozy. I wish for you to write one letter every single year, from now until the end of time, detailing every fun thing you did and tried here on Earth - anywhere on Earth. Then you're gonna put that letter in an envelope and send it to me. How's that? One letter every year. That's not asking too much."
The genie couldn't speak for some time. He tried to find the flaw, because he knew there must be one.
"You're doing something for me," said Mel. "No restrictions on how you spend the time. But you have to send me that letter, and I don't imagine you can do that from inside your lamp."
The genie's mouth was dry. "I'll live longer than you. Much longer."
"You still have to send me a letter," said Mel. "Never said I'd read them all."
"It's..." The genie shook his head. "Are you sure?"
"Well, it's not like you can save the ozone layer or anything," said Mel, smiling. "Yeah. That's my wish. Get on it."
"I will," said the genie. He had never cried before, so he was surprised to find that was even something he could do. "One letter. Every year. For you."
"Good," said Mel, handing him another bill. "Now go get your own burrito. I don't want you to see what I'm about to do to this one."
The genie nodded, bowing really, and left the library. He was as good as his word. And his life was truly something to behold.
In later years, Mel and her children would gather on the day the next letter was due to arrive. It was a holiday for them, second only to Christmas. They would read it aloud, in turns. The letter was really more a book, capturing every detail, every twist, every turn. They thrilled to read it, nearly as much as the genie thrilled to live it. | "So Mr... um... Jefferson, is it? What makes you want to work for the Make-A-Wish Foundation?"
Shrah-homtep shifted in its leather seat (and newly acquired skin) uneasily. It felt it's disguise might not be passable but humans tend to see what they want to see. It cleared its throat.
"Ahem, well, I have a very extensive history of assisting those in need, I've done work throughout South America, Africa, most notably Egypt. Here, it says in the - " it leaned forward and clumsily pointed to its resume.
"Yes, very impressive," the HR managers eyes widened as it met Shrah-homtep's wild gaze. Just then he got dizzy. Something felt off. Had someone turned the heat up in the office? Maybe something bad he ate for lunch?
"I just... with no references, not to mention any valid ID, it makes the hiring process ... difficult." The HR manager loosened his tie. "God, I wish someone would make it a little colder in here. Well at any rate, we aren't looking for new employees. But I wish we COULD hire you."
Shrah-homtep beamed. Now was its chance! With a shimmer of heat and the illusion much like a mirage on the desert horizon, it showed its true form. The HR manager gasped and as he was about to utter one last scream, the genie smirked and shouted "YOU'RE WISH IS GRANTED"
| |
[WP] As you wake up with blurry memories from a night of heavy drinking, you hear the doctor ask "How the hell did ya end up here?" with a thick Mexican accent. From the hospital window you manage to see a sign with the word "Tijuana" written with big neon letters. You live in Canada. | "What...the hell?" I mumbled to myself, waking up in some crappy hotel. Some kind of movie was playing on the easily 30"+ TV laying beside me in the bed.
"Sorry, time to die Juan!" one of the actors screamed in a drunken slurred fake rage. Mouthed gunshot noises filled the hotel room out as a finger-gun shoot out scene played out.
As the shock and confusion of my situation settled down enough for me to actually act again, I tried moving a bit to get a better grasp of what was going on. To my horror I instantly became suddenly aware I was very damp. The fluid didn't smell so I chose not to question it any further. Clothes on (including my shoes), wallet check, keys check...CRAP no phone! I threw off the blankets the TV and I were so nicely snuggled hoping to find it somewhere in the bed.
My eye's darted around as I threw around pillows and sheets, but no phone. I did find at least 5 fast food receipts though.
"And that was a Brian and company production!" These words came out of the TV and struck me like a shock to the brain. That was my voice! The video cut off and I inspected the TV closer.
A small cord was sticking out of the usb port and trailed behind the bed. A wave of relief. I found my phone, undamaged and fully charged! I mumbled a quick, "Thank god." I didn't have the courage to look through for clues just yet.
One shower, one free continental breakfast, along with some post bender and I was ready to take on the world! ok, I was still feeling like 72 kilos of crap but I was ready to unravel the mystery of just what the hell happened yesterday. Flipping through picture after picture, text after text, I learned two things. My boss really knows how to throw an office party and I won't be able to pass a drug test for a while.
| "Tequila," you reply with some disbelief.
The doctor leaves the room without a word. As you take in your surroundings, trying to piece together the fragments of the night, he returns with two tall shot glasses with clear liquid. He hands one to you.
"Tequila!" He shouts with a smile.
You both drink and laugh. You are now friends.
The end. |
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